#anyways putting this out there now to develop more later

[threadfall]

On Pernography by Anne McCaffrey – article for Algol Magazine, Issue 33 (Winter 1978-79). (Reprint from Algol Issue 14, Fall 1968.)

Authors and their worlds are fasci­nating, particularly if you are the author concerned. Much as I would like to comply with those readers who would assign a mys­tical origin to the Dragons of Pern, there isn't one. (Read the rest below the cut)

I was casting about me, like Lawyer Peachum in the Beggar's Opera, for a good execution (of a story) for the next Assizes, and a stray thought dwelt overlong on the subject of dragons. Like Doris Pitkin Buck, I have always felt that dragons suffered from a bad press. It occured to me to remedy this distressing situation with a well-meant short story in their favor. Some 160,000 words later I'm still "dragonizing."

It came about in this wise: so dragons fly? Why? And why fire-breathing dragons? Gotta be a reason. A menace? That's it, a menace only dragons can combat. Great. But dragons as big as mine were looming in the authorial eye would be difficult to manage unless . . . . ah ha . . . telepathic dragons, mind-linked at hatching to men … dragonmen … dragonriders. Now there's a name with charisma in gobs. Ah ha ha! Yeah, but why? Hmmm. Dragons flying, breathing fire … think up something that ignites on contact with oxygen . . . mad dash to science library. Ah ha. Phosphines. Air-borne, telepathic, fire-breathing dragons menaced by what? Something also airborne. Large inimical creatures? Nah, too tame. How about a mindless organism? Again ah ha. Space travelling spores … see Arrhenius. On with the story.

The Dragons of Pern are unusual beasts, constructs if ever there were some: they get "impressed" on hatching like ducklings, are telepaths, oviparous but their mating is comparable to bees rather than lizards (although I've never observed saurian habits); dragons are carnivorous but can last eight days, when full-grown, on one full meal, like a camel. They have two stomachs like cows, one for comestibles, one for combustibles.

Actually, dragons don't fly: they only think they do which is how they do it. Even with a boron-crystalline exo-skeleton, dragons have too much mass for their wing-span. They levitate, using wings for guidance, braking and self-deception. True, the fire-lizards from which the Terran colonists devel­oped the Pern dragon could fly: it was their parapsychic abilities that the geneticists strengthened.

Having more or less settled my dragonology, I more forget it and build my the plot structure around the humans. It followed logically, however, that men who could think to dragons would be regarded with considerable awe by their less talented peers. Ergo, an exclusive confraternity, self-immolating, self-sustaining. (I may well have been reading about the Knights Templar at that point, I’ve forgotten, but the social structure of Pern is decidedly feudal with occasional modern-child-rearing overtimes.) F’lar was the epitome of the proper dragonman.

Now introduce an outsider into the Weyr for observation and comparison. It’s more fun to put the sexes so enter Lessa, in Cinderella guise, with sufficient wit and courage not to need the cop-out of a fairy godmother. (I don’t have one, don’t see why she should.)

There are several villains, ‘cause half the fun of writing is the villain: Fax who is greedy, R’gul who is well-motivated but dense, and the Threads which couldn’t care less and therefore are the best variety of menace. (I tend to develop outside influences anyway: I’ve had enough in my lifetime of nation versus nation.) 

The last ingredient was the timing: the dragons were created (by me and Pern) for a necessity–remove that necessity from the memory of living man, and see what happens. We’ve all seen certain customs upended, debased, disregarded, yet at their inception, there were good reasons for them. Why do men customarily place women on their left side? So their sword/gun arm is free . . . or so they can protect women from slops throw out an upper story window. Swords (and guns, god willing) are no longer de rigeur, but the convention/tradition/custom continues: and modern plumbing takes care of the other hazard that initiated the custom. A simple instance, granted, but valid. 

I know a lot more about dragons and Pernese than I’m admitting right now, but I don’t want to spoil the upcoming novel, Dragonflight (Ballantine Books, U6124, 75¢). Pern fascinates me utterly: the dragons are, in essence, mature concepts of the imaginary characters that bore me company in my youth. Or an itch which I can’t leave alone. I am bedraggled. I’ll be glad to answer specific questions on pornography from those interested. – Anne McCaffrey

[pineapplesoda]

let’s examine aiden’s half a bit.

aiden has always had his autonomy taken from him. by the justice system, by society, by his peers- i imagine/my theory is when his wife died he fell into a deep nasty depression and someone related to ava had taken her illegally into custody for her own safety- obviously without his knowledge. then he’s arrested, (which, i also believe aiden has some diagnosed Scary Disorder, personal hc is bpd but aspd is also up there) (and probably was cited as a clause for him being unstable and killing ava) (but no diagnosis on his adhd an angel lost its wings he so has adhd) (and ALSO if he’s trans. You already know the nasty shit they’re saying abt him) and nobody will believe him. NOBODY believes him and he’s forced on medication, kept alone in a cell, has his body and mind tampered with. then the combine come along

they offer him freedom, tell him that his mental issues don’t effect his morality, he’s a good person despite what he’s done. as long as he’s an obedient good soldier.

we know what happens from there. he realizes they’re using him and when he attempts to do something about it he has his mind and body and overall autonomy violated again by people he sincerely thought he could trust

he helped wilson gain a sense of autonomy. wilson is quite literally an incomprehensible being now- as you said, a hyperobject. he helps aiden slowly claw back his own freedom. they save eachother. could almost say complete eachother. aiden is a man with machine parts stuffed inside him and tech constantly monitoring him and wilson is a man trapped in the code of whatever technology he’s haunting occupying. they make eachother more human. I could have a whole other rant abt possible post canon dynamics and slowly trying to act like people again but let’s save that for later maybe. if u ask ill happily tell some of my ideas though ;] wilson mark III hev gijinka..

now onto the trans aiden thing.

aiden’s intro monologue is also very reflective of many queer and neurodivergent experiences- his exact words;

They used to tell me, it wasn’t normal to be like me. They locked me up, medicated me, outcasted me. Because of the way i am, my family, my morality. People. Took. Everything.

now the average person could write that off as him ranting abt being treated weird for being crazy- which, yeah, by the time ez2 rolls around the combine has conditioned him so much and also let’s be real put him on so many drugs for performance he’s a big of a violent maniac. AS HE SHOULD BE. HONESTLY FOR WHAT HES BEEN THOUGH HE IS INCREDIBLY NORMAL. but what strikes me is the “my family” line. the people he mentions as most important to him are his grandma, his wife, and also bec (2810 idk if you know about entropy uprising BUT! bec isn’t actually from ez2 he’s from a whole other fan mod of ez1 and he’s really interesting u should look into uprising i could talk even longer abt bec and victor sixty) but we can ignore him for now

was he raised by his grandma? he doesn’t feel the need to mention his parents- estranged from them? maybe they don’t support him? maybe his wife was also trans and/or they were in an unconventional relationship? his family- hell, maybe ava is adopted or even if he did have her himself, people would consider that gross and unnatural and “harmful to a developing child” to be around odd dynamics. if you just probe a little bit he is REALLY representative of a lot of queer experiences and also disabled experiences. he’s so fascinating

anyways in short aiden and wilson are sort of fucked up soulmates and they’ll figure out a way to kiss abt it

yknow i think we need to talk more about Wilson in the true ending

how he starts out as this small and helpless thing trapped inside a defective non-mobile body despite being fully sentient, only to then become part of (and consequently become) something unfathomably large and powerful, something more than just a building, or just a compound, or just a control system. i could (and just might) argue that uploaded Wilson (and with him the Arbeit and Combine systems) approaches the definition of a hyperobject, or perhaps fits it to a t. but my point here is: all of that was possible because, back when he was small and powerless to enact any sort of agency over even his own existence, someone helped him. yes, meeting 36 was basically a coincidence, and yes, originally he took Wilson with him because he had no other choice, but what matters is that when he was given a choice to leave him (which would make his traversal infinitely easier), 36 took him along. and it matters so much that even when he had every reason to believe Wilson was gone, he still fulfilled the wish timidly shared with him hours prior. underneath the snappy remarks and the "shut up"s and the emotional constipation, 36 cared, and in the end, that was enough to save Wilson. so of course, when the roles are suddenly reversed, and now it's 36 who is powerless to escape the torture inflicted on him, Wilson comes to help with no hesitation. of course he does.

[death-of-cats]

Looking at the series, GRRM has set up his main protagonists, the "true" heroes, with paralleling, "false" doubles. With Dany, it's Young Griff/Aegon, the mummer's dragon. With Jon, it's Stannis, the false Azor Ahai. And I would make a prediction that with Bran, the true greenseer-cum-god, his double is going to be revealed as Euron, with his raven dreams and ambitions to achieve godhood himself. Obviously this all depends on what goes down in the next book, but I believe the signs are there.

[databent]

siiiiighs. curse of everything costs money all the time

[vincenteuniverse]

Ken's progression OUT of color

This is kinda a cornplate thought that I had nowhere else to put but I love how in the Barbie movie(SPOILERS), Ryan Gosling's Ken's outfits symbolically showcase his "descent" into full patriarchy mode over time.

At the beginning of the film Ken's beach outfit (his default) has an equal balance of pink and blue. Pink is obviously Barbie's color, and shows Ken as fitting well into the femininity and style of Barbieland, while blue could be argued to be Ken's color (a scene later when he's especially confident features him wearing all denim blue, and the stereotypical gender of these colors, especially when found in kid's toys, supports these basic binaries as associated with these colors).

When Ken decides to leave Barbieland with Barbie to delve into the outside world, his color scheme goes full pink, desperate enough to be with Barbie that his attire reflects how dependent his identity is on hers at this stage.

However, it isn't long before Ken's exploration of the real world leads him to exciting new discoveries about the patriarchy and what it can do for him. Here he is introduced to a newfound sense of self independent from barbie, and while he still carries a pink scarf around his neck, the rest of his outfit has devolved into black and white while hers has remained colorful. As he pursues this new-to-him idea further, his worldview is becoming less unique, pretty, and vibrant(in addition to becoming much more masculine).

It is only his scarf that ties him to Barbie now, and upon making the choice not to follow her to Mattel, he becomes fully independent, losing the scarf and any trace of pink in his attire the next time we see him in his mojo dojo casa house coat and beach off outfit underneath.

In his most masculine moment during "Just Ken", he and the other Kens all wear a uniform of the most traditionally male ben shapiro outfit ever: A T-Shirt, belt, and dress pants. All black(and no white either to contrast like the previous 2 outfits). It's fitting that the Kens, in their destructive warpath, imagine themselves as perfectly cleaned up yet violently masculine dancers in their heads, their outfits devoid of all of the flair and character of Barbieland.

(excuse the shitty picture) After Ken has his little self-growth moment, his new sweatshirt reflects the changed and much more balanced man he has become, much more accepting of himself and a life where he can co-exist with Barbie without being with her. This outfit is again an almost perfect balance of pink and blue, both sides of Ken now a bit more at peace, his colors not pushed out by the LITERALLY black hole of toxic masculinity.

The color scheme also matches the roller blading outfit, so perhaps it shows a somewhat intermediary stage of Ken's development wherein he is still attached to and at peace with Barbieland, but where he is starting to become more independent as well. anyway these are all fun and i genuinely have no fucking idea why Mattel didn't cash in on literally making dolls of all the characters and their outfits these would be so fun to own

[yourownutopia]

❥002

╔⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤╗

𝚂𝚑𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚠’𝚜 𝚃𝚘𝚞𝚌𝚑 𝚘𝚗 𝚅𝚊𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚎’𝚜 𝙳𝚊𝚢

˗ˏˋ ʚ♡ɞ ˎˊ˗

╚⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤╝

Valentine’s Day—a time for romance, roses, and chocolate. But when your boyfriend is the Shadow Monarch, nothing ever goes as planned.

𝘝𝘢𝘭𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘴 𝘋𝘢𝘺 𝘚𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘭 ┊ 𝘑𝘪𝘯 𝘞𝘰𝘰 𝘹 !𝘍𝘦𝘮𝘢𝘭𝘦 𝘙𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘐 𝘌𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘙𝘦𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘩𝘪𝘱 ┊ 𝘚𝘰𝘧𝘵 𝘑𝘪𝘯 𝘞𝘰𝘰 ┊ 𝘮𝘶𝘤𝘩 𝘰𝘧 𝘉𝘦𝘳𝘶’𝘴 𝘸𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘯𝘨 ┊ 𝘊𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘥𝘺? ┊ 𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘦𝘴𝘺 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘶𝘵𝘦 ┊ 𝘖𝘯𝘦 𝘚𝘩𝘰𝘵 ┊ 𝘢 𝘣𝘪𝘵 𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘤𝘺 𝘢𝘵 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘴𝘧𝘸 ┊ 𝘍𝘭𝘶𝘧𝘧

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭

"Don’t you dare be late," [Y/N] warned with a raised index finger as she stepped out the door.

Jin-Woo remained in the doorway, watching as his girlfriend turned to face him one more time.

"I won’t," he replied with an innocent smile.

Both of them knew how many times he had said that before—and how many times it had actually been true.

"I’m definitely going to win," she declared, leaning forward slightly with a challenging smirk.

"In your dreams, maybe," he countered, grinning.

He had teased her so often about making her speechless that she had decided to take it as a personal challenge to do the same to him. And so, a small power struggle had developed between them—one they both obviously enjoyed.

Her [E/C] eyes met his gray ones as she looked up at him, determination shining in her gaze. A brief silence settled between them as her eyes studied him intently. Just as Jin-Woo was about to ask if she had forgotten something, she suddenly stepped closer, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pulled him down to her level.

She pressed her lips to his with gentle determination.

Jin-Woo was slightly taken aback but wasted no time returning the kiss with equal intensity. A warm shiver ran through his body, but the moment ended as quickly as it had begun.

"See you tonight," [Y/N] whispered against his lips as she pulled away.

At the same time, she let go of his shirt, and he reopened his eyes, which had closed during their brief but intense kiss.

Her warmth faded as she took a few steps back.

"What was that for?" the young Shadow Monarch asked.

But [Y/N] merely put on an innocent expression, clasping her hands behind her back.

"Just a little preview of what you’ll miss if you keep me waiting later," she teased before breaking eye contact, turning away, and raising a hand in farewell.

Jin-Woo stared after her—even when she had long disappeared from sight, he was still standing there, dumbfounded, his thoughts drifting.

The fact that she was on her way to the city with Hae-In to buy a new dress for today made his thoughts drift off again…

What would it look like? Not that it mattered—everything looked good on her anyway. And he would end up tearing it off her regar—no, carefully and lovingly removing it, like a gift meant only for him.

"My Kiiing~"

Jin Woo flinched; his face red as a tomato when Beru’s voice suddenly rang out beside him.

The ant had materialized out of nowhere, as if summoned by his own embarrassment.

Why now, of all times? He knew his shadows were a part of him, but thinking about how much they actually perceived? Yeah, no thanks.

Feeling caught, Jin Woo reflexively slammed the door shut in Beru’s face, spun on his heels, and walked straight into the kitchen.

Beru, confused by his master’s reaction, simply passed through the door as a shadow, not understanding that he had just interrupted something.

"My Kiiing, that was so mean," Beru whined theatrically, floating after Jin Woo, who was now rummaging through the kitchen cabinets.

That damn ant had been given too much freedom by his beloved. Sometimes, Jin Woo really thought the two of them were conspiring against him.

He was getting bratty again.

"My Ki—" Beru began again, but Jin Woo shut him down immediately.

"Shh."

Right now, he didn’t want to hear a single word from him. He just wanted to go over his plan for today in his head again.

It was their first Valentine’s Day since they became a couple, and he wanted everything to be perfect.

Cheesy?

Maybe.

But still perfect.

He'd pick up his new suit , get some new cologne, grab her a bouquet of her favorite flowers, take her to a fancy restaurant, watch the sunset with her on Kaisel, give her the gift, and then—

"but—" Beru tried again, cutting into his lewd thoughts a second time.

Jin Woo shot him a sharp glare.

Beru shrank back, his antennas twitching nervously under his master’s silent reprimand.

Finally, silence.

Jin Woo went back to searching for something to eat, absentmindedly biting into a piece of bread as he closed the cabinet door.

Where was he again?

Right—sunset, gift…

His eyes widened.

The damn gift.

He had completely forgotten.

"Beru!" He turned to the ant, furious. Beru flinched.

"You were supposed to remind me!" Jin Woo accused, already storming toward the hallway to grab his coat.

"But my King, I tried to—"

"Be quiet," Jin Woo snapped, too busy snatching his keys to hear the rest.

With a dramatic whimper, Beru melted back into the shadows.

ꨄ︎

"Damn it."

Jin Woo sighed in frustration as he stared at the empty display case behind the glass.

Gone.

Just yesterday, while walking home hand in hand, he had seen her gaze linger on that necklace—just for a moment.

The way the stones perfectly matched her [E/C] eyes had been enough for him to make up his mind. He would have bought it for her right then and there, but she had simply shaken her head, pulling him along, insisting it wasn’t worth it.

"It’s too expensive. I’d barely wear it anyway."

As if he gave a damn.

As if he wanted something else than to see her happy. To see her eyes light up as he fastened the delicate chain around her neck.

But someone else had beaten him to it.

His perfect Valentine’s Day gift idea was ruined.

What now?

Then it hit him.

He could just ask the others.

"Shadow Extraction," he murmured, and in an instant, darkness enveloped him. When the shadows faded, he was standing in the grand castle Beru had built for him. That crazy ant.

Everything stopped.

"The King has returned!"

"Make way for the King!"

"My King!"

His army sprang into motion as Jin Woo strode into the throne room, where Bellion was already waiting.

"Beru, gather everyone in the throne room."

Beru fully materialized, bowing deeply.

"Welcome back, my King," Bellion greeted as Jin Woo passed by, making his way to his throne and lazily resting his chin on his hand.

The sound of footsteps approached.

Jin Woo’s gaze flickered to Igris, who knelt before him in greeting.

The throne room quickly filled with his soldiers, murmurs spreading among them.

Their King had called for them.

Was there another battle? Another enemy?

As silence finally settled, Jin Woo stood, commanding attention.

"Alright, listen up."

Hundreds of glowing eyes fixated on him.

"We have an important mission."

Anticipation crackled through the air.

"What should I get [Y/N] as a gift?"

A long, stunned silence.

His shadows exchanged bewildered glances.

That was why he had called for them?

But if it was important to their King, then it was important to them.

"How about a crown for our Queen?" one shadow suggested. "A true Queen should wear a crown."

Beru smacked him over the head.

"Blasphemy! Our Queen does not need a crown to be a Queen!" he declared, utterly offended.

Iron let out a loud yell, catching Jin Woo’s attention.

"I really don’t think Lady [Y/N] would appreciate the head of a dungeon Boss as a gift," Bellion remarked, also deep in thought.

Jin Woo sighed.

"Igris, what do you think?"

His most trusted knight had been quiet, and Jin Woo was counting on him.

Igris took his time, then finally stood.

His glowing eyes met his King's.

"I have an excellent idea," he said, gripping the hilt of his sword.

Jin Woo felt hope stir.

Then—

"We should craft Lady [Y/N] a hand-forged sword."

Jin Woo gave up.

He collapsed back onto his throne, utterly defeated.

What the hell made him think asking his shadows was a good idea?

"My Liegeeee, what’s wrooong?!" Beru wailed, dramatically kneeling beside the throne as if his master was on the verge of death.

Jin Woo sighed deeply, covering his face with one hand.

Finding a gift for a woman, HIS woman - was apparently more difficult than slaying a Monarch.

Even with hundreds of shadows.

ꨄ︎

"Really? Isn’t that a bit… too much?" Hae-In asked.

The two women stood in front of a shop window displaying a selection of ball gowns.

Hae-In shook her head, her eyes glowing with curiosity as she examined the dress.

Under normal circumstances, [Y/N] would have agreed with her.

But for what she had planned, this dress was simply perfect.

"It’s perfect" she breathed, her eyes shining.

"Alright then, let’s go," Hae-In said, pushing her friend toward the entrance.

As they stepped into the small boutique, the warmth of the shop washed over them.

It wasn’t particularly large—more of a quaint, understated store that specialized in unique, handcrafted pieces rather than mass-produced fashion.

Immediately, a cheerful sales associate greeted them with a bright smile.

Her long, red hair cascaded in soft waves down her back, and her blue eyes sparkled as she welcomed them warmly.

"Hello and welcome! Can I help you with anything?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.

Before [Y/N] could respond, Hae-In spoke up.

"My friend here would like to try on the purple dress in the window," she said.

The redhead beamed even more—if that was even possible.

"Of course! Just a moment," she said before disappearing behind a curtain, where the display items were stored.

[Y/N]’s thoughts were racing.

This kind of dress wasn’t really her thing.

She had never really had an occasion to wear something like this—but this time, she had a plan.

She was going to leave him speechless.

She was going to show him that she was more than what he was used to.

When the red-haired saleswoman returned, she carried the dress carefully folded over her arm.

"Here you go. The fitting rooms are right over there," she said, pointing toward two fitting rooms on her right.

[Y/N] thanked her and disappeared behind the curtain.

She quickly changed out of her clothes and slipped into the gown, the soft fabric embracing her body like a second skin.

It fit her perfectly, as if it had been tailor-made just for her.

There was no mirror inside the fitting room, so she pulled the curtain aside and stepped out.

Both Hae-In and the young saleswoman stared at her, jaws practically hitting the floor.

"[Y/N]…" Hae-In stammered, while the redhead covered her mouth in shock.

Did she really look that strange?

Feeling uncertain, she turned toward the nearest mirror and stared at her reflection.

She could hardly believe that the person in the mirror was actually her.

The dress was a deep midnight blue with hints of violet, adorned with shimmering details that resembled a clear night sky. The fitted bodice flowed into a soft, wide skirt that swayed with her every movement.

Delicate silver embellishments gave it an elegant yet understated glow.

She almost forgot to breathe as she moved slightly, watching the way the dress followed her every motion so effortlessly.

"Well?" she finally asked, glancing at the two women, who were still at a loss for words and could only nod furiously in response.

Satisfied, she took one last look at her reflection.

No matter what Jin-Woo had planned—he was in for a surprise.

ꨄ︎

"Damn it," Jin-Woo cursed breathlessly, a bouquet of [Y/N]’s favorite flowers clutched in his left hand.

He had absolutely no idea what time it was, but the setting sun told him everything he needed to know.

It was too late.

All his plans—ruined.

He had rushed over as fast as he could and was still late.

And she had specifically warned him about it.

A dull ache formed in his chest.

What kind of pathetic excuse for a boyfriend was he?

He could slay monsters and rule over his kingdom, but making his girlfriend happy? Apparently impossible.

Yet when the urgent request from Jin-Chul had come in, he couldn’t exactly refuse.

A dungeon break was the last thing he needed right now, but the hunters on-site were struggling to deal with the high-ranking monsters. And unfortunately, he had completely lost track of time during the battle.

As he rang the doorbell, he mentally prepared himself for her anger—and rightfully so.

Nervously, he fidgeted with the hem of his suit. He had at least managed to shower and change beforehand, his Hair still damp.

He rang the doorbell again.

No answer.

Was she so mad that she wouldn’t even open the door for him?

But… when he paused for a moment and closed his eyes to sense her location, what he saw was not the inside of her apartment—but his castle, from a bird’s-eye view.

Of course, he always had a shadow assigned to her.

But yesterday, when she had asked to borrow Kaisel, it had been… unusual.

He hadn’t thought much of it at the time.

It wasn’t strange for her to choose a shadow to accompany her—but she usually picked Beru or Igris, since those two were her favorites.

Why was she in his castle instead of at home? That made no sense.

For the second time that day, he used Shadow Exchange and

instantly appeared in the entrance hall of his castle.

Lifting his head, he stared at the closed doors of the throne room.

Beyond the doors, he could feel the presence of his many shadows lurking inside.

And of course—her presence as well.

What the hell was going on?

Jin-Woo’s mind raced as he approached the enormous doors, still holding the bouquet in his hands.

His heart pounded wildly in his chest.

As the doors creaked open, darkness greeted him.

His shadows had almost completely overtaken the room, with only a few torches on the walls left unobstructed, casting a warm glow over the vast hall.

Jin-Woo stepped inside, tension swelling in the air.

Just how bad was this going to be?

His steps moved on their own as his heart pounded wildly against his chest.

He had lowered his head—unable to look at her.

The guilt gnawed at him.

But when his gaze finally lifted, when he saw her—he instantly forgot why he had been worried in the first place.

His heart skipped a beat.

There, on his throne, she sat.

As he finally stood a short distance before her, he felt the heat under his skin, a faint tingling in his fingertips.

His eyes wandered over her graceful form.

Starting at her feet, encased in stunning heels that matched the color of her dress—the soft skin of her exposed legs, which she had elegantly crossed.

His gaze traveled upward, over her slender waist and the intricate embellishments on the corset.

He swallowed hard.

The golden flames of the torches cast their glow over the deep, dark fabric of her gown—a starry sky woven into flowing material, so perfect it seemed as if the night itself had wrapped around her body. At the slightest movement, it shimmered like a thousand twinkling stars.

She was the serenity in the darkness, the queen of his shadows—his queen.

Then, his eyes drifted higher, and he noticed what she was wearing around her neck.

The necklace.

The damn necklace he had wanted to give her.

The one he had desperately sought out, wanting nothing more than to see it make her eyes shine even brighter.

But she already had it… She had it anyway, and it looked just as perfect on her as he had imagined.

She was breathtakingly beautiful, almost divine—simply perfect.

Shit.

He was the Shadow Monarch. A king. Feared. Unstoppable.

His shadows kneeled before him.

And yet… at this very moment, he felt like he was the one who should kneel before her.

As if she was the ruler of this realm instead of him, as if everything bowed only to her will.

She radiated absolute calm.

Her head rested gently in her palm, her elbow casually propped on the throne’s armrest—her [E/C] irises were clear, gazing down at him, but her expression gave nothing away.

Under her piercing stare and commanding presence, he felt small.

Jin-Woo had always admired her—the energy she exuded had enchanted him from the very beginning—but what he was feeling right now was something far deeper than mere affection.

It was something instinctual, something beyond words—a reverence for her sheer elegance.

The air was thin—charged with an electricity that was overwhelming, exhilarating, and physically palpable as [Y/N] rose to her feet.

The skirt of her dress cascaded softly over her legs—the tiny stars reflecting the torches’ warm light, glimmering like a flowing galaxy.

Jin-Woo held his breath as [Y/N] took slow steps toward him.

Her movements were graceful, poised, her head held high—exuding a confidence that sent a shiver down the Shadow Monarch’s spine.

The sound of her heels echoed in his ears, growing louder with each step.

A satisfied smile tugged at her lips as she finally stood before him.

"There you are at last," she whispered softly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

Her warm body pressed against his, pulling Jin-Woo out of his trance.

"I came as fast as I could, I—" he started, turning his gaze away in guilt, unable to meet her intense eyes.

Nothing he said would make a difference, nothing would excuse his lateness or make up for the moment he had missed.

"The Chairman called—God, I’m so terribly sorry," he stammered, desperately searching for the right words to show her that it wasn’t because he didn’t care.

Because by God, he did.

He hated nothing more than disappointing her.

He would move heaven and earth to make her happy—he would make the whole world kneel before her if that was what she desired.

Her hands cupped his face, and with gentle determination, she made him look at her.

Her eyes were warm, her soft features shaped into a tender smile.

"I know."

She had known. From the very beginning.

Being the strongest meant sacrifices.

The safety of the world rested on his shoulders—even on a night like this.

That was why she had planned from the start to move their date here—to his castle, which had long since become her home as well, considering how much time she spent here.

Her voice was so gentle, so understanding, that the tension in his body instantly melted away.

His shoulders relaxed, and he leaned into the warmth of her touch.

With one hand, he grasped her wrist and pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

Dark strands of hair fell over his eyes as he looked up at her, apologetic.

"You are…"

Breathtaking.

Magnificent.

Everything I need to breathe.

Extraordinary.

Perfect.

Mine.

None of these words could even begin to describe what he felt for her—what he wanted to tell her.

He didn’t just want to say it.

He wanted her to feel it.

Every day—every moment, with every breath he took, he wanted nothing more than to make her happy.

"Absolutely stunning in this dress?" she teased, stepping back slightly to twirl in place, the fabric lifting elegantly before settling around her again.

"Shit, yeah," he muttered as he took her in again, hardly able to believe that this beautiful woman was actually his.

She grinned, placing her hands on his chest.

"Have you looked at yourself?" she asked, tracing small circles on his suit jacket with her finger before slowly moving upward.

Her soft touch sent an electrifying shiver down his spine, and he felt his self-control begin to crack.

The closer her fingers got to his collar, the shallower his breath became.

Provoking him like this was dangerous.

"Don’t do that," he growled, his voice low, carrying a warning that sent butterflies fluttering in [Y/N]’s stomach.

"Don’t?" she echoed innocently, batting her lashes at him.

But when her cool fingertips finally grazed the exposed skin of his open shirt, leaving behind a trail of tingling heat—he snapped.

In a flash, he grabbed her wrist.

His eyes gleamed a deep, glowing violet, and the energy around them shifted instantly.

[Y/N] giggled softly before leaning in to whisper in his ear:

"If you like the dress so much, you’ll definitely love what’s underneath."

That was it.

Without a word, in one swift movement, he lifted her into his arms, cradling her effortlessly.

His strong hands supported her under her knees, and [Y/N] let out a startled gasp as she suddenly found herself pressed against him.

"Jin-Woo!" she half-heartedly protested as he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit.

"Where are we going?" she asked innocently, feeling the firm grip of his hands on her legs.

Anticipation swirled in her stomach as she wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head against his warm chest.

"Bedroom. Now."

‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹⋘ 𝑙𝑜𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑎𝑡𝑎... ⋙‧˚₊•┈┈┈┈୨୧┈┈┈┈•‧₊˚⊹

𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 ᴄᴏᴍᴘʟᴇᴛᴇ! ꨄ︎

︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

Happy Valentine’s Day, my loves!

(Yeah i know, valentine's day is tomorrow, but i wanted to give it to you, since i'm not able to post ist tomorrow (yeah yeah i could plan it but i wanna see what y'all think :)

I hope you enjoyed this little special! Do you have any exciting plans?

My boyfriend and I made a reservation for dinner and just want to have a lovely evening… and a lovely night? Who knows.

Maybe we’ll just end up in a food coma in bed, sleeping it off :D

Much love to all of you! ❤️

Thanks for all reblogs, likes & comments.'*•.¸♡ I really appreciate it <3 ♡¸.•*'

ˋ°•*⁀✎ 𝑢𝑡𝑜𝑝𝑖𝑎

ps: this is what i had in mind while choosing the Dress for [Y/N] ! <3

[chlix]

baby, it's cold outside (no seriously it's crazy out there)

bf! chan x gn! reader: your car breaks down in a snowstorm and you have to walk home. chan is there to comfort you and warm you back up

pairing: chan x reader

genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

word count: 4.1k

warnings/tags: snowstorms, car trouble, sickness, a long series of unfortunate events that leave the reader miserable for most of the fic

a/n: this is a request from @caticorn61 who wanted chan being apologetic for not answering his phone after reader's car broke down. this is perhaps more than what u asked for 😅 but i hope you enjoy it anyway!

You are on a historic run of bad days.

You've never considered yourself to be particularly unlucky, but this past week has had you rethinking that orientation. Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong. On Monday your alarm didn't go off, making you late for work. Even worse, there was a meeting you'd forgotten about, so you had to slide awkwardly into the back of the room and pretend you didn't feel everyone's annoyed gazes. Tuesday was grocery shopping day, but you found out they discontinued your favorite brand of chips, and raised the price of an alternative, so you were forced to go home chip-less. Then, when you tried to take the groceries out of the car, one of the bags split open and sent your eggs, cheese, and blueberries crashing to the ground, buried in slush and snow. A total waste. Wednesday you woke up to find your heating had shut off in the night, and you were now shaking fit to break apart. Although maintenance promptly fixed your radiator, you developed an itch in your throat that only grew throughout the day and had developed into a full-blown cough by the next morning.

Which is where you are now on a subzero Thursday morning, ill and irritated and crawling your way towards the end of the week.

Your boyfriend, Chan, talks to you on the phone in soothing tones.

"I'm sorry your week has been so rough, baby," he says, and you can hear the dripping sympathy through the phone. "I know how it feels when little things pile up like that."

"I just don't know if I can take it anymore," you tell him. "It's like I've been cursed. I'm afraid if I walk outside a piano will fall on me and crush me."

You're half-joking when you say that, but Chan can hear that the other half is vaguely on hysterical.

"I don't think anyone is moving pianos in this weather," he says very reasonably. "Just stay away from luxury apartments if you're worried."

You set your bag down and put your face in your hands, taking slow, deep breaths. Your phone is on speaker, and you can hear Chan hum, trying to comfort you even though he's in his own dorm across the city.

"It'll all be okay, Y/n. And I'll see you this weekend, yeah? I'll come over Friday night and you'll have me all to yourself. Just stay strong."

You exhale, long and loud. "You promise?"

"I promise. Be strong for me, babygirl."

You blink the dampness out of your eyes and straighten up. "Okay. I can do that."

"And drink some tea. Your voice sounds kind of rough."

"Don't get me started again, please."

By the time you hang up, you don't feel understood, but you do feel seen. You fill up a thermos with tea, put on your coat, and mentally prepare yourself to leave the apartment.

It's only two more days, you remind yourself. The weekend will fix me. It'll break this curse that's been placed upon me. You force yourself to have a positive outlook. You will not have another bad day. You will be strong.

All day, you force yourself to react to every potentially meltdown-inducing incident with grace and poise. You realize you forgot your lunch and have to eat cheap candy from the vending machine for lunch? That's totally fine. Your boss adds another item to your to list, forcing you to stay later to finish everything and close up? You really don't mind. Your best friend texts you that she's been stalking her ex on Instagram again and you won't believe it but he already has a new girlfriend, y/n, can you fucking believe it, we've only been broken up for like two weeks and he's buying her fucking jewelry, and you respond what an asshole. he has a new gf and he didn't block his ex? while your eye twitches.

By the time you finish all your tasks and close up, your face hurts from holding a smile you don't feel. You're the last one out, so you make sure the building is locked and make your way across the empty parking lot to your car. The forecast predicted snow tonight, and already the ground is littered with white. The flakes are fat and sticky- they're already building up on the undisturbed portions of pavement. You have to quickly brush off your windows and mirrors before you can get into your car, slamming the door behind you.

You made it. You survived. It was a godawful Thursday but you conquered it.

"One more day," you whisper to yourself. "Just one more day."

You lock the door and put the key in the ignition. The dashboard lights up and the engine turns.....and turns....and turns.....

A rock forms in your stomach.

"No," you say. "No no no no no." You twist the key again, but the engine whirs and whirs and whirs...and does not turn over. Your car does not start.

It's not news to you that your car is a piece of shit. You and Chan discuss this almost every night- what to do about this fuckass car. You've been resistant to letting him help you pay for a new one, partially because that's a lot of money and partly because you're sentimentally attached to the old rustbucket. You inherited it from a family member as a birthday gift, and so despite it being less than reliable you're hesitant to seek solutions. It's your first car, after all. It's a part of you now.

In this moment, however, you want to throw all that sentimentally down the drain along with the keys to this absolutely useless fucking rustbucket of a vehicle.

Not to worry, you tell yourself. I'll just call Chan to come get me. We can deal with my car in the morning.

You take out your phone and call him. The call rings out.

You stare at your phone, confused. It's not like him to ignore your calls, especially not at this hour. It's pitch black with winter but it's still arguably early in the night. Chan is likely to still be awake, but it's unlikely he's doing any kind of official task. And it's so late that he would know to answer; you would never call him for something frivolous at this time of night. You call again.

No answer.

Your patience is running thin now. You consider calling your best friend, but she's out of town visiting family. Your other friend, Seohyeon, doesn't have a car, and her boyfriend's car is currently being repaired. The bus you sometimes take is about a fifteen minute walk down the street, but it'll have stopped running this far out by now, so you'd have to walk to a further bus stop and then go to the transportation terminal and connect, which would take over an hour. You could walk to the subway, you think, but you lost your subway card weeks ago and never got around to replacing it, and honestly it just seems like a whole ordeal you can't bring yourself to stomach right now. Chills go down your spine, and you can't tell if it's from the cold or from the increasing precarity of your situation.

You try the engine again. No dice.

You call Chan again. Voicemail again.

You lean your head on the steering wheel and take long, deep breaths. Outside your window, the wind is picking up, making the snow fall at a diagonal instead of straight down. It would be terrible to walk in, especially because the direction you need to go to get home would cause the snow to blow right in your face. Your throat is killing you, but your thermos of tea is long since empty. Maybe you should just go back into the work building and hunker down for the night. Maybe you should sit in the car and turn into an icicle. Your head is a foggy mess, thoughts twisting all around. You're getting hysterical again. You can feel yourself cracking to pieces.

Think, y/n. Who else can you call?

You're all out of people you know personally, but you could call an Uber. It's pricey and arguably unsafe, and you normally wouldn't, but these are extenuating circumstances. It solves the problem of being stranded, and again, you can deal with your car at a later point. And at least when Chan finally calls you back, you'll be safe at home, so he won't have to feel guilty about missing your calls three times.

You lean back in your seat and open the Uber app. Thankfully you still have it installed, and it still has all your info in it from the last time you called someone to take you home. Just as you're about to finish the transaction, your phone freezes. The screen flashes, then goes dark. You press the power button once, then again, frantically.

Your phone is dead.

Immediately, you scramble for your console, searching for a power cable to connect the phone to the car battery. Your cable is gone. You remember, horrified, that you took the cable out of your car because the one in your living room at home had started fraying. You meant to replace it but you never did. You're normally pretty good at leaving the house in the morning with it mostly charged.

But it's nighttime now, and your battery is dead. You have no charging cables, which means you can't call an Uber. You can't call anybody. And you can't even go to the subway now because your debit card is on your phone, so you can't refill your subway card.

A terrible despair fills you.

You have to walk home in a snowstorm.

As soon as the thought materializes, tears start to well in your eyes. This is too much for you to take, would be too much for you even if you'd had a perfectly good day today. This isn't fait. How can this be happening to you? Why is the universe punishing you like this? And when is it going to stop? Again you wish you could just sit in your car and turn into an icicle, let someone else defrost you in the morning. You think having a piano fall on your head would be better than this.

Eventually you manage to get yourself to calm down. Sitting in this car freezing isn't gonna do you any good. It'll only get colder by the hour. You need to walk to the far bus stop and catch another bus before they actually stop running, and you really are stranded instead of just doomed to walk forty minutes in a blizzard.

As if there's a difference, you think bitterly as you put your useless phone into your bag and bundle everything up. You put your gloves back on, and your hat. You step out of your car, slamming the door behind you, and zip up your jacket. Of course, you hadn't thought to wear a scarf today, so your face will just have to freeze. After only 30 seconds you feel your lips cracking.

"Okay," you whisper. "Okay okay okay okay."

You set off in the direction of the bus.

-/-

The journey is long and cold. It's not so much the temperature as the fact that you never have the chance to get used to it because it just keeps getting holder as the night wears on. It takes a ridiculously long time to walk to the bus stop, because you're fighting headwind every step of the way. You want to close your eyes against the snow, but if you do that you'll veer off course or fall into the road or trip on an ice slick and die, so you brave the stinging and push forward. Then you wait at the bus stop so long that your already sore feet start to scream with pain. Your phone is dead, so there's no way for you to track the bus, but you conclude you must have just missed the previous one as it takes a full thirty minutes for it to come again. By the time the bus pulls up in front of you, your feet are almost buried, and when you take your seat, every part of you squelches and slides as the snow melts, drenching your clothes.

The bus is at least warm, and so is the transport center, but the second bus drops you off another twenty-five minute walk from your apartment and you're forced to walk- you guessed it!- uphill. Your calves are screaming from the exertion, and from cold, and from keeping your balance as you trudge through the piling snow. You have a death grip on your keys- if they were to fall out somewhere between work and home you would simply lie down on the ground and let the snow bury you. It would be more than you could take. But your keys stay in your tightly clenched fists, and soon your apartment building becomes visible through the dark and haze. You want to cry tears of relief but your tear ducts are frozen shut.

By the time you traipse up the steps of your apartment, you feel more popsicle than person. You are so cold. Your hands shake so much it takes you a few tries to get the keys from your pocket and stick them in the lock. You step inside, sagging as the heat blasts you in the face. All you want to do is collapse into bed and curl under your blankets where the world can't see you, to get a little bit of sleep before your torture begins anew tomorrow. The thought of going to work on Friday strikes a physical pain in you. You've barely survived today, and yet tomorrow looms terrible just out of reach.

You go to turn on the lights only to realize that the lights are already on. Your heart skips a beat. Did someone break into your apartment? Should you turn around and flee? But you don't have a car, and you certainly aren't walking back to the bus stop. You have nowhere to go.

A figure turns the corner and you flinch back, hands half-raised in some pathetic attempt to defend yourself-

It's Chan. He turns the corner and it's your boyfriend, standing on your tile floor in sweats and a big sweater, eyes bright and twinkling with how excited he is to see you.

"Hey, sweetheart," Chan says. "You're finally back. I saw you called earlier and got worried something was wrong."

You burst into tears. You're crying before you even know it, violent sobs that shake you and make water droplets roll off your soaked hair. Salt burns your frozen tear ducts, and snow is slipping down your collar, but all these small discomforts are overshadowed by the pure and all-consuming relief that your boyfriend is here in the flesh, asking after you and taking care of you, and you can finally stop fighting to keep it together. You can rest.

Chan makes a sound of alarm and rushes forward to grab you as you start to list.

"Baby? Hey, hey, what's wrong? Christ, you look terrible. Are you sick?" He tries to put his hand against your forehead but pulls it away just as fast. "You're cold as ice, y/n."

"I w-walked home," you try to explain. Your tongue is thick in your mouth, and it's hard to get enough air to speak through your sobs. "Car broke down, phone died, b-bus was late."

"Fuck, sweetheart. I'm so fucking sorry. That sounds terrible."

His validation of your misery just makes you cry harder. Chan pulls you into a fierce hug and you bury your face in his shoulder and absolutely lose it. All the stress of the last week crashes down on you at once, your misery overwhelming you. You grab at his clothes with gloved hands, and there's about four layers of clothes between you, and it's not enough, you want to be closer. But at the same time you can't make yourself pull away from Chan's embrace. He whispers soothing words in your ear, rocks you back and forth, presses closed mouth kisses to any part of you he can reach. He doesn't shush you, or try to calm you down. He just lets you have the emotional release he knows you sorely need.

When your cries start to slow, he gives you one final squeeze to catch your attention, and whispers, "We need to get you out of these clothes, hmm? Does that sound okay?"

You swallow the last of your sobs and nod morosely.

"Okay then. Let's take your jacket off. It's soaking wet by now."

You step back from Chan, still holding on to his arm as you stumble and sway. You're so tired. Standing up for even a second longer is too big of an ask.

"Just lean on me. It's okay, I won't let you fall."

Together, you unfasten and take off your heavy winter coat, letting it fall to the floor with the slush you dragged in. Chan is the one who crouches down to untie your shoes, and you lean on him for support as you remove one foot, then the other.

"Good job," he praises, pressing a kiss to your snow-soaked hair. "Let's get you warmed up now."

He leads you to the bathroom and starts the water running in the tub. You listlessly undress, leaning on the counter for support when you need it. While the tub is filling, Chan tries to leave, but you catch him by the shoulder on his way past you, stopping him in his tracks.

"Stay?"

"Of course I'll stay," he says. "I just want to get you a change of clothes."

You hesitantly let go of him, and he flashes you a reassuring smile before he slips out. You sit down on the toilet and wait patiently for his return, watching the water fill the tub slowly and feeling your thoughts move sluggishly in your brain.

The sound of the water stopping jolts you back to the present. Chan is back, in a regular t-shirt this time, leaning over the bathtub to make sure the water is the right temperature. Deeming it good enough, he turns back to you and stretches out a hand to you.

As soon as you sit down in the warm water, you feel about ten times better. The warmth unties some of the tension that coils your muscles, and it quells the shivering that had started up as you were sitting on the toilet waiting to be told what to do. Chan urges you to slide down so you're almost submerged, making sure almost all your body is enveloped in warmth, and starts dumping warm water over your head, soaking your hair and washing out the remnants of grime and slush. He's quiet as he does it, humming a low tune, and you close your eyes and let him do as he wants. When he's done, he taps your shoulder, and you sit up, mourning the loss of warmth as your back and chest are exposed to the bathroom air.

"Do you mind?" he asks. You shake his head, uncaring of what he's referring to. You'd let him do anything to you in this state. It turns out "anything" means washing your back, so you again sit still and let him do as he pleases. The pressure of his hands and the sound of his voice, still humming, gradually soothe your mind and body. You stop shivering and tune back into your surroundings.

He's subtly watching your face, so he sees when you come back to yourself and drops his neutral expression. "Back with me?"

You nod. The floaty feelings from being cold and hysterical are gone, but that just means the exhaustion of your day is hitting you full force. You hold out your hand for the washcloth so you can clean the rest of yourself, and he hands it over, but doesn't move to leave, which you appreciate. Now that you're calmer, you think you might be a little more embarrassed asking him to stay.

"I know you said this morning you were cursed, but I didn't think you meant literally," he tries to joke.

You let out a long breath. "I didn't think I meant literally either."

"Wanna talk about it?"

You shrug as you rub the washcloth along your legs, wincing when you remove your still-freezing toes from the water. "What can I say? It was a shit day at work with a shit ending."

"You said your car broke down."

You squeeze your eyes shut. You are not in the mood for this argument. "It just wouldn't start. I don't know what's wrong with it."

"Y/n..." He doesn't say anything more. He knows as well as you do that you'll get nowhere. It's enough to set you off though, now that your exhaustion is making you irritatble.

"It wouldn't have mattered either way if you'd picked up the phone when I called you," you snap. It's unfair and you know it, but before you can begin to feel remorse, Chan's face turns to one of guilt.

"I know, I'm sorry. I still had it silenced from work and didn't realize. When I saw that you called me I tried to call back but the calls didn't go through."

"My phone died. That's why I didn't call an Uber."

Chan shakes his head. "I would call this comical if it wasn't so clearly stressing you out."

"You can still call it comical. Just not within earshot."

"Surely you think better of me than that."

"I do," you say, completely serious. "Sorry. I'm not mad you didn't answer. It's just been a shitty day."

Chan squeezes your shoulder in understanding. "It's alright. I get it."

"I'm really grateful you're here," you say, and you're getting choked up again, emotions all out of whack. "I've never been so happy to see anyone."

"You called three times. Since I couldn't get a hold of you, I hoped you'd still come home and we could talk here."

"You're too good to me."

"I'm exactly as good as you deserve." He leans down to kiss you, long and loving and warm, and the last of the chill in your bones slides away.

-/-

The next morning, Chan calls you in sick before you even wake up. He has to leave for the morning, but comes back around noon with ingredients to make you soup and tea, and rouses you for lunch with all the care and gentleness in the world.  He curls next to you in bed despite your protests that you'll get him sick, but then, it's not like you protest that hard. You're still feverish and needy, and maybe it's not the most ridiculous thing in the world to want to lie in your boyfriend's arms as you recover from what you're pretty sure is mild hypothermia mixed with the flu.

"We were gonna hang out this weekend," you say morosely. "Now I'm trapped in this bed and you're stuck taking care of me."

"Taking care of you is my favorite form of hanging out," he informs you, cleaning away the mug and bowl to bring back to the kitchen. "And hanging up the phone on your boss is my favorite passtime."

"You did not hang up on them," you gasp, hand over your mouth.

Chan shrugs, unbothered. "They seemed a little too annoyed about my request to not tow your car out of the parking lot. I made it very clear that it better be there when you get back on Monday or else."

"So selfless. You could've let them tow it and finally been victorious."

He turns from the kitchen and sits back down on the bed. "You like that car. I'm not going to keep insisting you get rid of it when it means so much to you. Even if I do blame it for the events of yesterday." You glare and he puts his hands up defensively. "If it's not my fault or your fault then I have to blame the car. Sorry not sorry."

"Blame the cursed spirit following me around," you say, sinking miserably into the blankets. "It possessed the engine of my car just to torment me."

"Even more reason to get rid of it."

You're feverish and tired, but the conversation makes you smile nonetheless. "Ask me again when my fever breaks if you still think I should keep it. Maybe it'll burn away the sentimental attachment."

"Don't get my hopes up."

You close your eyes as Chan kisses your forehead, and you slide easily into pleasant dreams.

[elodieunderglass]

Submission by @Zorilleerrant How to Write a Novel

When I make bullet point lists, each bullet point tends to be a couple hundred words, so that’s what I optimize for. But! I find writers usually have a consistent average for that, so everyone should tailor their bullet points to their own experiences. Modify all the numbers as necessary. (And be prepared to revamp them as you go. The outline never survives contact with the writing.) Now how do we turn bullet point ideas into a full novel outline?

Alright. Let’s get down to it.

Step 1: A novel is 50k words.

Let’s break this into smaller sections. 50k is a nice even number, so I like to make 5 parts. A 10k section sounds much more manageable; that’s a normal (long) short story! If you have 5 (or ten) short stories that naturally link up into a novel, this is the final part of the outline. Usually I think that doesn’t happen, though. Anyway, write the 5 high level Events, Inciting Incidents, or Arc Developments. (It could be themes or structural points, if that’s what drives your writing forward, it just has to be The Important Things.)

Step 2: What’s the shape of this section?

So we’ve got our major plot point or what have you. Now it’s important to figure out how to set it up and how to knock it down. I generally block this into a timeline of 10 points (because that’s 1k) to begin with, and then add or collapse bullet points as necessary. The first bullet point should be the opening scene or setup, and the last should be the end of the section or the transition to the next part, but in between is just how to get from A to B. The what is important, but I tend to find why is more helpful to answer so I can figure out how to get characters to do things. If you tend to bang out 1k at a time this is the end of the outline!

Step 3: The Devil in the Details

This is where the bullet point granularity really varies. You can break it up into 10 again (100 words each: a drabble!) or even more if you need to. This can be really helpful because at a certain point you just end up translating the Ideas List into Writer Voice, and once you get the narrative tone down it becomes more consistent. But in general you only need a couple bullet points here: the ones absolutely integral to the scene. Maybe there’s part of the setting you need to describe, or an internal monologue, or a reveal. Put them in order.

Step 4: To write it you have to write it, unfortunately.

Each bullet point should be a fairly short writing section, now. Which means getting all the way through one should be doable in a single writing session. If you know how you want to say it, great! If you don’t, imagine describing it to friends, whether that’s in the silliest way possible, or to try to make it intriguing, or anything else. The beauty of the bullet point lists is you can switch between styles, and you’ll remember during editing why there’s inconsistency every few paragraphs. You can sand that off later; just get the words down.

Step 5: Editing

Throw out the outline. I mean, don’t actually throw it out, in case you need to figure out what you were talking about here or there. But try not to the various sections/segments/bullets as hard and fast rules; some of them will need to be broken up, and others smushed together more. Here’s where you look for the natural chapter breaks. You should also look for any missing scenes, or maybe places where a scene needs to be moved earlier or later. You’ll also, unfortunately, find things that just don’t need to be in the final draft. Save them in a different document, in case people want to see the outtakes later.

Congrats! If you get your novel all the way to this point, it’s ready to be sent to other people to look it over and help you polish it up!

Anyway, for people who like outlining, put all your planning in this part. For people who like figuring it out as they go along, only do the top level breakdown for any section you’re not currently writing; leave most of it blank until you get there.

I hope this helps you or someone write a novel!

-- submission by @zorilleerrant

Thank you so much for writing this!

[mrspiastri]

✩ feed me, please? 🍛

pairing: lando norris x desi!reader

cw: fluff

wc: 4.2k words

an: i know this is the longest i’ve vanished for but IM BACKKK 😁😁😁, and ty for the req :D

It was a sort of ritual the two of them had developed. One they didn’t find the need to really speak into existence, since it had simply become a part of their lives.

Every Monday, when Lando would return from whatever country he’d been racing in the previous night and back to Monaco, Y/N would wait up for him.

It didn’t matter how late he arrived, or that she had work in the morning and should have gone to sleep at a reasonable time like a sane person. Unfortunately, she was anything but sane, especially when it came to him.

The same boyfriend who was on his way home from Melbourne, still riding the high of the 5th win of his career.

He was supposed to be home by 3 in the afternoon, but it seemed that his weekend’s luck had run out, and his flight was rescheduled for later, which meant he wouldn’t reach home until nearly 9 at night.

Y/N pretended she wasn’t disappointed when he texted her about the delay, but it was hard not to be. As silly as it sounded, she loved spending as much time with him as possible whenever his schedule allowed it. The fact that their time together tonight would be cut down left a small pang of sadness in her chest.

But if anything, it only made her more determined to give him a proper welcome home.

Before she got to work, she made sure everything was ready: the banner (which was just three giant craft sheets taped together with “Congrats Lando!” written in big letters), the balloons she had single-handedly inflated (after sorting out the orange and black ones, of course), and the cake she had baked, now cooling on the kitchen counter.

The smell of incense lingered faintly in the air, the last remnants of the sandalwood incense sticks she had lit earlier in the evening. It wasn’t really a ritual, but something she did out of habit; her mother always said it kept the house feeling calm, like a reset for the week ahead. The warm, woody scent mixed with the delicate fragrance of her jasmine plant, which sat in the window, its small white buds blooming beautifully in the evening breeze.

Lando always said their home smelled different. Not like the crisp, cool air of a hotel or the artificial scents of air fresheners. It smelled lived in. A mix of filter coffee, coconut oil, and the lingering floral scent of their fabric softener. Something distinctly her.

She smiled at the thought while grabbing a small steel tumbler, pouring a little warm milk into it before adding a spoonful of crushed almonds. He wouldn’t ask for it, but she knew how exhausted he would be after the long flight. And she knew he’d drink it anyway, especially if she handed it to him without a word.

As she finished icing the cake, she debated making a quick chicken curry and rice, just in case he wanted a proper meal instead of reheated leftovers. Her sister would call her mad for putting in so much effort at this hour.

Maybe she was, but it didn’t seem to deter her in the slightest. She glanced at the time on her phone, still a couple of hours before he’d land. That gave her more than enough time. She turned to the kitchen, tying her hair up with her trusty claw clip, rolling up her sleeves.

Y/N chopped the chicken, then got the pan going with some oil, mustard seeds, and crushed garlic. Once they sizzled, in went chopped onions, then tomatoes, and a mix of turmeric, red chilli powder, coriander, and garam masala. No measuring, just by feel, like she always did. The kind of cooking that lived in her muscle memory.

After the masala cooked down, she added the chicken, gave it a good mix, and added hot water for a light gravy. While that simmered, she rinsed basmati rice and set it on the stove.

Within minutes, the kitchen smelled like home; spices, garlic, and something warm and familiar. The curry bubbled gently on the stove, the rice nearly done.

It was simple, but it was his favorite. And hers too, if she was being honest. If there was one thing she learnt in her years of being with Lando, it was that he had the palate of a child.

As everything cooked, she leaned against the counter, tired but content. She could already picture Lando walking through the door; backpack slung over one shoulder, hair a little messy, eyes half-tired but lighting up when he smelled the food.

He always pretended to be casual about it, but she’d caught him sneaking seconds more than once. And every single time, he’d mutter something like, "How is this better than the curry your mum makes?" with a pout that made her want to roll her eyes and kiss him at the same time.

Y/N let the chicken simmer, rice already done. Just as she was stirring up the pot, she heard the sound of the door rattling.

“Shit!”, she whispered before quickly switching off the heat and rushing to open the door.

The door pushed open, and Y/N was greeted by the sight of a tired Lando, curls messy, shoulders slumped, and eyes droopy. However, all that changed the second he laid eyes on her.

🪻🪻🪻

The moment the door creaked open, Lando stepped inside, his body nearly folding under the weight of exhaustion. His shoulders sagged, backpack slipping halfway down one arm, curls flattened from hours in transit, eyes barely staying open.

And then he saw her.

There, in his home that had slowly become theirs, barefoot and glowing in the soft light, standing with a crooked smile on her face. Dressed in her favourite cotton kurta, with a pair of loose pajamas.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” he murmured, his voice hoarse with fatigue, but there was a warmth blooming in his chest that no amount of tiredness could dull.

Y/N shrugged like it was nothing, like her heart hadn’t spent the entire day planning how to make him smile.

“Your fifth win deserves some sort of celebration,” she said lightly. “Even if it’s kind of lopsided.”

His eyes flicked to the “Congrats Lando!” banner that barely hung on by tape, then to the ridiculous orange and black balloons huddled in one corner of the room. He laughed under his breath, a little stunned by the quiet love in all of it.

He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, dropping his backpack to the floor without a second thought. She fit perfectly against him, her hair smelling faintly of jasmine, her skin warm against his travel-chilled hoodie.

“You sorted the orange ones out, didn’t you?” he mumbled into her hair.

“Obviously.”

He didn’t say anything for a second, just held her there in the quiet, letting himself breathe her in. Letting himself come home.

God, he loved her.

It hit him in the simplest moments, much like this. Not when the cameras flashed, not when he stood on podiums, not even when he scored his career highs. But when he walked into a house that smelled like her hair oil and home-cooked food. When she looked up at him with that stupidly soft smile like she’d been waiting all day just for this.

When she handed him the little steel tumbler, he realised he was some sort of spoiled prince. Which, of course, he totally was. At least when it came to her.

“You’re unreal,” he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

She raised an eyebrow. “For blowing some balloons?”

He shook his head. “For all of it.”

She tried to brush it off with a joke, but his nose twitched as the scent of something familiar drifted from the kitchen. His stomach growled audibly.

“Is that... chicken curry?”

“Maybe,” she said, trying not to grin.

Without hesitation, he made a beeline for the stove, lifting the lid of the pot like a man possessed. The smell hit him full force; spiced, rich, comforting. It was like a hug in the form of food.

He turned back to her, eyes wide. “Are you actually trying to ruin every meal I’ll have for the rest of the year?”

“You act like you don’t live on frozen pizza when I’m not here.”

“Exactly,” he said, trying to scoop a spoonful of the gravy and blowing on it. “So how do you expect me to go back to that after this?”

Y/N quickly smacked his hand away, making him playfully frown. “First go freshen up, and change out of your airport clothes.”

Lando groaned dramatically, dragging his suitcase toward their bedroom like a sleep-deprived child. “Fine, but only because you bullied me into it.”

She kissed him once more before gently pulling back, brushing his curls away from his forehead. “I encouraged you, big difference.”

With him out of sight, she got to work garnishing the curry; fresh coriander chopped finely, a squeeze of lime to brighten the gravy, and a pinch more garam masala because she knew exactly how he liked it. The rice had steamed perfectly, each grain separate and fluffy, and she spooned it neatly onto a plate, ladling the chicken curry beside it so the gravy soaked into the rice just enough.

🪻🪻🪻

Just as she was setting everything onto the table, Lando reappeared, now in a pair of soft grey joggers and a worn tee. His curls were damp from a quick shower, and his eyes looked just a touch clearer, though the tiredness still clung to him in the way his shoulders sagged.

He sniffed the air like a cartoon character following the scent of a freshly baked pie. “I could smell it in the shower. You’re evil.”

She raised a brow as she placed the plate down in front of his chair. “You say that like I didn’t just make your favorite meal.”

“You did. That’s the problem.” He collapsed into the chair, groaning softly as he looked at the food. “It looks amazing, love. Smells even better.”

She leaned over, ruffling his curls with a smug smile. “Eat, before I make you reheat it yourself.”

He stared down at the plate for a second, then looked up at her with the softest, most exhausted expression on his face.

“Babe?” he said quietly.

“Yeah?”

“Can you…” He scratched the back of his neck, then blinked at her, boyishly shy. “Can you feed me? Just a little? I’m so tired.“

Y/N stared at him, half amused, half exasperated; but mostly endeared. This man, this world-class athlete, who just hours ago had stood on the podium in front of thousands, was now looking at her like a sleepy toddler who needed to be tucked in and hand-fed dinner.

“You’re unbelievable,” she muttered affectionately, sitting down beside him.

“But lovable,” he quipped, resting his chin on her shoulder briefly.

She had just reached for the spoon, before Lando whined again. “Babe, not with the spoon,” stretching out the last few consonants of the word.

“How else do you expect me to feed you dummy?,” she asked.

“With your hands, please. It always tastes better when you do it.” He mumbled in response, almost embarrassed about having to make the request.

She rolled her eyes, already using her fingers to mix a bit of curry and rice, scooping it gently and holding it up to his lips. “Open.”

He obeyed without hesitation, sighing contentedly the moment the food hit his tongue. “Oh my God,” he mumbled with his mouth full, eyes fluttering shut. “That’s actually insane.”

She laughed, shaking her head as she made another bite. “You say that every time.”

“Because it’s true every time,” he said, swallowing. “This is the best thing I’ve eaten in weeks.”

“Liar,” she said, feeding him again. “You were probably at some five-star place two nights ago.”

“Exactly. Five stars. No love. This? Ten stars. All love.”

Y/N paused for just a second, letting his words settle in her chest. Then she smiled, softer this time, brushing her fingers against his cheek as she fed him the next bite.

“I missed you loads, Lando.”

His eyes met hers, warm and heavy with everything he couldn’t quite put into words.

“I know,” he whispered. “I missed you more.”

She let her thumb linger on his cheek for a moment before pulling it back, scooping up another bite of rice and curry. She held it out to him wordlessly, and he leaned forward, taking it into his mouth like it was the most natural thing in the world; like being fed by her, like sitting here in their cozy kitchen after a race weekend, was his idea of perfect.

He chewed slowly, savoring it like she’d plated a Michelin-starred dish just for him. Maybe to anyone else, it looked simple. A plate of rice, curry, and love. But to Lando, it felt like everything.

And that look in her eyes. Soft. Steady. Like no matter how many countries he traveled through, how many podiums he stood on, or flights he boarded, this would always be his favorite place to land.

“Do you want some?” he asked suddenly, his voice low.

She raised a brow, amused. “I’ve been tasting while cooking.”

“But that’s not the same,” he murmured, reaching for her hand and gently guiding it to her lips. She blinked, but he nodded. “Come on. One bite for you.”

She rolled her eyes but took the bite anyway, and he grinned like he’d just won again.

They sat like that for a while. Him slouched in the chair, head tilted toward her shoulder, letting her feed him slowly, in no rush. Between bites, his fingers brushed hers, thumb tracing soft lines over her knuckles. He liked the way her skin felt against his; warm, familiar, grounding.

“Do you ever get tired of being this perfect?” he asked between bites.

Y/N snorted. “All the time. It’s exhausting.”

Lando chuckled, eyes closing for a second. “I mean it though. I don’t know how I got this lucky.”

“You made a left turn at the right time,” she teased.

He smiled, but there was a weight behind it. A softness. He reached out, his hand gently resting on her knee, thumb drawing small circles through the fabric of the pajamas she was wearing.

“I don’t say it enough,” he said quietly, “but thank you.”

“For what?” she asked, genuinely curious.

“For waiting up,” he replied, looking into her eyes. “For cooking. For decorating. For always being here when I come… and making it feel like home.”

Y/N looked at him for a long second, heart fluttering at the honesty in his voice, the way he said it like it was sacred.

She leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Always,” she whispered.

He smiled again, a little sleepier now, letting his head fall to her shoulder as she fed him the last few bites. His hand slid from her knee to her waist, fingers curling into the soft fabric of her kurta. His plate was nearly empty now, but he looked up at her with those warm, sleepy eyes and that signature little smirk tugging at his lips.

“I’d marry you just to have a lifetime supply of your cooking… but also because I love you.”

Y/N blinked, her heart stuttering just a little at how sincere he sounded; sleepy-eyed and warm, but somehow managing to look at her like she was the only thing in the world that mattered.

She smiled, playful but touched. “So I have to feed you forever, is that what you’re saying?”

Lando grinned, eyes lighting up. “Don’t worry,” he said, tugging her a little closer, “I’ll always be there to do the dishes.”

That made her laugh, properly laugh, the kind that made her eyes crinkle and her shoulders shake. “Wow,” she said through a grin, “a man who loves me and does the dishes? Are you trying to make me cry?”

Lando didn’t let go of her hand, not even as her laughter softened and the air between them settled into something quieter, gentler. His thumb traced slow, lazy circles over her skin, and his gaze never left her face. It was like he was memorizing her all over again.

Y/N tilted her head, still smiling, still flushed, and leaned in to kiss his cheek, light and lingering.

“I do adore you,” she murmured, the words simple but full, warm like the kitchen around them. “And not just because you do the dishes.”

He grinned. “That’s just a bonus?”

She nodded. “A very attractive one.”

Lando chuckled, nuzzling her nose for a second before she finally pulled away, brushing her hands on her thighs as she stood up.

“Alright,” she said, moving toward the counter, “stay right there. I have one more thing for you.”

He watched her curiously, chin resting in his palm, eyes following every step she took as she reached for something just out of sight. And then she turned around, holding the cake in her hands with a proud little smile.

It wasn’t perfect, the icing was a little uneven, and the sprinkles were slightly chaotic, but it was hers. Homemade, thoughtful, and filled with every bit of love she hadn’t quite managed to put into words. The top read ‘Yay Lando!’ in shaky icing letters, and there was a tiny, uneven attempt at a checkered flag drawn in the corner. And to top it all off, she added a few candles on the cake, that crackled merrily.

His heart swelled instantly.

“Y/N…” he said softly, sitting up straighter, “you made that?”

“I tried,” she laughed, placing it gently on the table in front of him. “I know it’s not fancy or anything, but you won. Again. And I’m really, really proud of you.”

Lando stared at the cake for a second longer, then up at her; and for a moment, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at her like she hung the moon.

“I love you,” he said again, quieter this time. “And this… this means more than anything anyone else could’ve given me.”

Y/N’s eyes shimmered a little, but she smiled through it, reaching up to brush back a strand of his hair. “I’m just glad you’re home.”

🪻🪻🪻

He reached for her hand again, tugging her gently onto his lap, wrapping his arms around her waist as she melted into him.

“I could stay like this forever,” he said, almost to himself, his thumb brushing across her waist.

Y/N gave him a fond smile. “But then who would go win races and wear ridiculous helmets?”

Lando laughed, and the sound made her heart flutter. “Still worth it,” he teased, before his voice turned soft again. “But even if I’m halfway across the world, this is what I come back to. It’s what I look forward to. Always.”

She leaned down to kiss him gently, her lips lingering over his like she wanted to tell him everything without saying a word. When they finally pulled apart, he was smiling, just barely, in that lovesick way that made her feel weightless.

“Come on, blow out the candles, unless you want a bit of melted wax in your cake.”

He complied, blowing them out, not before making a wish. Lando couldn’t tell anyone what the wish was exactly, but he knew whatever it was involved Y/N.

“Now how about you feed me a slice of that cake you made. You know… since you’re already on a roll tonight.”

She rolled her eyes playfully but reached for the knife anyway.

“Fine,” she said, cutting him a generous piece. “But only because you’re cute. And jet-lagged.”

“And madly in love with you,” he added, flashing her that boyish smile she could never resist.

“Yeah, yeah,” she said through a smile, holding up a bite for him.

He chewed the bite slowly, savoring it like it was some five-star dessert, even after she mentioned she made it with a box mix. None of that mattered to him. It was hers. She had made it with her own two hands, for him, after working all day, after waiting up when she could have easily gone to sleep. And somehow, it tasted like comfort. Like love.

Lando leaned back in his chair with a soft groan, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before glancing over at her. She was still watching him with that shy smile, her fingers brushing off a crumb from the corner of his lips without even thinking about it. So casually intimate. So them.

“Okay, that was amazing,” he said, nudging her foot with his under the table. “But now that you’ve stuffed me like a turkey, tell me about your day, hmm?”

She blinked at him, surprised. “Mine?”

“Yes, yours,” he said, nudging her foot again. “You always ask about my races, my media stuff, my training. And I love that, but I’ve missed hearing about your day. I want to know everything.”

Y/N’s eyes softened as she gave him a look that was both amused and touched. “It wasn’t very exciting.”

“I don’t care,” he said, sitting up straighter now, resting his elbow on the table and his cheek against his fist like a boy trying to stay awake in a lecture; except his smile made it clear he was genuinely interested. “Tell me anyway. Start from the top.”

She exhaled a short laugh, shaking her head. “Fine… I woke up late because I stayed up finishing a report. Barely had time to make coffee, but your mum texted me a photo of your podium, and that made my morning.”

Lando grinned. “She’s obsessed with me.”

“She’s proud of you,” Y/N said, smiling too. “She’d asked if I’d recorded your post-race interview, and I had. So I sent it to her.”

Lando chuckled. “You’re the best.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, nudging his leg. “Then work was the usual chaos. Back-to-back meetings. I forgot to eat lunch until like three.”

His expression turned mock-scandalized. “Love, no!”

She rolled her eyes with a small laugh. “Relax, I ate something. Just… not real food. I had chai and a couple of biscuits.”

He leaned forward, frowning slightly. “You need to take better care of yourself.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You’re literally the one who travels across time zones and survives on protein bars and Monster Energy.”

“Yeah, but I’m used to being irresponsible,” he teased. “You’re the responsible one. Keep the balance.”

She rolled her eyes, but her thumb instinctively brushed over his knuckles. “Fine. I’ll eat better tomorrow.”

“Good,” he said softly, intertwining their fingers.

There was a beat of silence as they just sat there, fingers laced together across the table, the candlelight flickering gently and the warm scent of cardamom and jasmine still clinging to the air. He studied her face like it was his favorite thing in the world, because it was.

He pressed his face into her hair, breathing her in. It smelled like home. Not in the way his childhood home had, or even the flat he’d bought in London years ago. No, this was different. This was the scent of freshly washed sheets with a hint of her shampoo, of incense smoke that lingered even hours after it had burned out, of something sweet always cooking in the kitchen even if she swore she hadn’t touched sugar in days.

Everywhere she went, she left traces of herself behind. And he had slowly grown addicted to them.

He hadn’t expected this with her. Not at first. She was so different from the life he was used to, warm where the world was cold, thoughtful in a way that caught him off guard. She didn’t care about the race results, or the interviews, or the trophies. She cared if he ate, if he slept well, if he remembered to call his mum on Sundays.

And God, the way she loved him, without ever having to say it all the time. She just did. It was in the stupidly lopsided banner and the way she had sorted through a pack of balloons to only pick out McLaren colors. It was in the glass of warm milk she had set aside, because she knew he wouldn’t ask, but that he’d drink it anyway. It was in the smell of curry floating in the air, the kind that reminded him of nights curled up on the couch with her legs thrown over his, pretending not to be bored of watching the same movie for the eighteenth time.

She made this house feel like more than just walls and furniture. She made it feel safe.

And he, in his messy, often selfish, fast-paced world, had somehow found himself right in the middle of the kind of love people only dreamed about. The kind that didn’t come with fireworks and grand gestures, but instead existed in quiet, unwavering loyalty. The kind that tasted like rice and chicken curry at 11 PM on a Monday. The kind that made you want to come home, no matter how far you’d gone.

He looked at her, really looked; hair tied up in that claw clip she refused to throw out, sleeves rolled up, tiny flour smudge on her cheek from earlier, and his chest ached with how much he felt.

This wasn’t a phase. This wasn’t a fling. This was his future.

And he didn’t need to say it out loud to know that she already felt the same. Because in that kitchen, with the last crumbs of cake between them and tired smiles on their faces, they weren’t just in love.

They were building a life. And neither of them would trade it for anything.

phew, this is so gross. this is what happens when two clingy individuals start dating. god bless. pls send in some reqs from my prompt list if u would like to see some more!! thx

[venusandsaturnsrings]

★彡 better off as lovers (not the other way around).

synopsis: your favourite band isn’t exactly mainstream when you first get into them, which leads to a series of encounters with the bassist and singer. partially sidelined as they skyrocket to fame, you’re forced to grind your heels into the dirt against his whirlwind lifestyle to decipher what exactly you are.

contains: 9.1k words of modern band au with singer/bassist mydei, fem/afab reader, strangers to groupie and musician to lovers LMAO, reader is kinda a loser but he's into that, slightly ooc mydei, oral, pinv, creampie, slight angst, death before i give up FOB references, and annoying Phainon.

You’re sniffling through the tail end of allergy season when you first stumble upon ‘ICHOR’, a small band, through a random autoplay slew of songs as you're groggily cleaning up the nest you made while sick. It’s some sort of unpolished grungy post-hardcore pop rock amalgamation you can’t quite put your finger on but it's good; really good. You end up replaying it once or twice before just putting it on loop and spending the next half hour of cleaning listening to those same three minutes over and over again. The singer has a strong voice and the instrumentals come in with a depth that scratches your brain just right.

Once the space is tolerably clean, you begin your research into this band and slide through their whole discography before you know it. You come to know a couple of things. Firstly, the most popular song they’ve released has barely grazed a thousand streams and you’re at least ten of them. Secondly, they're from a town only about an hour away. Lastly, heavens above the leading man, who you’ve learned is named Mydei, is hot. Dangerously so. The kind of hot that you’d risk it all for. Finding his social media is nearly effortless and he’s got just under two hundred followers and many, many, many photos of himself and the other band members practicing. It’s unfortunate phone cameras haven’t developed far enough to catch individual hairs and beads of sweat from four metres away because you’re squinting and focused on the small shadow below his navel. It’s painfully enticing. Shame be damned, you hit the follow button and go back to finding all the information you possibly can on the group.

Just shy of an hour later you’re piecing together a plan to head over to one of their shows. Naturally your best friend is coming along despite their bewilderment at your sudden interest. A hotel room for the night is cheap and tickets are even cheaper. Their set starts at eleven in the evening two days from now and you’re vibrating with barely contained excitement. Even if it's a weird brief infatuation with a guy from a little band, you’re sure it’ll be fun anyways and the music is supposed to be good if it’s anything like what they’ve put out online. With plans settled you slide back to giggle and kick your feet at his pictures again, as any normal person does, and nearly choke to death at the little notification telling you he followed you back.

Sure, it’s a small band. Sure, he doesn’t have many followers. Sure, only your best pictures are posted but the endorphins are working overtime to let you know he really did return the follow. He’s seen your face. Maybe he thinks you’re pretty? Or, the more reasonable assumption, he’s assuming he must know you from somewhere. Not that it really matters why, it matters that he did. Oh man are you going to be annoying about this to everyone you know for the foreseeable future.

Regardless, you’re following common stalking courtesy and not liking all of his pictures and instead just looking and going to every single photo he's tagged in and every single one of the people he follows. It’s there that you find his other band members and thank whatever higher being there is for fellow bandmate Phainon because he posts Mydei more often than he does himself and knows all of the angles. Half of you wonders if maybe they’re already a thing but there's a caption under a shirtless picture of Mydei he’s posted that says ‘ladies! look no further than @ mydeim0s if ur in need of a husband and professional cook ;p’ and the man himself has commented ‘Keep my name out of your mouth unless you’d like to get in the ring again, @ best_deliverer.’ You find his attitude charming and can’t help but giggle as if you actually know the two of them but the proof of him being single makes you unreasonably happy and you continue your perusal of his pictures. Birthday posts, practice pictures, off-guard secret snaps, and the occasional video focused on his fingers traversing the strings of his bass; it’s all going straight to your guts and the pretend romance you’ve already started writing in your head. 

You sift from Phainon’s page to another member, Cipher. She’s pretty, often dressed up in things that show off her legs and you're torn between being jealous and in love but Mydei has already snatched your heart so it's imperative you don’t stray from your goal. There’s a couple photos where you can spot him in the background but nothing more and you wrinkle your nose before moving onto the next. Castorice’s page yields no results as she's got it private and you cry a bit internally. What if she's got the best ones? But you don’t dare to request to follow her, that would be weird. Having some morals, no matter how small, is important.

You think waiting until the show to really see him will be hell.

Crunched up in the passenger seat, you’re sipping on some sort of energy drink your friend handed you as soon as you flopped into the car. You’ve taken to playing all of the band's songs to them over the slightly busted and worn sound system the vehicle has. The windows are rolled down and your sunglasses are threatening to slide all the way off your face as you leisurely drink and pull at your shoelaces. Your friend had insisted on leaving at nine in the morning so you could enjoy walking around the city before the show and, while you’re positive it’ll be fun, you’re still not fully awake. That’s your fault for staying up to ogle at Mydei again. Sleepiness aside, the excitement still hasn’t slipped away and you’re praying for some sort of hot and heavy eye contact at the least at the concert, more than would be welcome.

The drive is uneventful and checking into the hotel even moreso. Beds assigned and bags thrown to the floor, you agree on coming back to the hotel prior to the show to freshen up before heading out.

It’s not a huge city by any means but it’s bigger than your hometown and that's enough to make it feel like a different dimension. The downtown area has a slew of shops pressed up tightly against each other and all the tiny trinkets are hurting your already small wallet but how could you ever pass up the tiny plush seal that practically begged you to take it home with its big soggy boba eyes? You’re not heartless but you are drinkless when you go face first into the chest of someone as you cradle the small creature maternally. The can falls to the pavement loudly and you can feel the sticky drink seep into your clothes as you fumble for an appropriate apology to the person you’re avoiding eye contact with. Silence greets you so you dare to look towards their face and almost join your drink dead on the ground. Of course. You just had to soak the man you’d definitely not been weird about, Mydei. He’s not frowning or visibly angry, but he’s staring at you and suddenly you understand what it must be like to be a fish in a tank. 

His eyes are golden like the sun above your head or the wedding jewelry your mum never let you touch and your heart almost stops in your chest. He’s even more handsome in person, now stained shirt and all. When your brain finally kicks back into gear you clear your throat to get out a more cohesive apology.

“I uh… I wasn’t looking where I was going… Sorry. Do you,” you pause unsure of what help you could possibly offer as the only thing your brain is coming up with is licking him clean, “can I help at all? I’ve probably got napkins somewhere in my bag.” You busy yourself to search for them as he stays silent and part of you thinks he might just snap your neck and be over with it but his voice, low and slightly gravely, cuts through your thoughts.

“It’s fine,” you look up in time to catch him licking his lips, “I wasn’t looking either, a mutual fault.” You nod in response, still feeling like you should be lashed for your sins. “Cute seal,” it takes you a moment to process what you think is a compliment of sorts and your heart sings even if it wasn’t actually about you. The seal is close enough.

“Oh! Thanks it’s uh… Yeah, I thought it was cute too. Obviously. I bought it,” your hands are sweating and your mouth is dry, “hasn’t got a name yet. Would letting you pick work as an apology?” It’s not exactly a joke but you hope it’ll lighten what you feel like is a gratingly awkward encounter. His small chuckle and the sight of his lips quirking up makes him even more handsome, you think. He laughs subtly, it sounds the way coffee smells and marshmallows taste. You notice his eyes turn into little crescents when he smiles. It’s painfully cute and you feel like you’ve stepped into the orbit of something truly special. Mydei hums thoughtfully.

“It would. How about,” his eyes cast back down to the plush in your arms. If it had a voice you think it would be crying for the love of its new father. “Pebble?” You almost swoon. It’s a silly name and everything you could want as you nod vigorously which earns you another perfect laugh from him. You’re looking more at the necklace he’s wearing than his face but you can still feel the way his gaze presses into you without faltering. “Are you from here?” The question catches you a bit off guard but you shake your head.

“No, just visiting,” you tell him your actual town with a slight grimace, “small getaway trip I suppose. Nothing fancy.” Mydei nods along with his eyes still fixed on you.

“Any particular reason,” he prods, “for the trip, I mean.” You’ve been found out, you think. He knows you’re a freak. He looked at your face long enough to remember which would be nice if he wasn’t prompting you like a cop. You think about joining your drink on the ground for the nth time but manage to force out a stiff laugh that definitely sounds forced.

You run through a litany of excuses but the truth is valuable in the situation. No need to dig your grave deeper than the already allotted and shoveled six feet. “Oh, yeah, I guess,” the words come out a bit too breathless for your liking, “wanted to check out this music thing.” It would be a nonchalant answer if you didn’t know that he knew that you knew. Maybe the can will swallow you itself.

“Figured,” you can hear the amusement in his voice so you look up again in hopes that at least you can appreciate his smile again before you die, “see you tonight, then.” You catch the slightest hint of his cologne as he walks away and you’re left to figure out if that's a good thing or bad thing.

The evening rolls in and your friend is still giggling occasionally across the hotel room. They had watched the whole scene between you and Mydei unfold, much to your horror, and thought it was apparently the pinnacle of both comedy and romance. You thought otherwise but his smile and laugh haunted each crevice of your mind; it was all you could think about.

It wasn’t as if you were getting dolled up, the show was supposed to be in some half underground dingy bar, but you needed to not be sticky and the hot shower was helping with that and working to clear your mind. Logically you knew your run in was a one time encounter and he likely wouldn’t even remember you amongst all the other people in the crowd but the sliver of hope that maybe he would made you want to curl up into a ball on the bathroom floor.

Clean, dry, and in not soda soaked clothes, you put on your shoes with a sigh and repeated the mantra of ‘phone, wallet, keys,’ until you were positive there was no chance you’d leave anything behind. Scrappy tickets in your pocket, you finally left with the soundtrack of laughter and nerves.

The venue is dark and the floors don’t even resemble wood anymore. You’re stood to the side idly chatting with some cheap liquor in a plastic cup. It stings like rubbing alcohol and the taste isn’t much better, barely covered with a flavour you can only liken to indistinguishable fruit. It’s sweet and burns, settles warm in your chest and stomach, but it gives you something to focus your senses on that isn’t noise.

You take note of the crowd, mostly young men, and cringe a little bit at all the looks you’re obviously getting. Trying to look as unapproachable as possible, you duck your head a bit lower and check your phone which reads ten-fifty-five. A sigh of relief passes your lips knowing skeevy eyes will be off you soon enough. As if on cue, everyone turns to the stage as a snare rings across the room. Front and center stands Mydei.

He’s giving the microphone an irritatingly intimate groping as he adjusts it slightly and the bass slung across his front makes you jealous but you remember, although awkward and unintentional, you’ve also been that close to him. It gives you a weird sense of pride. He’s outfitted, rather not outfitted, in nothing more than a pair of low-rise pants and some jewelry. On any other musician you’d find it tacky but he makes it work. His gaze is searing when he looks up and takes in the crowd that’s cheering for his band. The small tilt of his mouth into a smirk is more intoxicating than your shitty drink. You skim over the rest of the band who are all more clothed than Mydei is. They look good, just not as good as him. His voice is just as nice when he addresses the room.

“Nice evening, isn’t it?” He sounds casual and a conglomerate of agreements sound out that has his smirk grow a touch wider. “We appreciate the turnout. Best we’ve had so far,” his head tips to one side and his hair looks like the softest thing in the world, “hopefully we don’t disappoint.” You don’t think anything could let you down now.

The music is just as good in person as it is through your phone. It’s better in person, honestly, and you’re still stuck to the wall humming and swaying lightly. The throngs of people are dancing and hollering but you can appreciate the view more from your stationary spot. From one song to the next, you think Mydei must have been a siren of sorts in a past life; he has the voice of one. His eyes slide across the crowd with every line and change in expression. Some are powerful, some are cocky, and some are deeply emotional. He smiles at all the people and you wish you could bottle it up and keep it forever. It’s when his gaze finally finds you that your heart beats out of your chest.

His eyes linger on you, not moving, and you think he smiles a bit wider than he has all night. The lyrics slide past his lips with ease, “you’re a canary, I’m a coal mine,” and you wish it was written about you but his sight doesn’t let up. What you thought would be maybe a brief glance stretches into a dozen seconds and you probably look dumbstruck but he’s staring and so are you. It’s nice.

When the music sadly lets up and the band says their thanks and goodbyes, you sigh out in disappointment but promise yourself you can always go to another show. Turning to your friend who looks ready to explode from the earlier look shared between you and Mydei, you’re ready to leave with a sad look when a hand hits your shoulder. You jerk away in shock and whip around to see a man. Irritation almost turns into a sharp question on your part but the mint haired man says Mydei wants to see you. This guy is the band's manager and Mydei asked for you. Your friend shoos you off with the promise of seeing you later and you let the man lead you back past the security to the green room.

The green room is bright with laughter as the band winds down from the show and shares the joys of performing. You feel like an intruder as you step in after the manager and all of their eyes land on you. Their smiles remain, though, and Phainon shoots a knowing look of sorts to Mydei who gestures for you to now follow him and you end up in a cramped space outside the building but away from any prying eyes, band members or others. He doesn’t speak up yet, opting to pull out a cigarette and lighter. Two inhales later his focus turns to you fully.

“Wasn’t sure you’d show up after this afternoon,” he breathes out with the smoke, “thought you might’ve been too mortified.” You laugh dryly and his smile is easy and relaxed.

“I’m not a coward. I’m just,” an unusually bold urge came over you and you plucked the cigarette from his lips to place it between your own, “not exactly confident at the best or worst of times.” The smoke is cool, menthols, and you think it suits him. His eyes follow to your lips and he leans in to steal it back. His nose grazes yours teasingly and he’s still smiling as his lips almost touch the corner of yours. Mydei pulls back for another lung full and is polite enough to exhale away from your face before he leans back in and takes in your face. He hums a tune you don’t recognize while his eyes travel from each detail to the next even as he turns away to take in the last of the cigarette but rather than blowing the smoke away, his other hand comes up to part your lips with his thumb and the smoke travels from his mouth to yours. It’s intimate and you love it. You wish he’d just kiss you but he doesn’t and straightens back up to his full height while he crushes the butt under his heel and moves a stray hair from your face.

“No one’s always confident,” it almost feels like patronizing advice but you don’t mind if it’s from him. “You should be more, though,” he hums another few notes as you finally have the strength to let your eyes wander down his still sweat sheened and muscular chest. “You’re pretty,” it seems natural coming from his mouth, “got an unforgettable face.” You let it go straight to your head and guts with a shaky but overjoyed smile.

That night ends with you in his metaphorical bed, it’s his car, and brimming with barely contained happiness.

It’s just shy of a week later that you get a message from him. You hadn’t wanted to send one first in fear that he’d air you but the little notification sends your heart into overdrive.

It’s not a long one, but it feels good. ‘Got a show near you tomorrow. Come by and I’ll give you a free ticket.’ The offer is beyond enticing and you feel blessed that you just so happen to be free. It takes everything in you not to send back some sort of Shakespearean love confession but you play it cool with ‘say less. i’ll be there :) look forward to seeing you again’ and take a chance with a follow up. ‘give me an even better performance than last time and i’ll have a reward prepared.’ It’s teasing and you doubt he’ll take it seriously but he promises to blow it out of the water.

This time you’re alone as you get to the venue. Mydei had offered a single ticket and you were too embarrassed to ask for another plus you didn’t want to burden your friend knowing you’d likely make them leave alone again. He’d instructed you to head to the backdoor at ten and that same manager would be there to let you in. True to his words, he was there and held the door open for you with a sigh. You said your thanks and were led backstage where you’d get to watch up close from the comfort of behind the curtains and, despite his clear disinterest in you, his manager spoke.

“Don’t be a distraction,” you think it’s supposed to be scolding but it registers closer to flattery. Mydei had found himself distracted by you? You’d twirl your hair if you weren’t in public.

The back view of him as he walked on stage was delightful and the side view you got as he performed was just as good as the front. You noticed he had a habit of leaning back, letting the bass rest angled against his hips in a way that made your stomach flip. He casted you a sidelong glance at least once each song and you grinned back the whole time. You wish he’d never stop looking at you as each lyric went in your ears like a drug.

“You’re the only place that feels like home.”

“Robbing lips and kissing banks under this moon.”

“Better off as lovers.”

Not a single line goes unappreciated by you. Some of the lyrics made you fumble over your own lips but that didn’t matter when his voice kept you on track. Every syllable felt perfect and every strum of his bass was like heaven. If you weren’t excited for some more personal time, you’d never want him to even think of stepping out of the spotlight.

He walked away from the stage smiling at you and shining with sweat and adrenaline. You had to admit this show was better than the last somehow and you weren’t sure if it was because it really was a bigger effort or if it was due to the impending post show romp you’d get to star in yourself. Either option was good and either option made you feel special. He slides the instrument slightly to the side to slot one hip against you as he leans down to talk straight in your ear over the clamoring of the crowd and his band mates.

“Do I deserve that reward?” He doesn’t need to ask but he does and it’s paired with a self assured smile fueled by lingering laughter. You nod with a grin of your own and let your lips brush across his chest; a taste of what’s to come. Mydei grabs your hand in his and leads you away to pack up his guitar and throw it at Phainon with instructions to take it home and a threat to be careful with it. You’d feel bad if Phainon himself didn’t laugh and mock salute in response as Mydei tugged you away again.

The air has a bite when you step out of the building and you don’t share any words until you’re both tucked into the backseat of his car. It’s some old model but it’s pristinely clean so you have no complaints. He’s parked himself behind the building with the back end against a dumpster; the peak of privacy. What a gentleman.

It feels natural and instinctual when you slide yourself onto his lap. Your hands land on his shoulders, still bare, and you take a moment to massage them lightly with a lazy smile and growing arousal. He sighs out at the touch and his own hands find purchase on your hips. He’s gentle in how he handles you, gripping hard enough to ground you but not enough to hurt. You’re admiring his tattoos when he shifts to pull your lips against his own. They slide and lock together like puzzle pieces. You feel his nose against your own and his tongue slide languidly into your mouth. It’s wet and slow and God it feels good. Briefly, you think he’s like a cat in how he’s kneading at your body but when he lets out a sigh that tapers off to a groan into your mouth you’re brought back to how his hips are pressing up.

One of your hands slides down to palm over him generously as he pants against your mouth and moves himself to grope at your chest and push up your skirt. His large hand cups your heat and the heel of his hand grinds into you which pulls an embarrassing whine from your throat but he smiles against you so it can’t be that bad.

Mydei has a distinct style, and yes you love it, but you’d never really realized how much of a pain it is to undo the three different belts, four buttons, and two zippers on his current pants until now. It doesn’t help that you’re on top of him as you blindly fumble at the array of closures. Your brows furrow and he laughs at your struggle before pulling his mouth back from yours, unfortunately, to lend his professional assistance. It looks effortless when he gets them all taken care of and it feels good the way his hips buck up to slide his pants and boxers down but you pray that you get really good at belts and buttons fast before the next time.

His hands pull you upwards to slide your own shorts and panties off harshly and you have half the mind to ask for thanks for your super considerate and definitely deliberate choice in easy to remove clothes but then his mouth is on yours again and his calloused fingers are running along your slit. A shaky moan fans across his face and his lips curve into a smile while the tips of his fingers swirl around your bud.

“Please,” you don’t even process it before it leaves your mouth and you’re not even sure what you’re begging for but he lets out a huffed ‘aww’ before pulling you flush against him to rub his tip back and forth to gather your slick. You’re impatient and clearly so is Mydei as he helps you slide down on him. It’s not an easy fit but his thumb is smoothing over your clit nicely and his lips are on your neck; an efficient distraction. A couple more beats of your whines pass before you bottom out. His teeth graze your neck and you feel him swallow at the full contact finally being reached.

You brace your hands firmly on his shoulders as you start slowly, rocking your hips against him. It’s a warm up of sorts before you rise upwards and drop back down. The feeling causes your back to bow and a shudder to race along your spine. Mydei’s thumb stills for a moment against you at the sensation and the deep moan he lets out against your damp skin is addictive. You repeat the motion until you’ve built up a steady pace. Wet skin smacking together again and again, your own cries of pleasure, and his reverberating groans fill the car. Your positive the vehicle is shaking and you can see the windows fogging up in the back of your vision but your eyes are too focused on him.

His hair is thoroughly tousled, you feel his earring against your neck, and the red ink extending down his back compliments the small indents your nails are leaving along his shoulders. Mydeimos is beautiful and right now he’s all yours. You almost wish you could feel his face but if his body was separate from being flush to yours for even a second you fear you’d float away; he’s keeping you grounded. Imagination is a wonderful thing so you think about the way his mouth is parted, how his eyes are certainly squeezed shut, how drool must be sliding down his chin, how he must be thinking of nothing but you as well. It's enough to have you moving with renewed vigor, coming down onto him heavier and basking in his sharp intake of air.

Mydei grabs onto your hips even harder, finally leaning back and confirming all of your suspicions of his expressions in favour of being able to push himself up into you. He matches the pace you’ve set with ease, his hips clapping harshly against yours. The muscles of his arms and stomach flex deliciously with the effort he puts into the motions. He’s hissing through his teeth, head tipping back further practically begging you to put your mouth along the skin. So you do. You lean down and press wet kisses along the flesh, stopping along the sides to suck pretty bruises into him. Ones that you hope will last, that he won’t cover up in the following days. The blooming of mottled purple and blue eases a possessive urge you hadn’t even taken note of over the pleasure building inside you. Mydei pushes his hips upward at a slightly different angle that knocks the wind out of you, your vision blurs slightly and an embarrassingly loud cry is ripped from your throat. You barely register the smirk that splits open on his face past your own shock as he continues at that same angle, putting pressure exactly where you need it. His continued assault has you fumbling for purchase on his shoulders, a slew of ‘please’ and ‘close’ leaving your lips. The only response he seems capable of himself is something akin to ‘yeah’ with a raspy uptick as he doesn’t slow down in the slightest.

A particularly harsh thrust is what pushes you over that edge. You vaguely register tears dripping past your lashes while your vision dances with stars, none brighter than him, and watery moans stream endlessly from your mouth. His own climax follows soon after. He grunts low and from his chest as his hips press and shake into you, a distinct wetness growing and spilling out. There's no tact in how he moves one hand to better admire the way he's stuffed inside of you, fingers playing with your sensitive folds to see just where you’re connected. He pulls and plays with the soft flesh, humming as he does until he finally helps you off but his fingers don't stray for too long in favour of pushing what he spilled back inside of you with slow and through movements. It’s almost romantic.

You begin talking regularly. He asks for your number that night before dropping you off at home and you’re thrilled to hand it over. 

Most of your texts are trivial and silly things. You spend lots of time interrogating each other to get closer, he likes sending you photos of his cooking, and you like telling him about the books you’re reading. He promises to check out each of them and you promise to test all of his recipes. 

It becomes a routine of sorts. You spend all your spare time texting and calling, at least once a month you get raunchy after going to one of his bands shows, and it feels good. It’s easy and it’s comfortable but you can’t ease that weird gnawing of wondering what exactly is this relationship you’ve developed? You think it’s obvious you like him beyond a friend or fuck buddy but his feelings are hard to read and asking is like a humiliation ritual. Your brain worries over what could or couldn’t be but ultimately you decide it’s best to wait everything out a little bit longer in hopes you can suddenly develop some courage to voice your thoughts. Besides, maybe Mydei is in the same predicament. Or maybe he isn’t but imagining he is makes it a bit easier for you to cope with all the things that make you want to scream and thrash around.

It’s that exact train of thought that gets interrupted by a notification from the man himself. He’s asking if you’d like to come stay with him for the weekend and it’s paired with some sort of fancy dessert as if you’d need further convincing; just him was enough. You’ve never really spent time together in person but there’s a first for everything and maybe you’ll be greeted with an elaborate love confession and the cutest blushing Mydei the world has ever known. Pipedreams are funny things.

He picks you up Friday morning in that same car you’ve gotten busy in numerous times but now you get to sit in the passenger seat. His radio and sound system might be even worse than your friends but you mind significantly less as he’s telling you about the history of each and every song that comes over the speakers. By the time he’s finished explaining one, you’re already three songs later and occasionally he makes you go back to one that he’d talked over because you just can’t miss it. It’s charming how he seems determined to share all these little pieces of knowledge he’s accumulated and you’re down horrendously hanging off every word. It’s an hour long drive but it feels like only seconds when you get to stare at him and you’re only broken out of your reverie when it’s time to get out.

Your first thought is that this certainly isn’t a house or apartment building. Mydei parked his car around the back of some place that, when he unlocks the back door with a bent key he has to force in, you realize is a restaurant of some kind. The air is warm and scented like bread, coffee, and syrup. It’s not some huge establishment but it’s clearly well loved. He shuffles in behind you with a slightly strained smile across his face before explaining.

“I, or we, live upstairs,” he pauses to shout some sort of response to someone's question, “my family runs and owns this place. Breakfast type thing. Closes at one.” A lightbulb suddenly goes on over your head. All of his cooking being so professional suddenly makes sense. He’s been doing this his whole life and, by the sounds of it, gets nervous about people knowing. But he’s not only telling but showing you. 

Mydei grabs your hand in his and gently tugs you along up some stairs and down some hallways. He has to pause to open a door occasionally with those same bent keys and you feel unbelievably special. 

Finally, you arrive at what's his room. It’s not huge by any means but you can tell it really belongs to him. It smells like cinnamon, sage, and musk with that same syrupy sweetness seeping in. There’s a corner dedicated to his instruments; his favourite bass front and center with two different amps. A couple more sit on the walls alongside some framed pieces of memorabilia. Setlists, posters, and other bits you can’t quite recognize. His desk is against a different wall, tidy and neat with only a few papers unceremoniously on top and next to is a television with a large collection of movies underneath. Some are DVD’s others are VHS. Evidently, it's another collection of sorts you feel lucky to see. Across is his bed and it feels weirdly scandalous to see but it’s nicely made and you mentally sob a bit seeing that he actually has not only a bed frame and sheets but a duvet and four pillows. Four of them. Mydei once again has proved himself to far surpass any other man on the face of this planet and probably beyond. You note other uninteresting things, his closet, and a rug until your eyes land on the shelf above his bed. There’s a water bottle and a pair of glasses but who cares about that when there's a stack of books, all of them ones you’d recommended. You’re smiling like you’ve won a million dollars and you see Mydei turn away with red creeping up his ears. You can’t help yourself but tease. “Seems we’ve got a similar taste in literature,” you step closer to him as he concentrates really hard on setting your bag down, the one he insisted on carrying for you, “I’m flattered, really.” Your voice softens out as to not too badly embarrass him despite how much you’d love to see that same rouge crawl down his neck and chest. He grumbles out some sort of reply about how he means what he says and you do, in fact, have fantastic taste. You giggle and barely suppress the urge to poke his cheek in favour of throwing yourself into the chair with a sigh. He visibly relaxes at that and leaves saying he’ll grab something for you both to eat and drink.

You come to learn his family, parents as he’s an only child, are gone for the weekend. They were invited to some sort of event he didn’t really bother to remember the details of but he figured it would be the best time to have you over. He stumbles over his words to explain it’s not because he just wants to sleep with you but because his parents would grill him for more information on you. Apparently, he’s never had a girl over in his life that wasn’t Castorice or Cipher and he doesn’t want you to be tortured with whatever childhood stories they’d be eager to share. You’re a touch disappointed you won’t be privy to baby Mydei yet but the world isn’t ending tomorrow so there’s still time. Before your inevitable wedding, of course.

He pulls out some cheap liquor and you think if not a brunch place, then he should be behind a bar because you don’t taste a drop of alcohol and you’re on the brink of shitfaced with him. Some sort of slasher is on the TV and you’re in a weird pile of limbs on his bed with him laughing about something you don’t really remember. He’s warm and one arm is around your middle as you giggle like kids. You changed clothes after spilling some of your drink down your front and Mydei insisted you wear one of his shirts instead of another of yours in the name of comfort. The graphic on the front is worn out but it's soft and he’s had it on countless times. You feel dizzy with happiness.

At some point he ends up on top of you with his lips on your neck. You don’t remember what led up to it but he’s laughing into your skin and leaving a trail of bruises and bite marks as you play with his hair and sigh with each press of his mouth. He says you both shouldn’t go further while drunk. You almost whine but know he’s right so you settle to have him lather you with kisses before returning the favour.

You wake up the next day with a headache but nothing more besides the bruises covering your neck as evidence of your drinking. Mydei makes pancakes and it’s painfully domestic as you watch from the table. You’ll have to get him a new apron for his birthday as the one he’s wearing has at least a dozen holes in it and is just plain black. He needs something cuter most definitely.

Eating together is nice and you’re leaning over his shoulder as he mulls over what he should post next for the band. His eyebrows are furrowed and he's pressing a bunch of different buttons when you bring up the concept of video content. He throws you a hesitant look so you explain further. Algorithms and people love video content. They love getting to see things in action and, as a band, showing off what they actually make should be paramount. Mydei nods along and moves to his camera roll where he actually does have a variety of videos saved of the band. Some are serious performances, some are practices, and some are Phainon throwing drumsticks straight into his eyes. You huff out a laugh.

It takes some time and by the time but you eventually piece together a pretty cute video that sort of acts like an introduction to the band. By the time you’re done Mydei’s coffee is cold but you’re both proud of the fruits of your shared labour. He sends it to the bands group chat for approval before posting it a couple different places as per your suggestion before throwing his phone on the table and standing to collect the dishes.

You help him wash them up and only whip him with a towel once. The soap he flicked into your eyes was worth it for his expression when the towel cracked against his ass and you swear he smiled just hearing you laugh. It’s all stupidly domestic.

You’re sad when you have to take off his shirt to get dressed for the day. With a tearful dramatic parting, you switch into your own clothes but Mydei promises he’s got more shirts and you’re already coming up with a plan to make his whole wardrobe yours. He’s wearing some sleeveless shirt and, for once, jeans with no extra bits and a pair of sunglasses is shoved onto his head. He’s promised to take you out to his favourite spot to write songs so he holds your hand out to his car, the other one keeping his acoustic on his shoulder. You think he likes holding hands, you hope he never lets go and he doesn’t; at least until you have to get out of the car again.

The view lets you see all the way down to where forest meets beach meets water. You’re admiring the tops of trees and sparkling water as Mydei folds down the back seats so you can both spread out. He keeps the back open as the two of you lay in comfortable silence. He’s picking at chords and humming along, you’re thinking of how any sound he makes could be the soundtrack to your life right now and you’d die happy. Something about ‘love’ and ‘no one else’ passes his lips and maybe it’s about you.

You groan waking up the next morning but someone’s shaking you hard so dozing back off is impossible. The someone in question being a very bewildered looking Mydei who isn’t phased at all by you trying to swat him away while grumbling. Instead, he shoves his phone into your face. It would be annoying if you didn’t see all of the dots and notifications lighting up his screen. You blink dumbly a couple times while opening and closing your mouth like a fish. He mentions ‘the video’ and you realize that this is the response. People have seen it, lots of them, and liked it. You smile and laugh and he’s got the traces of a grin but is clearly too shocked to fully commit. Sitting up, you pluck the phone from his hands and look through all of the comments and influx of followers and likes. You remember the names of some of the bands he likes and a couple of members have given the video their approval so you show Mydei and he almost passes out. There’s far too many comments thirsting after him for your liking so you definitely one hundred percent don’t delete the ones you see.

He’s pacing the room and running both his hands through his hair when you look up again. Clearly, processing this is a lot and you can’t blame him. At this point hundreds of thousands of people have seen his band. It’s a huge deal. There’s a gross feeling in your chest that says he won’t be just yours anymore but you stuff it down; it’s irrational and unfair to feel like that. Instead, you placate him with some reassurances, kisses all over his face, and a promise to make sure only good photos are posted by paparazzi. He wrinkles his nose at the last part but he’s really smiling finally so it’s a win.

You’re busy making him swear not to forget you when he’s famous when his phone starts ringing. Mydei doesn’t seem eager to answer it and tilts the screen to show you; it’s his manager. You can only give a sympathetic smile as he puts it to his ear with a grimace. He’s obviously expecting yelling based on his expression but is pleasantly surprised and pulls the phone away to put it on speaker for you to listen in on.

“You’re stupendously lucky. I’ve had about three different labels bombarding my email with questions and requests and I loathe to think how there’s soon to be more,” you hear a deep sigh, “I’ll have to go through them all then create a more concise list of what they’re offering and asking before sending it for you and the other fools to look over. I can tell you already, there’s some very good looking things here.” You decode he’s talking about record deals. Part of you is surprised they’re already getting offers but the other part knows being early to these things makes labels the most money. Mydei nods along before saying goodbye and looking at you again with his jaw slack.

You’re reminded of how you felt when you first met once more. You’re most definitely in the orbit of something special.

After that weekend Mydei isn’t texting you as much. He isn’t calling and no more new shows have been lined up with how busy the band is signing contracts so you don’t see him then either. It feels weird not to have him so prominently in your life but all you can do is brush off your worries and convince yourself he’ll be back and apologize for his absence soon enough. He’ll tell you all about how he gets to make music in a real studio and how the whole band is excited for what’s next. But one week of radio silence turns into two. Then three. Then a month and you’re pretty sure he’s overwritten you in favour of his new life as a rockstar.

You’ve kept up on his posts as well as the rest of the bands and they’re pulling in thousands of likes and comments. You see them practicing somewhere much nicer and, evidently, their manager doesn’t mind keeping all of the horny comments about Mydei up. Jealousy is nasty and it’s all you feel. You spent the better part of a year siphoning all of your support into him and sacrificing your desire for a real relationship and now he’s airing you like it’s second nature. You’re absolutely green. But it really hits when you check on Phainon’s post and see him joking with fans about how Mydei is ‘painfully single’ and ‘in need of love’. Did you ever agree on a label? No, do you still feel betrayed? Yes, very. All you can do is sigh and put your phone down.

Mydei is smacking Phainon on the back of the head for his comments where they’re sitting in the new studio. Is it embarrassing knowing that he’s been to nervous to confess his feelings to the girl he started fucking that he knew because she was a fan of his? Terribly so, but Phainon taking advantage of his feelings to egg him on into actually telling you made it all even worse. He knew you’d see them and he knew he’d been accidentally ignoring you in favour of other things but now he’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. The rock being his inability to confess and the hard place being Phainon. Mydei dragged his hands down his face with a heavy sigh, knowing he had to do something before you blocked him out of your life altogether.

It’s four in the morning and two months since you last spoke to Mydei when you hear something at your window. It’s an uneven tapping sound and, as someone who’d be first to die in a horror movie, you pull yourself out of bed to go look. Lo and behold, the man himself stands there with a handful of pebbles. You blink a couple times before sighing and making some sort of gesture you hope reads as ‘give me a second’ and turn to head out to see what he could possibly want after ghosting you then showing up at such an ungodly hour. If you were a pettier person you’d have flipped him off and gone back to bed but some feelings never die and Mydei has your heart under lock and key even if you’re pissed.

He looks unusually uncomfortable when you stumble out the door to stand in front of him but softens a bit as he looks at your shirt. It’s then you realize it’s actually one of his shirts you’d stolen.

“Oh. Do you want it back,” you ask with a yawn while rubbing the remaining sleep from your eyes. You hope it sounds nonchalant but you’re very chalant about all of this. “I forgot it was yours, sorry. I’ve got a couple others I can grab to give back.” He shakes his head hard and fast.

“No no God no, keep them all,” he pauses for a moment, “You can have more even if you want. As many as I have.” He sounds out of breath as he speaks, “I’m sorry,” it comes out strained and you fear he might cry, “for all of it. I never meant to ignore you and Phainon does nothing but spout stupid shit.” The confession hurts your chest.

“Right, I figured out the Phainon part a long time ago but ignoring me? Leaving me to try and figure out if I ever meant anything to you? If I really was just some stupid groupie who thought maybe you liked me? If it was just some massive ruse to get your dick wet,” you take a deep breath, “Mydei, I’m tired and angry so I’m going to be terribly honest; I really have felt things, love, for you. And having it all shoved down the drain? Hurt. Badly.” Tears sting your eyes but getting it out had to happen eventually and your exhausted brain and heart couldn’t hold the dam anymore. Embarrassment be damned, you hope he feels bad. He nods along to your words and throws the rocks to the ground. His hands land one on your waist and the other on your face before his lips meet yours. It’s fast but surprisingly gentle and you wish you had the strength to deny him this but your face is now wet with tears and your lips are trembling against his. So, you melt against him. You soften completely and let yourself be warmed by his body until he pulls back to stare at you. The hand on your face swipes away each teardrop and his lips follow, kissing the tracks left behind.

“I’m… bad with words but it meant something to me. You mean something to me,” it’s whispered against your cheeks, “I need you. With me. Always, Like a dog needs a bone and a story needs an ending.” You click your tongue.

“…I’m a bone now?”

“The only one I want to chew on.” It’s strangely romantic but then you’re tugging him inside and he’s pushing on his shirt you’re wearing and his shirt he’s wearing. You let him.

You tug him to your room and expect him to shuck off your panties and his pants but instead he pushes you onto your back before settling between your legs. Your face flushes and you turn away but he reaches up to pull your gaze back to him. His eyes are filled with a deep yearning as he drops his head to kiss along your thighs. He’s slow and tender as he plants his lips with purpose, every peck an attempt to translate his feelings and burn them into your skin until you both die.

When his lips finally meet where you need him most you cry out louder than you had intended. It’s so much and not enough at the same time. He licks up and down slowly, pulling out all the slick he can with a deep groan before sucking harshly on the pearl he loves so much. His hands keep you spread open while his mouth works perfectly. He rotates between sweet kitten licks and languid sucks on you before he deems you ready for his fingers. One hand moves away from your thighs to gently poke and prod before sliding inside you slowly. He’s soft with how he opens you up, scissoring the pair of fingers before beginning to push them in and out. The tips massage your insides perfectly as his mouth continues to eat at you with greed. His eyes never leave your face and you can’t do anything but focus on how his mouth and throat bob with each movement; it’s mesmerizing.

Mydei only picks up his pace when he feels you push your hips up into him. He starts fingering you faster while his mouth suckles and licks with renewed vigor. He’s groaning into you loudly and your panting and whining with pleas for him to never stop. Never stop touching you and never stop loving you. If he wasn’t busy with the task at hand he’d promise over and over that he wouldn’t.

It’s sudden when the pleasure overtakes your whole body. A shiver races up your back and you sob at the feeling. You’re gushing all over his face and he’s drinking every last drop like it’s the best thing he’s ever tasted and maybe it is. His mouth doesn’t stop moving but it slows as he draws out your climax as long as he can without overstimulating you too much. He pulls away with a sigh as if he can’t bear to part from between your legs. His chin rests against your stomach while he appreciates just how beautiful you are in the afterglow. Neither of you speak for a couple minutes until you break the silence.

“I’m still mad at you,” but it comes out mumbled and slurred with elation and he chuckles.

“I know, but I’ll spend the rest of our lives making it up to you. Every single second.”

And he kisses you like it’s better than air.

[ouiouimochi]

pairing/s: sung jinwoo x reader

genre/s: romance if you squint, long-time friends, teeny bit suggestive

wc: 2.1k (whoops)

warning/s: no beta we die like beru, this MIGHT not make sense im sorry lmao, mentions of alcohol and swearing, some mature themes

note/s: got inspired by rui mizuki from tokyo debunkers

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*

synopsis: you invite jinwoo to catch up with him at your bar

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*

“Care for a drink?” You offered to the newly announced S-rank hunter— your dear friend since highschool. Your eyes observing any change in his expression, which you admit was a bit hard to distinguish now but it was still possible.

You see, last time you saw him, he was the timid little E-rank working hard to provide for his family. It surprised you at how much he changed since then when you invited him to your newly opened resto bar.

It was just you and him as you only planned to officially open a week later with your family and other friends.

Meanwhile, Jinwoo was deliberating in accepting your offer since the system made him immune to the effects alcohol — basically rendering the essence of drinking useless.

You tilt your head at his apprehensiveness, a small pout forming on your lips from your position in front of him, separated by the counter.

“Earth to Jinwoo, hellooo? I remember we always drank cheap beer together when we weren't as busy, don't tell me you can't handle liquor anymore?” You raised an eyebrow, resting your hands on your hips as you teased him.

He sweat dropped, “That's…” he paused before sighing and ultimately just taking your offer since he loses nothing from it anyways. Additionally, you'd find a reason to bug him about it anyways— at least you haven't changed in that regard.

You grinned, “Don't worry about a thing,” you turned to the shelves behind you before you looked at him from over your shoulder.

“I'll be making a drink that I developed myself~” and you got to work.

Jinwoo doesn't know if he should be worried or not, you were always one to experiment on food and beverages. He'd been the subject to said experiments which were always a hit or miss, no in-between.

But he watches on with keen interest at the way you move with purpose to create the drinks. Your hands perfectly maneuvering with practiced ease as you focus your attention on the task.

His shadows make a commotion as they observe their liege’s expression shifting into a more soft and relaxed one.

‘My liege looks at her differently than everyone else'

‘This must be who our liege prefers as his queen?’

‘He has yet to attach one of us to her shadows’

‘Perhaps this is our liege’s love—’

Jinwoo feels his shadows rumbling around for a reason unknown to him but then he realizes why a huge misunderstanding, he actually doesn't know why.

What in the hell were you chucking in the drinks? He does not recognize the ingredients you were adding to your concoctions, and he hated to admit that it might've made him nervous a little not a little despite having the system.

He wouldn't die from consuming whatever you're making… right?

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀

Sooner or later, you finished up preparing everything along with some food you made earlier, bringing them one by one to the countertop… and finally, the drinks.

The ravenette silently gulps but you noticed how his Adam’s apple bobbed from the action.

“Now, what's with that look? It's not like I'd poison you or anything.” You commented, maybe slightly aware of the close calls to the hospital maybe to hell you two experienced due to your “recipes”.

He shoots you an incredulous look, making you put up your hands in surrender.

“Okay! Fine, fine!” You took your glass, lifting it up to your lips as he eyed you with a poker face. You took a sip and put down the cup, teasing him a bit by delaying your reaction.

You sighed out in delight after a few seconds, making eye contact with his gray eyes.

“There, I'm still alive.” You gestured to his glass, “Now, drink.” you basically demanded, wanting to see his reaction to how much you've improved.

He doesn't break eye contact with you as he lifts his glass, still a bit suspicious, before taking a small, tentative sip.

Jinwoo’s eyes then widened a bit in surprise at the pleasant taste the beverage left on his tongue as he looked down at it. He lifted his gaze up to you only to find you donning this cheeky expression.

“Not bad right~?” You giggled at how taken aback he was, proud of yourself even. Only you had the balls to tease this scary man to such a degree.

The male stares at you, “... It's good…” trailing off.

You pout, feigning offense. “What makes you so skeptical about what I made, hmm?” You pointed a finger at him.

He blinks, as if telling you there's a lot of things he could say, but decides against it.

“Who wouldn't be skeptical after seeing you chuck in suspicious ingredients?” Jinwoo shot back at you, an amused expression gracing his features as you gasped at his words.

“Suspicious? I'll have you know I picked them myself!” You huffed at him, taking another sip.

“Hmmm… Where did you even procure them?” He raised the cup, observing the gradient liquid that seemed to sparkle as you moved it around, before slowly drinking it.

“From dungeons, where else?” You flippantly answered as he yet again gets taken aback.

He swallows the drink quickly, shooting you a look, setting the drink down.

“Since when have you ever entered dungeons?” Uh oh... You looked away from his intense gaze.

“Uhm… around the time you got hospitalized…?” You were honestly unsure of yourself.

He sighed, a palm coming in contact with his forehead.

“So that means you awakened?” Your friend interrogated further.

You circled your index finger on the rim of your glass, avoiding his eyes.

“...maybe?” Jinwoo could only sigh yet again, causing you to look up at him, he seemed stressed. By your answer, he guessed you hadn't gotten evaluated at all.

“So you're telling me you went into dungeons without having been evaluated nor permitted by the association? (Y/n), that's illegal and dangerous.”

“I assure you it's not those dangerous dungeons you're thinking about, and I don't think the association even knows about the existence of the dungeons I'm talking about.” You explained yourself to him, smiling sheepishly at Jinwoo in hopes of making him calm down.

“Keep talking, we have the whole night for you to convince me that wherever you got those weird ingredients and the ingredients themselves aren't unsafe”

You sigh, sipping your drink.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀

And so, you've finally fully explained what happened to you the past months. Summarizing it to awakening, getting sucked into a weird portal and in a quiet forest that had all sorts of mysterious plants and other stuff, and then discovering they could be used as ingredients. Then a glowing deer appeared before you and referred to you as the new guardian of the said forest, giving you a book about all the things you needed to know about it. The book had information about all the things in the forest, causing you to hyperfocus on the fact you could experiment with them.

And bringing you to now, both of you having gone through multiple rounds of drinks already from the lengthy storytelling.

Jinwoo takes another drink, a subtle pang hitting his brain as he just sighs for the nth time at your crazy story.

He turns his head to where you sat beside him on a stool, having seated yourself there due to how long your story got, feeling the air had become warmer.

“Show it to me next time.”

“Suree~” You slurred out, feeling a little bit tipsy and dopey.

He clicks his tongue, pinching your cheek on a whim. He thought how uncharacteristic it was of him to act so childish after all he'd gone through, but here you were, having just as eventful past months but not registering how risky it could've been.

Jinwoo's mind gets bogged down by an indescribable weight. His eyes trail towards your eyes before settling on your lips— thinking to himself how soft they seemed.

How he'd like to take a bite and see if it's as soft as it seemed—

He blinks and shakes his head, in disbelief that he just thought about that. Maybe the alcohol was getting to him? But that wouldn't make sense since it shouldn't have an effect on him— which makes it crazier that he had those thoughts while sober that's what you think bitch

“Do you want a different drink?” You asked, your palate growing tired of the beverage you two had been drinking the whole time, wanting a different taste this time.

“Sure.” The ravenette answered as if he just didn't have a mental breakdown, his ears were a little bit red but maybe you were imagining things.

“Okiieee~” You slid out of the barstool, sauntering over behind the counter to make something heavier.

You hummed and swayed as you prepared a new batch for you both. Jinwoo’s eyes being unable to stop themselves from settling on your hips, snapping himself out of it when he realized.

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀

“God, you're heavy!” You heaved out as you hauled Jinwoo upstairs to your living space above the business, his arm slung around your shoulder and basically supporting all of his weight— you can shamefully admit you liked the proximity though.

"Smell nice..." Was what you heard from the drunken mutterings he directly said into your ears, making you a little conscious of your scent.

You settled him down carefully to lay on your large couch, pulling off his shoes so he'd be more comfortable. You disappeared beyond a hallway before reappearing a few minutes later in much more comfortable clothes, with a pillow, blanket, and change of clothes for the male to use.

“Jinwoo, here's a change of clothes.” You poked his cheek as he groaned in response, forcing himself to open an eye and take them from you. He then started undressing himself as if you weren't there, gaping at how well-built his body was.

The ravenette started unbuckling his pants, only then you decided to turn around before you witnessed something you shouldn't, heat rushing to your face. When you heard the rustling of clothes stop, you turned around to check that he went back to lay on the couch. You sighed at your friend and the effect of liquor on him, giggling to yourself at how he was reduced to this state despite being an S-rank as well as having the system but you didnt know that

As you turned to leave after putting the pillow under his head and the blanket on top of his body, you felt a tug on your wrist.

The world blurred before clearing again, and you realized that Jinwoo pulled you on top of him. You struggled to get out but his grasp was strong.

“Stop moving around.” His voice was tired… and sounded deeper, bringing another wave of warmth to your face. You eventually resigned to your fate, making yourself comfortable by nuzzling onto his chest and sighing in delight.

‘Problem for future me to handle now’

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀

Sunlight streamed through the curtains of your living room window, directly landing on Jinwoo’s face as his face scrunched up in discomfort.

He uses his arm as a shield only to find out that said arm was under something. He squints his eyes open to investigate, widening when he processes that someone was lying with him.

The gray-eyed male gets jolted awake with that realization, the person on top of him groaning at the sudden movement.

He gets a closer look to find out it was you… in quite the revealing outfit you call you comfortable sleeping clothes— and you were not wearing a damned bra who tf wears a bra to sleep

Jinwoo tried to patch together what happened last night, only remembering that you two went for a few more rounds of the new drink you prepared. A few things were blank spots in his head, but then he also realizes it doesn't ache like it should when there's patches in his memories after drinking.

Speaking of, did he actually get drunk? With no hangover?

He looks at you, who was sleeping soundly, amazed. Whatever mystery ingredients you added to your beverages weren't considered as toxins by the system, but still had the same effect as any alcoholic drink save for the hangover.

You shifted in your sleep, your soft chest pressing against his as you nuzzled your face into his neck. He felt a drop of sweat precipitate against his cheek, his hand unknowingly squeezing itself on your waist.

He then chuckled to himself at the unexpected, but admittedly not unpleasant, turn of events.

In the future, he finds out that he can also get drunk on you

⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*･ﾟ: .⋆⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ:⠀ *⋆.*:･ﾟ .: ⋆*

note/s : yeah the ending seemed wonky, but I feel too lazy to fix anything wrong now

taglist: @justwinginglife, @ryescapades , @minasfwoopyponytail , @sabrina-senpai, + anyone else who wants to be added!

[deejayrockz]

HEADCANNONS •

A. HILL

SUMMARY ౨ৎ in which dj is obsessed with arthur hill, and creates headcannons on him :)

WARNINGS ʚ fluff, nsfw, just very domestic fluff !!!

౨ৎ

i think he makes it known you two are together, however nothing much is said. some photos are posted of eachother on date nights, holidays, etc, but things are still very private.

he's quite shy. you give him a compliment and he's covering his face either in your shoulder or just with his hands. you tease him for this !!!

i think he's also very very domestic ! when sitting on the settee, your legs will find their way onto his lap, and his hand will just automatically go to your socked feet and start massaging them.

another domestic headcanon, he loves when u cook and loves to put on a fake deep singing voice, forcing you to dance around the kitchen, while you're trying to cook dinner. obviously you have a love-sick smile on your face, but he's apologising when you spill some food (despite the fact that his face is also covered in a huge smile)

he finds his way next u no matter where he is. apartment game night? he's sat next to you, or on the floor infront of you, as his head rests on your knees behind him. in the pub? he's stood next to you, with a careful hand on your waist. shopping? he's holding your hand and memorising all the things you point out so he can buy them later.

i don't think he'd be a very jealous type, not confrontational anyway.

he'd probably get jealous and tell you in private about the guy flirting with you and how it pissed him off, but he wouldn't make a scene in public.

he's very cuddly, and i think he might just be the little spoon? especially after a few drinks he loves to lay on your chest or have your arms around him. however sober, he likes u on his chest so he can run his hands through your hair, or trace patterns on your back.

he loves to do small somewhat stupid things just to make u smile. he'll fill your hot water bottle before bed, despite the fact that it makes him sweat. he refreshes your cup with iced water whenever it's running low. he grabs your favourite drink anytime he walks past a coffee shop. small things that he doesn't need to do, but he enjoys doing them anyway!

when kissing he grabs both sides of your face like a starved man.

he loves kissing !!! it's his favourite thing ever (confirmed actually guys!)

he likes small pda. rubbing a hand on your knee or thigh when sat next to each other, hand holding, arm wrapped around your shoulder (this one is mainly when he's using you for support after a few drinks).

i think as the relationship develops, you will get your own place, but as long as you're okay with it, he's enjoying living with you chris and george for the time being.

he gets so excited to write songs about you !! he wants to show u off so badly, but knows the repercussions of a public relationship, so sticks to singing about you for now.

( slight nsfw below )

i do believe he is very vanilla, but is so whiny

he loves kissing down your stomach omgggg

no1. pussy lover

i think he enjoys being on top, having his face buried in your shoulder as he whines about how good he feels !

i think he gets shy during bjs but once he gets into it, he starts to feel more confident, and holds your hair up for you. either that or his fingers are just tangled in your hair.

gets turned on by pretty much anything you do.

kissing? he's hard. ur cooking? AND wearing an apron? he's hard. ur sitting on the settee, editing a video he has asked for help with? he's hard. this explains his song 'late for the reservation' as he got turned on by watching you put in earrings for date night.

[moody-alcoholic]

Cross My Heart

Part 11 - More Then Friends

Summary: eventual poly141 x reader. Enemies to lovers, mini fic.

CW: mentions of blood, its all fluff.

Previous parts - masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

Price, Ghost and Gaz left first. Leaving before the sun was up in a somewhat hectic rush. Their plan was to get over the border then commandeer a car or something. Price said it could be a few days before you hear from them but they will send word. 

Soap sulked down the stairs an hour or so later, when the sun was just peaking through the clouds. You can’t wait to leave here and never come back. The whole blood soaked place can burn to the ground for all you care.

“They left already.” You say as he comes to sit on the sofa next to you.

“I know. Si- Ghost came to say bye.” He shuffles on the couch rubbing his burnt arm. You’ll need to change the dressing before you leave. “We should get going soon. We need to get a car. It’s easier to do while it’s still dark out.” 

You follow Soap’s orders in silence, the lack of sleep is finally catching up with you. You change the dressing as Soap grits his teeth complaining about itching. You have no idea if it’s healing or if its still supposed to look the way it does. It’s only been a day or so anyway. 

When you’re done Soap steals some supplies- mostly food -from the safehouse and you set out to look for a vehicle. It doesn’t take you long to find a rather old looking car, you keep an eye out while Soap hotwires it like he’s done this a thousand times. Before you know it you’re on the road driving back to Sakhra.

“What’re you thinking about?” He asks after at least an hour of silence, you were starting to doze off. His question jolts you awake and you look over at him. 

“Why did you kiss me?” You ask. He smiles.

“I just had to, you’re stunning lass.” He says, it makes you blush. You turn to look out the window of the car. 

“Don’t falter me, a few days ago you would have put a bullet in my head.” 

“Yeah, we’re not merciless killers though.” You scoff, they’re soldiers, they're trained killers. You sit there in silence. 

“You’re a good kisser.” He says suddenly. 

“What- I mean. It was just a kiss.” You say feeling embarrassed, he just laughs. That annoys you, he’s being so chill about it, what if Price found out? What if he finds out then decides you’re a liability?

“You all seem close.” You say trying to move the subject on from you and Johnny. 

“Closer than you think.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“We’re a close unit. Worked together for years. When you spend so much time together, you develop a strong relationship.” He says switching between watching the road and your expression. You have an eyebrow raised, you expected him to continue. 

“Brothers in arms right?” You say, you’ve heard that before from soldiers.

“More than that.” You shake your head scoffing. He’s playing with you, trying to wind you up. What's closer than brothers? 

“You fucking each other or somthing.” You joke back. He doesn’t say anything, you turn back to look at him frowning. He’s just smiling, the cheekiest grin you think you’ve ever seen. “Really? You’re messing with me.” He just laughs, it doesn’t help you decide if he’s joking or not.

You let out a sigh looking out at the winding road. You’re not far now.

____

When you make it back to the ULF base the place is almost empty. You both head straight to the doctor who fixes your stitches and tends to Soap’s arm as well as giving him a pot of burn cream and instructions. 

When you’re done you both go to see Farah. Alex is with her, they both look tired. The table is filled with maps dotted with big red X’s. You look round as Soap catches them up on what happened. You wonder if Price has sent word yet, you hope they’re okay.

“-We take out Konni, before they make it any further south.” Farah says, you look over at them, catching the end of the conversation. 

“We don’t know if Konni are moving or not. Price will be able to give us some idea.” Soap says.

“We could be waiting days for that.” Alex says crossing his arms, he doesn’t have a sling anymore, maybe his arm was just sprained.

“They attacked their own bases?” You ask pointing at the map. 

“They want to shift the blame to us.” Farah says.

“The fact they used American weapons on civilians has got the US all wound up.” Alex says.

“They’re spreading us thin, I’ve already lost 20 men. We can’t fight them on the front without leaving ourselves open to attacks.” Farah sighs.

“You have weapons from the US, why not fight back?” You ask. There’s silence, people look around at you like you’ve just asked them to do something impossible. 

“If we fire on them we lose our advantage.” She says.

“Which is?” Soap asks.

“If the Americans come, they won’t be after us.” She says. You look down at the map, the new line Al Qatala have formed. There’s no news if Konni or Al Qatala forces have made a move from the border, it seems like they’re waiting for the ULF to make a move first. 

It’s too many targets for Farah to handle alone. 

“What about hitting them at the source? Take out the rest of their weapons.” You say pointing at the farm you know they’ve been storing munitions and rockets.

“They were fired from Russia.” Alex said.

“No, they were fired from inside the country. I bet if it's going to be anywhere it’s there.” You tap the map. Farah and Alex look at eachother. 

“A full scale raid is not possible.” She says, stepping back from the table.

“We could go in quiet.” Soap says. “Just the 4 of us.” 

“The place will be heavily guarded. They could have also moved them elsewhere.” Farah says.

“Even if we don’t find the missiles we will deal a pretty big blow to their resources.” Soap says. “You need all the help you can get.” 

“Okay. Tonight, you should get some rest.” Farah says. Soap smiles at her and Alex. He grabs your arm gently pulling you out of the room. You’re heading down to the sleeping quarters before Soap grabs your arm pulling you into a store room. 

“Hey!” You call, you almost trip over something as his hands grab your shoulders and he pushes you up against the wall. Before you have a chance to say anything his lips lock onto yours. His kiss is needy, his tongue pressing into your mouth. You hum, closing your eyes and letting your hands drop to his waist. 

“Johnny.” You breathe as he pulls his lips off you, his mouth moving to your neck. His hands 

“What?” He asks, he’s not stopping though, running his tongue up your neck.

“What if Price found out?” 

“What do you mean?” He says. “Want him to join, I reckon he’ll be down for that.” He chuckles, now you’re convinced he's winding you up. You push your hands up his shirt and he grip your waist, his fingers digging into your skin, you’re sure he’ll be leaving marks. You run your fingers up his chest, feeling each muscle and scar. He’s hairy, you don’t care, now you’re getting needy, his lips running over you sucking on the sensitive spots on your neck. 

He looks up down at you, his hands come to hold your face. “I’m so glad I got you first. I thought I was going to have to fight off Gaz, or Price.” You frown at him but before you can press him further he kisses you. You drop your hands from his chest, gripping his waist and pulling him closer to you. 

Suddenly there’s a knock at the door. You freeze, you didn’t think anyone knew you were in here.

“Soap? There’s word from Price.” it’s Alex’s voice. Johnny smiles down at you.

“We’ll finish this later.” He says quietly before reaching over to open the door. You feel yourself blushing as Alex raises an eye at you both. Johnny slaps him on the shoulder and they walk away.

next Banners by plum98

[nyxtickled]

re: his public response

i would not have to share screenshots if blatant misinformation was not being shared about me in private to multiple women and now in public.

i will not be shamed for offering hard evidence and truth to dispute the way i am being painted out by a manipulative man.

Despite her showing some sort of interest for potentially more, I made it clear we were in a kink dynamic, and we both agreed on that. I was not romantically dating anyone for the duration of our dynamic, so Nyx was a large part of my focus in my personal life for several months. 

i will NOT be painted as some scorned lee who was hurt because she developed some sort of unrequited feelings for a play partner. for the love of god i am WAY too gay for that shit.

I was put in a hard spot many times because multiple partners would openly voice the way my (gushing) posts about Adi would make them feel. Dynamics were ended (and then reconnected after conversation) over the way my posts made them feel like I was prioritizing one play partner over another. That was never my intention. I truly do enjoy gushing over a play partner. I enjoy hyping up my play partners, as you all have seen. But, this caused problems several times with several partners.

this conversation happened in mid-November. it was the second time i had brought up my feelings of disconnection. i never had a problem with what he shared on tumblr. i will always support, encourage, and love other women. i would never express discontent about another woman’s attention. what i did was express a need, and gave him the option to meet it. he minimized, said he would, and never put forth the action. it was all words, words, words.

and when i later attempted to deescalate our connection in an attempt to be as respectful as possible of his needs and his limitations, trying to meet him where he was at, while dealing with my dog’s cancer and my second community member warning about him, the mask came off.

and the most shocking part about all of this? during the family tragedy he referred to from mid-December as stated, i constantly poured out as much support to him as i could while giving him as much space as he needed. i am so heartbroken that he would imply that his play partners disregarded his grief as the cause of his disconnection from us. that is actually deplorable. after all the times i reiterated that i would never be resentful of him for processing a pain like that. after an entire month went by before he even told us his family member had passed, and i apologized while clarifying over and over that if i had known, i would have understood, but that was not the root issue. i assured him that i would never hold something like that against him.

what he fails to mention is that he invited me to AUNT, changed his mind on going, and then changed it back when he found out i was going to find my way there anyway without depending on him for a room or flight. when he approached me attempting to act as though we were close as ever and ready to kiki, i explained that i wouldn’t be bailing on my new plans with my new friends. THAT is when i suddenly was told about his grieving. again, i don’t post screenshots to be messy, i do it to fucking fact check because i will never make a claim i cannot back up.

i don’t care about how i might be judged for taking this bait. i absolutely fucking refuse to allow a man who has already emotionally harmed me privately to get on here and continue perpetuating literal delusion to avoid accountability. fuck that.

i was not seeking a romantic relationship. i never, ever expressed discontent as a result of his grieving. i repeatedly spelled out what i needed in a dynamic, he agreed that he would love to give it, and then disappeared without any follow up. over and over and OVER again, and every time i tried to restructure us as friends, he begged me not to until i agreed. FAR before any personal tragedy struck.

i will not continue to sit here silently as he twists the narrative once more. i don’t care about posting screenshots because i have nothing to hide and i have had my experience minimized and overridden enough times in the last 6 months. it will never happen again.

if you would like me to stop talking about this on my blog, simply do not fucking lie about me again.

[penkura]

OP Men as Dads Part 2

Note: I chose to do another five OP men for this one!! My brain won't shut off about these men being dads, I'm losing it omg. I hope these are good, I kind of struggled a little but just wrote whatever came to mind. Maybe I can do a part three at some point with more of them! I have a small idea for Mihawk and Franky, but that's it so far. Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy! Sticking baby Ace for the image because I got nothing else lol.

Part One Here!

Kid is a boy dad, I’m sorry he just is. I can’t see him with a daughter really, unless she’s the youngest and was a surprise. But anyway! He’d have three boys that were all three years apart, and all are exactly like him. You really do love your sons and husband, but how you wish at least one of your boys was calm. The four of them are always roughhousing to the point you’ve had to set rules to keep from Kid accidentally hurting them, or your children from breaking things when he isn’t involved. When you have a set of twins a few years after your third son, another two boys, you’re done and just accepting your fate as a boy mom. You and Kid love all your boys though, neither of you would change anything, especially when your youngest ends up being a momma’s boy who’s finally calm and would rather spend his time with you than anyone else. Kid isn’t jealous, he swears.

~~

Usopp I can see with two girls! A few years between them, and they’re both the light of his life aside from you of course! Every story he tells them before bed makes them both so excited to grow up and become Pirates themselves, brave women of the sea! The oldest will want to help Usopp and Franky with inventions and fixing up the ship, while the youngest wants to be a sniper like her dad. You have no complaints about either one of those, more than grateful they both want to take after Usopp and following in his footsteps. Your girls absolutely love their dad, you get a little jealous sometimes, but getting to watch the three of them bond is your favorite thing in the world. It might make him a little emotional, especially after not having Yasopp around as he grew up.

~~

Shanks, I’m sure a lot are wondering about, would be such a great dad, we’ve seen him with Luffy and Uta, there’s no way he’d let down his biological kids imo. I see him with a son first, one with his hair that’s even more wild, and then twin girls! They’d all be about four years apart in age, but they’d run him ragged day in and day out. He'd teach your son how to wield a sword and help him develop his Haki, while your daughters will learn more hand to hand combat, though your youngest will join the sword lessons when she’s ready. When they’re little, he lets your girls put pins and braids in his hair, while telling all three of them stories about his time on the sea. The rest of the crew adores your children, Shanks knew they’d all be great uncles to your little ones.

~~

SHACHI WOULD SUCH A GOOD DAD OMG. You think I’m pushing Penguin propaganda, I’m here for Shachi now too. He’ll have two boys within two years of each other, yes the second is a surprise but so beyond welcomed, and then several years later a little girl that has all three of them wrapped around her finger! Your daughter would have his red hair, she’d just be the prettiest little thing, with chubby cheeks and her hair pulled back into two little ponytails. Your sons would have a mix between your hair and Shachi’s, both taking more after their dad in personality than anything. Of course, Shachi will teach all three of them to defend themselves, but especially your daughter since she’s the baby and he just wants her to be safe, even with her big brothers as her guardians.

~~

Rosinante, Corazon, however we wish to call him, he would be the best dad out of this group, I’m sure of it. Apart from taking in Law, he’d have two of his own children, a girl first and then a boy a couple years later. Law would act as a big brother to the two, it’d be the cutest thing ever. While your daughter would be outgoing and ready to take on the world, your son would much shier and would rather hide himself behind you or Corazon, normally his dad though. Corazon would NOT let Doflamingo around them; he’d probably keep the three of you a secret, maybe even his adoption of Law too, just to keep you all safe. He’s lost family before, he doesn’t want it to happen again, even if that means picking up and moving you all where his brother can’t find you. Apart from that, Corazon would make sure all of you had everything you needed, and your son would hold onto him through everything.  Your daughter would attach more to Law, but that’s perfectly fine, he’s accepted her as his new little sister and wants to protect her, he wants to protect your son too where he can. Your daughter would also want to keep her baby brother safe, not one of you would let a thing happen to a hair on his head. Corazon finally has a family again, a family of his own, he’s not letting anything happen to any of you anytime soon.

[ink-stainedkiss]

This isn't necessarily a request (unless you like the idea😍) but i am WEAK for saiki kusuo being happy and laughing, as ooc as it sounds IDC HES MY BABY AND HES HUMAN THEREOFRE I CONCLUDE THIS BOY CAN HAVE HIS DAILY DOSE OF GIGGLES.

Like, i read the fic you made on saiki finding readers thoughts funny, and i BAJDJSJAJDBS I SQUEALED.

Just imagining him breaking character, or AUDIBLY laughing, is so so sweet bro im not even joking. He'd only ever be comfortable doing it infront of his mom probably, or his close friends. EVEN SO.

Just needed to get it off my chest. 🙂 if you ever make more fics with happy/giggly saiki i might actually marry you. 🙂🙂🙂

This one goes specifically to you queen😍 and No. I’m going to marry you🫵😼

Missing You

Synopsis: Saiki starts to feel a bit weird when you are out and he realizes he misses you. Now to find a way to get you home faster…

Merry Christmas for those who celebrate! I hope you all had a great time because I sure did. Sorry my activity has been a little slow these past days have been busier than expected, so this one’s going to be a bit short. Also thank you all for the likes on my later posts! It feels so amazing to see you guys enjoying my other works. Anyways, please enjoy this tooth-rotting fluff of our beloved Saiki💕

“You on the phone”

“Saiki on the phone”

*Saiki is wearing his telepathy blocking ring in this, so he's speaking normally*

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.2k

Everyone knew that Saiki was not a dependent person. He was the furthest thing from it. He loved his alone time- actually scratch that. He craved alone time. It was just his luck that he was always surrounded by people that caused him so much mental pain. To Saiki’s surprise, he had found someone he tolerated. Well it was more than that, but you guys were just friends, so he couldn’t say anything. He realized you were the only one that didn’t put Saiki through a problem which he had to solve. There were no long adventures when you talked to him in the halls. No using his powers to fix something you had done. He was able to act perfectly normal around you. Which is why he grew such an affection toward you. He grew so comfortable that he told you about his abilities and like he expected you took it well.

Today was one of his favorite days. Where he was able to hang around your home without a care in the world. Whatever his friends were up to outside of your house was not Saiki’s business, nor did he care about it. He had developed a routine when you text him to come over. He would arrive at your house, wear his germanium ring and let his worries wash away. It was the closest thing he could get to being a normal teenager and he was damn sure going to use his time wisely. Whenever Saiki stayed at your home, you would ask to do something, nothing crazy. Something simple like baking a batch of cookies, watching a movie on the couch, or if you were very bored, you would ask to do Saiki’s hair, which he never denied. Because, well, it was you. How could he say no?

Today was a bit different. You had mentioned you needed to run some errands and you promised you would back around noon. Saiki was fine with this since it meant he would have the house to himself. You trusted him greatly so you didn’t mind if he stuck around while you were out. When you left he gave a small nod and then the house was silent. Today was very different because something felt off. He had been reading a book on your shelf out of interest, but for the past five minutes, he had been rereading the same sentence over and over. Something was tugging in his head, but he wasn’t sure what was wrong.

Today was different because he felt so off without you in the same room as him. He checked the clock, realizing I had only been an hour and a half since you left. You wouldn’t be back until later, so Saiki had to find something to distract himself. Today was different because tried to cure his “boredom” with his powers. He turned on your kitchen sink, watching blankly as he made shapes and animals out of the liquid. When that didn’t stop the tugging, he moved onto your room. He felt slightly better resting on your bed and he played it off as being tired, but no. When he kept checking the clock to see if it was any closer to noon, he came to the horrifying conclusion that he missed you.

It was such a foreign feeling. Saiki? Wanting someone to be around him? Well that’s what happens when you sneak your way into his heart. The psychic couldn’t stand it anymore and grabbed his phone, clicking on your contact and placing the device to his ear. The small buzzing reached his ear and he felt a small fragment of relief when you answered after the second ring.

“Hey Saiki, what’s up?”

He sighed, a bit humiliated he felt this way.

“Nothing.”

“Then did you need something?”

“When are you going to be home?”

He said home like he lived here with you, but if you minded, you didn’t make it obvious.

“I should be there in maybe three hours.”

That did not help.

“Can you get here sooner?”

“Why? Is something wrong?”

“Yes.”

Might as well since there isn’t anything else getting you here faster. Saiki thought.

A small gasp sounded through the speaker, “I thought you said nothing was happening?”

“Just get here fast.”

And with that he hung up the phone.

—

You raced to your house, hoping you wouldn’t find it in ashes or hit by a tornado. Maybe you were being dramatic, but why would Saiki call you and tell you to come home quickly? It was shocking that you didn’t get pulled over at the pace you were driving home. When you pulled onto your street, you were thankful to not see any smoke, but that didn’t make you slow down. You slammed to a stop in your driveway, panic flooding your veins. You unlocked your door at lightning speed and the second it was open, you called out,”I’m here! What happened?!”

You shut the door behind you, scanning for some sort of danger, but you find your house was still intact. You were so confused. You were expecting some sort of freak accident with Saiki’s powers, but everything was in place.

“Nothing wrong.”

You whipped around, finding Saiki had teleported behind you. You blinked in confusion,”What are you talking about? You told me to get here quick and I-“ “I lied.” Your arms dropped at your side in defeat,”Then why am I here right now?” He gave you an emotionless stare,”Because I wanted you to be.”

Still in shock, you looked around, finding a scattered book on your couch. It was odd because Saiki is always the one to be neat. You turned to the boy, noticing how he was hardly making eye contact with you and he clearly wanted to say more. You recalled his words over the phone, then it all clicked.

“Saiki,” your words were barely above a whisper,”Did you miss me?”

The things that happened next were a blur. In the blink of an eye two arms were wrapping around you and you could feel Saiki’s head in the crook of your neck. He didn’t respond to your question, but this was enough to answer it. Honestly, you were a bit nervous. Was this really the same Saiki? The one who barely let people stand close to him, was holding onto you like a lifeline. You felt a long sigh escape his lips and instinctively you reached one hand up to rest in his pink hair and the other embracing him over his shoulder.

“I didn’t know how else to get you here.” He confessed gently, making your heart melt,”You could have just asked, Kusuo.” He tucked himself more into your neck, almost hiding his face from you,”But you were busy.” You rolled your eyes, “It was just getting groceries, I would have dropped everything if I knew you wanted me here.”

Saiki didn’t know how to respond, instead he used his teleportation to take you both to your room. You let out a grunt as you back hit your mattress, but your attention changed to the boy resting on you. He looked so at peace and you couldn’t believe this was still the same person. (It’s not like you were complaining.) As you softly played with his pink hair, a small idea popped into your head. Maybe I should go out more often if this is what I get to come home too…