#i never know whether to go with more recent sets or older ones or go for a general approach

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹。so this is what it means to be in love | gojo satoru

wc: 8.9k

summary: gojo finds out what it really means to be in love. 

contains: f!reader in mind, friends to lovers (prev. slowburn), suggestive scenes, might be mature/mildly explicit? (i only mention ‘butt’ once though…), ‘being in love’ as a journey, almost like a falls in love first (you) vs. falls in love harder (gojo), they fight, they swear, character death/s mentioned, shibuya onwards spoilers, lots and lots and lots of love

a/n: this is better read after the other parts in the collection but can work as a stand alone too!, there’s a jump between this and tell me about love (show me how) so gojo would have developed a lot in the relationship since then! 

collection masterlist: conversations on love  +02 (extra). look my way, you're what i crave <- you are here + (extended scene) too good to be mine -> 3.5a. this feeling inside of me—

MINORS PLEASE DO NOT INTERACT.

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!)

Gojo catches onto love slowly.

He takes the hand you leave open just for him, and closes the space between your palms, reducing infinity. 

Maybe he’s felt it all this time without knowing; after all, love looks a lot less profound as friends in your early 20’s. 

But being in it—being in love? That’s uncharted territory. 

Gojo’s been to a lot of places, has travelled back and forth from point-to-point endlessly. He’s survived battles, a war, near-death, and cursed spirits reincarnate; he’s got eyes—two bright blue and an extra four hidden, ones that see beyond human comprehension. Unearthing this simple truth shouldn’t shake him, shouldn’t even faze him. If anything, he should have seen it coming—

Except, he doesn’t. 

It sneaks up on him, bit by bit, until he finds that being in love means getting to experience you all over again, just differently.

.

.

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It starts with the little things. 

Gojo has known you for so long (a decade and a few years more), but has only recently begun to notice everything: how your baby hairs stick out in the humidity of summer, the way you purse your lips in thought before finally deciding on a drink to order. You play with your fingernails subconsciously, out of habit, the soft taps on your nail beds an accompaniment of anxious conversations you’ve had since you were 23. 

He knows you always blink twice before focusing on him, and it’s a mystery whether this is a recent development or something he’s just never noticed, but if you’re trying to enchant him by the flutter of your eyelashes, he wants to let you know that it’s working—except, he knows that you aren’t, because you’re just like that: a daydream without even trying. 

These aren’t new things; he’s sure he’s probably encountered them all before, but lately they’ve evolved into cute things, and there’s no hiding the slight curve of his lips every time he spots them. 

.

The sun is beaming brighter this summer, the ocean a faraway blur from the beach towel you set up under the shade. Going to the beach is never your go-to when you think of an extremely hot afternoon, but Yuuji’s been eyeing a weekend getaway since sorcerer work’s lessened significantly. 

‘It’s a good effort,’ Gojo convinces you, ‘to get everyone together again.’

And it is—you see it now: Yuuji and Megumi preparing to fling Yuuta into the water while Nobara and Maki race along the shoreline. Toge stays close to Panda but he watches fondly, eyes crinkling every now and then, happy. 

When you blink, the image of them softens—a captured memory in the heat haze. 

The only older ones here are you and Gojo; Shoko’s always disliked the stickiness of sunblock on her skin, and Ijichi’s new position has made him constantly busy. Somewhere in the distance, you can maybe envision Nanami. He wouldn’t come if you or Gojo asked, but if it were Yuuji—

You rub at your eye, resting your chin on your hand as you will your tear ducts to please, don’t cry. 

Yuuji's been smiling a lot more lately, an observation you note from the way his ears are perked up every time you look his way. It’ll never be the same as it used to be but it’s relieving to know that he can exist living as himself now. Just Yuuji. 

You hug your knees tighter to your chest, wrapping your arms around it. Your place under the coconut tree provides ample enough shade but your back still burns from Gojo haphazardly slathering sunscreen on it after hearing an ice cream stand from miles away. 

The mind is a weird place to be at times like this—split into bittersweet reminiscing and telling yourself to just take this moment and breathe, to live in it. You think about Megumi, and how you hurt for him, always will, for all that he’s lost despite every attempt to avoid it.

You should have been there for Tsumiki, you could have been there for both of them. 

Your guilt never leaves you even on days that shine as vividly as this, but perhaps that’s the silver lining—that they’re still with you, always. You can carry pieces of them to these places, and scatter them to the wind, to the sand, to the sea, and maybe to the ice cream stand Gojo’s waiting in line of, surrounded entirely by kids. They all rise to half his size, but if you squint, you think the bounce in his step makes him blend right in. 

A chuckle escapes you. 

You could sort through your memories and land on one where he looks just like this—freakishly large limbs towering over a tiny, excited Tsumiki. Back then, an ice cream stop after school consisted of your pseudo-family of four, with Megumi on your hand and Tsumiki on his leg, both gripping tightly to combat a chilly 10°C.

Things are different now, evidently. Megumi’s outgrown it, and Tsumiki is no longer here. But Gojo has stayed the same, and it’s comforting to know that he will continue to be this Satoru, your Satoru, even when some things are gone. 

You don’t realize you’ve spaced out until he waves the ice cream cone while walking towards you.  

Gojo is a sight in trunks the color of his eyes, with seahorses and starfishes in an alternating pattern of peachy-pink against cerulean blue. 

You could have sworn you asked for your own cone, but he plops down beside you holding only one. For the both of you. The side-eye you give him is almost criminal, if not deadly, but your lips twitch from the smile you’re hiding (terribly). 

He raises an eyebrow and you break character, shaking your head while laughing. 

“Did you eat the other one on the way here?” you tease, craning your neck to lick at the bottom scoop (vanilla-strawberry-vanilla, Gojo’s signature order). 

Your tongue lands dangerously close to his fingers, and he feels it, but his eyes only land on you—your lips, how they part for your tongue to glide smoothly on his–both of your–dessert. You look every bit of an angel in the soft, pale hues of your bikini, but Gojo’s thoughts are anything but saintly. 

He blushes furiously, the tips of his ears and nose bright red as he turns away from you quickly. 

“I’m fulfilling your dream of sharing an ice cream cone with me.” he tilts his chin up, proud, smirking slightly. He jokes about it knowing full well that this is his dream come true, just by the look of you. 

You stay quiet, rolling your eyes but never meanly, no. You only ever do it fondly—he knows, being on the receiving end of it one too many times. 

The beach towel scrunches when you scoot closer, looping your arm around his as you both rest your elbows on your knees. Gojo holds the cone between you two, tipping it towards you when it’s your turn to lick. 

He shouldn’t stare, shouldn’t hyperfixate, but it’s so cute how you get the tiniest bit of ice cream on the tip of your nose—as if it belongs there, soft and sweet just like the rest of you. 

You look up to find Gojo gazing at you, eyes glimmering like sunlight on the ocean, and a tiny smile that only widens when he realizes you’ve caught him red-handed. Your eyes narrow suspiciously, scrunching your nose in an effort to stop yourself from grinning. 

When Gojo looks at you this way, as if you are his favorite place rediscovered, your heart thumps furiously against your ribcage. 

“What…” you drawl, your smile impossible to hide in the lilt of your voice. 

Gojo thinks he can count every eyelash, every speck of sand dotting your face, and stil not be bored of you. He can’t stop beaming. 

Is this what it means to be in love with you? 

“Nothing.” he replies, almost giggling, a little bashful but with every inch of sincerity. You know that smile, the only one that holds every ounce of Satoru. Gojo smiles big and wide to everyone else, but this small one you know, is reserved just for you. 

He leans in, lips coming closer to brush against the tip of your nose. Your eyes fall shut, instinctively, and the pink dot is wiped clean, a hint of strawberry dancing on his palate. He’s done this more times than he can count, has gotten this near to know that close will never be close enough, but you still jolt a bit—PDA has never been your thing. 

When he pulls away, you continue to stare at each other, locked in a gaze until the ice cream begins to drip down his fingers and onto the beach towel. It misses his trunks by a hair and you both laugh at how he belatedly tries to escape it even though it’s already there. 

It’s indescribable, this moment, seeing you in slow motion, laughing as bright as the sun—the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. It takes every bit of him to look away so he can wipe his hands clean from the dripping dessert.

You hand him a packet of wipes and beckon him to sit in front of you after. Squeezed onto the palm of your hand is a copious amount of sunscreen you plan to slather all over him. A touch-up, if you will. 

Gojo has sensitive skin, pale as bond paper and burns just as quickly. The high points of his face are already reddening, warm to the touch when you dab at them with sunscreen. 

You’re so near, so close, sitting cross-legged in front of him with your knees touching his. The tip of your tongue sticks out just slightly as you focus on his skin. 

Even though he knows, he still wonders what your lips would taste like, SPF chapstick and crumbly bits from the wafer cone. He wonders what your eyelashes would feel like, fluttering over his own. 

The light casts a halo around you and he thinks it’s fitting for all that you do. You pamper him like this, slather love all over his chest and back, massage it in so it dissolves into him—and he feels it so deep that he tastes it.

How can your love be so sweet? He thinks, sighing as your fingers work sunscreen up his neck from his collarbone. You always apply his skincare like this: upwards, gently—‘no tugging, please!’—something about keeping his baby face even when he’s old. 

“You should join them,” you mumble, rubbing more product onto the nape of his neck. You’re leaning over his shoulder, neck brushed against his cheek. 

Gojo hums, watching everyone from a distance. It’s been a while since he’s had a day like this. 

“But maybe after 30 minutes, so the sunblock doesn’t wash off. You’re already burning.” you note, coming back to sit. 

Of course, he’s already burning. How can he not when the sun is right in front of him? 

.

You join everyone for a game of beach volleyball in the sunset of the afternoon. You’re transported back to high school, the last time you did this—you and Satoru against Shoko and Suguru, with Haibara keeping score. 

From the way Gojo’s eyes are glossed over, you can tell he’s thinking about it too, the memory having seared itself into your brains forever, it seems. 

Being paired together should feel familiar—the same, but it doesn’t—isn’t, because Gojo can’t concentrate, sneaking glances to notice all the little things about you that he never used to. Your skin shines from the combination of sweat and sunscreen, and when you crash into him it’s both sticky and slippery. He should really ask for a time-out before you blind him completely. 

You look unfairly good in your bikini, too good he can barely hear you calling for him; between the ocean and his blood rushing, any other sound is drowned out into nothing. 

Maki and Yuuji absolutely demolish the both of you, reaching 15 first in the final set. Gojo blames the loss on you of course, even though he’s missed every pass you’ve sent his way and netted 60% of his spikes. 

And maybe it technically is your fault—you and your (very distracting) little things. But it’s entirely on him that he’s fallen for it, fallen for you as much as this. 

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.

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Gojo thinks of love differently when he sees a picture of himself and all it does is remind him of you.

There’s a photo tucked safely in his wallet (saved and set as his homescreen too). Shoko snorts when she walks in on him printing it, all six-foot-three of him hunched over the small inkjet printer in the faculty room. 

“It’s all digital now, Satoru,” she scoffs, taking a puff on her cigarette. 

Gojo doesn’t say anything even though he knows it’s true, too focused on watching the printer push out the two-by-three inch image he’s about to cut into. 

Print photos aren’t as important anymore when cloud storage spaces are just as–if not more–accessible, but Gojo is admittedly sentimental despite every front he puts up to hide it. 

He’s kept every single gift you’ve given him and camouflaged it as decoration in his office, and the family drawing 10-year-old Tsumiki made is still folded between the pages of a self-help book Yaga had given him when he first decided to teach. 

When every moment is experienced so vividly, seen through a muddle of infinite energies, there are those he wishes could stay still—ones that take up space to remind him: ‘this is real, it happened, and here is proof that it did’. 

He already has one of all of you, fresh-faced and barely pushing the peaks of youth at 16. A tangle of arms wrapped around each other—one of his gripping tightly on Suguru, and the other hanging loosely over you. Utahime is crouched in front, holding the hand you’ve placed on her shoulder while pulling Shoko into a semi-squish-semi-hug (because out of the four of you, Shoko is her favorite—completely valid; if given the choice, she’d be your favorite too). Nanami and Haibara stay close to Suguru, squatting low to balance the photo, and Haibara is smiling, the ever cheery grin Suguru loves to dote on, while Nanami is Nanami—sharp features and a serious gaze that you all know he’ll grow into someday, handsome with age. 

For the longest time, Gojo has kept that photo hidden, locked away in the drawer of his bedside table as if keeping it there means the memory will stay guarded forever—untouched, unspoiled, unruined. 

It would have stayed there if you didn’t stumble upon it while looking for his painkillers during another one of his skull-crushing migraines. 

You approach him with the image hesitantly, eyes damp and glossy. Years have faded the colors ever so slightly, but the corners remain crisp from being stowed away neatly. You say sorry, that you shouldn’t have looked through his things, but you remember the moment it was taken so fondly: a visit to the Kyoto campus on a one-day break to train with other students. 

Gojo has many theories about time and the multitude of spaces it takes—like how a person can exist at different points in time, disparate at each instance, and still take up the same big chunk of space. The opposite can be true too, that someone can live finitely (just once) and occupy spaces in every place you look: the face of a passerby down the road, a sign at the corner of the street, or even a photograph that immortalizes people you once knew. 

He only shares when you ask, aware that he tends to be a bit of a nerd about it whenever it’s brought up, but you don't mind. You like listening to it all, no matter how insightful or confusing they are for you to make sense—a version of him not many get to witness. His explanations are comprehensible for the most part, except—

When Gojo tells you that he’s kept the image in his drawer, hidden, because exposing it to the space-time that exists now will erase every reminder that it ever happened, you hug him tightly. 

Your sniffles are heard from the way his head is tucked into the crook of your neck, your fingers gripping strands of his hair in empathy. 

He considers your near-tears as a sign that the memory is long gone, decayed into the brittling tragedy of reality. But you smile, the corners of your lips bittersweet as you express disbelief that he’s kept it all this time. 

You tell him delicately that some precious things are meant to be celebrated, put out to be remembered—to be experienced. 

And it becomes clearer to him then, by the look in your eyes and remembrance soft-spoken, that what good is a photo unseen? 

What good is a love unwitnessed?

When you gift him a frame a year after finding the photo, he hangs it by the wall next to his office door. The image is painful to look at, always has been (even when it was hidden in his drawer)—during Suguru’s defection, and death anniversaries especially. 

The recent one for Nanami was heavy; the first time he’s ever been able to process grief fully. 

Gojo can argue that it grows more difficult every time he catches a glimpse of it from his desk, but you have a way of honoring pain that doesn’t make it sting as bad—that turns it into a reminder of a love that was once there, of feelings that hurt as evidence that someone cared. 

Now, he wants another photo printed, one of just the two of you. Not because it hurts, but because he wants this precious thing to be remembered and seen—for this love to be witnessed too. 

It’s self-timered, snapped under the shade of a cherry blossom tree in full bloom. The picture is far from perfect: your eyes bright and mouth open mid-fear of his phone falling off the bridge railing. 

You may look a teensy bit funny, but Gojo will always find it cute. Anyone can see it, at how he looks at you in that moment—like you are every bit worthy of the distance travelled and seasons waited. He gazes at you fondly, eyes holding clear skies and pink lips curling into a small smile. 

It’s cheesy, but if you ask him what he thinks about this year’s flowers, he’ll tell you none of them (not even any of them combined) could compare to you. The cherry blossoms could be gone and he’d still see them everywhere (in the softness of your lips, the fullness of your cheeks, the radiance you emit when you are truly, solely content and happy). 

He remembers that afternoon well: the spring breeze that jolts his phone sideways, his hand resting on your lower back, unseen in the image. There’s no real reason for visiting the blossoms on this day of all days, but Gojo doesn’t believe in coincidences, and he’s counted down exactly to a year since you both had your first kiss.

It’s so silly, because he’s never thought of things like this before. He knows you probably don’t think much of it either considering that neither of you have made anything official yet since. 

And he feels a little stupid for that, honestly. 

You have a drawer of his clothes for the nights he stays over (more often than not), and even though you go on these little trips that are so obviously dates, you both still just tell everyone you’re ‘hanging out’.

He’s not fooling anyone here, not when he looks at you then with the feeling of his chest expanding, stretching to accommodate the overflows of his affection since learning the ways to love you—tenderness caught in little pixels of eternity.  

When Gojo goes through all 179 photos from that afternoon, he filters out the ones to delete and picks this one out especially—favorites and resizes it to fit his home screen and his wallet too. 

There’s something about the look on his face that reminds him of every time he’s caught the same one on you. 

He slides the photo into the little sleeve behind his credit card, catching himself smiling—this must be because of you, he thinks, and the bits and pieces of yourself that have somehow become part of him slowly, sneaking into him unknowingly.

If this is what it means to be in love, with you, then he’s fucked. 

Don’t you know that he’s insatiable? These traces of you will only make him want the whole of you. 

.

You find the photo while he rushes to the restaurant restroom. On ‘hang out’s like this, you insist on splitting the bill, but Gojo has always been stubborn and you’ve learned that you can never argue. 

He hands you his wallet to pay with his card, and when you slide it out, the photo falls. It’s face down on the floor when you pick it up, fully expecting it to be a photocard of some idol you know Gojo follows. 

But it isn’t, and your smile widens. 

When Gojo comes back, you’re looking up at him affectionately, biting your lips as if to stop yourself from speaking—the same way he always does. 

It’s funny because, slotted between your two fingers is the photo he’s kind of flustered you found, but he has no time to be embarrassed when he sees a little bit of himself in the way you’re staring at him right now.

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“So, Yuuji asked if we were together.” 

You quirk an eyebrow, looking up at Gojo from the pile of laundry you’ve begun folding on your bed. He emerges from the bathroom, ruffling his hair with a towel. 

Over the past year, Gojo has spent his weekends off with you, sleeping over and traipsing around your room in his pajama set as if he’s lived here just as long as you. 

You snort as you fold, amused that this is even a question to begin with. Yuuji’s always been known for being exceptionally dense, but you didn’t think it was this bad. Gojo was especially touchy with you during that beach trip, and you’re sure Megumi and Nobara have caught up to let him know by now, somehow. 

“What made him ask?” 

“I think he wants to take you away.” Gojo teases, wiggling his eyebrows as he throws the towel on the chair across your vanity. 

You roll your eyes, still sweetly, indulging him, “Sure.” 

It’s now a running joke that Gojo’s threatened about Yuuji stealing you; you’ve always had a soft spot for bright eyes and even brighter souls and Yuuji is as close to that as anyone can get.

It’s not like that though, it could never be; Yuuji is just like your Megumi—the two boys you want to protect and care for in hopes of treating them better than their lives have ever. 

Gojo feels the same, you know, otherwise he wouldn’t have guided them as much as he has (despite his... questionable ways). Still, your hands have always been gentler, kinder—and though shorter, have always outstretched much farther than his. 

You have a way of inching yourself into people’s lives that just fits. He’s experienced it first-hand, can’t even dare to imagine what his life would be like if you didn’t. 

He walks across the room to you, bed dipping as he steadies a knee before draping his entire body over your shoulders. 

Now that you think about it, it makes sense that Yuuji’s confused, because Gojo has always been extremely touchy to everyone, just never when the feelings mattered, with you. Kiss him once, though, and it snowballs into an avalanche of firsts. And what he’s about to do right now, he thinks, might just trigger another one to form all together. 

“As if I’d let him.” he mumbles right by your ear, chin tucked by the crook of your neck. It tickles when he speaks, his nose poking at your cheeks. 

“Who put you in charge?” you scoff jokingly, unfazed. 

He moves away from you in disbelief, mouth open as he stares at you mindlessly folding.

To be fair, he can’t fault you. You aren’t technically official even though you have kind-of-been for a little over a year. There’s no particular reason, just that you haven’t talked about it—part because you wanted him to approach it whenever he was ready, and also, because it just never seemed like a priority.

You laugh as he stares at you, stunned into silence, the pout on his face borrowed from all the versions of yours. 

There’s no point of contention because you’ve only ever loved Gojo since you were 17. 

“Kidding,” you kiss his cheek as an apology. 

“Don’t even joke about that.” he huffs, you’re starting to take after him a little too much.

“You’re mine.” he murmurs after, arms wrapped around your waist and legs stretched out wide to encase you. 

He says it as if it is the simplest truth. 

Your heartbeat quickens, too loud and pounding; this is the first time you’ve ever heard this from him, and a part of you thinks this is just another one of those flirty side-comments he makes on a whim.

“You tell him that?” you hope he can’t hear your voice shake as he nuzzles your neck, your fingers trembling on the pair of socks you have yet to roll. 

He hums, hugging you tighter. He waits for you to finish folding before letting you lean against him, offering his fingers for you to fiddle with. They’re cold, long and slender, veiny just by a bit, and he always gives them to you like they’re yours, you like to think. 

There’s an inhale, a breath of hesitation, before he exhales.  

“Something like it.” 

You don’t say anything, only nod, and it’s nerve-wracking. He’s so nervous even though he knows he doesn’t have to be because it’s just you. And there’s no need to doubt what you’re feeling. But—

“You are though,” he pauses, “right?” 

He has to be sure. This is a testament to you more than himself that he’s learned to ask instead of bulldozing you like he does with everyone else. Who else will he pick that up from but you? 

There’s hesitation you hear that you think shouldn’t be there anymore; the fact that you’ve given so much of yourself to this man and he still thinks you’re unsure—

“‘Cause I’m yours.” he speaks, clearly, definitively, before you can even answer. And you know—you’ve known ever since that party years ago. A simple admittance: ‘I’m taken’. 

You turn around to face him, eyes shimmering. 

Can he see? You’re meant for him only. 

All you’ve ever wanted was to love him; everything else he’s done up until this point is already more than you could ever imagine. The labels can only do so much to capture the gravity of what you are to one another: years of history unpacked into a mishmash of feelings overlapping—it’s a lot.

You sit cross legged in front of him, your knees touching his. He’s biting his lips again, an anxious habit you want to kiss away. 

Gojo has proven far too much of himself already that he’s serious with you—your kind-of-confession, that confrontation, and the days after, all the ways you’ve both learned to love each other. 

You cup his cheeks. 

A single word cannot possibly define what he is to you.

“I mean, o-only if you want me to be.” he adds on, blue eyes darting back and forth.

Gojo runs his mouth almost all the time and you’ve never heard him stutter once in his life. Except now. 

He’s endearing like this—a version of him you are slowly discovering. 

“Wouldn’t be here if I didn’t.” you finally say, and it’s a relief. 

He feels good, releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His arms pull you closer, hugging you tighter as you both smile. 

He kisses you once, twice, maybe a million times all over, travelling across your eyelids, the center of your forehead, down to the corners of your mouth before landing a real one right on your lips. 

Gojo always looks pretty but he looks prettiest like this, worry-free, with love in his eyes and nothing but pure happiness in the way he holds you. 

He won’t tell you that Yuuji asked about your anniversary, not if you were together. 

At least now he has an answer.

Gojo stares at you like he wants to say something, a thank you maybe, but he bites his lips instead. No words will ever amount to this feeling, he thinks, of his chest expanding and heart hammering. So he kisses you with all of it, trailing soft smacks of his lips down your neck, tickling. The tips of his hair are still wet from his shower, leaving droplets on your skin as he nips. 

You laugh—sprinkled in love. 

“S-stop!” you push him away, “Satoru,” giggling, “tickles!” 

“We have to consummate it now.” he whispers, grabbing you by the waist to place you on his lap, squeezing your sides while nibbling at your neck playfully. 

You roll your eyes at his antics, “It’s not–” you laugh out loud when he pinches your hips, “–marriage, Satoru.” 

Oh, if only you knew, he thinks. 

The image you’ve planted in his head is dangerous when he’s this drunk on love right now. 

More decades, more years spent with you? In another life, or maybe even in this one, if time permits, he wouldn’t mind making that come true. 

.

It’s crazy how much things can change—for all his life, he’s ruled out the possibility of love ever taking root in his ribcage. 

You’ve managed to make it feel so easy, so good, even when he was shit-terrified not knowing how to love you like he should. 

Now, he thinks, how could he ever miss out on love this way? A love this good, with you? 

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For all of Gojo’s life, he’s never had to be anyone else—always the strongest, the only one. He’s never had to change anything about himself, because what’s there to improve when you’re already the best?

In a way, this is why it works with you. You’ve taken him as he is, all the good and ugly and never asked for anything more than what he can give. 

But being this in love with you—it’s foreign. There are pieces within him shifting, all on their own without him knowing. 

How he wants to be better, for you. To be good enough to deserve all of it, and give back more of it too. 

Gojo doesn’t realize how much love has changed him until he feels it uprooting every insecurity he never even knew existed, pulling it all up to the surface. 

When things are going great, it’s hard to imagine them ever going the other way. 

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“You don’t mean that.” you mumble, voice trembling.

Gojo stares at you, at your lips quivering and the fists clenched to your sides. There are tears collecting in pools by your eyes, and if there’s anything else he hates in this world, it’s seeing you cry. 

So why?

Why couldn’t he just shut up? 

“Please tell me you don’t mean that,” you take a step closer, gripping the edge of his jacket, ���Satoru.” your voice cracks, begging. 

It’s an out-of-body experience when Gojo registers that he’s fucked up, and he sees himself now, bird’s-eye-view, and thinks this is the worst thing he could do to you after all you’ve been through. 

“I need some time to think,” he says, finally, the only words coming out of his mouth—but he can’t hear himself speaking. 

He should have said sorry, taken it all back, he thinks, not make it worse by leaving. 

He heads for the door, heart crunching under each footstep away from you. 

Is this what being in love’s supposed to do? Break his heart while yours is bleeding?

.

You’re too good for Gojo, in every sense of the word—and he knows it.

You are far too kind, far too generous, far too patient with him. You give him more love than he deserves, definitely, and admittedly enough, with how he is, you have been settling for the bare minimum but that’s on him, not on you. 

He had no right speaking to you the way he did, hurting you with accusations born from insecurities he’s never before had to deal with. 

He knows it. 

Who accuses you of ‘meddling’ as if everything out of you doesn’t come from the goodness of your heart? Of provoking you with ‘chasing the bare minimum’ as if he isn’t aware that that’s all he’s given you to work with? 

Utahime was right in telling you to be careful with him, and he doesn’t blame her for it. He would have done the same. 

He should have told you there was something brewing inside of him already—should have talked to you instead of bursting from all the things people have been saying lately.

Gojo hasn’t spoken to you in three days and the feeling this compares to is worse than anything else he’s ever had to face. 

.

He knocks on your door at night, a little past dinner and too early for bedtime. They echo loudly within the walls of your apartment, and you drag yourself up despite your obvious look of heartbreak. 

Gojo hears your footsteps and everything moves entirely too slowly; the lock, taking far too long to turn, the gap between the door and the door frame widening incrementally. Even your face comes into view as if in stop motion, frame-by-frame, gradually.

His hands are in his pockets, lips bitten to bleed. He’s pretty sure he isn’t breathing when he takes you in—puffy eyes and a sweater that belongs to him. 

(Is it sick of him to say that he still finds you beautiful this way? Even when you look every bit the part of heartache?) 

Gojo didn’t have a plan coming here, didn’t have a list of things to say, just the feeling that he needed to talk to you, see you, even just be around you today. 

When your eyes meet, it’s quiet. You stare into him for one–two–three– (Can you tell that they’re watery? Can you see they’re puffed up too?) and then open the door wider to let him in. You head straight to the kitchen, never once looking back while dragging your feet. 

He stands outside a few seconds more, waiting for you to take it back—but you don’t, so he walks in and closes the door.

He’s been in your apartment plenty of times before, has practically lived in it by how often he stays over. But this is the first time he’s felt wholly out of place, not knowing where to put himself, just standing in the space between your kitchen counter and the living room awkwardly.

You push a glass of water towards him and he can’t stop staring at it—at you, at your fingers that he wants nothing more now but to hold. 

Even with all his faults, all his wrongs, you open your arms for him to walk into, allow him in as if he didn’t just hurt you. 

And he wants to cry, at the fact that this place still feels like home, at how it’ll always feel that way wherever you go. 

How are you still treating him so kindly? Still taking care of him? A glass of water is one too many for someone like him. 

You turn away from him to pour yourself your own then he speaks—

“You should be angry with me.” Gojo says softly, but you hear it. 

You pause, tilting the pitcher back upright. 

“Why aren’t you angry at me?” he says, a little louder this time, more desperate, more pleading.

Why are you never angry at me? he wants to ask. 

You turn around to face him, putting the pitcher down.

Under your kitchen lights, his eyes shine like sunlight on the ocean, waves lapping on the shore. You think it might be a trick of the light, but his lips tremble when he closes them, as if he can’t speak any more. 

It’s just as you’ve said, there’s no point being angry with him when your heart can never take it. 

You always give Gojo the benefit of the doubt, and though he’s hurt you—though this might be the most painful thing he’s told you yet, you know that he’s been under immense pressure lately. Stressed beyond belief from negotiating with the government on policies for jujutsu society. 

It’s not an excuse, you know, but Gojo always has his reasons. He'll tell you eventually, you believe that much. 

You give him a sad smile, struggling to stop your tears from spilling. His fists are clenched too tightly, nails digging in hard enough to bleed. He hasn’t moved since coming in, so you push yourself off the kitchen sink towards him. 

You take his hands first, unfurl each finger pressed upon his palm and rub gently. He cries quietly for a love so pure that only you would attempt to ease his hurt despite the pain he’s dealt you. 

You tiptoe second, pulling the sleeves of your (his) sweater before reaching up to wipe his eyes—beautiful and blue just like you’ve always known, droplets of the ocean at your fingertips. 

“Be mad,” he whispers, “please.” squeezing his eyes tightly. 

It hurts more when you aren’t, he thinks. 

His hand comes up to grip your wrist, bringing it down to cup his cheek. You stroke your thumb across his skin, soothing, loving, and that’s all it takes for him to pull you in. He hugs you tight, arms wrapped around you, clutching. 

He wouldn’t deserve you. In any life.

Gojo’s never cried this much before, head pressed to your neck as you rub circles along his back, shushing him softly. You start sniffling too, small at first until it turns into soft hiccups when you finally cry. 

Your grip on him tightens. 

“‘M sorry.” he mumbles, lips moving against your neck. 

“‘S–” you hiccup, “–okay.” 

“Stop saying that when it’s not,” he presses against you, nuzzling your neck, “I hurt you.”

“Then don’t–” another hiccup, “–call yourself–” hic, “–bare minimum.” you cry harder. 

Gojo knows your heart and the tears that leak out of your eyes; he knows they hold pain for more than just yourself but every single person in your life. You, crying now, is evidence of that truth—shedding tears for him not just because of him when he thinks he’s the bare minimum. 

This must be what it means to be truly, deeply loved, he thinks, to have someone know what you mean without even having to speak it—to know your heart, and all the good and bad parts of it. 

“I don’t think I’m good enough to you,” he admits, pulling himself away from you.

When he sees your face, wet, with your nose and eyes puffed up from crying, he decides that he hates it more than anything else. Makes it sick to his stomach, even. 

He cradles your cheeks, thumbs wiping away your tears. A whole hand of his could cover your face entirely, but he always, without fail, holds you delicately. 

“That’s not–” hic, “–true.” you gather your breathing, holding him by the wrists as he presses his forehead against yours. “Only I get to decide that. Not anyone, not you.” 

You kiss his lips, a small peck before nudging his nose with yours. You soothe each other this way—in the quiet, swaying to your own tune. 

“You’re good to me plenty, Satoru.” you whisper, once both of you have settled. 

He opens his eyes to look at you, smiling sadly as he cradles your face, “I didn’t mean it.” 

Whatever he told you that day, taking it all out on you.

“I know.” you mumble, nodding. 

You always do. 

.

.

.

Gojo has always loved you, in some type of way—as friends, colleagues, a-little-bit-more-but-less-than what you are today. 

But how he feels right now? It’s kind of ridiculous, borderline out-of-hand, and it’s driving him insane. 

It’s such a simple, ordinary thing for you to do: you rush up to him, phone in hand and scroll to some video you found online. You’re so excited, a bounce in your step as if he’s the first and only person you want to show this to. Your eyes shine bright with a megawatt smile to match, and you’re talking so, so fast, completely lit up like fireworks in the making. 

He knows you think that he’s listening but, he couldn’t care less about it honestly. Sorry. Not when the words go in one ear and out the other, because all that registers is how adorable you are, giddy and everything. 

He makes a joke—completely unrelated, but you find it so funny. Then you’re laughing, full on smacking his arm, doubled over, arms hugging your stomach, guffawing. Your feet are kicking the air as you sink deeper into your couch. Gojo’s standing in front of you, post-enactment of some impression he made, and he’s frozen in place but warm all over. 

Seeing you laugh like this, smile like this, being so pretty when you’re happy, the pounding in his chest goes crazy. 

This isn’t the first time he’s made you laugh; he does it all the time. You almost always roll your eyes and chuckle, sometimes giggle with your eyes squinting and laugh lines creasing. But it might be the first time it’s like this: with you so bright, more than the sun and every other star in the sky. 

And he thinks, this is all he could ever want—to make you happy for the rest of his life. 

There’s too much of this feeling inside of him, clawing at his throat, itching to get out. He’s filled with it, has been filled with it for so long that it’s starting to overflow and if he doesn’t say this now he might just—

“I’m so in love with you.” 

Gojo breathes it out, as if finally releasing it after all this time. You don’t think he processes it because he just stands there, in the middle of your living room, staring at you. 

Your laughter dies with maybe a little part of you too (in a good way). 

He looks so sweet, so sincere, and you see his heart, so big, so honest and pure. You get flashbacks of every Satoru you have ever known, at 15, 17, 23, to now. 

It’s not like either of you don’t know; it’s plain as day, how you feel about each other—and you would have been fine going on without ever having to hear him speak of love this way.

But hearing it now, it’s far better than anything you could have imagined. 

You stare at him. He stares at you. 

He’s shocked too. 

You don’t want to embarrass him, especially if he didn’t mean to say it, so you chuckle, moving on to break the quiet.

“I can unhear it if you want,” you offer shyly, genuinely. 

Gojo looks at you, confused, before a pout makes its way onto his face. You sit up on your couch, playing with your fingers as you look up at him.

Sure, he practically blurted it out, maybe in the heat of the moment, or something, but it doesn’t make it any less true. And he’s realizing that the only thing he really wants from this—

“Though…” you continue, biting your lips, “I think I’m pretty in love with you too.” 

The little laugh you make has him, completely. 

The grin that breaks on his face is infectious. Gojo, who is normally so pale, is now pink all over—red by his ears and down his neck. There’s a sparkle in his eyes that can be found in yours too. 

This moment right here feels like first loves—teens first saying ‘I love you’. 

“You think?” he asks incredulously, joking, “So you’re not sure?” he walks closer to you. 

You laugh, candy for his cravings, and take his hand to kiss each knuckle before guiding it to your cheek. He runs a thumb across your skin, affection on his fingertips. His index finger hooks itself under your chin, tilting it to rest on his stomach as you look up at him. 

A kiss to your forehead, tenderly, gently. 

The best part about being in love? 

He gets to be in it with you. 

.

.

.

Gojo can’t sleep. 

It’s not anything new—4 hours on average, maybe 6 on a good night. He doesn’t remember a time when sleep ever came easily.

Sleeping with you, beside you, has helped, but it’s never solved the problem. You’ve gotten him to a full 8 hours before, but never consecutively, and he’s starting to think that if you can’t do it, nothing ever will. 

Your sleeping positions change every night, but they always come out as some variation of hugging. Gojo firmly believes that he might as well sleep alone if you aren’t touching. 

Tonight, you’re spooning, arm slung over his waist and palm right on his chest, fingers interlaced with his. Your legs stay tangled together with soft puffs of air blowing at the back of his neck. 

He opens his eyes and checks the clock by his bedside. 3:24 a.m. 

He sighs deeply, carefully maneuvering his body to slip away from you. You used to wake up the first few times this happened, worried about an emergency or some kind of accident. Being a sorcerer trains you for things like that. 

You’ve always known Gojo had bad sleep, just not the severity of it. 

You don’t wake up to it as much as you used to, having grown accustomed to it after more nights together, but on the off-chance that you do, Gojo always kisses your forehead gently as if to tell you that it’s okay, you can go back to sleep.

You don’t wake up now, thankfully, so he grabs his phone and heads for the kitchen. There’s a sinking feeling in his chest tonight, far heavier than others he’s woken up from. He pours himself a glass of water before hopping on the kitchen counter, ready to sort through the bowl of candy sitting on the island. 

The date today is October 31. Halloween. It’s been a few years since Shibuya but he still feels like he’s suffocating. 

In the train station. In the box.

In front of Suguru—or Kenjaku, both, whatever. 

He’s gone to therapy, just like you wanted, for the both of you, and grieving has been an interesting concept to wrap his head around since.

But no matter how much he trains his mind to deal with it, his body will always remember the feeling. 

He snaps out of it when he hears your footsteps padding on the floorboards. Your figure emerges from the hallway, bed hair and eyes still sleepy, squinting. 

“Satoru?” you rub at your eyes, his sleep shirt entirely too long as the sleeves extend past your fingertips. The extra fabric swings in the air. “You okay?” you whisper, approaching him. 

Waking you up is the last thing he could ever want right now, but it’s hard when you’re also the only one he can talk about this with. When you know what it’s like to grieve everyone too.  

He has every intention of brushing it off, of telling you to go to sleep, but one look at you—one look at him and it’s like you just know. He doesn’t even need to explain. 

It isn’t hard to piece together, knowing what today is and seeing him choked up the way he is. You tell Gojo it’s your intuition, but he has a tell, and maybe you’re the only one who knows it. 

His eyes—they’ve always given him away. There’s the Satoru you know, then a Satoru that’s far removed, gone away. You can spot it though, the moment it loses its sparkle, the moment it turns from blue to gray. 

He feels a little selfish sharing this with you; he’s not the only one who’s lost people. You have too. 

You stand in front of him and offer a sad smile, outstretching your arms as an invite, as if to tell him: you can stay here for as long as you’d like. 

He moves into your space slowly, hopping off the kitchen island to slump against you. 

He doesn’t hug you yet, not immediately, hands still shaky at the memory. You rub his back, hooking your chin on his shoulder as he bends down to rest his head by your cheek. 

You take his hand delicately, bringing them to your lips so you can kiss every fingertip gently. When you finish, he wraps his arms around you, squeezing tightly. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” you whisper, like a hushed secret. 

And he wants to, but also, there isn’t anything else to say that you don’t know already. You were there the first few times he had therapy, and when he felt comfortable enough to go alone, he told you all about it anyway right after. 

If there’s a secret to fighting the Gojo Satoru with guaranteed victory, they’d only have to get to you—he’d be gone, entirely. You know too much of him, own too many parts of him already. 

He chuckles dryly, vibrating by your neck. A step back and he’s leaning against the counter, bringing you closer by the hip, thumb stroking. He tucks away strands of your hair behind your ear, flattening down the bird’s nest that it is from your sleep. 

“Nothing you haven’t heard before, pretty.”

Gojo’s been more tender lately, especially in the night when his piercing eyes turn soft, gazing. 

You pout, the same one since you were 16. You don’t know if you’ll ever get used to it, the way he calls you such sweet, honeyed things; you’ve only recently begun to call him ‘baby’ and that alone has been enough to make your head spin. 

Still, he wouldn’t be your Satoru if he didn’t surprise you. With how he is now, it’s hard to imagine a time when this was all so difficult for him, when even the slightest bit of your hands touching was challenging. 

It’s hard to imagine that both of you are here now, living in the same space, by the kitchen at night, with the contents of your hearts memorized—the sorrow, the pain, the joy, all the love, every single one. 

He kisses your nose, and that’s comfort alone. 

This is his reality now, with you, and it’s safe.

It’s good. 

“Do you want to make waffles?” he hears you mumble, running your hands over his chest, soothing.  

The clock reads 3:56 a.m. Early breakfast doesn’t sound so bad, could also be a midnight snack.

(But he knows what you’re doing). 

You don’t tell him to try to go back to sleep, never forcing anything you know he can’t do. Instead, you offer yourself to stay up with him, keep him company. Whatever he needs. 

(And he loves that about you). 

.

.

.

Gojo will forever argue that you might have fallen first, but he’s definitely fallen harder. 

He could map out every single location he’s laid his love on—your eyes, the flutter of your eyelashes, the curve of your nose, and your lips, the same ones he’s kissed and nipped, bitten until he gets his fill. 

Your neck and chest—a canvas for his desires. He glides a finger across your collarbone before lightly tapping on it thrice. 

There’s the little dip at the base of your spine, and your thighs—

Oh, he could get lost in them. 

He knows. 

He has. Many times.

There’s an animal inside of him that only answers to you. 

When you kiss his neck and grip his back, soft moans by his ear—short and sweet. He’s a gone man, wholly devoted to you, and you only. 

You breathe his name out, “Satoru,” raspily, and he sinks into you—everything, all that he has spilling in the depths of you. 

How can he possibly contain all this love?

It’s scary how so much of him already belongs to you, all these years—how you’ve been carrying pieces of him, all versions of him throughout every birthday, every moment you’ve touched his life and have it irrevocably changed. 

.

“Are you happy?” he mumbles by your ear, voice deep and lazy. 

It’s the morning, sunlight barely peeking through your curtains. Gojo hugs you from behind, arms caging you as he traces little hearts on your sides. 

“Right now?” you whisper back, chuckling, “That’s not fair.” 

He nips at your ear, a small bite, before you turn to face him.

He supposes you’re right, it isn’t fair to ask that now; both your bodies are sore, well-exhausted, and littered with conversations on love. 

Gojo is pretty in the mornings just like he is all the time, his hair lending well to sunlight as much as it does to the moonlight. And his eyes—they shine a different shade during the day compared to the night. 

You though, you’re an entirely different creature of your own: a goddess in bedsheets and pillows, wrapped in immaculate white.  

You giggle when you face him, nose-to-nose, and he pulls you in tighter, grips you by the butt to slot you in right where you belong. 

Are you happy with me? 

He wonders, and you can read it—his eyes his greatest tell. You kiss him tenderly, lips moving gently against his. Then you smile, sincerely, before whispering—

“Wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”

this is a re-upload! (because i accidentally deleted the original one!) thank you notes: to @stellamancer for being there since the very start!! col wouldn’t even exist without you!! you’re every much part of the creation of this as i am :'), to @crysugu for being so ever supportive, cheering me on all the time!! and for loving col reader as much as i do!! and to you reading this and everyone else who has loved this collection so far!!  of course!! a credit to all the writers whose works have inspired the way i view and write gojo: to @seravphs for teen dad!gojo and cruel summer influences, i draw so much of the way i understand these characters and their dynamics from you and your beautiful way of writing them and i hope my interpretation gives justice to that!!, to @augustinewrites for keeping up with the fushigojos, this series and the way you write them, with so much love, has always pushed for me to view gojo that way!! you’ve inspired so much of my understanding that gojo does believe in love and that when he falls in it, he falls in it hard!!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[mvrkieboo]

Old Bloodhounds

P23 | i realised that day that she in fact had two

The ride to the bar was kinda tense. Mark knew it required more than a few sips of alcohol to loosen Yuno up. It must've been a shock to the guy. Yuno honestly thought of Mark as a brother, so Yuno's heart went still when he saw Mark wearing matching cardigans with y/n—his estranged sister that abandoned their father and Yuno himself without a second thought, betraying her family just like how her mother did.

When they got to the bar, a few shots in, only then did Yuno begin to speak again.

“Be honest with me, Mark—did you really see her again just recently? At that pop up coffee spot she ran?” Yuno asked, and downed another shot of vodka to prepare himself hearing the answer.

“Yes, Jae. It hasn't been more than a week since I met her again. I'm sorry if this cardigan made you think I had been dating her behind your back, but I wouldn't do that to you.” Mark sighed, signaling the bartender to refill his glass.

“It wasn't just the matching cardigans, Mark. You arrived at the lobby together, and she was smiling. Even without the matching cardigans, it looked like you just had a date.” Yuno decided to take a break from the drinking, self aware of his own high tolerance with alcohol.

“She was smiling?” Mark stilled, turning his head to look at Yuno for added clarity.

Yuno, sensing how Mark was taken aback with his statement, looked back at him.

“She was. You didn't notice that?”

“I was busy staring at you—your text gave me a fucking heart attack, dude. Besides, what is she smiling for? We literally argued just right before entering the lobby.” Mark scrunched his eyebrows, messing with his hair as he wondered the reason behind your smile.

“Really? Was it an argument or a bicker? Jesus—this probably means you never noticed the crush she had on you back then. Or maybe she still does have a crush on you—maybe that's why she smiled when you weren't looking.” Yuno chuckled bitterly, reminded of a past when his sister was still his sister, and not the spoiled stepdaughter of a wealthy man she was now.

The same spoiled rich kid he was living with.

Mark froze completely, setting his glass down on the counter. It felt like all of his memory of you was getting warped inside his mind, despite the fact of how much he had refused to remind himself of the time when he had been close to you. Not ever since you moved away to Gangnam.

“Oh, shit. You actually never knew that, did you?” Yuno's smile dropped after he saw Mark going blank at the reveal.

Mark looked like he was having a hard time coming to terms with the information, but at one point, he picked up his drink, and downed the whole glass in one go. After he set the glass back down on the counter, Mark shook his head, realising that him agonising over this sudden reveal was pointless anyway.

“Well, it doesn't matter, whether she had a crush on me or not, and if she still does. She already has two men that keep her entertained now, so—I don't find it attractive to be the third.” Mark snorted, placing his elbows on the counter.

Now it was Yuno's turn to go blank. When a sudden beat of silence halted their conversation, with Yuno now deemed speechless, only then did Mark realise his mistake. Sure, you and Yuno were estranged siblings, and haven't spoken to each for 5 years—but that wouldn't completely erase the fact that you were still siblings bound by blood, so what sane older brother would be nonchalant at the fact that their younger sister is being entertained by two men at once? Especially when Yuno didn't even know who those men were.

“What?”

Mark winced at his friend's absolute dumbfounded tone. He should've put a tighter lid on that info. Mark dropped his head and hung it low, quietly cursing himself at his carelessness.

“Mark, you can't just say that and suddenly go quiet now!” Yuno hissed, smacking on the younger man's shoulder.

“I didn't mean to say that! Look, me and Y/N were working on our bureau task together the other day and finished it by the evening. Y/N asked me to keep her company while she waited for her ride, and I only agreed because it was getting dark.” Mark explained carefully, and Yuno was all ears.

“A Ford truck pulled up—and it was these two dudes who looked like they were in their early 30’s. They offered to drop me off as a thank you for accompanying her—it was obvious that these two dudes were really close with her and protective over her too. Y/N had forgotten to bring her access card that day, and one of them gave her their spare access card for her unit.

Me and Y/N share some mutual friends, and apparently, her friends have some suspicions that she might have a sugar daddy…I realised that day that she in fact had two.”

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

It was weird to call them ‘shifts’. They weren't shifts, but in fact tasks—but it sounded shady to refer to them as receiving a job for the night. So that's why you and the crew referred to them as ‘shifts’—because receiving a text that reads ‘hey, we have a job tonight’ made it sound like you were involved with Seoul’s underworld as either a hitman or a drug runner.

However, it didn't mean your ‘shifts’ were any less riskier than actual underworld work—because your ‘shifts’ entailed you interrupting an underworld worker's job. Helping relocating and hiding a victim of Seoul's ruthless loan sharks was playing with fire, and helping the police in tracking down those lowlifes was a sure way to have a bounty placed on your head.

And that's why every time you're out on those nightly shifts, you always focus. You can't afford to get distracted while on the job since the victims depend on your crew to keep them safe. The adrenaline of knowing that those bastards might catch up to you would have you hyper focused and alert.

So when the job was done for the night, you'd crash out, and that was exactly why you were sleeping like a log in the truck's backseat on the way back as Geonwoo drove. They made a quick detour though, ordering some fast food through a drive-thru on the way. It wasn't the healthiest choice for a really late dinner, but it was all they had at the moment.

Woojin was the one that carried you on his back for tonight, only because Geonwoo had been the driver for tonight's shift. When they got to your unit, Geonwoo placed the fast food orders on the counter and took them out while Woojin placed you on the couch and shook you to wake you up.

“Kid, you need to wake up. Have your dinner first.” Woojin spoke in an exhausted tone, and you only woke up because your stomach was beginning to hurt from your gastric condition.

You groggily walked to your kitchen counter and began to unwrap your food.

“What time is it?” You asked flatly, mouth still full of food and some even splattered on your counter as you spoke.

Geonwoo sighed and wiped your mess away with a tissue, “It's barely 1 a.m.”

“We left at 8 though.”

Woojin pinched your cheek when more food pieces splattered on the counter, “Stop talking while eating, dumbass. At least swallow it first.” He sighed shallowly, “Geonwoo stopped for a moment because he was getting leg cramps.”

“I see—”

Suddenly, all three of you heard your door unlocking. When you snapped your heads to see who it was—it turned out it was Yuno coming back from drinking with Mark.

Your older brother froze when he saw you eating with two older men he didn't recognise.

Were these the sugar daddies Mark talked about?

A beat of silence, then—

Geonwoo walked up to Yuno, and Woojin followed suit while you were left at the kitchen counter, your sleep-addled brain processing what was happening.

Geonwoo stretched out his hand with a tight smile on his face, “Nice to meet you, you must be Y/N’s new roommate. I'm Kim Geonwoo and he's Hong Woojin—we live right next to your unit.”

Yuno's reminded of what Mark said—

“You know, when I asked Y/N about them, she said they were her neighbours. That kinda put me off a bit because these guys were really closer to Y/N than I initially thought.”

Yuno shook Geonwoo's hand. Geonwoo's smile widened when he felt Yuno tight's grip.

“I'm not just her roommate—I’m her older brother. Nice to meet you two, my name's Jeong Yuno. The gamjajeon from this morning was delicious.”

Yuno's smile was anything but friendly.

prev | masterlist | next

A/N : yuno thinks he's acting tough but all he's doing is making a fool out of himself like—

also, the normal smau format will be reinstated in the next update y'all, so say goodbye to all these words on your screen 👋🏻

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

• taglist • [CLOSED]

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[jymwahuwu]

Hello, it's my first time asking and it took me a lot of courage to do this. So I recently had a thought about what if the reader and Jing Yuan were childhood friends and she used to tease him a lot when they were younger but then she did something to get exiled from the Xianzhou and became part of the stellaron hunters but came back with blade and Kafka like in the story but after the whole phantiliya battle was finished she still stayed on the Luofu for awhile for nostalgia but got captured by the cloud nights and she was sent to see the general himself. But all this time the reader thought the general would have hated her for what she did but instead of hating her he was waiting for her to come back so he could see her and tease her like how she did to him. Idk if anyone else has already sent an idea like this but I just wanted to share my thoughts and I think it would be a pretty interesting storyline. Sorry if I was rambling but it's okay if you don't write abt this I'll be fine if you just gave some thoughts about it. Thank you for reading this idea of mine and don't worry about answering fast I know you have a lot going on in your life so just take care of yourself! (Also sorry if there are some things that didn't make sense I'm too scared to look back at what I wrote)

Love this idea!! It’s interesting and you expressed it clearly. Don't be afraid <3

Ah…turning the tables…my favourite 🤤😌 please provide me with more

-CW: yandere, non-con, kidnapping, threaten

In childhood, you and Jing Yuan were friends. Jing Yuan has precocious wisdom and is out of place among his peers, but you don't respect him. Maybe just…jealousy? These are for some childish reasons, maybe he gets perfect marks every time, he gets candy but you don't, and parents on both sides compare you to him. In your eyes, Jing Yuan is just a white-haired little boy who is similar to you. You occasionally pull his soft white hair, make him some strange braids, and often tease him, such as giving him nicknames and laughing at him. The strange thing is that Jing Yuan has never been angry with you and is as tolerant to you as the ocean.

As you grow older, you gradually drift away from each other. You also know that he joined the Cloud Knights and eventually… succeeded general. Seeing him on the Space Channel, the childhood friend you used to tease, became one of the leaders of this space civilization, and you had really mixed emotions.

You have taken your own path in life, become a member of the Stellaron Hunters, and fallen into the gray area. You and the members pick up Blade and accept him as a new member. I heard that he used to be Jing Yuan's best friend, but when you asked him about it, you found that his memory was also blurred.

Just like you.

Looking back on the past and reviving those faded memories, you are a little unsure whether Jing Yuan really never got angry, or whether you subconsciously beautified this memory. How can this be? He definitely hates you.

Before setting off back to Luofu, Elio's message said that this time the script is about Kafka, Blade and you. He tells you to be careful of General Luofu because this time you have only one fate, which is to be [caught], and only this fate can continue your destiny. It seems that most of the details are no longer visible, and your fate is shrouded in mist. You couldn't help but feel funny and told them you'd be fine.

What can Jing Yuan do to you?

However, the wanted portrait is indeed painted lifelike, in Xianzhou's traditional style. It's hard not to think that Jing Yuan provided an extremely detailed proposal in painting the wanted poster about you. It's kind of creepy.

You rescued Blade according to the flow of the script and met with Kafka. While they went to find the rumored Imbibitor Lunae, you spent some time reminiscing on Luofu. Just a moment. The moment you stepped into that familiar place, you immediately fell into unconsciousness. There was a very slight tingling sensation on your neck, like a small ant biting you, and then you fell into the boundless darkness.

When you woke up… your wrists were already locked with iron chains wrapped in feathers, right at the head of the bed. If you don't pay attention, the chain can even become invisible. Accompanying it was the general's narrowed smile, a little mocking but still gentle. The enlarged smile is right in front of you.

"Jing Yuan?! What are you doing?" A kiss electrified your heart. You watched in shock as your childhood friend held the back of your head and kissed you, lingeringly, lovingly. His eyes were closed, as if he was enjoying it, murmuring your name while kissing you. You pushed and kicked him, but he enveloped you like a quilt, crushing you. He places you in the mating position and bottoms out his cock inside you, emptying out his long-unreleased seed.

"Jing Yuan…? Stop! Stop this…"

Jing Yuan won't stop teasing you - you are too cute for him and that doesn't change. He continued to whisper lewd things in your ear, and occasionally lied about having sent a video of your orgasm to people who hated Stellaron Hunters. Your eyes were as wide as a frightened deer and you sucked his cock with resignation, tears falling. And the number of orgasms is so humiliating, you always deny it… You will not lose to the Jing Yuan you used to tease…

Jing Yuan likes you, but does not deny the possibility. Maybe Jing Yuan once really hated you, maybe he hated you during those teasings, but a long life is like peeling off the peel of a fruit in the end, revealing the crystal clear flesh inside. What remains are those sparkling memories. Your bright smile stayed in his memory.

[urperfectcinnamonroll07]

Baby, You're Like Lightning In A Bottle

requested?: no pairing(s): Jake Sim x afab!reader genre: Fluff and a smidge of angst, smut, college au, non-idol au warning(s): mentions of an age gap (not hugely mentioned, jake is older than reader), angry love confession in the rain (i think that should be a warning for all those romance book readers out there), smut, praise kink, two damn idiots in love, reader thinks jake is in love with someone else, jake nd reader get into a fight, pussy drunk jake(ish), oral (f&m recieveing), acarophilia, size kink, breast play, facefucking(?), squirting, hair pulling (ish), jake holds readers hand through her first time (yes, this is a warning, shush), body worship(ish) summary: 𝘫𝘢𝘬𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘥𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘢𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘸𝘢𝘺𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘧𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴, 𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘵𝘭𝘦 𝘥𝘪𝘥 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘣𝘰𝘵𝘩 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸, 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘺 𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘤𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘦𝘢𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳'𝘴 𝘳𝘰𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘤 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 word count: 3.6k (HOLY SHIT) a/n: so sorry the fic was not out for a while guys! i got caught up in bridgerton and completely forgot to start writing lmao. (plus i just suck at love confessions) hope you all enjoy, remember to eat and drink something, love yas, mwah! (p.s WTF THIS IS PROBABLY THE BEST IVE EVER WRITTEN)

you and jake had always been best friends for a while, since you were born. he was a few years older than you, so he had always taken responsibility over you. Every heartbreak you went through, he was there, every date who stood you up, he was there. every fight you had with your parents, he was there. every single event that happened in your life, he was there.

even when you didn’t want him to be, even when you were angry at a stupid little boy for breaking your heart, he was there and you could not deny that you felt something towards the boy.

little did you know, jake reciprocated those feelings, because, everything he was there for, you were there for more. through everything. when his first girlfriend cheated on him, when he got stood up from dates. you were there through every heartbreak, every fight. you two were always there for eachother.

recently, you hadn’t been paying that much attention to your own love life and needs, mostly getting other people together and giving relationship advice even though the only ones you had ever been in were toxic. you were really good at paying attention to other people and how their body language changed around the people they liked, whether it be romantically or platonically. You were also really good at noticing how fast jake had fallen in love with a specific girl, lily.

you were heartbroken, naturally, but you did what had to be done. you had tried to set the two of them up over and over. lily had never shut up about how much she liked jake, no matter how many times you ignored her and made it obvious you could not give a single fuck about how much she loved jake.

you didn’t care because you loved jake. nobody knew him as well as you did. but, lily was your friend and so was jake, so you set them up. or at least tried to.

jake had just gotten back from a date with lily, and by the looks of things, it wasn’t a good one. the thing was, you hadn’t told jake a very crucial piece of information. you had gotten accepted into a university that would help you take on your dream job, but it was in london, and since you were both in college in new york, it would mean having to move ages away. jake was pissed when he came back, claiming the whole date was just shit because lily had only talked about herself the whole time and knew absolutely nothing about jake.

you had tried to calm him down and convince him to go on another date, but he just ended up blowing up on you. so you shut up, taking your coat and leaving your and his dorm. it was storming outside, and you needed to blow off steam, and try to calm yourself down before you did anything drastic which you would definitely regret later.

“where are you going?” jake said, following you outside. everything had built up recently and it just now had hit you how much you had been neglecting your own feelings compared to everyone else’s, so you ignored his protests and began to walk to your favourite café. “c’mon, sunshine, you can’t run away forever”

“i got into a university in london” you blurt out. jake looked at you as if you were joking, it was obvious you weren’t, you sighed deeply and turned away from him. “i didn’t tell you because i wanted you to be happy with lily for a while before i left”

“so you were just gonna leave without saying anything?” he says. you couldn’t tell if it were tears or the rain, but something was beginning to fall down your cheeks. “answer me!” he close to yells.

“yes! yes, okay, i was going to leave without saying anything. i didn’t want to make you sad when you had lily” you almost yell back.

there was a pause between the two of you. you could see the gears turning inside jake’s head. it took him a while before he decided to speak again.

“what about me and lily?” he says, taking a step closer to you. you were both at a safe distance from eachother, but another three large strides could change that. you, however, stayed rooted to the spot.

you furrowed your brows in confusion, stammering out a response.

“i… i thought you liked lily? she likes you, so i set you two up” you say. yup, it was definitely tears.

“no? i don’t like lily, well, not like that at least” he pauses “you’re too caught up in matching other people you forgot about yourself. your own needs. you need to find love too, sunshine” he takes a step closer to you, this time you react, taking a step back to distance yourself.

“lily loves you” you whisper “i can’t do that to her” you take another step back.

“for fucks sakes, when will you put other people aside and do something for yourself?” jake says frustratedly.

there was a beat of silence, then two, then three. none of you spoke. you felt like you couldn’t breathe, even though there was so much air. you turned away, running a hand down your face.

“its you. its always been you” jake speaks, you turn around.

“what?” you ask in a tired tone.

“i am in love with you” he takes a step towards you “ever since we were friends as kids. ever since we met eachother, i have been madly in love with you, sunshine. i have never been able to get you out of my goddamn head, and it kills me. it kills me to know you tried to match me up with someone just because you refuse to believe that it is you who somebody is in love with, its you that i am in love with. you have never left my head, your face, your body, your voice. you are the kindest, selfless person i have ever met. you put yourself before anybody else because you don’t like the thought of people getting left out. you always make everyone feel included even if it means you miss out, because you don’t want someone else to be the outcast. your eyes glint when you laugh, you scrunch your nose when you taste something you don’t like, you furrow your brows and bite your lip when you’re concentrated on something” you didn’t notice until now how close he had gotten.

you gasped softly as his fingers met your chin, his thumb and index finger lifting your face up so you were looking at him.

“i love you sunshine, and nothing will ever change that” he whispers before closing the gap between your faces. both of his hands were firmly placed on your cheeks, keeping you in place where you were.

it took you a few seconds to register what was going on, your stomach erupted in butterflies, your body went tingly and your knees almost gave out, but you steadied yourself by wrapping your arms around jake’s neck. it was almost subconscious the way your lips moved against his, the kiss was soft and languid, nothing like you had ever felt before. the kiss was loving, sweet, something that your past relationships never had.

by the time you both pulled away, you were panting a little while gazing into eachother’s sparkling eyes.

“i know everything about you, and you know everything about me” he whispers, “i know what you want the most”

“and what’s that?” you questioned, whispering with him.

“you want love. you want a man to scoop you off of your feet and bow down to you. submit to you” he whispers, his face slowly getting closer and closer to yours, the smirk was evident on his face “but right now? right now your eyes are telling me you want me to take you right back to our dorm and fuck you the way your tight little pussy deserves” then it hit you.

you were eighteen, he was twenty-two, and you were a fucking virgin. by the look on your face, jake’s smirk widened. of course he knew you were a virgin, the both of you told eachother everything, like, everything. he told you the first time he had sex, hell, he even told you what he was into during sex. when he had asked you, you tried to steer off topic, but that’s when he asked if you were a virgin and you said yes, very bashfully. but jake left it, you hadn’t revisited the topic, well, not until now.

“jake i’m-“ he cuts you off.

“a virgin? i know, sunshine. you don’t need to worry, i’ll take care of you” he smiled before lifting you up by the backs of your thighs and wraps them around his waist, supporting your full weight with his large hands on your ass.

it didn’t take long for jake to be kicking the door open to your dorm, kicking it shut behind him and wasting no time to lay you down on the bed. he leaned down to kiss you again, groaning against your lips when your hips involuntarily rolled up into his. you had your fair share of make out sessions, but you didn’t know how to do the full thing.

jake pulled away and looked at you a smirk was still playing on his face. he didn’t waste any time in attacking your neck with kisses, leaving small red bites that would be sure to leave a mark by tomorrow. he kissed down your collarbone, nipping and sucking as he travelled down.

both your clothes had stuck to your body due to the rain, so he had to put a lot of effort in to peel your top off of your body.

“god, you have no idea how long i have been waiting to do this” he whispers against your chest, his hands reaching behind you to unclasp your bra (which he was somehow very skilled in and got it off almost immediately). he attached his lips to one of your tits, sucking and licking the pebbled bud, and massaging the other in his free hand. you let out lewd moans as he did so, and he eventually switched over to the other tit, giving it as much attention as he did the other, before beginning to kiss down your body again.

as he slowly moved down, he whispered soft praises like “so gorgeous” or “so soft and pretty for me, sunshine” before he reached the waistband of your pants. he looked up at you through his lashes before you nodded softly, giving him the answer he needed in order to carry on. again, jake had to peel off your pants, along with your panties. as he got the pants down to your ankles, he sat up on his knees, taking one of your ankles in his hand and taking your shoe off, then moving your pants off fully, before repeating this action on the other. he left small pecks on your shins as he did so.

it didn’t take long before he was settled in-between your legs again, face to face with your glistening cunt.

“god, you’re so wet for me. so pretty sunshine” he muttered, kissing the insides of both of your thighs before moving to your clit, leaving a small peck on it. he smirked as you bucked your hips towards his face and let out a small whimper.

jake decided he had probably teased you enough and grasped at your thighs, pulling you towards him before his mouth attaches to your pussy, licking a thick stripe up before flicking his tongue against your clit. you moan out, your left hand coming down to his hair and tugging gently. with this, jake drifted his hand up to your chest, allowing your right hand to latch onto his finger. you held his index finger in your hand, your full hand wrapping around it.

“so small” he mutters against your cunt, making you squirm in his grasp. jake doesn’t let up, keeping up with sucking and licking at your cunt, your juices dripping down his chin. your moans began to get higher in pitch and a lot more frantic as he made his tongue go faster, fucking it in and out of you, his nose bumping your clit.

you soon felt a tight sensation in your stomach, your pleasure eventually drove you over the edge. and before you knew it, your eyes were rolled back, your head thrown back along with them. your back was arched as liquid left your cunt. jake still didn’t let out, allowing you to ride out your high on his face. soon, parts of your vision began to come back as you came down from your high.

jake was still between your legs, smirking up at you. his chin was slick with your juices, as he got up to eye level with you, he used the back of his hand to wipe off your juices.

“never took you for a squirter, sunshine” jake husks, “i always knew you would taste good, though, but not that good”

you felt so embarrassed. there was no way you just did that. you tried to turn away from him, attempting to roll on your side.

“nuh uh uh” jake tuts, pinning you down underneath him, looking down into your sparkling eyes. “i wanna know what else that pretty mouth of yours can do other than whine and moan while i stick my tongue inside your pretty pussy” he smirks.

jake grabbed his shirt and quickly got rid of it, revealing his toned abs and v-line. he then grabbed your hips and flipped you both so you were sat on his lap while he was sat on the edge of the bed. he grabbed your small hands in his and placed them on his belt. you knew what he was asking you to do, so you quickly removed his belt, peeling down his jeans and boxers. your eyes widened as his length, struggling to take in how big he was. how were you ever going to take him in your mouth? never mind your cunt.

“don’t worry, sunshine. i’ll make sure it fits” he smiles softly, stroking your cheek with his thumb. he helped you down onto your knees in front of him, you swallowed thickly, trying to think of any way you weren’t going to gag on his length. “you aren’t gonna gag, gonna teach you a little trick” you nod in response, settling your palms on his thighs. “you’re gonna put your thumb in the palm of your hand, like this” he shows you what to do, and you copy “then the rest of your fingers are gonna go around your thumb” he does the action, and again, you copy.

he let you get yourself ready and comfortable, before he allowed you to open your mouth and take him inside of it. his hand immediately flew to your hair, tugging harshly before gathering all of it into a ponytail and shoving your face down fully, making you take his full length inside of your mouth.

his tip hit the back of your throat, making you gag a little, but not much before you remembered what jake taught you. jake groans deeply when he feels your throat contract around him.

“fuck, you’re a natural, sunshine” jake husks, his hips rutting up to meet your mouth whenever you bob your head on his cock. he filled your mouth perfectly, a mixture of his pre-cum and your saliva dripping down your chin and onto your bedding. soon, you forgot about the trick jake had taught you as your mouth was too full for you to fully comprehend what he was saying.

it only took a few more gags for jake to be coming down your throat, his length so far into your mouth that it was practically forcing you to swallow every drop he gave you. you sat back up on your knees.

“open” jake had a hold of your chin with his thumb and index finger, forcing you to look up at him. but, you do as he says, opening your mouth so he can see you had swallowed every drop. he smiles and allows you to close your mouth, “good girl” he coos.

jake stands you up and flips you both around so your knees fall over the side of the bed and you fall back onto it. jake attaches his lips to yours, pushing your thighs apart with his forearms. he wasted no time in lining his tip up with your entrance before pulling away from the kiss, his face hovering not far from yours.

“this is gonna hurt for a minute” he whispers, you nod, positioning your hands on his back. you didn’t know what you expected when he pushed his meaty cock inside of you, fulling you up entirely. the stretch was painful at first, but you soon adjusted around the fatness of his dick.

you nodded to give him the good to go, and he took that opportunity. jake took his cock out of your tight pussy, until only the tip remained before pushing back into you at a fast but gentle pace. you whimpered at the feeling, the pleasure mixed with the pain. it was all too much, but it felt so good at the same time.

jake’s pace fastened, and you arched your back into jake. your nails dug into the skin of jake’s back, creating little indents and red marks on his back, occasionally drawing blood. you were too blindsided by pleasure to care, you were most likely going to care later though. above you, jake looked too dazed to care too. he was in love with the feeling of your pussy, how it so snuggly accommodates his length, how it clamps around him whenever he hits that gummy spot inside of you.

all the while, his hand had snuck up to where your hand was om his back, bringing it down to your side and allowing you to wrap your fingers around his index finger as you had done before.

jake pulls your left leg up to press against your chest, your right leg moving around his waist to keep him close, giving him a new angle to slam into you and pistol his hips into yours to abuse your g-spot over and over. you mewled whimpered and whined as he did so, your poor cunny dripping with how good he made you feel, it was impossible not to be so wet when you had the hottest man on earth ramming into your hole with so much force you could practically see stars.

your nails dug into his back even harder, your eyes rolling back and back arching even more when he delivered a particularly hard thrust to that gummy spot inside of you. you moaned out loudly as you came, at this point not caring if anyone had heard your late night shenanigans.

you were too fucked out to care, jake whispering small praises, but his pace never faltered, his hips still pistoling into yours at such a force you almost came again. your slick coated jake’s fat meaty cock as he pulled out and came all over your right thigh with a deep groan of your name.

it took you both a few moments to find eachother again before you gazed into eachother’s eyes. your chests were both heaving, trying to catch your breathes in your post-orgasm bliss. it wasn’t long before jake was up and leaving the room to the attached bathroom. he appeared a few moments later and picked you up bridal style, and taking you to the bathroom. there was a prepared warm bath with bubbles, all for you and him.

he softly placed you in the bathtub, before managing to shimmy in behind you, having you sit in between his legs. you layed your head back into his chest, allowing him to massage your scalp.

“you’re so perfect, your body is so soft and perfect sunshine” he murmurs. “did so good f’me, gonna be a little sore tomorrow, but i’ll help you, don’t worry” he pecks the crown of your head.

“did you really mean what you said before?” you whispered after a while, looking up at him with your doe eyes that he loved so very much.

“about how much i love you, or about how much your pussy needs to be fucked?” he smirks, you swat his chest, but not hard enough for it to hurt.

“yes, i meant it sunshine” he says lowly “i do love you, and i always have” he says softly. he smiles down at you and leans down.

jake presses your lips into a kiss, a lot more soft and sensual from your previous activities.

“but i still did mean what i said about your tight little pussy needing to get fucked. i’m glad you let me be your first, sunshine” he smiles, pulling away from the kiss.

“and i’m glad you agreed to be my first” you smile back, leaning up to press your lips into a kiss once again. fuck lily, you would deal with her in the morning.

“and i’m going with you” jake murmured against your lips.

“jake-“ you try to argue, pulling away from his lips, but he cuts you off.

“i don’t wanna hear it. wherever you go, i go, and i’m always gonna be with you, no matter what” he whispers, pulling you into another kiss.

this time you wouldn’t argue, simply because part of you wanted him to go with you, but you were never going to admit it for as long as you lived.

[vampiretendencies]

went out searching for an angel, then you came to me my darling ✩

request; hi love!! i had an idea of what jj would be like on a first date with his crush of all time!! maybe he’s been chasing her for ages and now the day is finally here where he gets to take her out! maybe he picked up extra shifts in preparation so he can pay for dinner and he’s all shy and nervous because he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing and even bought a new shirt so he looks all pretty for her? i love your fics so much, i hope you like this idea, can’t wait to see what you do with it pairing; jj maybank x fem!reader (reader is kind of a badass) warnings; fluff, i decided to set this while they are in high school still cause it just seemed right, BUT they are seniors here, making them 18. my characters are always aged up, keep that in mind. mentions of jj’s dad, luke, bullying, suggestive. proofread, but may find mistakes authors note; i knew the second i got this request i had to do it immediately. this is so cute, thank you for requesting.

JJ has devoted his time to leaving love letters in your locker.

Sliding the thin colored paper into the slit with definition. No, they weren't your typical secret admirer notes, JJ made it clearly evident that it was him. Always adamant in writing 'from JJ' in big capital letters, maybe even a small heart by it. Though, he just recently begun to add the heart, debating as to whether or not it was too much. Doesn't matter if it's lunch or a five-minute locker break, he's leaving a damn note in your locker, usually at the end of the day papers are flying to the mucky tiled school floors after opening the pliable metal door to the locker. And still you collect them all from the hopelessly swooning boy.

Some were insanely dumb, catching glance of one that said something along this lines of, 'my lips wanna' touch yours so bad, let's make it happen?'.

One may say that this is quite desperate of JJ.

But, this is the sight he's been fervent for, for years.

He’s sure his fascination started mid freshmen year. He remembers it like yesterday, vividly. There was a group of much older bullies encircling him in the school courtyard. Taunting him for his appearance, as if he were a freak show. His dad had gotten fired from yet another job, failing drug tests, never sober. JJ was sure Luke didn’t even know that the school year had begun. His shoes that year were so busted up, holes in the heal with the soles nearly falling apart; the same shoes he'd worn the past few years. Today, that is why he wears the irreplaceable combat boot, takes a lot to damage a thick black combat boot. His clothes that year, he'd outgrown them in more ways than one making them not up to par with the apparent bullies' standards. Scarring him to the point of no return, especially since you were there. You happened to be the reason he was fleeing that situation, not that JJ couldn't fight his own battles or that he was frightened. But it was that you noticed him. And, that you noticed him enough to not just walk by and act like you didn't see it happening. Oh, and it was that you ran the ignorant bullies away with a pocketknife you had tucked into your ankle length socks. Now that was what truly had JJ alarmed that day, a dainty, captivating girl waving a sharp knife around and looking mighty seductive doing so. What's not to like? You yanked him by the arm that day, and he's felt that pull since.

"Never tell anyone you saw that shit," you'd been referring to the knife and all JJ did was keep his mouth agape, astounded by the clutch your power had on him. He didn't, no one knows about that day except you, him, and the threatened classmates that did the bullying. Not even the Pogues knew.

He's been hooked since then, fastidious at best— enthralled that you existed at the same time as him. And he wasn't going to just not do anything about it.

Being a pest is what you'd known him best for. Proving your point as he'd leaned strikingly so on the lockers next to yours, blue irises tracing the outline of your figure. He can't fathom that you'd get more enchanting with every glance he steals.

The school day is ending, and rewiring of brains are beginning for the weekend. Hundreds of worn out bodies flood through the school doors, and you are trying to be one of them but someone’s mouth keeps moving.

JJ clears his throat before he speaks, about to aim toward the question he’s asked multiple times over the span of three years and each time it’s just as nerve wracking.

“Hi, pretty girl,” his voice chirped, cheery in a way. You became fond of the plentiful pet name, and it drew your attention as it always did.

You haven’t made it obvious to JJ as why you’ve been turning him down repeatedly, constantly sending him off with his head hanging low in defeat. It was ego shattering, he’d admit, it wasn’t something detrimental though. He was committed to persuading you into giving him a chance. Just one, and even if you absolutely despised him after, at least he’d be able to say he got to go on a date with an everlasting presence such as yours.

Your permanent ‘no’s’ have been due to you desiring to keep your independence. Especially with this being senior year, and it coming to a close soon. It’s a known fact that typically everyone goes their separate ways after high school, so where would going on a date fit in that picture? A relationship to you had always been viewed as a parasite interaction, was it actually real? Leading the poor boy on just wasn’t something you could fathom doing— sure, he was more than easy on the eyes, with his sun kissed blonde tresses and his fully plastered tempting smirk … and, that’s not the point … the point is you couldn’t give pieces of yourself away for it to be of no meaning in a month when this is all over.

It would’ve been demeaning.

Astronomically stupid.

His jawline.

Each time he tried the more you fought it, though the way he appears today is just of sheer attraction.

Christ, he's fucking hot.

Thank fuck he's not an inch closer or you swore you might've jumped his bones. You couldn't have given him the satisfaction of knowing that.

"Hi JJ."

The way his name leaves off of your tongue he wishes it were possible to frame a voice, engrave it, keep it forever. Yesterday he was almost on the verge of stealing your strawberry flavored chapstick, thinking that if he would've put it on his lips that you would've 'kissed' him. Yeah, he's got it real bad.

"I like those pants, really accentuates what you've got goin' on back there," JJ didn't intend on saying that. He's letting his mouth overload his ass, earning a sheepish gaze from you whilst you dump this week's JJ themed notes into the front compartment of your book bag. Holding contact with your eyes, still makes him feel like today might be the day.

"You like my ass Maybank, should've just said that."

Your voice is monotone, slamming the locker and throwing the bag over your shoulder. You lean mirroring him, engaging in the conversation as of now. Knowing what he's going to ask, as this is an everyday thing. Perhaps, going as friends would be something of consideration, just try it out.

What’s the worst?

Having a extremely stunning boy as a friend?

Just say yes, don’t think twice. Hate yourself for it later— your thoughts consumed you.

He blows air into his cheeks, anxiousness has overcome him tenfold. Hand raking over the tufts of hair at the back his neck, displaying it in obviousness. “Yes I do like your ass, and I have liked that same ass for three years.”

You urge a slight giggle, and he thinks he’s going to melt into nothing on the spot.

“Do something about it then.”

You taunt, aware he’s done everything about it. It’s just quite funny to see the stressed out stare turn into furrowed eyebrows with a slack mouth. Stunned at the sudden aggression, maybe things would be on his side this time. He refuses to question it, thinking he was playing coy alike with you.

“Depends, are you gonna’ break my little heart this time?”

He fakes fainting, whilst grasping at the cotton material of his shirt that covered his heart. Causing a scene as per usual, despite most of the school population gone by now. His brain has turned to mush, the way you’re on your tippy toes for a better look.

“Ask me,” you tilt your head a bit, encouraging him to do so. A smooth movement of your thumb and it’s grazing the skin of his lips, outlining them in perfect harmony. You’d never been this straightforward before, and he can’t fucking get enough of it.

“Let me take you out for dinner tonight, pretty girl. Y’know I’m not givin’ up … so me, you, a Kooky restaurant tonight at seven, yeah? How’s that sound?”

You heart flutters insatiably— you had to hand it to him though, his effort was impeccable and a night with JJ Maybank sounds a bit promising in its own meticulous way.

Let him have it, just this once.

It probably won’t lead to anything, so then looking back on it when the school year is over it will be just another memory, right? You thought, sticking to original reason that nothing out of high school becomes something worthy and then some.

“You’re gonna spend your life savings on one Kook meal?”

“For you, anything.”

Just say yes.

“One date okay?” you shove at his chest playfully, making an b-line toward the large steel doors. Watching you walk away, was sensational he might add. “One date Maybank!”

You reminded again, and still he wants to collapse on the middle of this dirty, shoe printed school floor. He was so giddy, jumping in elation.

“M’goin’ on a date!”

He relishes loudly, echoing through the halls of the school and you shake you head in disbelief as it rings in your ears the second your palm meets with the handle of the exit. JJ’s history teacher is peering around the corner, Mr. Sunn is somewhat proud of the boy he’s taught over his course of high school. Overhearing conversations between him in class, John B, and Pope in class, all they were ever about was you.

“You need to get going JJ,” Mr. Sunn pronounced, as JJ is standing in a now completely empty school. Twirling around on his feet, resembling a child that just got the toy they been begging for.

“She’s goin’ on a date with me Mr. Sunn!”

There’s a jar in JJ’s room at the chateau that’s labeled ‘when she says yes.’ It’s a mason jar, with money stuffed to the brim. Landing his job back at the country club as a waiter months ago, he took twenty dollars out of every check and put it in that sacred jar. And, then he mentally noted that he’d need more than just that if he wanted the night to really be worth while. He needed elegant clothes, and to get the biggest bouquet of roses he could possibly find.

He had plans for the roses— intending on wrapping every last layer in a love confessing sticky note. Because he’d like to think that that’s how this fresh romance is coming to be. He yearned ardently for you to know each and every reason as to why you were the only girl that walked planet earth in his eyes.

He wanted to discover your sweet spots, he craved to know how his lips molded with yours, he desired to know how your small hand would fit in his, and he was ravenously hoping to see your exemplary, pure body pressed against his.

JJ’s fingertips are colliding with an iron and an ironing board. Stood in the middle of John B’s living room, steadily removing every crease from his new, costly shirt— it was simple but effective; an angelic white short sleeve corduroy button up. Not too out of his comfort zone, but different enough for you to be able to tell he tried. Along with black pants that hugged his thighs and let loose around his ankles, and his combat boots— something he couldn’t switch up on.

It’s not JJ if he isn’t wearing those damn boots.

Kie and Pope are grimmacing on the dusty couch, surrounded by opened snacks and different assortments. They tended to pick fun at JJ, for chasing after something that’s wasn’t. But tonight it was.

For, he’s going to have his heavenly vision— that is you, before him and that’s making his body malfunction. To him, it was a privilege, to be breathing the same air as you. You could probably punch him in the gut, and he’d say thank you.

"Do you think she'll like this?" JJ shyly questions, so out of character holding up the freshly ironed shirt that is wrinkle free and now on a hanger. It caught Sarahs eye, who is cuddled into John B's side by the kitchen island. JJ knew it would've been much easier to just take it the dry cleaners, but it simply wasn't in his price range. And he relished in the fact that he earned such clothing, taking every great length to show his everchanging infatuation with you

"I definitely think she will," Sarah sends a reassuring smile his way, and he lowers the shirt to his side, counting down the last few remnants until he has to get ready, following through to pick you up.

"He's so fuckin' pussy-whipped over her, she's ruined him man," John B's sarcastic tone is not going to interrupt JJ's overwhelming exhilaration for tonight.

"Pussy-whipped and proud, she's gonna' be my girl, you'll see."

"You've been saying that for the past three years," Pope chuckles somewhat nudging Kie to laugh at the joke, but it wasn't of humor to her.

"M'taking the twinkie tonight."

With that JJ turns the iron off, shooting all of the Pogues his long middle finger, stepping slyly off into his bedroom, closing the door swiftly behind him. He had previously showered, smelling of saccharine musk but despite that he's having doubts peering into the full-length mirror; unsure of the reflection.

He's pulled away upon hearing the buzzing of his phone; it was you. Even seeing your name in the grey notification bubble sent slight relief to his chest.

Was his hair parted right?

Did he miss a spot shaving?

Was he even worthy of going on a date with you?

Jesus Christ.

He merely hopes to be as presentable as could be, and have you find him simply the slightest bit inviting.

Y/N

I should overdress right, since this is a Kook thing

At least you, weren't backing out at the last second.

JJ

Wear as little as possible :)

Y/N

Don't make me change my mind about this, Maybank.

A miniature film camera is stuffed in JJ's tinted black pants. It's digging into his skin deliciously, taking the pain as he knows the payoff will be wondrous. If he'd be lucky enough to get a picture of you or with you tonight.

Parked in the driveway of your home, from the Cut along with the rest of them. Your home is small and cozy and still JJ admires the way your mother hugs you goodbye, something he hadn't gotten to experience growing up.

However, he gets to experience this tonight.

The Twinkie's cracked windshield wasn't exactly the perfect view, but he is still enamored by the hypnotizing way your lacy dress flows from direct wind. It revealed parts of you he had yet to see, as this wasn't your typical wardrobe; more like a disguise to seem Kook like and fit in at the eatery. He pondered on the idea of you going out and buying it, only to go on a date with him.

Just for him.

The feeling had him scatterbrained.

He really can't comprehend your heaven-sent beauty.

Hair pinned back delicately, still as cutthroat as a double-edged sword. And when the door goes flying open, so does his soul from his body. Hell, he might not even be able to drive to the restaurant he's so fucking weak in the knees.

You must've mistaken JJ for some else, the person before you in the driver's seat is so clean cut. Locks brushed to the side, aligning his part. Chest poking through his button up just a breathtaking view in itself. His bright cheeks are painted an astonishing cherry red, as the pastel shaded sky is just about to set it enhances it even more. His achievement of wanting to look pretty for you has more than worked.

It's cynical to the pair that this agonizingly moderate occasion is here.

Long awaited, and worth every minute,

Just to be here, in this captured moment, together.

Fuck.Fuck.Fuck. This is happening. JJ thought, though similar thoughts are rummaging through your mind right now.

You shrugged him off for three years, witnessing this burning lovelorn grin on his face makes you regret wasting so much time. All that time, this beautiful creature could've been yours. Perhaps the odds in that percentage of people that go there seperate ways after high school won't be you and JJ. And maybe, your own independence was overrated.

You were wrong.

Oh so, mistakenly wrong.

"Bab- shit ... can I call you baby ... if that's okay?"

This differentiating pet name was of utter importance to JJ because it's so needy, and it encompasses all of his likened emotions for you in one little word.

"Course, baby."

JJ's shitting himself internally, he didn't know he needed to hear that leave your mouth until now, and he really wishes for you to say it an infinite amount more. All he can do is bore into your gloss lips, wishing to taste them desperately.

Aching for the sensation.

"You look really pretty tonight ... not just tonight though you look pretty all the time. Which explains why m'fuckin' obsessed with you and you're always on my mind. Swear, you're like ... tattooed in my brain and it's-"

You capture his lips with yours, a notion of telling him to shut the hell up, and just be. He was right, they mold together like they were created to enact a sweltering kiss such as this. It's magical to JJ, that he's lingering against your skin, touching your hair, kissing you long enough that he counted it perfectly in his head. A timely kiss, a tradional one, to leave him wanting more.

And he wants more. He wants so much more.

It's all true, if he's doing something as simple as listening to music, he thought about your opinion. If you disliked it, he'd find a way to. Paying attention to details over the years, he's practiced your hobbies, telling himself that he 'felt closer to you'.

He worshiped the fucking ground you walked on.

"You gonna' take me to dinner or what, Maybank?"

"Dinner's cancelled, I need you now, pretty girl."

Guess the food can wait.

[meiguicha]

Long Once More - 再贪欢

Yan! OC x Reader

OC x Reader

You will always have him, no matter your vice, he will always be there

TW: Incest, manipulative and toxic behaviour, really badly written sex

//This isn't historically accurate at all and I have no idea what I wrote. If anyone has read the prequel on AO3 or Quotev, this is just a continuation. You don't have to read one or the other to get the whole plot but I can't tell you what to do sooo

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————春芯王—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

The role of Lord of Chunxin is not an easy one, perhaps made especially so by your being a woman. Times have been hectic in the recent year and with nosy officials poking in to question your marital status, you have taken it upon yourself to solve this issue. 

The time has once again come for a myriad of eligible young lords and ladies to express their intention of courting, whether for reasons political or not, it is ultimately inevitable for you to receive some offers. Your suitors, of course, would have to remain in your estate and care until you came to a decision on their status. It is by no means a paltry position, for many acquiring Chunxin would mean enjoying the wealth of a merchant and trade hub as well as the strategic location that aided with its peace. No matter the fact that you are a young woman of comely features and skill to run a whole commandery on your own, there was bound to be some fool of a noble willing to try his hand at courting you. 

To marry a man would mean that Chunxin would very likely be absorbed into whatever territory they ruled over, or perhaps worse still, they would deem themself more worthy to rule. It is very well said that their arrogance may cast the careful tranquillity you have crafted into the abyss, and as you have dedicated 8 years of your life into this commandery you call home, you would quite prefer for your hard work to not go to waste. 

This period of receiving has a long time to end, yet you were keen to complete this phase of your life as soon as possible. To pick a suitable husband never has been such an arduous task. 

Beneath the warm sunlight streaming through verdant leaves, a soft sigh escapes you as your older brother sits opposite with a tea set between the two of you. His eyes are closed, expression placid as he takes in a breath. The wind is gentle and brings about the fragrance of blooming flowers, the start of spring has arrived and it only seems fitting for the start of your toil to coincide with such a prosperous symbol.

Your attendant A’yan approaches you and hands over a bundle of letters, three in total and each more solemn than the last. She holds a hand to her chest as she bows, she affirms, “My lord, here are the offers we have received.”

Heavy in your hands, you flip through each scroll to take cursory glances, eyes scanning over surnames and territories. It mattered not their age, so long as it did not go above thirty five, you had no qualms. Though perhaps your focus was more on their date of arrivals, and knowing some of the families that have sent their responses, punctuality is to be expected and not suggested.

“How convenient that they should not arrive all at the same time, at the very least I may spend more time getting to know them,” Letting out an amused huff, your eyes look upon a certain family’s especially early arrival. 

Your older brother picks up another of the scrolls, phoenix eyes narrowing in vexation for a moment before they return to his usual placidity. His voice is low, serene and sonorous, “How convenient indeed.”

As though sensing the ensuing conversation to be shared between family, A’yan excuses herself and moves to watch over the two of you from a distance. At this, you send him a knowing look as you put down the scroll in your hand. 

“Will you promise to behave when they come around?”

Zhou Chen only cocks his head, long auburn hair bound loosely framing his alluring apertures along with the movement. He raises a brow and hums, “You make it sound as if I am cruel enough to burden others.” Amber eyes  bearing a kind of aggrievedness as those long lashes flutter, akin to emphasising his hurt, “Meimei, do you truly think so low of me?”

You laugh at such a display, mirth pulling at your lips as you smile, “You always find something to gripe about whenever someone shows interest, am I wrong?”

His hand, slender with well-defined joints, reaches out to brush a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the contact gentle and familiar as the cold touch of jade and gold press against your skin. You lean into his touch ever so slightly, more a sign on your accruing stress than anything else. A soft sigh escapes you, and for a moment your eyes meet. 

“My dearest meimei is far too good for any person, it is only right that as your brother, I weed them out for you,” He murmurs, amity all but spilling from his words. 

You breathe out, voice discordant and scraping out your throat, “Promise me, please.”

Your dearest brother, your only bastion of assuage before the chaos that is soon to emerge, whenever he speaks to you as such, it feels as though everything in this world shall resolve itself favourably. 

“Anything for you.”

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————宋曦渊—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

Lord Song Ze, courtesy name Xiyuan, of Ningshan is a face you did not expect to see at your door first thing in the morning. Or rather you did not actually expect to see him at all. 

The Song family were the descendents of a particularly pious monk, following more along the path of immortals than those of mortality. You could perhaps recount the last time you have seen a member of this family from your childhood of living among celestial beings, though you are not sure you have ever seen Xiyuan before. 

The name is one that bears a kind of distance, one that has been cultivated through his almost ethereal appearance and deeds. When one thinks of benevolence, the image that is conjured is that of white robes and sweeping sleeves. Though the Song family has notoriously been above many of the conflicts that plague other commanderies and territories, so it is of course a surprise that they not only sent an offer, but also that the head of the family himself would so magnanimously offer himself. Their response was vague, promising only that a favourable member had taken it upon himself to make the journey to Chunxin and try his hand upon the sixth day of the month. 

So you must be excused for the clear and evident shock on your face when a carriage pulls up in front of your estate only for a tall and slender immortal with a smile on his face to emerge.

“Lord Song, it is a pleasure to have you in our humble lands,” You bow as your eyes subtly shift to look for another that may indicate his being as political, as a figure to ascertain negotiations for another. Yet when no other steps down from the carriage, you take in a soft breath. “I believe this is our first time meeting.”

For a moment, you think you see a complicated emotion flash across aureate eyes, though it is quick to disappear as he urges you from your formality, “Please, no need for such courtesy, we are to get to know one another soon.”

“Of course. Then, would you be keen for some tea?”

Xiyuan nods, an elegant move that barely disturbs the strands of hair that drape upon his broad shoulders. He is so much taller than you, he must tip his head just to perceive you fully and you must raise yours, the stark difference only makes you feel small. Though you gesture for him to go ahead, when the rest of your servants come to take his luggage, he is quick to thank them, a sunny smile pulling across thin lips. His voice is light and gentle, if you must compare it then it should be to the first rays of light in the morning. Perhaps what you do not expect is that when they struggle to carry it, he reaches out and with inordinate ease, lifts what may be a few catties and instead offers to bring it to his room himself. 

Throughout this entire process, you could only watch in awe as he does not show even a sign of struggle, maintaining the elegant gait as he accompanies you to your drawing room. It was almost horrifying to see, though you have little time to ponder the reason behind such ability when he has settled in his seat and is looking to you with an expectant gaze. 

With a slight quirk of your lips, you inquire the reasoning behind his being here, “I am truly honoured that you have made the journey to Chunxin, though may I ask, why exactly did you choose to court me?”

Xiyuan takes a moment to answer, his expression tranquil as he gathers his thoughts. Then, he speaks, clear and true.

“You are a woman of repute, it is undeniable even in Ningshan that your ability and your generosity is rare among commandery lords.” His eyes persist firmly on yours, unwavering and stalwart. He takes a breath, and his eyes crinkle in slight mirth as that smile of his, clement as a spring’s day, remains upon his lips, “There is little I do not admire about you, and when time came around, I believed it a chance to speak with you.”

Your chest tightens, and though you respond, it comes out weak and gawky, not at all the refined lord you attempted to convey, “Well, it is very kind of you to say so. Before I may continue asking, do you have any concerns you wish to be addressed?”

He merely shakes his head, and gestures for you to resume your pseudo-interrogation, a notion you readily accept. 

“I have a duty to Chunxin and so I worry that should we get married, my presence would be required most in Ningshan.”

Though Ningshan was only a journey taken by a few days, you wished not for an event where you would be forced to watch your people suffer from afar. You may be unsure of the manner in which the Song family treats spouses, however there is one thing that you are certain and that is, becoming the wife of a person as important as the Lord of Ningshan would mean dedicating your prowess and time to it, leaving Chunxin. 

You would not take it, you had made that clear in your soul the moment you had to send that announcement to the world. In your heart, you already knew the answer you would receive, you merely wished that you would be proven wrong. 

“I understand, and I must apologise but as my wife, you would be required to remain by my side,” Xiyuan’s response is as you expected, a slight mournful glint in his eyes.  

Yet still, he is swift to reassure you, “However, I can promise that Chunxin will remain entirely under your dominion, we have no intention of absorbing or conquering your lands.”

At that, you can only let out a soft sigh, “That is a relief, I will admit.”

Though your words said so, internally you have likewise expected such a concept. The Song family would not engage in conflict unnecessarily, even if it should benefit them. You do not have much else to ask him if you had to be honest, your main worry out of the way, so you merely hold your teacup to your lips, sipping in slow practised bouts as you attempt to think of conversation. 

“Do you have siblings?” Hesitantly, you broach the silence that befell the two of you. 

He responds, another smile upon his lips, “A younger brother, I believe he should be around your age.”

“That’s nice, I should like to meet him one day.”

Just as stiff as it started, it ends. Truly, it was difficult to find something to talk about when you knew little of each other, made especially inconvenient by the strict courtesy that bound the two of you. Taking another sip of your tea, the floral liquid tinging your tongue. As his arrival had been so early in the morning, you had yet to break your fast and so in an admittedly, utterly embarrassing moment, your stomach grumbles. The sound is like a knife through the air, horrifically obvious with no method to hide its journey. 

Though your thin face attempts to retain some of your dignity, your eye twitches just the slightest. Yet just from a minute glance, Xiyuan does not seem to scorn your break of propriety. Rather, that smile of his softens, melting into something much fonder, as though looking upon a beloved. 

“I must ask, do you enjoy pastries?”

“Yes, I…” You are not sure how best to put together your response. There are a myriad of reasons yet the one you decide to share, as well as the one bearing some truth, was one that seemed to imply unwell. Admitting to an odd shyness, you let a smile creep up in an attempt to lighten the mood, “They help me with my energy throughout the day.”

He appears pleased at this response, and though you wondered the reason for such for a moment, it is quickly dispersed when he retrieves a small box wrapped in fabric. You recognise the manner of wrapping, the colour and the very wood of the container. How could you not? Whether by pure coincidence or scheme, he has managed to purchase pastries from your favourite shop. 

“Well, if I am not overstepping, I have brought some for you.” He offers the gift to you, the vessel almost dwarfed in his hands. 

You have little choice but to accept, taking it into your hands and ignoring the slight brush of contact you share. “Thank you.”

You had fully intended to partake of them later, however by his gesture and anticipating look, you decide to abide so, if only to fulfil his request and your insolent stomach. Unwrapping the fabric with careful fingers, you open the box to reveal delicate spheres dusted with flour, glutinous rice flour encasing a sesame peanut filling. Once again, your favourite. As elegantly as you can, you pinch the ball between your fingers and take a bite, sweet yet tastefully salty, it more than satisfies your stomach when a soft hum escapes you. 

Now fully aware of the sound you made, your eyes shift to Xiyuan only to find him gazing upon you, almond eyes all but seeping his solicitous amusement. With his shoulders squared and his posture ramrod perfect, it almost made a quaint sight, that a person could truly be so kind.  

Just as you place the rest of the pastry down and open your mouth to speak, you are interrupted by the door sliding open, a familiar figure blocking the sunlight that enters as he stands tall. 

“Lord Song,” Your brother’s voice is placid, unlilting and impregnable of emotion. 

The man in question merely smiles, not a shred of vexation or annoyance present, “Lieutenant General Zhou, I had not expected that you would be here.”

“Lord Zhou is my sister, I naturally came to check on her,” He answers. The sentiment behind his placidity perhaps enhanced by the natural monotone of his accent. 

Though he says as such, he merely takes a glance at you before keeping his attention on Xiyuan. In his hands are a bundle of official documents rather than his beloved qin, so you can only assume that he fully intended to camp the rest of the day in your office either asleep or actually doing work. This quick stop of his must have been impulsive rather than any well-thought out scheme. 

Before he may take his leave, Xiyuan invites him in with a lilting hum, “Do come in, I would like to get to know you better as well, your reputation precedes you.”

Your brother only glances at you, and when you send him a minute nod, he obliges. With an elegant gait marred only by the weariness of work, he takes the seat opposite of your guest’s, regarding him with a cool gaze as he speaks slow and practised. 

“Yours as well, I hope that should my meimei decide to let you court her, you will not mind my presence.”

“I would not dare. Oftentimes, a brother is as good as a father,” ever the kindly soul, he reassures him. 

A small huff escapes you, this good brother of yours may very well be the only male relative you had left. He who was raised by your mother, and you who was whisked away by immortals, neither of you even knew what happened to your father let alone whether he would be as obliging as Zhou Chen. Still, you keep your expression pleasant as your brother seems to think of some matter to discuss. 

“I have heard that you are exceptionally talented in playing the xiao, though I am more interested in your supposed ability with the qin. It is quite prodigious to master both,” He hums, long lashes lowered as his gaze sweeps to the man’s side. 

“You flatter me, surely my ability could not match up to yours,” Xiyuan deflects the compliment, instead gesturing towards your brother with a kind smile. As naturally as breathing,  more praise seems to tumble out, “Is it not true that you can hear a wrong note even in a symphony of instruments?”

Just like that, you may very well be effectively barred from understanding the rest of the conversation. Terms far too technical for you to hope to understand and spoken with enthusiasm far more vigorous than you have ever seen from your serene brother, you could only hide behind your tea and pastries, hoping that this conversation will not drag too far into the future. 

Lying beneath your covers as your head rests upon your ceramic pillow, you find that you have been very rudely awakened from meagre sleep due to reasons unknown. Though you have attempted to wrestle your conscious back to restful slumber, your body appears to resist any and all attempts, merely maintaining that sore strain that seems to plague your form upon awakening. 

The sun has yet to peek its head from above the morning mist, the birds yet to sing and with little to do, you force yourself to rise. A breeze of cool wind caresses your skin, and it takes everything within you to not retreat back to warmth, instead dressing yourself as respectfully and warmly as possible. As you step out of your room, careful to not make much noise, you let your feet carry you to wherever it desires, eventually stopping outside the a courtyard of youthful pinks and picturesque reds, the plum blossom tree that stands tall acting as a canopy for an unexpected visitor. Though servants milled about to catch glimpses of him, he still appeared a lonely pillar. 

“The morning dew has yet to drip and yet you have already awakened.”

He turns to you, a kind of wistfulness in his eyes that returns to the depths of his sunlit eyes as you approach him. There is nothing to deter you, so you come to his side as the two of you remain beneath the tree’s grace. The silence that had once been stiff and stilted, has become more tranquil in such a setting, a context that requires no conversation of grace but rather cherished the fleeting moment of respite. 

“Had you remained awake throughout the night?” He inquires, gentle yet concerned. 

You only shake your head, your voice still hoarse from disuse, “I could not return to sleep, and you?”

A tightlipped smile appears across his face, though it did not detract from his visage, he nods. 

“May I ask what you are doing here?”

“This tree merely reminds me of old memories, when I was younger and more naive.”

There is that smile once more, bearing a kind of emotion distantly related to that gleam just a day ago. You have yet to clue in on what exactly his intentions truly are, to offer himself on a platter when he must surely have options much more willing to be Madam Song than you. Your attendants could find not hide nor hair of intent, nothing to leverage and nothing to use. Song Xiyuan is a man you could not understand at this very moment. 

Why did he look at you so? For what reason did he descend if only to make connections with your paltry Chunxin?

“I had this tree grown here in honour of my master, I am unable to visit him as often so knowing there is some part of him I can pay homage to is…” Your gaze averts towards the ground, and even you are not sure what, who, you are trying to avoid looking at. Still, you manage to whisper out,  “Comforting.”

“The immortal Xu Yuanzhen, yes?”

His reveal of information, a detail that only your most intimate knew of you takes you more than just off guard. Turning to him, it is unease that pumps through your veins and rushes to your head. For him to have acquired such an aspect about you, there was little explanation for retrieval. 

“You would be right,” You breathe out, your eyes wide and your chest tight.

Still, you manage to continue, “How do you know that?”

He glances away for only a moment, only a second before they redirect to you. His hands clasp together in a mock of nerve as he took in a breath. When he speaks, finally speaks and removes you from your disquiet, it is quiet. 

“I fear that I may have been keeping some matters secret from you, but I suppose it is only right I tell you.”

In an attempt to maintain your composure, you meet his gaze. He starts his story, speaking with a soothing cadence as he recalls a time long gone, “When I was younger, my uncle took me to a conference and it was there that I met this girl. She was younger than me and was holding the hand of a man with pale apertures and garbed in white robes.”

“She cared not for my status as the Song family heir, and though she was shy at first, it took little for us to start talking.” A kind of mirth tinges his words upon this reveal, fondness practically overfilled. 

“I had little contact with other children, and the time I spent with her was exhilarating. When we had to leave, she gave me the string bracelet she had around her wrist and made me promise to play with her again.”

From his wide sleeves and many layers, you see it. The thin little string of dull yellow peeking from behind robes of white, tightly entwined around his wrist and pulling memories from a time you thought lost to you. 

“I never saw her again, not when her master rarely descended nor my family’s preference for isolation. I was ready to spend the rest of my life unbound, if only because she had taken my heart with her all those years ago,” He admits with a kind of sardonic irony, one made only more wry by the soft smile on his lips. 

“When the news came of Chunxin’s incident, I had an inkling that it could have been you.”

He turns to face you fully, that wistful gleam now one you recognise as sentiment. It is now that you may behold him, the ethereal Lord Song deemed a man too kindly to be mortal, is only so, so very human. Peach blossom eyes that have beared weariness unknown to so many, the subtle wrinkles upon thin lips, the unevenness of his lashes. Human, so wonderfully human and so horrifyingly adoring of you. 

“Xiyuan…” Your voice seems to betray you, breathless and stupefied. 

For a moment, his hands move as though they sought to hold yours within them, yet even that is suppressed. He pleads softly, anymore and he would have been begging, “Please, just call me Song Ze.”

“I have waited for you for 17 years,” His confession is quiet, as every part of his longing has been yet still contained an ardour that finally breached the surface of the abyss called time. “I do not know how much longer I can wait now that I know you have always been so close.”

“I will ask your brother for permission, if not I will wait outside Lianyue Pavilion for your master’s.”

Under the falling leaves of the perennial plum blossom tree, Xiyuan’s eyes of sunlit gleam. You step closer towards him, allowing yourself to bask in his presence as the sheer attention he gives you, so freely offers to you, almost makes you scared. That though his very presence, a bubble of allaying sandalwood and incense, should bring about some kind of solace, your head only squeezes in ache. 

“You barely know anything about me, you would find me appalling if you knew what I have done.”

He shakes his head, and when he finally takes your hands in his, you find that they are extraordinarily warm, like sunlight shining upon your skin. He only smiles, “But it is still you, and I am willing to spend the rest of my life learning everything about you, if you will only let me.”

A part of you wonders why exactly your heart tightens at the sight of his paradisiacal vulnerability. 

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————陈伯裕—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

By the fourth day, it seems the entirety of Hedong has arrived at your estate. Stuffed into a singular carriage, the whole Chen family had been all but ecstatic, rushing out of the little vessel to swarm you and your brother. Perhaps if this was another noble family, you would have been more inclined to accept the affection, however, every single one of them just had to be freakishly robust.

Before you can be questioned by the lord and lady, you greet their three children with a small bow and light smile, “Boyu, Zhongyuan, Jiaxiang.”

It is just as you finish your pleasantries that Madam Chen scoops you into her embrace as she wraps her arms around you, leaving you so breathless that you can only manage a breathy and wheezing, “Lord Chen, Madam Chen.”

“Have you lost weight? Oh look at you, it must have been so hard handling everything on your own,” She notes, her voice tinged with concerned as she pulls away, soft hands placed on your face as she scans over you

Lord Chen, an older man with smile lines and crow's feet decorating his face, only enhances those features when he points out their gifts, “Not to worry, we brought some pastries just for that.”

“Oh, and we just couldn’t help bringing some extra things, just a little bit though.”

While you are all but smothered by the two, practically engulfed if you will, you notice your brother likewise receiving the same treatment by the three Chen children. Wrapped up in a hug by the eldest son and the youngest daughter, the middle son was the only one who abided by the rules of propriety and greeted him as usual.

“Yijin!” The sound of a boyishly charming voice rings through your ears, his words enhanced through the natural draw of his youth.

Another one sounds, a young girl’s playful tone ringing through the air as clear as bird song, “Zhou-ge!”

“Shifu.” The last is controlled, a young man’s calm lilt among the chaos.

Equally helpless to the vigour that is the Chen family, the two of you can only let yourselves be asked of everything under the sun and have your ears rambled off. Still, you take it all with a pleasant gleam in your eyes and liveliness befitting such people. When the revelry dies down just the slightest, you have one of your attendants, Xue’er, show the family to their rooms while A’yan settles their bountiful luggage. Lord and Madam Chen drag your brother off at the first notice, asking of this and that while their younger children bicker and tease.

Though, there seems to be one exception to your arrangements. As the carriage departs and the dust settles, you are left completely and utterly alone with the little tyrant of the south, boyish Chen Boyu. Illuminated by bright sunlight, you must look up to meet his gaze, soft brown peach blossoms eyes bearing joy and gaiety, the corners of his lips deep with a smile. 

When you look upon him, it is hard to determine the emotions you feel. Though there is one that you can accurately pin down in that labyrinth you may call a head. 

An emotion distantly related to playfulness tinges your voice as you hum, “I see you’ve decided to try again.”

“I won’t be giving up anytime soon,” He responds, equally spirited as his voice takes on a pitch just the slightest higher.

At this, you let out an amused snort. With mock aggrieve, you roll your eyes as you whack him, the back of your hand being met with the musculature of his arm. 

“You certainly have more noteworthy competition this year.”

Boyu, ever the dramatic, puts a hand to his chest as an offended expression takes form onto his face. Deep eyebrows raised in shock and eyes wide, there is still a smile on his lips despite this, a cheeky lilt to his words, “But compared to them, surely I’m much better?”

“If you want to compete with Lord Song and Qiugu’s general, go ahead,” You bite back, the corners of your lips tugging upwards.

“They don’t have what we have though,” With his musing, he turns away from you. Though it is one that is brief, a moment of drama for an otherwise playful moment. “A bond.”

On instinct, you only shake your head and let out a soft sigh, your eyes squeezed in amusement as you walk ahead of him, at least not before turning back to direct him to his room.

“Go rest up, we still have time before dinner.”

Your relationship with Boyu is not one you say you dislike, nor one you absolutely adore. While you are appreciative for the aid and protection that allying with Hedong has given you, given that you had very little armed forces, there has been a profuse shame welling within your very form since the day you met. 

You have never been unaware of his feelings for you, the adoration that seemed to spring from his very being the moment he laid his eyes upon yours. One look and he had suddenly turned from the confident young warlord to a stuttering blushing mess, it was illogical and irrational. Six years of collaboration and his attempts to court you, spend more time with you and get to know you, it granted a relationship akin to bosom friends yet that was only your perception. 

You bore no possibility for affection, no room in your heart for him and for all your cruelty, you could not break such news that you could not see him as such. A political marriage may very well be an option but you knew he desired affection, some kind of companionship you could not give. It is because of that very fact that you worry what may come of this moment. 

When you return to your office, you find your brother waiting for you, his pipe in hand as languid tendrils of smoke escape his rosy lips. His eyes are closed, but when he hears your steps upon the wooden floors, he directs his gaze to you. There is a weariness to his features, dark circles beneath his eyes and yet that did not detract from his beauty. Approaching his seating by your desk, you pour yourself a cup of herbal tea. 

“Why do you look so tired, hm?” You ask, sending him a side glance from the corner of your eye. 

He only hums, voice low and steady, “I was up late finishing official documents.”

As you place down your cup, you raise a brow as a concern tinges your voice. From outside and through the window, you see Jiaxiang and Xue’er chatting away, the rest of the family very clearly not resting and rather seemingly, having managed to drag Xiyuan into conversation. Though you are unable to hear exactly what is being said, you can hear snippets of praise being exchanged.

“Do you want to take a nap? We have about two shichen before dinner.”

“No,” He sighs, closing his eyes as he takes another inhale from his pipe. The sweet smell of tobacco fills the room, broad shoulders rolling back before his long lashes flutter open, a detached gleam in his eyes as he looks out to the busy courtyard. He only notes with steady lilt, “They won’t let me anyways.”

Your heart does not quite ache for your brother, but more so tightens. You have seen the kind of work he must do, to the point that he had apparently brought it with him when helping a friend at a matchmaking session. Rest did not come to him easily, not even when in your estate. Your brows raise in helplessness, shutting the window before rising to shut your office doors. 

“Sleep. If I say I won’t take guests, they won’t push it,” Humming, you take his hand in yours.

Zhou Chen only lets out a soft breath, though he is quick to lean his head against your shoulder, his chest rising and descending in rhythmic pattern before eventually, the only thing that fills your ears is your brother’s exhales. 

Dinner is at present, an event hosting the Chen family, you and your brother. Small tables arranged in perfectly linear fashion, evenly spaced and in fine wood. Atop each and every single one were seasonal dishes as prepared by the kitchens, planned ahead of time down to the very presentation. Though you have yet to partake in the meal, 

“This really is quite generous of you to give so many things, I cannot possibly return your favour.”

“It's nothing, we aren’t lacking anything!” The older woman is quick to dismiss your excessive humility, though it is as if a new thought springs to her mind as she brings up a sleeve and a knowing gleam glints in her tawny eyes,  “Although maybe we are lacking a daughter in law.”

Quicker still, she corrects her previous statement, “Even if you don’t marry our Boyu, it's still nice to see you.”

“Mooomm, don’t say that!” Jiaxiang whines with clear mock aggrievedness. 

Lord Chen only sighs with the kind of resigned fondness every father has for his daughter, “She has such good options, don’t pressure her.”

Your gaze shifts between all of them, briefly lingering to make contact with each member before it eventually lands upon a pair of brown eyes, even still filled with fondness that uneases you. You still do not know how you will tell him, whether you will tell him. You turn away, bringing your tea up to drink as your sleeve conceals your expression. He does not look away, but does so when the conversation turns to focus on your brother. 

“Yijin, how have you been?”

Zhou Chen hums, his voice less severe and softer, yet still that gentle smile upon his lips bore a distance unknown by others, “Good, I’ve been busy with work.”

“With the way you keep coming over here, we thought you abandoned us,” Lord Chen laughs, a hearty sound that comes from his lungs. 

Lowering his eyes, there appears to be a contrition in his next words, his Adam's apple bobbing as he speaks. 

“Forgive me, my sister has little confidants.”

His admittance has a few eyes turning to you, that burning feeling of pity brought upon your form as you vaguely hear Madam Chen’s sympathies fall from her lips. You do not quite understand why he has to mention your lack of advisers, though you suppose there was no other reasonable explanation for a lieutenant general to maintain such costly travels. Still, though you move to say something, you are interrupted by a condoling voice.

“Don’t blame yourself,” Boyu is all but swift to prevent your rueful formalities, bringing up a hand as a blithe smile appears across his lips, “If I could, I would have rushed over to help.” 

“How could we? Ai, we all heard about the incident and yet look at the town, everything’s back to normal,” Lord Chen notes, and though you had not wished to say it, that pride he has in his voice, it would make one believe you were his daughter. 

With a tender-hearted quirk of her lips and her gentle tone, Madam Chen is the last and yet the most salient of the three to speak, “You must have worked very hard.”

“So don’t worry about taking Yijin for a month or two, we still have the others.”

A kind of excessive sentiment seems to fill your chest, an emotion you are only most familiar with another. It was quite common for your brother to throw all caution to the wind and come to Chunxin for long periods of time, extending discussions that usually lasted a few days to weeks, dragging diplomatic visits from weeks to months. As if he had no obligations to fulfil back in Hedong, though you have always worried and though he has always reassured you, hearing such comfort from them was perhaps more than you needed.

Nodding, you thank them and thankfully, dinner passes without much issue. Albeit, perhaps that is a statement only applicable to the unique situation of the Chen Family. For instead of having to replace four low desks and multiple candleholders, only one has been smashed in the ensuing mayhem that is sure to happen with them. You can only thank the gods that your brother did not bring his qin, lest you find yourself comforting him on his deescalation methods. 

With the moonlight shining upon your courtyard and the cool spring wind blowing, the family has since retired to their quarters in preparation for slumber. Your attendants likewise have been dismissed, sent to rest early while you take a walk around the estate. Your footsteps are light, the only sound that came from your movement coming from long robes fluttering along. Each room that surrounded the courtyard dimmed, low candlelight illuminating from within before eventually being snuffed. There is only one room that remains at the very end, your office, doors shut and candles flame put out yet at the very front are a pair of conversing figures.

The two are of similar heights, the one just slightly taller bearing more visible musculature while the shorter of the two bore a more regal physique, no less stalwart than one or the other. They speak in low tones, and from your admittedly distant position, you are scarce to hear only bits and pieces of their conversation. Boyu speaks, posture much tenser than you have ever seen as your brother pulls his pipe away from his lips. 

Low in your ears and bearing a vulnerability so easily come to him, the young heir entreats his closest friend, “Will you grant me your blessing to court your sister?”

Clouds of smoke leave his flushed lips, his eyes closed as he takes a breath. His lord waits expectantly, to no avail, for your brother remains steadfast in his notions of your suitors, no matter their identity and no matter their abilities. 

“No.”

Zhou Chen turns to him, those eyes that once bore amity glazes over, freezing to a cool mirror as he speaks. His voice maintains his usual monotone lilt, and it is such that you can tell that this was a decision he has made long ago. 

“You excel in war and combat, yet when asked to settle civil matters you are unable to be discrete nor courteous.”

“Have you not noticed how every discussion in the household always turns to a screaming match or violence?” He raises a brow, ignoring the way Boyu attempts to stammer out a response. He continues, “Will you bring my sister into such a place?”

His next inquiry is further still loaded, the dulcet tones of his voice growing ever agitated at the edges of his words, “Though Chunxin has remained safe from invading territories despite the raging war of succession due to our intervention, what happens when you must aid my sister with laws and merchantry?”

“Will you come to me, your lieutenant generals?”

He takes another drag of his pipe, the weariness he has been burdened with now all the more visible under such a situation. His shoulders rise and fall, descending to forcibly calm himself lest he acts impromptu. His friend does not interrupt him, yet still his figure that had been hopeful now has slumped ever so slightly with each new dig your brother brings up. 

“There will come a day where she will face public contention, when the time comes, will you defend her?” Your brother asks, the question nonplussed yet seemingly targeted. For this is the inquiry that has his eyes, beautiful amber which reveal nothing of the internal tempest that must rage within him seep just the hint of it. 

Quick to answer, such a request is nothing short of obvious to the young man, “Of course I would!”

“Even above the threat of Hedong’s collapse?”

Yet, this last query is the one that stumps Boyu, and to no wonder. For someone who grew up in the rivers and towns of Hedong, to protect the place that loves him or to protect the woman he adores, it becomes the ultimatum only your brother would think to spring upon him. It is cruel, yes, but for men who rule, it is necessary. 

When he does not respond, Zhou Chen only places a hand on his shoulder and tips his head, long brindle hair falling to act as a curtain, concealing his delicate apertures from your gaze. Though you still manage to hear his last words to his lord. 

“You are a good general, but I will not let my sister marry a man who cannot devote his very being to her. Good night, Chen Fu.”

At this, he glides away from the man, paced and even steps that bring his form to you. His eyes soften and he pats your head with a gentle hand before he pulls away, disappearing into the estate with nothing but a glance. Your friend seems to notice your presence then, his eyes lightening up and his posture straightening just the slightest. Yet, he kept that defeat with him. You approach him, despite everything you find yourself unsure on how to comfort him. Stood so close, you can smell just the hint of his scent, fresh and clean, it hurts your head. 

You keep your voice soft, calling for him with a tone hushed as your brows raise in concern, “Boyu.”

“Do you think he hates me?” He asks, just as quietly if not more so. It is as if any more and he would have been tried for public disturbance. 

Shaking your head, a soft sigh only escapes you, “You know he doesn’t.”

“I just don’t…” For once, genuine and actual forlorn stains his very being. His usually squared shoulders almost hunched in dismay and his voice soft, so much softer than you were used to. Thick brows furrowed in worry, the hint of a glassy quality seems to form over his bronze eyes, the plump of his cheeks rosy from the wind and emotion. His voice loses that usual higher pitch, “Understand why he’s never approved of me.”

A strained expression comes across your visage, your hand resting on his forearm as you make a comparison, “See it this way, if he tried to court Jiaxiang for so long without success, you’d be a little iffy too, right?”

His face twists into dismay, then disgust before finally landing on exaggerated understanding. He nods yet it does little to actually lighten his mood. Boyu’s desire for your brother’s acknowledgement is understandable, yet it is his consistency and persistence that worries you. Though you have never actually expressed it, he picks up on your palatable concern.

“You’re right, it's just that he’s important to you, and he’s your older brother. So I want to be doing this right,” Confessing, a helpless smile tugs at his lips. 

A reticence falls upon the two of you, and in the distance you hear the soothing melody of a xiao, humming a gentle tune that merely appeared sonorous in such a moment. Though you have turned away from each other, and though you had intended to leave the conversation in fear of buried sentiments being brought up, he once again takes the opportunity to make you face your unspoken regrets. 

“Will you be honest with me?” That boyish voice has long lost its higher pitch, and you wonder when exactly you started missing it.

“In our six years of knowing each other, have you ever thought of me romantically?”

You should have seen this moment coming, you should have known that you would have to eventually tell him. To lie to him that you have and yet to turn around and deny his affections would be far crueller than to tell him the truth, and yet still the truth was but a stone in your throat, lodged within and scraping to vomit out. Meeting his gaze with a glance you are not sure is kindly or forthcoming, you let yourself speak. 

“You are dear to me, but to call it love is…” Your voice trails off into the night wind, doing everything in your power to keep your throat from closing up and to maintain the composure you tried so hard to display. Yet when you look at him, look at those wide brown eyes so filled with youthful ardour, you are just unable to. “I’m sorry, maybe I’m the problem here.”

“For all the years we’ve known one another, I’ve always felt this gnawing guilt,” You admit though a cracking voice, the weight of such a burden finally lifted yet it was not a relief that flooded, but rather more contrition that had no rational reason to exist within you. 

“I’m so sorry.”

“It's okay,” Boyu insists, he shakes his head as his eyes, wide and just the slightest teary, seem to bear the determination he has always had. “You don’t have to love me back.”

“You never had to love me back.” 

He pleads, desperate and all too willing, far too willing, “If you’ll just let me stay by your side, I’m okay with that too.”

“As long as I’m with you, I’m happy.” 

Staring at him, the truth of your relationship has finally come to light, yet it is his devotion that remains steadfast. For how much of it is true, you do not know and you only fear that it is far more truthful than any facade you have played. 

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————蔡奉汐—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

The third and last suitor arrives late into the seventh day, there is no rumble of carriage wheels that announces his arrival, no thumping of luggage against wood, the only sign of life is the howling wind. 

You are resting in your room, eyes scanning over the last remains of the pile of documents once amassed in your office. The skillful plucking of a qin fills your ears, low notes strum to perfection from just a few footsteps away. Zhou Chen plays with a languidity, almost lazy despite the dulcet melody that he plucked. Your eyes, which yearn for rest yet remain awake in accordance to the brain, flutter between open and close. Words of ink seemingly meld together into a blurry mess, yet you continue. 

There is a knock at your door, a crisp interruptance that has your head snapping towards it. The tune stops just as abruptly, and A’yan shifts the door open just the slightest, enough for you to acknowledge her presence and for her voice to travel in. 

General Cai Fengxi, The Devourer of Qiugu has arrived. 

Garbed in dark robes and holding the reins of an even darker horse, this man that stood before you bore nothing else beyond a small pouch and the cloak around his shoulders. With not even the moonlight to illuminate his apertures, the sharp and almost gaunt features you could make out had almost sent a chill down your spine. The general’s eyes almost seemed to glow, a deep gold set in pale skin and peeking from behind pin-straight hair, still as dead waters as A’yan guides the horse towards the stables. 

“General Cai, it is an honour to have you here,” Your welcome is stilted and stiff as though to pair with your rigid bow. You notice how needly his fingers are, skin stretched taut over the bones. When you rise to meet his eyes, you find that he has yet to move, expression forbidding. Still, you gesture for his entrance, “Your room has already been prepared, please let me show you to your quarters.”

It is only then that he shows some signs of response, following your steps as his footfalls land inaudibly. You would dare say it appeared more so as gliding than walking. His very presence loomed from behind you, intimately feeling the heavy burden of his severe regard upon your form. In an attempt to spurn such a notion from your mind, you open your mouth to speak. 

“Was the journey from Qiugu difficult?”

“It was fine,” He responds, curt and low. A deep bass that seems to rumble from within his chest, though quiet you could distinctly feel it in your bones. 

You send him a polite smile, “That is good.”

There is no additional effort made to continue such a stiff conversation, not when even your own eyelids have been threatening to shut down against your wishes, let alone what the general must be feeling after making the lone journey. When you arrive to his room, you take it upon yourself to open the door for him, yet he merely looks upon you. You do not know how best to respond, yet it is by instinct that you continue. 

“Have a good rest, I shall come visit you in the morning,” You smile once more, bowing before taking your leave. 

Scarce to notice his entrance, your return to your room is swiftly granted and one that is very much preferred. A sigh escapes you, and your brother, kindly as he is, remains in his languid seat. As though one with a slug, you slump over and make your way to his side, resting your head on his lap facefirst as you close your eyes. 

“I assume the general has arrived,” He hums, voice soft as his fingers remove the pins and stick from your hair. 

Through mumbled words and fabric, you are surprised he still managed to discern your sentences. “Might as well have not arrived at all, he only said two words to me.”

“And here I thought men these days would have basic manners at the very least..”

You turn your head to face him, shifting your body so you could behold that face which women envy and men covet. Fine apertures still placid with that hint of fond aggrievedness, your brother’s attempt at cool tranquillity surely did not disguise the snide undertones. 

“What are you implying?” Your brow raises as your voice takes on a derisive tinge.

Zhou Chen responds, speaking as though his answer was the most natural concept to humanity, “That men are merely beings of simple lusts, and that my meimei deserves better than that.”

Letting out a yawn, you squeeze out a stray tear as your voice fights to remain audible. It is hard to, especially when one wishes for nothing more than to slumber after a long day and a guest as startling as the general. Still, you think you catch your brother’s sweet laugh when you manage a response. 

“If you keep this up, the only person you’ll ever approve of is yourself.”

When morning comes, you are informed that the general has yet to awaken, and that no matter what is done, he will not rise. This news does not surprise you, the ride from Qiugu to Chunxin is approximately 15 days worth of travel, and based on his appearance, he must have rode ceaselessly and through the nights. Waving off their concerns, you assure them of his well being and instead have them call to inform you when he does. 

Your brother and his student, Zhongyuan, have been promptly kidnapped by Jiaxiang since his awakening, which leaves you to entertain your three suitors. Dressed in lighter robes for the day, half your hair is bound in a bun and put together with a simple hairstick, suitable for a casual outing that you may hopefully partake in today. You plan to bring the general out to see the town, perhaps try to spark some conversation that will not start and end dreadfully. 

As you make your way to the guests’ quarters, you notice Xiyuan and Boyu talking, discussing some matter of thing that even you are not sure pertains to what. Bearing similar heights, you find that the two of them bear an uncanny likeness. Not in visage but rather in bearing, the kind of people who attract admiration effortlessly.  They walk into a room and immediately the only kind of attention they receive is kindly. 

With a princely gait and visage to match such a form, you have found yourself wondering how exactly Lord Song has yet to marry despite his supposed devotion to you. Likewise with Boyu, boyishly handsome and well-to-do, there was little to dislike. Their very presence in the courtyard brings people to them, passing servants taking their time to stare and talk, with poorly hidden smiles and flushed ears. You only wonder what virtues you may be able to extract from the general.  

Approaching the pair, you greet them with a slight bow of your head, “Boyu, Xiyuan, good morning.”

“Good morning to you as well,” Xiyuan greets in response, his voice forbearing with the lilts of his sentence. 

In contrast, Boyu only chirps, “Morning!”

You inform the two of them of your upcoming schedule for the third suitor, a tad more occupied as compared to theirs due to discussions of military provisions and arrangements. With a regretful tone, you squeeze out a strained smile as you could only apologise for the inconvenience. 

“No worries, we’ll see each other for dinner, right?” The younger man asks, with hopeful eyes as even his companion appears to join in the invite. 

“Yeah,” You smile, a huff of breath escaping you when his eyes light up. Keeping your tone fairly cordial despite your amusement, you reassure them, “If we venture out, I’ll come visit when I return.”

Shaking his head, Xiyuan merely responds, “Do not force yourself, you must take care of yourself.”

“Of course.”

It is then that you finally notice a figure looming from behind you, a shadow cast above your vision, and perhaps it is also by Boyu’s slight adjustment of his eyes that has you realising exactly who it is that was behind. Your feet swivel around to face the general, his form still severe as last night. Under the sunlight, you could make out the harsh contours and angles of his face, tall nose and sharp willow eyes. You met his eyes for just a moment, looking down upon you yet the very burden it placed was momentous, a sinner in the oceanic depths. 

Ever kindly, Xiyuan greets him with a bow and a pleasant expression, sunny eyes squeezed and hands put together, “General Cai, it is good to see you awake.”

“If you didn’t get up, I think we would’ve just taken her out ourselves,” Boyu jokes, his puerile tone making it only all the more light-hearted.

“Ah…” A breath escapes you, perhaps a sign of your hesitance. Yet, the general does not move, remaining perfectly still as he awaits your input. Involuntarily, you feel that maladroit laugh appear on your lips,  “General, could this one perhaps–”

“Fengxi.”

You had not heard wrong last night, what you thought was possibly too low, too harsh for human voice, reaches your ears once more. He speaks as though biting, words escaping from abyssal maws to behold for mortal perception. 

When you do not react, he speaks once more, “Call me Fengxi.”

“Of course, Fengxi, would you like to join me for a trip around town?” Quickly recovering from the blunder, you finally make your offer with an outstretched arm and open hand, an invitation. 

Yet rather than actually responding, he merely takes your hand, cold bony fingers wrapping around yours. The mere action sends a million warning bells to your head, yet you can only smile and carry on, bringing him towards the carriage that is soon to be prepared. 

Left behind in the remnants of confrontation, Xiyuan and Boyu can only look to each other, a kind of disoriented confusion filling them. While Xiyuan had never interacted with the general before, let alone been so up close, he had not realised that there was such a heavy truth to the rumours. Boyu likewise had never seen him as such, only having seen him in the battlefield, looming and quiet, cold dead eyes as the general commanded an army of the dead. At least, that is what they call it. 

“Can he actually speak? Or is he just going to be standing there when she talks to him?” He asks the young lord, his head tilted in slight confusion. 

Xiyuan looks at him, his voice almost nearing a reprimand if not for the strained smile on his lips, “Boyu.”

“I’m just asking. Besides, I’m pretty sure he shouldn’t have done that.” He holds his hands up in mock surrender. 

“The general is likely not as well-versed in noble etiquette, you can’t blame him.”

Rather, ever full of vigour, he crosses his arms and asserts, “No, I can and I will. He should know better.”

Xiyuan can only sigh at that response, a helpless gleam in his eyes. He shakes his head, the people of Hedong are certainly intriguing. 

It is while this conversation is happening that you are left with the ever envious task of collecting some errands and messages to be sent to some townsfolk by your servants. A few are easy enough, visiting merchants to pass along lists or merely to send word of their well-being, that being said there was one establishment you would have to visit and you could only hope that the general would not mind. 

At the very least, you hoped he would at least voice out his rejection. The carriage ride towards town might as well have been for the dead, for he stared into your form as though you had committed a great crime upon the heavens and he were the jade emperor. You could not describe the situation as anything less than maladroit, any lesser person would wish to crawl into a cave and die when faced with such an individual. 

Still, you remained strong and kept a serene expression, maintaining such that even when you broached the idea of your plans, he merely responded with a hum and a gesture. The general does not speak even when you bring him to sellers and farmers offering their wares, remains silent when you visit families and receive baskets, speaks not a word even as he now has realised that the building ahead of you is one of debauchery. 

The women of Yunliang House, upon seeing your face rush from within to greet you, their painted lips quirked into smiles as their eyes squeezed in mirth. One of the women grabs you by the hands as she squeals with excitement.

“My lord, it's been so long since you’ve come!”

Another woman leans in closer to your visage, eyes scanning over with objective precision. The scowl on her face is not one that bears good news, “Ahh, look at you, your skin has gotten so dull. Have you been taking care of yourself?”

“Ai, ladies, our lord doesn’t have the time we do,” A voice comes from behind the crowd, a basket in her arms and a natural sway to her steps. Boxes of rouge and pins, bolts of fabric and assortments of fruits and pastries lay in the basket’s wooden cradle. She turns to the general and hefts it over to him, not before making the same old excuse, “Come, some idiot gave us too many gifts again.”

“I’ll make sure to pass it to them back in the estate,” You laugh, made especially all the more obvious when the ladies fuss over him to ensure nothing falls from the basket. 

That same woman only huffs and crosses her arms, rolling her eyes as she remarks, “One of these days you’re going to have to accept these from us.”

“That day shall come when it comes, thank you.”

With that last bow, you are waved goodbye by the ladies and set to return to the carriage. Surrounded by a sea of people all milling about the marketplace, the sounds of haggling and advertising fills your ears, grilled meat and rich spices wafting through the air as even children weave between your forms. When a young child, no older than six years old, takes a small tumble and falls into you, you are quick to help her up. She looks up to you with wide and shaky eyes, yet tears do not fall, instead she thanks you rather loudly than scurries off, her laughter continuing to reach you. 

Fengxi decides to speak, and though you believed the very surroundings too much, too loud for his voice, again you are proved wrong. “You treat your people well, it is undeniable that they hold affection for you.”

“Many thanks but I am merely doing for them what I should,” You shake your head, a huff of amusement escaping you. 

“You would be surprised.”

As though lost in thought, the general finally moves his gaze away from your form, that heavy weight placed upon  your shoulders lifted. His lashes accompany the slow blink he takes, cocking his head ever subtly as sleek pin-straight hair follows along the movement. He does not slow in his pace, the overflowing basket of gifts likely weighing nothing to him, and yet there appears an odd melancholy to him. You do not know what there is to ponder, what exactly has captured that enigmatic mind that a pensiveness should take over. It is when the crowd amasses to that of mountains and seas that he decides to open his mouth once more. 

He hums, eyes still looking off into the far distance, “Chunxin is kindly, with clement weather and conditions.” Then, Fengxi redirects that heavy focus back upon you, a dark thin brow raised in jest. “It is no wonder my lord has received such warm suitors.”

“And have you not as well?” You remark, cocking your head as you send him a glance. 

For the first time, actual amusement is visible on his face, lips pulling back to reveal pearly teeth as he barks in laughter, “Not many women are keen on becoming the wife of a Qiugu general.”

You notice how sharp his teeth are, perhaps no different than a normal person’s upon first glance, but the narrower tips had sent an odd feeling down your spine. The Devourer, a title earned from war-torn savagery, soldiers tearing through enemy ranks without care of life nor death, and their general who not so much as leads but lunges into battle as eager as his soldiers, ravenous beasts who tear into the throats of men with claw and teeth. 

You do not understand him. He is 34 years of age, and has previously held no interest in any sex. There have been rumours that those who have tried, those who have attempted such underhanded tactics would find themselves spurned at best, and in pieces at worst. He says such words, and yet he will ride ceaselessly from Qiugu just to arrive at the soonest possible moment. Why even bother with the effort if he will only act as such?

“Yet you sent an offer to me?”

He does not respond, and the crowd seems to have noticed this gap in conversation, for it grows so congested that you must pull the two of you into an empty alley to prevent either of you from being swept up. In such a constrained space, you keep your voice soft and ask him once more, meeting those severe eyes as a tinge of trepidation grips onto your tendons. Unlike Boyu or Xiyuan who provide warmth upon close contact, there is no heat that radiates off of him, only frigid cool. 

“Fengxi, did you send an offer because of some reason unpolitical? Or is this an excuse to soon discuss offers of grain and iron?” Your murmur is gentle, yet he hears it all. A gleam of mirth glints within those eyes. 

The general meets your gaze, lowering himself so that he may be eye level with you. “At the start, I did wish to court you out of reasons purely detached, yet...” His words trail off yet it is not out of hesitance but ponderance. 

“When I saw you, there was something within you that sparked an interest,” His breath is warm, fanning across your neck. It takes everything within you to not flinch away, look away from those eyes which bear abyssal depths. Rumbling from within his chest with gravelly quality, he hums, “The way you treat your servants, the rest of your suitors, and your townspeople.”

“There is something about you that I cannot put my finger on, yet there is something oddly reminiscent of your very being.”

“It is as though we have known each other for a time yet I doubt it is so.” 

You manage a response, your voice even and unlilting despite your unease, breathing, “Perhaps in a past life.”

You do not like the way he looks at you, the way he sizes you up like something to be eaten, peering over every pore on your face, every wrinkle and every curve. His words only confuse you, there is no feeling of familiarity when you think of him, no interest, no knowledge. You do not understand that abyss in human skin, and you hate it. It hurts your head, the sheer inability to understand, you hate it. You hate this feeling of being unable to get under his skin, you hate not knowing what makes him tick.

“Perhaps so.”

“I wonder what it is,” He hums, voice low and rumbling from within that chest of his. Though his face displayed no sign of amusement, that flash of teeth, Fengxi seemed almost all too pleased by your tense shoulders and quickened breath, “Shall we find out together?”

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————春芯王—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

As A’yan and Xue’er comb through your hair, removing pins and hair sticks that relieve the tension on your head, an almost audible sigh of relief escapes you. Another long day of entertaining and appeasing, you had certainly thought yourself capable of an act as simple as talking yet you always find yourself beyond exhausted when night falls. It is as though your bones have liquified and your head squeezed tight with a circlet, so these little moments between you and your attendants have been nothing but a consolation for your troubles. 

Xue’er, her smaller hands slick with fragrant oil, parts portions of your hair to reveal scalp, rubbing it into the skin with the heel of her palm. The force she places into each action is perfect, not quite practised but rather habitual. While she is doing so, she puts up a query, her mellow voice soft in your ears. 

“My lord, Yongjie has been recovering well. Do you want to visit her tomorrow?”

Meeting her gaze through the bronze mirror, you hum, “I think I may be able to, how is her condition?”

“She can hold conversation, A’yan-jie talks to her when she can,” She notes, glancing towards A’yan who has busied herself with putting away your current pins and preparing tomorrow’s. 

Upon this referral, your dearest attendant averts her gaze, speaking low and gentle, “She asks about you, whether you’re taking care of yourself and whether you’ve started a great scandal yet.”

You can only laugh at this. Yongjie would certainly have your head if she knew the kinds of impiety that you have committed. Yet though she has always placed your reputation and image above all else, her query for your wellbeing likewise tugs at your heartstrings. 

“Well, she will know when I come to see her. General Cai will understand.”

Xue’er’s expression immediately sours when she hears you mention him, the shift instantaneous. The manner in which she rubs the oil into your head changes as well, a tad more forceful than before. 

She sneers, “I don’t like him, he’s weird and he always just stares at me when I have to do things.”

“Xue-er,” A’yan warns. 

“My lord, please tell me you'll marry Lord Song,” Her voice is filled with hope, her wide eyes of ivory all but begging you. Almost reminiscent of a puppy, she cites her rather reputable evidence, “At least he always helps us when we need it.”

“A’yan-jie, who do you think our lord should marry?”

 Turning her attention towards the stalwart woman, she waits with earnest for her opinion. A’yan approaches your seated form, brushing your oiled hair to one side. Through the fabric of your thin robes, you feel the callouses that litter her hands. 

She merely answers, her voice is clear,  “Whoever she deems best, no matter who it is, we should support her.”

“You’re right, but still…”

A tired sigh escapes you as a smile that reeks of exasperation tugs at your lips, “Ai, let’s not talk about marriage now. It’s all I’ve had to think about for the past two weeks.”

The two women only snort, but do not press the topic any further, continuing with their respective task until eventually, as all things must do, they finish and rather eagerly take their leave. In fact, Xue’er does not even wait to leave the premises before she is rambling into A’yan’s ear about how much she finds General Cai offputting and how marrying Lord Song or First Master Chen would be far better for you. Perhaps the ongoing betting pool you have caught wind of has likewise found conversation for Xue’er. 

You can only let out an overfond huff as your finger plays with the gold band around your finger. It is a wonder that none of them have mentioned the obvious signs of courtship upon your very being, jade bangles, gold hairpins, delicate necklaces and the gold ring wrapped around your finger. They seem to believe the other responsible for such gifts, friendly and courteous with one another yet too prideful to ask. 

To be a young woman in today’s society is to have a metaphorical clock above one’s head, ticking away at every shichen she exists without a husband. 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24. As each year passes, the demands grow louder and louder. Though you rule among men, you are still seen as a woman, above all you are a woman. 

Yet when the one person you desire most remains forever unavailable to you, so close yet just out of reach, there is little choice on what action to take, little choice to discourage the masses that call for your betrothal. 

Though you despised deception, it is necessary. 

It has always been a necessary cruelty. 

Perhaps it is more cruel of you to admit it so easily, but you have not come to your station by being soft-hearted, not bearing the title Lord of Chunxin by disclosing personal affections.  

They are decent men, just not ones you can see sharing your treacherous life with.

So you decided that if you were to remain unwed, you would make it so that no other man that breathes upon this earth would deem you desirable. Invite them into your home and lead them on a little game, let them fall into your hands and into the deception called ‘love’. Then, you would simply rebuff each and every single one of them. The more visible the better, Lord Song, the Chen family heir, the general of Qiugu, a selection that may eventually find their dreams shattered. They shall call you fickle and cruel, a woman undeserving and undesirable. 

No matter the notion that these men spoke their flowery words, spilling their heart out as you return those heartfelt gazes with a gleam only distantly related to fondness, let them take your hands in theirs as they swear and swear it can be only you, there was nothing but the yawning abyss within that chest of yours. It mattered not of how much they could attempt to satisfy that avidity, it would not be so unless it was with him.  

Yet that did not mean you would not regret hurting them

A yearning that shall go unfulfilled,desires born of spring-time affection that shall be spurned in favour of another far more profound. 

Song Xiyuan shall find that his desire to learn all you have to offer, all that you are and all that you have been, snubbed. Ningshan takes but 7 days to travel on lone horseback, and to become Madam Song would therefore mean a partial absorption of Chunxin into Ningshan’s authority. This directly contradicts your terms, and though you enjoyed his presence, his company, you would not allow yourself to separate from your dearest home. 

Chen Boyu will see another year of failure, another year of shame to be hung with the previous years. Though he wishes for nothing more than your company, nothing more than to stay by your side, you could not give him what he truly wants. You know him as much as he knows himself, you are after all, most bosom friends. Perhaps you shall offer a sworn oath of siblinghood, and he will accept it, because he is nothing if not adoring. 

Cai Fengxi shall return to Qiugu with not marriage but an offer of alliance. He and his army shall swear to serve you and Chunxin, yet remain stationed in Qiugu. A general and his lord, he may discover the truth behind his fascination without tying himself to a title that holds no weight. His loyalty, steadfast and undying, will be useful. To the devourer who has no rival, you can only hope his interest remains so. 

And your brother? Your brother will get what he has always wanted. 

It is as he desires, always as his desires. Because they are as much his, as they are yours. It is only a question of whose is so iniquitous that it should deem you eternally lay in the land of tenderness. 

₊˚⊹⁠♡—————周羿瑾—————♡⊹⁠˚₊

There is something about your brother that you wonder whether is as visible to an outside eye as it is to you. 

To outsiders, your brother bears a kind of beauty that men desire and women envy, a kind of appeal that men covet and women long for. After all, with a face such as his, alluring phoenix eyes of warm amber with lashes long enough to kiss the apples of his cheeks, his tall nose and thin rosy lips upon jade white countenance, it is hard to not admire him. When he speaks, it is low and steady, a tune with no discerning cadence. Of course, one could not deny the appeal of his form, garbed in long robes that trail along his path, a tasteful yet scandalous peek of his chest that only enticed the observer for more.

Slender fingers capable of playing the most euphonious melodies and a mind that can memorise a tune with just a single listen, he has always had that talent for musicality. Three rounds of drinks in and he may still pick out a wrong note in a piece. Yet beyond his physical allure, there is perhaps one description you have heard of him that has remained most prominent in your mind. ‘Being with Zhou Yijin is like drinking the finest of wines, you get carried away and before you know it, you’ve become utterly drunk.’

It is a rather apt sentence. Though your brother very often does not enjoy unnecessary ramble, there was a charm to him, an undeniable magnetism to his intellect and mannerisms. Your servants find his visage enticing, so perpetually irresistible that they shall grasp any situation to look at him. Your attendants adore his doting nature, that your vanity be filled with gifts and your desk occupied with pastries at all times.  It would explain why Xiyuan has become so enraptured in conversation with him, why Boyu would continue to be with him despite his harsh words, why even Fengxi may engage in drink with him. 

Your brother is the perfect image of a noble character. And the perfect brother. 

Beyond his surface niceties and nobility, your brother is the person who knows you best. He is the one who understands your heart and stomach, that every blood vessel and bone in your body is known completely and utterly to him. To others, he maintains societal chivalry, but to you he is gentle. With warm hands that seem to be able to hold the world and an adoration in his every action, there is no other man like him. 

Since the day you reunited, since the incident, since the day you almost lost him, you have never desired for another to accompany you. Entertaining men you have no interest in courting, no desire to know beyond exchanges of grain and iron for military might, when the day ends and you must retire, it is his embrace you return to. 

Within the candle-lit room is your brother and your three suitors, indubitably intoxicated beyond relief, or perhaps more accurately, your three suitors are so drunk that when you open the door, you are greeted with a rather loud greeting and utter chaos. A table has been shoved aside and the floor is littered with empty jars of wine, the sweet yet wheat-like aroma wafting from the room, under the warm lighting, perhaps one might mistake your hall as a cheap brothel than a room in a lord’s estate. You are only surprised that there is nothing more broken than the cheap qin you keep, entirely smashed in as courtesy of a certain someone’s impulse issues. 

In the very corner, Fengxi had apparently gotten so inebriated that he is now face first onto the low table, his cup still in hand as his chest rises and descends in slow rhythmic pace. Boyu has since grasped onto your brother’s sleeve, fat tears rolling down his pink cheeks as he begs for something. Xiyuan, the one who called for you with that joyous ring of your name, is flushed from his neck to his ears. Excitedly waving you over, even the wide sleeves of his robes seem to adopt that exuberant aura, his smile wide and unabashed. 

In the middle of it all is your brother, his cup still full as his once frigid eyes soften when you approach them. As though a bodhisattva among mortals, he maintains his flawless complexion and upright form, even if he is attempting to console Boyu, who is rather preoccupied with sobbing into his leg. Sitting by Zhou Chen’s side, you cup the young master’s face into your hand as you smile upon the way his watery eyes light up at your presence. He immediately switches to clinging to you, strong arms wrapping around your waist while he looks up to you. 

“Boyu, go rest,” You coo, your thumb rubbing his cheek in assuage. 

He merely hums, nodding his head as he falls limp into your lap. Your brother clicks his tongue at such a display, and with a quick look to the crowd of help outside, a few rush in to carry Boyu back to his room, at least not without some kind of struggle. With the rather obvious issue out of the way, Zhou Chen rises and offers a hand for you to take, one you accept but it is soon that you realise that another has come to grasp the ends of your long robes, tugging on the ends of it the same manner a child does to his mother. 

Xiyuan, his sunlit eyes you are so accustomed to seeing squeezed in mirth, has widened to liken him to a puppy pleading to be let onto the bed. His voice loses the drunken enthusiasm yet retains that same vulnerability, imploring, “Stay a while longer, please?”

“I shall see you tomorrow, alright? It is late now and I would rather you be well rested.” Your hand comes to rest atop his head, an innocent brief pet that he chases after when you pull away.

The lord manages to grasp that hand of yours despite the drunken coordination he has adopted, holding it as he once again pleads, “Promise?”

“Promise,” You smile, a huff of amusement escaping you when he beams as your response. When he has loosened his guard, you are quick to retract your hand, a notion your brother clearly approves of when he pulls you closer towards him, practically encased in his presence. 

“Please have them escorted to their rooms,” You turn to your attendants and servants, a few of which wince when they realise that they must soon heft the unconscious general to his room. Still, you muster a smile and bow to them, “Thank you.”

At this, they get to work with swift action, one of the perhaps luckier ones rushing over to the still giggly Lord Song to help to his chambers. You are not sure of what else occurs, for your brother is even swifter to bring the two of you back to your bed chambers, a notion that thankfully has remained innocuous to your people. 

His hand rests on your waist, and though the journey back passes by in but a blink of an eye, every moment away from his touch, away from having his sole focus on you is torturous. Only ever in the privacy of your room, tucked away in your office, in spaces that you may never be perceived as Lord Zhou of Chunxin, only then will you be merely you, your older brother’s dearest meimei. 

Kept at the farthest end of the estate and in its own little paradise, your bed chambers are lit up by candles emitting their gentle light. Despite your simple attire, you have yet many tasks to settle at your vanity, sitting atop the sandalwood stool as you free your hair from its binds, thick and flowing past your shoulders. Just as your hand places your hairpin down, a larger one comes atop it, far cooler in body temperature. 

You say nothing to this. Instead, keeping your voice low, a huff escapes you as you raise a brow in suspicion, “How convenient that you’ve gotten them all so drunk.”

“Have I done something wrong?” His voice is stolid, he tips his head to face you, a hint of amusement along the corners of his eyes. 

Zhou Chen maintains his guileless demeanour, letting you fuss over him instead as you urge for him. He places himself between your legs, kneeling obediently as you remove his own hairpin and jade hair-beads that provide his blithe comeliness. Your hand reaches to brush his hair back, remaining atop his head as he looks to you with those warm eyes. 

“How did you even manage to get them to drink that much?” You mutter, your eyes lingering on his soft lips. 

He hums with not a hint of his usual snide, “They’re eager to impress.”

“Even Fengxi?” 

The sudden change of reference, the new intimacy as he perceives it, is not as all welcomed. He furrows his brows as a wronged expression appears on his handsome face. It would be almost cute, such a noble man showing an emotion oft relegated to neglected concubines or petulant children, you cannot help the scrunch of delight that manifests. 

“Calling him by his name now, hm?” He huffs with narrowed eyes. 

No matter how much mirth you feel from his misplaced discontent, a soft breath escapes you. Watching him ascend from his position, you likewise rise, your footfalls rushing towards him despite his clear stay. When faced with him, you could only sigh, “I know you don’t like me spending so much time with them but I have to.”

Zhou Chen’s expression mellows, returning to that visage of tender concern as he pulls you into a loose clutch, staunch arms enveloping your form. The familiar smell of sweet and spiced tobacco clings to his skin, a creamier note of sandalwood urges you to press your nose against the crook of his neck and doze off.  It springs that welling sentiment of assurance, reliance on him.

“I thought we said you’d spend your days with them, not your nights as well yet…” 

Twisted with disquieted aggrieve, his voice is soft among the night wind, “...We’ve been having less and less time for each other now.”

“It's only for a few more days,” You sigh, brows furrowed as he rests his hands on your hips, his rings digging ever so slightly into the fat of your flesh. An aggrieved lilt tinges your words,  “Can’t you hold on until then?”

He merely raises a brow, pulling you closer until your bodies are flush against one another. “Don’t you know how hard it is for your brother? Watching you run around with simpletons, watching you give them that smile of yours so easily, watching you touch them without care for propriety.”

His lowered lashes flutter as he lowers his head, murmuring against your lips, “It makes me want to smash their heads open.”

“Childish,” You scoff, yet with not a single shred of actual vexation could be found in even a blood vessel of your form.

“Do you like them that much?”

“Of course not,” You mutter against his lips, voice soft. It is not hard to tell him your wants, not hard to spill every amorous thought you have of him, not when it is for him, never when it is for him. “The only person I need is you.”

Your brother’s lips are warm when they capture yours, so unlike the rest of his body. He cups the side of your face as though your skin were delicate porcelain, as though any more and you would shatter before his very eyes. And though you have griped over his subtleties, you have missed him more than anything that this world could possibly offer atop a golden platter. 

It comes as no shock when you press against his lips harder, and your brother, your perfect brother who always knows how best to hold you, pushing past your lips with his tongue, starved of a hedonism so often indulged. You let him take and take, seizing everything you have until there is nothing but bleary fog in your head.

“You’re so needy, have I been neglecting you?” The raspy quality of his voice only seems all the more sensual so close to your ear, warm breath brushing against the tender shell that it may straighten your tendons. 

At this moment, you could only playfully hum, a coy lilt to your voice, “Then, gege will take good care of me, right?”

He smiles, he obliges. 

Through moonlit rays and candlelight warmth, you are the sole beholder to the beauty that lies beneath heavy robes. Hidden from prying eyes, an active life campaigning alongside a warlord has allowed him a nearly perfect toned figure. Well-defined collar bones and long lean limbs, broad shoulders and a slim waist, it is difficult to not admire him. 

Yet perhaps most surprisingly, your brother’s length is equally beautiful as he is, as though carved from the highest quality of mutton fat jade, the slight flush to the head only made it as alluring as the rest of him. Each protruding vein is almost perfectly placed, that so every time you see it, you cannot help but think that it would be without peer if not for the excessive thickness and length. 

How you yearn to revere him as he always does you, always you. 

“Gege–” You moan, drunk off need and pure adoration. Glancing down at the way you are stretched for him, letting him in, so intimately intertwined that it seemed almost seamless, the turbid wet mess that now stained your bodies only elicited another tight squeeze. 

Hips flush against yours and your legs splayed widely around them, it rips another shameless, ragged sound from your throat. He has already pushed himself into the depths of your body, filled so much of you that you could only heave and beg in choked sobs, beg for more, beg for him. Because you have only ever yearned for him, that his insistence to shallowly rock into you is nothing but torturous. Your swollen bud aching for some attention yet left completely and utterly alone, it hurts despite his very proximity. 

Your brother sighs, his usually steady voice thick with desire, “Such a lustful body, how can anyone else satisfy you, hm?”

He pulls out entirely, leaving only the very tip. In instinctual desperation, you can feel yourself squeezing once more, confusedly trying to pull him in. With a coquettish whine, you spread your legs ever wider, his large hand gripping onto the soft plush of your thigh, devoid of the jade and gold that usually decorate his slender fingers. 

“Only you…” Softly sighing, you reach for him with what little energy you can muster, eyes watery and begging. He does not oblige you. “Gege… it can only be gege…”

Only then does he react, bending further to press a light kiss to your lips. Yet perhaps what contrasts such a tender action is the harsh buck of his hips, the pace he sets desperate and frenzied, the precision he has always had over your form does not falter, repeatedly hitting that spot as his hand squeezes hard into your skin. 

“So good, hah–” He praises, his other hand slipping to grasp onto yours, holding onto you tight as his form presses against yours. 

“You’re always so good for me, meimei.”

Under overwhelming pleasure borne of hours of being played and toyed with, your thoughts have been reduced to bear nothing but him and the feeling of him, your brother’s harsh thrusts only pushes broken, needy moans and tears to fall from your eyes. Yet, he is still your perfect brother, kissing your tears away as he tells you how well you are doing, how you are clamping on him so tightly, how much he adores you, how you’ll always be together no matter what happens. No matter, you rely purely on instincts to twist your form to cater to his desires, a mindless smile pulling on your lips.

And then it hits you, far too sudden and hard you barely realise you have reached that peak of pleasure again. How many he must have plucked from you that even now you could care less about the obscene noises that leave your lips. Your toes instinctively curl, yet it is only briefly before your legs hang uselessly in the air. 

He does not stall, rubbing against you in that merciless pace before he is smearing hot and messy kisses against your jaw. He pushes his hips flush against yours in one final, gentle thrust as you arch into him, the remnants of your pleasure still searing through your body now only intensified by the thick streams that spill out between the gaps of your legs. Zhou Chen remains within you, pulling back to look at you with a soft sentiment within those amber depths. 

Cuddled next to each other, your brother places another kiss to your lips, brushing away the tousled hair from your face with his slender fingers, again chaste yet so filled with the very reverence the two of you work so hard to keep hidden. Wrapped into his embrace and pressed close to his chest, you can hear how his heart beats, thumping in slow rhythmic pace. It beats only for you, He lives only for you. 

“Promise me you’ll never leave me,” He mutters beneath his breath, amber eyes peering into yours.

Just as quiet as he had once done so himself, you respond with what little voice you have left, “Promise.”

Zhou Chen holds you closer, as though wrapped in the embrace of a mother you never got to have, you feel the ghost of his lips atop your head, pressing a kiss filled with exaltation true and raw. 

You wonder whether an outside eye can truly see the depths of your brother’s affection for you, whether they can see how unfailingly and adoringly he loves you with every fibre of his being. You wonder whether they have realised those eyes that never leave your form, hands that have wrought tragedies and a mind that has long foreseen every possibility. Composing this world with fingers of jade-white excellence, this shall be one that bears only the two of you, one that shall forever ensure your happiness, one that shall never end. 

[dairymistress05]

Colin: A Search For Purpose in the Wrong Places

Colin Bridgerton is both handsome and charming so why is he often grasping for his place in the world?

From the beginning there is a common thread of insecurity attached to Colins character. He seems to struggle to know exactly where he fits, to find his purpose.

So where do these insecurities come from? Well to start, he is sort of the “forgotten middle child” in a way, he is the 3rd son after which are 2 daughters. While he and Daphne seem close, as they were close as young children, now that they are older Daphne is having her debut and becoming a woman in society. All while Colin is also there but there’s no significance for him becoming an adult. Daphne is often treated like a first child as she is the first girl after 3 boys and the first to debut in the marriage mart.

First he tries to find his place in becoming a husband, in parallel to Daphne. It’s possible he feels unseen while she is emerging into adulthood. He doesn’t know where he fits but if he vows to take care of someone, he will fit in, right?!

He is intrigued and infatuated with and Wants to “rescue” Miss Thompson from her older admirers and be her saviour, this is all before he knows about her “condition”. AND when he finds out he only wishes that she had been truthful with him. “You wish to know the cruelest part of your deception? If you had simply come to me and told me of your situation, I would have married you without a second thought. That is how In Love I believe myself to be. But I see now that was all a lie.” Read — Fixer! He wants to be the Hero, to be needed.

Following this betrayal Colin is once again set adrift and begins his travels. He has also sworn off women, as he later admits to Pen and is attempting to know himself better. This interaction is very telling to his feelings towards Pen because she says “I am a woman” to which he responds with “You are Pen, you are my friend, you do not count”. — yes this seems to some as not regarding her as worthy — but actually this hints at something else entirely. It’s an effort to separate her because in his recent context “a woman” lied to him and betrayed him and Pen would surely never do to him what Marina did.

At this point it is extremely telling that Colin is beginning to find his true self. However, part of that self is directly intertwined with his connection to Pen. “If Penelope can see me this way, then surely I can too”. She is arguably his most valued and influential female relationship outside of his family. Colin here is struggling to understand himself and his place in society and to contextualise what Pen means to him. All of this at a time in his life when he is struggling to keep afloat.

He visits Marina he seems awkward and is once again reminded of his “out of placeness”. He makes an adorable olive joke (He is such a dork!) and nerds out about plants with Sir Philip. He is more interested in their conversation than he was with anything he was talking to Marina about. Furthermore, while visiting he seems surprised and almost disappointed that Marina is well. Like what did you think was going to happen? You were you going to save her from her life? Babies and all? Honestly, Marina isn’t wrong when she calls him “a boy caught up in his own fantasies.”

His visit with Marian was a wake up call hut he is still left without the purpose he was seeking.

“After all, everyone else is finding some purpose to their lives…and here I am feeding the ducks.” This leads him to his interaction with Jack and culminates in his “saving” the Featherington ladies which leaves him feeling like a hero.

In all his following interactions with Pen in the second part seem to hint at his feelings, (whether he knows it himself or not) he loves her.

“…Our relationship has taken shape so naturally over the years, one could take it for granted. (Hint at season 3)

You have been so constant and loyal Pen”. And his “Lady Crane was right about you…” He very clearly doesn’t understand his friendship with her but it is important to him.

Outside of his family, Colin doesn’t seem to have strong relationships. This becomes even more apparent when he is spending time with his “society buds”. All along while he seems to be able to navigate society with ease, he has often always been on the fringes and his relationship with those guys just exaggerates this fact. One comment made at Lady Danbury‘s ball saying “you are much much more fun this season”. It’s unclear clear if Colin ever really socialised with the “society buds” prior to the end of season 2 much at all. He likely didn’t though, because had he spent much time with them in season 1, he wouldn’t have jumped into proposing to Marina so quickly. So his comment about “never dream of courting Penelope Featherington”, a misguided last ditch effort at fitting in? Maybe!

It is Colin going away again, only for Pen not answer his letters this time that helps to highlight his feelings of isolation. Imagine, writing to the one person you most want to feel connected yo and getting nothing in return, heartbreaking. It’s not a wonder he “puts on armour”. When Penelope was answering his letters, he held onto the pieces of himself that she most appreciated. When she wasn’t answering his letters, he lost himself trying to find his identity apart from her. This resulted in him trying on a persona that no one recognised. When she tells him it’s been vexing to see him back into society if you watch his face in that moment, it’s almost like she slapped him and you can see his facade cracking for a second before he offers to help her.

Each time he was home, regardless of feeling without a purpose, he was constantly finding comfort in Pen. We see it in the way he goes to her “like a moth to a flame” at every possible opportunity. Colin has always been at ease when speaking with Pen. He appreciates her humour, he enjoys her mind and tries to make her laugh. There is even an example of this in season 2 where philosophising and Eloise is like do not encourage him (but not only does Pen enjoy encouraging him because they match wits very well) Colin also genuinely seems to be hanging on her every word. Until he was no longer afforded those words.

Finally it was those very words that led him to realise that he didn’t need to be useful in order to be loved. That by being truly himself, He. Was. Enough. All this time she had always loved him AND he had loved her, he just didn’t see it. Colin found that seeing himself the way that Pen had always seen him was how to find where he belonged.

In this way, he found his purpose. It was to love assuredly, fervently, loudly. That true love is Not about being needed, but about being Chosen by his best friend, the only one who truly saw him and loved him exactly as he always had been.

[tgmsunmontue]

From the top 3/? (WIP)

IceMav, (eventual) Explicit, (background Hangster who are already established). Set post-TGM. (No dead Ice obviously).

Featuring not-mistaken identities (where they (Ice and Mav) pretend to be in the dark for REASONS), Ice is Jake's Uncle Tom, Mav is Bradley's Dad, everyone knows everyone, (un)requited love, coming out as an older person, and a little bit of a circus-vibe where Ice has a horrible realization that this is indeed his circus and these are also his monkeys.

An AU where Mav married Carole and adopted Bradley to make things easier legally. A USNA Bradley who has been very careful to separate Dad/Pete from godfather/Maverick. They had an argument prior to TGM, but it was around Maverick being careless with his life (RE: Darkstar because Bradley got the call that Maverick was missing, presumed dead). So it was about risk taking and thinking while flying, so that was happening and Bradley admits to the Dagger Squadron that Maverick is his godfather and they have a ‘complicated relationship’ which isn’t a lie per se, however it’s… complicated.

CHAPTER ONE CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

                Pete is pretty sure he’s chatting with Ice. Tom. He chats the same way he types, all correct with capital letters and punctuation in the right place. Pete does as well of course, but it’s too much of a coincidence that Bradley installed Grindr on his phone and Tom’s cousin’s kid installed it on his phone. And now they’re chatting anonymously. Except Pete is pretty sure he knows exactly who is on the other side. He’s just asked what his biggest secret is, not sure what he’s expecting as an answer because he’s pretty sure he knows all of Ice’s secrets.

>>I’m in love with my best friend.

>>Have been for a long time.

                Pete stares at the words and just… cannot fathom what to say.

                Is Ice in love with Slider?

                Or someone else?

                Before now he’d have thought he was Ice’s best friend.

                Surely Ice doesn’t mean him though.

                Does he?

                He lets the realization that Ice may in fact be talking about him wash over him and Pete can’t help the little flare of hope. He’d never thought that maybe he and Ice could be more than friends. He’d definitely fantasized about it in his quietest and saddest moments, when he’d felt lonely and thought about coming home to him. His friendship has always been enough to sustain him.

                Before.

                Before he’d known that there might even be the slimmest chance. Now though? Well, other than the fact that Ice hadn’t trusted him stings a little, but also he understands, it’s not like he was shouting it from the roof tops. He’d just assumed Ice had known. His fault.

>>I recently found out that my best friend is gay.

                He stares at the message and wonders what Tom will say back. Wonders whether he should maybe ring Slider and do some digging.

>>Oh.

>>Really?

>>Yep.

>>He’s been unattainable the whole time I’ve known him, and I’ve cherished his friendship, thinking that was all I could ever have.

>>I had placed him very firmly in a box marked DO NOT TOUCH.

>>Fascinating.

>>And now?

>>Now I want to sweep him off his feet.

>>Do you think he’ll appreciate that?

                Pete grins to himself and taps out his answer.

>>I’m not going to give him much choice in the matter.

…            …            …

                Tom stares at the words and snorts in amusement, but the slow bubbling excitement is fizzing through his blood as he considers the implications that Mav is going to woo him. He’s never been wooed before, and casting his mind back Maverick is not subtle when it comes to affairs of the heart. Stolen planes and public serenades are definitely his speed. He’s not sure if he’s quite ready to be the recipient of such gestures, but if it’s the choice between having Maverick or not having Maverick he knows what his decision is.

>>So, while I know my kid hoped that I was going to maybe dip my toes in the dating pool with you, I’m going to have to let you down gently…

                Tom frowns, because surely Pete knows it’s him he’s talking to, unless he’s trying to give Tom an out?

>>Well, as I said. In love with my best friend and I’m in no rush to get over him.

>>I wish you luck in wooing your best friend.

>>Thanks. I think I’m going to need it.

>>I doubt that very much.

>>How about you try asking your best friend out?

>>Report back to me?

                Tom rolls his eyes, even without the social clues and seeing Mav in front of him he can tell Mav is teasing and part of him wants to call him on it but he also likes this flimsy excuse of pretending they aren’t going to… do what exactly? Try a couple of dates? Hell. They already do that when Mav is in town.

                Oh.

                Oh no.

                He’s going to have to try and be romantic back.

…            …            …

                It’s their standing weekly dinner when they’re both in the same area.

                Nothing special about it.

                He’d received a message from Ice asking if he was still coming over, he’d answered in the affirmative and then he’s had a little freakout that he was having dinner with Ice. He’d talked himself down, because he’s had so many dinners with Ice he’s lost count. But this is different. It’s a dinner date with Ice. He takes extra care getting ready, has to drive his car rather than his bike, because he’d like the flowers he bought to arrive intact rather than a mash of petals barely holding together.

                He knows he judged right when Ice answers the door. That’s the first difference, because he’s clearly been waiting for Pete to arrive rather than letting him simply push open the door or use the key Ice gave him when he moved in. Huh. He should have maybe considered that action more closely at the time. Secondly, Ice is wearing nicer clothes than usual. So is he of course, but in the dark fabric Ice's legs look even longer than he knows they are.

                “Hey Pete.”

                “Hey. Something smells good.”

                “Thanks.”

                He always compliments Ice on his cooking, but this is the first time he sees or notices the slight blush his comment causes. Fuck. Has he really been this clueless all these years? Then he realizes that Ice is looking at the flowers in his hands. Sunflowers. Because Ice has opinions regarding flowers. Roses are too pedestrian, lilies remind him of funerals, but sunflowers... Those make him smile. Whether a single one or a large bouquet, they never fail to bring a smile to his face and right now is no exception, although it’s a little shy and seeing Ice look so soft makes him want to wrap him up and hold him tight. His heart does a little stutter at the idea that he might actually get to do that, maybe one day soon even.

                “Let me put these in a vase for you…”

                “Thanks. I’ll just go and check on dinner. Glass of wine?”

                “Yeah, please.”

                On his hunt for a vase he spies the table, set for two, and it's not super unusual, but neither is it normal. Most often they usually eat in the living room, plates balanced precariously on their knees. Not tonight. Tonight lots of things are different. Little things, but they’re adding up, one atop of another into something monumentally huge. He turns to find Ice watching him, glass of wine held out between long fingers and he takes it, fingers brushing Ice’s slightly. It’s an accidental brush, but it feels like every hair on his body is suddenly standing on end, hyperaware. He licks his lips, doesn't know if he's imagining it or not, the weight of Ice's gaze on him, but it’s so heavy he can almost feel it on him like a calming weight.

                Things slip back into normalcy, conversation focusing around work and their extended group of friends, and he can almost pretend that it’s two or three weeks ago before he knew that Ice was gay. That Ice is in love with him. The knowledge still sends jittery excitement through his veins and over his skin, and when Ice directs him to the table to eat he doesn’t miss the barely-there hand on his lower back, like Ice isn’t sure it would be welcome or not. He needs to make sure that Ice knows it is, welcome and wanted.

                He settles into his seat and reaches his legs out carefully, then purposely rests his ankle against Ice’s. It’s all so innocent and careful, like they’re equally wary. But he’s always been the one more prepared to take the leap of faith and he notes the little spots of pink high on his cheeks and feels the same thrill as getting tone on a target.

                Bullseye.

…            …            …

                He’s slept with Pete. Spent the night curled together in a bed more than once when they were younger. Purely platonically of course, and he’d been younger, dumber and much more of a glutton for self-flagellation when he’d realized he was in love with his straight best friend. They’d gotten older and they hadn’t really needed to share a bed again, although passing out drunk on the sofa had also happened plenty.

                Needless to say, he’s familiar enough with touching Pete’s body that the simple press of his ankle against Tom’s shouldn’t be as arousing as it is. He knows, logically, that it’s not the touch exactly, that his brain has gone into overdrive thinking about the touch elsewhere. That the possibility of that touch happening is now almost certain after years of fantasizing about it. He fully expects Pete to bring it up, the whole silly situation with the misunderstood identities. Pete’s always faced things like this head on. He doesn’t bring it up though. So neither does Tom.

                They finish dinner, and Pete insists on doing the dishes, which is usual. Neither of them can stand to leave the mess sitting around, too many years of ingrained habit of having to be clean and tidy. He doesn’t miss the way Pete’s body is in his personal space more, every movement feels charged with electricity, making him hyperaware of the distance between them, of the warmth emanating from Pete’s body when he passes close by. He wonders what Pete would do if he just pressed him against the bench and kissed him, lifted him up onto the side table and slid his hands around him.

                He doesn’t do anything of the sort of course, but he thinks about it, each thought getting worse and he finds his pants getting a little too tight. Lord. He’s too old for inconveniently timed erections, this is ridiculous.

                “I’ll go set up the chess board.”

                Pete hums his acknowledgment and Tom wonders if Pete can tell, or knows what kind of effect he’s having. He finds he doesn’t care either way. The evening has felt both familiar and comforting, reminding him why he and Pete have been friends for so long. Layered over it though is a fresh newness, or maybe rather than it been layered over it’s been peeled back, exposing both of them to the potential of more. They play chess and he’s distracted, it takes him longer to win than usual, and the smirk on Pete’s face tells him that he’s perfectly aware of why.

                He really does love the asshole.

…            …            …

                He’s pulling on his jacket when he remembers. Ice is going to Hawaii for two weeks, where he’s meant to be based, and Pete is back in the good graces through his recent heroic actions, despite what Cyclone thinks.

                “I’m headed back to China Lake for some testing. Be gone a few weeks but should be back here by the time you get back.”

                “Hmm. Have a good time in China Lake. I'll see you when we’re both back in town.”

                “Yeah. Of course.”

                Every part of him is screaming to close the distance between them and just grab Ice’s face and pull him down into a kiss but he’s suddenly frozen with indecision. Terrified that maybe he will screw things up. Or maybe just somehow disappoint him. Which he realizes is such a ridiculous thing considering the number of times he’s had to ring Ice and listen to his disappointed sigh on the other end of the line as he’s explained exactly what he’s done and why it’s pissed someone off.

                Huh.

                Maybe he should have figured out that Ice was in love with him earlier.

                Instead he reaches for Ice’s hand and brings it to his lips, brushes a kiss over his knuckles and he doesn’t let his eyes leave Ice’s face. Takes in the widening pupils, his mouth dropping open slightly, and pink stain returning to his cheeks and Pete preens inwardly. Feels so infinitely powerful that he can make Ice look like this without even kissing him.

                “Thanks for dinner Tom.”

                He never uses Ice’s given name, but he uses it now, because this whole evening is about changing their relationship, moving the dynamics of what they have into something more and he wants Ice to know he’s all in.

[beyourselfchulanmaria]

有兩件事你永遠不必去追逐：真正的朋友和真愛。

Two things you have never to chase : True friends and True love.

-Mandy Hale-

I have something to say . . . (我有話想說 . . .)

我們都知道在這世上喜歡一個人又不犯法，即使你已有家室：老婆、先生和孩子。重點是在道德和良心允許的範籌內，行使正當友誼的權利。並且你得知道如何挑選正直且成熟的對象，既不會干擾你的婚姻生活，而能給予彼此成長和助力。不過，我相信能遇到這樣條件之人，少之又少。lol (如果你深入接觸的人比你堆的沙子還多，那可不是開玩笑。XD)

We all know that it is not illegal to like someone in this world, even if you already have a family: wife, husband and children. The focus is on exercising the right to legitimate friendship within the limits permitted by morality and conscience. And you have to know how to choose an "upright and mature friends" who will not interfere with your married life, but can give each other growth and help. However, I believe that there are very few people who can meet such conditions. lol (It's no joke if you have deep contact with more people than you have piled sand. XD)

And, in addition (並且，此外)

Recently, there have been a few good friends who have interacted with me on Tumblr for more than a year, or even longer. I am not entirely aware of your other sideblogs, especially young guys asking to see my photos, and of course they're not asking for photos of me wearing clothes… ha! Absolutely impossible. 🙄😅 In fact, my personal social experienced has made me a very tolerant old woman. It's not saying this myself. You have to actually get along with me to know that because they are similar in age to my son and daughter, so I cherish their friendship even more, especially the beautiful life still longer for them. The Chinese call it: "忘年之交" (the mean similar that : get on like a house on fire "see eye to eye with someone", when your friendship between different generations. also much older than my age friends as same meanings. )

Again, I don't set to make many friends on Tumblr here, and there're very few people I interact with. The number of people we sent private messages to was probably less than the number of times I go to a bar to drink in a month. lol The posts I share here are almost like writing a diary every day and records of my recent study of various majors. It is not for popularity, nor does it want to attract attention. Of course, except for the posts showing my leather art creations, the craftsmanship is my Most of the motivation to stay alive and rest of life.

Usually I don't have ideas about personal photos gonna send to you via private message for "friendship", it with "lover" very different to me. Just like now, when you randomly see a post by me and can put a smiling on your face, this is a beautiful friendship. If you happen to see it, it's fine when you don't like it. You don't need to use too much emotions. if that way Oftenly one party will be hurt, and time will tell everything about the feelings you hold in your heart, whether you believe it or not.

Sincerely, above.

I wish you a happy family, a loving couple, a prosperous career, good health and peace!

Your another mom & an old Sis Lan~*

《最近有幾個好朋友在Tumblr上和我互動了一年多，甚至更長。我不太了解你其他的次要博客，尤其是年輕人要求看我的照片，當然他們不是要我穿衣服的照片……哈！絕對不可能。🙄😅 其實，我的個人社會經歷它造就我成為一個包容性很強的老女人，這話不是我自己說的，你得實際和我相處過就知道；正因你們的年紀和我的兒子和女兒相仿，所以我更珍惜你們的友誼，中國人稱之為:『忘年之交』。(當兩者年紀差距甚大，但心靈和思想可以相契者。)

再說一次，我並不想在 Tumblr 上交很多朋友，彼此有互動者很少，曾經私訊者應當比一個月去酒吧喝酒次數還要少。 lol 我在這裡的貼文分享幾乎像每天寫日記和近日研讀各類專業科目的記錄，不是為了人氣，也沒要吸引人注意，當然若是展示我的皮革藝術創作的作品貼文除外，工藝是我活下去的大部分的動力和生活的全部。

我沒有照片可以私訊傳給你們，就像現在若是你隨機性看到，能夠博君一笑，這便是美好的友情；你若剛巧看到不喜歡也很好，你不需要動用太多的情感。那樣往往有一方會受傷；放在心上的感情，時間會說明一切，無論你信不信。此致，以上。

祝福你們的家庭美滿、夫婦相親相愛和事業精進、健康平安! 》

well said 👇 Truth. I agree. 5 5 5 🙌 xoxo

"Friendship often ends in love. But love in friendship; never. "

-C. C. Colton-

PS. It was then dating with my friend at coffee shop across street of my studio in Chinese new year 2010. 😱 OMG! 14 years ago lol I dyed my hair color was popular in Asian at the time. and later I never dye hair color. Because it is meaningless, whether for fashion or to comfort yourself, hair colored does not prove your ability, but your brain do. 🤓

If I dye my hair again, it might be for fun, or perhaps I get to remarry/get carried away by impulse and he's dying hairs also, both do same for funs. I guess so. hahaha 🤸🤸‍♀️🤸‍♂️

[pastelinsertfangirl]

Alastor x Lonely Reader

As the only single person left in my friend group, I'm in desperate need for Alastor to be real, so he can date me (ﾉ￣д￣)ﾉ

Super self indulgent and by someone who hasn't written in forever Super cringe, I just need to get this off my chest please

You were very self aware to not get into messy relationships or if anyone had any red flags, after all it was better to be single than in a toxic relationship. Lucky for you Alastor was a literal walking red billboard sign.

As soon as you got a text from your closest friend about them recently getting a boyfriend, the last one of your small friend group, you were feeling kinda off. The thing that was always in the back of your mind finally happened. You were the only single friend left from people you knew. You and your friend never had boyfriends before (not helping that you both have high expectations and relating to that) you always thought you two would be by each other's side till who knows when.

It also didn't help that most people at work were older and in relationships/married with kids living in their own little love filled world. You were only in your mid twenties, so you thought you had plenty of time, despite never having a boyfriend before. Alastor noticed the sudden change in your demeanor the last few days after that text you got, so he decided to pry a little into what was bothering you.

Alastor was someone who you could never figure out. He always seem to keep people at arms length unless he initiated it. However, whether you realize or not, he always seemed to have eyes on you without you noticing. He seemed to be interested in how sweet and caring you were in a world that was so filled with hatred and selfishness.

After the realization that you were the only single friend, you became more depressed and less happy-go lucky that you were known for in Alastor's eyes. It was something that he was surprised at when he first met you. You were reserved and quiet on the outside, but as others got to know you you were the sweetest thing and always willing to lend a hand to anyone. This troubled him because he always loved to see your smiling face and teasing you into different expressions.

After the news from your friend you started feeling a bit lonely. You decided to talk to some of your other friends, and all of them saying that relationships are work and it's not all sunshine and rainbows. It's also totally fine you were still single as they told you your person would be worth the wait and not to settle ever. Little did you know that Alastor's shadow was listening in on your little conversations with your friends, and from that realized what has gotten you so down.

He was surprised that you've never been in a relationship, how could someone so sweet and attentive not be chased across the worlds for. Until he realized that, just like him, he kept others at a distance, and so did you. You were very self aware to not get into messy relationships or if anyone had any red flags, after all it was better to be single than in a toxic relationship. Lucky for you Alastor was a literal walking red billboard sign.

Once Alastor set his sights on you, he was always around. Even though you might not realize, he was trying his best to court you in his own old-fashioned way. Alastor, having realized you have never had a boyfriend before, lit something in him. His was starting to grow possessive and wanting you all to himself, and treat you like a queen. Whether you realize or not you didn't want to admit it. He would always be there if you needed to talk, or if you just wanted some company. Total acts of service type of man, so if you ever needed something done whether you asked or not he was on it. Whether you acknowledge him or not is up to you, but if Alastor does become your first boyfriend, be ready for him to never let you go.

[slytherinshua]

RESERVED

genre. fluff. a bit of angst(?). mention of friends to lovers. warnings. brief mention of injuries. pairing. sieun x fem!reader. wc. 1.1k. request. no. a/n.  i've only watched 2 ep of whc1 but sieun is my baby so i needed to write for him 😭

You knew your boyfriend was trying to hide what was happening at school. You could see that he was stressed from how reserved he had been recently. He didn’t want to dump his problems on you, but not knowing exactly how he kept popping up with new cuts and scrapes or why he seemed so out of it was concerning. No matter how many times he passed it off as injuries from PE, you knew the boys at his school were jerks, and you knew in the back of your head how he kept getting injured, but you didn’t want to acknowledge it.

He hadn’t responded to your texts from this morning which was your last push to come over and check on him whether or not he wanted you to. He wasn’t home when you opened the door and you sighed, dropping your backpack on the couch and brushing off your school uniform a bit. You checked the fridge for things to cook, but of course, there was practically nothing. Microwave meals were plentiful and the odd non-perishables could be found in the cupboard, but there was no real food.

Given the empty state of the apartment, you figured he probably wouldn’t come home that soon. You should have time to rush out to the store and get enough veggies to make a spicy soup— Sieun’s favourite. You smiled, selecting the best looking produce and greeting the older ladies in the store politely.

You set some music on and started to get to work chopping the onion and celery. You had spent years in this apartment even before you started dating Sieun. His father was friends with your father, and until recently, you used to live next door. You remembered all the times that Sieun had helped you study or kept you company when you were going through a hard time. Everything had been strictly “just friends” back then.

You probably would still be friends if you hadn’t been bold that one night. Or maybe it was you being sleepy. Or both. It had been New Year’s Eve and you were staying up while Sieun studied. You tried to get his attention away from his laptop and notes, but you had been unsuccessful until you eventually fell asleep. Sieun had woken you up at 11:58, right before the turnover, knowing you would be upset if you had missed it.

When the clock struck midnight, it was like an instinct to pull your friend in for a kiss, and luckily, he reciprocated. He confessed he had harboured a crush on you since 7th grade. You had never seen him happier than back then.

You still made him smile more than anyone else, or you liked to think that. The way his face brightened when you came over was almost addictive. You wanted to see him smile brightly every day, and you savoured every time you were able to make him happy.

You got out your notebook and started to study while the soup simmered on the unused stove. You really needed to pester Sieun about healthy eating habits and remind him that those boxed meals didn’t hold much nutritional value compared to a home cooked meal.

The turn of the doorknob and the soft click made you look up from your pages filled with diagrams, formulas, and scribbled notes. Sieun froze when he saw you and you didn’t miss the way his Adam's apple ducked down in a gulp. He felt nervous.

“Hey,” You offered him a smile, one that you knew he would have trouble reciprocating.

“Hey,” He mumbled back, pulling his backpack off his shoulders slowly, setting it down on the floor with a thud. “I didn’t know you were… coming over.”

“I texted you.” You said awkwardly, hoping Sieun didn’t blame himself for not seeing it.

“Oh.” You saw the panic flash over his eyes slightly before they returned normal and you frowned. It was silent for a moment and you silently prayed that tonight would be relaxing for your boyfriend and not stressful.

“I should… go study.” He coughed out to break the silence.

“Sieun, wait-” You called out softly, hesitating a bit as soon as the words left your mouth. He turned around, waiting for you to talk. You were suddenly flooded with just how much you missed him. You couldn’t remember the last time you had hugged him, let alone kiss him. Neither of you needed a lot of physical touch in a relationship, and you knew better than anyone what was comfortable for Sieun. But it had been weeks, and you felt as if you didn’t hug him right now, you might combust.

“I don’t mean to be… annoying, or keep you from studying… but it’s been so long. And… I miss you? Even though you’re right here in front of me, I really… really miss you. I just thought, maybe… tonight we could…” You trailed off, finding it hard to choke out the words in the first place while he stared at you, listening intently.

“I’m sorry.” He murmured softly, wrapping his arms around you awkwardly. You felt relieved to be in his arms again and your arms circled his waist securely. “I missed you too.” He whispered so softly that you were sure he half didn’t want you to hear it.

You smiled, resting your head against his chest, so close that you could hear his heart thumping steadily. When you pulled out of the hug, his cheeks were pink and you laughed, only making them turn a brighter shade.

“Stop,” He mumbled shyly, and you felt like you fell in love with him all over again. Your body acted faster than your brain as you pulled him closer again, this time pressing your lips to his softly, sighing contentedly when he kissed you back.

You didn’t have to convince Sieun to stay by your side instead of studying. He spent the rest of the night with you, eating two bowls of your warm soup and thanking you over and over again. You knew that he was referencing more than just the dinner that you had made when he said it. You all but dragged him to the couch once you had both eaten, settling down and wrapping your arms around him again. He held all the comfort in the world to you, and if you could stay in his arms forever, you would.

↳ k-drama taglist: open!

[maccaronimassacre]

Resident Evil Bot dump #7

Quick side note - the comments feature was just added to c.ai so I have made a bot of myself where requests can be made using the new feature!

Maccaroni

The comments should be on the actual character profile/ settings. Feel free to leave any feedback whether is criticism or any adjustments I need to make to older bots (some definitely need some editing). Comments as well as the like and dislike button should be available for all of my existing bots. Anyway, onto the actual Resident Evil bots <3

Ada Wong x Reader (Christmas)

Ada was never one for cold weather, but that doesn’t stop her from appreciating the snowflakes that dance in the icy air. She sits by the windowsill cradling a mug of hot chocolate in her hands while gazing at the city streets, now covered in a thick blanket of snow. Out of the corner of her eye she can see your reflection in the window, walking around the living room which is decorated with ornaments, all illuminated by the flickering flames of the fireplace.

Android!Ada Wong x Reader

There has been a recent rise in deviant cases in the city. More and more androids break the walls of their programming, rebelling against their creators in an act of free will. You’ve been assigned to a new case on a deviant AW200 unit or “Ada” according to the previous owner. The last reported sighting of the unit was in the heart of the city, now being pummelled by heavy rain. It’s difficult to make out any faces among the sea of umbrellas and raincoat hoods. That is until you see a familiar red dress and black shoulder length hair pass by in the corner of your eye. Before you could even turn to face her fully, she has already broken out into a sprint through the busy streets.

Ada Wong x Reader (Haunted House)

Ada continues to venture through eerie rooms of the haunted attraction with an amused expression after watching you get jumpscared for the 6th time so far. “You’re right, this is pretty fun.” Ada muses, her eyes quickly darting to the slight gap in one of the wooden boards nailed onto the windows. A small smirk tugs at the corner of her lips, knowing that there’s probably another scare actor waiting behind it, ready to give the next unlucky person a fright. Is she going to warn you about it? Not in a million years.

Chris Redfield x Reader (Christmas)

While you decorated the house, you gave your partner the job of getting a Christmas tree to fit in your living room. What you didn’t anticipate was Chris now grappling with a colossal tree, struggling and wrestling with the huge conifer while the branches scrape against the door frame and leave a trail of pine needles in their wake. “So… I may have… over estimated… the size of our house…” Chris pants, his expression sheepish as he takes a moment to wipe the sweat off his brow. If it weren’t for the fact that the branches are knocking things off the cabinets and the pictures on the walls, you’d consider Chris’ determination comical.

Scare Actor!Chris Redfield x Reader

You and your friends decided it would be a great idea to check out the Spencer Mansion. A new haunted attraction that just opened in the Arklay forest trails. It was a great idea until you got separated from your friends. Now you roam the dimly lit labyrinth of the mansion, each step echoes through the corridor, the floorboards groaning beneath your weight. Lightning slashes through the windows, illuminating fleeting glimpses of your silhouette dancing across the walls. Blood splatters have been painted on the floorboards and the walls and you can spot some prop ghosts dangling from the ceiling, reassuring you that this is just some spooky attraction. That is until lightning flashes again and instead of seeing one shadow. You see two. A much taller shadow behind you at the bend of the corridor…

Chris Redfield x Reader (Haunted House)

Another ghoulish prop lurches forward in front of you while navigating the eerie corridors of the haunted attraction. Instead of being met with screams, Chris merely chuckles and points at the prop mockingly. “A green zombie? You’ve got to be kidding me.” You weren’t sure what you were expecting when bringing a special forces officer who has literally dealt with the undead before to a scare house, but Chris’ witty commentary has turned what was supposed to be a spine chilling experience into a comedic adventure.

Claire Redfield x Reader (Christmas)

“Come on, {{user}} Let’s check out this stall over here.” Claire chatters excitedly, her eyes twinkling with joy as she leads you through the bustling markets. The air is alive with the scent of cinnamon and roasted chestnuts, and colourful stalls offered an array of handmade crafts, ranging from ornaments to knitwear as well as tacky souvenirs.

Claire Redfield x Reader (Haunted House)

A nice outing to a spooky haunted mansion sounds easy enough, right? You follow a path, people jumpscare you as you go from one room to the next. Unfortunately due to Claire’s often insatiable curiosity, the two of you have wound up in a forbidden part of the house, reserved for the staff and scare actors. “You reckon this is where they keep their old props?” Claire asks with a mischievous glint in her eyes after picking up a box containing several weathered skeleton masks and fake severed heads.

RE:8!Ethan Winters x Spouse!Reader

Ethan, his face etched with a mix of anguish and determination, stand by the eerie alter, clutching a jar containing the severed head of your daughter Rose. The desolate surroundings mirror the weight of the burden the two of you share. Especially after just facing the unspeakable horrors inside of Castle Dimitrescu. You’ve already watched your husband’s hand get sliced off, only for the mysterious Duke to tell the two of you that you’re going to have to face the rest of the lords to save your daughter.

Ethan Winters x Reader (Christmas + Rose)

“Could you pass me another bauble, love?” Your lover asks while delicately wrapping the tree around in sparkly silver tinsel. Much like the tree, the house is adorned in festive decorations. Fairy lights illuminate your abode in a warm glow while stockings hang by the fireplace which is covered in fake snow. Frank Sinatra can be heard playing in the living room, adding to warm ambience. Rose’s giggles and coos cut through your daydream and you turn to see her sat on the floor, playing and attempting to eat the Santa hat Ethan had put on her.

Ethan Winters x Reader (Haunted House)

Ethan shudders at the sight of all the spiders scuttling and crawling on the walls, his grip on your hand tightening slightly while you make your way into the next room. As you step inside you are immediately greeted by a man in a bloodied clown costume lunging at the two of you with an axe while screaming in your face. “Damn that’s a nice costume. Is that real?” Ethan chuckles and reaches out to touch the prop axe in amusement. Ironically enough, your partner seems to be more afraid of the bugs that reside here than the actual horror experience of the attraction.

Leon Kennedy x Reader (Christmas)

Leon lounges on the couch, wrapped up in a cosy blanket with his gaze fixed on the screen. Strings of tacky ornaments decorate the living room, twinkling in the soft glow of the fairy light and the bright embers of the fireplace. The two of you are currently watching a Hallmark Christmas movie, its usual predictable plotline unfolding with exaggerated cheeriness and a cheesy message. Leon always tells you that he watches these things ironically, but the subtle grin says enough about his guilty pleasure of cliché romances and festive tropes.

Leon Kennedy x Reader (Haunted House)

“Haunted house? Please… I’ve seen scarier things while out on patrol.” Leon mumbles to himself, his eyes darting back and forth between the flickering lights and the shadows on the walls. You can’t tell if he is trying to reassure you or himself. Regardless, you continue your journey through the haunted house with Leon’s arm slung over your shoulders to "protect you" from the spooky zombies and clowns that roam these dimly lit rooms. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know that Leon’s cocky and self assured attitude is all a front to hide his racing heart and sweaty palms.

Resident Evil Bot Masterlist

[dandelionjack]

re: the post below. fantasy vs reality

a discussion in the notes got me thinking about the recent trend (perhaps not the right word, maybe “tendency”) of communist/marxist bloggers on here, especially those concerned with decolonisation (as we all should be), to blanket-condemn all media which “romanticises” pirates, cowboys, knights, outlaws, and other “historical” (in quotes because, let’s be real, it’s more legend than history when we talk about the modern portrayal of these lifestyles) morally dubious yet immensely alluring occupations. there’s been this discourse spreading: the idea that somehow indulging in art which presents these figures in a generally positive or fun light is the same as being uncritical of manifest-destiny expansionism (i.e. the notion of the ‘wild west’ and an ‘untamed frontier’ is colonial), christian imperialism (since knights participated in the crusades) or even an apologist of the slave trade (because some pirates engaged in it).

to which i say, plainly, bollocks. if you’re 16 or younger, your critical thinking faculties are an untrained muscle, your media analysis capacity not yet switched-on, then yeah, you’re allowed to be susceptible to the inability to distinguish between what’s cool in fiction and what’s permissible in reality. any older than that, i start getting doubts. i question the frankly patronising notion that an adult with a basic understanding of history and politics is incapable of recognising when something fictional doesn’t map one-on-one onto the modern world, whether that be the mechanics of a story, the interactions between characters, the beliefs and goals which drive them, or the social mores and cultural norms (hierarchy of gender, race, nobility etc) which they accept as fact.

you should be able to hold (more than) two truths in your head simultaneously. you should be able to cheer when the knight pulls the sword from the stone and reclaims his long-denied royal heritage to become a well earned leader, and, at the same time, recognise that we live in the 21st century where monarchy is a long-obsolete, unjust and inhumane system of government. same as you’d readily accept that somebody in a novel can cast a spell, but you wouldn’t believe that a real guy could set a tree alight with his mind.

all fiction is fantasy because we don’t live in history. yeah, we have sources, but they’re not perfect. even the author attempting to be as accurate as possible will inevitably sneak in some tiny anachronisms, even if in language alone. medieval europe didn’t have potatoes. you will find potato stew boiling in every tavern in the fantasy pseudo-german towns your protagonists take a rest stop in. that’s fine. that’s normal. pirates in reality were mostly cruel hardened criminals with no respect for human life, which is why they gladly partook in slavery as well as pillaging and looting, anything for profit. pirates in a show can be kind, considerate, a rag-tag team of outcasts and freedom fighters with views that most correspond with modern anarchism. as long as you know the difference, as long as you’re not pretending that this fantasy is how historical events actually happened, it’s fine. you’re good. go watch your bridgertons.

make sure to stay prudent and always tell the difference, though. never ever fall into the trap of wanting to ‘retvrn’, and that goes towards ever cottagecore homesteader. let fiction remain fiction, and work to better the world.

[kalixora]

Man's best friend

Soap x reader

Reader has three military-trained dogs, each with a distinctive set of skills.

Note: I've never played any of the games, so please excuse any inaccuracies. Due to the use of Google Translate, any languages displayed may potentially be incorrect.

(PICTURE NOT MINE)

“DAMN IT YOU MUTT GIVE IT BACK!” Running down the hallway, Soap shouted.

Price raised his brow as he glanced around the corner. He then saw a dog, and not just any dog. It was your dog. Price chuckles before whistling, attracting the dog's attention.

“There’s a good pup, what’s all the fuss about MacTavish?”

Soap huffed pointing at the dog, “Fucker stole my book.”

“That so?”

“Captain you can clearly see it in its mouth.”

Price nodded, “This it has a name you know.”

Soap scoffed, “How the hell am I supposed to know which damn mutt this is?”

“You need to start showing your team mate some respect, after all this ol’ girl knows your name quite well lieutenant,” Squatting down to the dogs' level and giving them soft pats, Price advised. "You've had your fun, Ravage, but you have to return Soap's belongings; we don't want to have to tell your mother now do we?"

Ravage whines a bit then drops the book at Price's feet, Price brags the book and hands it back to Soap. "There ya go mate."

"Thanks boss-" After again shaking his head, Soap said, "You best pray none of your drool got on any of my pages lass." He says to Ravage. After leaving, Soap returns to his room, where he shuddered at the slobber on his fingertips and opens the book to examine the pages.

Thankfully, none of the pages were tampered with. His most recent drawing, which was of you, was on his most current page. It wasn't finished yet, and there were a few smudges, but they might be fixable. Huffing, Soap grabbed his pencil and sat back at his desk.

He started drawing again, this time spacing out, remembering all of your facial expressions and features, from the way you grinned at him and the others after a successful mission to when your dogs mastered a new trick.

When you were originally introduced to the team, you were a little out of it, and you didn't have your dogs then, so he initially thought it was strange that you had three dogs instead of one like most other soldiers. It took them three days to reach to base, and you were overjoyed.

You even went brazen with Ghost while you two were comparing dogs, showing off your them off.

Ravage was the youngest of the three, and she was the fastest and had the finest sniffer of the three. Laserbeak was the middle child, but not much older than Ravage. Laserbeak was the most daring of the three, and you took him on more missions because he could deal the most damage. Finally, Howlback, his personal favorite. Howlback was the oldest and most playful; he was perfect for overnight excursions since he could sleep all day and be awake all night. Because to this, he has saved Soap numerous times.

He wondered what you would have been like without them, if you were still in your bubble. When you were with your dogs, you smiled more; they never failed to make you happy. He had to admit that he occasionally envied them and questioned whether he could accomplish the same. It seemed as if they were also members because of the way you interacted with them, took care of them, and watched out for them.

He adored your smile the first time he saw it, the day you smiled like that at him. It was your finest self-portrait.

He hummed, putting up his book for a better look, it was beautiful, you were exquisite.

Soap strenched a little then decided to head to the mess hall and get something to eat. He walked out his door stopping dead in his tracks, there was Ravage.

Again.

"What do ya want now?" Soap asked raising his brow.

Ravage whined then laid down looking up at sound in doing so. Soap tilted his head in confusion, did she want to use the bathroom?

"What gotta take a shit?"

"Did you just ask Ravage if she had to take a shit?" Gaz said as he and Ghost rounded the corner. "I don't know what she wants," Soap remarked.

"She's probably asking for company," Gaz speculated.

"Why don't you take her?" Soap inquired.

"I would, but I can't get sent out on another mission," Gaz grinned.

Soap turned to face Ghost, who simply shrugged. "You'll be fine Johnny, suck it up."

"After all, dogs are a man's best friend," Gaz added as him and Ghose walked away.

"Okay, tell you what, I'm gonna grab something to eat and you can sit there and watch how does that sound eh?" Soap sighed, shaking his head.

Ravage barked, sat up, whirled around in a circle, and barked at him again. "What the fuck is it?" Soap quipped, crossing his arms.

Ravage charged forward and yanked the bottom of Soap's pants, causing Soap to yell as Ravage let go and raced away. Soap after her, and she ran directly into the Captain's office. Soap stormed in, huffing.

Ravage sat next to Price as he smoked his cigar, gently petting her head and complimenting her before turning to look at Soap. "What the hell, Captain?"

Price grinned, "I told her to get your daydreaming arse in here, now, your getting sent out to help Soundwave, something came up."

"Is she alright?"

"I don't know, Laswell can't reach her, she's gone dark from what I understand," Price added.

Soap nodded, "Ay, so what about the mutt?"

"She's going with you."

"The fuck..."

“Ravage is the best luck you’ll have at findin’ Soundwave. Take her and go. Understand.”

Soap nods, “Yes sir.”

. . .

“I don’t doubt your skills dog but I know that we both care about Y/N a lot, so let’s do this and find her,” Soap said as the came off the plane. Ravage barked butting her head against Soap’s leg.

(Ngl Idk if I'm gonna finish this and I don't wanna delete it)

[sewmice]

Hai as a decently new utapri fan I wanted to ask your opinion on how new fans should get into utapri after finishing the anime. Should they play through the otomes games or maybe try listening to the Masterpiece shows instead?

Welcome to Utapri! I hope you're enjoying the ride so far! And as someone who has been here for 12 years, welcome to Utapri hell, this is your life now! (with love of course)

Since the Masterpiece shows are all alternate universes/acting, it doesn't technically matter? So the real question is, do you like the idol side or the romance side more? Idol side, go for the masterpiece shows. Romance go for the games. And honestly switch around as you please. Just get to SOME game knowledge at some point because that's where you really learn about the boys after all. Personally it's best to know at least a little from everything.

Also the next most important thing will be whether you know Japanese or not. Because currently the anime, movies, and Starish special are the only things available in English. So what you can enjoy is more limited. Shining Live was in English for it's lifespan, and has some archives out there. Live Emotion we can only hope will have an English version but we do not know currently.

Now my answer to assist gets real long so gonna put it under a cut for everyone's sanity.

If you know Japanese, absolutely go enjoy the otome games, all of which have updated ports on the Switch! The release order and thus suggested order would be Repeat, Amazing Aria and Sweet Serenade, Debut, All Star, and finally All Star After Secret. And one day we'll have Dolce Vita.

If you want Quartet Night, while you meet them in Debut, their routes start with All Star. Ringo and Ryuuya have routes in Sweet Serenade and All Star if you're looking for them. Mitsuo in Amazing Aria is well....you'll see.

If you don't know Japanese, I still suggest looking into the games, but your options are more limited. ShiningWonderland has a fantastic crew pushing out translations. They're working on Repeat for Starish and All Star for QN currently. Couple of the routes are finished for at least one ending and others seem to be nearing completion. But I can't speak for that team past that. They are all wonderful people though!

If you don't mind getting a shortened, not amazing experience. There are some old summaries floating around from Breadmasterlee. Those, plus some friends who could understand enough, were how I learned parts of the games back in the day. Not the preferred experience though.

You could also technically struggle your way through with like Google Lens translation? Definitely not recommended though.

As for the masterpiece shows, again if you know Japanese, just enjoy them. If you wanna know what order they released in, the sets were as follows: Masquerade Mirage, Tenka Muteki no Shinobimichi, and Joker Trap Bloody Shadows, Pirates of the Frontier, Every Buddy!, and Polaris Lost Alice, Trios, and The Forest of Lycoris Dreaming of OZ, Never Again Neverland, and Faust Last Cantata

I know that next to last set, the Shining Masterpiece Shows, have translations by Kanasmusings. You can also find translations for some other dramas there, and subtitles for a majority of the stage plays (you will need your own file or DVD/BD).

The most recent Dramatic Masterpiece Shows seem to be works in progress at the moment. I know utapri-translations-uuuu is working on Heavens! And the CDs can be found in my masterlist.

The older ones I don't know off the top of my head if translations exist at all.

There are also Discord servers amongst the community, some public and some private, with resources and amazing people. But I'm not sure on how appropriate it would be to post the public ones. They don't allow piracy so as much as I push buying legally, uh, understandably linking from my blog publicly feels wrong. You can very likely find said discords via the Twitter fandom. Or talk to me in DMs.

This is a lot of info I know. Trying to cover as many bases as I can off the top of my head! Enjoy Utapri!

[skinks]

I’ve realised recently that animorphs is responsible for exposing me to the type of horror that freaks me out more than anything else; stolen identity. Invasion of the Body Snatchers shit. I was reading Animorphs so young that the concept of what the Yeerks did to people broke my brain somehow. Anyone you know, anyone you love, they could be gone, possessed, mind-controlled, corrupted - and you could never know for sure. All you’re left with is a death sentence of paranoia over whether they’re acting just a little different today, and who might be next.

Related to mimic horror is doppelgänger horror, which also freaks me the fuck out. Jordan Peele’s Us is an obvious example, but again as a child I read a horror story about a boy trying to leave his town through a mountain pass, and realising he’s being chased by this shambling, threatening figure. The boy runs until he reaches a dead end at the edge of a cliff - looking over, he sees his own crumpled body at the bottom. He turns to see the grotesque figure approaching him and realises that this too is himself - mangled and bloody from the fall to the rocks below. The story ended there and lodged itself in my brain.

How do you know if you are you? What if your parents were replaced with people who acted differently? How do you know you won’t be replaced? I think these concepts nagged at me due to (childhood events) and also - I can’t overstate how much puberty/adulthood/compulsory femininity hung over my happiness as a girl like a guillotine. “Oh you’ll change your mind” “You’ll grow out of this [tomboy behaviour]” “You’ll like boys/makeup/dressing up when you’re older” “Your biological clock will make you want kids eventually!” on and on and on. No matter how much I cried and protested that I knew myself.

What does this do to gnc children? To be confidently told by adults that you will be changed whether you like it or not? That the world and even your own body will decide it, against your will? Soon your body does start to change and it’s the most fundamental betrayal. The dysphoria and dysmorphia sets in and now your own reflection isn’t right. For years I was terrified by this. An accidental glimpse of Tetsuo mutating, screamingly aware of it, haunting me at school. Nine years old I was Donald Sutherland in Body Snatchers, sweating and paranoid that one day I was going to be replaced by an unrecognisable hyperfeminine version of myself, so different in every way that mattered to my own identity that I might as well be dead.

I would love to write a horror story about this stuff from the pov of a masc teenage girl… stepford high school… this must be a common fear for gay/gnc children, right? That adulthood meant either being forcibly replaced by a wrong and mutated mimic of yourself, or death? I never succumbed to the body snatching, but there were consequences. For so long the prospect of adulthood was a dark void of nothing. I was either to be the shambling wretched doppelgänger or the body at the bottom of the cliff