#i cannot live like this another year but I have nowhere to go

[whimsycore]

Not me realizing how desparately I need to move out after the night my mother asked someone how her adult freedoms where going and then asked me when I said “what freedoms” she made it about me driving and not her being a literal tyrant

[katsu28]

home is wherever you are

pairing: charles leclerc x reader

summary: secretly falling in love with your best friend is tough. secretly falling in love with your best friend who also happens to be your roommate is even less than ideal. the solution? move out! (hint: it isn’t a very good one.) (5k)

warnings: angst with a happy ending, a smidge of google translated french lol

a/n: CHARLES LECLERC!!! CHARLES LECLERC!!!!LECLERC!!! LECLERAUGHCOUGHCOUGH

“I still cannot believe you’re abandoning me.” 

Charles shoved another box of your things into the boot of your car rather huffily, as if to reiterate just how unhappy he was. 

“I’m not abandoning you, I’m moving out of your apartment.” You sighed, rolling your eyes playfully at him. You passed him the last box off the ground, wiping your hands off on your shorts before propping them on your hips. 

“That is quite literally the same thing.” He mirrored your stance in total seriousness, frown unwavering. “And it’s not my apartment, it’s yours now too. Your home.” 

You’d been living with Charles for a while now, having been suddenly evicted from your own place three, almost four years ago. With nowhere else to go, you’d turned to your best friend, and Charles had welcomed you with open arms, giving you a home when you’d needed it most. 

There were many good things about living with Charles—he liked to cook (which boded well with you, seeing as you were no master chef yourself. Except for when he’d gone through a questionable phase of combining cuisines that did not go well together.), he was respectful of set boundaries and agreed upon rules. You had the same taste in shows and movies, which made for little fighting when it came to deciding on what to watch. 

But most notably, he loved to play the piano. It was a hobby he’d picked up during long days spent staying at home, and he was good at it too. An electronic keyboard when he’d first started out, just to see if it was something he was serious about, but as he zoomed through the basics with ease, he’d splurged on a gorgeous white piano that stood proudly in the living room. 

Soon enough, it wasn’t unusual for the apartment to be full of music, beautiful songs of Charles’ own composing. 

He played whenever he had the feeling. Whenever he had something on his mind, whenever he was bored, anything, he’d spend hours at the piano, playing, playing, playing. Some might’ve called it annoying, but not you. You found it rather soothing. 

It had very quickly become a habit of yours to fall asleep listening to Charles play. Something about it seemed to always relax you just enough to the point where you could pretty much fall asleep anywhere if he was at the bench. 

Your favorite spot was on the sofa with a big blanket, watching him get lost in the notes until you drifted off. More often than not, you could rarely get a good night’s sleep without Charles’ accompaniment—your very own version of white noise. 

But truth be told, this past year of living together with Charles had been trickier than the first couple. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment things began to change, but something had definitely shifted between you. 

You’d been trying to write it off just the two of you being very close, but you’d been dancing on the line of close friends and more than friends for a long time. Falling asleep together cuddled on the sofa, lingering touches whilst you were in the same room and in passing, hugs that lasted a little too long to be considered normal. 

The more your feelings for Charles grew, the more worried you became. Worried about what, you weren’t exactly sure. All you knew was you didn’t want to lose the longest and best friendship you’d ever had because you went and fell in love.

“I know. But I think it’s well past time I get out of your hair and try being on my own for once.” You said softly, stepping in to fold yourself into Charles’ arms. 

Most of that was true. You did feel like you needed to live by yourself for a chance, to see what it was like to be fully independent in your adult life. You’d moved in with Charles when you were twenty two, and you were twenty five now. It was time for you to venture out on your own. 

But the uncertainty of falling in love with your best friend was definitely also a contributing factor. 

He made a displeased sound at your words, but tucked you under his chin nonetheless. “I don’t want you to get out of my hair. My hair likes it with you here.” 

“I live fifteen minutes away, Cha. I’m not moving across the country. You and your hair can come over anytime.” You scoffed, giving him a gentle poke in the ribs. “And I’ll come over here all the time too, you know that.” 

“Fine, fine. I don’t know what I am supposed to do with your empty room now, but I’ll figure it out. Maybe I will take up scrapbooking. Knitting. Needlepoint, maybe. Turn it into a craft room.” 

“Maybe you can turn it into a music room. Move the keyboard in there, your piano.” 

“Ah, bien entendu, my piano. How will you ever fall asleep without my sweet, sweet melodies?” 

“I think I will manage just fine.” You chuckled. 

Charles held you at arms’ length, dark brows furrowing as he scowled. “What I’m hearing is you don’t love me anymore.” 

Oh, if only he knew. 

You smiled instead, patting his cheek good-naturedly. “Come on, you drama queen. I want to move in before the sun goes down.” 

Charles went full protection mode the second all your belongings had made it safely inside the apartment, intently checking every lock, window, door hinge, cabinet—not an inch of the apartment went uninspected by him. When he seemed fairly satisfied with his safety checks, he returned to where you were unpacking kitchen items over by the oven.

“Everything up to your standards?” You asked, pulling out a stack of plates wrapped in brown paper. Charles shuffled over, easing them out of your hands and unwrapping them to help put them up in the cabinet. “No one is going to break in through my window tonight?”

“Don’t even joke about that.” He grumbled, chucking the balled up paper at you gently. “Everything I checked is fine. You will be safe here.” 

Food was simple when it came time for dinner—takeout on the floor of your living room, because you hadn’t had the time to go shopping for a coffee table yet. Or a dining room table. Or even chairs, really. All you had were some pillows and an overturned cardboard box to put the food on. 

Charles had insisted on helping you furnish the whole place before you moved in but you’d declined, saying that you wanted to get a feel for the place before filling it with everything. The last time it would be this empty would be the day you moved out. 

He seemed a little quiet the rest of the night, but you didn’t press it until after dinner, whilst he was helping you with the washing up. Well, helping was a strong word. 

“You’ve been drying that plate for ages now.” You observed, tilting your head at him thoughtfully. Charles inhaled sharply, shaking his head like he’d been snapped out of a stupor. He glanced down at the completely dry plate, then back up at you blankly. “What’re you thinking about?” 

“You’re really going to be gone.”

“You say that like I told you I’ve only got days to live. I won’t be gone, Cha. I’ll be around.” You chuckled, flicking dish soap bubbles in his direction. Charles responded by flinging his towel at you, cracking a smile. You liked it when he smiled, hated it when he frowned. He was still unfairly attractive, but it wasn’t Charles’ scowl that made you fall in love with him. 

“We can spend the day together anytime, you can come over whenever you want, and if it makes you feel any better, I will give you your very own key.” 

That seemed to put him a little more in higher spirits. 

 “What will you ever do without me?” He wondered out loud, feigning a thoughtful expression. 

“Probably clean up a lot less. Be able to take a shower without running out of hot water halfway through. Oh! Have a bottle of shampoo last more than a month because someone—not naming names, of course, won’t use it because they’ve run out of theirs. Not have to fight for—” 

“Alright, alright, I get it!” Charles huffed, grabbing you by the shoulders and promptly shoving your face into his chest to stop you from talking. 

You grinned against the softness of his hoodie. “Shall I go on?” 

“No, no you shouldn’t.” His hold on you loosened, but you stayed right where you were, wrapping your arms around his torso. “Just admit it. You’ll miss me.” 

“I will miss you.” You said softly, pressing your cheek into the crook of his neck. If there was something Charles was unbelievably good at (besides literally anything he’d ever tried), it was giving the best hugs. Something about them made you feel safe, like nothing and nobody could ever hurt you as long as you were in his arms. 

“You already know how much I’m going to miss having you around.” 

“Yeah, I am pretty great.” 

A laugh rumbled through his chest. “You are.” 

“You’ve been the best roommate I could’ve asked for. Thank you for everything.” Your words were muffled between the two of you, and you were glad for it, because he didn’t seem to notice the waver in your tone. But he did squeeze you a little tighter, so maybe he did hear you. “I love you, Cha.” 

Charles’ voice seemed to waver just a bit too. “I love you too.” 

“Okay, okay, you really need to leave. Go before I change my mind and make you stay.” You blurted, pushing him away playfully. It was better than letting him see you get emotional. 

“Is that a promise?” 

“No, it’s a threat. Go home. I will see you soon.” You gave his hand one last squeeze, nodding reassuringly to rid him of the crease between his brows. “Don’t worry about me. Go, get some rest.” 

It was only then that he seemed satisfied enough to leave, but even then, he cast another backwards glance towards you on his way down the hall, as if he was waiting for you to beckon him back. You just smiled as best you could. 

You’d get over it. You had to. There was still a lot you needed to get done before you called it a night. 

It wasn’t until you were getting ready to go to bed that you started to feel lonely. You and Charles had your respective bedtime routines, but they always intertwined. 

You never liked being the one to turn off all the lights in the apartment because the switch was at the end of the hallway opposite from your bedrooms, so he knew to do it because you hated running back through the darkness after flipping the switch. 

He always filled a glass with water for late night sipping, but never remembered to actually bring it to his room until he was already in bed, so you always grabbed it for him so he wouldn’t have to make the trek back out the kitchen.  

The bathroom counter was where you’d find each other the most, terrible jokes and funny stories told muffled through toothpaste bubbles, even though you could’ve just waited until you were finished to tell each other. You’d flick water at him as you washed your face because he took up too much space at the sink, he’d turn off the tap in retaliation, things like that. 

Sometimes Charles would stay up later playing video games with his friends, or take some extra time to practice piano, so you wouldn’t get to do your well oiled machine routine, but he’d always take the extra second to pop into your room to say goodnight when he heard you bustling around, even if he was in the middle of something. 

The times you fell asleep on the sofa to Charles’ playing the piano, he’d camp out at the other end of the sofa for the night, or at the very least made sure you were covered with a blanket if he went to sleep in his own room. 

It was something you’d grown accustomed to over the years, oftentimes the well-needed end to a not so great day. Charles never failed to put a smile on your face, even with something as small and mundane as a bedtime routine. 

But there was none of that as you ran through your routine this time. 

You didn’t hear him shuffling around over in the other room, the muffled sounds of his shouts as he played his games, and most of all, you didn’t hear him and his piano. 

Because there was no Charles. Of course there wasn’t. You were in this new place that you hadn’t had quite nearly enough of a chance to get used to yet, alone, and it was finally settling in. 

Suddenly moving out and away from him seemed like the worst decision in the world. 

You knew it was only the first night. You had to give yourself a chance to reacclimate, and that would take time. So you inhaled a deep breath, trying to get as comfy as you could for a long, probably sleepless night ahead. 

It was nearing four in the morning when you finally decided to give up and call Charles. Part of you thought he might not even pick up the phone, because he was probably asleep. Any sane person would be sleeping right now. 

Much to your surprise, he answered on the second ring. 

“Why are you awake?” You asked, maybe a bit harshly. 

“Um, you are the one who called me? Why are you awake?” He replied, groggy voice still teasing. His accent always grew thicker when he was sleepy. You thought it was adorable. “You cannot sleep, can you?” 

“...No.” Your voice grew smaller. You felt embarrassed at the fact that you couldn’t even make it one full night without Charles around. “I just…I wanted to hear your voice, I guess. I miss you already, Cha.” 

Charles fell silent for a few moments, the only sound on his side of the line being his gentle exhales. “I miss you too. Do you want me to come over? I can stay the night, if you want.” 

“No. No, you don’t need to do that.” You said softly. “Can you just talk to me?” 

This was also something that had become somewhat of a ritual when either of you couldn’t sleep. 

You’d tiptoe into each other’s rooms quiet as a mouse, slipping into bed beside the other. Charles always stirred when he felt the bed dip under your weight, half asleep but still reaching out to pull you against his chest like it was second nature. On the occasions when he came into your room, you’d feel him tuck himself close to you, nosing against any part of you he could find with a content sigh. 

There was no rhyme or reason to the things you’d talk about in those moments, but eventually, somehow, you’d both end up asleep, usually fairly quickly. Maybe it was the extra added comfort of each other that helped, you could never tell. 

It wasn’t unusual to wake up a jumble of limbs tangled together, and neither of you ever addressed it either. Just went on with your business as usual, never talking about it because it was just something you did. To help each other sleep, of course. 

Another thing that really blurred the line between friends and more. 

Charles hummed a noncommittal sound, soft and fond like he always was around you. “I’ll do you one better. How about I play some music for you?” 

“Yes, please. Thank you.” You sighed, relieved. He knew what you needed without you even having to ask. 

You heard him get up, footsteps padding along until there was a thud and some shuffling coming from Charles’ side. A few warm up scales in and you were already feeling a little less anxious, letting yourself get comfortable. 

“Any requests from the audience?” 

“Been working on anything new?” You yawned, nuzzling a little deeper back into your pillow. 

“I have, actually. It’s still—fuck, how do you say it…a work in progress?”

“Anything you play is perfect.”

“You flatter me.” He snorted. “Alright, here goes nothing.”  

He began to play. You knew jack shit about music, so there wasn’t much you could think of to describe how it sounded, but you could describe how it felt. You could almost feel the emotion pouring from his playing, even through the scratchy quality of the speaker. 

It felt like something you’d hear in the background of a movie montage, lilting and delicate and warm notes swirling together to create a bright melody, and you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. 

Memories of good times with Charles flashed through your head—all the long days and even longer nights you’d spent together because you thrived in each other’s company, cooking together, binging Netflix shows until you both passed out on the sofa. 

Hushed laughing during dinners at fancy restaurants that Charles could get into by flashing his name, soft conversations accompanied with expensive food and even more expensive wine. 

Day trips up the coast with the top down on the car, pushing the speed limit just to feel an ounce of the freedom that it could give you. Walking through Monte Carlo on late night gelato runs, switching flavors because you both enjoyed each other’s choice more than your own. 

Most of all, you thought of the love you felt for Charles, ever since you’d first met him. You’d never been one to believe in the concept of soulmates, but fuck, it was so easy to think of him as yours. Never had you felt as much for someone as you did for him. 

God, why were you even thinking of those things? 

It would never happen. Any love that Charles had for you would be strictly platonic, limited to however much one could love their best friend. 

Surely he’d drawn inspiration from something else when he’d composed the beautiful piece. You weren’t sure if you wanted to know. 

Soon enough, you’d drifted off like you always did when Charles played, coincidentally right before he came to a lingering stop. 

Had you been awake, you would’ve heard him say that the beautiful piece had been inspired by you. Instead you were fast asleep, still none the wiser to anything. Maybe it was a good thing. You might not have believed it if you’d heard him. 

-------

Charles was on your doorstep first thing in the morning, coffee and pastries in hand when you opened the door for him. 

“Hello, good morning, your savior is here. And with breakfast!” He chirped, coming to just enough of a halt for you to slide an arm around his shoulders in a hug and grab one of the drinks out of the tray before he swept past you.

Bright morning sunlight poured into the open area, washing the whole place aglow. A warm breeze floated in through the ajar window, rattling the shutters only slightly, and you could hear the all too familiar sounds of the city in the morning coming from the streets below. It was a gorgeous picture of peace; one of the apartment’s many fun quirks that convinced you to go for it in the first place. 

The only thing that might’ve rivaled the beauty of the moment was Charles standing at the window, leaning against the sill drinking his coffee while the breeze ruffled his hair. His back was to you as he checked out the view, but even the mere image of him here was nice. 

You sipped your own coffee, smiling to yourself when you realized Charles remembered exactly how you took it. You didn’t even need to look inside the bag to know they were your favorite pastries from the bakery down the street from your former apartment that both you and Charles loved. He was always thoughtful like that. Things like remembering your favorite foods and drinks, and going out of his way to get them as a little pick-me-up. 

It seemed wrong to ruin the moment, but you felt like you had to say something. 

“I’m sorry for waking you up last night.” You sighed, taking a cross-legged seat on a pillow. 

Charles turned away from the window, shaking his head quickly. He took a seat on the floor next to you, long legs stretching out towards your crossed ones to nudge a sneaker against your socked foot. “There’s nothing to be sorry about, I’m glad you called me.” 

“Right, but it’s kind of pathetic, isn’t it? First time on my own and I didn’t even last a whole night.” 

“Not pathetic.” He insisted, entirely firm in his words. He set his cup down as if it could strengthen his point. “It is a change, definitely. You can’t expect yourself to get used to such a big change immediately. It takes time, you know.” 

You messed with the lid of your cup, picking at the plastic with a scowl. “I know. But I can’t always come running to you whenever I need help. It’s not fair to you to have to keep rescuing me every time I need saving.” 

“Okay…” He trailed off, stretching out the last syllable in confusion. “I feel this is about something more than just last night. We can talk about it, if you would like?”

“I don’t know what it is.” You huffed. “I thought I was ready to be on my own, but maybe I’m not. Maybe I don’t know I’m doing and I’ll never figure it out, and—” 

“Whoa, whoa, slow down. Where is this all coming from?” 

“I don’t know,” You repeated, bordering on a whine. “But what I do know is that I can’t always keep relying on you for everything. It’s not good for me, or for you.” 

“You know, you could always just move back home if you’re truly not ready to do things on your own.” Charles offered, taking a casual sip of his own drink.

Home. He said it so casually, like home was with him instead of this new place you’d chosen to make yours. In a way, Charles was your home. Safety, comfort, love—all the things that made something home, you felt with him. 

That was the problem. You didn’t feel right relying on him for all those things, not without him being aware of how you actually felt about him. It seemed like too much of a burden to put on a friend, even one as perfect as Charles. 

His eyes met yours over the rim and he shrugged. “I still don’t know why you were so insistent on moving out in the first place.” 

You sighed, again. There weren’t many ways you could make yourself any clearer. Other than telling Charles one of the real reasons why you had to leave, which again, was more of a last resort (hopefully not at all) type of thing. “It was time—” 

“It was time for you to venture out on your own, yes, I know. But it doesn’t seem to be working out so well right now, does it not?” The last sentence seemed to slip out of Charles’ mouth before he knew what he was saying, because his mouth snapped shut right afterward. “I’m—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for it to come out like that. I don’t want to argue.” 

But what had been done was done, what had been said was out there for you to know. Your coffee suddenly left a bitter taste in your mouth, and the traffic from outside became glaringly loud. The once peaceful atmosphere had been shattered now that you knew Charles’ true thoughts on it all. 

You stood up, letting your feet take you across the room from him. “No. Tell me more, Charles. Tell me how you really feel.” 

His nose wrinkled at the use of his full name. You never called him Charles unless you were upset with him, which wasn’t that often. Even hearing it come out of your own mouth seemed foreign. 

That seemed to change his reaction, because he stood too instead, doubling down on his words. “Okay. Yes, that is how I feel about you leaving. You barely even talked to me about it, and the next thing I knew, you were packing all your things into boxes! I didn’t understand where this—this sudden desire to leave came from. I still don’t.”

“You don’t have to understand it. It’s already done.” 

“Did I—did I do something wrong?”

You almost faltered. Almost.

“Did you ever think maybe me wanting to leave had nothing to do with you?” 

“Honestly? No. It feels like it has everything to do with me. It feels like you moved out because you didn’t want to be around me anymore!” Charles exclaimed. “And I have kept my mouth shut, I’ve been trying to be supportive of your decision, but I think I have a right to know. Am I why you wanted to leave so badly?” 

“That’s…part of it.” You admitted. Charles froze, brows flying up towards his hairline. “But not because of anything you did. Not because of the reason you’re thinking of.” 

“I don’t really see any other explanation. And I am sorry, but that is a shit excuse. I would’ve thought that you of all people would tell me the truth.” He didn’t sound angry, just disappointed and a little hurt. Somehow that felt worse. You’d rather him be mad at you than hurt by you. 

“I didn’t want to move out.” You said firmly. 

“Then why did you?” 

“I had to! I—I couldn’t live there anymore.” 

“But why?” He sounded desperate, begging for you to clue him in to any reason, anything at all that would help him understand. And god, as scared as you were of changing things by telling Charles how you really felt about him, you were infinitely more scared of losing him for good if you didn’t. 

“Because I’m fucking in love with you, Charles!” You blurted, finally. “I couldn’t live with you any longer, keeping this huge secret all the time, because it truly made me feel like I was about to explode. I just couldn’t do it anymore—pretend like everything was alright when every time I looked at you, all I could think about was how I felt about you! How much I felt for you.” Your voice rose with every word, emotion lacing your tone. 

You could feel the tears burning your eyes, threatening to fall no matter how much you willed them not to. “I just thought, maybe if we lived apart, if we didn’t see each other all the time, maybe those feelings would go away.” 

Charles blinked at you slowly. He scrubbed a hand over his cheek, across his mouth, letting it disappear into the neckline of his hoodie as he continued the motion near his jaw. Still, he said nothing. You weren’t sure if it was a good sign or a bad one, but still you continued. 

“So no, it wasn’t because of anything you did. Or maybe it was, for making it so fucking easy to fall in love with you. I don’t know. I’m sorry if I made you feel like you couldn’t say anything to me, but I’m not sorry for making the decision on my own. It was for the best.”

There it was, out there in the open at last. It felt like a proverbial weight lifted off your shoulders, but at the same time like a thousand rocks sinking to the bottom of your stomach, because he wasn’t saying anything. Maybe this was it. Maybe this was how you’d fuck up the best friendship you’d ever had. 

Charles was silent for the longest time before he replied, and when he did, his voice was quieter than you’d ever heard it before. It felt unnerving. “You could’ve just told me.” 

“Told you?” You had to fight the urge to let out a bitter, watery laugh. “Telling your best friend you’ve fallen in love with him isn’t just something you mention at the bathroom sink one night.” 

“It is, if he feels the same way about you.” 

A coldness crept down your neck, shooting through your veins like you’d just had a bucket of ice cold water dumped over your head. 

“No you’re not—you don't...you can't.” You whispered, disbelieving.

Charles’ brows furrowed in confusion. “What, do you want me to prove it?” 

You couldn’t give him an answer even if you wanted to. You weren’t sure if you could trust yourself to say a damn word, just in case this was all a dream and you'd wake up any second, still alone, still without him there.

He must’ve taken your silence as a yes to his question, because he crossed the room in three strides, took your face in firm hands, and he kissed you. 

Despite your utter shock, you managed to kiss him back clumsily, fingers curling into his hoodie tightly. Charles kissed you like he was afraid to let you go, like you’d slip through his fingers if he wasn’t careful enough.

A guiding hand curled around the back of your neck, angling your head so he could deepen the kiss, but only for a few seconds before he broke away, panting. His forehead stayed pressed against yours, soulful green eyes boring into your own in total seriousness.

“Do you believe me now?” 

“Maybe.” You breathed, letting your nose bump against his gently. This was not a dream. Charles was real and here and one hell of a kisser (just as you suspected).

“I am in love with you.” He murmured, stroking his thumb over your cheek fondly. “I have been for a long time. And I never thought you would feel the same way.” 

“I love you, Cha.” You were suddenly brought back to last night, when you’d uttered the same words to him. Only this time, they had a whole different meaning to them. 

This time, you knew Charles loved you in the same way you loved him.

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[citrustan]

slipping through my fingers [1] (myg)

title: will i ever see you again?

pairing: min yoongi x reader genre: dilf!yoongi, exes and co-parents au, angst!, fluff, smut summary: yoongi usually has an explanation for everything. why can't he talk you through this? warnings: [it is important that you read the prologue before this]

It takes you a good five minutes to gather yourself. Yoongi doesn't dare to disturb you.

Still leaned against the wall, you take a few steady breaths.

You don't know why but you don't cry.

The news of him dating another person is enough for you to have an intense breakdown, let alone marrying someone.

This will forever serve as a reminder that you weren't enough for Yoongi.

You kind of just want to go straight to bed. Pretend this never happened. Just deal with it later.

After your break-up, a big part of you always thought you'd end up getting back together. And that no matter how long it takes, Yoongi would be your endgame. He was it for you.

Over the past year, your contact with Yoongi had reduced. He was always busy when you called. Always working.

But now that you think about it, it was you who assumed that he was working. He never claimed he was.

For all you know, he could've been dating.

Pfft. 'Could have.'

He most definitely was.

And he didn't tell you. Not even your friends told you about it.

You don't know what's worse.

You're pushing yourself away from going into a dark place. Where you begin to wonder.

The only question that refuses to budge is: What does she have that you don't?

In all honesty, you wish he never told you. You don't want to know what type of a person his future wife is. You do not want to know if they'd have children together. You do not care if they buy a house together, or if they already have one. You don't want to know.

And you don't want to think about what it'd do to Nao.

When you begin to truly register the possible consequences of Yoongi's marriage, you feel anger. It spreads through your veins in a millisecond.

Had Nao already met this woman? You doubt that because she never told you about it.

Would it be confusing for her to understand what's going on?

Is that woman going to be parenting your child too? You violently shook your head. You won't allow that.

You are her only mother.

The pressure in your chest only deepens the more you think about this.

Yoongi has stolen your peace.

How are you to move on from this? And you hadn't even confronted half of the thoughts you're having. The anger never subsides.

He's going to send you right back to therapy.

"_____?" Yoongi comes looking for you.

You cannot afford to lose your composure in front of him. You don't want to give him more reasons to be grateful for your break-up.

You had to step away for just a bit longer, "I'll be right back."

You were about to turn and hide in your room when you feel Yoongi yanking your arm back.

With a surprised yelp, you pull it back just as forceful.

"Talk to me." Yoongi pleaded with his eyes.

No.

"I...-" You trail off. The words were caught in your throat. I don't want to see you again, ever.

This was such a disaster.

How does one move on from this?

"_____. I'm sorry." He tried again.

Yoongi had it all planned. He was going to sit you down and ease it in on you.

Instead, he chickened out and ended up dropping a bomb on you out of nowhere.

He's usually the more composed one out of the two of you, and he screwed it up.

You sigh, "I don't know why you're apologizing."

After a moment, you swiftly walk away from Yoongi and peek into the living room.

Nao's attention is still on the movie.

"Has she met Nao?"

Yoongi shook his head profusely, "I wanted your permission first."

At this you're confused.

Unable to separate your emotions, you sarcastically laugh. "My permission to let your daughter meet her father's future wife?"

It's like a bell ringing in your mind. Your laugh transitions into a bit of a manic one, "What if I told you no? What happens then?"

Yoongi kept his calm, "Then she won't meet her now." You scoff.

Immediately, you give in, having no interest in continuing this conversation. "Then do whatever you want. She's your daughter too. I can't make decisions for you."

You start to walk away from him when he stops you, "_____. Let's just... talk."

“I don’t want to.” You sternly announce.

This would be a lot easier to handle this if he just got mad at you. It’d be easy to hate him if he were being unreasonable. In all honesty, even then you’d probably never be able to truly hate him.

“_____, I’m sorry,” Yoongi softly brings your attention to him. His eyes were directed towards your feet.

It doesn’t phase you. His blanket apology for whatever happened doesn’t make up for anything.

You want to ask him what he was apologising for. But you don’t really want to go there. Not in front of Nao.

You cannot subject her to this instability anymore than you already have.

“Ask your daughter if she wants to meet your wife,” you spat, “Not me.”

Yoongi knew you were angry. He also knew exactly why. Still, he can’t bring himself to talk you through it. It’s too soon. He needs to let it simmer.

As much as you don’t want him to think (know) that you’re just bitter for very obvious reasons, that ship has already sailed.

You don’t think you can do a whole lot to salvage it. Might as well ride it out for now.

With the risk of sounding pathetic, you turn your body towards him. “How come you’re marrying someone else?”

Yoongi’s mouth opens and closes a few times before he sighs deeply.

“_____...” He coos, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to hurt you.”

There's a pause, a moment where the air seems heavy.

The noises from the TV sound muffled. Time slows down for you to hold yourself together.

“I don’t want you to ever doubt yourself, _____.”

That’s not under his control. Hell, you yourself can’t help it.

“I don’t,” you lie.

“I want you to know that it wasn’t an easy decision. I just… She broke me. I don’t know how but I changed.”

…

That’s what you get for respecting his boundaries.

This is a slap in your face. He better not be saying what you think he is.

“She convinced you?” You question him pointedly.

So, you could’ve ‘broken’ him too? So much for not being an overzealous girlfriend slash baby mother.

“No! I just changed my mind about-“

You wouldn’t let him finish, “No.”

“No?” Yoongi was starting to get a little agitated.

“I… don’t want to know.”

“Okay. That’s okay. Let’s talk tomorrow,” Yoongi agreed.

The two of you take a little break from the almost heated conversation you just had.

“I’ll finish up in the kitchen. Are Mimi’s bags packed?”

“Yeah, just need to get her toothbrush after she’s done.”

Your ex-boyfriend’s nickname for your daughter was Mimi, and you preferred Nao. Nao prefers Nao too but she’d never break her daddy’s heart like that.

He gives your arm a subtle squeeze as he moves past you to get back to the kitchen.

You head to Nao’s room to get her bag as she excitedly follows you in.

Turning to her, you tilt your head towards her, “Did you turn the TV off?”  

“Yes! And I unplugged the wire.”

“Good girl.” You give her a genuine smile.

You don’t know what your future is going to look like with Yoongi’s wife in the picture. What if Nao doesn’t like her? What if she doesn’t like Nao?

Your heart drops at the thought of them having a kid. What if she pushes Yoongi to leave you and Nao?

No, he’d never. You’ve got to give him more credit than that.

Wait.

Is she pregnant? Is that why he wants to marry her?

You were pregnant too.

You already know you’re going to kick Taehyung’s ass for not warning you about this new woman in Yoongi’s life.

“MOMMY.” Nao’s scream brings you back.

“I’m sorry! Mama’s here. W-” - “Daddy’s calling.”

Okay. Deep breaths.

“Go on ahead, I’ll bring you your bag.” You then instruct her to brush her teeth at her dad’s.

Nao hugs your waist, burying her head into your side. It tickles a little.

Then, she runs off to find her father.

Soon, you follow her and drop her bag by the door.

Yoongi reappears from the kitchen, drying his hands with a paper towel. He stops in front of you and waits as Nao jams her feet into her pink Crocs.

Seemingly in deep thought, you stand by them. You don’t want to end tonight on a weird note. Even though you’re hurting, you can’t let him see it. For so long, you just assumed you’d find your way back to each other even though you never actively put effort into it.

Now, it seems downright outlandish.

Your next moves are not to save face but an attempt to actually move forward.

“Yoongi!” You call out to him as if he were miles away.

A little startled, he raises a brow at you in question.

“You should introduce them.” You nod, mostly to yourself.

At this, his expression changes. It’s softer and… almost aching.

“And congrats.” You added shyly. “You deserve to be happy.”

Your vision began to blur.

NOOOOOOOOOO. Not now. Please. PLEASE.

You gulp and smile. Yoongi knows the smile. He begins to extend his arms, inching towards you, as if he were about to embrace you.

“Mommy.” Nao winks, blows you a kiss, and runs out of the apartment, breaking whatever moment the two of you just had. You scrunch your brows at the now-empty doorway.

Yoongi scoffs in amazement.

“You should go,” you urge him out of the door, not allowing him to respond to you. “Now. Bye.”

Yoongi simply allows you to push him out, still a little stunned by the two of you.

“Make sure she does her math homework!” You get the last word in as you slam the door in his face.

Had your daughter not distracted you, you don’t know what you’d have done.

₊˚.🎧 ✩｡ underwater by red velvet ₊˚.🎧 ✩｡

note: these song recommendations go great w the story!! u should give it a listen :*

thank u for all the love and attention you've given to this little project 😍

[wyn-n-tonic]

That's a Real Fucking Legacy: The Marks You Saw

Pairing: Joel x f!reader (formerly Tommy x f!reader). Word Count: 2.1k+ Warning: Alcohol mention. Drugs mention. Emotional word vomit. Author's Note: And you can tell a friend to tell a friend...she's baaaaack. Not really but I have been dealing with some heavy stressors at work and in my personal life that has stunted my writing so it felt good to get something out that I'm actually proud of. I think? Anyway... no beta, we die like men.

“Do you ever see me?”

Leaning back, you assess the man across from you—the scar that’s nicked into his eyebrow, the freckles that are scattered like spray paint across his nose.

The deep brown, almost black, of his eyes that match his brother’s.

Your daughter’s.

“I'm looking at you right now,” you say and it’s immediately apparent that’s not what he meant.

But you knew that.

“No, sweetheart—“

“I asked you not to call me that,” you remind him. “That's not who we are to one another anymore, Tommy.”

A terse nod.

“And no, I do not see you when I’m with him.”

“Did you ever?”

Did you ever?

Did you?

It’s been so long.

Pushing out a breath, you suggest that maybe you did in the beginning. “I was devastated, Tommy,” you say. “I was imagining the worst things possible, I was having waking nightmares which”—you laugh—“says a lot given the state of our world today. Especially in the Zone.”

His eyes take on that glassy look, the one he gets when he thinks too hard or sits for too long. The same way his brother’s do.

Something you hope your daughter will never mirror.

“But never me? Never now?”

He’s so still, you wish he would move or stand—breathe. It’s still so weird to see him breathing, to see him talking. Instead he just sits there on the other side of the small living room where the only thing that seems to rise and fall is his gaze on every part of you not covered by the threadbare fabric of twenty year old clothes.

“Tommy, I saw you dead and then I saw white, hot blinding rage. But I didn’t go to your brother as a replacement for you, I went because you told me to. If you’re still holding a grudge, I suggest you find whatever’s left of a mirror and confront yourself about it because I didn’t do anything wrong and neither did he.”

“But—“

“Tommy,” you cut him off, “I will always love you but I will never again love you like I did.”

Another nod and he finally does move, readjusting himself slightly in the chair as if he’s uncomfortable. But this discomfort is his own fault. You tell him so as soon as he even dares to say it.

“At some point, Tommy, you have to find closure because we cannot keep having these conversations—“

“Because it’ll hurt my brother’s feelings?”

“Because it’s hurting you, it’s hurting me to hurt you like this over and over again. And, yes, it hurts Joel. If I had ran into your arms when you showed up out of nowhere, he would have stepped to the side and remained quiet and let you back into my life. He still would. He is still afraid that I will decide he is too far gone and too fucked up and he will wake up to an empty bed and an empty crib because I went back to you.”

“Because I’m so easy?” He asks. And, somehow, it’s the first time you smell the whiskey stuck so heavily to him.

At no point during the day have you seen him drinking. Not out in the gardens or the community center. He didn’t even smell like this when he showed up here and you didn’t think his presence was due to anything other than not wanting to be alone.

But that’s as far as memory can serve. Because your attention and all your senses have been occupied by other activities.

Like the smell of the stables when Miri wanted to see the horses.

Or the smell in the crook of her neck, the smell that lingers in her hair.

Pulling her sleeping form tight to your chest, you inhale it again—the soft baby smell that’s going away.

“You are far from easy, Thomas Miller,” you say. “An easy man wouldn’t torture himself like this. But that’s what you’ve always wanted, Tommy. You want to be some complicated soul who saves the day. You already did. Me, Joel, Miri… we’re all here.”

Tommy inhales, deep, and stands to his full height. “I should leave you,” he says, before laughing and pushing both hands through his hair. “I guess I already did that though, huh?”

“Tommy…”

Stopping at the door, he takes another deep breath, his broad back expanding and deflating just as fast as he says, “more and more, I see my brother wearing the same marks you used to give me but it’s different.” A hiccup escapes its way from deep within his chest and he turns until his back is to the door. “He is covered in you in every way I always thought I was.”

“Am I supposed to apologize?”

His head shakes. “No, I-I think I’m trying to apologize to you.”

Looking down again into Miriam’s fragile, sleeping face, you see all the parts of her father truly starting to take shape across her features. Golden skin with a smattering of freckles; a strong nose set against soft cheeks—perfect, gentle little girl who looks like such an imperfect but gentle man.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” you say but when you look back for Tommy, he’s already slipped through the door to make the short walk back across the street to his own home.

Purple blooms beneath the golden skin just below his ear, in that spot that smells most like him. By now, it’s about as permanent as any tattoo ever was because you spend your days and nights putting it there.

But not just there.

He has marks along his collarbone, marks bitten into his chest and shoulders and the side of his hand.

Some happened as a byproduct of stifling your pleasure against his skin. Others because you didn’t catch the moans in time so he had to do it for you. But, if you’re being honest, all of them are a subtle way of saying back off.

Not just to the curious eyes of the horny, lonelier women in the compound but to the world, too.

After all, all these bruises sucked into his flesh are the same purple-red of the knotted scars that have risen like unwelcome mountains across his body.

Your way of saying lust-filled eyes can’t have him and neither can the earth.

Your way of saying mine.

He came home far too late with eyes way too tired. He showered, rubbed mint soap across his body and tried so hard to be quiet on his big, heavy feet. But you were already up, eyes open to stare at the wall while you waited for him to come to bed and the only thing that kept running through your mind is Tommy’s question.

“He asked me if I still saw him,” you whisper across the short distance between where you lay.

“You see him all the time,” Joel says lazily, one arm draped across your body. “Hell, you could go see him right now. Just open the window and throw a rock at his.”

“Joel, you know what he meant,” you say.

“I do,” he affirms. “And I think about the possibility enough already so I don’t need to commiserate it with the target of all my greatest fears.”

A beat passes and his breathing begins to even out and, when you ask him if Tommy is really his biggest fear, you hope he’s already asleep so he doesn’t have to answer it.

So you don’t have to hear it.

Instead, Joel pushes up onto his elbow, body coming to hover over yours as he flips you back into the mattress and says, “he is now.”

“Why?” You ask, circling the edge of one of those darker patches etched into his skin. “Why would Tommy be your biggest fear when you know what’s out there?”

He shrugs and the movement of his body slips your touch further down, over the ridge of the scar to shatter the illusion that it could’ve been just another one of yours. They all look the same in the dark.

In the dark, he was never hurt.

“My brother is always going to love you and he’s always going to think our daughter should be his,” he says. “He's always going to be the first one of us that you loved.”

“That Tommy is gone,” you say. You don’t know how many times you have to say it.

“I see the way he looks at you.”

“It should be the way I look at you that matters,” you tell him. “It should always only ever be the way that I look at you.”

Joel smiles, that lone dimple pocketing his left cheek, as he drops himself down across you and all of his weight from all of this world comes down with him as your arms wrap around his neck with fingers tangled into wild, unkempt curls that have gone so gray.

That’s when his breathing does even out, soft snores overtaking him as you keep lying there and looking at the ceiling.

In the dark, he was never hurt and it hits you then that the dark is the only place Tommy lets himself hurt.

Sunrises aren’t your thing but you’re already up and dressed by the time it comes around. Usually, by the time you wake, most of the compound is up and working—playing in the sun where you don’t like to be.

For so long, night hasn’t been safe. Not even back in Boston. But here? It’s safe for you. He was never hurt in the dark, your face was never gray and bloodshot in the dark. Miri never had to see her parents falling apart in the dark.

That’s where Tommy finds you. Sitting on the rickety old bench outside in his yard, watching your breath swirl through the air in the early morning light, your feet kicking like a little kid’s.

“You're up early,” he drawls. He sounds like shit.

“Couldn’t sleep,” you say.

“You want coffee?” He asks.

“That depends,” you say, “you still slipping Seth’s rust bucket”—your nose scrunches—“whatever he has the audacity to call that in there?”

Tommy smiles for the first time in a while. “It's alcohol,” he says.

“It's piss,” you retort. “And no, I don’t want that or the coffee it goes in. I just need to say something to you.”

He moves to sit before you stop him, pulling back further into the old, worn wood as you push your hand out. If he’s hurt about that, he doesn’t let it show.

“I’m giving you until the end of the day to toss every drop of everything you’re hoarding,” you tell him. “The pills, the booze. I find it incredibly disconcerting that we’ve made it this far in a world without everything that you’ve been able to find it.”

“Swee—“

“No,” you cut him off. “I let you do a whole lot of speaking last night, Tommy, and I let you hurt me. I have continued to let you hurt me and hurt my husband and I will not let you do that any longer. I don’t care that you’re a grown man, I don’t care that you blame me for this broken heart of yours, but I do care about you. Because, yeah, I put myself all over him. I dig my nails and my teeth and the heels of my feet into him every chance I get. But I do it because of you.”

“To make me jealous?” He asks, eyes narrowed.

Laughing, your head shakes. “Because I lost you,” you tell him. “All I had was a note that said you wanted better for me and all I thought about was how it really meant you wanted better than me. You pushed yourself out into this world without so much as a goodbye and you had no parts of me stuck to you reminding you to come home. I don’t make that mistake with Joel.”

“He's the better for you.” It’s not a question. Tommy Miller may be a lot of things but he is not a dumb man.

“Yeah,” you affirm, pushing off the bench to stand, “and I need you to get your shit together so you can find the better than me.”

He doesn’t speak, there’s no response even as you step back towards your own house across the street but it doesn’t matter and you won’t hear it.

Quietly, you push the door closed, toeing off your shoes at the entrance and pulling each layer from your body before crawling back into the bed you left an hour ago.

And if Joel noticed, if he woke up, it didn’t keep him that way. He doesn’t stir when you force your cold body back beneath his either. It’s enough to bring a very silent prayer forward from your lips to the same ceiling you stared at for so long last night.

The Tommy that could’ve been died in your heart a long time ago and it’s about time the one who scares Joel does, too.

[fastlikealambo]

The third wife of rhaenyra targaryen.|| rhaenyra targaryen x black!fem reader

In the five years since Queen Rhaenyra The Conqueror, Bringer of New Valyria, triumphed over the usurper without losing a single dragon, the realm is at peace. Having no need of husbands and taking two other wives, Queen Alicent and Queen Mysaria, the dragon queen is in need of a third and final wife to rule the seven kingdoms at her side.

You were just a girl from nowhere, watching the sky fill with dragons at peace, destined to be a scullery maid in a vicious household and the future wife of a ratcatcher until fate and blood decide your future for you. 

History will remember Rhaenyra Targaryen as the great unifier, the second coming of Visenya Targaryen who brought another golden age of dragons out of war. But they will sing songs of you, the smallfolk who ascended to fire and blood as the queen’s favorite, the one they tried to kill so many times, the third wife of rhaenyra targaryen.

Some notes: Aegon, Aemond, and Daemon are dead but their dragons were saved, Alicent and Haelena were sent to Oldtown, and Otto Hightower and Criston Cole spontaneously combusted, I don’t know what to tell yall. Luke lived, Jaehaerys lived, Baela and Rhaena are happy goddammit. 

Some other notes: This is dark, Rhaenyra is in her Paul Atreides era, and I drew some inspiration from Cinderella and Hurrem Sultan (the fictional representation of her from the show's magnificent century but nobody I know watches that show). Rhaenyra is in her thirties and reader is in her twenties. 

Trigger warnings for violence, murder, abuse. MINORS DNI

This is a rough teaser chapter to see if there’s any interest in this fic so if you like it please reblog it or leave a comment! Feedback is how I write :)

Chapter One: the fate of a flea. 

 “I heard she fed her husband to Syrax!”

 “I heard she burned the last two wives!”

 “She's going to choose me, there’s no doubting that.”

 “ Yeah, to be her cupbearer!”

You tried to block out the chatter of your employer and her daughters and concentrate on mending one of their hems, but each bump  from your place on the floor of the rickety carriage, made it near impossible.  

“Hurry up Flea, we’re almost there!” One of the daughters said, her slipper meeting your ribs to make you go faster but you dared not complain. 

You would have been there an hour ago but the decision to take the carriage was not your own. You would have much preferred to watch the dragons arrive with your mother in the market, far from the crowds that propelled them towards The Red Keep. 

 You needed the coin and being some rich lady’s maid who couldn’t afford the proper ones with training but could afford you instead kept good bread on the table. 

Or at least it did.

The Lady hadn’t paid you in two weeks.

  “Remember to smile when you’re presented before the Queen, smile and be silent. Perhaps if you do well, she’ll want two wives instead of one and we’ll never have to rewear a gown again. New gowns and maids who actually know what they’re doing.” The Lady said and you didn’t have to lift your gaze to know she was staring at you.

  “Don’t worry Flea, you’ll have a place in the dragon queen’s court. We’ll put in a good word with the ratcatcher!”

All three of them exploded with laughter at that and when the carriage came to a sudden stop you were too happy to watch them slide all over the carriage.

  “I’m sorry mistress, this is as far as I can go.” The driver said.

The daughters adjusted themselves before leaving the carriage, ignoring their mother’s calls to wait for her,

It was now or never.

“My lady, I need to speak with you.”

  “You’ll stay in the carriage, the queen need not see you.” The Lady said, starting to move towards the door.

  “My lady, you have not paid me. I have waited and waited and happily assisted with all the preparations but I cannot go home without coin today.  Please, my mother needs me, I’ll take half if you have that right now but we have no more bread.” You said quietly but firmly.

   “You haven’t earned your pay for the full day yet so we’ll discuss this no further.”

    “My lady, my mother is-

    “Your mother will have to make do as the rest of the smallfolk do. Perhaps she can have that bowl of brown I always hear about. I’m sure she’ll-

You’re not quite sure what happened next but it ended with The Lady dead on the carriage floor, her neck at an odd angle, face bloody and concaved.

You sank to the floor beside your dead employer, your fearful cries went unheard as the sound of Syrax’s roar filled the air around King’s Landing.

Queen Rhaenyra had arrived.

Her daughters would see you dead for this, your mother would starve, your life was lost.

Unless it wasn’t.

As luck or the gods would have it, The Lady bled into her own hair and not a single drop had spilled on the crimson colored gown. 

It seems you have time to finish the hems after all.

“You stand before Queen Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Princess of Dragonstone, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men,  Lady of The Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Bringer of New Valyria.  Why should you sit by her side?”

The same question had been asked of every lady in front of you who entered the throne room and each dismissed moments later either by Princess Rhaenys, the Hand of The Queen or Queen Rhaenyra herself. You could not bring yourself to look at the queen each time the doors opened and closed, a single glance in her direction would bring you to further ruin.

Both The Lady’s daughters could not see you but you could see them each leave the throne room in tears. 

A chance to be queen would not be the only thing they would mourn today. 

The doors opened and you found yourself escorted into the throne room. 

“You stand before Queen Rhaenyra of House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, Princess of Dragonstone, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men,  Lady of The Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, Bringer of New Valyria.  Why should you sit by her side?”

You looked at the dragon queen in all her beauty and might upon the Iron Throne and instantly it all became clear.

You would not leave this room in tears. 

  “I wish to be anointed.”

the story continues here.

@asvterias

@nxcxllxsevens

@newcaptainofsquad9

[wincore]

indelicate | liu yangyang

pairing: yangyang x fem!reader

synopsis: missing the last train out of new shanghai was not on the to-do list. however, your project partner liu yangyang promises fun, dazzling lights, and the warmth of a human connection for this festive weekend. perhaps even in the era of diamond and steel, the human touch means something after all.

genre: oriental cyberpunk, f2l, fluff

warning(s): swearing & several innuendos. also out-of-date jokes sorry guys i wrote this in 2021

words: 11.9k

a/n: this is just a rework of an old fic i posted here with another character! if you find any inconsistencies, it's probably because of that LOL also this is not a wincore revival but i did miss everyone on here !!

i. city plaza

Some idiot, somewhere along in history, decided to renovate a city into something so dazzling that the population shoots up to a hundred and fifty percent of what was before, and the rest of the damage comes along with the people. Promises are made and broken to build this city of extravagance. You have the belief that the more people there are in one place, the more difficult it gets to live there. This dazzling hellscape means colliding into too many people on the streets, too many bright lights outside your dorm room when you’re trying to sleep and the god awful sound of deafening firecrackers at every new year celebration.

Another idiot somehow roped you into his ‘midnight adventure: traditional version’ once he heard you missed the last train ticket out of the city. Liu Yangyang has a terrible way with words—but he has a way.

You were, by some unfortunate gamble of the gods, partners for a project that accounted for sixty percent of the grade. While that affair is over, you still haven't rid yourself of the predicament that is Yangyang. Gorgeous, yes, but too overwhelming. You smack your head against the car window only for him to jump in his seat beside you, hand gently driving over your forehead to check for damage. The neon city lays around you, and festive light projections float across the sky in intricate shapes of the ox and written messages. This is going nowhere. You came to this city sacrificing everything and yet suddenly, everything’s hanging on a string again.

The city lights of New Shanghai are cruel. Everything in this place is cruel.

Which is exactly why you’re in Yangyang’s car, parked by the middle level city plaza on New Year’s Eve. It is, in fact, illegal to hover by the city plaza on New Year’s Eve but Yangyang seems to either not care or simply doesn’t know. You forget the law doesn’t exist for rich kids. Out of all man-made wonders, rules are the most interesting. 

“Shall we go?” he asks, voice bubbly as ever. Every morning, he chirps like the alarm birds outside your window. Yes, it has made you want to sleep forever at times.

“It’s just one night. And I’ll be with you, so you don’t have to be afraid.”

“I’m not afraid,” you snap. 

“Not afraid of the dark either?”

You pull your jacket closer to you. Here, the cold streets of the techno-jungle make you shiver more often than not. If you dare go out without friends, a city so grand will inevitably drain the life out of you. Your body alone cannot withstand the dazzle. And—you can’t be afraid of the dark after you’ve complained about the lights.

You look at Yangyang and back to the cityscape outside—large conglomerative blocks of buildings, some hosting advertisements with the faces of inhumanly beautiful models and some with the ‘Happy New Year!’ text animation floating about in increasingly complex patterns. You see the revolving top of one of the grandest skyscrapers, a Dior hotel, not the tallest but certainly the most pleasing to look at. It gleams from red to orange like the pulsating heart of a giant metropolitan beast. There are more funky buildings to look at, some not even the shape of austere corporate skyscrapers.

“Do you wanna go there?” Yangyang asks all of a sudden. “I heard the lounge is closed off from eleven. I can call some friends and we can book a room though—”

“No. No way. I’m not going to spend new year’s eve in a Dior suite.”

He grins. “Thank god. It’s so boring there. Only models and businessmen and whatever freak shit they do.”

You sigh. Liu Yangyang is a whole story in itself. He’s rich and popular—a dream of many—but so few are as welcoming as he is. When you’re in that position, you’re bound to have a little metal seep into your heart. Some hidden part of you, however, tells you to loosen up when you’re with him; just let it go and have a good time. There’s no reason why you shouldn't. The economy is on a steep incline, the people are happy and no other city compares to this place. You could learn a thing or two from Yangyang.

He looks at you questioningly, eyes waiting and the curve of his lips still. You notice his platinum blond hair is more styled than usual, you can almost smell the gel on it, and for a moment, you wish you looked as good as he does. A dark leather jacket accentuates his shoulders, the plain T-shirt underneath not of the flashy type. He looks like he’s ready for club-hopping and you, anything but. If you knew earlier that you’d be by the Strip around midnight on New Year’s, you'd have dressed better. 

“If you stay any longer in my car, people are going to assume we’re…y’know,” he states, quirking his eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it’s illegal, though. Like, who thought fu—”

You were wrong. There is absolutely nothing to learn from Liu Yangyang. 

“I would get out of this car immediately and fall to my death before I let that happen,” you retort, crossing your arms.

“No, hey. What an inauspicious sentence. Besides, and I’m not bragging but you should know I’m really good at using my assets—”

“Don’t say a word.”

The heat of embarrassment flows into your cheeks at his implication. You look out the window, weighing out the pros and cons. The scenery is so bright that sometimes it hurts to look outside. It’s not midnight yet but the main streets are already getting crowded for the processions; the sound of laughter and conversation ring in the air. It makes you somewhat sad to not be home for this. But as they say, living in a big city can only be done if you sell your soul to it.

You’re directly above the level one city plaza, the people below looking unsettling in the way they’re so small and far away—they don’t even seem human at this distance. You wonder if you look like that to the people above this, to the level three elites who sit on top of the whole city..

You look back to your companion, who’s transfixed on the bakery across the road—either that, or just really, really zoned out. Knowing Yangyang, it could be either. When you tilt your head, waiting, you find that he has pretty features—a shaped nose and round, curious eyes, all in perfect alignment with plump, pink lips. His metallic ring earrings shine when the light hits them right. No wonder you get girls asking how close the two of you are often. Even in a world pushing manufactured love, boys like him make others daydream. You wonder why you’re the one he loves to drag in with him.

Yangyang flinches when he finds you staring at him. You clear your throat, looking away and hoping you can sweep this under the rug.

“Are you- are you by any chance mad at me?” he asks, a nervous smile awkwardly tugging at his lips.

“I- what? No. I’m not mad at you.”

“You look like my mother when I don’t clean my room. Or Ten's cats when I try to kiss them.”

A tiny laugh escapes you before you get back your poised demeanor. “I’m- I’m not mad at you.”

He smiles at you wordlessly and you feel a little conscious. You glance outside when the plaza music starts to get loud and look back at him, debating whether you should just give in.

“So… you’ll let me brighten your life now?” he asks in his regular baritone, grinning wider. “The semester’s over and it’s festival time! I bring good luck, I promise.”

Liu Yangyang is not a happy serendipity. He simply cannot be. However, he does make you laugh more often than you’d admit.

“Whatever. Go ahead. I just don’t want to be hungover on a Friday.”

“You don’t- you don’t have to drink to have a good time.” He laughs. “I would know. I’m sort of a lightweight. I don’t know why I told you that. I’m supposed to be cool.”

You giggle, taking a moment to think.

“Fine then. Show me your magical access key to our beloved Mobius Strip, the mightiest, grandest structure in all of New Shanghai.”

“Well, if you put it that way… I am pretty cool, huh?”

His smile is too harmless for you to roll your eyes. He’s too gentle, you realize all of sudden, to be as awful as all the uni frat boys you’ve had the misfortune of talking to. You watch him as he drives; his arm moves with ease and he tries to make conversation but you can only hum and respond in singular words. The closer you are to the Strip the more nervous you get. It’s like visiting all those dark places that your mother explicitly warned you not to visit as a teenager—but you’re an adult now. No one owns you. No one should be able to own you. The determination builds up slowly over neon lights and hazy street shops.

Nights here are the fun part. Everyone says that. Other than the fact that you can barely make out the colour of the sky under the vivid city lights, there’s something very enticing about the streets, the upper streets that wind around the city.

Yangyang drives the car to a level three street, the behemoth structure of the Strip now so close that all you can see beyond your window are its placid, white walls stretching out to infinity. You can see little gardens and shops, peeking out from between each strip and one of the shopkeepers wave at you the moment you pass. Yangyang says something along the lines of “thanks for the free noodles” to the woman, before gliding higher. 

“Grandma makes the best glass noodles here,” he says, excitedly. “I’ll take you sometime. If you like.”

You hum, noting the joy he expresses at the idea of something so simple. 

Level three streets are already thousand and a half feet above the ground. You try not to look down; heights aren’t something you’re very fond of even if you love the sky. You note construction work for street levels four and five, shivering at the idea. The winds of change are fucking cold.

Yangyang swerves the car off-road at one point and you clutch his arm by reflex.

“What the fuck? Don’t do that without warning me,” you say, breathing quicker. You do not do well with: sudden movement, jumpscares and boys with pretty smiles.

“Sorry,” he says, looking at you with concern. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

You let go of his arm, more embarrassed at yourself than mad at him. Driving the car closer to the Strip, he brakes carefully by the parking lot. The walls are covered in red wallpaper, a few lanterns attached to drones, floating along the path inside. It looks like a rooftop parking lot, though the mysterious dim lighting makes you walk closer to Yangyang.

“I heard this is gonna be a really cool event—they’ve got the latest AI tech hosting and crap but let me tell you the best part.”

He pauses for dramatic effect. 

“The food!” He says, spreading his arms and grinning. “The food at private events is the best thing you’ll ever taste.”

You open your mouth but close it again in part horror, part confusion. “You’re… taking me to a private event?”

“Ah, don’t look like that. It’s really fun, promise.”

“I’m not even dressed for it,” you blurt, embarrassed.

Yangyang shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. It’s for rich kids, you know? If I’m being honest, none of them know how to dress.”

His confident statement gets a giggle out of you and you relax a little. You walk with him, further into the square platform and away from the cars. The sky disappears behind the dark roof and for a moment, you feel like you’ve entered a different dimension. It’s like the architecture models that your professors had on display for the Shanghai History class in your freshman year. Old stuff, that is. Before this place even had the first skyscraper.

You turn to your side and narrow your eyes at Yangyang, suddenly wondering how he finagled his way into bringing you here. Your iron-clad will is not so much iron after all. It’s not even steel, you think, once you catch yourself staring at Yangyang a bit too long.

You step forward to find the entrance to the club; it’s a little lonely to look at in the beginning. Then it clicks that it’s probably the back door. The red pillars encase a black door between them, the overhang of the gateway just a little above Yangyang’s head. You can see the hip-and-gable style roof of the larger building behind, looking like a skyscraper instead of the usual historical buildings you’ve seen on the internet. In glowing red letters, it displays a blinking ‘Club 2’ near the top of the door.

The moment you step on the stairs, a bunch of advertisements pop up on the door, bright bubblegum colours hurting your eyes. Yangyang taps at the little x at the corner of the display till it disappears and finally the door is a regular door. The colour is jet black like any other screening platform. 

“I thought the rich were exempted from ads,” you say.

“They’re… more likely to buy things though.”

You make an ‘ah’ sound in contemplation when a whirring makes you jump into him. A little spherical drone flies its way out of an opening in the wall and stops right in front of the two of you. 

“Sicheng-ge!” Yangyang says, waving frantically at the camera.

The little drone circles around Yangyang’s head before stopping right in front of his face. It runs a scan before turning sharply and beeping at you. 

“My plus one!” Yangyang declares, pulling you by the waist. “Or whatever it’s called.”

Your ears feel warm but you don’t push him off. The camera focuses on your face, likely scanning to identify your age and occupation. When it’s done, a beep resounds and the door slides open to reveal a dimly lit pathway. The main entrance is much brighter, Yangyang promises, but for now it’s just the warm glow of the lanterns, Yangyang’s neon red striped jacket and the mechanical whirring of some sort of device in the darkness.

“What’s that sound?” you whisper and Yangyang stops. 

He pauses to think. “Oh, they’re Sicheng-ge’s drones. He’s got like a million of them. I'll introduce you—he’s hosting this club event, by the way.”

He smiles at you reassuringly. If Yangyang’s not bothered by it, you’ll follow his lead. Though, you do take more nimble steps and stay close to him like he’s your lighthouse. (In a way, he is, with all that neon shining on his jacket.)

You’re surprised to find a garden, but then it gets stranger when you see brighter lanterns in the middle area. You see figures and before you can react, Yangyang takes your hand and into the central platform.

ii. orchid club square

Yangyang was right. None of them know how to dress.

The two of you stand in the middle of a crowd, who are in fact dressed either for: a) an impromptu pool party or b) a Sunday morning lecture. You blend in somewhat well given the variety though Yangyang’s painted looks have attracted the attention of quite a few giggling, murmuring onlookers.

You clench your jaw in mild annoyance. 

“This is a tour,” Yangyang whispers to you. “I thought… you’d like to know what everything’s about.”

You feel grateful to him for once. Having some sort of knowledge about what you’re getting into makes you feel better about any situation. A set of mechanical clicking fills the air.

A woman—no, an AI bot is the first to greet you. She has pale white metallic skin and her dark strands of hair are in a traditional updo. Her lips are imperial red, shaped in a way that makes her seem as though she’s smiling but also not at the very same time. She holds an extravagant fan by her face at the perfect right angle, the patterns on it painted to imitate an ancient cherry blossom tree. 

“Good evening, everyone,” she says, her voice pitched up and enthusiastic. It’s a little funny to imagine metal so lively.

You smell oranges and lavender as soon as she flicks her fan once and precise. 

“Welcome to the New Shanghai nightlife!” The bot continues jovially. “The oldest surviving city on planet earth, the birthplace of the human race.”

“You are in virtual space,” she informs. “It might look like a courtyard stretching to infinity but it is only an illusion. However, the club is five hundred and sixty one metres wide and six hundred and twelve metres long. It is large enough to hold twenty-one blue whales in a line. That is, if they still existed of course.”

She giggles algorithmically.

“Where you stand right now,” she says, turning her head in a swift mechanical motion to you and you flinch. “This place is called the orchid club square. As you know, only VIP access lets you in.”

You glance at Yangyang worriedly and he shrugs. There’s no way she could know, right? That was oddly specific. But then she moves her head left to right to address the whole crowd in perfect grace. When her movement starts to get a little too eerie to watch any longer, you fix your eyes on the garden instead. You have no way of telling part real flowers from virtual ones and even so—all of them are beautiful. Maybe reality doesn’t make things any prettier.

However, when you look at Yangyang, the thought gets tossed out. You shake your head, in an attempt to get rid of the image of his face. It’s a little too late to be feeling this way. Either that, or the night is taking its toll on you already. The day was exhausting, considering it was the end of the semester.

The AI guide’s chatter fades into something quieter when you move the club square. It’s a rather empty space, fitting for a rave or just housing large crowds. The decorations are for the new year celebrations, banners of the ox in auspicious colours and a few drones projecting the rest. There’s a garden of evermore orchids lining the area in a perfect square and it’s so precise that it’s pleasing to look at. There’s a door at one edge, similar to the one you encountered before entering the club square.

The music that wafts through the air is so gentle, you almost forget there’s a celebration. The beat makes it livelier and even so, the rhythm of your heartbeat matches it in a soothing sort of way. Turning around, you spot the musical ensemble. It’s another AI, peering over a guqin with trained habit.

She looks the same, except she wears an electronic mask over the lower half of her face. It displays a blue musical note made up of noticeable pixels. She has no fan—instead, her fingers strum the guqin rhythmically, programmed with precision and grace. The sound is accompanied by the woodwind notes of a flute, though you’re not sure where that sound emanates from. There’s also a soft drumbeat which seems to come from the guqin bot herself.

You gasp when a few painted goldfish float through the air, almost real to look at if it weren’t for the glitch effect of holograms. One of them swims closer to you, opening and closing its mouth in rhythm and you giggle at its face.

Yangyang laughs, long finger pointing at the critter in amusement. “That’s adorable.”

He looks like a little kid and you giggle at his expression, with wide, delighted eyes and mouth open in focused mirth. He pokes at the goldfish and it makes a bubbling sound, gears shifting in ticking time before suddenly biting at his index finger. Yangyang lets out a low yelp, retracting his hand before clearing his throat in embarrassment.

“You’re like a cartoon,” you tell him, in between laughs. “No way are you real.”

He grins, in that same way he always looks at you and you look away, feeling hot in the face. It’s too enamored a way to look at someone. But of course, that couldn’t be true—he’s Liu Yangyang and you’re you. Parallel lines do not meet, even if they’re headed in the same direction.

“I think you’re unreal,” he mumbles.

iii. club 2

The doors open to a rather spacious arrangement, with several tables one one side and a sort of dance arena on the other where people are trying to out-dance each other. The intensity makes you move further away from it. It seems a little too festive and you can feel the energy slinking away from you. The music is more upbeat but you suppose the DJ tried to make it sound more eastern; the result is pleasing. He wears a smooth black helmet with a neon red beat visualizer on it, with written SFX appearing from time to time. Two pulsing golden horns glow at the sides of his head. You stare at it for longer than you’d like before composing yourself. You’re very impressionable when it comes to parties. 

There are two floors to the club, above the bottom floor itself. The other two floors mostly seem to consist of private booths, however, covered with gossamer silk that glow iridescent. A few floating lanterns sway by the upper floors. The ceiling is open to a midnight blue sky and the stars look much larger than you’ve ever seen them—you suspect it’s an AR mesh over the ceiling. A few light shows project little dancing dragons and coins over the sky and you find them too cute to not stare at.

“Wow,” Yangyang says, right after walking in. “Why is Dejun on the table?”

You look where his eyes are focused on, though it’s difficult through the crowd of people, and find Dejun and Kunhang in some sort of old anime transformation pose atop one of the tables. It’s surprising that they’re not the weirdest pair here. 

“Now, bear with me, it’s going to be boring as hell till the countdown and the fireworks,” he explains, waving his hands around. “But it’s a good place to have fun and make friends. You know?”

“Friends?” you ask, a little nervous. You’re not very proficient at making friends and it makes you anxious.

“Yeah! Don’t worry. ” He makes a strange gesture, bordering between posing for a beer ad campaign and looking like a motivational speaker for the army, before furrowing his eyebrows. “You just have to be confident! I’m learning too!”

He lets out a sweet laugh and it makes you laugh in turn, hand covering your mouth so you don’t embarrass yourself too much. You don’t believe the words much, but the glow over his cheeks makes you reconsider.

“You look really nice when you laugh,” he comments, a bright glint in his eyes.

“Whatever,” you reply, punching his shoulder lightly.

Just then, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder to find Lana from your ethical AI class, smiling at you warmly. She looks a little tired, of people more than the time. Like you, she is also a scholarship student—and not a day has gone when she hasn’t soothed your anxiety about your classes. In stark contrast with Yangyang, you would trust her over him for most tasks. Even if you weren’t partners, you’re okay with the outcome. You glance at Yangyang.

“(name)! Oh my god, I didn’t know you were coming here,” she says. “Did Yangyang kidnap you?” 

“I mean, sort of.”

“Hey.” Yangyang looks at you with betrayal.

“And how did you even manage to do that cool ass project with him as your partner?” she continues, squinting at him.

“Honestly, I don’t know either. He can be surprisingly helpful though.”

Yangyang looks from Lana to you in exasperation. “I’m literally right here,” he grumbles. 

Lana laughs at his expression, patting his shoulder sympathetically. 

“I just can’t believe you let him kidnap you and not me,” she says in mock indignance. “I’m a much better chauffeur, you know?”

“Do you even have a driving license?” Yangyang asks, laughing.

“I got mine before you, rat. Anyway, (name), I’m playing the guzheng. Do you wanna come see?”

“No,” Yangyang interrupts, suddenly grabbing your hand. “I… I mean you guys can go, of course. It's just the countdown’s close, so we have to go to the viewpoint.”

“That’s exactly where—ah. I see.”

"We'll join you another time, Lana," he says quietly, a cute grin on his face like a little boy would make to an older sister for more shares of chocolate. 

"No, no. I actually remembered I left my friends in the corner. See you!"

She leaves her epiphany unsaid, offering you a smile and taking her leave abruptly.

“I thought you told me to socialize,” you complain to Yangyang. 

“Yes, I’m so proud of you for that.”

“Yangyang, I swear if you treat me like a kid—”

“I’m not, I’m not. Sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I just need to borrow you for tonight. After all, I promised you, didn’t I?”

You sigh. “Fine then, what’s this viewpoint you’re talking about?”

“Oh, we’ll get there.”

Someone’s watching you. You turn around a full three-sixty but find only the same crowd of college-age kids. No one sticks out much, apart from Dejun, Kunhang and Ten, who are at this point performing some sort of strange ritual unbeknownst to any new year tradition, with a hell load of yelling.

“Oh my god, you’re dancing too?” Yangyang says, grinning ear to ear. “I didn’t know I’d have that much of a positive influence. Wow.”

“I’m- I’m not- never mind.”

Yangyang furrows his eyebrows. “What did I tell you? More confidence! See—”

He takes your hands in his, pulling you further onto the dance floor. You feel a rising panic but swallow it. There’s a beat of silence in which the two of you look at each other. Yangyang proceeds to perform the stupidest sequence of movements you have ever seen, certainly too awkward for his body to accept as natural but it doesn’t seem like he cares. He’s having fun.

You find yourself laughing. Taking timid steps, you try to loosen up although the inevitable embarrassment arrives in flushes of heat across your face. There are stars in Yangyang’s eyes when you join him—not the artificial jewels in observatories but the real kind that you used to see in your hometown.

You take a wobbly step back. It’s starting to get disorienting. If it were the real sky above you, you might even have felt better. Perhaps the purpose is to get dizzy.

“I’m a little thirsty,” Yangyang says, motioning to the table with food and drinks at a corner. “I’ll head over and be back.”

Unsure what to do, you follow him like a lost lamb and though it would be embarrassing at any other time, any other place, now and here are not part of that.

The red and golden lights of the neon patterning the walls don’t seem as harsh anymore and you let your eyes rest on the boyish figure of Yangyang. You haven’t figured him out yet. Something tells you he’s more than a shallow image of the party-loving rich kids of Shanghai. In fact, in quiet, personal moments, he looks more out of place than you do—despite all that bright neon. You open your mouth to ask something when you’re interrupted by a dizzy Yangyang spinning into you. 

“Sorry, (name),” he says, rubbing the base of his palm against his forehead. “I genuinely thought I was going to win that game.”

You shake your head, letting him get back to whatever spinning game they were at. He smells like wine and something tells you he’s poor at holding his liquor. The stakes must be high for that game, you figure, because you see Yangyang set aside his beloved shoe on the floor. To be the only scholarship student here suddenly feels scary and awkward.

Yangyang once again tugs at your arm, the touch reassuring as though he understands how you feel. But it isn’t true. There’s no way someone like him can understand someone like you.

“Yangyang,” you call. “Do you come here every year?”

“No, no. I do come for drinks though. I’m only here right now because a friend is hosting this.”

You shrug.

“And you,” he adds and you feel a hot flush rise to your face. “New years are the only time this place is PG-13.”

“I’m not a child,” you snap.

“My mom says childish people say that.”

“Then it's very rich coming from you, Liu Yangyang.”

He laughs heartily, leaning away. A creeping thought grows in your head that you missed out on a lot. But then again, you’ll always miss out on things if you’re not rich enough for them.

Yangyang flinches suddenly, almost knocking a plate off the table. He moves quickly, turning so that his side leans against the wall and the other arm cages you between him and the wall. His frame covers your view from whatever, or whoever arrived at the entrance that made him react so obnoxiously.

However, his lips hovering just a little over yours makes your breath hitch in your throat. This is the worst possible position you could've gotten into. The smell of mint interrupts your thoughts and you look at him with as annoyed an expression as you can muster over the heat of your face.

"Yangyang, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

“I am… admiring the wall. Ooh, it’s got velvet over it, did you notice?”

 “You’re going to have your head in it too if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”

"Just… sorry. Let’s stay like this for a few moments."

He flashes you an apologetic smile, his face close enough to make yours grow even hotter. A nervous chuckle erupts from his lips. 

"Oh my god, get off. People are going to think we’re making out."

"We could do it for real." 

"I'm going to scratch your eyes out."

"Sorry, sorry."

“Who are you even hiding from?”

“I’m not hiding… okay, forget that. Bodyguard-watcher-dude. It’s kind of hard to explain.”

“You have a bodyguard?”

“More like a babysitter.”

You try not to laugh, considering the proximity between your faces. “How come you have a babysitter? Actually, wait, I think I know.”

He huffs over your face and you restrain yourself from landing a swift uppercut to his jaw. Now you know the minty smell comes from mouth freshener.

“He’s a prosecutor. It’s weird that he stalks me in his free time. Even- even if… my parents are paying him.”

“They think you’re doing something illegal?”

“No. I don’t think I am.”

You rest your head back against the wall, rolling your eyes. “Really? That’s your answer? God, your brain cells rotted somewhere along the way, didn’t they? It’s all those parties.”

“I’m starting to feel like my mom hired you too.”

He looks back, and noting the absence of his so-called babysitter, he pulls back from you. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath and you let it out in a shallow effort.

“Your babysitter’s gone?”

“Not a babysit—I regret saying that. Look, I really don’t think they appointed him because they think I’m doing something illegal. I have never done anything illegal. Except that one street race but that’s because Lucas told me it was perfectly legal.”

“The what?”

“Anyway, the point is, let’s look forward to good fortune for this year, hm? Leave all the burdens to last year.”

“Fortune doesn’t favour fools.”

“I’m not stupid,” he complains, spreading his arms to express it further. “Mostly.”

 You laugh, turning your attention to  the food table.

“Ooh, pineapple tarts,” he exclaims, hand reaching out to grab one when you smack it.

“You’ve had, like, fifteen already.”

“Mhm,” he says, with a few more stuffed in his mouth.

There’s a pause.

“It’s me, isn't it?” you ask quietly. “I’m not supposed to be here.”

He gulps, lips parting and closing. “I brought you here. So you don’t worry about it.”

Rich people suck. You believe that strongly. But sometimes, just sometimes, when you have everything you can ever want, you start to want the same for everyone around you. Some people are special. You find Yangyang genuinely fascinating for being someone who makes friends when he’s supposed to be making more connections. You find him fascinating. 

It makes sense for someone like him to be the way he is.

iv. fireworks viewpoint

“That’s the old Shanghai Tower,” Yangyang points to a building in the distance. “It used to be the tallest building once but… well, it looks like the little guy now.”

Lunar New Year’s celebrations are a big, big deal in New Shanghai. It means a break from university, work and every other affair to have as many priorities sorted in anticipation of the new year. And the impact is evident from this height, when you can see the city in its golden glory. It looks warm out there for once—although you’re not very sure if it’s because of the warmth that comes from right beside you. The little wooden boats float by on the river a little far off, various images blooming as holograms above them. You giggle at the large animated fishes swimming above the river with blank expressions and painted button eyes. 

The golden clock shines bright in the sky, its holographic hands ticking down to midnight. It looks like something out of a fantasy movie, scattering golden pixels everywhere with each minute passing. The size of it alone reminds you of the scale of this city.

This is an empire. It's owned by the kings and queens who built it over the bones left from sacrifices. It's going to be owned by heirs and heiresses. You feel a looming sense of dread come over you. It's so beautiful and it can never belong to itself. It must always belong to someone. It’s the terms and conditions of human creation.

"Hey." Yangyang taps you on the shoulder and you try not to flinch. "What are you thinking?"

You hum. "Stuff."

"This place is pretty cool, huh?"

That, you can agree with. "It is. It's so amazing that I can't believe I'm here sometimes."

Yangyang laughs slowly. "I hope more people can live here. Not in level one. You know. No one should live in desperation."

You hold back a scoff, though you end up frowning. What does a rich kid know of desperation? He might as well be prince, and princes do not know how to beg. It must be something of a saviour complex. You shrink away from him. The new year music is starting to ring a little too loud in your ears.

"That would be difficult," you mutter.

"Not if you lower the cost of living conditions—ah. Sorry." He pauses and you feel a flicker of surprise in you. “It’s not appropriate to discuss. Or so my parents tell me…”

The expression comes from empathy. You’re sure of it. There’s some sort of passion and not the kind of coloured fire that flames up in parties, but a different one. The kind that says, if you can’t bear the heat then you can’t learn how to forge. You scoff. Which prince has possibly known heat?

“I- I get angry too,” you say quietly. “I think it’s something to be angry about.”

He smiles at you, leaning against the balcony railing. 

You’re interrupted by a man in the attire of a waiter and it causes the two of you to jump away from each other. It’s not like you were very close in the first place but the proximity of shared words can play tricks on people. The man offers the two of you a screen and Yangyang’s face lights up almost immediately.

“We can order food with this,” he says. “Or book a table. The top strips are all reserved for members of the club. That’s the big daddy restaurants.”

“That’s… pretty cool,” you say, leaning in to glance over the browsing menu. “But don’t say that phrase to me again.”

“I can. And I will.”

“Ugh. Move on.”

“Okay, so we should drop by the convenience store for some ramen. I heard they taste better in the middle of the night,” Yangyang suggests all of a sudden, leaning in further.

It gets difficult sometimes to not be bothered by him, especially when there is a lack of distance. You look at him, pause and then sigh. “Sure. I guess. Are those free too?”

He opens his mouth in sudden realization and grins sheepishly at you. You roll your eyes.

“Do you have money then?”

“Uh.”

“How do you not have money? It’s the New Year!”

“I… uh—”

“Okay, you don’t have to answer that. But I’m not paying for you,” you complain. “You could always ask your parents for some money. What’s the point of being a party kid?”

‘Party kids’—it makes you laugh in amusement—is the colloquial term given to the children of businesspeople who had a direct hand in the economic progress of New Shanghai. You would sell your kidneys to be one and it still wouldn’t be enough.

His smile wavers at your statement but he shakes his head. “If I call my mom, she’ll start scolding me again about how my apartment room needs to be cleaner. Blah, blah, blah. You know.”

���She’s right- wait, you don’t clean your room?”

“Don’t take her side, (name).” 

You bite down a smile and he offers you his biggest one. 

“Oh, that place looks new,” Yangyang exclaims, a long index finger pointing to the preview of a sushi restaurant. You glare at him, his face nearer to yours than you would prefer but his eyes are fixed like a child ogling halloween candy.

“Let’s go,” he urges, looking directly at you. 

You furrow your eyebrows, shaking your head vehemently. “We don’t have money. Or bit-credits.”

He sighs, deflating as though you just snatched the candy right from his hands. “But… I haven’t been there before.”

“So?” You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You don’t have to try every food place in the city.”

“I need to eat,” he says as though it’s a very reasonable response. “I’m still growing!”

“Not mentally.”

He drops his smile, looking at you blankly. “You don’t have to get so smart with me, let me tell you.”

You snicker at the ‘offended’ expression on his face.

In the next moment, your attention shifts to the sudden crowd of people rushing to the balcony. Yangyang pulls you closer to avoid getting pushed by them, and you look around confused. It all makes sense when they start chanting the numbers, counting down from ten. You can only stare in awe at the clock and the otherworldly glee in the rhythmic chants. It’s like they don’t feel anything but joy at this moment. You let yourself smile.

The clock strikes twelve. The sound of the bell resounds throughout the city and the firecrackers burst into a thousand shades of red and gold across the sky. There’s moving images of animals, floating text and other animations which make the night sky seem like a screen. The sparks of the fireworks look like golden snow, or even happy little pixels.

You point your finger to the sky excitedly but when you turn, Yangyang’s eyes aren’t on the sky but on your hand outstretched towards it. He faces you, rather hesitantly as though caught red-handed.

“You’re- you’re… so pretty,” he says, softly and shrugging as if answering a question.

You wish he wouldn’t look at you like that. It’s the lonely speaking, right? The euphoria of human connection in this time and age—it can make you believe anything. There’s a myriad of colours blooming in the sky behind you, a city dazzling with diamond and ruby lights, people with much more stories to tell than you do. This city, this city, this city. This city will break your heart. 

“It’s kind of crappy,” you mutter, to which Yangyang quirks an ear.

“Wh-what is?”

“This city. It’s got bright lights and fun and all those promises of success. But all I see are people desperately trying to survive. All I see are the same faces at the top and—I’m sorry. I’m getting carried away.”

“No, no.” He makes a vague gesture. “I’m listening.”

“We’re at their mercy,” you whisper. “My life is not my own. That’s crappy.”

Yangyang hums in response. “You're right. What’s the point of living a life that’s not your own?”

Looking at him again, you see the entire figure of his being against the fireworks and all the beautiful creations of the human race. His almost silver hair falls perfectly by his forehead, the contact lenses looking like glazed frost over his eyes. Just as vibrant and excessive as the city itself, Yangyang belongs here. This is his kingdom. 

No, that’s not quite right perhaps. Yangyang belongs anywhere because he brings warmth. You're suddenly grateful he's with you because no one you know would possibly go out of their way to make you feel comfortable like this. You know Yangyang loves people and crowds. No one would do that for you at the expense of their own enjoyment. You smile at the prospect of solving the blinding mystery that he is.

"We… should leave," Yangyang says, all of a sudden. He eyes a man at the corner of the balcony, dressed in a business suit and looking blank. He sticks out like a sore thumb. You're not sure why he's in that getup.

"Okay," you say, not sure why you're so agreeable tonight.

Maybe it's the night. Sometimes all you can do is drag your feet over the asphalt and hope it'll be sunnier tomorrow.

v. two-four-seven convenience store

College boys are the most god-awful creatures on earth.

“Hey, do you always reach class on time?” Yangyang asks, eyes curious. He keeps asking a question every five minutes or so, trying to keep up conversation. You've already told him he doesn't have to. However, it makes you strangely comfortable to hear the sound of his voice periodically. You won't tell him that.

You nod, returning your gaze to the window, though the advertisements block your view. You can always try skipping the ad every five goddamn seconds. 

It's your first time riding the train that travels through the Mobius Strip, and certainly the first time in a luxury cabin. Since it’s free for members of the new year club, you can heave a sigh of relief. You will never in your life, even if it’s genetically elongated, ever be able to afford a luxury cabin.

"Oh, that looks so good," Yangyang says, large hand smacking against the window to get rid of the colourful advertisements. 

"It's a convenience store, Yangyang," you say. "It's got everyday ramen."

"No, look. It's a different brand. And they're giving a burger for free with two ramen cups!"

You furrow your eyebrows at him. "Well, I guess it's cheaper too."

"Oh, we can go to one of the upper restaurants too. They're free, remember?"

"I like convenience stores," you mumble. There's something about the lack of even lighting and crowds that made them a comfort spot for you.

“Quick,” he says, pulling you off the seat when the train stops.

“Yangyang!” you warn. He's so easily excitable that you find it hard to believe he's real sometimes.

However, when he turns around with his big puppy-dog eyes, you curse at yourself before you curse at him. Sighing, you follow him down the steps, his hand tenderly holding yours. Sometimes, you wonder if the human touch means anything at all in this diamond and steel era. Yangyang’s palm is warm against yours.

The ramen tastes awfully delicious on stolen time, and you would complain more if it weren’t for Yangyang looking at you with so serene a look. It annoys you and you try to grab his attention by waving your chopsticks in front of him. When it doesn’t work, you resort to swearing. You’ve never seen anyone respond with a smiling hum after being told to “eat shit”.

“Oh, this tastes so good,” he states, cheeks puffed with food. “I think I’m going to cry.”

“I- I think you’re crying because it’s spicy.”

“Oh.”

As usual, Yangyang pokes and prods at you with questions about your daily life, like you’re the most interesting thing in a city full of blinding lights, world-class robots and cyber-enhanced technology. You don’t understand how he doesn’t just grow tired of asking every single detail about you.

Apart from the fact that Liu Yangyang is most certainly an environmental hazard, some part of you cannot believe that he's truly terrible. There's something innocent about him, but all at once, something quiet and mysterious. 

“Why are you always so curious, Yangyang?” you ask finally. “Why are you always running off to different places?”

“Because experiences never come twice,” he answers after some thinking. It seems to be a little difficult for him to articulate, deep contemplation over his features when he continues. “This city… all the lights and clubs and arenas, all of it will be gone someday. Like we don’t have telephones or those big computers anymore.”

You rest your chin on your palm, leaning in.

“This moment, right here with you… I’ll never experience it again,” he tells you. “We can have more midnight convenience store ramen sometime later but… each time will be different. I’d rather live now.”

You smile softly. “That’s a funny thought to live by.”

“Yours isn’t any better,” he says, patting your head. “Also, I’m like hot and young and popular and not a cyborg—how can I miss parties?”

You shake your head, laughing. He’s ridiculous. He’s completely ridiculous. In that moment, when you look at him, Yangyang seems to be smiling in a daze, eyes on your face.

“You look nice when you smile,” he says quietly.

"Thanks," you respond. "I should keep it a secret then, huh?"

"Not from me," he says, smiling. 

Somehow, the extra minutes you have at the convenience store turn to a few multiplayer games and then, ditching technology, to an arm wrestling match.

"I feel like this game is kind of unfair," you say after losing almost immediately. He's clearly got stronger muscles. Does he work out? Probably against his will, you bet.

“My right arm’s a lot stronger than my left arm,” he says, before looking a little horrified. “That wasn’t a masturbation joke, by the way. I am so sorry.”

You roll your eyes. "Give me your left hand then- wait. You're right-handed?"

"That's not the- uh." He thinks for a moment, trying to gather words. “That’s not the reason.”

“I, uh, I heavily damaged this arm when I was a kid—don’t look like that, there’s a fun part to this. It’s made of titanium! And some other things. The names are too complicated.”

You drive your fingers over the arm, so warm and real and flushed red, anything but metal and code. You find curiosity blooming in you more than ever before.

“You know why I’m not with family,” you say, straightening. “But why aren’t you celebrating with your family?” 

He gets quiet, thinking to himself for a few more moments. You almost regret asking when he answers, a hesitant sound leaving him first.

“None of us, uh… none of our parents can spare more than three hours. They’ll come in the afternoon tomorr—today.”

You can’t exactly respond to that very well.

“So all of us go hang out at the New Year’s Club.”

You frown. "But it's not a celebration without family!"

"We have new year lunches. And… it's the future. Traditions die. Very few grieve them for fear of being stuck in the past."

You feel partly horrified and partly dismal. "I… You could come with me next year, if you like."

You're not sure where the offer comes from but Yangyang lights up at the idea.

"I can? Oh, we'll have so much fun!"

"Slow down. There's a year to go."

Yangyang laughs. It's surprising the way he turned out. He must have gotten tired of waiting by the door. And now you know all the things about him that his parents don’t.

You smile at him, warming up to the idea of you and him as friends before scoffing at it again.

Right in the next moment, Yangyang dips suddenly to the ground, crouching below the table. You look around in surprise and fall to your knees with a yelp at the tug on our wrist from Yangyang.

“What the hell?” you hiss. “You’re starting to act really weird.”

“I- Sorry. It’s an emergency,” he says, but there’s no sign of distress in his voice. He simply smiles at you. Perhaps he’s never heard of the emotion as of yet.

“Your babysitter?”

“I say that once and on accident—yes, it’s my babysitter.”

You chuckle. He’s simply too cute at times. 

“We have to be discreet now, okay? It’s like—what’s the movie called? Oh, Mission Impossible.”

“I’ve never seen that.”

“What? How can you not? It’s a classic! It’s got so many cool—ah, I’ll show you another time.”

You hum, staring at Yangyang’s facial features tense up and relax again as he scans the vicinity outside the window of the convenience store. It’s full of people, even at this hour so you can’t possibly know who’s looking at you from there.

Yangyang turns back to you. “Have you ever been to blue moon station?”

“The one with the pretty walls? No. No, I’ve never even gone beyond Strip Two.”

Yangyang smiles at you and right then, you feel like you’re about to resent whatever’s going to happen next. It’s in the ebb and flow of tonight’s itinerary, however, and you relax your shoulders just as he does a roll across the floor, looking back at you with a grin for executing it flawlessly. 

“You’re so silly,” you mutter. 

“I heard that,” he whisper-shouts back.

You’re not as afraid as before, you realize. The lights are absolutely mesmerizing.

vi. blue moon station

It drops a few degrees in temperature once you step foot onto the platform. You can see a bunch of scattered tourists, cameras hanging around their neck and a look of awe over their faces. 

Yangyang takes off his jacket, shivering immediately but offering it to you nonetheless. When you refuse, he places it gingerly over your shoulders.

"Is that a…?"

"A tourist bot, yes."

"Oh my god, it's so cute," you say, crouching by the little red robot, a teal-colored smiley face popping up on its monitor.

"A lot of tourists in this station," you note.

"Yeah. It's very… visually pleasing."

That's true. The walls are screens with three dimensional graphics, immersive enough to catch one's eye. A single tree grows through the middle of the station, evergreen and alive with holographic flora and fauna. The sun shines eternally over the tree. It's so beautiful that you had trouble taking your eyes off it at first.

The walls next to you are currently displaying a walk through a fantasy forest, crafted by a visionary artist, no doubt. A blue butterfly flies past you and you stare at it before zoning out.

Sometimes, the lights are too disorienting. You start to feel dizzy, massaging your forehead when Yangyang brushes the tips of his fingers against your shoulder.

“You good?”

Yangyang crouches beside you with watchful eyes.

You nod, turning your attention to the tourist bot. It displays a plethora of information about the architecture of this place which you're sure no tourist will bother to read beyond the first two lines. 

“You can make it do cool tricks too,” Yangyang says. “Watch.”

Yangyang pokes at it with his index finger, drawing a pattern over the screen. The bot proceeds to do an old internet dance, waving about its arms and hips. You laugh at it and Yangyang looks at you with the pride of a third grader with first place on their science project.

The colours on the walls change and you see the animation of a man and a fox, furrowing your eyebrows as you try to recall that image. They seem to be broadcasting fables through the holograms. You can’t deny that they’re pretty—glowing with auspicious colours and as animated as the real world itself. As if by compulsion, you hold Yangyang’s hand. It’s nice to feel the human touch real once in a while, especially in the overwhelming loneliness of city nights.

Yangyang looks at you brightly and right then, you feel less inclined to leave him.

“You know, I could teach you better ways to flirt than just grab my hand,” he says, grinning like an idiot.

“What?” 

You move your hand. “I’m not flirting.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he responds quickly. “Can I please have your hand back?”

You shake your head, laughing. He worries you. Some part of you says you shouldn’t be worried. It’s not like you’re close friends. (Friends, maybe. Close, not yet.)

The night has a different opinion.

—

“Found you,” a voice declares, and the two of you jump into each other with a scream.

The man in the suit looks at you with a fatigued look in his eyes, hair somehow still neat though he breathes like his lungs are on fire. 

“Care to tell me why you’ve been skipping my calls?” he asks after catching his breath. “It’s not like I wanted to follow you—you just needed to tell me.”

“I… I was busy?” Yangyang flashes a smile. “Kun-ge, I honestly had no idea you called. I don’t even have my phone.”

The man shakes his head. “Fine. Just head over to Jasmine for the night. And you can bring your date too.”

He gestures at you and you want to deny it as quick as you can. You do not, however. It’s almost like you’ve warmed up to the idea of it rather well.

“Okay,” Yangyang answers quietly. 

vii. jasmine private lounge

You enter a lounge with the capacity of around a hundred people. Despite that, there are hardly five present. The walls are black with neon jasmines pulsating from blue to red. A grand piano lies still in all its elegance in the middle of the lounge, played by a plain white AI. It feels like an expensive place to be, and more so, it feels like someplace you’re not supposed to step foot into. There's a bar table at one side, opposite to the entrance which glows a hypnotizing purple. A flat lettering on the wall declares the time to be 3 A.M.

You and Yangyang sit a little too close on the artificially warmed couch, waiting for Kun to return. Yangyang reassures you that you haven't done anything wrong but the illicit outing of yours certainly says otherwise. You contemplate tasting the cocktail Yangyang ordered before finally giving in and find it pleasantly warm to taste. You take another sip.

“It’s a little strong,” Yangyang warns. “Don’t have all of—you had all of it.”

You shrug. Your throat certainly feels better now. This lounge is fucking cold.

"You know, Yangyang," you say with the warmth of confidence on your face. "You're a really nice guy."

He smiles incredulously. "Thanks. You're really nice too."

"And you're pretty decent-looking—"

"I know that."

"—and also popular. So why are you always hanging around me?"

"Uh, that's your question?"

You nod. Placing your cheek against your palm, you try not to sink into the couch.

"Because you're really cool!" He answers before clearing his throat. "I mean. I think you're fun to be around. You make me see things clearer."

"And what exactly are you wanting to see clearer?'

"You."

You blink aside your astoundment, straightening. "What?"

Your question is left unanswered because a man enters and sits across the two of you, a loud huff of annoyance leaving his mouth. It's not just his disposition but the architecture of his face that grabs your attention. He looks like an AI robot so perfectly crafted with coloured lips and flawless skin that you end up staring till Yangyang elbows you.

“He’s not an AI,” Yangyang whispers.

You furrow your brows and notice it is, in fact, true that he's not an AI. There are no ridges over the joints or hollowness in the eyes. He wears the same frost-patterned smart lenses as Yangyang does. However, it doesn't change the fact that the man is beautiful to look at.

“I’m never hosting a new year party again,” he mutters, sinking into the couch.

“It actually sounds kind of fun,” Yangyang interjects. “I can’t wait for my turn.”

“I’m sorry. Good luck standing at Longhua temple for three hours till midnight just to make sure nothing goes wrong. Without dinner.”

Yangyang makes a face at that.

"That's Sicheng-ge," he says, turning to you. 

"Ah," you say in response, remembering the name vaguely. 

"He let us into Club 2," Yangyang says, noticing your lost expression.

"I think Kun's looking for you," Sicheng says, eyes trained at the back. 

His hands fidget with the dim blue buttons at the edge of the table, till a small compartment reveals itself under the glass. An old world-style cigarette is slowly pushed up and Sicheng picks it up. He offers the next one to Yangyang, who accepts it hesitantly. No one smokes tobacco anymore when nicotine is so readily available. Alas, human nature is to want things deadly and out of reach.

“So how’s Cat?” Yangyang asks, fumbling with the plasma lighter he picked from a compartment on the side.

Sicheng smiles a little, the smoke from his cigarette snaking around him as he raises a hand to dissipate it.

“She’s doing fine. Running everything as usual.”

“Of course. Boss lady.” Yangyang does an awkward salute.

“Oh, a new hair color too. As pretty as flower fields in the spring of ‘22.”

Sicheng’s lovesick rambling is interrupted by Yangyang hacking his lungs out. You turn to him and he avoids your gaze, reaching for a crystal blue  glass of water one of the helper bots offer. So, he’s not even a smoker? Why did he think you would care? 

“Anyway, Kun is glaring daggers at me now. You better get out of here.” Sicheng grimaces.

You turn around to see Kun by the bar table, gesturing towards Yangyang to come. You're not sure why but either of those men make you nervous. 

"I'll be right back," Yangyang says, scrambling up and leaving you in a long awkward silence with Sicheng.

“So, uh, I’m assuming you’re oblivious to that lovestruck puppy following you around?” Sicheng asks, raising an eyebrow. “Or is this some game you guys are into? I’m not judging you for that.”

Your face heats up and you fidget with your collar. “The- A what? Game? Uh? I- huh?”

Sicheng tries to press down his smile but it’s evident enough for you to see. Did you say something funny? Did Yangyang say something funny about you? Oh, you’re going to kill him.

“For all that he talks, he’s kind of terrible at pulling together his own love life.” 

“I- I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

It still unnerves you to look at him. He certainly looks more android than human when he’s not making any particular expression.

“Don’t mind me,” he says, offering you a reassuring smile. “You should find Yangyang before he lands the two of you in trouble.”

You turn to look at Yangyang through the glass and turn back nodding. Sicheng offers you a parting smile and you hesitantly make your way to the bar table.

"This isn't in my job description," Kun tells Yangyang just before you arrive. "I didn't know being a lawyer included babysitting."

The tips of Yangyang's ears heat up when he notices you.

"It's not babysitting," he murmurs. “Also, you’re not my mom.”

"You, Ten, Kunhang, all of you give me such a hard time," he continues but pauses right when he notices you. 

"Oh, hello. (Name), isn't it?" He says, smiling politely. He's quite young and handsome for a lawyer. "Yangyang talks about you a lot."

"Oh," you respond. "Really?"

Yangyang glares at the older man. "You don't have to say everything, Kun-ge."

"You interested in law?" Kun asks, offering you a seat between him and Yangyang.

You make a face. The law is a tool for the rich and powerful. But then again, what isn’t? The world is in your hands when you have billions to spare. However, you still can’t imagine being a rich man's guard dog your whole life.

Kun chuckles. "You kids are interested in tech more, aren't you?"

Yangyang interrupts, "You talk like you're fifty years old."

Kun grimaces, resting his face against his hand. Shooting a glare at Yangyang, he finishes the rest of his wine.

You're not exactly interested in tech or engineering or the big kid jobs either. You just want a way to survive this man-made food chain. Rich eats the world till there’s nothing left on the plate. Then again, you'd rather be a pet than get eaten.

"Anyway," Kun turns to Yangyang. "If you see Ten, give me a call."

Yangyang signals with a thumbs up gesture, watching as Kun’s figure slowly makes its way out of the gate. It’s the two of you again and suddenly, you feel a strange sort of feeling overcome you. Leaning your throbbing forehead against Yangyang’s shoulder, you take some soft breaths and skip the part where you question your actions. It’s pleasant, at the very least. He shifts his chair closer, extending his arm around you so that your head rests against his shoulder more comfortably.

“You must be tired,” he mutters.

“You didn’t answer me,” you say. “Answer in a way I understood, at least.”

“Hm?”

“Why do you hang around me?”

“Do you not… want me to?”

“No. I like your company, actually. I can’t believe I said that out loud.”

Yangyang laughs. “You’re… you’re really perfect. As a person. At least to me, you seem that way.”

You scoff. “You’re a long way off there.”

“No. No, you felt like clockwork,” he continues. “When I first met you. I couldn’t believe you were real.”

You do work like a delirious robot on clockwork steroids. But you’re not very proud of it. You don’t think overworking is a good personality trait to have—even if it’s for survival. However, the faraway look in Yangyang’s eyes suggests that’s not what he means.

“I felt like I understood you,” he continues after a short pause.

You find it unbelievable. That’s the one sentence you could never imagine coming from him to you, much less agree with. But right then, as his warmth seeps into you, you want to agree desperately.

Yangyang feels an unexpected trickle of doubt down his throat. No matter how many times he’s practised in front of the mirror, the words don’t come out right when you’re with him. With everything you do, he feels more drawn in. There’s something familiar and something honest. And if he’s honest himself, he just likes you. What sort of a hypocrite should he be categorized as, to tell his friends to ‘just confess’ to their crushes when he’s a complete idiot when it comes to you? It can’t be that little voice from his childhood that tells him to stay in order.

Yangyang understands that there are rules to this world but he doesn’t get what those have got to do with him. He sighs, the sound somewhat grim when it comes from him.

"I've seen it before," he says, "People come from all over the country with hopes and dreams, and they get their hearts broken by capitalism."

You frown.

"I don't want you to go anywhere," he mumbles. "I hope you'll stay… even if- even if you feel like that, you know? If you're feeling lonely, I could—"

"Yangyang." You smile. "I’m quite comfortable here."

When you bury your nose into the crook of his neck, Yangyang thinks this is it. This is how he ends the sorry excuse of flirting he’s been trying with you and says something he regrets. It was never this difficult with the other crushes he’s had. He’s always left opening his mouth and then promptly closing it like a goldfish out of water every single time he wants to bring up dating with you. He’s always honest. So, what’s the big deal this time? This is so horrendously not cool of him.

You straighten. “We should get back home.”

“Can you- Can you not move so far from me, please?” Yangyang murmurs, hands gripping yours.

You smile, to yourself more to him but that’s one he likes the most.

“You’re a really interesting person, Yangyang.”

“I am?” He clears his throat and repeats the question. 

“How are you so nice to people?”

“I think people are nice.”

“Why do you like parties?”

“They’re fun.”

“When the party’s over, who do you go to?” you ask, words mushing into each other.

“Home,” he answers, gulping down what seems like more words. “Like always.”

A hush falls between the two of you. You’re asking quite the questions.

“I’m sweaty,” you mutter. “I hate being sweaty.”

“You look wonderful though,” Yangyang mumbles, more to himself than to you. “Not that being sweaty makes you wonderful. You’re just nice.”

There’s another hush, the notes of the piano playing a faraway, romantic tune. He turns away and looks back at you again, but right in that moment, you lean forward to press your lips against his. It’s so sudden that he almost falls over backwards, his feet planted firmly on the ground the only thing preventing that from happening. The next thing he thinks is that your lips are on fire and it’s the most comfortable feeling he’s ever experienced. 

The two of you fit into each other like clockwork, Yangyang thinks. It’s the one thing in his life that feels whole. Not that he isn’t whole by himself—he just loves your warmth. For a moment he feels like he’s on cloud nine and the next, his heart plummets when he feels you go limp in his arms. 

It breaks his heart a little but he doesn’t—can’t bring himself to say much. He’s not this bad when he’s drunk, is he? Pulling you up by the waist, he texts Kunhang to bring his car down to the lounge.

This is going to be a long night.

viii. home 

You wake up to the sun in your eyes and immediately know you're someplace you shouldn't be. This isn't your bed. The sun doesn't reach your bed in the morning. This isn’t the dormitory. You see a cubical alarm clock, a pixelated smiley face on it as it displays 10 A.M.

You get up and immediately shriek. You’re not wearing any clothes. Pulling the blanket up to your chin, you look around the room. It’s huge; the walls are multicolored with a little section opposite the bed reserved for photographs. There’s a lot of junk all over the floor that you don’t pay mind to when you notice Yangyang.

“Yangyang?!”

He rouses blinking slowly, hair going every which way and his eyes still unfocused. He looks like he’s had a difficult night.

“Why are you on the floor?” you ask, shrinking further into the ridiculously soft bed when he gets up. Massaging the back of his neck, he looks like he's looking at a mirage instead of a real live person. Unfortunately, he’s not wearing a shirt and you look away after a prolonged minute of staring. This is getting ridiculous. What are you doing here?

“Yangyang!”

“Huh? Oh!”

He seems to be finally awake. You should pop the question before it eats you alive.

"Did- Did we…?"

Yangyang blinks at you in confusion before a loud "oh" erupts from his mouth.

"No!" He says in between laughter. "No, we didn't. Oh my god, you’re so funny. You took off your clothes saying it's too hot and smacked me with them. I didn’t look, by the way.”

Your jaw drops. You can’t even form words through the pulsing headache.

“Your clothes are on the chair. And I didn’t touch your underwear. Out of respect."

You avoid eye contact in embarrassment. 

“And… well, you did kiss me once. Twice.”

You look up alarmed and he raises his arms in defense. 

“You- you were drunk so I had to push you off. You cried a little after that. Sorry.”

“Oh god.” You cover your face with your hands, sitting down on the bed. That has to be the most embarrassing thing you could have done.

“You- Don’t worry about that. You’re a good kisser. I was kind of surprised,” he offers in an attempt to make you feel better but you only grow hotter in the face.

“And- And I liked it,” he adds in a panic. “Wait, I don’t mean it in a creepy way.”

“I’m glad it wasn’t anyone else.”

“What?”

“You. It’s okay if it’s you.”

You give him a weak smile, still not over the embarrassment.

Yangyang laughs. “I… I think I should’ve said this before but… can I take you out on a date?”

“What were we doing last night then?”

“Well, that was- ah. You’re teasing me. Motherfucker.”

You giggle into your palm. When he takes a seat on the bed, you make a distressed sound and he jumps up immediately.

“My clothes,” you hiss. “Get out of the room so I can wear them.”

“Right,” he says, pointing an index finger at you.

He turns around right then. "By the way…"

You shriek, pulling the cover up all the way to your nose.

"Sorry," he says, averting his eyes immediately. "If- if that was a date, did you like it? Do you wanna go on another one?"

You can see him practically sweat bullets and you laugh at the innocuous questions. He’s too cute. You can’t believe you made yourself shake off the thought every time it crossed you. However indelicate his touch is, you welcome it nonetheless.

"Yes. Yes, I'll go on a date with you. You annoying, stupid, bratty idiot." 

“Okay, that was mean.”

Watching his figure leave through the door, you relax your shoulders. In the end, people will always be people. No matter what shiny new toy you give them to play with, people will always search for happiness, and they will laugh and cry and fall in love with people and places and things over and over again. It's lovely to be human in an era of diamond and steel.

[arachniee]

Imagine an AU where reader fell from heaven from the sheer grief of losing Lucifer and had been living amongst the sinners for eons without him so much as knowing. And then he asks Charlie to ask about them when she goes to visit heaven and she drops that information on him. What would go through his mind?

now this was sent when i wasnt accepting requests anymore so even tho i wanted to write a fic, i'll just summarize my thoughts

i would imagine the reason that reader fell after lucifer was the fact that she may have rebelled against heaven because of his downfall. maybe she had started neglecting her duties, or worse, literally did not want to do them until they bring lucifer back to her.

of course, heaven cannot fulfill her wish so they ended up giving her a choice to join him and become a fallen angel. she didnt know what to do, she knew that lucifer was already happy with lilith, but she physically cannot be that far away from him, it hurts too much to ignore. so in the end, she chose to fall from grace just to possibly, even just a little bit, get closer to where he was.

she'd admit, the first few years of her life in this new environment was, well, hellish. But the fact that she knew lucifer was here, no matter how far, it made her feel a tad bit calmer. when charlie finally reaches heaven, asking the angels about a particular one that her father knew. and when they break the news to her, she'd be quite confused. but she'll relay the message to her father anyway, who was (clearly) excited about it.

the moment charlie spoke, the pit in his stomach grew deeper and deeper til confliction filled his every being. she was here? all along?

lucifer would be mad, not at her, but at heaven. and himself. he would blame himself for everything that she went through, before and after her fall. guilt would be creeping up quickly, tears fallings as his mind ran miles. did he hurt her that much, for her to choose to give herself up from what people referred to as paradise? he couldnt imagine the things that may have happened to her here, in hell. the kingdom which he ruled upon. him.

maybe he wouldn't tell anyone at first, but he'll look for her. it would even make his daughter worry, noticing the black, dark circles under his eyes. he hadn't been sleeping properly at all, how could he? she was all he could think about. she consumed him. consumed him in his awake, even in his dreams. she was everywhere, yet nowhere at the same time. she was so close, yet so far.

he knew he'd find her, one way or another, sooner or later. and with charlie's (and the hotel's) help, he knew that he was going to see you again. but in the mean time, while he is "resting" (more like thinking about her) as per his daughter's request, he'd probably make multiple rubber ducks that he think you would like. maybe, you weren't mad at him. maybe, you'd accept him again. maybe, you could learn to love him again.

but for now, he'd be flipping hell upside down just to find you, and he's not stopping until he finds you. or maybe, until you finally decide to show yourself to him.

[kamisatomay018]

When the tide comes in, I Shall Return..

Neuvillette x fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of character death, angst with fluff, hurt/comfort, reincarnation

Reader is an immortal elemental being, events described may not match the official Genshin story so it’s fictional!

Honestly I cannot write only angst cuz I love happy endings, so this will be a happy story! Also this will be very lengthy so I hope you guys enjoy!

Thunder struck the grounds of Fontaine as the rain poured down unforgivingly, and dark clouds surrounded the city like a dense fog, making Fontaine seem gloomier than ever. Not a soul could be spotted outside, all seeking comfort and warmth in their homes. But where could he go? Where could he find comfort? There was only one man in Fontaine who dared to step foot in the merciless fury of the rain, and that was the Hydro Dragon himself. After all, this rain was his own fury, his own anguish and misery. Yet it could never come close to ever describing the way his heart twisted in agony, his soul hollow and his being feeling emptier than ever.

There he stood, in front of a beautiful big cottage in Elynas which now lay isolated and alone, yet he had made sure that not a single brick fell apart. Only he knew how many memories were tied to this beautiful place he once so dearly called home. Tears cascaded down his cheeks as he closed his eyes, once again allowing him to drown in the memories that never once faded away from his heart..

“Neuvi look!” He turned around to face you, looking as beautiful as ever, long white locks like his flowing down your back as you held beautiful pink and coral shells in your hands with an excited smile on your face. “Oh Mon Amour, these are simply divine. Your powers are truly magnificent.” You smiled at him bashfully, approaching him and sweetly pinned a coral shell onto his hair. The sun shone brightly as gentle waves crashed onto the beach, peace and serenity filling the air. “I’m so glad you like them Neuvi!” Oh how dearly he loved you, how dearly he loved your smile. In your beautiful cottage in Elynas, both of you had built a home, your love blossoming every passing year. Hundred years had already passed by since he knew you, and he had never been this happy. This was his perfect life, his happiness. You were his happiness, his light in the darkness.

How had everything gone so wrong? You both were so happy, and in the blink of an eye, everything he held dear to him had been snatched away from him. How was he supposed to move on like the entirety of Teyvat had? He had never been the same since you left him. Not once had he smiled in these five centuries, not one day had gone by where he didn’t remember you. He still had the shells you made for him so dearly, he would still dive deep into the waters of Fontaine to sustain the marine life you had created so dearly to honour your memory. But even as the Hydro Dragon, his powers were nowhere near as gentle and loving as yours. You were the epitome of peace and kindness which is why he had fallen so deep in love with you in the first place.

Opening the door of the cottage, he let out a shaky breath, trying not to break into sobs. All those years ago when he returned home, he would have your hand to hold, your sweet voice and embrace to find solace in. And now here he stood, drenched in his misery, all alone. As his eyes travelled across the beautiful cottage, he could see the memories of the beautiful past in front of his eyes, playing like a movie. How the two of you would dance and twirl together in the living room, how you would cook together, grow and pick beautiful flowers in your garden and cuddle with one another on the plush couch. Each moment he spent standing alone in the dark house, he was reminded of how all those memories are but the past that he can never relive, a time that he cannot reverse. He fell to the ground, crying in sorrow. Why did he have to pay the price for the folly of humans? What had you both ever done to be destined to a fate so cruel? The cataclysm was all because of humans and the celestial gods, then why had he payed the ultimate price?

How long has it been since he lost you? 500 years. 500 years since he last smiled, since the day he had ever been happy. Did he even remember what happiness or warmth felt like? No, because the day he lost you, he lost his reason to live and breathe too. It had been 500 years since the region of Elynas which was once a beautiful and flourishing land, had been turned into a land filled with carcasses, ruins and pain. Traces of the cataclysm were still visible here, as rifthounds and ruin machines from Dahri were still active, along with markings of the abyss. Anger filled in his mind as he remembered the fateful day he lost you, a memory so vivid that it haunted him every single day.

“Neuvi..the sky..it’s red..” He frowned at your words, approaching you who stood by the window. “What..how is that possible..” Fear was visible in your ocean blue eyes, as you hugged him close. “Neuvi I have a very bad feeling about this..” He wrapped his arms around you in a protective embrace, shushing you. “Hush Mon Amour..everything will be alright. I am with you, I promise.” Suddenly, to your utter horror, the ground tore open as abyssal monsters rose, making you shriek in terror. Neuvillette gasped, standing in front of you protectively as he instantly fought the monsters. But to your horror, they just kept emerging everywhere making you both run outside the cottage. “Neuvi, please be careful, protect the Merusea village, I need to go underwater and alert all the creatures.” He looked at you with worry, a sickening feeling of dread filling his heart. “No mon amour, it’s too dangerous, let me be with you.” “Neuvi there’s no time, they’re dangerous and the melusines are defenceless!” Both of you looked at one another as he rushed to embrace you, an unknown fear taking over his heart. “Please mon amour, be careful..” You nodded as you hugged him tight, however you both were forced to part as rifthounds advanced towards you. “I love you Neuvillette..” Those words that once filled his heart with joy now gave him a feeling of dread unlike any other. “I love you more than anything Y/N.”

If he knew that was going to be the last time he’d ever get to hold you close, the last time he’d hear you tell him that you love him, he would’ve held on for longer, he would’ve never left your side. It was all his fault, all his fault that you were gone. As he sat there all alone, sobbing in remorse, the haunting memories kept flooding his mind..

“My dears, there is a grave danger on land, I urge you all to hide, to blend in with the seas and protect yourselves. I will lend you my power so that no harm shall come to you all.” Your eyes glowed as you used a great deal of your powers to create a protective barrier on every single creature in the waters of Fontaine, making you significantly weaker. You swam back up on land, hoping to meet Neuvillette near the entrance of the Merusea village. But something told you that things were about to go wrong, as if these were your last moments. Your eyes widened seeing how many abyssal monsters had emerged, as you fought them to the best of your abilities, just trying to reach near Neuvillette. You knew you had spent a great deal of your power in protecting the oceans of Fontaine and you needed help in fighting until you regained your powers.

Neuvillette’s heart felt uneasy, his stomach churning in uncertainty as you did not come to him. Something had gone wrong, he could just feel it. Leaving every other thought aside, he rushed towards the shore, searching for you while fighting the wretched rifthounds. He called out your name, as the red sky started filling with dark clouds the longer he could not find you. And the very next moment, it was pouring rain. He ran towards you, instantly killing the monsters that had harmed you, dropping to his knees. There you lay, blood staining the sands as deep gashes were visible on your body. He held your weak frame in his arms, hugging you close while tears flowed down his eyes. “Mon Amour!! Please, please no..” Your trembling hand cupped his cheek, tears dropping down your eyes too while you smiled sadly, knowing that you could not be saved. “I..I’m sorry..” He shook his head, and the way he was crying desperately hurt you more than the deep wounds the rifthounds had left on you. “I..I promise..I’ll come back..w..when the tide comes in..I shall return to your s..side once more, my Hydro Dragon..”

Neuvillette started sobbing even more, hugging you close while your blood stained his clothes and skin. “No..no please Y/N, don’t leave me..please I’ll do something, I’ll save you..” He felt your thumb gently wipe away the tears, your cracked voice whispering perhaps the most painful words he had ever heard. “Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don’t cry..I Y/N, swear on my soul that I will return to your side..I do not know how long it will take..but..I..I promise, this is just a temporary goodbye..Will you wait for me Neuvi?” He nodded through his tears “I will wait for you forever..” You gave him a soft heartbroken smile, leaning your forehead on his as your breathing turned into small gasps “then..then you have my word..when this body disappears, I will turn into water droplets…which will live in your heart…and one day, I’ll come back..I’ll…come..back-..” That was when your body fell limp, your hand dropping down lifelessly, your once warm body turning cold. Neuvillette roared in pain, his powers unleashing and turning every single monster on the land to dust. Storms raged, lighting struck as the Hydro dragon wailed in agony at the loss of his mate.

Your once beautiful self turned into pure droplets of hydro, and Neuvillette watched as they travelled to his chest, being absorbed by his heart. He clutched his chest, crying endlessly in misery. You were gone. His love, his mate, his wife had died right in his arms, and he could not do anything.

Neuvillette clutched his head, crying and begging for those memories to leave him. It was the most cruel form of torture that he had been enduring for the last 500 years. The only reason he was alive was because he had made a promise to you, and the remnants of your existence lived in his heart. Somewhere he still had a tiny sliver of hope that you would come back, but these five centuries of misery had left him scarred and broken. Ever since the day you had died, the oceans of Fontaine had been still as ever, the tides had disappeared completely, and no new life had emerged in the oceans. You were the elemental being that emerged from the purest waters of the ocean, having the power to control the tides. You were the guardian of the marine life of Fontaine, and it was due to your protection that they had been completely unharmed during the disaster. He placed his hand on his chest, begging you just like he had done all these years. “Please Mon Amour, I’m begging you, come back to me, I cannot live like this..I cannot be without you any longer. I need you back, please..Your dragon is broken without you..”

2 Days later, Neuvillette was walking alone by the beach, watching the sunset while memories of the two of you flooded his mind. Oh he still remembered the way your eyes would light up when you noticed how the ocean would reflect the pink and orange tones of the sky. For some reason he felt different today, as if a feeling of anticipation was in the air. He could not understand why, but he sat down on the sand just the way you both used to, watching the sunset.

Suddenly, he let out a gasp, as for the first time in 500 years, waves started forming in the waters, turning into tides that started crashing against the shore. He stood up hurriedly breathing heavily hoping this wasn’t just a dream. Could it be? He then looked down to see shimmering water droplets emerge from his chest, floating towards the water. Countless sea creatures came up to the surface of the ocean, circling around the droplets of water, and in front of his eyes, slowly but surely, the shimmering droplets turned into a beautiful young woman, a woman he so dearly loved, a woman he had been waiting for.

Tears filled his eyes, but for the first time they were because of happiness rather than the anguish he was so used to. There you stood, in all your glory, just as beautiful as he had remembered, if not more. He felt like he was dreaming, as he walked closer to the water. You opened your eyes, looking at the love of your life. You gave him a big smile, holding your arms open for him. “Neuvi..” This was the only thing that he needed to hear as he ran towards you, engulfing you in a desperate and loving embrace, his sobs being muffled in your skin. Light rain fell upon you both, as you caressed his hair, relishing the feeling of his embrace. You knew he had been in so much pain, you had felt it due to your conscience living in his heart. “Oh my love..I’m sorry it took me so long to return to your side again. I know you have suffered so much, but I promise you, nothing will separate us ever again.”

He pulled apart to look at you, lilac eyes scanning every inch of you as if still afraid that you’ll leave him. “You’re really back..oh gosh I’ve missed you terribly Mon Amour..” you placed a sweet kiss on his forehead, hugging him close as every creature in the waters of Fontaine celebrated your reincarnation, waves crashing merrily against one another. “Forgive me for taking so long my heart..But you’ve been so brave, and now I promise I won’t go away again.” After what seemed like ages, your lover calmed down, his tears slowing down as his gloved hands cupped your cheeks softly, his siren eyes filling with love and tenderness. You gave him your sweetest smile, kissing his cheeks as you also took in the warmth of his embrace. Your separation had been too long, and both of you had missed one another terribly.

“Hmm..I never knew you were so sophisticated Neuvillette~” baffled at your sudden playful remark, he ends up laughing at your words, shaking his head. Ah, so this is what happiness felt like. Yes, he remembered now, he remembered how much joy you would always give him. “Oh mon amour..you have no idea how much has happened in these last 500 years..” “Well then I suppose we will have a lot to talk about hm?” He nodded, embracing you ever so protectively. “Yes, but all of that can wait because all that matters to me is you.”

“I’m right here Neuvi, always and forever. These long and painful years shall be our first and last separation. I am bound to you forever..” He looked at you, a beautiful smile adorning his features. “This time, I’ll protect you with all my strength..” As the two of you gazed into each other’s eyes, intense emotions filled your hearts- Love, relief, joy and everything in between. Words were no longer needed, your souls were now complete, hearts full and minds at ease. You both were once again together, after having passed the ultimate test of time and love. Not even the long drawn separation could ever erase the love you both had for each other.

Overwhelmed by these emotions, you both leaned in, closing the gap between your awaiting lips and let them collide with the same intensity as the waves colliding with the shore. The kiss was tender and filled with pure and unending love, with promises of forever being sealed permanently. Now, nothing would ever come in between you both. Now, Neuvillette’s once dark world had been lit up by you again, and he would make sure it would always stay this way.

[bonezonejpg]

୨୧ : INTRODUCING MY INK VARIANT INX

Based off of my personal experiences. A year ago I was in a pretty bad headspace and had created him to help cope with my situation. Came upon him again and decided to make a ref+ revamp !! Anyways !! Some info about him <3 Inx deals with Chronic anxiety and Derealization. Despite the fact that knows the world around him is real, he struggles to fight with those irrational thoughts that its in fact not real. He feels like he's in a dream while existing which causes him to panic, and will get intrusive thoughts about him or others around him not being real. These intrusive thoughts can trigger panic attacks which happen to him frequently. Instead of using close range attacks, he specifically sticks with using long range attack as much as possible. Getting close to his targets causes him to panic, and most of the time he's not in a calm enough headspace to react on time and make strategic battle decisions. He tries his best to support Dream and Blue from the sidelines. He shrunk from stress.. LOL Dream is one of his comfort people. The two of them now live together and he spends most if not all of his time with Dream. When not around the other he can panic or go into spirals which take a very severe toll on his mental health. Because of this Dream makes sure to stay close to him and tries his best to accommodate him. He does have medication he uses sometimes, but he only uses it when having severe panic attacks. The viles are extremely hard to continuously manufacture so he has instead developed coping skills to deal with his issues best he can instead of taking his "medication" 24/7. The viles basically help him calm down and sort of reset his magic nervous system or whatever it would be so his panicking starts to cease. It doesn't last forever, but its a really good feeling when he takes it and it reminds him of how he used to be before dealing with all of this. These issues completely popped out of nowhere and the root cause is unknown by him and others around him. He had a thought that the world "wasn't real" and then got triggered into his first panic attack which then spread out into the issues he now has. [Literally exactly what happened to me except I'm okay now! Well sort of, not the same but def a LOT better :3] His eye will flash a bunch of different colors when he's about to have a panic attack or having one. This is a telltale sign that his stress has pretty much reached his limit and he's at his breaking point. He will leak and spill Ink from his mouth when trying to express the thoughts going on in his mind or his emotions. This is because his anxiety causes him to assume others will think he is annoying or attention seeking so he literally becomes choked up on his own words. Inx deals with constant paranoia that no one likes him and everyone finds him to be a burden. Despite others and himself trying to reassure himself, the sinking feeling that no one truly loves him also resides deep inside his bones. He doesn't get a lot of his sleep because of his derealization and anxiety. Constantly being in a state of panic makes it quite hard for him to rest because his body can't calm down enough to actually relax so he can fall asleep. He usually can only rest when with another person with some TV playing, or when he is so exhausted he literally cannot stay awake anymore.

Inx still enjoys to draw and visit AUs, it just has become quite difficult now because of the amount of stress he deals with. Obviously this has caused him to become pretty depressed so he has a really hard time picking up his hobbies, but he still attempts to use them as coping mechanisms even if he can't really make anything detailed anymore. Inx will constantly think about how he used to be before all of this and will wish that he could go back in time and just be normal again because he's so exhausted from everything.

Alrighty... For now thats all I can really think about!! I probably will look back at this and be like "awh dang why didn't I add this.." So expect me to most likely edit this little post at some point !! Also, all of these facts are 100% based off of experiences that I have went through. If you have any questions then feel free to send me an ask and I'll totally answer !! Plus some old art from when I first made him in 2023 when I was having that EP

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy reading all this despite it being super long... heh.. I'LL SEE U LATUR !!

[rrking]

Dances to Bauhaus Ascended Astarion picking up a couple of other 'brides' along the way has been living rent free in my head... Some NSFW my slimes😏 also I made up a LOT of shit I don't know my DnD m'kay

Imagine it, you are his consort, his undying love, his... Most treasured property. But you're becoming a little unruly for his tastes.

So long being with the same man whose mind is turning to ash before you has proven to be difficult. Your relationship is toxic. It's like he doesn't remember who you are. You're just 'his consort.'

Of course, you become defiant. Small things at first, like denying him kisses, refusing to sit on his lap in front of his court...

This dynamic is cute at first. He spends time chasing you.

It works for a while. Vampire brides are known to be tossed aside by their masters, eventually - Due to their insatiable, nymphomatic lust and utter devotion to the point of irritation. Basically, many are discarded by their masters when they are no longer 'fun' to deal with. I fully made this up lmao wtf... Astarion promised this wouldn't be so between the pair of you when you allowed him to turn you. How time changes a person.

His arrogant behaviour becomes so repulsive, you start declining his more serious advances - to prove a point. He wants to control you fully - But that isn't going to happen. He would not dare discard you, not the person who was by his side all these years. There is a level of obedience you are willing to show, since you are so devoted to him, but you will not be controlled like a porcelain dolly.

You're so old now you often forget what you're fighting about... Until he comes home one day with that THING. It's younger than you. So obedient, like a little lapdog. He demands their kisses all day, in front of you. This creature disgusts you and he is only doing himself absolutely dirty.

"Yes milord. No milord. Of course, milord." It's incessant whining for your husband whilst he fawns over it as it rests on it's knees makes your skin crawl.

This dynamic starts off as a bit of a competition, but once he recruits another one - it's on sight.

"Be more like your sister(s)/brother(s)..." Astarion tells you with that wicked smirk. They are no sibling of yours. They are your prey, and he can look forward to waking up to a severed head on his silken bed if he dares to take things further.

It is actually a long time before any sort of sexual intimacy is even introduced. But after being denied your body three nights and four mornings in a row, Astarion is fed up. The horny howling of that brat makes you seethe. He already ruined you for anybody else. How dare he go and besmirch another when you were already his to begin with.

This is only a temporary fix, however, since you are his favourite. The sex is nowhere near as good or as passionate as it is with you. He can't achieve absolute bliss like he does with you, and this new toy is fun until it wants cuddles... No. That's reserved specifically for the consort™️

He is not actually satisfied. He loves you, whether he cares to admit it or not. Unfortunately, the way your relationship appears is totally skewed, due to his inability to separate obsession from love and the total resentment you have grown into.

These other brides are merely toys. He will eventually grow tired of them. They serve one purpose. You do not. You are his dark consort. You get away with things they could only dream of.

When you do agree to sleep with him again, on your terms of course, you are sure to be as public as possible. You want the entire palace to know how you make him feel. Only you get those delicious moans out of him, his complete spend, his dangerous cravings for more. Best believe when he's balls deep in those brides - He's seeing your face.

The other brides look at you in absolute awe. Who is this beautiful holy being before them?

Astarion cannot be more pleased when you agree to intimacy again. Whilst he would love nothing more than to fuck you all day, he finds himself compromising - if it means he can keep his sweet consort.

However, when he acquires a third bride, this is when your murderous tendencies begin. You want to attract his attention, but you want to do it in front of the other brides. Killing his subjects, disobeying him and escaping punishment in front of those sorry excuses for playthings... Silly little things, but you begin to take enjoyment in killing after a while.

The other brides kneel and worship him, begging him not to take out his displeasure on them as you sit scowling on his lap. Astarion is becoming absolutely vexed by this behaviour. All he desired was for his consort to sit on his lap and accept some affection - So why are his lips kissing you so greedily all over your face and lips to receive nothing in return? The vampire growls lowly when your mouth doesn't move in reaction to his.

"Misery doesn't suit that pretty face of yours, my dear..." he snarls. There is still no reaction when he bites the fatty part of your lower lip, drawing blood... No moaning when he kisses your neck exactly how you like it. Not even pathetic namecalling or fighting back as he marks you. Just plain, spiteful silence.

The brides look on in disgust. Had one of them done that, he would have had them flogged. Punished in the worst way possible. When you notice their distaste for the situation, a grin blooms on your lips. Justice.

"Leave us," is the next command from his lips. Oh. It seems he wants to deal with you in private. His pets file out, huddling at the door to listen.

How they gasp and look between themselves in horror when you receive a chance to redeem yourself. On your knees, gazing up at him, caressing his thighs as you tell him, "you know that I would do anything for you, darling..."

Manipulating Astarion in these sorts of situations is surprisingly easy. He's whipped.

One thing that never fails to get him instahard is watching your mischief. (Usually.)

You had been feeling rather generous today, finding yourself sat on his desk as his mouth explored your other pair of lips beneath your skirts/your length beneath his cape. A scout comes running in, failing to knock first. The lustful visage on your face being seen was no bother to you - but something isn't right when Astarion merely lets it slide. What is he doing? Pathetic.

Disappearing into thin air, you reappear behind the spawn, frightening him out of his skin. In your hand is Astarion's dagger, from the belt of his own trousers.

Little minx. When did you pinch that?

"What is your name, darling?" you coo, a playful grin on your features as you circle him hungrily.

"E-Edgar... Milady/Milord..." is the reply.

"There's no need to be frightened of me." There is every reason. You're like death on legs. Astarion rolls his eyes, asking you to leave the poor thing alone. He was told earlier to come and report at this time - you were serving as a distraction.

Nonsense, you think. In one swift motion, the dagger is against the spawns throat from behind.

"Edgar, darling. Tell my husband why I should spare your life... Beg for it."

He babbles and bitches, struggling to come up with excuses beyond sheer foolishness. They're all so frightened of you. It's intoxicating. The way you can clear a room with just a look. How you can influence others to just get things done.

Of course, your man asks you once again to let go, let him be for god's sake. Y/N you're scaring the bitches

With a quick slice, scarlet blood paints the floor and your body, dressed in white. This poor spawn is holding his throat with dismay. He'll be fine. If not a little traumatised.

Licking the blood from the dagger, you can't help but bite your lip with a grin, offering the other side to your husband. This will remind him why he keeps you.

[xjulixred45x]

I see open request 👀

Can I please request a female bill cypher in hasbin hotel with Alastor it they can be eather best friends or dating you can choose I just crave the chaos of it .

I can imagine bill cypher mc being in human form but can transform in to the dorito with the top hat and just being a absolute mence in hell after all bill is a trilion year old and knows EVERYTHING and just loves to gaslight and goof around with Alastor.

I can Imagine bill living in the fearamid and definitely being a overlord with the amount of power and knowledge she has and her visiting the hotel because she wanted to see Alastor because she was bored and vaggie is like no .

Bill definitely gives Alastor a head that's always sreaming it's like asmr for him 💀

Remember! Reality is an illusion, the universe is a hologram, buy gold, BYE!

WOW, ive been seen a Lot of this kind of crossover, but writing it? OKAY!!

As You didn't specify, i go with a Platonic Friend Alastor(besides, i cannot imagine Bill with any kind of Romantic relationship 😅i complety understand Alastor, but Bill? Nah. Just not His thing)

(SORRY FOR THE DELAY, HOPE THIS IS ALL RIGHT AND THANKS FOR THE REQUEST)

Hazbin Hotel crew with Bill Cipher Reader

OKAY, imagine that the reader is one of the first beings to exist, even before Lucifer and several of the ancient angels, since she is the innate representation of CHAOS. the counterpart of God's other "perfect" creations, but she also has her ego.

Reader at the beginning of time did not have a physical form with which to expand, which was ANNOYING, but when Adam and Lilith were created, Reader finally began to form a three-dimensional form by already having beings to intoxicate with chaos.

From there, the reader became stronger and stronger with the growth of humanity, however she became bored at some point, when people stopped being as interesting as they used to be. then a great idea occurred to him: go to hell.

and I don't disappoint.

the exterminations, the legions of cannibals, the territorial wars, the misery, everything was so BEAUTIFUL! reader is like a child in a candy store.

Since we're talking about a Bill Cipher reader, we're obviously talking about a master at manipulation and deception, who only lives to have fun and make others suffer in the process. would probably be the equivalent of Roo Of All Evil here, someone who makes deals to keep things "interesting".

and this is where his relationship with the crew members comes in.

Alastor is definitely more aware of Reader's presence than the rest of the crew, not only because they are both powerful beings (even on a power scale, it's like comparing an elephant to an ant, Alastor being the ant) but because they both have points of similar views regarding "entertainment".

I can definitely see reader and Alastor being something like friends who bring each other gruesome gifts like deer teeth or pseudo-dead sinners, they're like scavengers.

Although in general I do not rule out the idea that the reader sees Alastor more as a kind of glorified pet and treats him in such a way that he does not realize the mockery. Just some old Bill.

Charlie definitely doesn't know what to think of reader, not only because she is an ancient being who appeared in her life out of nowhere, but because she has so many irredeemable qualities that makes her feel uncomfortable being around her.

For example, when she sees the "gifts" that she and Alastor give each other, the reader OBVIOUSLY doesn't believe in Charlie's cause, but she doesn't even try to help her in any way, she's just there to hurt her in one way or another and that's annoying.

No matter how much Charlie tries to politely tell her not to do certain things or tell her to leave, she obviously doesn't listen. Even when Charlie loses her composure it's still no use, she's like a barking dog. Although reader seems to enjoy pushing her buttons, so...

Vaggie is already tense and hostile towards Alastor, who isn't that powerful in the grand scale of things, so when Reader shows up, it's that multiplied by 10, although rather than being a genuine annoyance like with Alastor, it's a way to mask the underlying fear she has as a reader.

I mean, Vaggie was an exterminator, it's not easy to intimidate her (like with Alastor for example) and she definitely doesn't feel that characters like Lucifer are a threat, but reader is unpredictable and that's terrifying, so if she ensures to stay away from her and she makes sure she stays away from everyone.

Angel Dust at first didn't think anything in particular about the reader, "I'm not interested in politics" type of mentality in a way, he didn't see her as more than a kind of "celebrity" until for "fun" she contorted His entire body . He was somewhat traumatized.

Angel thinks that Reader is a complete freak and honestly doesn't want to be around her, but at least he recognizes that several of her riddles are fun. He would happily give her the finger while she wasn't looking. Typical Angel behavior.

Husk, being Husk. which means that at the beginning he didn't have a reason to interact with the reader, so he didn't, why waste energy on yet another phenomenon? It wasn't until she became friends with Alastor that they began to interact more and it further solidified his dislike for her.

Husk is probably the main victim of the reader's "jokes" for being "Alastor's property" and I sincerely think that everyone would feel sorry for him. but Husk refuses to lick her boots like Alastor, at least he knows she's not going to kill him.

Sir Pentious is definitely the most blatantly terrified by Reader's presence at the hotel, probably thinking she was some kind of urban legend, but when he sees her act, he's scared shitless.

definitely the one who interacts with her the least along with Charlie, but out of pure fear. Pentious makes sure her Eggbois are in the workshop for as long as the reader is staying.

Niffty....is Niffty, she is, along with Alastor, the one who most appreciates the reader and her "antics", probably both are the closest thing the other has to friends.

Niffty definitely makes sure to grab as much attention as possible from the reader in any way possible, even if it inflicts...pain on her, but is it...consensual? is rare. but they love each other in a strange way.

In general, either you have a sufficiently depraved mind to be able to get along with the reader, or you fear/hate her with the passion of a thousand suns, there is no intermediate.

Shares, reblogs and comments are very welcome!

Just to clarify, i DONT STAND VIVZIEPOP, i just make content of her series, but her as a person/creator is HORRIBLE. Don't support her.

All hail Alex Hirsch

[ababanerb]

Soldier On

summary: Freshly discharged from the Ferngill military should be a relief, now that the war is over. But Safiya finds that surviving nine hellish years as a child soldier and battle mage is only half the fight in life. With nowhere to go but her dead grandfather's farm, and no family to speak of, she arrives in Pelican Town. Armed with nothing but PTSD and a fierce will to survive, she goes through the painstaking ordeal of relearning how to live.

note: this is a multi-chapter fic, you can find the master list for this fic here

read on AO3

Here’s the thing about war –- there are no more orders to follow when the fighting’s stopped. And for Safiya, that’s an entirely new war. Ferngill and Gotoro were both guilty of using child soldiers to make up squads of battle mages and field medics, finding and using children as young as fourteen.

When the war ends, albeit on tense terms, the world is surprised, and most of the people Safiya knew during her time in the military know exactly where home is for them now that they’ve been sent home for reunion and reintegration.

But Safiya is set adrift.

“Here you are, Colonel,” Her commanding officer says, smacking her in the face with her release papers where she’s laying on her cot in the barracks, “You’re free to go.”

Safiya nods her thanks, nine years of disuse outside of barking orders and short briefings has rendered her voice useless. She reads her dismissal papers soundlessly, and even though she’s glad to be going home - especially when she knows that most infantry won’t be going home for another six months at least - she doesn’t even know where home is anymore.

She packs her things quietly, her personal belongings are military issued uniforms and a ceremonial saber, everything else she’d brought with her as a fourteen year old girl lost to the person she’d become in the war. Her pack had been light when she’d been drafted and deployed as a girl, and it was even lighter now. The feel of her half empty pack bouncing against her back as she leaves the military base has a pang of melancholy racing through her, made even worse when she collects a stack of letters from the administrative office on her way out.

Most of them are from her grandfather, her mom’s dad, and she tears open the newest one right there in the administrative office, then quickly wishes she’d waited to get on a bus to open it.

To my dearest Saf,

It pains me to know that you did not get to see your mother again before she passed, that this war has taken so much from you at such a young age. Even moreso, I am sorry that I do not get to see the woman you’ve grown into.

In the event that you’re reading this, it means that I have passed and joined your mother on the other side of the veil. I hope that I do not see you there anytime soon.

My dear girl, you have always been strong, but you’re allowed to be weak in the peace. I know you haven’t known peace in many years now, and I cannot imagine how long you’ve gone without a moment's respite by the time this war comes to an end. So, assuming the war has ended by the time you read this, do this old man a favor— enjoy the peace, my girl. Revel in it as I know you haven’t in many years, and then find peace for yourself.

Enclosed in this letter is the deed to the farm. Our farm. The Valley is full of magic, if you remember, and Atwood Farms is rich with it. I think, like Yoba, that the magic in the Valley is benevolent, and you will find exactly what it is that you need. I can only hope that I’m right about this, but as you know all too well, my dear Saf, magic is fickle.

Perhaps you should ask Rasmodious about it should you move to Pelican Town? I’m sure he’d be delighted to indulge you.

If you do choose to come to the farm, know that it’s still being maintained. Rasmodious has been kind enough to make sure that all of Atwood Farms will be taken care of. It shall remain exactly as it did when you were a girl, and as it does now.

Find peace here as I did, and as your mother did.

All my love,

Grandpa

PS — Call Lewis and let him know you’re coming, dear girl. And tell him and Willy I say hello.

She really wishes she’d stepped away to read it as tears brim in her eyes, but they do not fall. She takes the first bus she can out into the Valley, and she curses at the price of the ticket for the connecting bus ride into Pelican Town. But she forks the fifty dollars over anyway, and she sits and has the worst lunch she’s ever had in the bus station terminal.

It’s all vending machine food, stale trail mix and a flat cola, and she realizes how strange she must look, still dressed in her combat uniform as she hunches over her crappy meal as she dials the number listed on the town’s website she’d found on her phone.

She’s half-tempted to turn to the few people in the terminal and tell them that if they think she’s strange now, then they should also know that this is her first time using a cellphone since she was fourteen. The technology has changed since then, and while she’d had a touch screen as a girl, flip phones had still been pretty much the norm when she was drafted. Now, her phone scans her face to unlock, and the touchscreen is nowhere near as clunky as she’d remembered them being as a kid.

The line rings maybe three times before Lewis picks up, his gruff voice jovial as he answers, “This is Lewis, with whom am I speaking to?”

Safiya has to clear her throat before she starts - get her vocal chords at least a little warm to save Lewis from the grate of her voice, “This is Safiya Atwood, I’m calling in regards to Atwood Farms. My grandfather, William, left me the deed.”

She hears a quiet clattering over the line, and as she strains her ears, it sounds like he might be in a bar, “My goodness, Safiya, it’s good to hear your voice! Are you looking to sell the old farm?”

Safiya nods, humming into the receiver as she chews on a handful of stale nuts, “Thank you, but no, I’m actually looking to move onto the property. I’ll likely be there by sundown today. I was hoping you might have the keys?”

There’s another scuffling in the background, a door creaks and shuts, “Uh- Yes, I do. I’ll meet you at the bus stop around sundown, Miss Atwood.”

She mutters her thanks, and the call ends with a quiet beeping in her ear. She leans back on the bench as she picks at the crappy trail mix, sighing as she waits for the bus. The silence is weird, now, having spent so many years listening to the sound of gunfire and combat going on around her.

It’s unsettling, really, as she watches people walk past her, just living their lives. Most of them not even batting an eye at her appearance, or even really caring that it’s so quiet. Hell, the hissing of the bus’ hydraulic brakes has Safiya jumping in her seat when it pulls into the bus stop. But nobody else bats an eye at her.

She takes a seat near the back of the bus, which is empty save for the maybe ten people scattered about, and they all give her as much of a wide berth as she gives them. She ignores the odd stares she gets, settling in to look absently out of the window. She knows she must look strange, still in her military issued mages combat uniform, the deep black and brilliant gold detailing would give away her status in the chain of command if any of these people cared. But it’s the dead of winter, and most of these people have either just finished up some last minute Winter Star shopping or are heading home to spend the holiday with their families.

Safiya hasn’t celebrated any holiday since she was thirteen, but she can still remember the distinct joy of unwrapping gifts so painstakingly wrapped by her mother and grandfather. And though she’d never participated in the yearly tradition of brewing a hot cup of tea to drink out of their finest china, she had burnt her tongue on many cups of hot cocoa as a girl.

It feels like forever ago now, a glimpse of the past through the break in the treeline as the bus flies down the highway — another piece of her lost to the war. Shot to pieces and left to be buried in the mud of the battlefield.

The world moves on though, and the bus comes to a halt at its first and only stop between Grampleton and Pelican Town, in another rural town called Pine Valley. Where Grampleton is quaint and cozy in a touristy way, with all of its original downton architecture intact and well maintained; Pine Valley is Grampleton’s pothead cousin. Safiya had heard her mother make the joke a hundred times over as a girl, when she hadn’t quite understood the joke, but as an adult, the joke is an apt comparison.

There’s nobody left when the bus pulls out of Pine Valley, Safiya the lone passenger on yet another lonely journey.

It reminds her vaguely of when she’d first been drafted. Most mages lived out in the countryside in larger towns, or out in the boonies. But Safiya had spent most of her childhood in Zuzu, with her mother. Smaller towns and villages might have a few mages, or even whole families, but most anybody with any affinity for the arcane tended to stay away from cities — where the magic became too muddied with other people's energies to do anything useful with it. But Safiya had felt the magic strongly in Zuzu, not as strongly as she did out in the valley, but she’d felt it there — humming just below the surface, some wild untamed thing, so different from the smooth flowing calm that mages were used to out in the valley.

So, she’d been a rare breed in a breed already rare in its own right. One of the few mages that the government had been able to find in cities, and she had been the only passenger for that bus ride too. Armed with nothing but the shaky promise she’d made to her mother.

I will not relent.

The promise had followed her through her brief military training, and at some point in her training, the mantra had changed to soldier on.

It plays in her head even now. As the sun begins to set and paints the sky alight with brilliant shades of red and gold, and as the bus rolls to a stop next to a beaten down bus at a bus stop that looks more like a patch of dirt on the side of the road. There’s no need for those words now, she reminds herself, as she collects her few things and steps off of the bus, but it repeats regardless.

There is no one waiting to greet her at the bus stop when she steps off of the bus, the driver wasting no time to shut the doors and make a sharp u-turn back to where he came from, but she doesn’t mind. She knows that if she were to follow the path West she’d stumble across Atwood Farms, and the tiny village center is off to the East.

She doesn’t move. Instead, she opens the side pocket of her bag, grabbing for the carton of cigarettes she’s been carefully smoking her way through for the last two seasons. For every mage she knew, every single one of them had their fix in the military. The single pack was the first she’d ever laid hands on, given to her by her commanding officer just before the war had come to a ceasefire. The first time in years since their barracks had seen any real use outside of the bare necessities for living.

She’s been savoring them since.

The sun has only just begun to set, but Safiya knows it only takes forty-five minutes at best for the sky to go completely dark, and she keeps an eye on the dirt road leading into the village square as she holds the cigarette between her lips and lights it up with a small flame on her fingertip. The smoke burns on the way down, particularly bad in the cold, even worse with so much snow on the ground.

Snow is good, the colonel, the soldier, inside of her says, Harder for the enemies to sneak up on us. Crunchy. Visibility is high with the snow.

She tells the colonel to shut up and let her enjoy one of her last few cigarettes before the carton is empty and she goes back to living the cigarette free life she’d been living before. The colonel doesn’t shut up, she smokes her cigarette anyway and sends it off in a plume of smoke and ash when she’s finished with it, letting the wind carry away the remnants for her.

It’s as she watches the tiny specks of black and gray be carried off by the wind that the crunching of footsteps meets her ears. The colonel yells for her to get low, to grab for a rifle, raise a shield, shoot off a quick blast of fire, anything, and she forces herself to ignore it. To curl her hands up tight at her sides and just observe the squat old man walking down the dirt road.

“Miss Atwood?” He calls to her, the same jovially gruff voice she’d heard over the phone some hours ago, and it takes her a moment to realize that this must be Lewis. So much older than she remembers him being.

“Yes, sir,” She addresses him stiffly, though she does not salute, her hands relaxing at her sides, “Am I right to assume you’re Lewis?”

“That would be me,” He nods happily at her, stretching his hand out towards her for a handshake when he reaches her, she just puts her hand over his, gently pushing his outstretched hand back towards him.

“I’m rather jumpy with my recent dismissal,” She says, tone apologetic, and she hopes that is enough explanation for him, not wanting to get into the details of how she could very well accidentally kill him with how on edge her magic is. Not knowing friend or foe in this new battlefield off of the battlefield.

Lewis nods again, smiling wider, and she relaxes upon seeing he takes no offense to it. It’s maybe the most pleasant interaction she’s had all day, not having to worry or explain away the quirks of war, “Thank you for your service, Miss Atwood.”

Scratch that.

Safiya internally cringes to her grave and back, “Ah, sure,” She mutters, and her fingers tap at her palms, “It, ah, it’s really not anything you need to thank me for.”

Especially not when it hadn’t exactly been her choice to go out and fight in a war she didn’t care about. Not when she was fourteen, and especially not now, not when the war is over. The casualties on both sides had been brutal. Good people had been lost for a conflict that hadn’t needed the force either side had responded with.

But—

“Here we are,” Lewis says, rifling through the pockets of his well-worn coat, pulling out a keychain she immediately recognizes as her grandfathers, the Junimo charm handcarved by her grandmother some decades ago, “Billy left these in my care. He’d always hoped you’d be ‘round some day to get ‘em.”

Safiya clears her throat, finding it suddenly hard to swallow around the thick, viscous, lump in her throat as she eyes the little Junimo keychain. Originally painted granny smith green but faded with time and chipped in places from being dropped, and the small chip of yellow paint from when her grandfather had set his keys on the still wet paint of her childhood paintings.

“Well,” She manages to get out, voice gone thin and reedy, “I’m sure he’d be pleased that I came back at all.”

It’s a morbid joke, one that usually gets laughs in the barracks in the warzone, but Lewis doesn’t laugh. He just chuckles awkwardly, handing the keys to her and avoiding touching her bare hands with any part of him.

“Billy loved you dearly, Miss Atwood,” Lewis says after clearing his throat, “He’d be happy you’re here, no matter where you were.”

Here. Not here, here.

Here. Like, alive, here.

“Ah, right,” Safiya agrees, and she wonders how much bigger the lump in her throat can get, “I suppose you’re right.”

“O’ course I am,” Lewis laughs, a hand on his belly like he’s Santa off the clock, “Your grandpa was my best friend, you know!” Her lips tilt up in the smallest of watery smiles, and Lewis smiles at her from beneath his thick mustache, “Anyway, Miss Atwood, I must be gettin’ back now. Have a happy Winter Star.”

She watches him go, snow crunching under his boots as he walks away, and she stares at the faded Junimo charm on her keychain. It’s weighty, if only in sentimental value, and she rubs her thumb over the faded green wood and the yellow spot of paint, a bruise of color.

She sighs, turns on her heel and makes the short walk through the snow to Atwood Farms.

[respectthepetty]

Pride Petty Watch - LiTA (Sky/Prapai) 2/3

It took me much longer than expected to make it through the first two episodes of Sky x Prapai's arc in Love in the Air, but Prapai called Sky his boyfriend out of nowhere, so now I understand that he is Manifest Destiny-ing his way to love, and for the non-Americans, that's bad. Like real bad.

Let me be like Prapai and keep marching forward even though all the signs are telling me to stop.

In my first year of teaching, I was told I couldn't want the grade more the student did. I was reminded that some students don't want A's. Some students just want to pass the course, and that's fine. I need to take that approach with Prapai because he held Sky while he clung to him and cried for the nightmares to leave him in peace, yet in the morning, Prapai slings it back in Sky's face and makes it callously sexual. Clearly, Prapai doesn't want points for Slytherin. He does not want an A in decency. He does not want to pass "Go" on the board. Whatever he wants is between him and the demons he is fighting because obviously this ho does not want to be saved.

"Let me help you" - Look at that! As soon as you let men go, they wanna come back correct. Asking to help instead of forcibly inserting himself. Wow! So you are capable of not making everything aggressively sexual?

I'm watching you like a fucking hawk, Slytherin, which if you want to pass this course, you will note that hawks eat snakes, so basically I'm telling you I will devour you whole if you make another wrong move.

"That's all I ask," he says as he asks for EVERYTHING. "I will not restrain myself next time." "You cannot escape me." "Has he blocked this number?" Sky, babe, hon, bestie, rob this fucking man in his sleep. Take the watch off his wrist, the money from his wallet, and the audacity out of his mouth. These are the queer wrongs I'm trying to support this month.

"You should be spanked" - So 🙃 . . . IGNORING THAT! As a lifelong member and advisor of Greek life (fraternities and sororities are different for BIPOC), every time I see these university rituals, I always wonder what is the equivalent of a compliance officer in other countries because This. Is. Hazing.

And now Payu and Prapai are just hanging out at university activities like THEY DON'T GOT JOBS! Payu has a room in a garage, a room at his house with a toy car collection, and a terrified mechanic hiding under cars, so the man has got bills. Prapai has companies (plural) to run, and an overworked and rightfully annoyed (always in red) secretary holding down the fort, yet he is on a little vacay. Women in GLs - big bosses and screwing at work on company time. Men in BLs - FORGETTING THEY HAVE JOBS!

*Regina George has entered the chat* So you agree? You think you're a bad guy to Sky?

Every time Payu or Prapai mentions getting a reward (for not assaulting the boy they are chasing after especially when that boy is in a vulnerable position), I think of the conversation between Uea and King in episode five (part one) of Bed Friend when King asked for a reward and Uea said "The fuck you just say? Get outta here with that noise" then he left. Uea would eat these men alive.

The thinnest of ice, Prapai. I can see the freezing water rushing underneath. That's how thin the ice is that you are on, sir.

Because Prapai is confessing to sleeping with three other people since he began stalking Sky (no shame, as one slut to another, I'm actually very proud he admitted to it), can we get a STI test? We got condoms, so miracles can happen.

*squints* Is that a heart on your chest, Sky? No, I'm not angry. No, you're not in trouble. No, you're perfect. I'm just working through my own stuff, so I'm gonna need a minute to process this.

If you wanna live that chismosa life, you gotta be aware of your surroundings. Amateur.

Yeah yeah yeah, the wind needs the windmill or whatever dumb shit Dangerous Romance said. Now go make the lapel pin of it, and GET BACK TO WORK! This reeks of nepotism because there is no other way you would still have a job.

Prapai calls Sky by his name, no honorifics. Prapai sleeps on the floor. Prapai asks his mom for advice on how to care for someone. *squints* This is sus af.

And now he is swerving advances and doing his job. *squints even harder* Are you actually trying to pass this course now?

I, too, would be sad if rope was spewing out of my shirt like that.

Prapai just swindled a key to Sky's apartment without asking Sky for it. WHY DON'T YOU WANT TO FUCKING PASS THIS COURSE?! I DO NOT WANT TO SEE YOUR ASS AGAIN NEXT SEMESTER!

I play with my ears when I get tired, so now I feel even more connected to you Sky, and PRAPAI IS KISSING YOU?! NOOOOO! STOP!!!!! HE'S TIRED! LEAVE MY BOY ALONE!

"I can't guarantee your safety if I stay" - It was a fake out, and I have lost years off my life because of this show. YEARS!

The first step is admitting you have a problem are the problem. *growth*

I'm not going to question the aerodynamics of riding with that project on a bike, but I will state that Prapai is the prefect example of the MAME Extremes I wrote about in the previous post because when he is good, he is really fucking good, but when he is bad, he is The Worst™ so can't we just find an in-between?

Don't you go pointing your scrawny finger at my boy like that! You're lucky he even still speaks to you. Shut up, five! A ten is thinking!

Prapai spending all his money on Sky. Prapai deleting all the numbers from his phone. Prapai getting the lapel pin. Prapai cleaning Sky's apartment. Prapai being honest about wanting Sky without being aggressive or crass. *squints so hard my head hurts* This is how Joe must feel with Ming in My Stand-In because I want to trust your ass, but my God, do you make it so fucking hard. I'm begging you to not screw up after this. PLEASE!

I've seen this scene eighty different ways from my dash, but hearing Sky tell Prapai to get bored with him quickly so he can move on while internally begging for Prapai not to get bored knowing what I know about his ex . . . it is salt in the wounds, poison in the wells, and the phone call from within the house. It is painful, deadly, and terrifying.

Prapai listening tentatively as Sky finally tells him what he actually likes to eat. Prapai responding with little tidbits he has learned about Sky along the way. Prapai giving shoulder kisses. Prapai asking about the ex. To quote RuPaul, "don't fuck it up"

Sig is the realest of all these boys, and I would give him the softest ear bites, the best thigh kisses, and the most amazing blowjob because that's what he deserves!

Prapai - Claim me. Own me. Mark me!

Sky - Gross.

While all of Payu's after scenes only made him look worse as he embraced the Manipulate-Mansplain-Malewife way into Rain's heart, all of Prapai's scenes make him seem like the biggest simp, and I am, once again, pleading for balance!

So now on to the next episo - - -

Wait a minute . . . I know this scene

This is where Sky gets in his head and distances himself, so Prapai breaks in and reads the journal. Oh no. Oh no no no.

*lays face first in a field of lavender*

I need liquor, ice, and a blender. They are all needed for different reasons. No, I will not elaborate.

[jeonscatalyst]

https://www.tumblr.com/jeonscatalyst/763656696583290880/tkkers-never-listen-to-what-they-actually-say-if?source=share

I don't really check on any tags only because they make me want to counter attack their post because those posts would be full of lies and Projection and their takes really makes me frustrated with how they project so in order to not get mad at what they're saying i don't check up on any but since Tumblr wants to give me updates on what others are saying i got two post from tkkrs recommended and in one post it's the anons asking if jungkook really meant AYS trips were best of his life or if he was lying (didn't read what the blogger replied tho) and another one was the blogger (diff blogger) itself saying "what's big deal in staying at some place before going on trip" i mean yes it ain't a big deal even i didn't make any big deal out of it but it's the "staying at some place before going on trip" took me out because they said it like as if jikook were staying at some hotel that company booked or something and not exactly at jk's home itself that too after he came back from US. Mind you these were the same people who dragged jimin saying jimin doesn't even know jk's home because him and jk don't go to each other's home After that vhopekook live where vhope came over at jk's place after jk sent a message asking members to come over if anyone's free and vhope went there and later on left lol. No because I'm sure if tae said same thing they would be on cloud nine but since it's jikook it's either jimin is lying or it ain't a big deal and it's just "some place" and the audacity to say jimin don't know jk's home after jm posted jk's picture on his b'day in 2022 from jk's home where jm visited him with hobi lol.

lol anon

I’m sure I got sent some posts of some blogger swearing that Jk lied when he said AYS trips were his best trips ever but honestly anon, what did you expect tkkrs to say? That was a huge slap in the face to them after they spent a year singing about “private trips” only for Jk to go and say AYS trips were the best trips he ever had in his entire life. Mind you “entire life” which means including the “private trips” taekookers thought was the beginning and end of the universe so what else did you expect them to say? Their whole world blew up in their faces when Jk said that because imagine how painful it must have been for them hear that trips that were taken with Jimin the member who they claim he hates and cannot stand and which also happened to be “company content” were the most impactful for Jungkook? The heartbreak!!!

Jimin saying he spent the night at Jk’s before their Jeju trip shouldn’t really be a big deal because duhhh they are friends and have been band mates for over a decade but it was, especially to them and not in a good way (even though they’ll never admit it) because if you think about it, why would Jimin be with Jk, spending the night with him after a trip instead of Tae if taekook is real? Everyone knows that after trips, people just want to go back home to their lovers and not necessarily their friends but here we had Jungkook going back home, Jimin going over there, Jungkook cooking for him and them spending the night together with Tae nowhere in sight. Doesn’t really read as coupley for taekook now does it especially considering how much tkkrs had been loud about Tae (and Hobi) being with Jk at night before Jk had to leave for LA even though they know there is a huge difference now because we don’t know that Taekook have ever spent a night together before or after a trip like Jikook have. Tkkrs tend to downplay or invalidate anything that Jikook do which their ship doesn’t. They downplayed spending bdays and couple holidays together because their ship doesn’t, they downplayed spending nights and alone time together because their ship doesn’t, they downplayed sharing cars till their ship did it a few times, they downplayed matching clothes till they thought their ship did it and they are downplaying Jikook spending the night together before and after a trip even though that is something they thought their ship did and celebrated it like hell.

Accepting that the AYS trips were the best trips Jk ever had in his life like he said would mean that Jk preferred his company, time and activities on the trips with Jimin over those with Tae. It would mean that the “private” doesn’t hold as much weight and they desperately want it to hold and tkkrs can’t accept that because “privet” is all they have. They can’t accept that Jikook spending the night together before a trip means anything because deep down they know that if taekook was real like they want it to be, Jungkook would want to go home to Tae not Jimin especially since they claimed that Tae joined AYS to spend time with Jk since he was travelling so much (even though Tae was on his phone the entire time). So anon, they just cannot do or say anything else. Jimin spending the night with Jk before a trip doesn’t prove they are real but it kinda debunks taekook just like jikook spending bdays, couple holidays and other special days and times together debunks taekook because why would Jungkook want to do all those things and spend all those moments with anyone other than the person he is romantically involved with. Jikook spend bdays, couple holidays, nights, spend nights with each other after trips while taekook go to concerts, musicals, premieres and go on ski trips where Jk ends up being left behind alone because Tae wants to go back home with friends. Even if you didn’t know the first thing about relationships which one of these seem like things what a couple would actually do? See my point? They have no choice anon.

[happyhauntt]

everything i touch turns sick with sadness — nikolai lantsov

series masterlist | writing masterlist | askbox

─── summary: anya still believes, sometimes, that nikolai made a mistake in marrying her. he’ll spend every day for the rest of their lives proving her wrong.

─── pairing: nikolai lantsov & anya kamenev (original character.)

─── warnings: serious angst, miscarriage, pre-established relationship, hurt/comfort. this one is fucking painful. thank you for voting on it i may never recover from writing it! title is from bigger than the whole sky by taylor swift. this is a little au where nikolai is still king post ROW and there's no demon bc i haven't read ROW in a minute and i didn't want to fuck up any details. also i take prompts pls send some i love them

─── word count: 3k.

     The Grand Palace is always too cold. It’s all cavernous rooms and long, draughty hallways like a rabbit warren leading to nowhere. Exploring these hallowed halls had been fun when she was small, and there were surprises lurking just out of sight. Now Anya shivers as she turns a corner, a chilly gust of wind streaking down the corridor past her.

     For somewhere so opulent, with its vaulted ceilings and gold-gilt wallpaper, one would be forgiven for assuming the insulation would be better, but even now, as the depths of winter give way to a pleasant spring, even with a fire burning in every hearth, the Grand Palace is far too cold.

     Genya rests a hand on Anya's elbow as they walk. They are heading into the last meeting in a long day, and Anya is certain she's not the only one who feels exhausted. Genya has her own things to worry about, her own duties to fulfil, but she’d taken one look at Anya’s expression, at the telltale tug of her lips, as they passed one another in the corridor and declared that accompanying her queen to this meeting was of the utmost importance. Everything else could wait.

     (It can’t, really, and Zoya will likely be very cross, but Anya cannot deny that she appreciates the company. Tolya is a darling, and follows her like a second shadow, but Genya understands the tiredness that takes root in your bones and refuses to leave. Ruling Ravka comes at a cost, Anya knew that when she agreed to marry Nikolai, but Saints, what she wouldn't give for a nap right now.)

     She meets Genya's concerned glance, and offers a weary smile. "You could set this place on fire and I imagine it would still be freezing."

     Genya chuckles. "Don't tempt me." Her kefta is buttoned all the way to her throat, and Anya briefly wishes she could wear her own.

     She does have one, embroidered in the palest blue of the Tidemakers and tucked at the very back of her wardrobe, though she very rarely has cause to bring it out. She was always going to be a hard sell as queen. So many nobles had made their prejudice known regarding her disability, while her distaste for Ravka is well-documented. She never could have imagined becoming its queen. She’d never wanted to.

     But she is, and Nikolai fought for that, so being Grisha remains a secret shared between only her closest friends. The nobles don’t need another reason to dislike her.

     Though she suspects Genya is rather warmer than she is right now.

     The War Room is already occupied when they reach it. An assortment of a few military personnel, seated around the table. This meeting isn't terribly important — if it were, Nikolai would be here — but Anya had received intelligence from one of the reconnaissance scouts at the Fjerdan border, and a discussion with the relevant officials felt prudent before any further escalation.

     She murmurs a greeting as she takes her seat at the head of the table. Her commanders stumble to their feet, "Moya tsaritsa" echoing from their mouths. A chill runs down Anya's spine. No matter how many years pass, she suspects she will never get used to the title.

     Maps of Ravka sprawl across the surface of the table, creased and yellowing at the edges. Small figurines depicting their troops are dotted about the place, though the majority are clustered near the border with Fjera now that the Fold is gone. Tolya posts himself at her back, just behind her chair, while Genya sits beside her, shoulders tight as soldiers begin to whisper.

     It has been years since Genya was scarred by the Darkling, but she is still a source of malicious gossip in the Grand Palace.

     A sharp glare from Anya silences them, and the meeting gets underway. As one of the commanders begins recounting a report from the Fjerdan scouts, Anya does her best to pay attention. His voice is dull and droning, like a drill boring holes into the back of her skull, but she nods at the right times. She knows that report from memory. She takes her role very seriously.

     When Nikolai made her General of the First Army, not long before they were married, few had found cause to argue. There'd been dissent about their marriage, concerns about her becoming queen, but not many could deny that she was an excellent choice to lead the First Army. Anya had been one of them, after all; discharged with honours after her injury, she'd ranked highly, served on the frontlines with them all, and she'd been a key figure in the Darkling's defeat.

     (Well, she’d really debate how essential she’d been in that scenario, because she’d felt particularly useless at the time, but regardless, she’d been honoured for it.)

     It doesn’t matter what she did, or who she saved. She will always have something to prove. Her stomach tightens a little as the memories come to her, unbidden, like moths to lantern light.

     Anya’s finger trails absent lines along the edge of the table. It is startling, really, how easy it is to forget sometimes.

     The civil war. The people she loved, and the people she lost. Blood in the sand. Days spent tortured in a Shu laboratory. Blood in her mouth. There are mornings when she wakes on a choked sob, red-rimmed eyes already watery with unshed tears. She can still feel the ash from the Darkling’s funeral pyre on her tongue. Her nightmares root through her and leave her half-ragged. Still fresh as the day they happened, no matter how many years sit between those days and these.

     Her husband wakes when she does, like two ends of a leather cord. If she tugs, he feels it, so attuned to her pitch-dark soul. Black-tipped fingers curl into her hair as he holds her close. He has nightmares, too. Some scars never heal. Anya knows this too well.

     Other days are different. Most days, now that the years have passed. Life demands her attention, won’t allow her to dwell on the dead for too long anymore. The world around her rushes by, and Ravka will not sit and wait for its rulers to be ready. The Grand Palace is a constant flurry of activity. 

     Her stomach is a raw nerve, a jagged edge pulling inside of her. She tries not to wince at it. The memories are painful still, yes, but she is used to breathing through them. Grief will always sit in the shadows, waiting for its moment to pounce — but there is light, too. There is love. A warm hand to hold, friends to weather the storm with. Memories, good and bad, line the halls of their home like patchwork tapestries. Every room has a ghost.

     The commander to her left says her name as he outlines his proposal going forward. Genya shoots her a concerned look, but Anya merely nods as he speaks, her lips pressed together in a thin line. In, out. Her lungs flood with air as she breathes deeply, trying to dispel the knot in her stomach, but the thread of pain only pulls tighter and tighter with every inhale.

     She touches her palm gently to her abdomen, the action concealed by the table. Another sensation strikes her, this one sharper than the others, and she fights to hold her breath as it passes.

     This is familiar. This carries with it a different grief, hollow and hopeless. Her fingers curl into the fabric of her dress. This she knows, intimately. Her heart sinks.

     The meeting can’t have lasted more than an hour by the time it is over, but each moment felt like a lifetime. With a plan of action decided between them, her commanders bid her goodbye. Anya remains seated as they file out of the room. From the corner of her eye, she watches Tolya close the door behind them.

     Genya leans in, latching a hand onto Anya’s forearm. Her eyes are bright with concern. “Anya, are you alright? You hardly said a word near the end. That’s not like you.”

     Anya allows her eyes to fall closed as her friend reaches out. The palm Genya presses against her forehead is soft and cool, and Anya fights the urge to lean into the Tailor’s comforting touch.

     “I’m fine, Genya.” It is easy to brush off her own discomfort. Anya knows what is happening, she’s sure of it, and she will deal with it in time.

     It has happened before, after all. The sensation is as familiar as the sharp ache in her knee, the scars on her flesh, the blackened tips of Nikolai’s fingers.

     Tolya kneels beside her chair. His frown is so loud that she can hear it without needing to look at him. “I can hear your heart racing, and you’ve been wincing every so often. Is your knee troubling you?”

     Another pain spikes through her like a lightning strike. Anya releases a slow breath and shakes her head. “No, it’s not my knee. I believe that was the last of my meetings, so I’ll retire to my chambers for the rest of the day.” She pushes herself up from the chair, faltering only slightly. Tolya’s hand on her waist is steady and sure. “Send a healer, but please be discreet. It’s nothing serious, I assure you. And please… no one should bother Nikolai.”

     “Anya, if you’re unwell, he’ll want to know.” Genya watches her as a mourner watches the grave.

     “I’m not unwell.” Despite her words, Anya’s voice still trembles. “I will be fine. I promise.”

     She’s just about to get out of the bath when she hears the door to their bedchamber clatter open and crash into the wall. Her heart gives a dull, heavy thud as she hears her husband’s panicked voice. She has no energy left to summon any frustration at Genya for giving her away.

     When Anya emerges from the bathroom, a silk robe tied loosely on her slight frame, Nikolai is still standing in the middle of their bedchamber. His chest is heaving as if he ran all the way to her, golden cheeks aflush. His eyes are soft and worried as he watches her fiddle with the ties of her robe. Saints, when is the last time she looked like this? Her cheeks seem hollow, purple bruises like pressed violets beneath her eyes. The weariness in her reminds him of long nights during the war, when he’d grip her tightly enough to leave his fingerprints on her skin and it seemed the sun would never rise again.

     She’s drained. As if that spark of Anya, that light he’d fallen in love with so long ago, has been snuffed out entirely. The woman before him is a hollow shell. Had it been only a few hours since he saw her last? This morning he’d chased her laughing through the sitting room and kissed her against the wall until Zoya dragged him away to attend to his duties. He can still hear her giggling, a sweet phantom sound.

     A servant emerges from the bathroom behind Anya looking upset, carrying a wicker basket overflowing with damp towels. She keeps her eyes fixed on the rug. Anya dismisses her with a small smile and the servant scurries out of their bedchamber, dropping into a rushed curtsey as she passes Nikolai.

     Anya doesn’t look at him until the door clicks shut.

     The look she sends him is enough to shatter his heart completely. Her mouth quivers perilously at the edges, but she’s smiling at him, damn it, as if soothing his frayed nerves is of the utmost importance.

     He doesn’t breathe as she crosses the room to settle gingerly on the chaise, fearful that any sudden movements might spook her. Her honey-coloured hair is swept back, a few tendrils hanging limply around her gaunt face, accentuating the sharpness of her cheekbones.

     “What happened?” His voice is little more than a gravelly whisper. The room feels impossibly heavy. “Genya mentioned you were unwell. Why didn’t you tell me?”

     Anya hugs herself tightly. The sight makes his heart ache. “I wanted to be sure, first. And I am.” The words are quiet. Nikolai doesn’t think he’s ever heard her sound so small.

     He drops to his knees in front of her. Reaching out, he clasps her freezing hands between his own. “Sure about what?”

     She looks up at him through damp eyelashes. Her eyes are bloodshot, her hands are limp in his grip, lips cracked and bitten, and yet he wonders how there was ever a day he didn’t love her. How foolish he’d been as a child, to look at her and not immediately surrender his heart.

     When Anya speaks again, it is little more than a ragged whisper. “I lost the baby.”

     Nikolai blinks at her. His lips have turned numb. “I didn’t know you were pregnant.”

     Anya shakes her head roughly. “I didn’t want to tell you yet. I didn’t want to get your hopes up again.”

     Grief sits between them like a depthless chasm, and suddenly he understands. Nikolai reaches up to cup her face with one hand, sweeping his thumb over the tear-stained skin of her cheek. She sinks into his touch, and it takes everything he has not to splinter into a thousand mournful pieces.

     They both know what happened before. There have been three pregnancies since they started trying two years, and each has left them stained with heartache. After the second, the healers informed them of the harrowing reality; that Anya may well not be able to have children. Not after the beatings she took in captivity.

     Some scars never heal. This, they both know too well.

     “You should have told me.” He wants to scream, to rage, to weep for her. He wants to scrape away all of her pain and take it for himself, to ensure she never hurts again.

     “I didn’t want to. When you didn’t know… When I kept it to myself, I was the only one who could hope and dream and pray about it,” she tells him. She won’t burden him with her dreams, of the golden-haired girl she sees when she closes her eyes or the little boy whose laugh sounds exactly like Nikolai’s.

     A desperate whimper slips out and suddenly he’s on the chaise beside her, sweeping her into a tight embrace. He rubs her back in gentle circles as she buries her sobs in his chest, and drops his lips to her hair as if that will stifle his own tears.

     “Nik, what if I can’t have children?” Her voice is muffled by his shirt, but no amount of fabric could ever disguise the pain of it. “Ravka… Ravka depends on it.” Once upon a time, it would have amused him to hear her care about what Ravka wants. Once upon a time, not that long ago, she didn’t care if this Saints-forsaken country fell into the sea. Now his heart stutters painfully. “You’re going to need heirs, and what if I can’t do it?”

     He wonders how long she has harboured these quiet doubts. How long she has let them fester silently inside her chest. It is so rare for Anya to voice her insecurities. She is a soldier, through and through; stoic and stern, facing the storm with unflinching resolve. When he’d rescued her from captivity and she found her future altered beyond recognition, she hadn’t faltered.

     She is not invincible. He knows the softness of her heart beneath all that armour.

     “Anya…” he murmurs.

     “I don’t want you to wake up one day and regret ever choosing me.” The confession spills out of her quickly, like she’s afraid she won’t say it if she hesitates. When she pulls back, skin blotchy and eyes shining, her expression is almost surprised. “I don’t think I’d survive that.”

     A fierce anger rises in Nikolai’s chest, but not at her. Never at her. His eyes burn with ferocity as he kisses her, harder than he means to, hard enough to bruise. He kisses her as if his lips against hers will make her believe it, as if she can feel the love overflowing from his heart. A heart not big enough to hold it all in without bursting.

     He pulls away, breathing heavily, and presses his forehead against hers. His hand curls around the back of her neck, fingers tangled in loose strands of her hair.

     “Loving you will never be a mistake,” he rasps. “Not to me. Do you understand? I will spend the rest of our lives proving that to you.”

     She shudders against him, half a sob building in her chest. “Nik.”

     He can feel his heartbeat in his throat. There aren’t enough words in any language to convey what she means to him, but he has to try. “And children, children with you, would be lovely. I’d cherish them with all my heart. But only if you want them. Not because you feel it’s your duty, but because you want them. It’s your choice, milaya. And if you do, and we cannot have them, well—” He shrugs, a fleeting smirk passing over his face. “I’m the King. We will figure it out. ”

     Her laugh is small, quiet, but it is there. He wants to bottle the sound and keep it forever.

     “The important thing,” he says, pressing a kiss to her forehead, “is that you are safe, and healthy, and I love you. I love you so much, Anya. Never doubt that for a moment.”

     She crumbles then, collapsing into him as the last of her strength dissolves. He knows she is in pain, and her heart is breaking, and so is his. She weeps quietly as she curls up in his lap and he holds her as tightly as he can, stroking gently through her hair.

     Some scars never heal, no matter the time that passes. But these are wounds they will bear together, and if ever Nikolai is able to ease Anya’s heartache, then by the Saints, there is no force in the world that could stop him.

[ashwhowrites]

Bratty Eddie's ex

Half of it is proofread. I'll do it later

Angst to smut to fluff

"Okay so remember we need to leave once I say because I have that important meeting tomorrow morning then we have to meet the realtor for the house, you cannot be late, got it?"

"Okay" Eddie said smiling, watching as she zipped up his jacket and pecked his lips

"alright let's go"

The couple raced out of their small trailer and out to their car. Heading to the party they were invited to.

It didn't take long for Eddie to get tipsy, dancing in the middle of the living room. Not quite sure where his girlfriend was at the moment.

"Eddie Munson?" Eddie's ears perked up when he heard his name, turning around. Eyes bulging out of his head as he saw his ex from years ago

"holy shit! Jess" He laughed, throwing his arms around her and she hugged him. Jess was his ex from before he met Y/N. The last woman he was ever his old self with. Back when he was dominant, controlling and mean.

"wow! I can't believe I ran into you. How have you been?" She asked over the music

"so good! I have a girlfriend and we are looking at a house tomorrow together! How are you?" He explained happily. He was excited about his future with Y/N. Living in a new home together, making a house their own.

"that's amazing. Good for you. I'm doing well" she smiled, a hand landing on his arm as she congratulated him.

"Eddie hey! Are you ready to go?" Y/N came out of nowhere. Eyes glaring at the girls hand on Eddie's arm.

"I'm actually catching up with an old friend right now. Can we stay a tad bit longer?" He asked, puppy eyes asking her softly

"actually ex-girlfriend" Jess said with a smirk, she didn't enjoy the way Eddie's new girlfriend was drop dead gorgeous.

"oh ex girlfriend? That's....great. I wish we could but it's already late. Maybe another time" Y/N said sharply. Throwing Eddie a look, it was time to leave now. But his eyes looked so soft and pleading.

"five minutes" she snapped, walking off to the car.

"Is she always controlling like that? The Eddie I knew didn't ever take demands from a girl. That would totally take a jab at his manhood" Jess laughed. Eddie felt himself growing uncomfortable. He knew his girlfriend was pissed but he also felt like Jess was right. He was a man and he was in charge of himself. Y/N did tend to control him a lot, but he knew she only did because he liked it. But did a part of him miss being the one in charge? Being the one who told how it was and forced women to comply with his demands?

"I'll be right back" he said to Jess. Downing the rest of his drink as he walked out to the car. The alcohol in his system was definitely a factor for the dumbest decision he was about to make

"are you ready?" She asked, unlocking the car

"I want to stay" he said. Standing his ground

"Eddie, we can't. It's already midnight and I have to be up at 7 for my meeting and you need to be ready by 8:30" she explained. She already had this conversation with him before they even left.

"I don't care. I want to stay. I don't need your permission. I can take care of myself and make my own decisions. I am capable of doing shit without you. I'm letting you know that I'm staying" he said as strongly as he could. Crossing his arms as he looked down at her

"Knock it off. Get in the car Eddie" she snapped. She was slowly losing her temper. She didn't have time for his attitude.

"Y/N, I said I am staying. I'm not asking you, I'm telling you. Jess can bring me home" he growled back. His eyes squinting at her

For once in their relationship Eddie saw something in her change. Watching as her body deflated and her eyes cracking. Was she....was she upset? Her anger faded, he could see her eyes getting wet. Was she going to cry? Fuck, she doesn't cry. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

"consider me told, have fun then Edward" she said, voice cracking as she got in the car, not looking back as she drove home

Edward? She never calls him Edward. He felt his throat close up. He made her upset. He's never once made her upset. Mad? Definitely. Annoyed? All the time. But actually upset and hurting her feelings? He's never done that.

~~

"don't fucking cry" she whispered to herself. Slamming the car door as she walked into the trailer.

He's never once called her by her first name since they first started dating. But hearing him call her by her first name while his ex-girlfriend sat in the party waiting for him to come back hurt her way more than she would have liked to admit. A fling from the past shows up and suddenly she's just Y/N? She usually never gets upset about these things. She knew Eddie loved her and the trust they had was unbreakable. She didn't care that he wanted to stay, it was the fact he demanded it all because Jess was there. Her Eddie loved being submissive and not making his own decisions. He liked to be taken care of, he didn't have it as a child and she was trying to pick up the pieces. He was dominant before her, she knew that. She had a feeling Jess reminded him back to when he was in charge of everything. Did he miss it? Did he actually not enjoy having her as his mommy anymore? Was she actually controlling and demanding? She just tried to look out for him but maybe she's doing it in the wrong way?

A new feeling of insecurity was filling her as she changed into her pajamas. She pulled away the blankets, getting her side ready as she moved to Eddie's side. Preparing to prep his side for bed but stopped. He wanted to take care of himself? Fine. She fixed his side neatly, crawling to her side and cuddling under the covers. Making sure her back was to his side. She didn't want the reminder that he wasn't home.

~~

Eddie was definitely even more drunk when Jess dropped him off. Hanging his head as he saw the trailer coming up

"I think I made her sad" he admitted, a pout on his lips as he unbuckled his seatbelt

"who cares? You are Eddie Munson. You loved making girls cry remember?" She laughed

"that's not me anymore. She....she changed me for the better. I love her and I hurt her feelings" he was disappointed in himself.

"look Eddie, you are a grown up. You don't need mommy to tell you when to go to bed and have a curfew" she mocked. But Eddie hated the way it made him feel. She wasn't "mommy" because she controlled everything. She was "mommy" because she loved him unconditionally. She loved him through his abuse, trauma, temper tantrums, and everything else that made him so fucked up. And he basically told her he didn't need her.

"you don't get it" he said sadly, even more disappointed in himself for staying with an ex when he knew he should have gone home. He could be in her arms, sleeping and dreaming of her. Not sitting in his ex's car as she talked down on his relationship.

He removed himself from her car, walking into the silent house. Not a single light on, that was weird. She always left the kitchen light on for him. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Quietly removing his shoes. His eyes catching the clock on the microwave

2:30

Shit, he thought to himself. He slowly walked into the bedroom, another dark and silent room. He switched on the lamp, seeing her sleeping body cuddled into the blankets. Her back facing him. He noticed his side of the bed was spotless, not pulled, waiting for his arrival. His sad eyes looked from her to the bed and back to her, was he even welcomed to sleep here? He changed into new boxers and pulled the sheets, crawling beside her. Hesitantly moving himself closer. Touching her shoulder as he traced his palm down her arm and around her waist.

"mommy?" He squeaked out softly. A tiny bit of hope that she was awake.

He sighed to himself as he got no answer. Kissing her shoulder softly as he closed his eyes.

~~

Y/N woke up to her alarm blaring. Smashing it off, pissed that she couldn't sleep off her attitude. She looked over and saw Eddie snoring beside her. His adorable face shoved in his pillow, and his hand inches away from where her body was. She tore her eyes away and got herself ready for work.

Not bothering to wake him up and went out the door.

~~

Eddie groaned as he felt his head start to pound. Rolling over to search for his girlfriends body. Frowning when he didn't feel her. He rubbed his eyes as he blinked to the now bright room. Her side of the bed was made, her pajamas folded on her pillow. He sat up and looked around the room. Feeling the need to throw up, he raced to their bathroom. Puking out everything in his body from the night before.

"BABY?" he screamed, holding his hair back as he puked harder. She always helped him when he was hungover. Tying his hair back as she rubbed his back. Puking made him panic. And she somehow always knew how to calm him down.

He sniffled as he heard no response. Reminding himself he was okay. Flushing the toilet and moving to the sink to brush his teeth. He spit out his toothpaste and took out medicine from the cabinet. Sticking his mouth under the faucet to swallow the pills.

He held his head as he moved into the kitchen, his eyes looking at the clock

9:00

"SHIT" he panicked, running into the bedroom. Throwing on any clean clothes he could find. He was late, she was going to kill him.

He raced to his car, throwing it in drive as he sped to the house. His head was still pounding as he got out of the car. Racing into the house

"so the bedroom and bathroom are connected right?"

He sighed in relief hearing her voice. He coughed as he walked up to them.

"I'm so sorry I'm late" he apologized to the realtor, but mostly he meant it for her. He hated that she refused to look at him. His hand slowly moved to grasp hers. Flinching as she crossed her arms the second she felt his hand. He swallowed another lump in his throat. Following behind silently as she talked with the realtor, touring the small house.

~~

He followed behind her as they drove back to their trailer. Quickly getting out as she walked to the front door

"can we talk?" He asked, walking in behind her

"about what?" She said nonchalantly. Sitting on the couch as she turned on the tv

"last night?"

"nothing to talk about Eddie. You wanted to stay and I wanted to leave. That's that" she said, a bitter smile

"are you...mad?" He asked, sitting next to her

"nope" her eyes glued to the tv

He sighed and turned it off, but her eyes never moved to him

"are you sad?"

"I don't get sad" she snapped, arms crossing over her chest

"did I hurt your feelings?" He tried again

"no Eddie. I don't give a shit okay? Drop it" she growled, walking to their bedroom and slamming the door.

She wasn't used to her chest hurting when she looked at him. She didn't know why it seemed to hurt so fucking bad. She thought he enjoyed their dynamic, that he liked how she was so different compared to his past relationships. But maybe they've been doing too long. And he didn't like it anymore.

~~

Eddie stared at the door. Heart pounding. He hasn't been in this position before. He has never seen her so stuck in her own head. Usually he's the one upset and she makes it better with soft touches and a gentle kiss. But he can't even touch her without her flinching away. He honestly didn't think there was anything in the world that could break her down. And he never thought he'd be the one thing.

He knocked worriedly on the door

"I'm getting scared. Please talk to me. I just don't know what to do" he pouted, refusing to stop knocking until she opened the damn door

"figure it out Eddie. Apparently you know what's best for you and can make your own decisions" he flinched at her harsh tone.

Eddie thought long and hard of a plan. Whenever she was mad at him, she'd punish him and they'd be fine. Maybe he needed to beg for a punishment. Help her get the anger out of her system

~~

Around dinner she came out. Cooking silently as she stared at the water boiling

"Eddie, can you grab the sauce from the cabinet?" She asked, her eyes not moving away from the pot

"your legs work" he smirked. Waiting patiently to see how she would react. His smirk fell the second she sighed, moving quietly to the cabinet and grabbing the sauce.

~~

"Eddie can you clean your dish please?" She asked, her eyes looking down at the dirty plate she was scrubbing

"make me" he snapped. Praying she'd turn around with the familiar fire in her eyes.

But just like earlier, she sighed to herself and grabbed his plate off the table, throwing it in the sink as she cleaned it, no words.

~~

"can..can you help me?" He asked shyly, looking up at her as he fixed the broken tile in their bathroom

"thought you could do shit without me" she snapped

Walking past him and back into the bedroom

Yep, he definitely fucked up

~~

Just like the night before he found his side of the bed untouched

He watched as she got undressed. Staring at her naked skin as she threw on her pajamas.

Maybe he just needed to ask?

"mommy, can...can we....have sex?" He squeaked out, nervously biting his lip as he watched her lay down. Stripping his own self down to his boxers

"you can take care of yourself remember" turning her back to him again as she closed her eyes.

He couldn't handle another night with her being so mad at him. He grabbed her shoulder and turned her on her back. Throwing himself on her lap. Trapping her arms under him as he trapped her underneath him

"I'm sorry okay? I don't like this. I don't know what you are thinking or feeling. I'm sorry for everything, for talking back, for staying with Jess" to be fair, he wasn't quite sure what he was apologizing for but he felt like Jess was the main reason

"that's not what I need an apology for" he hated how weak her voice sounded. It was always so strong and confident

"what do you need it for? I will gladly beg for forgiveness. Please let me make this better" he begged. He could feel his eyes getting wet as she looked up at him. That distant look in her eyes

"are you happy with me?" He swore he could hear insecurity in her voice

"of course I am" he said instantly, "why would you ask that?"

"you....you called me Y/N for the first time in like two years. You never call me that. I'm not stupid Eddie, I know that Jess said something to make you snap on me. And I just....I felt like it made you realize you didn't like how we were. That you missed being on top and in charge of everything.... that you don't care for me to be your mommy anymore.... I don't feel good enough anymore Eddie okay? You obviously don't need me anymore and my work of putting you together is done. Fixed you up perfectly for other girls apparently. Tell me you hate how we work and tell me sober that you don't need me anymore so I can move on. Now get off of me" she snapped once she felt her eyes getting wet.

She refused to cry over this. She was confident and independent. If Eddie didn't want her anymore that's fine. She'll be gone in a blink of an eye. She didn't need him....she simply just really fucking wanted him.

Eddie could feel his own heart breaking as her eyes filled with tears. How fast her hard exterior was falling apart. Her arms flying as she squirmed underneath him, trying desperately to shove his body off of her

"no don't move on please don't" he cried, not bothering to hide the fact he was bursting into tears over this

"I love you. I only love you. I was stupid and drunk. I don't like being that old Eddie anymore. I love worshipping you. I need you, and I will always fucking need you. I'm sorry for saying stupid shit I didn't mean. I don't like taking care of myself. I love how we work. I love the way you punish me and ruin me. Test my limits and make me beg. I love that you are my mommy and take the best care of me. I've never felt this much love from anyone ever. You fix me more every day, but I'm fixing myself for you. I don't want anyone else. I don't want to learn to love anyone else. Those girls....i mean fuck they aren't even close to being half of the women you are. They let me treat them like shit, but you have no problem putting me in my place. That's what I need. I love you and I can't let you go. Let me fix this please. Let me show you how much I love you mommy " he sobbed above her

Her arms going weak as she watched him cry and babble over her

"Eddie stop crying" she demanded. She couldn't handle his puppy eyes filling with tears when she's supposed to be pissed at him

"I'm sorry" he repeated over and over, lips kissing her neck as he desperately grinded his body against hers. Kissing the same spot over and over as he whispered apologies

"I'm your good boy and that's all I want to be" he admitted, forehead pressing against hers. Letting his tears fall off of his chin and on her chest

She smiled weakly, wiping his tears

"you promise?" She asked weakly

"I promise mommy" he said strongly. No hint of hesitation

"well mommy thinks you need to be reminded how good you have it" her lips curled in a growl

Eddie felt his cock grow harder as the familiar fire burned through her eyes. The sad and distant look gone as she gripped his jaw

"remind me who I belong to, please" he begged, grinding his hips harder against her

She smirked and flipped them over, leaning back on her legs as she sat up. His body laying underneath her

"who's slut are you?" She demanded, her hand moving down his chest and into his boxers

"yours mommy. I'm your slut" he whined. A big sigh of relief when she took his cock out of his boxers

He waited for the usual praise that left her mouth when she would see his cock when she first pulled it out. But she didn't say a word, gripping his cock in a tight grip. Smiling as Eddie's body squirmed

"ow fuck" he whined. Gripping the sheets as she gripped him even harder.

"shut up" she snapped, moving down his body

Spitting on his cock as she jerked his head

"mommy that's so good" he moaned

"I said shut up" she growled, removing her hand from his cock

"I'm sorry. Please" he begged, watching as she walked away

She rolled her eyes, digging through their sex box for his butt plug, her strap, and her biggest dildo

She walked back to the bed, throwing the toys next to his head. His brown eyes looking over at the toys. Then moving back to her as he heard clothing hit the floor

Her naked body sitting near the end of his body

"I mean it. Shut the fuck up and do not speak unless I ask you too" she said, slapping his cock harshly

He bit his lip as he moaned. Choking back his sounds

He nodded fast, eyes begging to be touched

She took the butt plug, staring into his eyes as she took the plug in her mouth, sucking on the toy

"you want this in your asshole baby?" She teased

"yes please mommy" he begged

She smirked as she shoved it in, not bothering to be gentle

He whimpered as he bit his hand. Loving the way his ass felt full from the plug.

"tell me, was Jess one of the girls you made beg for your pathetic cock?" She asked harshly

"yes mommy" he admitted

"you fucked her rough and hard?" Her mouth spitting on his cock again

"fuck...yes" he moaned when she began to jerk his head again

"did you make her scream and cry?"

"yes mommy" he whimpered

"I wonder what she would think if she saw you. A plug up your pathetic ass, tears in your eyes. " She mocked, her tongue licking up his cock. Sucking on just the tip

"I don't care what she thinks" he groaned. Hands itching to push on her head

"why's that?" She asked curiously, jerking his cock roughly as she stared down at him

"fuck...Jesus" he groaned. Words not making it out of his mouth as she roughly jerked him off

"I...I..oh God" he squirmed

"I'm not hearing any answers"

"because I don't care about her. Just you mommy" He stuttered out

"you cared about her enough to question yourself" she added, angry eyes staring into his wet ones. Jerking him off even harder. Her grip was so tight she could barely move fast

"I'm sorry" he whimpered, puppy eyes looking down as she destroyed his cock with no care in the world. God he loved watching her hand fuck him.

"you will be" she threatened. Her hand only focusing on jerking his tip, making sure he was sensitive from the start

"mommy I can't...you need...not the tip the whole time" he choked out, clenching his teeth as his tiny hips squirmed against the mattress

"excuse me? I don't listen to my brat's demands", for that jerking the tip even harder. Rubbing the skin as she ignored the rest of his length

His hand raced down his body, trying to stop her hand from moving

"you better take away that hand right now" she growled "mommy decides when she's done playing with your cock, be a good boy and fucking take it or I'll stop completely"

"no no! Just please" he babbled out, yanking his hand away fast

If she only focused on his sensitive tip he was seconds away from having to beg to cum.

"fuck my hand you whore"

He whimpered as he slowly moved his hips against her hand. Going at his own pace to slow down the orgasm that was so close to boiling over. Bucking his hips in the air as his cock slid easily in the grip of her hand

"fucking pathetic. I know you can go way faster than that" she ignored his cries, going back to jerking him the fastest she could

Eddie couldn't handle it. Hips squirmed against the bed so bad his whole body was cowering away from her. Hands searching for the headboard to grip, he had no control to what left his mouth at this point. Painfully whimpering as he felt his balls tightening

"you need TO STOP, SHIT" he warned

"don't you dare fucking cum. Sit still and take it" she growled. He was thrashing so hard her grip was getting loose as he flipped his body to its side, taking a sigh of relief when her grip was lost

But in seconds his hips were slammed down, trapped underneath her body. She yanked off the rest of his boxers. Throwing the item somewhere around the room

"you are really testing me today" , a slap down across his right cheek had his toes curling

A loud whimper left his lips

"you want mommy to continue?" Her voice was soft and gentle, a huge contrast to the slap across his face

"yes just please slow?" She looked down at his puppy eyes

Getting close to his face, practically breathing in his breath for oxygen

"you'll take it exactly how I give it" she yanked his mouth open

Spitting directly on his tongue

Without question he swallowed it. Humming as he tasted her spit down his throat

"you will not cum tonight, do you understand me?"

"mommy I can't hold it all night" he admitted. He's never been able to. The second he's either being fucked by her in his ass or if she's riding his cock, he always needs to burst and cry.

"I don't give a shit. You'll do it" she ignored his protests, her hand moving down to his butt plug, pushing it in and out. Her thighs still locking him in place. His asshole clenched around the plug. Sucking the toy back in.

One of his hands moved closer to her chest, preparing to grip her right boob when she smacked his hand

"don't fucking touch"

"MOMMY" he whined pathetically at that. He can't cum, he can't touch her, and he has to sit still. Three things Eddie was never good at

"yeah cry out. Make our neighbors hear how much of a brat you are" she mocked, yanking the plug fully out of his ass, throwing it to the side as she reached for the dildo

"I know how to shut you up. Suck mommy's cock for a little bit"

Once again yanking his mouth open, watching as he stuck out his tongue. She smiled and placed the dildos tip flat on his tongue. Watching as his lips closed around it. Sucking it softly as he moaned

"your bratty mouth loves being filled with cock doesn't it?"

He nodded the best he could. Moaning as she slipped the toy deeper in his mouth, watching as drool made its way down his chin. She leaned forward, licking up the mess he was creating.

She kept it at a steady pace. Thrusting the toy in and out of his mouth. Loving the pop of his lips when he released it. The gagging when she pushed just a tad bit too far. The choking when she held it, forcing him to deep throat it. He tried to put on the best show he could. Keeping her distracted enough to realize he technically wasn't being touched anywhere. Giving him more time to recover from his almost orgasm.

After she made him choke three more times, she yanked out the toy. A line of spit following behind.

She tossed the toy to the side, shoving her own tongue down his throat. Giving him no second to catch fresh air before his throat was filled with something else. He moaned instantly. Letting her devour his mouth anyway she wanted. His hands clenching the headboard hard, nails digging into the wood as he tried to keep his hands off of her.

She made the kiss loud and wet. Grinding her hips against his soft stomach. Eddie felt his stomach clenching, feeling her wetness soak his happy trail and belly button

"oh God" he moaned into her mouth as she began to hump his stomach faster

She pulled away and slapped his cheek again

Throwing her head back as her nails dug into his chest, rubbing herself against his stomach

She moaned his name over and over as her fingers tweaked his nipples. Pinching, pulling, and twisting. Loving the way his bottom half kicked and squirmed

She slowed down her hips as she grabbed her strap, smirking down at Eddie's puppy eyes

"put it on" she spat, throwing it on his chest as she got off of him. Looking down at his soaked line of curls leading down to his cock. She rubbed her wetness further in the small patch of hair, loving how it all matted together

"wait me?" He choked out

"yeah. I want to be fucked so you are going to fuck me, but I want a real cock" she growled

"my cock is better than this!" He defended, sitting up as he held the strap

"put it on" she demanded again, ignoring his argument

"if you want to be fucked then I'll fuck you" he snapped, grabbing her ankles as he moved her down the bed

Throwing the strap across the room as far as he could

Spitting on her cunt and rubbing it in

"you think you are good enough to fuck me?" She teased

"I know I'm good" he countered back, yanking her legs apart as he pushed himself inside of her

Moaning instantly as his cock was tightly held by her. He had to focus on her, he had something to prove

"mommy you are so wet" he whined, laying his body down on hers. Holding himself lightly by his arms next to her head. Snapping his hips fast against hers. Immediately feeling her get tight around him. The moments he actually got to fuck her always made his body shake

"fuck I can feel how hard you are" she whined, her hands thrown around his neck as she moved her hips up to match him

He was desperately pounding into her. Sounds of their skin smacking bounced off their bedroom walls. Moans and whines, from both, filled the space between their bodies.

One thing she knew Eddie hated was when she didn't praise him when he was in her

She refused to let him have this

Clamping her mouth shut as he fucked her. She couldn't deny it, this was the best he's ever fucked her. His hips were smacking into hers so hard. His hip bones practically stabbed her. His patch of dark brown pubes were brushing against her clit and it was driving her insane. The feeling of his balls smacking her ass had her hands yanking his hair.

"come on, I know you want to moan for me" he growled, he used his left hand to hold himself up, his right hand cupping her jaw, forcing her to look at him

Staring into her eyes as he slowed down his hips. Pounding harshly one thrust at a time. He could feel her tits jolting with each thrust but he refused to break the eye contact. He made sure to give each thrust all he had. Making them as hard as he could. Making sure to go as deep as he could. Smirking as her eyes began to roll into the back of her head. Her jaw opening as she let out soundless moans

"come on mommy. Moan for me" he tried again, drilling her harder into the mattress

When she refused to make a sound, he grew more frustrated, sticking two fingers into his mouth then rubbing her clit.

"fuck" she said quietly

It was quiet but he'd take it. Rubbing her clit faster, going back to fast and rough thrusts. Refusing to stop. Clenching his eyes, making sure this didn't backfire on him. He couldn't cum either.

"mommy, come on" he grunted, sinking his teeth in her neck

She held clumps of his hair as she panted beneath him

"mommy please. Say something" he whined, smashing his forehead against hers. "tell me I'm doing good. Please mommy. I'm doing good right?"

She could hear the insecurity laced in his voice. The pleading behind his whines. His eyes were full of determination, his cock was hitting spots she never knew she had. She could practically feel him in her stomach. At the end of the day the man she was hopelessly in love with was begging for some type of reassurance that she was feeling good, and that broke her down.

"I'm close baby. You are doing so good. So fucking good. Mommy is so close to cumming. You going to make me cum?" Her heart beamed as his face lit up

"yeah I'm gonna make mamma cum" he moaned

Smiling as he kissed her lips. Rubbing her clit as fast as he could

"That's it. My fucking good boy" she moaned, her hand moving to his back, holding his ass as she shivered underneath him.

"cum mommy. Cum for your good boy"

"EDDIE GOD" she screamed, panting as her orgasm washed over her. Soaking his cock in her cum as she clawed at his ass

Eyes closed as she threw her head back

Missing the way Eddie smiled down at her, a proud look in his eyes. Watching every detail of her face as she came. The way her eyes shut, her neck thrown back, her nails scratching his ass, her tits being shoved against his chest. The way her mouth opened and small pants of air came through.

He slowly fucked her through it, slipping out of her slowly, hissing as he was still rock hard

"and you didn't even cum. I'm so fucking proud of you" she praised, leaning up to kiss him hard

He whined into her lips. Elbows on either side of her head as he kissed her deeper. One hand still on his ass, the other one cupping his jaw as she leaned up, easily slipping her tongue and moving it against his. He could feel precum leaking, panting as he pulled away.

"I'll never love anyone as much as I love you" he whispered, kissing her nose softly

"dammit. Don't be so cute" she teased, shoving his shoulder

"tell me you love me" he begged, his puppy eyes back in work

"I love you baby" she said, tugging him down against her chest. Rubbing his back as he sighed into her

"did you mean it about no cumming tonight?" He asked nervously

"sure did brat" she teased, smacking his ass as her other hand played with his hair

"mommy" he whined desperately

"not happening" she laughed, tickling his soft skin

"go to sleep and maybe I'll help you out tomorrow" she proposed

He nodded into her chest, trying to ignore that his throbbing cock was inches away from her cunt. A cunt that was still dripping on him.

Digging his face into her neck. Pecking the skin softly

"I'm sorry again for making you feel not good enough"

"it's okay bud. We're okay now" she smiled, kissing his sweaty head

His hand searching for the one in his hair, lacing it with his as he pressed their hands into his face, kissing her hand repeatedly

Sometimes she needed reassurance more than him. And he would never pass up the chance to remind her he was in love with her.

~~

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