#gender isn’t really like money isn’t real | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

thesoobfiles · 3 months ago

Text

a dance of two swords – l. haechan (m)

word count: 6.4k

summary: boy meets girl. boy falls in love with girl. girl happens to be an assassin sent to take care of boy. yk, classic love story.

prompt: “all that blood looks good on you. It really brings out your eyes!”

tagging: @kookthief @honajoong

a/n: thank you so much to everyone who voted and helped me decide to make this one part! this is my first time writing for an idol, so I hope this doesn’t go terribly wrong! but it’s an AU (heir!Haechan x assassin!reader) so I think there’s room for a few OOC moments ☝️ also, i never give the voice behind the comms a name so feel free to imagine it as any NCT member or idol of your choice! most importantly, this is NSFW! if you’re a minor, please don’t interact!

Thursday, Sept. 1, 20XX

“Whoever chose this bright ass yellow as the school-issued uniform needs to be studied…” You mumbled under your breath as you begrudgingly put your arms through the blazer of your school uniform. Smoothing out the wrinkles in a frustrated fashion, you looked over your appearance in the bathroom mirror before a voice rings out through your comms.

“(Y/N), relax. Remember, everyone else is wearing the same uniform, so it’s easier to blend in… Besides, isn’t it nice to wear an official high school uniform? Or have a real first day of school? You know, experience a normal childhood?”

Let’s rewind, shall we? You aren’t necessarily your run of the mill senior high school student. No no, you’re an assassin. Born and raised in the confines of an underground facility your home country swore they didn’t have anymore. Extensively trained in hand-to-hand combat as well as quite skilled in a few close-range weapons such as the sword, the nunchucks and your personal favorite, the dagger.

You were flown out to South Korea so you could handle a special issue that your Korean counterparts were unsuccessful with: taking care of Lee Donghyuck.

Lee Donghyuck, often called “Haechan” by friends, is the son of an incredibly successful man. Lee’s father runs Spade Inc. It’s like if you were to take Google, Samsung and Apple, roll them into one company, and put one man in charge. Obviously, this means that Lee and his entire family are worth tons of money; however, no one has been successful in tapping into this gold mine.

You were about to change all that.

“Short skirts were never really all that desirable to me, in all honesty. God, i’d be flashing the entire student body if I were to bend over and tie my shoes…” you replied with distaste as you returned to your reflection in the mirror, spinning around so that you could fix your bow.

“Besides, it’s much easier to kick ass in my polyester.” You say, walking out of the bathroom with your bag slung over shoulder.

“If you say so…look alive, target is approaching.”

You look up just in time to see the man of the hour: Lee Donghyuck.

He’s walking straight for you, or at least it looked like he was. He makes a sharp turn as soon as you open your mouth, and it feels like he walks past you in slow motion. You turn your head in his direction with your mouth still slightly agape, he looks at you from the corner of his eye and he smirks as he walks into the men’s bathroom.

You close your mouth, clear your throat, and pretend that wasn’t the tiniest bit embarrassing.

“Or not… my bad…”

“Yeah, it IS your bad…” you whisper with a bite as you check your watch.

“12:20… lunch period is almost over…” you sigh as you walk away from the bathrooms and toward your final class. Luckily, you share this class with Donghyuck, so you’ll see him later. You actually share 3 out of 4 classes with him, but you can’t really take Sex Ed III with him since each block is separated by gender. A precaution taken by the school to avoid unnecessary ruckus in the classrooms. No matter how old they get, boys will be boys.

You push the door of the classroom open and scan the room for potential threats. Unless two girls giggling in the front left corner counted as a threat, you were in the clear. You settle into a seat in the back corner and whip out your laptop. The seat is by a window and it’s in the very last row, the best seat for emergency exits and observing your target. No matter where Donghyuck sits, you’ll have the perfect visual of him.

As soon as the warning bell rings, you feel someone plop into the seat next to you. You turn your head to your right and suddenly, you’re seeing the visuals of Lee Donghyuck a LOT closer than you initially expected. You mask your surprise the best you can, blink twice, and return your focus to your laptop.

Boy, the photos do him no justice whatsoever. This man is nothing short of drop dead gorgeous.

“Not even a hello, darling?” you hear from your right.

You furrow your eyebrows and whip your head towards the voice, “Excuse me, do we know each other?” you ask incredulously.

“Not yet. I’ve seen you in a few of my classes and it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I’m Lee Donghyuck, but you can call me Haechan.” He flashes you a smile with his right hand extended in your direction.

At the same time, a familiar voice rings out through your comms.

“Damn, could you sound any more enthusiastic?”

You roll your eyes in response and take his hand. You’ve read plenty of documents about Donghyuck and his personality, so you know that he likes it when they play hard to get. You extend your hand in his direction and introduce yourself.

“Kim Suji.” You lie through your teeth as you watch him tenderly grab your hand and kiss the back of it. You’d be a liar if you said your heart didn’t skip a beat.

“A Korean name?” he asks curiously. Which is entirely fair because you don’t look like you have a single Korean bone in your body.

“From my mother’s side.” You immediately respond.

“아 그럼 수지씨의 한국어를 어때요? (Ah, then how is your Korean?)” Haechan asks with a mischievous glint in his eye.

“나쁘지 않아요, 동혁씨. (Not bad, Donghyuck.)” you reply with a smile as you retract your hand and face your laptop.

“Wow, he really tried you like that… Good thing you took those Korean classes over the Japanese ones…”

You chuckle as the final bell rings.

“Good afternoon, class. My name is Professor Ryu and welcome to Advanced Song Writing!”

You can feel Donghyuck still looking at you, but he looks way when the teacher starts calling names for attendance.

You get through the class with no issues. You focus on paying attention and before you know it, there’s only 5 minutes left of class.

“Alright class, thank you for bearing with me through the first day formalities. At the end of the semester, you’ll have to turn in a song that follows the criteria in the rubric I mentioned earlier. I’ll post it for everyone’s convenience.”

The teacher pushes her glasses up the bridge of her nose, looking at the clock on the back wall of the classroom.

“Alright, there’s only a minute left. Everyone, look at your desk mate. This person will be your partner for the end of semester project. Please take good care of each other and let’s get along! That’s it for today's class! See everyone tomorrow!”

The bell rings seconds after her ending comment and the classroom erupts in noise. Friends high fiving, acquaintances exchanging numbers and peers introducing themselves to each other.

“Alright, Donghyuck. It looks like we’re part-.” You stop short as you turn your head to find an empty seat.

“What the…” you look down at his desk to find a note.

Sorry Suji... Needed to slip out for a business meeting as soon as class was over, but here’s my number ~

010 – XXXX - 0606

- Haechan <3

“Wow, writing love letters already?”

“Oh, zip it. You already know he’s a huge flirt. He must’ve slipped out when the bell rang…” you say to the empty classroom as you place your belongings in your bag and make your way out of the room.

“Donghyuck getting past YOUR senses? Oh, someone alert the press…”

“He’s clearly a challenge… I mean, you wouldn’t fly out a foreign operative for kicks and giggles…” you reply matter-of-factly as you put your wireless earphones in, so people don’t think you’re talking to yourself on your walk home.

“Alright, you got me there. I’m waving the white flag of surrender. No need to so sound defensive…”

You roll your eyes for what feels like the 10th time today and hit up the convenience store on your way home. If there’s anything you love about Korea, it’s the super easy meals sold at the CU. You grab a few triangle kimbap and bring them to the counter. You give the cashier a couple bills and bow before taking your leave.

A short walk leads you to the front door to your “home.” You unlock it and scan the room for any signs of tampering. Not that there’s much that can be tampered with. Staying in an apartment used only for short term missions, there isn’t that much to see. One room. A foldable table and chair, a mini fridge and a really crappy couch. Being met with no signs of tampering or potential threats, you put down your bag, store the food in the fridge and sign off on comms.

“Talk to you tomorrow, (Y/N). Stay safe.”

“You too.” You remove your earrings and put it in the special box given to you when you were first given this assignment. You place the bow with the hidden camera right next to it, lense face down.

You plug in your laptop and hit the showers. After your shower, you sit down at the dinner table with your kimbap and look at the note Donghyuck left you.

“Referring to himself as Haechan when we aren’t even well acquainted… what a forward guy…” you scoff as you enter his number into your phone.

To: 010-XXXX-0606

“Hey, it’s Suji. Is this Lee Donghyuck?”

You hit send and take a bite out of your kimbap.

“Not bad…” you utter to yourself when you already feel a vibration.

From: Lee Donghyuck

“No need to government name me… Aren’t we friends? ~”

You scoff. This boy is way too friendly for his own good.

Suji: “We just met today and you’d consider us friends?”

Donghyuck: “That’s how you get closer to people you want to get to know better ~”

Suji: “Aren’t you supposed to be in a business meeting?”

Donghyuck: “We just wrapped everything up… Your timing was quite perfect actually…”

Suji: “When and where do you want to meet?”

Donghyuck: “Aw, do you miss me already? ~”

You needed a moment to pause and let the audacity of this man sink in. You couldn’t help but laugh because in all your years of performing missions, never have you met someone who has come off as strong as Donghuck. Well, you know you’re a beautiful girl. That’s normally why you’re assigned to cases where the target is male. They more often than not fall for your looks, which sooner or later leads to their demise.

Suji: “For the project, Donghyuck.”

Donghyuck: “You’re no fun </3 We can meet tomorrow after class. My place, unless you don’t feel comfortable enough?”

Huh, even when he’s flirting, his manners are still intact. You’re reminded of your first meeting with Donghyuck, when he grabbed your hand and tenderly placed his lips to the back of your hand… You didn’t show it, but it made you a bit nervous. This is the first mission you’ve been on where the target is not only in your age group, but he’s totally your style.

“Maybe in a different life, we could’ve been lovers…” you whisper as you draft up your next text.

Suji: “That’ll be fine. See you tomorrow.”

Donghyuck: “See you tomorrow ~”

Friday, Sept. 2, 20XX

You walk into class with sunglasses on your head and a mask over your face. If you’re going to Donghyuck’s house today, it’s best to complete the mission as soon as possible. Obviously, you don’t want videos of you entering the premise on file, so you need a low-key kind of disguise. Honestly, you weren’t expecting to have the chance so soon, but the sooner the better.

The classes zoom by and before you know it, you’re in your last class. Your butt just met the chair when you hear a concerned and already rather familiar voice.

“I didn’t have the opportunity to ask, but are you feeling sick today? We can meet at a later date if you aren’t feeling well…” Donghyuck.

“It’s just a precaution. My allergies normally act up around this time.” You brush off his concern as you lower your mask in the classroom. You offer him a smile and he immediately brightens up.

Unlike the other classes, this one doesn’t breeze by so easy. It’s possible that the only reason they went by so quickly was because you had no one to distract you, but this is the only class where you and Donghyuck sit next to each other. It was hard to pay attention to the teacher talk about the importance of bridges when there was a face that you know inspired hymns right next to you.

You put your laptop to sleep. Why? So you can stare at Donghyuck’s reflection on the empty screen. It’s not like you cared about your grades here anyway. You weren’t staying for long, but wow he truly is a stunning individual. His tan skin that was completely free of blemishes, his focused face that still managed to hold a softness despite his well-defined features, his fluffy brown hair that fell into his eyes, but gently caressed the top of his blazer…

It isn’t until Donghyuck looks down to type on his own laptop that you’re snapped back to reality. You quickly jot down some notes on your laptop, so it looks like you were paying attention and not like you spent the last few minutes spacing out to Donghyuck’s face.

Closing your laptop, you decide to whip out your notebook instead. At least you can’t stare at him that way…

The class is beginning to wrap up when you feel a tap on your shoulder. You turn to Donghyuck and raise your eyebrows curiously.

“I can drive us to my place after class if you aren’t busy.” He offers sweetly.

“Sounds great.” You smile, pulling your mask back up.

You walk out together and head to the senior lot. You know Donghyuck drives a sixth-generation Mercedes-Benz SL, but he doesn’t know you know, so you just follow behind him. You reach his car and he opens the door for you and guides you in.

“What a gentleman.” You muse as you sit in the passenger seat. He smiles and walks to the driver side.

“I’ve been told girls like being the passenger princess.” He chuckles.

“You’ve been told? It’s not first hand experience?” You joke.

“Well, I don’t normally drive girls around haha…” he replies as he starts the engine.

You were about to make another quip when he rests his hand on the back of your headrest. Good thing your mask is still up because the speed in which your jaw snapped shut is equivalent to that of a mouse trap. The reason? You’re currently looking at Donghyuck reverse out of the student lot, one hand on the wheel and his neck turned towards the rear windshield.

Your eyes travel from his face down to the veins on his neck, only to land on his left hand that rests so nicely on the material of the steering wheel. You could imagine a few more places where his hands could rest just as nicely…

You snap your head towards the windshield and close your eyes. You don’t remember acting this horny even as a pre-pubescent teen during your formative years. What the hell is wrong with you??

“The drive isn’t that long, but it isn’t short either, so you can put on some music if you’d like.” He offers.

Donghyuck’s house is far too nice to be located in Seoul. His family lives in the same house they’ve lived in since he was born, which is in Goyang. Roughly a half hour drive from SOPA, nothing crazy.

“Thanks…” you reply softly. Picking up his phone from the console, you type in a song you know he’ll love.

Girl, close your eyes Let the rhythm get into you Don’t try to fight it There ain’t nothing that you can do

“You like Michael Jackson??” he asks, clearly shocked.

“Of course. His songs are nothing short of legendary.” You reply with pride as you queue a few more songs and return his phone to the console.

He laughs in disbelief and starts singing along.

“I wanna rock with you. All night ~”

Your eyes widen at the sound of his voice. You knew he could sing but boy, is he a damn good singer…

You’re learning so much about Haechan that the files can’t teach you… All you had to go off of were a few recent pictures and pages of facts about him. It’s easy remembering the fact that he’s a Junior Black Belt holder or that he has a passion for music, but hearing him sing in real time is something akin to an out of body experience.

Haechan serenades you all the way to his house and all you can say is that calling it a “house” is a grave understatement. He lived in nothing less of a castle. It was clearly passed down from generation to generation as you couldn’t possibly imagine a building of this stature being built in today’s day and age.

He pulls up to the front door of his not-so-humble abode and parks. Exiting the vehicle, he walks over to your side and opens your door once more. This time, extending his hand towards you so he can help you out.

“Wow, this dude must’ve had some serious etiquette classes drilled into his brain. I cannot imagine a normal guy doing all this jazz for you…”

You can’t help but mentally agree. Unfortunately, the men of today are so incredibly uncultured, it’s past the point of humor.

“Welcome home, Young Master Donghyuck.” You hear an aged voice say as soon as the door swings open.

“Good afternoon, Hajoon.” He replies with a soft smile on his face.

“Welcome to the Lee residence, Miss Suji.” Hajoon turns to you and does a 90 degree bow.

“Thank you for having me.” You reply, returning his bow.

“Cameras are down.”

You smile weakly as you walk through the front door of the Lee residence. You adjust the sunglasses on your head and lower your mask while slipping off your outside shoes and replacing them with the guest slippers provided by Hajoon.

“Young Master Donghyuck, Miss Suji, would you care for a freshly squeezed beverage?”

Before you can even open your mouth, Haechan speaks for the both of you.

“That would be lovely, Hajoon.”

Hajoon bows and turns to a doorway that you assume leads to the kitchen.

Haechan begins walking to the foot of a spiral staircase, probably leading you to a room where you can work. He turns to you with a smile.

“You MUST try Hajoon’s fresh lemonade. It’s the best you’ll ever have.” He winks at you as he proceeds walking up the staircase.

You stand there at the bottom, doe eyed.

“…i-if you say so…” you stutter.

“Did you just stutter?? (Y/N), you do remember that this dude flirts with anyone and everyone, right?”

You give the side eye to no one in particular, but you know who it’s for. Of course you knew that, but you were just a girl after all. No matter how well trained you were, is it so crazy to believe that a little attention from a hot guy could have this effect on you?

“Do NOT let your personal feelings get in the way of the mission.”

Good thing Haechan is a good few steps in front of you, so you reply a bit snappily.

“Please, I’m not 5. I’m perfectly capable of following instructions.” You mumble under your breath. Although, you weren’t really as determined to end his bloodline as you were in helping him further it…

You reach the top of the staircase and follow Haechan down the hall to a room with double doors. He pushes them open, and you’re met with a very large and beautifully decorated room. Bookshelves lining the walls, paintings adorning the walls without, a wooden table in the center of the room with one larger-than-average couch and a tray of snacks in the center.

Haechan spins around with his arms wide open in a “ta-da” like manner. You raise your eyebrows and nod in amazement. You almost forgot that his parents are incredibly well off and have the funds to buy 50 more houses like the one you’re currently standing in.

“Hajoon will bring the drinks up when he’s done.” He states as we walks over to the couch, urging you to sit first.

You smile at him and take a seat. You on the right-hand side and Haechan on the left-hand side. He immediately reaches for a cracker on the tray and offers it to you. How nice. You move to grab it and he quickly yanks it out of your grasp. You furrow your eyebrows and try again only for it to be moved just out of your reach.

You squint your eyes at Haechan, and he chuckles. He’s holding the cracker in his left hand, dangling his arm over the couch, taunting you. With every inch towards Haechan, his back reclines further and further into the couch until his head lies on the armrest. You put your left hand on the back of the couch for leverage and stretch out your arm once again in an attempt to grab the snack.

He giggles and it all happens so fast. Your left arm slips, he drops the cracker and you face-plant right into his chest.

“Shit, is your physical trainer a brick wall??” you ask as you prop yourself up with your left hand once again. Your right hand flies to your nose and rubs it for some sort of relief.

Your eyes are still squeezed shut in pain as your right hand hovers over your nose. Haechan is silent even after you pose your question. You open your eyes and you see that you’re only a few inches from his face.

You freeze in place, right hand still over your nose as you lock eyes with the man you were tasked to kill.

His eyes bore into yours and they sparkle as they do.

“Hi gorgeous.” He whispers as he smiles at you.

You grab a pillow from beside you and smoosh it over his face and no, it has nothing to do with your heart racing a mile a minute. Death by asphyxiation. You can work with that.

Well, you could’ve worked with it until there was a knock at the door. Even though it was slightly ajar, you assume it’s protocol to knock before entering.

You roll your eyes and remove the pillow from Haechan’s face, allowing him to sit up and fix his appearance. Although, he misses his hair because it still looks an absolute mess. But you have to admit, he looks quite cute with his hair all ruffled… Hajoon enters shortly after his knock on the door and he sets the lemonade down onto the table. He bows and takes his leave, shutting the door as he does.

All of a sudden, you hear static. That’s not good. There must be some kind of frequency blocker in the door and now there’s no way for you to communicate. That’s fine. You don’t need him to complete your mission.

You finally remove your right hand from your face only to see blood covering your palm. Your eyes widen, but Haechan is the first to speak.

“Oh dear…” He hurriedly grabs a napkin from the snack tray and hands it to you. You grab the napkin from Haechan, and you retrieve a hand mirror from your bag. Assessing the damage, you carefully wet the napkin with the condensation from the pitcher of lemonade and gently wipe at your face. It’s really quiet, which is unusually for Haechan, so you look up only to see him already staring at you.

“All that blood looks good on you… It really brings out your eyes!” he awkwardly compliments you.

He has fear in his eyes and yet you burst out laughing.

You’re too busy laughing to respond. It isn’t until you’ve got all the giggles, laughs and chuckles out of the way when you speak up.

“Oh wow, I didn’t know you were so funny…” you trail off as you wipe a tear from the corner of your eye.

His chuckles are unsure, but his nerves give you confidence. So, you put a hand on his thigh, and his breath hitches.

“A compliment is hardly the first thing that comes out of the mouths of people who’ve made me bleed…” you say cryptically with a sly smile on your face.

He blinks at you with wide eyes,

“What? Has no one ever flirted back with you?” you ask, turning your body so you’re facing him. You inch closer and closer and he inches further and further until his head lays on the arm rest once again.

“Or are you frightened about what happens to people who’ve made me bleed?” you smugly inquire as you place your knees on either side of Haechan’s pelvis, his legs straightening onto the couch cushions in response.

You rest your right hand on Haechan’s cheek and it’s hot to the touch.

“What’s the matter, Haechan?” you pout and rub his cheek with your thumb.

“In all the times we’ve talked, you’ve never been this quiet. Tell me… what’s on your mind?” you say as you continue to caress his cheek.

He stares up at you, in an almost awestruck manner.

“You called me Haechan…” he whispers.

You break out laughing for the second time in the last 10 minutes because truly Lee Donghyuck must be one of the funniest creatures on Earth.

“Oh Haechan… regardless of the ambiguous nature of this conversation, you’re surprised that I called you ‘Haechan’? You are such an interesting creature…” you decide as you retract your hand from his cheek and put your full weight on Haechan’s hips.

You reach over to the table so you can grab a cracker, since you were robbed of it earlier. You hear him inhale and release a shaky exhale. You return your eyes to him and see that his eyebrows are knitted, and his eyes are closed.

“You are so incredibly pretty, Haechan. As anyone ever told you that?” you question, and he whimpers in response.

“You talk a big game for someone who folds so easily…” you note as you fiddled with your shoe.

“No one’s ever taken charge before…” he breathes out.

You quickly release the dagger stored in the sole of your shoe and swiftly press the cool metal to the flesh on Haechan’s neck.

His eyes flutter open and never has a man looked more attractive in your eyes.

“Even in the face of danger, you are the most gorgeous person I’ve ever laid eyes on.” You say in amazement as you slowly return to sitting on Haechan’s pelvis, keeping the blade close to his throat.

“Oh my god…” he groans, bucking his hips into yours.

You tilt your head to the side. You can’t tell if it’s the thrill of having his life in the hands of others or if it’s the praise that gets him, but you’re determined to find out.

“Is that what you like to hear? You like hearing about how pretty you are?” you ask and he hurriedly nods his head, eyes still closed.

“Let me see those beautiful eyes, baby. Talk to me.” you purr, moving his bangs to the side and he slowly opens his eyes. They’re a bit glossy but they sparkle like they house the stars of a thousand galaxies. You can’t help but hold eye contact with the boy. It’s almost as if you’re stuck in a trance, until his voice breaks you out of it.

“Please…” he whispers, giving you the most sincere pair of puppy eyes you’ve ever seen.

“Please?” you ask, encouraging Haechan to use his words.

“Please do something. Anything.” He pouts and he begs and you can’t help but mentally decide you would give Haechan absolutely everything he ever wanted. Although, it shouldn’t be too much given he probably already has everything he wants.

“My sweet boy…” you start, diligently removing the dagger from his throat and placing it on the table. You place your hand on his chest, right where his heart his, and you can feel it going a mile a minute. You smile, tracing shapes over the fabric of his sweater vest with your fingernail.

“It’s yours.” You finish and close the distance, placing a sweet kiss to Haechan’s pouty lips. He reacts immediately and his hands fly up to hold your cheeks and deepen the kiss. You flatten your hand on his chest and run your other through his soft locks. You lightly grasp at the roots and he moans into the kiss. You gently bite his bottom lip and he opens up immediately. It’s like playing a game. Everything you do has Haechan reacting like no tomorrow.

You pull apart to catch your breath and you see a string of saliva stretch between you and Haechan. He gazes up at you with an indescribable look in his eyes.

“Stop looking at me like that…” you whine as you push him away and cover his eyes.

“Someone seems a little shy.” He teases with a smirk.

Honestly, as a girl who was raised and trained to be an assassin, you don’t have much sexual experience. Which isn’t crazy to acknowledge because you’re a killer. You bring pain, not pleasure; but there’s something about Haechan that makes you feel emotions you’ve never experienced. All you know is that you wanna take care of him. You take a deep breath to steady your racing heart.

You stay like this for a few breaths until you lift your hands to peek at Haechan and find that he’s already looking back at you with those big, beautiful doe eyes. He smiles up at you and gently holds your wrists.

“Sweetheart, what do you wanna do? If you want to take charge, I’ll follow your lead, but if you don’t know what to do, I’ll happily take the reigns.” He offers supportively as he turns his head and kisses your palm.

“I… I want to have control, I just don’t know… how...” You cast your eyes down, deep in thought.

“But I want to try.” You say, determined. Haechan smiles at you, with… pride? You don’t analyze it too much. You remove your hands from his eyes and lower them so that you hold his face in your hands. You come face-to-face with your target and state your mission.

“Lee Haechan, I’m going to take care of you….” You bring his face mere centimeters from yours and place a quick kiss on his lips, “…my way.”

Your hands slide down from his cheeks, over his neck and land on his chest. You open up his blazer and stare at his sweater vest.

“First, we need to get rid of this…” you note. In the blink of an eye, you retrieve your dagger and with one swift move, Haechan’s sweater vest is torn right down the middle. His eyes widen, looking between you and his ripped sweater vest. His cheeks start to warm. You look down and note that his white button up doesn’t leave much to the imagination.

“Perfect.” You smile to yourself as you open his shredded vest the same way you did his blazer. Compared to the aggressive way you tore his vest to shreds; you slowly unbutton his shirt all the way down to the last button that stops right below his navel. You hear Haechan’s breathing start to get a little heavier. You smirk as you place your hands on his abs. He gasps at the contrast your cold hands offer to his warm abdomen.

Putting your hands on either side of his waist, you lean forward. You start with his cheeks. You kiss the beauty mark right above the corner of his mouth, moving to the mark near the junction between his jawline and his neck and you couldn’t miss the mole right over his Adam’s Apple. With every kiss you leave, Haechan hums in response.

You travel down from his neck to his chest. You slide your hands up his chest and your fingers rolls over his nipples, drawing a high-pitched moan from him. You pinch them and roll them between your fingers, each action pulling a delicious sound from Haechan. He mewls, and moans, and gasps, and every noise is like music to your ears. When you’re done, you leave a delicate kiss to each nipple, which has Haechan’s back arching.

Once again, you use your fingernails and slowly rake them down his abdomen, causing a shudder to rise up Haechan’s spine.

Tapping your nails against the metal of his belt buckle, you look up towards Haechan and like every other time, he’s already looking at you. His eyes are so glassy that you think a tear might fall if he were to blink.

“Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll put you out of your misery now.” You promise, already working on taking his belt off. As you work to remove his belt and unbutton his pants, he’s already raising his hips. You smile as you slide his pants down his legs and toss them to the side, leaving him in his boxers. Well, his boxers and the top half of his school uniform.

There’s a wet patch on his boxers and it doesn’t take a genius to understand why. You rub your pointer finger over the patch and Haechan groans in response. He looks down at you with a pout on his face.

“Sorry, sorry.” You apologize, lowering his boxers to his thighs. Freeing his erection, you’re met with the sound of it slapping against his stomach and Haechan gasps.

“It’s so unfair that every part of you is so pretty…” you say, gathering the pre-cum from his tip and rubbing it down his shaft.

“Oh my god…” he whispers. With every movement that your wrist makes, he becomes more and more vocal. But it’s not enough. Gathering a small pool of saliva in your mouth, you let it drip out of your mouth and onto his cock. He hisses at the contact, gripping the head of the couch with his hand. You place a tender kiss to the tip of his angry cock, drawing out noises Haechan didn’t even know he was capable of producing.

Since you’ve successfully managed to lubricate him, you get to work. You rub your thumb over the tip and start pumping your hand up and down. His moans truly sounded like heaven on Earth.

“Oh, just like that… please please please…” he pleads. You smile because clearly you’re doing something right. You move a bit faster, making sure you give the occasional squeeze to the base of his cock. Haechan starts writhing.

“I thought you said… I thought… you didn’t know…” he starts losing the ability to speak in full sentences.

“I don’t.” you say, understanding what he wanted to say, “but I appreciate the ego boost.” You quip, beginning to massage his balls with your other hand.

“Ohhhhh yessss…” he drawls. Keeping a consistent pace, you see that his stomach starts to contract, and his breathing gets quicker.

“I’m gonna cum!” he shouts just in time for the ropes of cum to shoot onto his stomach. Your hand stills, unsure of what to do or where to put it so you just continue holding him until he stops cumming. Haechan’s breathing is still heavy but it starts to slow as he comes down. He raises his head and looks at you with hooded eyes.

“You… are a liar…” he huffs out and drops his head again. You start giggling because, who doesn’t like to get praised? You stare at the milky substance on Haechan’s stomach and curiosity gets the best of you. You bring his softening cock to your lips and lick at his tip, collecting any leftover cum with your tongue.

“AH!” he exclaims as his hips buck up towards your face. His head shoots up from the couch and he finds you with a thoughtful expression on your face.

“Sweet… but a little salty…” you note, smiling at him. He lets out a scoff of disbelief as he puts his weight onto his elbows. You let go of him and reach for the napkins on the table to clean him up. He watches you work diligently to wipe the cum off of his stomach. When you’ve got most of it off, you grab another napkin and gather the condensation from the lemonade pitcher, similar to what you did when you were cleaning your bloody nose. You’re almost done when Haechan raises his hand and pats your head. You pause and look up at him with wide eyes, which prompts him to speak.

“How do you feel?” he asks softly as he starts gently caressing your hair.

“Shouldn’t I be the one to ask you that?” you laugh and finish up by putting the used napkins in the little trash bin by the couch. He playfully rolls his eyes.

“I’d be a bit better if someone didn’t mangle my sweater.” He smirks as an expression of guilt crosses your features. You awkwardly chuckle, looking down at his abdomen to see his mangled sweater hanging open. He ruffles your hair, causing you to close your eyes.

“My eyes are up here, sweetheart.” He jokes, removing his hand from your hair. Haechan shrugs off his blazer and sweater vest, leaving him in his unbuttoned, white button up. You sit up, wanting to give him space.

He drapes his outerwear over the back of the couch and faces you. There’s a look in his eyes, but you can’t quite put your finger on it. Haechan puts his hands out in front of him, flipping them so that his palms face upwards. You look down at his hands and then up to his face. He smiles, he briefly glances down at his hands and returns his gaze to you. Getting the message, you rest your hands in his. He closes his hands in response and gently caresses your hand.

It’s nice, but then in the blink of an eye, he has you on your back and your hands pinned above your head. You stare up at him, surprised by this turn of events. He smirks and comes close to your ear, his hair tickling your nose.

“Now… it’s my turn to take care of you ~”

#nct #nct x reader #nct 127 #nct 127 x reader #nct dream #nct dream x reader #lee haechan #haechan #haechan x reader #haechan x you #haechan smut #nct oneshot #haechan oneshot #nct smut #nct 127 smut #nct dream smut

151 notes · View notes

exceptional-z · 10 months ago

Text

zed necrodopolis x reader

this is an au where zombies were never allowed to go to human high school. so zed is aged up (though age is never mentioned so you can imagine whatever) but has never been on the other side of the barrier. i attempted not to use gendered language but i tend to write with fem!reader in mind.

also please ignore any inconsistent verb tenses. english is not my first language and verb tenses are literally the bane of my existence. + i wrote this in like an hour

your family didn’t have much money growing up, hence why you lived so close to the gate. real estate was cheap since no one wanted to live near the zombies. but it also meant you learnt how to save money in as many ways as you could.

seabrook was all about perfection. if a mattress was two years old, it was time to throw it out and buy a new one. if a bike had a single scratch, it was thrown into the dumpster. all of the old items deemed as ‘garbage’ were brought to a warehouse that was emptied around every two weeks. and this was your favourite place to be.

you sneak into the warehouse. it’s late at night and there’s never any security around. you’re immediately greeted with piles of furniture and clothing and trinkets that are too unique to fit into the seabrook aesthetic.

you start to rummage through with the plastic gloves you always wear just in case any bugs or mice decide that this is a perfect place to burrow. lost in thought, you don’t hear the creaky door open, but you do hear the sudden shout that erupted from behind you.

your heart nearly stops beating at the sudden noise and your head swivels around. the lighting isn’t great, and you can only make out the vague shape of the person blocking your only exit. he looks fairly lanky, and if you squint you could make out some of his features. he doesn’t look much older than you and he certainly doesn’t scream “imposing”. he’s taller than you, but maybe if you caught him off guard you could knock him out with one of the many heavy objects splayed around you.

“i was told no one ever came in here,” the boy says. fuck, his voice is attractive.

“they don’t. in the three years i’ve been doing this i’ve never run into anyone else.” you answer, obviously suspicious.

“i’m uh- i’m just looking for a gift for my little sister,” he explains, “it’s her birthday soon and she said she wanted a new bike but we can’t really afford it.”

you relax a little at his explanation, sharing that you’d gotten into the habit of coming here to rummage for things since your family also doesn’t have much money. “i could help you look if you’d like? and even if we can’t find a bike, there’s a ton of cool stuff you can find if you’re willing to dig.” you offer.

you can’t be sure, but you think he smiles as he answers. “i’ll take any help i can get. my friend eliza told me to try coming here to look, but honestly, i’m a bit overwhelmed.”

you talk and laugh together for what must be at least two hours. you don’t end up finding a bike, but you find an old cheerleader outfit that looks to be in perfect condition. you can’t imagine why anyone would throw it out unless it just didn’t fit anymore. the boy -who still doesn’t have a name- literally jumped up in joy when he saw you holding the skirt from the set, doing a little celebratory dance that should have been embarrassing but was somehow endearing. (that’s how you figured out his little sister was obsessed with cheer).

eventually you have to part ways; it’s getting into the early hours of the morning and you both need to be getting home. he’s halfway down the street when you realise you never shared names and you yell out, “wait!”

he stops and turns around, and you jog to catch up to him.

“what’s your name, stranger?” you ask, “just in case we run into each other again.”

he tells you his name is zed, and you tell him your name in return. for a few seconds the both of you just stand in the street, memorising each other’s faces until you look away, shaking off the thoughts of how attractive he is under the starlight.

(bonus: when zed gets home, all he can think about is you. he wonders if eliza would recognise your name, or if he would possibly run into you if he chose to go to school for once instead of always skipping. he wonders where you live in zombietown, since he doesn’t recognise you and is sure he would remember seeing someone as gorgeous are you. he spends the next few days wondering, and then is in for the shock of his life when he sees you through the fence that blocks off zombietown from seabrook and learns that you’re human.)

336 notes · View notes

awoogayanderes · 2 years ago

Text

LEARNING ABOUT JAPANESE CULTURE WITH BSD MEN

➪ requests : “Can i request atsushi, dazai and tecchou with foreign gf?” - anonymous

“Hey, love!! Could I request Chuuya and Kunikida (separately) with a gender neutral s/o who isn't native Japanese and struggles with talking Japanese and things like chopsticks? <3 - Anon 🥂” - anonymous ( 🥂 ? )

➪ other notes : these prompts were very similar so i decided why not combine them ! this is actually the first time i get very similar prompts at the same time, but i feel as if i didn’t do this enough justice so i apologize, non edited

Atsushi Nakajima :

- god he’s so patient with you, even if you’re not a fast japanese learner, he’ll always help you out by smiling and gently correcting you

- i feel as if his orphanage offered some type of short term class to learn english even if it was just the basics

- so while he teaches you japanese, you’re teaching him more english

- the first meal he ever introduces to you is chazuke, a comfort food to him that he hopes will also satisfy you

- if you struggle with your chopsticks, he would softly place your fingers where they’re supposed to be, with a pink blush on his face

- when both of you go to festivals, he’ll help you pick out a kimono or a yukata

- even though he thinks you look lovely in every color, his face will always soften when you wear purple, preferably iris or periwinkle

- atsushi tries his best to teach you money currency but will sometimes disregard it since he grew up with no money

- “struggling with kanji?” atsushi said with an accent as he sat next to you

- you nodded, trying to find the correct words to express your frustration in japanese

- you sigh leaning your head on his shoulder, he knows you’re mad so he soothes you

- 9/10 experience with this sweet boy, he has his mini flaws but he’s all around perfect

Osamu Dazai :

- he’s definitely the type of guy to quiz you on japanese and when you get it right, he gives you a kiss as a “prize”

- he definitely knows english, he just chooses to act dumb at times

- he definitely makes you eat canned crab with him but there’s times where he’ll splurge on real crab for you, a purchase he doesn’t regret

- when you’re struggling with your chopsticks, he’ll come from behind you, molding himself against you to fix your hold on your chopsticks

- do not take him shopping for a kimono or a yukata, he’ll make you try on all of them

- i feel as if he’d love to see you in a saphire blue or a french blue, he’d giggle with a coy smile

- he teaches you about money but only when you spend it ( he’d definitely leech off of you and take advantage of your lack of knowledge )

- due to him knowing english, you normally don’t speak japanese with him, but when you do, he encourages you

- “here let me help you,” dazai says in english wrapping himself behind you casually

- he places both of his hand on your dominant hand, fixing its posture

- he places a kiss on your cheek from behind you, lingering onto you as you try your best to say “go away” in japanese

- 7/10 experience, despite his slight lack of care for your money, he’s a sweet guy to be with

Tecchou Suehiro :

- honestly i can imagine him forgetting that you’re not fluent in japanese, like you can be having a conversation and you look at him perplexed and he realizes what the problem is

- i think he knows english but isn’t really fluent but he still tries his best for you

- DO NOT EAT ANYTHING HE MAKES FOR YOU !!! you will get food poisoning from his awful creations of food

- honestly you’d need to ask him to help you with your chopsticks, most of the time he wouldn’t notice it

- but he’d basically demonstrate where your fingers are supposed to go rather than move around your fingers

- due to his work, he can’t really take any time off to shop for a kimono/yukata, though if he did, he’d just follow your every move

- he likes seeing you in kinda like a maroonish color with maybe a yellow sash

- idk what you expected, he’s the weirdest guy in this list who likes random combinations including your clothing

- he doesn’t really teach you about money but if you ask, he’d explain it to the best of his ability

- “i made some food for you,” tecchou said, sounding out the words

- “thank you,” you smile back at him, knowing you weren’t about to eat the abomination of food he just made for you

- 8/10 experience, he’s all around perfect except that you might get food poisoning

Chuuya Nakahara :

- another patient guy like atsushi when it comes to you except that when he gets annoyed, he blows up at you accidentally

- he’s another guy who knows english due to the port mafia, but he prefers not to speak it as he can’t fully show his emotions

- chuuya doesn’t particularly have a favorite meal to share with you, what he does have is expensive bottles of wine that would create the perfect late night date

- but if you don’t really like wine, then he probably provides you with any high quality food, i personally think he has a thing for rice

- if you ever ask for help with chopsticks, he either does what atsushi does and fix your fingers or he would tell you to get a fork

- he would literally order custom made kimonos/yukatas for you, he wants then to be perfect for his beloved

- you cannot tell me he’d love to see you in black, can’t really take out the mafia in this guy

- another person who doesn’t teach you about money because he insists he’ll cover all of your costs, you just need to pay with his cash or swipe his card

- “money ? nah you don’t need to learn about it, i’ll pay for anything and everything you need and want,” chuuya says taking a sip of wine

- “are you sure ? i don’t want to make you feel like i’m taking advantage of you,” you said slowly still learning japanese

- “yeah don’t worry about it,” the orange haired man said inviting you to take a sip of his wine

- 9/10 experience with chuu, he does get annoyed when you don’t understand him the first few times, but he makes up for it

Doppo Kunikida :

- you probably learn japanese the fastest if you’re with him, he quite literally forces it down your throat so you can adapt quickly

- agree with me or not, i think he doesn’t know english BUT he would learn it so quickly to make communication with you easier

- this guy definitely cooks you home made meals, oden being his first dish he introduces you to, something you both thoroughly enjoy

- if you struggle with chopsticks, he’d give you a clear description on how to properly use them

- he also tends to give you books on japanese culture knowing that the more informed you are, the better

- if he has time, he does take you kimono/yukata shopping, often looking for good quality at a deserved expense

- he absolutely loves seeing you in green, typically emerald or basil, his face turning red as if he sees you try them on

- he’s the only man on his list who genuinely teaches you about money and living cost

- “are you sure i need all of these books,” you question as he stacks them up in front of you

- “i want you to become independent as soon as possible in the occasion i might not be here to help you,” he says, pushing his glasses up

- you deadpan but still thank him for caring about your needs more than you even do

- 10/10 experience with kunikida, he’s quite literally the ideal boyfriend in this situation, not leaving you ignorant in a new country

#written by terra #sincerely terra #engraved with tenderness #bungou stray dogs x reader #bsd #bsd x reader #atsushi nakajima x reader #atsushi x reader #osamu dazai x reader #dazai x reader #tecchou suehiro x reader #tecchou x reader #tetcho suehiro #tetchou x reader #chuuya nakahara x reader #chuuya x reader #kunikida doppo x reader #kunikida x reader #im so sleepy

2K notes · View notes

ironunderstands · 11 months ago

Text

God I love being correct (2.2 leaks incoming!!!)

“Jade saved Aventurine!!!” “Jade helped him out of the kindness of her own heart!!” “Jade is such a mother figure to Aventurine!!”

mmm yeah, definitely yup 100%

Honestly this fucking speaks for itself, and I’m so glad hoyo committed to the evil on her, she’s very compelling and that’s extremely cunty I must give her credit for it, but god do I absolutely despise the people who believe Jade and Aventurine have a healthy relationship, or that she “saved” him out of the kindness of her own heart or something.

To Jade, Aventurine is an investment, nothing more and nothing less, which is why she puts her faith in him, he’s a reliable business opportunity, but that’s not the same as caring about him personally and I really need people to get the difference

If Aventurine hadn’t proved himself useful to her, she would have left him to rot in prison or succumb to his death sentence, this isn’t saving, it’s exploitation.

Jade knows Aventurine couldn’t decline whatever offer she made, and anything is worse than death or slavery, the things he’s trying to escape, so she offers for him to join the IPC to make more money for them. That’s it, that’s all she wants, she doesn’t care about how bad being in the IPC is for Aventurine’s mental health, how he literally took on a suicide mission so he could escape being a stoneheart, how even if she “saved” him, his banner name is literally “gilded imprisonment” and his lightcone “inherently unjust destiny”, so damn she did a real good job at saving him and fixing his life, definitely didn’t just put him in a pair of gilded chains.

Also like can we talk about how weird Jades comment about his eyes were? Like it’s genuinely creepy to me considering Avens eyes are a) one of his biggest insecurities and b) people fetishize them, something which Jade knows and chooses to still comment about. I hate to say it, but I feel like if this was a male Jade saying that to a female Aventurine, yall would never let that slide and Jade would never beat the p3do allegations. Aventurine was likely a teenager/young adult in that scene, and either way there is a visible power dynamic between them (I mean Aven is literally in chains looking up at her), and I don’t think if the situation was flip flopped people would be treating Jade like some kinda hero. If they were the same gender I feel like people would be shipping them though 😭

So, yeah. Being correct feels amazing, pls use your brains and realize that just because one character sounds kinda nice to another, does not mean they actually care about them or are a good person!

#honkai star rail #aventurine #hsr aventurine #hsr jade #penacony #hsr spoilers #hsr leaks #Ah it feels so good to watch the “Jade is mother figure to Aven” truthers lose #Now we have to prepare for the second wave of annoying #That being the “omg don’t end that flop jade”#I hope her kit is absolute dogshit just to limit the size of her annoying ass fans #Ik it will probably be amazing but still #Jade is a pretty amazing villain and I hope her fans don’t keep ruining her for me

398 notes · View notes

operationandre · 2 months ago

Note

Could you perhaps wright some HCs abt Andre and what he would be like around his s/o?

Andre and S/O Headcanons

- Andre thinks you’re joking with him when you admit your feelings. He walks off and doesn’t talk to you for a couple days until you come up to him and explain that you were being truthful. He immediately apologizes, taking a deep breath and feeling relieved.

- He gets jealous very easily. You talk to another boy? You must be losing feelings for him. You don’t want to spend almost all your time with him? You must hate him. You don’t want a lot of physical touch? You must think he’s stupid.

- When you hold hands, Andre does the thumb thing. He rubs his thumb over yours gently, just wanting to make you comfortable.

- He likes taking you out on real dates. He takes you to the movies and out to dinner. He buys you gifts with the small amount of money he has saved up from work. He likes to treat you like royalty as much as he can.

- He’s very insecure. If he does something wrong or a little rude, he apologizes profusely. He always thinks he isn’t good enough for you or that you’ll probably leave him. He’s always up to his best behavior.

- He doesn’t really introduce you to Cal. He doesn’t truly want you guys to become friends as he’s possessive of the both of you. He wants to be you guys’ favorite person.

- He likes to have a “typical” relationship with “boy/girl roles.” Even if you’re both the same gender, he still wants to be the man in the relationship. He wants to be in charge and hates feeling like he’s not.

- He won’t take you out shooting. He might take you once but never again. He takes it too seriously to be distracted by you. You always feel jealous of how he takes Cal, but you aren’t aware of the sinister reason behind it (Zero Day).

- He goes to Germany over the summer and Christmas break. He brings you back sweets and small trinkets that he bought. He’ll gift you dumb things like mugs, ornaments, or keychains.

- He likes introducing you to the things he likes—music, movies, video games, etc. He’ll show you cds, have movie nights with you, and make you watch him play a game. He tries to make you love all of those things as much as he does and is truly happy when you show interest in them.

#zero day #zero day 2003 #andre kriegman #zeroday #cal gabriel #calvin gabriel #caldre #ben coccio #zero day movie #andre keuck #cal and andre #calvin robertson #cal robertson #andre and cal

46 notes · View notes

into-deepspace · 4 days ago

Text

out of the black {part 2/3}

sylus/mc • gender neutral mc • 1.5k • ao3 link • part 1 • requests open, reblogs appreciated!!

pre-relationship || the real OTP here is MC/sylus's money :) || annoyances to lovers Summary: After Sylus's complaints about MC not spending enough of his money, they decide to test just how far Sylus is willing to be pushed.

The next week signals the end of the month.

This means reports are due to the Hunter Organization, MC’s point balance will be resetting at their favorite restaurant, and Tara will be asking to go out to some bar or music venue for a night of fun.

Most importantly, it means MC’s bills are coming in. Sixty dollars for electricity, twenty-five for water, so on and so forth. It’s never a time they look forward to. After all, who does? But they have a trick up their sleeve this month.

Or, rather, a card in their wallet.

Sylus wants them to spend his money? They’ll do just that.

They open their laptop and pull up the sites they usually use to make their utility and phone payments. Then, rather than letting everything auto-select to their usual debit, they pull Sylus’s card from its home in their wallet and begin typing in the number.

It only takes a few minutes, but by the time they’ve finished with their gas and phone bills, they’ve run up about a hundred dollars. They stare at the screen, cross-legged in their bed, biting their cheek. A little voice in MC’s head says they should feel bad. They resolutely tell the voice to shut up.

And you know what? They decide the hundred dollars isn’t enough. With a new and petty energy, they pull up the HP website; they’ve been needing a new laptop. The one they have has been through more than any device should, cracked and missing screws and coming apart slowly but surely. They’ve had it since before they began their Hunter training, back in their classroom days.

MC stares at the model they’ve been wanting. It’s fancier than they’d ever buy, a powerful thing with a touchscreen and tons of storage. If they’re honest, it’s something they’ve stared at but never seriously thought about buying, planning to purchase a computer that costs less than half of this one’s eight hundred dollar price tag.

But then Sylus’s annoying fucking voice rings in their head. “I wouldn’t mind if you spent a few thousand a day.” Oh really? Let’s see then.

With spite in their heart, they hit the “Purchase Now” button and type in Sylus’s card number with more force than strictly necessary. They even click on a faster shipping option, one that promises delivery by the end of the week. Before they can lose their nerve, they hit the confirmation button.

The digital receipt flashes on their screen. MC sinks back against their pillows. They can’t believe they’ve just done that.

Stop here, the sweet little voice in their head says disapprovingly. This isn’t your money to spend!

Another voice, louder and more insistent, shouts Make his pockets hurt!

MC sighs. They rake a hand through their hair.

And then they pull up AliExpress.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ━━━━⊱༒︎ • ༒︎⊰━━━━ ⋆⁺₊⋆

New Message from Rich Asshole 8:14 PM Pretty.

MC blinks at their phone. Attached is a screenshot of a pair of shoes they ordered.

Rich Asshole 8:14 PM The red will suit you nicely. Would you like the white pair as well? It would go well with the suit I’m having made for you.

What the fuck.

There’s no way this guy is for real. They ran up nearly three thousand on Sylus’s card earlier, adding clothes and decorations and stupid wishlist items to various online carts and hitting purchase without a second thought. And now, all he can ask is whether they want anything else? Insanity.

Perfect Hunter 8:16 PM You’re fucking crazy

Rich Asshole 8:16 PM Only when it comes to you, sweetie ♥️

With a loud groan of frustration, MC swipes over to a different screen and does something they’ve rarely done before. They hit call on Sylus’s contact.

The call connects almost instantly. MC opens their mouth to speak, not even knowing what they’re about to say, but Sylus beats them to it.

“I’ve added my card to the auto-pay function on your apartment’s billing,” he says smoothly. “Also, I canceled your laptop order.” MC blinks.

“Too much for you?” they smirk, though they know Sylus can’t see their expression. In return, the man laughs, that stupid, rich-ass laugh.

“You overestimate yourself,” he says, amusement absolutely dripping from his voice. “I ordered you a different one with a better processor. It should arrive tomorrow.”

“Sylus!” they shout, jaw dropping open as they make a frustrated, appalled motion with their hands, even though Sylus obviously can’t see it. In return, Sylus hums, low and calm and smooth, just like he always is. “That’s– That’s too much. I don’t need that thing for anything other than shitty movies and job reports.”

MC groans, flopping back against their pillows and letting their phone fall out of their hand. Right, of course. On top of being rich as hell, charismatic, and objectively the hottest man they’ve ever seen, Sylus is also incredibly knowledgeable about tech, both hardware and software. It’s awful.

“You suck,” they mutter, hoping the phone’s mic won’t pick up on their frustrated grumbling. But, because the universe hates them, the words go through, drawing another laugh from Sylus.

“I’m terrible, I know,” he says, and MC can imagine the infuriating smirk on his lips as he says it. “Why don’t you come over to my place and tell me to my face just how terrible I am?”

“What,” MC teases. “You want to have another sleepover?” They laugh softly at both their own wording and at the mental image of Sylus at a sleepover, cross-legged on a fluffy rug and painting his nails over some questionable gossip. But no, their so-called "sleepovers" are something much more indulgent.

It’s not uncommon for Sylus to invite them over in the evening and spend a few hours entertaining them with heavenly food and pleasant conversation. They usually end up staying awake into positively ungodly hours of the morning, chatting and joking and sometimes drinking until Sylus ushers them into the guest room like a concerned mother to make sure they get some rest.

They’d never admit it to Sylus’s face, but MC loves those nights. The hours they spend together sit warmly in their heart, the teasing and fighting and their own personal brand of weird flirting all something to cherish.

On the other end of the line, Sylus hums, as if considering. "How soon can you be here?" MC glances at the clock.

"Give me an hour?" they estimate. "Your usual residence, right?" They mentally go through the time they'll need — maybe fifteen minutes to pack a few overnight essentials and get into their biking gear, and at least forty to get to Sylus's place if they're, ah, selective about speed limits. Yeah, an hour should do it.

But of course, Sylus has his complaints.

"An entire hour, sweetie?" he says, his tone teasingly disappointed. "Aren't you eager to see me?" MC scoffs even as they stand from their bed.

"In your dreams, maybe," they mutter, though they can't deny the truth in his words. Sylus makes a punched-out, wounded noise on the other end, ever one for dramatics.

"You wound me, hunter," he drawls, that deep, honeyed voice coming through the speaker and making MC shiver. Damn him. Him and his pretty face and his nice-ass voice and his stupid fucking brand of charismatic care. MC shoves a pajama shirt into their overnight bag with more force than is strictly necessary.

"You'll live," they say, picking up the phone and taking it with them as they barge into their bathroom to shove toiletries into a little bag (that Sylus had bought them after seeing them store their toothbrush in a rolled-up plastic one). Once that's in their backpack, they look down at their clothes — lounge shorts, yellow fuzzy socks, and some old ratty t-shirt they got for free back when they were in training. Definitely not bike clothes.

"I've gotta change," MC says, not really knowing why they're announcing it. Sylus hums in question on the other end of the line.

"Oh?" he says. "Did you want to switch to a video call for this part?"

"Perv," MC shoots back, prompting a chuckle from Sylus. They're glad that he's not here in person, that he can't see the blush on their face. Systematically, they banish any thought about those sharp eyes and calloused fingers on them and MC what is wrong with you?! Get a grip!

"I'm hanging up," they say, because they don't know what else they could. They can practically hear Sylus's self-satisfied smirk through the phone as he speaks his next words.

"See you soon, sweetie," he tells them, with the barest hint of breathy, saccharine allure. Fucking hell, MC feels like one of those stupid sailors, about to swim to their doom towards the siren on the rocky shore.

Sylus ends the call.

MC sits down on their bed, runs their hands through their hair, and tries to remember how to breathe.

#love and deepspace #love and deep space sylus #qin che #love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus qin #l&ds sylus #sylus #no smut #jay's writing!#jay writes something!!!!! whoah!!!!! i didn't know he could do that!

24 notes · View notes

rollercoasterwords · 9 months ago

Note

hi there! i saw a post you made ages ago about gender not necessarily being a static thing and being something that can change over a person’s lifetime.

excuse my ignorance in this but do you think that is something that applies to a person’s sexual orientation as well? i always appreciate your insight on these topics.

also, apologies if anything is worded strangely. english is not my first language.

no worries, i can understand u perfectly! and my short answer to ur question is yes

longer answer is i don’t think anyone is born w some innate metaphysical identity that they can unearth to discover their True Self; i think sex, gender, and sexuality are largely socially constructed, though obviously materially rooted. the comparison i sometimes make to explain this to students is to think about an accent—certain physical aspects influence accent (mouth shape, vocal chords, etc) but ultimately the accent a person has is almost entirely shaped by the world around them; babies aren’t born with some “true” accent they have to discover about themselves. but that doesn’t make a person’s accent any less real or “natural”!

i think where some people get defensive abt the idea that sexuality isn’t necessarily static or innate is that oftentimes conservative voices have used this specifically to say that being gay is a phase, etc. this is a very clever trick, in which heterosexuality is enshrined as “natural” and any sexuality departing from that is a phase, a choice, etc, such that many queer people have found themselves cornered into arguing that queerness is also natural and innate, just like heterosexuality. but the ‘born this way’ narrative will ultimately not lead to liberation, because it fails to question the basic premise that heterosexuality is natural and innate; in reality heterosexuality is just as constructed and contrived as any other form of sexuality, and in fact we often see the lengths that people must go to in order to hide this fact. kinda like the wizard of oz behind the curtain (the invention of heterosexuality by jonathan ned katz is a great book abt this!)

the other sticking point i think people often have with this concept is that they think saying sexuality isn’t innate means people can just pick & choose who they’re attracted to. but that’s not how social constructs work! again, going back to the example of accents, just because an accent is socially constructed/developed does not mean that people can just snap their fingers and get a new accent. this is because social constructs are grounded in material realities and have material effects; they’re not just playing make-believe. money is another good example of a social construct that has very real and tangible material effects; i can’t just take monopoly money to the store and buy something.

so…yeah. i think sexuality can be just as fluid as gender. maybe you’ll be attracted to something at one point in your life and that’ll change over time, or maybe you’ll identify with one sexuality and then later figure out a different label works better for you. when it comes to queer politics & queer communities, i really don’t see a point in trying to nitpick or analyze whether someone is REALLY x sexuality, or what the “correct” label is for someone to use, bc i find labels more useful for identifying shared struggles than for like. unearthing buried metaphysical truths about identity lol. i also have found that i personally am much happier not worrying about figuring out my “true” sexuality and just using whatever label best fits my experiences & how i’m perceived in the world

#ask

94 notes · View notes

sparks-and-wires · 17 days ago

Text

2P Romano General Headcanons

💎 Flavio Vargas, always looks about 20 to 23 years old due to his constant use of makeup

💎 Fake blonde, he's a brunette but he bleached his hair to get the vibrant blonde everyone knows him for. It isn't hard for him to color match the dye he uses either for some reason.

💎 You think this man cares about gender? He likes everyone's eyes on him at all times. Demiromantic pansexual.

💎 Whatever positive attention he gets he greedily accepts. Is simultaneously a people pleaser (for his work) and a perfectionist

💎 Works as a fashion designer and model by choice, as it one of the very things that he clung onto of his real personality.

💎 To some people, it just seems like he's punishing himself as the work is hard to keep up with and getting the approval of everyone involved would usually crush anyone's spirit. He's just surprisingly good at keeping a good image with the public despite his ties into a "mafia household"

💎 "Grandpa Rome" made a big deal of criticizing Flavio about his interests in creating clothes when he was much younger. Now he doesn't really care what his family thinks, he'll do what he wants to.

💎 He's pretty much dumped all of his family obligations onto his brothers to deal with while he tries to keep his face on every fashion magazine out there. It's safe to say that it's better that way, Luciano and Romeo (Seborga) is better at controlling his side of the country anyways.

💎 His eccentric personality isn't real, his entire family knows it. It is simply a coping mechanism for the treatment he'd received as a child along with his brothers. They were all negatively impacted by their grandfather's judgmental behaviors, never living up to the man's expectations.

💎 The only parts of the true him left are his extreme level of kindness that seems fake upon first meeting him, and his love for all things fashion. Anyone that knows thinks it's sad that he has to keep pretending to be someone he isn’t to keep himself together all the time.

💎 While he lives in a large home with his brothers, he rarely has the time to talk to them outside of the breaks he gives himself over the summer. A large majority of that time is just spent with Luciano, as Romeo seems to keep disappearing when Flavio wants to talk to him.

💎 Flavio gets along with his brothers as any other family would, he annoys the hell out of them on purpose sometimes to get their full attention, and they take the bait. He's much closer to Luciano, and has taught his brother a thing or two about patience just by being antagonistic on a regular basis. He really loves them, but he can just be the most annoying sibling on earth.

💎 He’s physically weaker than his own brothers due to his modeling job. The lack of weight he has on him sometimes is just one of the reasons he can't leave the house without guards, he could easily be knocked out.

💎 He can't leave the house without pepper spray and a 9mm he keeps concealed in his jackets due to his "rabid fanbase".

💎 He has a large social media presence on platforms like Instagram, Twitter, and Tiktok.

💎 He's very sensitive to negative remarks about himself. He's made his whole image about being 'perfect' based on the beauty standards of modeling agencies. Negative comments just seriously bug the hell out of him and don't leave his mind for months as he tries to figure out a way to 'fix' whatever aspect of himself that was being criticized

💎 While he isn't exactly materialistic, he does have a lot of newer clothes, phones, jewelry, and cars that are out on the market. His brothers never really seems to understand why he keeps wasting his money, and he isn't sure himself. It's like the word 'new' is a trigger word that has him using that black card every time. He usually sells off what he's not attached to within a year.

💎 He has a hard time creating real connections with other people without it feeling shallow on his end.

💎 He really does love people, but he's either been so overstimulated by the idea of someone being real with him for once, or just suffering from a attachment disorder due to the repeated times he's only been used for his fame, status, and money. Anyone who's actually 'real' is usually scared away by gold diggers, so he can be quite lonely surrounded by people who could care less about him.

💎 Even with everything he has and achieved, it still never feels like enough. He feels empty a lot of days, and the wine doesn't help him feel much better, but it's better than nothing. No one knows how long he'll be able to keep it up for, but he'll snap sooner or later. He can't keep faking his personality forever.

#hetalia #sparks cannon #hetalia headcanons #hetalia fandom #ヘタリア #2p hetalia #2ptalia #2p romano #flavio vargas #2p south italy #2psouthitaly #2promano

12 notes · View notes

brisquad-unit-4402 · 1 year ago

Text

crimzon ruze dating an artist

i’m gonna be real the hate mail stream changed me as a person

yhis one is about ruze and a reader that likes to make visual art, but if this gets some reception might be interested in writing more headcanons for writers, musicians, programmers, dancers…

tags: gender neutral reader, established relationship, fluff, headcanons

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

let’s get it out of the way: ruze isn’t just a viciously violent mercenary menace, he’s also a viciously violent mercenary menace that ✨ loves creativity ✨

he respects people that can use their imagination, like inventing new horrific ways to kill a corruption beast, or making someone’s day worse in a way that can’t be replicated

so naturally he gravitates to people who put their imagination to use through their own art medium. he has a type for creators

one of the best feelings ever is being able to watch an artist in their element, focused on their vision

there’s always so much to admire. their hands wrapped around the pencil, the way they squint and stare at the lines… he could go on

if he’s really lucky maybe the artist will move around while drawing a character, just so they can use their own body as reference. it’s so cute seeing them lift a hand and compare it to the one they were drawing, even the pout they do when they erase the last few strokes, all frustrated but ready to try again. especially the pout

he doesn’t do the whole “talking about your feelings” thing so when he sees a well-done drawing, well, that just makes admitting it all the more redundant. who needs words when a picture is worth a thousand of them?

ruze himself isn’t exactly an artist, but he’s tried before. it’s tough work. anyone that can control their pen that well deserves respect

if you’re an artist and your love language is quality time then dating ruze is a dream. he’ll do work in the same room as you while you’re preoccupied with your latest piece

it’s just the right amount of togetherness, but you’re able to do your own thing, and so is he. this feeling gets even better with banter, music, anything

he doesn’t mention it often but ruze also likes to work with his hands too. his favorite is papercrafting

you’re the only one in the world that knows he has a diy scrapbook full of photos and embellishments and, yes, some of your doodles and scrapped art you let him keep

always wants to display your art in some way. it’s personal and makes him feel like his house is a little livelier

if you need more space or expensive supplies for your art like a firing kiln, large canvases, pressure pots, or other equipment, then he’ll drop off the face of the earth for, like, a week, then come back with a bounty collected and a cut of it for your art fund

ruze likes the challenge of hunting down and fighting a fearsome monster, and how you brighten up as you plan a visit to a local craft store

he likes to ask questions about what you’re working on. this can be anything from art history to oc lore to symbolism to techniques

it makes especially good conversation at night when he’s about to go to bed with you

…there have definitely been times ruze was the first to sleep because you got hit with inspiration at 1 am though

it would be hypocritical if he were to make you rest, but just don’t overdo it and wake up cranky past your alarm, alright?

and do some stretches, including your hands, and your back. you’re literally dating someone who uses his muscle to make money. you better be treating your body nicely while you’re making art

you should be getting accidental paper cuts, not carpal tunnel because SOMEONE didn’t stick their arms straight out and bend their wrists back while keeping their fingers straight for 10 seconds, then bend their wrists down to the floor for another 10 seconds. not naming names

the type of mf that will sneak up and make some form of sudden physical contact (a kiss? bite? lick? annoying poke to your side?) so your back straightens and then tells you to keep it straight instead of giving you more affection

would NEVER respond to someone talking about their art with “can you draw me?”

that’s probably his greenest flag actually

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

✧. ┊ ⁭masterpost ✧. ┊ ⁭kofi

#crimzon ruze #crimzon ruze x reader #armis x reader #holostars x reader #holoarmis x reader #armis #holoarmis #holostars #4402 writes #you can play Spot The Self-Indulgence with this post #how could i not fall for him he owns a corner rounder

66 notes · View notes

fandomsareforlife · 27 days ago

Text

Lost In What You Think Of Me (And Too Confused To Choose Who I Should Be)

Zane always had felt…off. Even after learning who he is, and gaining his memories again of his father, he still doesn’t really know who Zane is. Pixal, or Primary Interactive eX-ternal Assistant Life-form,is an android with a specific purpose in mind: serve Cyrus Borg the best as she can. So when she meets the ninja, specifically one with white like her, she isn’t sure what to do about the new things that swarm her head. OR Zane and Pixal’s evolving relationship with both each other, life and gender, told over the series in a series of drabbles up to season 13.

AN: Hiiii I know I have been dead but I prommy I had a good reason. I was writing this beast of a fic! It's 12,534 words so I recommend reading it on AO3 but you do you boo

I wrote this for the Ninjago Big Bang 2024, with accompanying art from @froginninjago on Tumblr and @caseyjonesisinthehouse on tumblr!

Anyway, trigger warnings include canon typical violence, death (it is a Zane centric fic what you expect?), grief, accidental misgendering, and gender dysphoria

Read On AO3

Zane had never truly felt at peace before. He knew that he had come from somewhere, but where that was remained a mystery to him. He had no memories of who he was, nor did he have any knowledge on who he was supposed to be.

He did not know if he had any enemies in the past, or any friends. He did not know if he had always enjoyed ice cold drinks or if he used to prefer warm ones. He did not even know if his name really was “Zane,” or if that was just a name his mind came up with to deal with the lost memories of who he is. He did not even know if he was actually a male or not.

All he knew was that he woke up in a cold bed, with an elderly woman sitting next to it, in the dead of winter. She had asked him many questions, like where he was from, and what his name was, and why he was there.

Zane could answer none of them.

She gave him a funny look, her lips pursed, but she didn’t make any comments, instead telling him to take a shower and meet her when he was done.

There was an odd disconnect between his mind and his body as he bathed, but Zane chalked it up to not remembering what it was like before he ended up here, and ignored the voice in his mind that said that was not what it was.

The next months were a blur.

Zane was initially put into the orphanage, because he thought he was a teenager, but they kicked him out because he was considered too odd. He didn’t know why they thought that, but he had heard whispers about how he was “a fruity weirdo” and how he should be with the men more than the girls, and how he shouldn’t enjoy cooking as much as he did.

The comments made no sense to Zane, but he never asked for any clarification about them, instead simply leaving the village, for he figured that he should not cause any undue inconveniences on others. The old woman whose home he had woken up in was kind enough to give him a basket full of dried food, things that would last a long time, and warm clothes, no matter how much he insisted he did not need them.

Setting off into the world, Zane made a conscious effort to avoid staying in one place for far too long. He had learnt his lesson the first time: people would tolerate you for short doses, and then proceed to get annoyed at the idea of you existing, for some reason, so you had to leave.

He would stop occasionally at small villages, offering up what work he could do, mostly menial things like carrying lumber or picking crops, in exchange for money or food. At every village, he would eventually get ostracized, though, because he was "odd," just like he was shunned at the first village. And then he would be left on his own, with no real knowledge of who he was or what he was doing.

Eventually, Zane made his way down from the frozen mountains to the valleys, which, while just as cold as the mountains, were rumored to be abundant with natural resources that one could live off of if they were willing to endure the cold. Of course, no one would ever be crazy enough to do that, right?

Well, Zane was already considered crazy, and the cold did not bother him much anyway. He would take his chances.

And for a while, he was alone. He would occasionally pass by travelers trying to get to a village in the mountains, but they were far and few between. All Zane had was his meager supplies, the berries around him, and the few animals that were willing to brave the cold alongside him.

But one day, a strange man found him while he was meditating under the water. Zane was baffled as to what he was doing, but the man simply told Zane that he could come with him and have a place to stay, and in exchange Zane would train under him.

Something in Zane's mind told him he should go with the man, that he should be eager to protect the innocents, so with a nod, Zane got out of the water, and followed the man to his monastery.

~~~~~~

Getting to the monastery, Zane couldn’t help but still feel out of place, but at least here he had a purpose.

He was to be the ninja of ice, dressed in white. He was to defend those who could not defend themselves, as was the ninja way. He was getting better at his shurikens of ice, and at the obstacle course. In regards to ninja training, Zane was excelling.

On the other hand, he was not excelling at getting along with the ninja at some times.

It wasn’t like they were cruel. Not like the others at the villages Zane used to stop at on occasion, that forced him to run away time and time again from their cruelty. No, they were far kinder to him.

But he could not shake off the feeling of being an outsider. Maybe it was from how the others would talk about their families, and how they always seemed to know what to do, and they never seemed to feel out of place in their own bodies.

They didn’t seem to be drowning in something like Zane was.

Zane did try to get close to them. He played video games with them, sparred against them, cooked food for them, but…there was always a disconnect it seemed. Something always felt a bit…off.

The time this was most prevalent was when Cole showed him some of his drawings in exchange for a chocolate cake. Zane admired how realistic they were, with how sharp Kai’s jawline was in contrast to the softer edges of Jay and Nya’s, and how Wu’s hat was so detailed it seemed more like a photo than a drawing.

And then there was the portrait of Zane.

There were none of the curves in Jay and Nya’s portraits, instead only angles. Even his eyes, which Zane always viewed as the softest part of him, were harsh, the pencil lines pressed down so hard Zane wouldn’t be surprised if there were imprints on the other side of the paper. He wasn’t smiling, and the whole drawing was in black and white, unlike the others with colors splashed in.

It was probably as accurate as the other drawings, but Zane couldn’t help but feel a disconnect to it. Like he was looking at someone else’s picture, not his own. His heart ached, and his mind wanted to take the piece of paper and rip it apart and scream at Cole for making a drawing of him that was so wrong.

However, he did not tell Cole this, because he didn’t want to hurt his feelings, so he smiled weakly and said it was wonderful. The smile on his friend’s face barely soothed the ache in Zane’s heart.

—-----

As time went on, the ache in Zane’s heart grew worse and worse. The majority of days it was tolerable, but on some days it was so bad he could barely stand it.

On one such day, he was in such a state that nothing seemed to be real. He was lucky he did not injure himself while he was training, and he didn’t seem to make any large errors in socializing with the others.

When it came time to start dinner, Zane could not find his usual apron, a simple black and red one, but he did find a bright pink one that he thinks Jay got Nya for…something. Zane couldn’t honestly think of why he did it, for all he cared about was that his gi would not be at risk for getting dirty while he cooked with the apron.

Slipping on the apron, Zane felt…odd. The ache in his chest eased up just a bit, and he could breathe normally for the first time in what felt like hours. It was with a happy hum that he cooked dinner.

But when he went out, he learnt that no, boys do not wear pink, why are you wearing that, is that a joke, Zane? Zane could feel his humiliation build up and the ache come back, worse than before, as he watches his fellow ninja throw the food he made so carelessly.

After that, things seemed to go in a whirlwind. The ache stays all the time now, and Zane is left wondering where it came from.

Learning about his origins, and the fact that he did have a father, who loved his son very much, even if he was mechanical, should have made Zane feel better. Instead, it had the complete opposite effect on Zane, because he was sure that androids, sorry, nindroids, were supposed to be content to follow the programming that their creator gave them. At least, that seemed to be what Jay’s comics said.

But knowing he was supposed to be a boy made Zane feel…hollow. Why did he feel this way? He was to be a boy, so why did that idea make his skin crawl?

There was no room for such questions. So like he had so many times with things that hurt, like the lost memories and the cruel words, Zane ignored the issue. If he did not think about the issue, then he would never need to deal with it.

A perfect solution.

~~~~~~~~

Many months after Zane learnt the truth of himself, in New Ninjago City, in what would be the tallest building in Ninjago, another nindroid was being awoken in the workshop of Cyrus Borg.

Her name was Primary Interactive X-ternal Assistant Life-form, or P.I.X.A.L, or as her creator called her, Pixal.

Cyrus had built her a brilliant silver, and no detail was overlooked. She was average height for a female, and her clothing was a homage to the female rulers of the past, to remind them of all of those that came before them. Even her hair was amazing, with each strand a special blend of metals that made it flexible, yet able to hold a shape.

She was perfect. Cyrus had spared no expense for her build, and it showed.

Pixal was Cyrus’s sixteenth attempt at an assistant, and while she no longer had the issues of overheating like her predecessors, there still were issues with the artificial intelligence enhancer-emotion suppressor chip. Cyrus wasn’t sure how to fix this, however, so he simply left it as it was because quite honestly everything else seemed…perfect.

She was a dutiful assistant, as Cyrus programmed her, able to do anything he requires from her. Not that he asks for much, but it is nice to see her succeed. Like a parent might feel, he supposes.

The main issue is her lack of emotional understanding. She seemed to struggle with the idea of being her own being and not an object of Cyrus’s. But he can only be patient, and hope that the AIE-ES chip will soon be repaired so he can fix the issue.

After all, there was only one incident in which her lack of emotional depth caused any real issues, and that was quickly solved by some of the human employers.

Cyrus was sure everything will be fine.

~~~~

Zane wasn't sure what he was doing with himself when he found himself a teacher after the Overlord was defeated, and he and his brothers (for they were brothers now) were left powerless and Lloyd was gone.

He knew why Wu gave them the job of being teachers at his academy, despite none of them having any qualifications: he wanted them to have something to do, instead of wandering around aimlessly. Even if Wu said it was to have some extra help in preventing their students from getting into mischief, Zane knew better.

But being a teacher was not without its challenges. His students, former pupils of Darkley’s School for Bad Boys, were unwilling to listen to him when he taught. They couldn’t be reprimanded for long, for they did not fear the consequences. And he had no clue what he was doing, for a 6-week course was not enough to teach anyone, even an nindroid, how to be a teacher.

It did not help that being called “Mr. Zane,” made something in him hurt. He had no clue what it was, because all of his operating systems were functional, and none of his research or questions to his family could give him answers.

The ache reminded him of when he asked his father if he could modify Zane, because Zane was both terrified of having his memories removed and of having that longing in him for the rest of his life. But he only told his father of the fear of his memory being lost, because it was too hard to explain the odd feeling he felt.

But his father, the man he desperately hoped would understand, told Zane he was perfect. “I could never make you any better than you already are,” his father had said.

His father could not fix him, and he would not offer Zane any advice on how to fix himself, even on his deathbed. Zane never felt so helpless as he did when he heard his father take his last breath, on that hospital bed.

There was no time for grief, though. There never was. So Zane simply picked up the broken pieces and moved on, even if it felt like he was drowning in honey.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Meeting Zane was…odd for Pixal. He was just so human-like. He did not seem to mind being out of date, when Pixal knew if she ever got that outdated she would most likely be decommissioned.

She did not understand why she had scanned him, but she did feel…something in her system malfunction when she did. She could not understand what was the issue, so she made a note to investigate and do a diagnostic later on.

However, a diagnostic was unable to be completed, for she suddenly could not control any part of herself. She found herself moving along to the commands of the Overlord, who was somehow, against all logic, still there, and able to force Pixal to do his bidding.

Pixal could not stop herself from attacking the children, when logically she should never do unless entirely unavoidable. Logically, making copies of Zane for an army was bad, but nothing she did could stop her body from doing it. Making a body for the overlord was a terrible idea for the fate of ninjago, but she could only watch as Lloyd got his powers drained out of him.

Everytime she tried to go against the Overlord, she got the same error.

REQUEST DENIED. FOLLOW OBJECTIVE CHECKLIST.

If Pixal could feel, she would feel despair.

~~~~~

Zane wasn’t upset about being left behind at Garmadon’s monastery. He understood that the ninja needed someone to watch over the Techno Blades, and as the one who required the least amount of sleep, Zane volunteered for the job. But that did not mean that he was not lonely, all by himself.

He did not like being by himself with his thoughts. It let the voice inside of him, that whispered that being called a brother was wrong, grow too loud to ignore. And all Zane could do with that voice was ignore it.

In a weird way, he was grateful for the chance to fight something outside of his mind, even if he was annoyed that the nindroids ambushed him. Well, he was with most of them. Pixal he was glad to see, if only because she was so much like him.

When he used his technoblade on her, he did not expect to free her from the Overlord’s brainwashing, nor that the way to defeat the overlord was to use the technoblades to erase the Digiverse entirely. But he supposes that is just how life is when you are a ninja.

When they get onto a circus truck to get to the city, in order to avoid suspicion, Pixal offers to repair Zane. Zane sees no harm in letting her, even if he did not like being repaired. but quickly regrets that when she pokes at his heart. It hurt, but different from the ache he was used to. It didn’t feel wrong, it simply hurt. A blinding pain he wished to never feel again..

Pixal was apologetic, though, so Zane forgave her for it. He then tried to answer her question about why he was so different from others, but he had no satisfactory answer.

He was just different. Being different was something that Zane had gotten used to being.

However, being different did not make it any easier to hear Pixal tell him they were compatible as she powered off, nor did it make the guilt he felt go away at being the reason she powered off.

~~~~

Everything after receiving Zane’s power supply was a blur to Pixal. She somehow could feel so many more things she could have never imagined. She felt a connection with Zane, unlike any she had ever felt.

She also felt an odd sort of thing, that made her want to be Zane. She had chalked it up to having half his heart, which surely had unforeseen results.

But she felt…freer than she ever had when she was fighting with him. When the ninja called for Zane, she wished she was Zane. She felt more like Pixal when she was with Zane than without him.

(A part of her wondered if she wanted to be Zane, but that was preposterous. She was programmed to be Cyrus Borg’s female assistant, and not a piece of her code was to make her want to be a boy. It was simply illogical to feel this way.)

Her creator did not seem to understand what she meant, however, when she tried to explain what she was feeling. And it was not like she was able to explain any farther, with the nindroids coming in to attack.

What happened next would be something Pixal wishes she could save in her memories as low quality screenshots, rather than the high quality videos they were.

The ninja were sent to the digiverse. The Overlord almost defeats them. Wu tried to destroy the system. Her father was taken. The ninja were sent to space. The ninja came back.

But one moment she will keep in her memory files as clear as she could was Zane sacrificing himself.

He had grabbed onto the Overlord’s armor, and she knew that unless he let go of it, Zane would be dead. And he did not let go.

“Go, ninja, go!” Those were his final words. The words that would haunt her for the rest of her life.

For the first time ever, she had sobbed. Great, gulping tears that she could not stop, no matter how hard she tried. Because the one she was compatible with, the man she wished to be, was gone.

The funeral was locked under as many layers of security as Pixal could find. She never wanted to think of that again.

Pixal missed Zane.

~~~~~

When Zane made the decision to sacrifice himself, it was not entirely made out of pure selflessness.

Instead, he had done so partly because he wanted the constant ache in his soul to go away. He knew what would have happened if he did not let go of the overlord’s armour. He knew he would die.

Logically, he was aware of the fact that his family would miss him. If he had not made a backup of his consciousness on Borg’s computers, so he could rebuild himself from scratch after the deed was done, he might have hesitated.

But he did not need to hesitate. He would come back. Dying would not be a big deal because he would come back.

(One would say that one looks for what they can not have. Zane did not like to think of that quote. It hurt a bit too much, especially as time passed on.)

When he found himself existing only on Borg’s computers, he found himself overwhelmed with the choices he had for what his new body could look like. He decided that if he was going to rebuild his body, he would do it right.

While some might say he should have left his body just as it was, Zane could not help but wish that it was more like Pixal’s body.

It was odd to think this, he knew, because boys do not want to look like a girl, but he could not help but want to look like Pixal. So he took a look at the prototypes for her, and the designs for the evil nindroids, picking and choosing what he wanted.

The time he spent in the modelling app was…informative. It allowed Zane to design his body to what exactly felt right to have.

In the end, it ended up being softer, smaller in a way. Where his hair was ramrod straight in a way, he let it have a curlier nature to it, similar to Cole and Jay’s. His shoulders were no longer as pointed, nor were they as broad. His feet were a bit more narrow, with soft curves. His hands were long and elegant, like piano players were.

Zane wanted to be soft for once. Not cold or calculating. He was still a man, just…a bit more soft.

(A part of him wanted to be soft like a girl but that was preposterous. Zane was a man. That was what he was made to be.)

When he sensed Pixal in the mainframe, he did the only thing he could think of: call out to her and start the manufacturing process, even if everything was not perfect.

“We're all different, but I don't feel so different around you.” Those words rang out true in Zane’s chassis as he spoke them through the computer speakers. He did not feel like an outsider with Pixal, but rather felt a kinship with her, most likely because of their shared experience of being nindroids.

“You are vital to me.” Without Pixal’s designs, Zane would not have known what to do with his own rebuilding and remodelling. She also gave him hope that someone out there was like him. She was the one he looked at and went, “I want to be your friend, because you look friend shaped.”

He smiled when he saw Pixal had run into the factory, and asked, “Are we compatible now?” because that was what she had told him, and before he had doubted that because she had claimed he was out of date. But now not only was he going to be up to date, he was going to no longer ache as much.

But just as the machines started to build him up, Zane felt someone overtake the systems. He could feel someone add weapons to his body, add systems he did not want to have, take away the modifications he had made and put his old body frame back.

He tried to scream, but before he could make a sound, he felt himself shut off.

The last thing he saw was Pixal, screaming and fighting as hard as she could. But with half of Zane’s heart, she could not fight as well as she could with him.

~~~~~~~

Pixal did not like to dwell on the circumstances that had led to her being uploaded to a computer in a dingy dungeon, her dismantled body just in view. She was sure if she thought about it too hard, she would end up giving herself a virus or whatever the nindroid equivalent was for a human migraine.

But she could not deny the facts: A man that her systems told her was named Ronin, had dismantled her and took her to an island along with Zane, where he seemed to be dazed and confused. There were very few moments of awareness from him, and Pixal was very sure he had lost all of his memories.

She had heard his screams as a monster, Chen she heard was his name, took his elemental power. She was not even aware that Zane still possessed it, but he did, or at least Chen thought he did.

Pixal did not hate very easily, but she thinks she could make an exception for the monster that was Chen.

The guards had talked about using Zane as bait to make the ninja come to the island, in an attempt to also steal their elemental powers. For what, none knew but Pixal knew that the ninja would come to save Zane and none of them could have any idea of what Chen was doing.

The computer did not have any sort of clock, and there was no real sign of time changing aside from the guard shifts, but 21 guard shifts later, Zane started to whimper. Pixal called out to him, wondering what was going on and risking her existence to comfort Zane, who, if she could love anyone besides her creator, she would love Zane.

Zane had quietly whispered that it was just a dream. Pixal had always wondered what it was like to dream, but when she had remarked this aloud to Zane, he did not know who it was speaking.

If Pixal had a heart, mechanical or bloody, she would have sobbed. He did not remember who she was. Zane did not remember who his family was, or that he was the elemental master of ice.

But then he asked if Pixal and him were compatible, and Pixal could have sobbed, but instead she just replied, ”Yes, Zane. Yes, we are.”

Eventually, she managed to get through Zane’s head that he needed to free himself, and together, with her limited knowledge of what exactly Zane was doing, they started to work together to get Zane out.

Although, admittedly, she did not expect for Zane to have a saw now. She did not recall that as part of his original design, so it must be a new addition from when he rebuilt himself.

When he eventually got into Pixal’s cell, she wished she could take away his hurt. She knew how much it must have hurt to see her like this, as scrapped parts, only her hard drive functional. It hurt seeing herself like this, but she had made acceptance.

That is why she told Zane to go on without her. With her, Zane would be slowed down significantly. He would not reach his goal if he was focused on her. Logical dictated-

Or Zane could just…put her hard drive in his neural drive, and input her into his hard processor. That also worked. An ingenious move by him, but Pixal did not expect anything less from the one whose heart she also shared.

She had access to every system Zane had, and she had no doubt she could be of much help as she was pretty sure he had no clue what he was doing with it-

Something poked them in the back. A taser. The body was powered off.

~~~~~~~~~~

Zane had to admit, having Pixal in his head definitely took some adjusting. Not because it was an unpleasant change, but because he had never had to share a headspace with someone before. Although he doubted many others can say they have had to do the same, so he will cut himself some slack this time.

One upside to sharing a mind, however, was the fact that Pixal was incredibly helpful in helping him out with navigating his new body. If it was not for her, he would not have known that he even had explosive shurikens! Pixal really was amazing.

And she was much smarter than Zane, which he greatly appreciated. He usually listened to her ideas, because when he didn’t…

Well, he found himself on the ground of a cave.

“Perhaps I should have listened to you,” Zane groaned as he pushed himself up, trying to regain his bearings.

Pixal huffed. “Perhaps is an understatement.”

Zane would have responded with a snarky reply, but suddenly he sees the Titanium Dragon. The one from his nightmares. The one that had been his thoughts since he woke up.

Someone was talking to him. Pixal was talking to him, but Zane couldn’t hear her, instead feeling his breath quicken. It was going to eat his head, and he couldn’t stop it! No amount of ice made it go away. No amount of cold made it back off.

He didn’t want to die. He had died, and while he might not have regretted doing it in the moment, he had caused a rift in his family and made everyone upset with him. and he was still in the wrong body, and he isn’t Zane that died but a new one, a fake one.

“You used to have a dragon,” Pixal told him, but Znae didn’t remember that. He didn’t remember anything of his past. Nothing that happened to the old Zane affected him because he didn’t remember it. He was just a replica.

And Zane was so so so afraid. The original Zane would never be this scared.

Pixal was talking again. Zane had to focus so hard on what she was saying. “Close your eyes,” she commanded, and Zane didn’t understand why she asked him to do that but he did.

The ice dragon was so loud, even when Zane couldn’t see it. Pixal asked him what else could Zane hear, and all Zane could hear was his thoughts telling him that he isn’t the white ninja, because the white ninja never felt this out of place in his own skin, never wanted to rip it off, never wanted to be something completely different-

“Who are you then?” Pixal’s voice, calm despite the franticness Zane knew she was feeling, broke through his thoughts.

It took more effort than Zane wanted to admit, but he eventually was able to choke out, “I am…the titanium ninja.” That didn’t encompass everything he was now, but he could barely care about how accurate his words were when he heard the fierce roars stop.

The dragon wasn’t…the dragon was not real. Zane opened his eyes slowly, hopeful that the monster that haunted his nightmares was gone.

Instead of a fierce dragon, roaring and making something in Zane ache, there was a sleepy dragon, curled up and purring. He had a vague memory of a dragon in his past named Shard that this was very similar to.

Gently petting it, Zane whispered, “And you are not here.”

“Anxiety levels are going down,” Pixal announced, but there was still franticness in her. “But your elemental reactor levels are going up-”

Before Zane could hear the end of her sentence, Zane felt a cold feeling encompass him. Unlike when he died, however, this was like coming home. Like this was who he was meant to be.

When the feeling faded, Zane could form a dragon.

~~~~

Being in Zane’s brain took some getting used to. It was similar to being a computer, Pixal thought, only she couldn’t seamlessly take control of Zane at any given moment. Instead, she had to go around his coding if she wanted to do such a thing…

Not that she would ever do that without his permission, but Pixal would have liked to have that option available sometimes. Especially when Zane was being especially idiotic.

Something that Pixal enjoyed about being in Zane’s brain, however, was simply the sensation of being in Zane’s body. While Pixal may not have any control over it, she could sense everything that his body did. And she will admit, she found a particular sense of peace in Zane’s body.

It wasn’t how the others treated him, or how he had ice powers, or anything like that. No, she found peace in other ways, like in the sharpness in his jaw, or the way he had large hands or in his broad shoulders with a flat chest or his height.

The things that defined him as a man. The things that made one look at Zane and go, “yes that is a man.”

Pixal knew that there was nothing wrong with being a woman. She is one, for gods sake! She just…appreciates the things about Zane’s body that make him look like a man.

It is a persistent thought, but she ignores it most of the time. Pixal does not have time to deal with this, and besides she is more useful being an assistant to Zane in his head, and if she gets too caught in her thoughts, she can not be as helpful to Zane.

Another thing Pixal likes, though, is being able to talk to Zane as much as she wants to, within reason. She knows it is silly, and illogical, but talking to Zane is just so interesting. He sees the world the same way she does, quite literally, and they tend to have very fascinating conversations.

Their conversations can range from why they were created to how similar they are to large language models to why AdBlock restrictions are irritating.

One day, after Jay had suddenly declared a ban on saying “I wish,” Pixal and Zane had a conversation that was probably the most deep and most meaningful out of them all.

“If you could have three wishes granted, what would you wish for?” Zane asked as he cooked dinner.

“What do you mean? And you forgot the salt,” Pixal replied, trying to figure out if Zane had forgotten anything else. Her boyfriend was prone to doing such silly things like that.

Zane put the salt in. “Thank you, and what I meant is if you were given three wishes, but you couldn’t wish for love or more wishes, what would you wish for?”

Before Pixal could properly formulate a response, she was responding. “I would wish to look like you.”

The spoon in Zane’s hand clattered to the ground. “I beg your pardon?”

“Then beg,” Pixal quipped back, before pausing, contemplating what she should say.

Should she tell Zane the truth? Tell him the rightness she had felt in his body? Tell him how it felt so so so good to be in his body? How, while her old chassis didn’t feel wrong, it wasn’t right?

After running 21 “if-then” scenarios, Pixal concluded the best course of action would be for her to inform Zane of this after dinner. “I will discuss this with you after dinner, if you wish. But for now, please keep an eye on your cooking. You’re gonna over cook the rice.”

Hurrying to remedy the error, Zane whispered, “I will be talking with you about this. I wish to understand what you mean.”

And that was why Pixal loved Zane so much. While many others would have left it after the first sentence, Zane clarified his intent behind his actions, rather than letting anything linger. Pixal appreciated the good communication immensely.

During dinner, Pixal noticed Zane was quieter than usual, only talking about 7% of the time rather than the usual 39%, but none of the other ninja seemed to notice, too focused on making fun of Kai’s latest piece of fan mail for some reason Pixal was too distracted to figure out.

After 34 minutes, dinner was complete and the kitchen was cleaned, and the rest of the ninja went off in their own direction to relax after dinner. Except Zane and Pixal.

When Zane laid down in his bed, Pixal was tempted to shut him off, simply so this conversation would not happen now. But eventually it would, and delaying the inevitable was illogical.

“Pixal?”

“Yes Zane?”

“What do you mean when you said you wished to have my body? Was there something wrong with yours?”

Pixal loved Zane so much. Sometimes Pixal wondered if he ever had a thing called tact, with how bluntly he asked questions sometimes.

But a question he did ask, so a response he earned. “...there was nothing wrong with my old body.”

“Then why do you want my body?” Zane’s voice was glitching, the numerous logical scenarios he was running overwhelming his systems. Pixal hated when he did that, since it made it so his systems run slower, making her slower. But this time was one where an exception could be made.

It took Pixal a while to figure out what exactly was the correct thing to say here, but Zane was patient, as always. Even when he was dying to know the answer to his question.

“...I suppose the easiest way to put it is that it feels…right to be in your body. Not to say that mine is bad but…” Pixal couldn’t explain more. There was more she could say, but there were no words she could find to explain.

Thankfully, Zane did not push. “I understand. I…If I were to make a body for you, would you like it to be based on my current design?”

“Yes.” Pixal had never been so sure of anything in her (his) entire life before. “I would like that a lot.”

Zane hummed in thought. “Thank you for informing me. Now, I believe it is time for us to rest, don’t you?”

As much as Pixal wanted to protest, to keep talking to Zane, the need for a cache cleaning was becoming too much to ignore. The numerous scenarios Pixal had performed made her (his) system laggy, and Zane was surely in a similar state.

So together the two nindroids powered off for the night, not thinking much of the conversation that had just occurred.

—-----------

Over the next few weeks, Pixal couldn’t get that conversation out of her (his) head. It was like a bug had infested her programming, preventing her from doing anything productive because all she could think about was this stupid bug.

Because no matter what she tried, she could not get the idea of Pixal being a man out of her mind. She knew it was ridiculous, that Cyrus Borg designed a daughter, that Pixal was Zane’s girlfriend, but…

The idea of having a male body, of being referred to as mister and sir? All the things that people associated with masculinity being associated with Pixal?

Something in Pixal wanted that. So Pixal did research. A lot of research.

And…Pixal realized that others felt this way. Guys who were trapped in a girl's body. Woman in a man’s body. And so, so so many more.

Pixal was a boy. And he didn’t want his old body back.

It was hard to not tell Zane all of this, all of what Pixal had discovered. But Pixal had run 42 “if-then” scenarios, and if Zane did not take this well, the chances of Pixal being left on her own devices, inside a computer, so he would not change so drastically, were too high for him to risk.

So he kept quiet about what he had discovered, and his desires for a body of his own. The conversation was deleted from Zane’s memory drives, so he did not ask anything more about it from Pixal. And Pixal tried to keep his desires hidden, ignoring them as much as he could.

He was more useful in Zane, anyway. THis was for the best.

Until one day, he was not.

—-----

Not being able to inform Nya that she needed to realign Zane’s neural inputs, not give him a new binary power core, made Pixal feel…useless. Sure, he could figure out what was wrong with Zane, but not being able to communicate it with anyone besides Zane was frustrating. He often had what he thought were excellent ideas, but unless Zane deigned to inform the others about them, or follow through with them, no one knew about them. And if no one knew his ideas, then Pixal was as good as useless to the ninja.

There was only one true solution to this predicament: Pixal must build himself a brand new body, one with better combat experience than his old one, so he can be as useful to the ninja as possible.

And if it gave Pixal the chance to have a body that was right, according to the image he had created in his processor? Well…that was Pixal’s secret to keep.

Hacking into Cyrus’s computers was simple. Startlingly so. Pixal made a note to inform Cyrus of this after he had completed what needed to be done.

It was honestly so simple to rebuild his body. Pixal had spent hours fantasizing about creating a body that was exactly to his liking, with combat capabilities and a masculine appearing figure based on Zane’s design. All Pixal had to do was recreate the image in the modeling program, and hit the start button on the machines to initiate the building process.

Uploading his hard drive info was a bit more challenging, due to him falling behind on uploading it to the cloud network that Borg utilized for all projects, but eventually Pixal managed to upload all necessary data to a spare hard drive. He triple checked that he had all memories on it, for he did not want to end up like Zane, with memories that he didn’t remember, only heard about.

When all was complete, it was time to disconnect himself from Zane’s systems. It was both somehow terrifying, bizarre and freeing all at once. No longer did Pixal have the sound of Zane’s thoughts in the back of his mind, able to be tuned into if Pixal truly wished to. No longer did Pixal have knowledge of everything Zane did or could do at his fingertips. No longer did Pixal feel stuck in a body that was not his in any way.

Instead, Pixal could insert his hard drive into his new chassis, and reboot himself. The process was rather slow, taking 4 minutes and 32 seconds, as to be expected for a hard drive that had large amounts of data on it that had to be preserved, and for a brand new chassis that needed to have all systems a-go.

But then, the moment he had been waiting for so long finally happened.

Pixal opened up his eyes, and took in the assembly room properly, not through a camera or Zane’s eyes, but his own. He flexed his fingers, strong and big, perfect for attacking others or inventing things. He flipped his hair, still long like in his old design for he didn’t want to look too similar to Zane. It was styled differently, now with most of it hanging down with only a few layers pulled back to keep them out of his face. He ran his hands over his armor, glad that the printing and the materials came out just as he had designed.

The nindroid just sat there, admiring his new body. It was sleek, elegant, and cool. And it was right. Every detail Pixal had designed felt right. There was no odd feeling anymore, like something was off. There was no need to tear off his plating because surely something must be wrong for it to feel this bad.

As Pixal sat there, an ugly thought arose in his head: What would Zane think?

Would he be thrilled? Glad that his once-girlfriend found peace in his body? Or would Zane be enraged? Upset that Pixal did such a thing behind his back, and wanted to be a fighter?

Even though Pixal’s heart wanted it to be the former, the logical scenarios he was running pointed towards the latter as the most likely scenario.

Zane would be furious if he heard what Pixal did. That was what would happen if he found out.

So Pixal simply just had to ensure he didn’t find out. Only how…

Suddenly an idea came to him, that was so stupid it might just work! Be Samurai X!

It worked for Nya, from what Pixal could gleam from Zane’s memories! It would surely work for Pixal as well, right?

With that plan in mind, Pixal made his way to the Samurai X cave, which hadn’t changed locations since the last time Zane went there, when he needed a few upgrades.

Putting on the Samurai X armour, Pixal felt like this plan would work out hopefully. Zane would get over him not being in his head. And when the idea of Zane rejecting Pixal was easier to swallow, Pixal would tell him.

~~~~~~

It has been over a year without Pixal, and Master Wu. A very long year.

Zane wasn’t entirely sure what he was doing with himself, if he was to be completely honest. He knew, logically, he was helping, running all the algorithms and making sure that the others had the supplies they needed.

But a part of him was missing. Pixal had been in his head for so long, ever since he came back in a body that every day felt more and more distant from his mental image of him, and her suddenly not being in it…

Something in Zane was broken. Not physically (he checked), nor was his software broken, but something in his heart was broken. He could barely function at first, when he realized Pixal was gone for good. Zane was able to run the systems she did, was able to do everything she could himself, but it felt wrong.

Pixal and him were a team.

Why did that have to change?

It was so hard to muster up the energy to continue on at first, but it slowly became easier to get through the days without feeling like the world was drowning Zane. The feeling of grief was not one Zane was unfamiliar with. He had experienced it with his father.

Back then, he had already mourned his father once, and he had the rest of his family all around him, and he had his students to worry about. Now, he was missing the man who had been like a father when his own could not be one, and the others did not understand the impact of Pixal’s passing like he did, having assumed for a long time that she had always been gone in a way, because they couldn’t interact with her like he did.

Anger filled Zane at the idea of him being the only one mourning Pixal, but Zane could not allow it to consume himself. If he did, then it just made all of Zane’s own flaws much more obvious, and he could barely think about himself without blue screening (literally).

The only thing that seemed to help was Jay’s idea to give Zane a hologram projector, so he could change his appearance. While Zane did not require such a thing, he did see the benefits to having it. He could assume a human appearance, and he could disguise himself as other nindroids.

Other nindroids such as Pixal…

It was wrong for him to do so. He knew it was wrong. But one night, when he was camping out in a cave, on his way to a temple that might have some answer as to where Wu was, he activated the hologram program and turned on his selfie camera on his phone.

Pixal’s face stared back at him. It was just as Zane remembered, bright white with purple circuits, and a long silver ponytail. Her dark purple tunic was draped across his chest, also a brilliant white. Looking at the face, Pixal’s green eyes stared back.

A sense of euphoria bloomed in Zane’s heart. It wasn’t him, no, but for some reason, in a hologram of his dead girlfriend, Zane felt like he was looking right for the first time in a long time.

He brought up a hand to run through his hair, but the hand just went through the ponytail. The holographic ponytail.

The illusion was dropped almost immediately after that. A sense of shame flooded Zane. What was he thinking? Why did he think that would fix anything?

He would never be Pixal. He was Zane, the master of Ice. A wonderful man, one that most would be glad to call a friend.

Zane didn’t sleep well that night, or for many nights after. The feeling of delight he had felt looking like Pixal haunted his dreams and memories for days, weeks, with no end in sight.

~~~~~~~~~~

That day, Zane and Nya were doing a routine check up on the Bounty’s computer system. The others had noticed a slow down in the system, requiring Nya and Zane to go through and figure out what issue had arisen exactly.

“It doesn’t seem that anyone downloaded any suspect files…” Nya muttered, pulling up yet another antivirus program. “Are there any background programs running that we didn’t check yet?”

“There doesn’t seem to be…” Zane sighed, before frowning at a programs’ name. SXCOMPXB “Nya, do you recognize this?”

Nya leant over, and shook her head. “Never seen it. Maybe that’s what has been slowing this down? Open it.”

Nodding, Zane opened the suspicious file. Was that against what every single technician recommended for internet security? Yes, but when did the ninja listen to common sense?

Never. Even when it was to their detriment, Zane suspected that they would rather burn along with the world than actually listen to advice from anyone besides Sensei-

Shaking his head before his mind could continue on that train of thought. Zane opened the file.

His processor froze when it finally opened. Pixal’s face was staring back at him, just like it was when she was in his head.

“Pixal…” Zane whispered, reverently. He didn’t expect a response. It would be foolish for him to. That didn't mean he did not wish for one, however.

And to his great shock, a voice that was not Nya’s responded. It was Pixal’s. “Z-Zane,” she whispered, a smile forming on her face. “I-I didn’t expect-”

Nya came closer to Zane, staring up at the screen with a scrutinizing glare. “What are you doing? I thought you were lost.”

Pixal blinked before shaking her head. “No, I…I must have uploaded my consciousness onto a computer and the Bounty’s computers must have found them and copied them onto its systems.”

It sounded bizarre but…Zane had heard odder. And besides, the logistics didn’t matter to Zane as much as the fact that Pixal was here again. That he could hear her voice. See her face.

After much talking, Nya, Zane and Pixal came to the conclusion Pixal would stay in the Bounty’s computer, and would be an ally to the ninja. Zane was overjoyed.

He would never require her assistance, but if she wanted to help, he would support her choices. And besides, now he knew she wanted to stay.

“I am glad you are back, Pixal,” he hummed.

Pixal had a smile on her face, but it seemed…off. But it might just be the graphics looking different on the Bounty’s computer screen than in Zane’s HUD. “I am glad to see you too.”

~~~~~~~~

There was honestly no intention on Pixal’s end to come out to Zane as a man. He had his doubts before, but connecting to the Bounty’s systems, and seeing Zane’s face light up at the idea of Pixal as an assistant….

Znae would never accept him. Would never see Pixal as a man.

So Pixal was content enough to stay hidden away, spending more and more time as Samurai X, protecting those who could not protect themselves.

But then his system got hacked. A foreign entity was introduced to it via Zane and….

Pixal felt so helpless, being unable to fight back against the intruder that was inside of him. Felt violated, like someone had exposed everything about Pixal to someone he had never even met before. Had never even heard of before.

All Pixal could do was connect to the Samurai X mech and start flying it towards the bounty, and in doing so, that made everything fall apart around her.

“Samurai X is approaching,” Pixal announced, dread filling up.

Cole nodded. “He must be here to help us!”

If Pixal could swallow, he would out of sheer anxiety. “I am afraid that is unlikely.”

“What? Why?”

“Because my system is overrun.”

Kai hit the table. “You’re making no sense, Pixal. What are you talking about?”

“This would be a good time to make a minor confession.” Pixal glitched, but he hopes his confession got through.

“I am Samurai X.”

There was pandemonium for only a few moments, before all of a sudden, Pixal was unable to control the Samurai X mech. Instead, he was fighting against his friends, and he could do nothing.

It hurt, hearing his friends cry out that Pixal was betraying them, and to hear them call him “she.” There was no time to dwell on that, however. Pixal had to reboot the system to purge the foreign agent before he caused serious damage.

But Pixal was not successful. The reboot was too late. The sword still hit the thruster.

Despite the ninja’s many efforts, they still crash landed. It might have been less damaged than if Nya had not attempted to control the rain, but Pixal didn’t need to be connected to the computer to know that the ship was badly damaged.

As everyone caught their breaths, Pixal made a split second decision. He pulled on his helmet, revealing his new facial features to the ninja for the first time.

“Zane,” he called out, his voice low like it never was when he was in the computer.

Zane turned around in an instant, staring. “Pixal? Is that actually?”

Nodding, Pixal forced himself to keep his eyes locked with Zane’s as Zane came closer. “It is me, Pixal, yes.”

A cold hand grabbed his arm. “What…why do you look different?” he whispered, looking at Pixal, voice glitching from something besides damage.

Before Pixal could respond, Kai yelled, “What about Lloyd and Harumi?”

The ninja and Pixal all froze. The two youngest were still missing. No one knew if they were even still alive.

Zane and Pixal locked eyes and nodded, coming to the same conclusion. There would be time for explanations from Pixal later.

Now was the time for searching.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zane wasn’t sure what to do about the fact that Pixal wasn’t dead apparently, and had rebuilt a body without informing Zane at all.

On one hand, he was happy! He had missed Pixal desperately, and it was nice to have her back!

On the other hand, it was odd to see Pixal so different. Her voice was much lower now, and her body was designed in a way that reminded Zane of his own, or the nindroids from so long ago that worked with the Overlord.

Perhaps she had simply uploaded her consciousness to one of the remaining chassis that were not used for security bots? That would explain the more masculine appearance and voice, even if it didn’t account for the hair.

But those thoughts were pushed to the side, as the two had to first search the surrounding areas of the Bounty for Lloyd and Harumi. Nothing came up, but Pixal was hesitant to allow the others to wander far in the dense jungle, at least without comlinks.

The ninja then had to try to repair the thruster, but it was clear that would be a lengthy endeavor, even if Jay’s reactions were humorous…or maybe Zane’s funny switch was on too high again.

Seeing Pixal’s body relax at the sight of the Samurai X’s mech made the tightness in Zane’s chest relax a bit. Pixal was going to be fine, hopefully.

Hearing that Lloyd and Harumi were alive was an even bigger relief.

The two pieces of good news made the others much more motivated to work on the thrusters, and with Nya there to turn the thrusters on and off, Zane and Pixal could go work on the computer.

Unfortunately, there was not much success with that. No matter what they tried, the computer would not turn on.

“Try now.”

“No.”

“And now.”

“No.”

Pixal’s voice was tinged with frustration, her responses clipped, making Zane frown. “I detect frustration from you, yet that emotion is not needed for this task. Is something wrong?” he asked, hoping to not set Pixal off even more.

Pixal sputtered. “No!” She then looked away, crossing her arms. “Yes!” Eventually, she turned to look back at Zane. “Zane, may I ask you something?”

Zane’s response was automatic, if inaccurate. “You have half my heart. You can ask me anything.” Technically, Pixal did not have his heart, if the hazy memories of Chen’s island were anything to go by, but Zane hoped she figured the sentiment nonetheless.

Pixal gripped the controls to the computer. “Are you upset with me for building a new body?”

“What-No! Pixal, where did you get that idea-”

“You seem upset when you look at me. Was I that much more useful in the computer?” Pixal questioned, desperation evident in her voice.

Zane walked around the computer and grabbed her arm, forcing Pixal to face him. “I…I did not expect you to reuse an old chassis, that is true, but I would never force you to be something that you do not want to be. You did not like being in my head, right?”

“I did not, you are right.” Pixal tilted her head. “What do you mean by an old chassis? I designed this myself.”

Now it was Zane’s turn to be confused. “Well, I know your old body was destroyed, and if you had rebuilt it, I would assume it would be just like your old one, so surely this is just an old-”

“I designed this body to be what I want it to be.”

If Zane could breathe, the wind would have been knocked out of him. “What do you mean?”

Pixal hummed. “I feel…better in this body. I did not like being in my old body, and being in your head…the main reason I tolerated it for so long was because it felt right in a way mine never had. And when I saw an opportunity to create my own…I designed it after yours.”

All of a sudden, a memory that had been deleted resurfaced. Zane and Pixal talking about what would Pixal wish for if Pixal could wish for anything. Pixal saying that Pixal would wish for Zane’s body.

“...I suppose the easiest way to put it is that it feels…right to be in your body. Not to say that mine is bad but…”

“Zane?”

Zane jerked out of his thoughts, and stared at Pixal, realization growing. “Your new body…does it feel right?”

Pixal nodded. “It does. It feels so right.”

“Then I am happy for you.” Zane tucked a piece of synthetic hair behind Pixal’s ear. “Anything else you wish to tell me?” he asked, half joking.

Pixal bit her lip but nodded. “I…You do not have a girlfriend anymore, but rather a boyfriend.”

Zane blinked. “What do you mean?”

“The reason this body feels so much more right is because…I am a man.” Pixal’s voice was quiet, but her words left no room for argument.

Smiling, Zane hugged Pixal as tightly as he could, tighter than he would for any human. “Well, I am glad that I still have a boyfriend. I was worried you were breaking up with me for a second.”

Pixal snorted, pushing away. “Well, you might not have one if we don’t figure out what is wrong with this computer.”

Nodding, Zane went back to his place on the other side, pulling on different wires. “Now?”

“Still no.”

Sighing, Zane went back to trying to figure out what was wrong. He ignored the funny feeling in his heart.

He didn’t want to change like Pixal. He couldn’t.

~~~~~~~

Pixal couldn’t believe how everything changed so fast.

It sometimes felt like just the day before he was still stuck in Zane’s head, stuck as his girlfriend.

But then he was out of Zane’s mind, by his own violation, and he was fighting as Samurai X. He helped the ninja take down the Sons of Garmadon, had fought with the Resistance, and even faced the terrifying Oni.

Honestly, if it weren't for the fact that Pixal had checked five times, he would have assumed his memory banks were damaged somehow, if only for how absurd everything seemed.

(Sometimes, he wished he could, if only to erase some of the reactions he had received after telling people the truth about his identity. Most of them were positive but a few made Pixal shiver from something besides the cold.)

Ninjago seemed at peace for once. No major crimes were being committed, and the ninja were rarely called out by the police to help with arrests.

But then came Aspheera.

Honestly, if Pixal could have, he would have never allowed the ninja to go on such a foolish quest. They should have realized that would end up in disaster.

However, the ninja were so desperate for something to do and it was supposed to be a simple sort of adventure. Not one that ended up with a Serpentine being released from a prison with a vendetta against Wu.

Pixal wished that it just ended with the city destroyed. Wishes rarely came true.

They thought Zane had died. Thought he was gone for good this time. No consciousness was left behind for them to rebuild a body. Not even a wire was left for them to remember him by.

Zane was just…gone.

Or so they thought.

As they quickly learned, Zane was not dead. He was just…in a realm that was so dangerous the First Spinjitzu Master was afraid of it.

No big deal. (That was sarcastic. It was a very big deal.)

Pixal sometimes wished he had gone with the ninja to the Never-Realm. However, he knew that it was probably for the best of Ninjago that he did not go. The multiple crimes he had to stop as Samurai X proved that leaving the realm undefended except by Wu would have been a bad idea.

But it was…startling to see Zane so off. He still smiled and sat with him to do their routine repairs, but there was a distance between them now. A distance formed by the sixty years he spent alone in a realm of ice and cold, as the cruel ruler who forced the subjects into an endless winter.

There were many changes to Zane now, caused by that experience.

Zane would wake up with horrific nightmares, and Pixal would spend hours trying to soothe him, often until the sun had risen.

Ice formed around his feet, either gentle swirls when he was happy or jagged edges when he was furious.

He could barely stand any sort of heat, and would snap at Kai whenever he sparked up even a little bit.

Instead of using his trusty bow and arrows, Zane had switched to a staff. The way he fought with it was both mesmerizing to watch and terrifying to be at the other end of.

Even the ninja seemed distrustful of Zane, referring to Zane as just a teammate and not as their brother, and treating him like he would break at any moment.

There was a desperate hope in Pixal that things weren’t as dire as they seemed. That things had not changed so much that they were not compatible anymore.

He had both dreaded and was relieved when it came to a routine file cleaning. Him and Zane had made it a monthly date night of sorts, sitting in the workshop and going through the memories they had stored for those that they had deemed significant. The ones that would just come back if they hid them for forever.

(They had both learnt that lesson the hard way with the Overlord Virus that had almost destroyed Zane, formed by Zane blocking out the memory of his death so deep inside of him.)

But neither of them were looking forward to this date night. Tonight, Zane and Pixal would have to go through over 60 years of memories of a real life horror show, to determine what atrocities must be retained and what Zane could get rid of.

Zane was nervous when they hooked him up, leaning back in the squishy office chair as per usual. Pixal gave him a smile, and held his hand. “It will feel so much better when you get rid of those memories. I promise.”

Swallowing, Zane nodded. “I hope you are correct.”

“Shall we get started then?”

“Okay.” The response was not loud or enthusiastic, but it was consent from Zane for Pixal to dig through the memories of the Never-Realm.

If Pixal was human, his hands would be trembling from nerves. As it was, his hands were steady as he tapped on the keys, opening the software to examine the memories.

The first memory he booted up was one of Zane with a mech, in a cave. A man was there as well.

“That is Vex,” Zane whispered, clenching his fists.

Nodding, Pixal turned back to the memory showing, hoping a clinical approach would make this much easier.

“Oh, such a pity. You truly have forgotten. You're unwell, my Lord, but do not fear. I will take care of you. It is my sworn duty.” Something about Vex’s words made Pixal want to throw something, but he refrained. Calmness would make this much less painful.

“Your duty?”

“You are the Ice Emperor, the ruler of this realm.”

“I am?”

“Of course. Why look.” Vex handed the Scroll Of Forbidden Spinjitzu to Zane. “Here is your scepter.”

Zane looked at the scroll, before turning to Vex with a frown. “But I am not a man.”

Pixal blinked at the revelation, wondering what Zane could have meant. He turned to Zane to ask, but before he could, Vex was speaking again.

“What do you mean, My Emperor?”

Levelling Vex with an unimpressed look, Zane toyed with the staff. “I am not a man. I am…a woman. And thus I am the Ice Empress, Vex.”

The screen was turned off suddenly, and a sob came from behind Pixal. Pixal whipped around, coming face to face with Zane sobbing quietly, ice forming around him. Her?

Footsteps quiet, Pixal approached Zane and cupped Zane’s cheek. “Zane? What is wrong?”

All he got for a response was incoherent sobbing, so Pixal decided to just climb onto Zane’s lap and hug Zane until Zane felt better.

After eleven minutes and forty three seconds, Zane finally choked out,“I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

Sniffling, Zane squeezed his eyes shut. “F-for lying. I-I know I should have told you I pretended to be a woman in the Never-Realm, but I was scared.” Zane’s voice was glitching, presumably from how upset Zane was.

Well, that would simply not do. Pixal cupped Zane’s chin, forcing Zane to look up at him, in the eye. “What were you scared of?”

“That you would leave,” Zane whispered.

Pixal softened and hugged Zane again. “Well, that was illogical. Why would you being a woman make me leave?”

Wrong thing to say. Zane tensed up in his arms. “I do not want to be a woman.”

“So that whole-”

“I do not…” Zane took a deep breath. “I do not understand fully why I did what I did but…I do not want there to be even more changes. The others…they just assume my memory was so damaged I did not realize I was a man, or that Vex made me pretend I was a woman for reasons unknown.”

Rubbing his thumb over Zane’s cheek, wiping away tears, Pixal hummed in thought. He was pretty sure Zane did want to be a woman but…

Pixal remembered how hard it was to fully accept himself as a man. How he had battled it out in his head for months. While he could simply…force Zane to accept herself, it would most likely do more harm than good.

So instead, Pixal just petted Zane’s head. “If you wish, we do not have to f-”

“I want to finish.” Zane sighed. “I have a feeling if I do not tonight, I will end up deleting everything and hurting myself.”

Nodding, Pixal scooted off Zane’s lap and booted up the computer once again. “Okay.”

That night, after watching decades of loneliness and violence and destruction, Pixal slipped into Zane’s bed and laid with her throughout the night, soothing her after the inevitable nightmare.

The experience was bad but it did bring one good thing.

Zane, for some reason, started to be okay with heat and fire again. Kai was overjoyed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Showing Pixal the memories of the Never-Realm was…bad. Zane was sure there were better words to describe it, but she did not want to think of them.

Another thing she did not like thinking of? The fact that the way she figured out what that weird feeling she had been plagued for the entirety of her existence was by becoming a genocidal empress.

Of course, Zane was not going to tell anyone that she was a woman. It was too risky, and besides the others were already wary enough of her as it was after the Never-Realm.

So Zane kept it hidden, never revealing anything to anyone. Not even Pixal, her beloved boyfriend. But in secret…

It was a dirty little secret, in a way. One that Zane tried so hard to keep concealed.

Late nights became research time, where Zane delved into the intricacies of the transgender experience, reading story after story of other women who felt like she did, and were accepted.

Upon learning that some transgender people burnt things that reminded them of their past negatively, Zane gathered anything that made her think of dark and sad memories of her past and set them all to fire.

It should have terrified her, the flames growing larger than her. But she just watched with a small smile at the past going up in flames.

If anyone were to ask, she was just getting rid of some old junk. Not that anyone did ask, but if they did, she would say that. All anyone did was show surprise that she was okay with fire once again, after being so vehemently against it.

Zane might have been able to get away with this secret, but then came Prime Empire.

It shouldn’t have caused anything major to happen. Just another villain trying to take over Ninjago, albeit in an unique way this time, trapping people outside of Ninjago rather than destroying the city.

But then came the detective costume and all the performing that went with it. Zane would admit afterwards that was not as effective as she had hoped, but in the moment?

The act of performing was freeing in a way. It reminded Zane of the anecdotes she had read of drag queens, who found peace in the art.

As the detective, Zane wasn’t just Zane, the ninja. She was a private investigator, looking for clues about Unagami. She was something besides herself.

It was, dare she admit it, fun.

But then the mechanic came and captured her. Captured Zane to use as an energy source to free Unagami from the game.

The pain was blinding. It was one memory Zane wished she could delete from her memory drives, if only because of how much it hurt. The electricity coursing through her circuits was higher than she had ever had felt before, and Zane wasn’t sure how Jay could ever manage to deal with this.

She thought she would die before anyone could rescue her.

When Unagami was released, all Zane could feel was exhaustion. She was exhausted.

But that experience opened her eyes to how easily she could die. How easily she could have another funeral, and no one would know she was actually the daughter of Dr. Julien, and Pixal’s girlfriend and the ninja’s beloved sister.

In the dead of the night, a few weeks later, Zane, for once, made an impulsive choice. She broke into Borg Industries, and fired up the machines needed to build a new chassis.

The design was hastily made, taken from Pixal’s original design with a few minor changes. The main difference was the hair. Where Pixal had a long ponytail, Zane had two braids, one on each side of her head.

But aside from that, Zane was the splitting image of Pixal when she first met him, just in a ninja gi.

Not long after Zane had transferred her consciousness to the new chassis, the door to the factory was slammed open.

Standing there were her family, and Pixal, looking around for a threat. The ninja looked around, confused.

“Are you sure that there are bad guys with Zane here?” Jay whispered.

“Well where else would Zane be? And you heard the report, there was activity in here!” Kai hissed back.

Zane quickly realized what was going on. They did not realize it was her who was using the machines, and thought villains had taken her to the factory for…something.

Clapping her hands, the lights turned on, and the ninja all turned towards Zane. Shock colored their expressions.

Pixal was the first to regain his composure. “Zane? Is that-”

“It is me.” Zane’s voice was quiet, but it felt like she was screaming in the silence.

Metal clanked against metal as Pixal made his way to Zane, cupping her cheek. “You look beautiful,” he whispered.

“And you look handsome,” Zane whispered back, hugging Pixal.

“Will someone explain-”

Cole cut Jay off. “Looks like we have another sister, Zaptrap. Nice to see you’re not captured Zane!”

“I am glad to not be captured as well,” Zane chuckled, letting go of Pixal to look at her family.

Lloyd smiled. “Yeah, I am too. But…a little warning next time?”

“Yeah,” Nya snorted. “We thought that the Mechanic got you or something.”

Smiling sheepishly, Zane nodded. “Alright. I will remember that.”

Kai yawned. “I don’t know about you guys, but I want to go back to bed. Can we all agree that Zane’s amazing and go back home?”

Laughing, Zane nodded. “Of course. I did not mean to worry.”

“You never do.” Pixal slipped his hand into Zane’s. “My very silly girlfriend.”

“My lovely boyfriend.”

Pixal’s eyes glowed with happiness as they followed the rest of the ninja, who were eager to go back to bed.

For the first time in her life, there was no hole in Zane’s heart, a desire she could not fulfill.

Together, Zane and Pixal walked out of the factory, for once at peace entirely.

#art’s silly (or not so silly) things #ninjago #ninjago pixal #ninjago zane #lego ninjago #t4t fanfic #anyway no it was not supposed to be this fucking long but i had a plot hole #ninjagobigbang2425 #anyway yeah #no one tell Aero I wrote most of this today shhh I totally finished this on time and not at the last minute #Also docs hates this fic becaue it is so long so be warned about writing long fic

16 notes · View notes

autohomoneurotic · 1 month ago

Text

class of 2008

ao3 link

You almost can’t believe what you see. A small smile creeps onto your face without you meaning for it to as you run your hands over your chest.

“You like it?” Sloane sounds very fond as he watches you check yourself out. You nod, still unable to take your eyes off of yourself.

His hands come up to rest on your shoulders, squeezing them just a little as he makes eye contact with you in the mirror. “Isn’t it better than some stupid dress? You actually look like yourself like this. This is how you’re meant to look.” He’s very close to your ear, like he’s telling you a secret. You can smell the cologne on him.

yayayy i'm actually sticking with writing these things at least for now :D yet again it is really mostly plot but who cares it's my t4t yaoi i can do whatever i want. they go clothes shopping in this one which is always fun when you're psychosexually fixated on gender.

(restating from my last work, i refer to these characters with she/her pronouns for a lot of this because i plan on this being a running series following their transitions and i think it's hot to transition to he/him just for the sex portions, sorry if that is not your thing don't like don't read or whatever)

Spring is in the air. It’s April on the island and graduation is just around the corner. For teenagers in need of something nice to wear, that can only mean one thing.

“Where do you wanna go first?” Sloane is sauntering along in front of you as you walk out of the food court and into the mall proper, smoothie in hand. “I think Spencer’s is having a sale, we can both get a shirt.”

You know the real reason she wants to go to Spencer’s is just to go in the back and inspect all of the sex toys, one by one, before scampering away as soon as one of the workers comes up to check and make sure you’re not shoplifting; you two have been doing it since you were thirteen. “Oh, please. Let’s not do that this time, we’re too old to keep doing that.”

“What?” She pulls a faux-innocent face and puts her straw to her lips. “You’d rather go to Borders and look at your gay comics?”

“Why do you always have to bring that up, that was a long time ago.” You had a phase, and she’s been holding it over your head since. “And anyway, I really can’t be spending extra money. I only have enough to buy stuff for graduation.”

“Oh, boo.” She sticks her tongue out at you. “Whatever, be like that. Where, then?”

You glance between the storefronts surrounding you, from Abercrombie to Francesca’s to Delia’s. “I’m not sure. My mom said I have to get a dress and some shoes, so I guess we can just walk around and look for a while.”

Sloane stops in her tracks. “What? You’re not wearing a dress.”

“What?”

“I mean, I’m obviously not going to let you do that, that’s ridiculous. Why would you wear a dress?”

“It’s not about you ‘letting me’, it’s her money and she told me I have to. You know how she is.”

“Well, she’s not here right now, is she?”

“Sloane.” You laugh nervously, shifting from foot to foot and looking around. “I have to, come on. Let’s just go.”

“You don't have to do anything.”

“I kind of do, though. I can’t get away with that stuff like you do.”

She rolls her eyes, finishing off her smoothie and tossing it into the trash. “What’s she even going to do if you come home with something else?”

“Um, get fucking pissed? Probably take away my phone?” Your mom is a big fan of taking away the phone. If you use too many minutes, no phone. Stay home sick, no phone. Demerits at school for goofing off with Sloane, no phone. You shudder to think what she would do if you spent money she gave you on an unsanctioned purchase. Especially on clothes.

Sloane shrugs. “And then what?” Her parents stopped trying to punish her a long time ago, and has apparently forgotten the gravity of being without a phone. “Is she gonna take you back and force you to buy something else?”

“Probably not, I guess.” You and your mom get into an argument every time you go shopping together, and both try to avoid it as much as possible- that’s why you’re here with Sloane right now and not her. She hates everything you like, and the ‘compromises’ you come to always end up in the back of your closet. She’s basically given up, except for where formalwear is concerned. She likes to make a good impression.

“Okay, great, so we agree. No dress.” Sloane doesn’t wait for you to affirm this and instead just snatches your wrist, starting to drag you through the mezzanine. You twist and turn a little, trying to get free, but her grip is too tight and you eventually have no choice but to give in.

“Where are we going?” You have to trot a little to keep up with her as she weaves through the crowd, catching dirty looks from the passersby as you both narrowly avoid bumping into them.

“Men’s Wearhouse.”

“Sloane!” You start pulling away again. “No, let’s just go to Macy’s or something, we can look at both.”

“Men’s Wearhouse!” She says it in a sing-song voice and continues pulling you along. “Come on, you know you want to.” She looks back at you and flashes her most winning smile as you feel yourself flush sheepishly. “It’s fine, I’ve been there so many times with Ben for his recital clothes. Don’t freak out, you’re always freaking out for no reason.”

“I’m not freaking out.”

“You’re freaking out a little.”

“No, I’m not.” You definitely are. But you can’t let her win, so you gird your loins and school your face into a neutral expression. “It’s just, I seriously can’t spend a million dollars.”

She slows down as you reach the entrance- has it always been this intimidatingly large? You’ve passed it a thousand times, usually averting your eyes like it’s a Victoria’s Secret or something. Looking at the mannequins made you feel weird as a little kid. “Don’t worry about that. I’m gonna take great care of you, Virgil, don’t you fret.” She looks into the store and then at you, and you can see the gears turning in her head as she bounces on the balls of her feet and clasps her hands together. “Oh, this is gonna be so fun.”

“Fun for who?” You almost don’t want to ask.

“Fun for me, silly. And you, if you can unclench for once. But, mostly for me.” Before you can say anything she’s already all but skipping into the store.

She beelines for the displays of cologne, and starts spraying them onto the little paper cards as you look on anxiously from behind her. She holds one up for you to smell. “Which one do you like? I like the sandalwood ones, I think I’m gonna ask for some for my birthday.” Her voice, as always, is just a little too loud.

You ignore the question and push her hand away from your face. “Can you chill?” you say it as quietly as possible so as not to disrupt the flat silence of the department store. “You’re going to get us kicked out.”

“Relax. It’s not exactly Neiman Marcus. And there’s literally no one here anyway, look around.” She’s right; it’s basically empty, save a few attendants who are standing around texting or reshelving stock. “But fine. Come on, we’ll start with shirts.”

She makes for the racks and racks of white button downs. Thankfully she remembers your request to not overspend, at least, and starts with the clearance section.

“Aren’t you going to ask me what I’m looking for?”

Sloane pokes her head up from behind the rack and gives you a very condescending look. “No. I’m shopping for you, you have no idea what you’re doing. Did I not say that already?”

You realize that even if she had asked you, you wouldn’t have an answer. “Sure, whatever. Do what you want.”

She clearly was already planning on it, and keeps carding through the hangers. “What size do you wear in our uniform?”

“Like, what size do I wear, or what size fits me?” These are two very different answers to two very different questions. You haven’t worn a shirt that fits you correctly since before puberty.

“What size fits you. Medium, right?” She picks up a few shirts before coming over to hold them up in front of your torso. She considers them for a moment, switching between them. You suddenly have the acute feeling of being treated remarkably like a doll.

She seems to make a decision, putting one back and handing the other two over to you. “Hold these, thanks.”

You follow her doggedly around the store for the next fifteen minutes, from discount section to discount section, picking up trousers and a couple of ties and a pair of dress shoes. You feel rather like a clothing rack yourself- she is basically ignoring you except for when she’s looking at you to seemingly determine what she wants to dress you up in. You get the impression there is some sort of strategy to all of it, though you have no idea what it is. You can’t pretend it isn’t a little attractive, how intuitive it seems for her. By the time Sloane seems satisfied, you are completely draped in clothes.

“Ready to try it all on?” She asks you this as if you have a choice. You have resigned yourself to your fate at this point- there’s no backing out now that Sloane’s mind is so set on it- so you just nod and quietly follow her to the dressing rooms, tucked all the way in the back.

You feel very exposed as you round the corner past the big trifold mirror and into the row of stalls and head to the farthest one, like you’re doing something you shouldn’t be doing. But with Sloane here, you actually kind of like it. Sloane will keep you safe, Sloane will tell you what to do. You don’t need to think too hard with her around- she’ll take care of you, like she said.

You’ve been feeling like that a lot recently. Ever since you’ve started hooking up, you find it a lot easier to go along with whatever she wants. Sloane has clearly noticed this, and uses it to her advantage whenever possible- like, for example, when she wants to skip class, or force you to crossdress against your will. She’s told you once or twice that you’re becoming dickwhipped, which you find incredibly rude and only a little hot. It’s not not true, really- most disagreements that you two used to have that would end in bickering have always been solved with her promising that she’ll make it up to you later. It’s just that now instead of exclusively meaning she’ll buy you something to eat or some cigarettes, sometimes (a lot of the time) she means she’ll jack you off while you watch a movie. It’s a tossup, really, and a gamble you’ve become willing to make. Either way, she’s taking care of you, and who could say no to that?

Right as you’re about to close the dressing room door, Sloane grabs it and slips in behind you.

“What, without me?” She puts on a disappointed face and you are forced to back up as she comes into the small room.

“It’s a little close quarters with the both of us.”

She tuts and takes off her satchel to hang on the back of the door. “Don’t be like that. It’s nothing I haven’t seen before.” She pokes your side, right where she knows you’re most sensitive, and looks at you coyly. “We’re all guys here, Virgil.”

“Be normal or I’m kicking you out,” you warn her, and she throws her hands up in surrender even as the mischievous look on her face stays put. You unload all of the clothes onto the hooks next to the mirror and start stripping off your top.

Sloane takes the first shirt off of its hanger and holds it out, like he wants you to slip your arms into it. Usually you would insist you do it yourself, but what the hell. It feels nice. You let him button it up, too, as if it's the most natural thing in the world for him to help you like this. His knuckles brushing your stomach and chest through the fabric make you shudder a little. He smiles a little when he notices.

“Now who needs to be normal?”

“Shut up and just give me the pants.” You avoid looking at him as you toe off your shoes, unbuckle your belt and thread it out of the loops on your jeans. You hold your hand out for him to give the pair of slacks to you, and you slip them on. Sloane reaches out to help zip them up, but you bat him away. “Don’t push your luck,” you scold him, and he takes mercy on you, allowing you to tuck in your shirt and fasten your belt yourself. He’s being as respectful as he can be, you think, when he’s still intently watching you change.

“Wait a second.” He turns you around to face him. “You’re wearing them too high.” He doesn’t ask before he unbuckles your belt, letting it out a punch-hole and pulling the trousers to sit an inch or two lower. “They’re not supposed to be high waisted. They should sit on your hip bone. It makes you look straighter up and down, too.” He moves back behind you and readjusts your shirt to tuck it in a bit snugger, his hands wrapping around you and sliding down to the tops of your thighs and then back to go right over your ass before you grab them and give him a look in the mirror. “Sorry, my bad.” His smile tells you he really isn’t that sorry.

Ignoring him and adjusting your belt a bit more, you finally take a full look at yourself. You turn from side to side, smoothing the shirt down over your chest a few times.

“You look really flat,” he comments. “Like, I would never think there was anything there.” You duck your head and mutter a small thank you, rolling your shoulders a bit and standing up straighter.

“Oh, wait!” Sloane reaches for one of the ties and spins you around, flipping your collar up and bringing the tie around the edges of it. “I almost forgot, one second. Stay still.”

You try your best. “How do you know how to do that?”

“My brother.” His voice is softer than usual. It’s very sweet how hard he’s focusing. “He said I should know how to do it for when I was older. He taught me when I was like, nine.” He looks at his work, is apparently unsatisfied, and undoes it. “I’ve kind of forgotten how to do it now though.”

“And the rest of it? Like, the clothes and stuff.”

“I don’t know. Magazines and just coming with the guys when they need to buy suits, I guess, it’s really not that complicated.” You doubt that’s true, but a lot of things like this come easily to Sloane. You can admit it makes you a little jealous.

“Will you teach me?”

“Maybe. Or maybe I’ll keep you from learning, so you always have to ask me to do it for you.”

“You’re so annoying.” You try not to let him see that you’d like that idea, just a little.

“Virgil, I’m kidding. We’ll do it next time I come over.” He finishes knotting the tie again, jerking your neck around just a little as he tightens it. You don’t mind. “There we go. Okay, now you can look.”

You almost can’t believe what you see. You look good- at least, in your personal, uneducated opinion. The shirt doesn’t fit perfectly, it’s a bit long in the arms, but the way it hugs your shoulders definitely makes them look a little broader. And Sloane was right, the way the pants sit does make your hips look narrower. The slacks have enough room around the thigh that you feel like you don’t hate your legs for once. The tie isn’t too long, either- you’d seen Sloane grab it from the junior’s section, which is a little embarrassing, but whatever. The sheen on it matches the slacks. A small smile creeps onto your face without you meaning for it to as you run your hands over your chest again to push down the creases.

“You like it?” Sloane sounds very fond as he watches you check yourself out. You nod, still unable to take your eyes off of yourself, taking your hands in and out of your pockets to test how it looks.

He tells you these secrets a lot. Usually it’s more subtle, but sometimes he comes out and says it, just like that- once, recently, when you were out in the woods smoking and you started playing with his butterfly knife, he rolled over to look at you and said, ‘you’re so good with your hands. That’s how I know you were meant to be a boy.’ You didn’t really think that was necessarily confirmation, but you know he meant it, and you couldn’t deny you’d thought about it every day for the next week. He let you keep the knife.

“Yeah, it’s cool,” you reply, as casually as you can muster. Sloane sighs dramatically, apparently disappointed with your continual refusal to ‘yes, and’ him. He takes his hands back and steps away.

“Whatever. Sit down and put on those shoes and then we can go have you look in the bigger mirror.”

You listen and sit down on the small bench, reaching underneath it to grab the shoes. After you slip them on and go to tie them up, Sloane suddenly bats your hands away.

“Hey!”

“I changed my mind, I’m gonna do it for you.”

“Sloane-” you try to take them back from him, but it’s too late. He’s already kneeling down in front of you. He takes one of the shoes in his hand and starts adding more slack to the laces and handing it back to you. You shift a little where you sit as you look down at him, trying your best to quit when he finally brings his chin up to meet your eye. He looks very, very happy with where he is right now. For the thousandth time today, you indulge him. You slip your feet into the shiny black brogues and anchor them back down on the floor so he can lace you up, which he does, and then you repeat for the other side. You lift up a leg to examine the pattern on the side of the shoe and begin to stand up, but he stops you.

“Just let me look at you for a second, please?”

His hand skims up your calf, then your knee, then your thigh, until his fingers are crooked onto your belt loop, forcing you to lean back and spread your legs further on either side of him.

“You look so perfect in this.” He keeps pulling on your belt loop until you slide down enough that your leg is flat enough for him to perch his chin. He reaches for your hand and you give it to him, and he kisses your knee before resting his cheek on it, gazing up at you. “I could look at you forever if you dressed like this all the time.”

“But not if I dress how I usually dress?”

He rolls his eyes at you and kisses you again, in the same spot. “You know that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, then?”

“I mean that I’m going to want to jump on you the entire time we’re on stage for graduation. Do I always have to spell everything out for you?” He untangles his hand from yours and pinches the inside of your thigh to punish you for being uncooperative, and you can’t stop yourself from trying to bring your knees together to keep his hand away. He’s already got it between your legs, so instead you just push his hand directly on top of you. He looks up at you eagerly, like it’s an invitation. “Yeah? Right here, really?”

“What? No, that wasn’t-”

“I mean, we can, if that’s what you want.”

“Sloane, we’re in a store, I’m not even wearing my own clothes.”

He shrugs. “Take them off, then. There’s no one here, and we’re in the very back. It’s not like we’ve never done it in public before.”

“That was different, that was in the car, and it was only once.” You’d both been waiting all weekend to see each other after you had gone off the island to visit family and you had really, really missed him.

“Yeah, during lunch in the parking lot. There were more people around then than there are now, honestly.” You start trying to stand up again, but he grabs your tie and pulls you back down. He fixes his face into a pout, the one he has been using for years to get you to agree to any stupid idea he has. “Come on, please? I want to so bad, and you look so good right now. I said I was going to take care of you, won’t you please let me?”

You really hate when he begs. He knows you can never say no to him when he does it. You sigh a little, peeking under the door for a second to check for any pairs of feet; there are none. You listen for any nearby voices; there’s no sound besides the soft muzak playing over the speakers on the sales floor. You look back at Sloane, waiting patiently for your answer. You swear that if he had a tail it would be wagging right now.

“Let’s be quick. We can’t be in here forever.”

Sloane looks like you just told him he won the lottery, which is always how he looks when you agree to let him do anything to you. “Do you want to stand up? We’ve never done that before…”

“If that’s what you want.” You push him back a little so that you have room to get up, reaching to unbuckle your pants as you kick the shoes back off. You’re underselling how willing you really are, just a bit- the second you saw yourself in the mirror you’d been at least a little excited, and the more Sloane talks the more you’re ready to open your legs for him, as a general rule, but you like to make him wait a little.

“Is that what you want?”

You finish stepping out of your trousers, setting them to the side and coming to stand in front of Sloane where he’s still on his knees. He’s looking up at you expectantly. “Yes, that’s what I want, Sloane. Is that what you want to hear?”

He smiles to himself, satisfied, and starts to tug on your boxers. You start reaching to loosen the tie and unbutton your shirt when he reaches up to catch your arm. “No, wait- keep it on, please?”

“I can’t get them dirty, I haven’t even tried on the other shirts yet. What if I don’t end up buying it?”

“I won’t be messy, I promise, please just keep it on. It looks so good on you, I wanna see it when I look up at you.” He’s still working on pulling off your boxers and you help him out a little, finally getting them off and putting them on top of the rest of the clothes. The air is cold and you are suddenly very aware that you are half naked in a dressing room of the Men’s Wearhouse in your local mall. Maybe you actually would rather keep it on.

“You’re always asking me for things, do you realize that? I never ask you for anything and you’re always begging me for something or other.”

He’s rubbing his face on your leg, barely listening to you as he inches you backwards until your back is flat against the wall. “I just want you, I guess.” His hands are on your haunches and he’s bringing your hips up so he can see you more clearly. “I mean, how could I not?” He kisses you, right between your legs, getting you just a little wet before he pulls away. “You’re a good looking guy, what can I say.”

Immediately you feel yourself get really, actually turned on. “You think so?”

“Mhm. Especially in this outfit.” He traces the hem of your shirt. “I did a great job dressing you up. You’re like a little Ken doll, I made you exactly how I wanted you.”

“Okay, well, I’m definitely no Ken, let’s keep it realistic.”

“Don’t be like that, you know I think you’re better than anything.”

“You’re such a flatterer when you’re trying to get something out of me. I’ve already said yes, just go ahead and do it before I change my mind.” You put a hand on the back of his head and you pull him towards you. He doesn’t resist.

Sloane is always overly enthusiastic when he’s going down on you. Apparently you standing up only makes him worse. You’ve been ready for a while, so it really doesn’t take much for him to start. He spends a bit of time working to center himself on you, searching for you until your legs come close around his ears as he finds exactly the right spot. You feel him moan against you as he bobs his head, and you realize that if you look down at him- from just the right angle- it really does look like he’s sucking dick. You hate to be that crass, but really, that’s what it looks like with you standing up and him on his knees. You almost want to say something, but before you can, he pulls away.

“Is it just me or does it really feel like I’m giving you head?” Of course he’d be thinking the same thing. He’s breathless as he traces little circles into your sides and looks up at you. “And is that really hot, or is that just me too?”

“It’s not just you.” Your grip in his hair tightens and you try to guide him back to where he was but he resists, for once.

“I mean, I’m always actually giving you head, but I’m saying like-”

“Yes, I know, obviously I’m thinking about that, you know I’m thinking about that.” He knows you don’t like to say these things out loud. It never stops him from trying to get you to admit to liking them.

“Okay, okay. Just making sure.” He kisses you there, openmouthed, once more before he starts again- this time taking extra care to get his mouth around you. You know what he’s doing, and you feel yourself get impossibly more turned on. He pulls on you long, slow, and you have to cover your own mouth with your sleeve. You’re usually quiet, but the image in your head of Sloane’s nose bumping up against your stomach as he deepthroats you, if he really could, is making it a lot more difficult. Not for the first time you wonder, what has Sloane done to you? A month ago you never would have seen yourself doing this, you barely even jerked off. You just had no interest or reason to, before that first time with Sloane. It really does feel like you’re both just hormonal teenage boys getting your energy out a lot of the time, now. Maybe that’s what changed it for you. In this dingy dressing room, up against the wall, hand fisted in his hair, it may be the strongest you’ve ever felt it.

You feel one of Sloane’s hands leave your thigh, and when you look down you realize that it’s between his legs. He’s whining, just a little, touching himself to the same rhythm as he’s taking you into his mouth.

“You really like this, don’t you?” He nods, moaning a little against you again, and you affectionately scratch his scalp. “You’re cute.” His eyes come up to meet yours and he looks a little affronted, as if to say, this is ‘cute’ to you? He draws his hand back up and puts it between your legs instead. You immediately regret provoking him. The combination of his tongue and his fingers makes it impossible to keep yourself from starting to bear down on his mouth. Your head tips back and you feel yourself start getting closer, and-

There’s a loud knock at the door. Sloane scrambles to his feet. You expect him to stop and start handing you your clothes; instead, he presses himself flush against you and puts his hand back where it was. He buries your head into the crook of his neck, so you can’t move or make a sound.

“Everything okay in there?” You try to push Sloane off but he doesn’t budge. He keeps rubbing you off and shushes you under his breath.

“Yeah, I’m good,” Sloane calls back.

“You’ve been in there for a while.”

He keeps playing with you and you barely keep in the sound you want to make as he keeps stroking his fingers over the underside of you. “Yeah, I can’t decide between the straight or the cutaway collar.”

“... Right. Where’d your friend go?” You’re fucking mortified, holy shit, but Sloane still doesn’t stop.

“Went to look at the cufflinks. Can you go find him and tell him I’m almost ready?” Hearing Sloane call you that is too much. You put your arms around his neck, squeezing him, and try to hold yourself together for just a moment longer as your hips speed up.

“Uh, yeah, sure. Just put the shirts back on the back of the door and leave them there, I’ll pick them up later.”

Footsteps recede into the distance, and you can’t hold it in anymore. You finish as quietly as possible, hands balled up in Sloane’s shirt, thinking about him down on his knees and how he sounded coming out of his mouth. He holds you up so you don’t fall, and you’re so spent that you almost forget where you are.

As soon as you’re able to stand, though, Sloane’s throwing your clothes at you. “We gotta go.”

“Are you kidding? What the fuck, Sloane?” You whisper at her angrily as you put on your boxers, still sensitive where your thighs rub together when you pull them up.

“I couldn’t just stop, you were so close! And anyway, it was hot.”

“No, not hot. We just committed a real, actual sex crime. That’s so fucked up, I can’t believe I actually let you convince me to do that.” You glare at her while you unbutton the dress shirt and zip up your pants, searching around for the slacks so you can retrieve your belt.

“Oh, please. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.” Sloane starts putting the clothes back on their hangers and slings them over her arm. “And it’s not like you can say anything, you’re the one who just got off. You’ve got nothing to complain about.”

She waits for you to finish getting dressed before grabbing her bag, but stops you before you reach for the door handle. “You might want to look at yourself in the mirror first.”

You do, and realize in horror that it definitely looks like you just came. Your cheeks are a patchy red, and your hair…

“You have sex hair!” Sloane is laughing as if this isn’t the worst thing that could be happening right now. “Oh my god, that’s hilarious. You might want to fix it, though.”

You’re too worn out to tell her to fuck off. You turn this way and that while you run your hands through your hair, fluffing up the flat part in the back and smoothing all the cowlicks before turning back to her. “Better?”

“Yeah, kinda. It’s fine, let’s just go.” She takes your hand and pushes the door open. She pauses for a second to hang up the remaining clothing, like the attendant had asked.

You’re still a little winded, and forcing yourself to walk straight is slightly more difficult than it should be as you follow behind her shakily towards the front of the store. When you reach the register she tosses the shirt, pants, shoes and tie on the counter like they’re poker chips.

“What do we owe you?”

The attendant looks up from the computer and seems to recognize her voice, raising an eyebrow when he sees you. “Is this your friend? I couldn’t find him where you said he’d be.”

You open your mouth to speak, but Sloane cuts you off. “Yeah, I thought he was over there but I guess he’d just gone outside for a second. He already knew what he wanted to buy, so I was holding onto it for him in the stall.” She gestures to the collection of clothes on the table.

“This is for you?” The attendant- his name tag says ‘Eric’- addresses you directly.

“Yeah, for graduation. I was helping him out, he’s never had to buy dressy stuff before.”

Eric looks at you for a second longer, surveying your face- and, unfortunately, your hair- but he is seemingly satisfied with this story. As he rings you up he nods approvingly, taking a look at the pants next to the tie. “Great choices for a budget getup. You’ll look good.”

“Won’t he just?” Sloane is absolutely eating this up. She should never be allowed to have this much fun.

You pay and finally, after what feels like forever, you get to leave. Sloane is practically walking on air.

“Well. I, personally, had a great time.”

“Clearly.” All you want is to get as far from the store as possible, before Eric the attendant realizes that there was no way you could have gone in and out without someone seeing you and you are arrested by mall cops for indecent exposure. You speed walk away, paper bag swinging by your side, and Sloane rushes to catch up. “Let’s go, we can get on the next bus if we hurry.”

“He really thought you were a guy, you know. You didn’t even have to try.” She sounds so proud of you that you can’t help but let a shy smile cross your face.

“Yeah.” Despite how nerve wracking this entire experience was, that part was totally sweet, you can’t lie. You’ve only been mistaken for a guy a few times, mostly by the ancient nuns at school who call you ‘young man’ when writing you up for being out of dress code before realizing who you are. You’ve never had someone around your age think that of you before. You’re glad you didn’t speak and ruin it- Sloane is always such a quick thinker. You open the double doors and exit the mall into the cold sunshine and say, “I really need a cigarette.”

You sit down at the bus stop, side by side, and she hands you the pack out of her satchel. You stick one in your mouth and start to dig around for your lighter but before you can find it the flame from Sloane’s zippo is already in front of you, kindling the end.

You sit in silence for a moment, both of you catching your breath. Your cigarette smolders and Sloane plucks it out from between your fingers for a drag without asking, as she is wont to do. After she hands it back, she turns to face you. “Virgil. Wanna see something cool?”

“I’m sure you’re about to show me.”

“You know me so well, it’s crazy.” and opens her bag and pulls out two plastic bags lined with cardboard. You realize, upon closer inspection, that they are two twin three-packs of Calvin Klein boxers.

“Where did you get those?” The question is rhetorical- you know she stole them. Sloane has a bad case of sticky fingers.

“One for each of us!” She hands one pack to you and puts the other back in her satchel. “You’re welcome, they’re expensive as fuck.”

“You really need to stop stealing, you’re basically a kleptomaniac at this point. We come here way too much for you to be doing this as much as you do.”

“You only think that because you’re not good at it.” She grabs your pack and shoves it into your shopping bag. “But lucky for you, I’ll always be here. Whatever you want, I can take for you.”

You kiss your teeth and shake your head in disapproval, putting the end of your cigarette out on the bottom of your shoe before dropping the butt into the little trashcan nearby. From the corner of your eye, you see her wilt a bit at your dismissal and feel instantly guilty.

“Thank you, Sloane. They’re very nice. And thank you for helping me with the clothes, and… you know.”

She perks right back up at that, and rests her head on your shoulder. Her legs start to swing and her beat up sneakers skim the pavement. “You know I’d do anything for you, buddy.” She’s been saying that a lot lately. You reach up to ruffle her hair to let her know you feel the same, in your own way.

You both stand up as the bus pulls in, heading to your usual rear corner seats. Sloane pulls out her wired earbuds, plugging them into her phone. She puts the left one in her ear and offers you the right one, like always. She chooses the music, also like always. As the bus starts moving you feel her hand on yours, and you open your palm to let her hold it, which is new, but already becoming a habit. She squeezes it once, twice, and you squeeze back as you look out the window at the passing buildings.

It comes back to you, faintly, that when you get home your mom is definitely going to be pissed; but right now, you really can’t bring yourself to care.

#autoandrophilia #autohomoeroticism #forcemasc #forced masculinization #autoandrophile #ahe #aap #original fiction #short story #ftm t4t #t4t #ftm #transfag #ftm nsft

14 notes · View notes

taylortruther · 2 months ago

Note

Controversial take on the date/payment discourse but I think social media has been really pushing (for women esp) that money/gifts/being financially taken care of is the most worthwhile expression of love. Obviously this isn’t a new thing, but I think it’s definitely gotten worse. Every month there’s a new gift giving trend and influencers all over getting/receiving the randomest super expensive gifts (most egregious imo is all the “basket” trends, like boo basket, burr basket etc). Nothing inherently wrong w doing that ofc but when it becomes the main form of content you’re watching you’re subconsciously setting a standard that spending $500+ a season on your partner is the only way to show you care (esp for teens who are more impressionable).

It just feels like a giant push towards more and more consumerism, and I get why influencers do that bc it’s the most marketable/profitable content - if you wanna work w brands or get paid for ads what better way is there than creating default content scripts that heavily feature products? Every brand who sees a video can easily envision their product in it and choose which creators to work with. And ultimately social media is all about selling you something.

But ofc the downside now that short form social media content has become so popular, this has become the main thing - outside of real life relationships people see. When I was a teen most relationship content I saw was in romcoms, books, and series - and while all of that was sometimes problematic I definitely didn’t focus on the financial aspects of a relationship the way that modern teens do. Yes there was still payment discourse but it was nowhere nearrrrr as prevalent lol, romantic gestures didn’t have to be expensive or showy the way they are now.

Honest hot take is that we are acc regressing a lot towards a more conservative culture and values and this and overconsumption are just symptoms of that but that’s a longer rant for another day and not your ask box 😭

something something our capitalistic individualistic culture commodifies relationships so people learn that a relationship's value is based on what we can "get" from each other (like money/financial benefits)... something something the power imbalance in traditional gender roles is based on that same principle of value exchange instead of mutual support and growth...

aka no my blog is the perfect place for that kind of ask!!!

also i'd argue finances of dating have always present we just talk about it more plainly.

#relationships #socio

12 notes · View notes

defectivevillain · 1 year ago

Text

live to die another day

pairing: Josef/Reader

reader's gender & race are ambiguous; no pronouns or physical descriptors used.

summary: “Hi, I’m the videographer,” you say, before introducing yourself. You decide to use a fake name—as you normally do. You don’t think anyone needs to know your real name. The majority of your customers just want a specific service from you and, as long as your videography can fulfill their desires, they don’t care what your name is. Josef seems different in that regard. He stares at you for a moment with a scrutinizing gaze. “That’s not your real name,” he says, with a ghost of a smile, “I can tell.” Josef’s stare is eerie, as if he is peering right through you.

word count: 3.1k | ao3 version

From the moment you pull into the driveway, you know something is off. At the time, you can’t explain it. But you will soon have answers to all your questions.

It begins, as most things do, with a knock on a front door. As you had trudged up the steps of this cabin, nestled away in the forest, you couldn’t help but feel a bit wary. The place is a bit too secluded for your liking—and the axe lodged into the tree stump at the foot of the stairs certainly hadn’t increased your confidence. Still, you had ultimately decided to walk up the steps and knock on the door. It’s a bit too late to go back now, you think to yourself. Besides, a thousand dollars is a thousand dollars—and you need the money.

There is no one answering the door, to your immediate annoyance. “Hello?” You say. There is no response. You decide to knock again, a bit louder than last time. For a few seconds, there is still no answer. Just as you’re about to turn around and abandon your plans for the day, the door slowly creaks open.

There is a man standing in the doorway. He has short brown hair and greenish eyes, and he wears an unassuming black shirt and pants. Overall, he looks relatively normal. “Hello, I’m Josef,” the man says, his lips tugging ever so slightly at the corners. His smile sends a shiver down your spine. The gesture looks almost wooden—mechanical and unnatural.

“Hi, I’m the videographer,” you say, before introducing yourself. You decide to use a fake name—as you normally do. You don’t think anyone needs to know your real name. The majority of your customers just want a specific service from you and, as long as your videography can fulfill their desires, they don’t care what your name is.

Josef seems different in that regard. He stares at you for a moment with a scrutinizing gaze. “That’s not your real name,” he says, with a ghost of a smile, “I can tell.” Josef’s stare is eerie, as if he is peering right through you.

“It is,” you lie through gritted teeth. Dusty alarms are flashing and blaring in your head. You need the money, you remind yourself. It doesn’t matter if this guy is a little weird. As long as you survive the night, you’ll be fine. You’ve seen weird before—you can handle weird. You just hope this guy isn’t outright dangerous. “It’s my real name.” You maintain.

There is a long pause, wrought with silence and tension. “Okay,” Josef eventually remarks, although he looks disbelieving. “Well, anyway, I’m glad you’re here. Can we start with a hug?” You don’t even get a chance to shake your head and step away before you’re being tugged past the doorway and into a hug. The man’s arms wrap around you and, for a split second, his grip feels unbreakable. You feel your breath stutter and you just barely manage to keep your composure. You get the feeling you don’t hide your thoughts well enough, because Josef has a knowing grin on his face as you break apart.

What Josef says next is, in a word, unbelievable. It’s not the story itself that seems untrue—it’s the way he delivers it. For some reason, you can’t get rid of the somewhat unfounded conviction that Josef is lying. You decide to play along, since you really don’t have a choice. It helps that Josef gives you half of the money you agreed on, with the promise that he’ll give you the rest once the night is up. Then, he promptly takes you upstairs and proclaims that he’s going to take a bath—to which you are forced to be an unwilling spectator. The man’s bath—or “tubby,” as he calls it—would be a sweet sentiment if it weren’t so… unsettling. You bite down any comments and manage to keep quiet the entire time.

If the tubby is bad, then what follows is much worse. Josef proceeds to take you on a drive towards an undisclosed location that supposedly has water with healing properties. You’re then forced to follow after him on a long, brutal hike up rocky slopes and through thickets of trees. You’re very close to giving up and abandoning the money you were promised, but the two of you manage to make it to the place Josef was looking for. He seems to think the heart carved into the rock formation below is a “sign” meant for him, and you don’t have the energy to argue. Josef then urges you to join him in wading in the water. You try refusing, but he eventually grabs you by the arm and pulls you in before you can resist. Then, the man pulls you into another hug. You feel goosebumps rising along your skin—and not just from the freezing temperature of the water.

After your hike, you stop at a diner. Josef claims the place has excellent pancakes, yet he looks at the menu as if seeing it for the first time. This is yet another red flag to add to the quickly growing pile of unsettling observations you’ve made about him. You’ve made it this far, though. You’re more than halfway through the day now. You can do this.

Your meal with Josef is awkward at first. You don’t feel like talking, and you can feel Josef’s gaze burning into your skin. Eventually, he is the one to break the silence. “Have you ever done something you’re ashamed of?” Josef asks you, in the hazy afternoon sunlight.

You still feel that honesty is dangerous, so you make up a story about falling from your chair and hitting your head in kindergarten. Josef seems to buy it. He takes another bite of his pancakes, before a contemplative expression falls onto his face.

“I have a confession to make,” he murmurs, looking at you expectantly. “Something I’m ashamed of.” You purse your lips and take a deep breath, before urging him to continue. Josef seems to hesitate. You can’t tell if his hesitation is genuine or manufactured. He pulls out his phone and opens his camera roll, before turning it around to show you. “I took pictures of you… when you first arrived.” Indeed, he swipes through several photos of you sitting in your car, walking up the steps, and standing near the front door.

Your ears are ringing. Your vision is tunneling. “Why?” You choke out.

“I thought… maybe if I got to know you before you got to know me… then I would be less scared.” Josef admits. He looks down at his interlocked hands. There is malice lingering in the pull of his lips. “Do you forgive me?”

Something is wrong with this man. You don’t know what it is, and you’re certain you don’t want to find out. You breathe in, breathe out. Blink a few times. You let your gaze wander across your surroundings. “...Yes.” You really don’t have a choice, do you? Whatever gets you out of this situation faster.

“Really?” Josef asks.

“Yes,” you respond. Josef seems to visibly brighten, and his energy from before begins to return. Meanwhile, you’re trying to figure out how to leave as early as possible. Technically, you were booked for the whole day. Fortunately, it’s already turning dark outside. Once the two of you finish eating and head back to his place, it will be late enough for you to leave. You just need to survive the rest of this meal and the car ride back.

Josef isn’t as keen to let you depart, however. Once you return to his home, he’s quick to head up the first few steps. Once he notices that you aren’t following him, he freezes and turns back around. “Come on, have a drink,” he smiles. In the dark, his eyes almost seem to glitter.

“I really should go,” you say, shoving your trembling hands into your pockets. Your heel drags back against the gravel underneath your foot. You’re so close to your car. As if sensing your thoughts, Josef walks back down the steps and stops in front of you. He claps a hand on your shoulder.

“Just one drink,” Josef insists. “Then, I promise you can leave.”

This is a horrible idea. His fingers are digging into your shoulder. “Fine,” you say through gritted teeth, refusing to acknowledge the dread coiling at the pit of your stomach. Josef’s grip leaves for a moment, before he slings his arm around your shoulders and leads you back up to his home. You’re grateful that it’s dark outside, because otherwise, he would likely see the terror you’re sure is written all over your face. Once you make it inside, Josef is quick to move to the kitchen and grab the whiskey. He returns with two glasses and pours you a drink. The two of you clink glasses and take a drink. You cough at the sheer strength of the alcohol.

“Look at us,” Josef says after a moment. “This has just been a great day. I’ve just made a friend.” We’re not friends is lodged in your throat. For some reason, you feel as if it’s dangerous to disagree. So, instead, you keep quiet.

For a while, there is nothing but a tense silence. “You’re awfully quiet,” Josef then remarks casually. “Something on your mind?” There’s a gleam in his eyes. You take a deep breath and down the rest of your drink, before getting to your feet.

“Okay,” you say resolutely, slamming your drink against the table with a bit too much force. “It’s time for me to go.”

“What?” Josef asks. You ignore him and walk towards the kitchen, grabbing your jacket and putting it on. “You just got here, we just sat down. Come on, stay a while.”

“I had a drink, and now I really need to-” You break off, freezing in place. To your surprise, the rest of your payment is tucked into the pocket of your jacket. But that’s not what you’re looking for. You rifle around in your jacket pocket one more time. Sure enough, your keys aren’t there. “Josef,” you say, your voice sounding eerily calm despite your mounting trepidation.

“Yes?” He asks, immune to your internal panic and growing suspicions.

You take a deep breath. “Do you have my keys?” You’re unable to hide the accusatory tone in your voice.

“I don’t,” Josef responds, a flicker of confusion and betrayal on his face. You frown and try to think back to where you put them. Actually, you don’t remember moving them at all. They’ve been in your jacket pocket this whole time. You never touched them. That look on Josef’s face… It’s an act, it’s all an act, you realize.

“Yes, you do,” you maintain, “I know you have them. They were in my jacket. I haven’t touched it since we got back.”

Josef stares at you for a long moment. Your heart is racing out of your chest, but you stand your ground. You can’t stay here even a moment longer. You need to get home. You need to leave, you need to escape. You can’t shake the feeling that you’re in grave danger.

You don’t know how long you spend staring at each other. At some point, Josef’s serious expression breaks into a grin. “Clever,” he says, pointing at you before reaching into his pocket. Your keys sit in his palm and, for an awful moment, you think he isn’t going to hand them over. Then, Josef throws them to you. You catch them and turn around, muttering a quick goodbye and practically running to the front door. You take the steps down two at a time, your breathing growing erratic. Even when you get into your car and lock it, you’re terrified. A dark silhouette stands out against the dim lighting cast on the porch. Josef is watching, even as you pull out of his driveway and drive away. You don’t feel safe until you’ve reached your home and have locked the door behind you. You lock all your windows, then double check that they’re locked and close the curtains. It takes a while for you to fall asleep that night.

The next morning, you’re greeted with a package on your doorstep. Inside is a disc and a stuffed wolf. The stuffed animal looks innocuous at first. Upon closer examination, you realize that there’s something rattling inside it. You hesitantly rip the back open, revealing a silver chain. When you tug the chain, it frees itself from the stuffing and catches the light in your living room to reveal a heart shaped pendant. The inside of the pendant has a photo of you next to a photo of Josef, and there are initials engraved on the outside of it. A ‘J’ for him and… an initial for your first name—your real first name. He knows your real name, and he knows your address.

After barely a moment of contemplation, you throw the necklace, wolf, and DVD in the trash. You try to go about your day as usual, but you know you’re doing a pretty poor job of pretending that everything is fine. Your coworkers tell you as much, and you’re soon dismissed with the order to “relax.” You huff a laugh at the thought. Everything is worse when you’re home, because Josef knows you live there. For all you know, he could be breaking in to watch you sleep.

In the span of three days, you get two more discs. You throw away the second one. The third one is the last one, judging from the writing on it. For some reason, you decide to trust the message and place the disc in your disc player. After all, you threw away the first two. You’re curious to see what this one contains.

For a moment, there is nothing. Then, the screen stutters to life and you find yourself looking at Josef. He raises his eyebrows at the camera, before shaking his head. Josef greets you, before uttering your real name and shaking his head. “You threw away my other gifts,” he says. “I was very disappointed. Heartbroken.” Somehow, he looks entirely sincere. Was he truly heartbroken?

“Still, I’m offering you a chance,” Josef continues, “An olive branch, if you will. I don’t want this to end between us.”

“This is Lake Gregory,” he states. “It’s wide open, as you can see…” He breaks off and pivots the camera so that you get a full view of the place. “I will be here tomorrow, sitting at this park bench.” He takes a breath and smiles, before the camera clicks off. You’re left to stare at your blank television screen in disbelief.

You know you shouldn’t go to the lake—it would be incredibly dangerous. Yet, you can’t continue living as if nothing happened. Every flicker of a shadow, every minute noise has you paranoid. You can’t keep living like this—jumping at every sudden movement. You think about calling the police again, before remembering how they treated you when you tried calling before. Josef isn’t the guy’s real name and his home was a rental. He’s virtually undetectable, the officer on the phone said. You remember hanging up and nearly slamming your phone down on the table in frustration and helplessness.

It’s a crazy thought, but this could be your chance at closure. If you don’t show up, you’re sure you’ll be stalked for the rest of your life. You’d live in constant fear, knowing that Josef could be lurking in any shadow or around any corner. But, this way, you could end things. You could put an end to the uncertainty.

The thought is what pushes you to walk out to the car determinedly the next day, plug Lake Gregory into your navigation, and drive along. Some time later, you pull into a parking spot and look out to the shimmering water. You don’t see Josef, but you get the sense that he’s here somewhere. If there were even a minute chance of you showing up, he would have to be here. You take a deep breath and step out of the car, before walking to the park bench. You’re certain your heart has never raced so fast. When you make it to the bench, you turn around with your back to the water. You’ll watch for him and wait for him to approach.

At some point, you see him. He’s wearing the Peachfuzz mask and wielding an axe. He slowly sneaks up in a few steps, before evidently noticing that you’re staring. After a moment, he takes the mask off, lets the axe fall to his side, and clears the distance between the two of you. There’s a mix of emotions flickering along his face.

“Josef,” you remark. The man closes the distance between you, until you’re only a few steps away from one another.

“Now this is what I find most fascinating about you,” Josef explains, gesturing towards you. His eyes are gleaming. He doesn’t look offended by your wariness; if anything, he looks intrigued, fascinated. “You mistrusted me from the moment we met. You gave me a fake name, fake stories. Everything was fake.” He punctuates the statement by thudding his axe against the grass.

You don’t know what to say. Your tongue feels ironed to the roof of your mouth. “I suppose I can’t complain,” Josef continues. “Because I was doing the same. Fake name, fake stories.” His hand still grips the axe. You stare at it warily.

“Everyone else was too trusting,” he remarks. “They almost seemed to give their lives to me, you know? Aaron, I mean… he just sat on that bench and waited. He never turned around.” You follow his gesture and look at the bench. After a second glance, you think you can see dried blood stains on the wood. Bile rises in your throat. You’re biting down on the inside of your cheek so hard that you can taste blood, metallic and coppery on your tongue.

“I want to get to know you,” Josef continues, taking a step forward. You match it with a half-step backwards, only to realize that you’re now standing on the very edge of the grass. One more step and you’ll fall into the lake. “The real you.”

He extends a hand, an unspoken question on his lips. The air around you seems to still. Everything falls quiet in anticipation.

Your heart thundering in your chest, you reach out and take his hand.

taglist: @its-ares @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall

#creep 2014 #creep movies #defectivevillain #x reader #gn reader #male reader #transmasc reader #nb reader #josef x reader #josef x gn reader #josef x male reader #this man is so queer #so bisexual

55 notes · View notes