#if you’re wondering then yes i do have a fic written on it lol

[macfrog]

just out of curiosity, do SCOM Joel and reader get married at some point? if they are, what are the festivities like 👀

they do! not at all in the traditional sense.

neither of them entirely believes in it, and they’d both rather spend the money elsewhere. weddings are expensive; so is having two kids. but they know it makes things a whole lot easier for sarah and ellie when their mom and dad get older, if they’re legally married. so —

joel elicits help from his two best chaos makers (aged eight and three). they ask her over breakfast. it’s as clumsy as you would imagine, and when she says yes, the four of them get all dressed up and head to the courthouse.

it’s all just signing papers to them, to be totally frank. i don’t think they wear rings, i don’t think she takes the miller name. her something old is joel and her something blue is the dress she wears, but it’s as much ceremony as she could ever dream of.

reception takes place in joel’s truck, in the parking lot of a burger king. their first dance is as a foursome. ellie spills ketchup down her dress, and sarah deliberately does the same just to turn her sister’s wailing into laughing.

just them and their kids. and what else is there in the world, i guess. xx

[eevees-hobbies]

i can NOOOOT get *your* suo out of my head like, i gotta ask a question abt him,, ok so we know he likes to share his yummy gfs pussy but does this include without permission 👀 like say she comes home and surprises him with her pussy already creampied by someone else (and making him guess who by the taste ughhhh), would he be more upset or turned on? Im just wondering where they draw the line bc we know suo has all the power 😍. Or like how did he even bring up sharing her first, what a conversation to be had lol!

I sent a rq under this name but im 🍒 anon btw!!

Hi, 🍒 Anon! I love your mind and that you can’t stop thinking about Suo because that’s precisely how he’d like you–as obsessed with him as he is with you! And, yes, I’ve seen your other ask! I’m hoarding it until I can give it the attention it deserves! I may have written a scenario below to answer your question. I am so sorry!! I am sometimes not good at being brief, but I always get super into anything involving Suo because deep down, this man has me in a-.

Content Warning: Fem!Reader x Hayato Suo. Togame remains the villain in my fics (sorry, sweet boy!). Cheating by anyone else standards but consented infidelity by Reader and Suo’s (they match each other’s freak), cuckolding for Endo and Sugi, one instance of a smack to the thigh, dirty talk, degradation, dacryphilia, Suo knows you better than yourself, be prepared to hear Suo's inner thoughts because he is stressed, obsessive/worshipping kind of love, pussy inspection with fingers, cum eating, mentions of threesomes. Tis smut! Minors Do Not Interact. 

Word Count: 2K

Story banner by me. Divider by Saradkia

Now, let's get into it, myes? You have some great questions about Suo and his girlfriend, who are an interesting couple. I think that some Wind Breaker men are built so differently that eating another man’s cum out of their girlfriend’s pussy would seem appealing or something that they would consider.

Endo, for example, is spreading you open and wide to lap Takiishi’s cum out of your sloppy, abused cunt without a second thought. In fact, he thinks you’re at your most delicious when Takiishi has already had his fun with you, and he eagerly takes his seat between your thighs to taste his favorite person and his girlfriend.

Sugishita isn’t necessarily into sharing, but he wouldn’t fault you if you were enamored by Umemiya—because, duh, why wouldn’t you be? It doesn’t strike him as odd that you let Umemiya hit it raw, and of course, Sugishita would be more than willing to help clean you up with his tongue.

But Suo? Yeah, sharing you doesn’t bother him in the slightest—your pleasure is his pleasure after all, but he’d much prefer to take a supporting or leading role in your sexual liaisons with his friends. That’s why I have always written them as engaging in the pleasures of the flesh together because Suo needs to be with you as you experience every ounce of pleasure–you two, after all, are simply one-half of the same beating heart.

The idea of you getting fucked by anyone and him not being present to watch does not sit right with his soul. 

He needs to be there to provide instructions to your lover because he knows your pleasure better than anyone else–including you–ever could. He needs to be there to deliver quick quips aimed at you so he can see how your flustered eyes dart away from him. He needs to be there to offer whispered words of praise and gentle touches to build you up as he guides your hips in a rocking motion while you ride your temporary lover's cock like the goddess you are. 

He wants to see the way your eyes roll back into the back of your skull when the tip of Umemiya’s cock pushes past the entrance of your tight cunt with a pop, his length bottoming out in you immediately.

“Aw, come on, sweet girl, don’t get that fucked out expression just yet; we’ve only just started.”

Suo wants to see the way you blush when Nirei moans desperately into the sweat-slicked skin of your back as he takes you from behind.

“Isn’t that cute, pretty girl? Nirei really can’t help thanking you for getting to try out your sweet cunt. I bet it’s the best he has ever had.”

And Suo wants to watch you swallow and lick up every single drop of Sakura’s cum no matter where it lands: on the bed sheets, on the floor, or even on Suo’s cock. Wow! How did it land there?

“Looks like you better get on your knees, dove, and clean up the mess you both made.”

To imagine himself absent, not being the one to finish you off, and not being the last one to leave his mark inside of you makes him feel like he just might lose his grip on reality.

Because you need him, don’t you? Your temporary lover can only do so much for you, but the one who makes you scream until your throat burns and your voice cracks isn’t Nirei, Umemiya, or Sakura. No, the one who makes you quiver and shake while he holds you in his arms as he strokes your hair after a particularly intense session is Suo. 

Truly, it’s how you bond, so how could you do it without him? It’s like if you were binge-watching your favorite TV show with your partner, and then you come back the next day and they had continued to watch without you! That shit fucking hurts! It’s a betrayal to Suo–just not for the same reasons as it would be to those of us who are more “traditional” in our way of thinking.

So if he comes home to find you with a mischievous glint in your eyes as you tell him you have a surprise for him, he’ll be delightfully curious—were you thinking of him enough to plan a surprise? You shouldn’t have, but of course, he’s glad that you did! 

At first, he’d smirk, approaching you while already unbuttoning his pants. As you spread your legs, his eyes would travel down to the thick, white seed that would be oozing out of you, and despite his usual stoic demeanor, you’d notice the unmistakable but slight clench of his jaw. 

Suo knows what reaction you’re trying to get out of him, and he’s more than willing to give it to you. You want him to lose control, to let his well-placed and perfectly maintained mask slip.

All because you’re a brat.

All because you want to be fucked within an inch of your life.

All because you seek discipline and a firm hand to remind you who is genuinely in charge.

Well, sorry, but this simply isn’t the type of behavior that Suo plans on rewarding. And tonight, your self-imposed limits on your body's ability to receive pleasure—and for how long—are not his problem or concern. Tonight, he plans on pushing you past what you think you can handle. Do you think you’ve seen the brink before? Tonight, the brink is the starting point. 

“I’m not hurt, just disappointed,” he’d start as his fingers would wrap around your ankles, his grip tight as he’d pull your entire body down the length of the bed and toward him.

“C-cliches, Hayato? You’re so much better than that-OW!” A sudden swat to your thigh gives you pause as you lift your ass a few inches off the bed in response to the sting, but that damn grip of his keeps you anchored.

“The only thing I want to hear out of your mouth unprompted is an apology. Now, who was it?” 

As you divide your plush lips to speak up–probably to say something that’s not in your best interest–you hesitate at the sight of Suo narrowing his eyes at you. Nothing but dangerous intent swirls behind ruby-toned irises, sending a shiver down your spine. But you know Suo, and he’s dangerous to everyone but you. To him, causing you pain would be akin to causing himself pain and he isn’t in the business of torturing the other half of his soul.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t plan on putting you in your place. Suddenly he’s hovering over you, his tassel earrings dangling in your face and tickling the gentle curve of your cheeks.

“W-who? Well…” you stammer, your eyes avoiding his sharp gaze.

While you’re wrestling with how honest you should be, he’s pushing two fingers deep inside of you, twisting his fingers to churn the cum in a way that feels violating. The sound of his fingers swirling the cum makes you blush because, between your heavy breathing, it’s the loudest sound in the room. 

“I knew she was greedy, but I had no idea you lacked self-control.” He pauses as the pace of his fingers pushing in and out of you quickens, and the squelches get more obscene. 

“Let’s see if I can figure it out. I know exactly how she feels after being ruined by each of our friends.” 

He’s not bluffing.

“Look how loud she is for me already. Was she this loud for…” he pauses as he goes down a mental list of who could have done this to you–and the duration of his pause makes your eyes narrow, and the tip of your ears heat up because now he’s being petty.

“Sakura?”

The way you snort lets him know he’s off base. Part of him is relieved it isn’t Sakura; his crush on you is borderline pitiful, and he wouldn’t want his friend to get the wrong idea. But if not Sakura, then who? Who would be brave–or stupid–enough to bypass him to get to you? 

As he twists his fingers inside of you, pulling a groan from your lips, his eyes linger on the way your nose scrunches up in pleasure and slight embarrassment. He leans in closer. “Tell me. Now.”

“I-it was Togame!”

Suo pulls back and looks at you like you just spat at him, making your heart speed up. His reaction is so visceral that you hold your breath in response. 

“Shishitoren trash?”

You wince; surely that beef was squashed long ago, you think. In some ways, it was, but there’s a bit of tension between Suo and Togame when it comes to you. 

Suo notices how Togame’s eyes sweep over you–as though he’s devouring you in his mind. Suo doesn’t mind the looking too much, but it’s the way Togame eye fucks you mercilessly and the way he somehow always manages to find excuses to touch and brush against you. 

He’s not threatened by his presence exactly, but the audacity of Togame pisses him off because not once has he asked for permission, not once has he approached him in the way that a gentleman would inquire about tasting what Suo considers his, not once-

Suo is snapped out of his spiraling as he notices your breathing has grown more rapid and your eyes glazed over long ago. Because, fuck, of course, he was still finger fucking you during his descent into madness. As you approach that oh-so-familiar edge, your toes curling in the way that tells him you’re close, he pulls his fingers out of you, leaving you feeling empty and anything but sated.

Your eyes snap open, their ferocity almost enough to make Suo forgive you right then and there and make you chant his name as he gives himself over to you–but lessons must be taught.

He holds the fingers up to your lips, the scent of Togame and yourself wafting into your nostrils and serving as a reminder of the intimacy you shared with him. Your bottom lip quivers ever so slightly and Suo drags his cum slicked fingers against your bottom lip, the sheen it leaves making you look so delicate, beautiful, and worthy of worship. His eyes flick down to your pout, lingering with an insatiable hunger that makes your core flutter. 

You can see his adams apple bob as he tries desperately to hold onto the thin thread of restraint threatening to snap. He can’t help but wonder if Togame got to see this side of you as he pushes his digits into your hungry mouth. You groan at the mixture of salty and sweet cum that coats your tongue and you can’t help but hollow your cheeks as you suck Suo’s fingers clean, your eyes never leaving his.

God and the way you twist your face in pleasure makes him want to lean in and taste your lips, allowing his tongue the privilege of experiencing what you taste like with another man’s essence on your tongue. He can feel his heart pounding in his chest, and it’s a toxic mixture of possessiveness, fixation, and lust that makes him ache and throb for you.

He should have been there to watch you take Togame’s cock. He should have been there to revel in the way your hot, fat tears flowed down your face as he encouraged Togame to stick a thumb in your other hole. He should have been there to stifle your loud moans and gasps with his cock as Togame gave your greedy pussy deep, deep strokes. “Didn’t know you liked the dirty, skeevy appeal that Shishitoren offers. How did he fuck you? Tell me every single detail; I have all fucking night.”

And Suo does have all fucking night, and suddenly, so do you.

“You like being stretched out by Shishtoren cock? Maybe I should drop you off at the Ori and let the “Devotees of Power” have their way with you. How about Choji, hm? He’s a bit of a biter, you know, and I know how sensitive you are, darling; I don’t think you’d last very long” He grips your chin between his fingers, forcing you to look into his eyes. 

“I want to see every place where he touched you. I want to see where he touched what’s mine, so I can make you forget all about Jo Togame.” 

His eyes trail down, amused and pleased that you’re already obeying. Your fingers slip between your thighs as you watch his hungry gaze take in the way you spread your folds, and you know you have him exactly where you want him.

Anyway, 🍒 anon, this might be how it would go, but I wouldn’t make a habit of it because Suo has his limits, and I can’t promise he’ll be merciful next time. 

@pixelcafe-network @hayatoseyepatch @interstellar-inn

[wincore]

indelicate | liu yangyang

pairing: yangyang x fem!reader

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

genre: oriental cyberpunk, f2l, fluff

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

words: 11.9k

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

i. city plaza

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not afraid,” you snap. 

“Not afraid of the dark either?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t say a word.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I- what? No. I’m not mad at you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle, taking a moment to think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pauses for dramatic effect. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ii. orchid club square

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

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

You clench your jaw in mild annoyance. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She giggles algorithmically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think you’re unreal,” he mumbles.

iii. club 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean, sort of.”

“Hey.” Yangyang looks at you with betrayal.

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

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

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

Lana laughs at his expression, patting his shoulder sympathetically. 

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

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

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

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

“That’s exactly where—ah. I see.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I’m so proud of you for that.”

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

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

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

“Oh, we’ll get there.”

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

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

“I’m- I’m not- never mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug.

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

“I’m not a child,” you snap.

“My mom says childish people say that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We could do it for real." 

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

"Sorry, sorry."

“Who are you even hiding from?”

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

“You have a bodyguard?”

“More like a babysitter.”

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

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

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

“They think you’re doing something illegal?”

“No. I don’t think I am.”

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

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

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

“Your babysitter’s gone?”

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

“The what?”

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

“Fortune doesn’t favour fools.”

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

 You laugh, turning your attention to  the food table.

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

“You’ve had, like, fifteen already.”

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

There’s a pause.

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

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

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

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

iv. fireworks viewpoint

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

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

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

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

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

You hum. "Stuff."

"This place is pretty cool, huh?"

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

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

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

"That would be difficult," you mutter.

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

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

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

He smiles at you, leaning against the balcony railing. 

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

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

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

“I can. And I will.”

“Ugh. Move on.”

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

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

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

“Do you have money then?”

“Uh.”

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

“I… uh—”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t take her side, (name).” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not mentally.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh-what is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

v. two-four-seven convenience store

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

You rest your chin on your palm, leaning in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not from me," he says, smiling. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t exactly respond to that very well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your babysitter?”

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

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

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

“I’ve never seen that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so silly,” you mutter. 

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

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

vi. blue moon station

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

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

"Is that a…?"

"A tourist bot, yes."

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

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

"Yeah. It's very… visually pleasing."

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

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

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

“You good?”

Yangyang crouches beside you with watchful eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?” 

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

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

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

The night has a different opinion.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” Yangyang answers quietly. 

vii. jasmine private lounge

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And you're pretty decent-looking—"

"I know that."

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

"Uh, that's your question?"

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

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

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

"You."

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

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

“He’s not an AI,” Yangyang whispers.

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

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

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

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

Yangyang makes a face at that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh," you respond. "Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be tired,” he mutters.

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

“Hm?”

“Why do you hang around me?”

“Do you not… want me to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown.

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

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

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

You straighten. “We should get back home.”

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

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

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

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

“How are you so nice to people?”

“I think people are nice.”

“Why do you like parties?”

“They’re fun.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is going to be a long night.

viii. home 

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

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

“Yangyang?!”

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

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

“Yangyang!”

“Huh? Oh!”

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

"Did- Did we…?"

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

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

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

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

You avoid eye contact in embarrassment. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m glad it wasn’t anyone else.”

“What?”

“You. It’s okay if it’s you.”

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

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

“What were we doing last night then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, that was mean.”

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

[campingwiththecharmings]

hellooooo!! congrats on the one year anniversary<3<3

could I request “how mad would you be if i kissed you?” with poe?

(thank you for doing this event!!!!)

All Your Fault

AN: OMG IT'S A FIC-AVERSAY REQUEST!! lol Told y'all I was still gonna answer all of these! That said, I'm betting you probably don't even remember sending this lmao but I hope you can still enjoy it all the same though. Thanks for your patience 💖

(Un-beta’d)

Rated: T Words: 1,068 Pairing: Poe Dameron x Reader (written with f!reader in mind but I'm pretty sure this could be read as GN. please correct me if that's wrong) Warnings: kissing, arguing...nothing else I can think of (please let me know if I missed something) AO3

——————

Commander Poe Dameron is, quite literally, the bane of your existence.  

Sure, he’s a great pilot and, okay fine, he’s not a terrible leader but, damn it if the bastard doesn’t drive you absolutely crazy with his needlessly risky plans. You’re not sure if he has a death wish or if he’s just an adrenaline junky, but what you do know is that if the storm troopers chasing you don’t kill him, you just might. 

You run down the narrow hallway of the First Order compound you’ve infiltrated, Dameron in tow, desperately searching for an escape. You spot a door, thank the Maker when it’s unlocked, and pull Dameron inside with you by the lapels of his jacket, glaring at him when he opens his mouth to complain. 

“Shut up,” you whisper harshly, pushing him against the back of the door. 

He watches you in the dim light for a moment, lips parted, breath leaving him in pants. Your eyes drop to his mouth, lingering longer than you’d like, and you wonder briefly if they’re as soft as they look, how they’d feel against yours, how they’d taste— 

Okay fine, so you’re a little attracted to him. That didn’t mean he didn’t still infuriate the hell out of you. 

The thundering of boots crescendos outside the door, (blessedly) breaking you from your staring contest with his mouth. Still pressed against Poe, you swallow thickly, your face warm as you forcibly avert your gaze. Your eyes land on his neck, and you have to ignore the sudden urge you feel to lick the bead of sweat running slowly down the side of it. 

You’re both still as the troopers pass, as if making even the tiniest movement might alert them to your presence. Poe is still breathing a little heavy, the air puffing against your cheek just another reminder of his closeness. You try to ignore it, ignore him, ignore how good his body feels against yours, how amazing he smells. In an effort to stave off the sudden urge you have to bury your face in his neck and breathe deep, you think of literally anything else: your bunkmate’s dirty socks, General Leia screaming at you, taking a blaster bolt to the shoulder— 

The sound of the troopers fades slowly and you breathe a quiet sigh of relief, backing up as much as you can in the small space.  

“That was a close one, huh?” Poe mutters, looking at you warily, as if you might attack him at any given moment. 

Your anger at him rekindles in your chest at the comment and you can’t stop yourself from punching him in the shoulder. He grunts, glaring at you half-heartedly as he rubs the spot where you hit him. 

“No, Dameron, that was stupid. Completely and utterly stupid,” you quietly scold, pointing at him in accusation. 

He scoffs, almost rolling his eyes and it sends another flare of anger through you.  

“Oh, you don’t think so?” you counter, stepping closer to him. “You think your little stunt helped us?” 

He glares at you, leaning back against the door with an annoyed look on his face. “We got what we came for, didn’t we?” 

“Yes, and we’d be out of here and on the ship right now if you’d just followed the plan.” 

“You mean followed your plan,” he mumbles almost petulantly. 

“Is that what this is about?” you ask, chuckling humorlessly as you take another step closer. “Still sore that the General went with my plan instead of yours, flyboy?” 

His jaw tightens and he moves even closer, his voice so low it’s almost a growl. “Your plan is the reason I even had to pull that ‘stunt’ in the first place, sweetheart.” 

It’s your turn to scoff now, rage flaring in your eyes as you move so close to him his chest brushes against yours. You ignore how incredible he smells, even after all the running you’ve done, ignore how good he looks this close— 

“You are unbelievable, do you know that? Absolutely unbelievable.” 

Poe opens his mouth to retort, a mischievous look in his eyes, but you cut him off by continuing, your voice a harsh whisper. “You’re reckless, hot-headed, impulsive—” 

His finger on your lips stops you, your eyes widening in both shock and rage. 

Unfortunately, you’re silent long enough for him to ask, “How mad would you be if I kissed you right now?” 

Your brow furrowing in confusion, lips parting as much as they can with his finger still pressed against them. Instinctively, your gaze falls to his mouth, eyes dragging over his plump bottom lip as your brain reminds you of all the times you’ve fantasized about a moment just like this one. You watch as the corner of his mouth quirks slightly in a smile and know you’ve somehow given him all the permission he needs. 

He leans in, spanning the meager distance between you as he pulls his hand away, tentatively pressing his lips to yours. He’s giving you a chance to push him away, you realize, to decide you don’t want this but…You do.  

You melt into him, pressing your body against his and pushing him back against the door. He groans softly, the sound going straight to your core and you wonder what else you could do to pull sounds like that from him.  

You hope he gives you a chance to find out. 

His hands cup your cheeks, holding you in place as he presses his tongue against the seam of your lips. You part them without resistance, shivering when he licks inside. The taste of him is divine, a mix of sweetness and spice and something so inherently Poe. You could spend hours, maybe even days, like this, just kissing him, enjoying the taste of him, the feel of him. Already you can’t get enough, can feel your need for him clawing at the base of your spine as your fingers plunge into his soft, dark locks.  

You’re forced to break for air, foreheads pressed together as you both try to catch your breath. 

“This isn’t over, you know,” you pant, pulling back to shoot him what you hope is a stern look. 

He chuckles breathlessly, reaching out to trace the curve of your cheek with his knuckles, his lips quirking slightly when you unconsciously lean into the touch.  

“I’d be disappointed if it was, sweetheart.”

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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[syluscore]

Hi! I love your blog and I’ve almost read all of your Leon fics, I particularly fell in love with the hybrid Leon one so I was wondering if I could request something?

If you have some free time of course and if you’re up to it!

(It’s similar to the one you’ve already written so I hope it’s not an issue)

I was thinking a dominant hybrid dog/wolf Leon (re4 remake) where the female reader is submissive and also a little curvy, has large breasts and stretch marks along with them ovulating and being super horny and Leon is just absolutely driven feral by their scent so he goes wild and breeds them.

Also roles switched so Hybrid Leon calls the reader a good girl etc etc UwU.

If you could write this it would absolutely make my day!!💖✨

Take It Like a Good Girl

~ Dog/Wolf Hybrid! Leon Kennedy x Plus size! fem! Reader~

Word count: 1295

Content warnings: smut, sexual content, sub/dom dynamic, alpha/omega dynamic, mentions of breeding/knotting/impregnation, uses of sir and daddy, teasing/taunting, very brief blowjob, a bit aggressive

!!!!!!MINORS DNI! GHOSTKENNEDY IS STRICTLY 18+!!!!!!

“Look at you,” a familiar voice speaks up from behind you.

You jump up from your place on the couch. “Leon! You scared the shit out of me. What’re you doing here?”

“This is my home too, isn’t it?” He chuckles at you, teasingly.

His eyes rake up and down your body. Tight shorts that barely cover your ass and a tank top that’s ridden up your stomach, exposing the soft skin of your belly. You’re quick to pull your shirt down, covering yourself back up.

“Sorry, I’m such a mess! You’re home early.” You cringe at your own words. As if both of those facts weren’t obvious. 

He takes slow, sure steps toward you. You feel like cowering before him, his complete attention more intense than you could’ve prepared yourself for. 

He comes to a stop when his form is towering over yours. You look up and meet his eyes, but he shakes his head at you.

You immediately recognize what he wants from you.

You advert your gaze, staring down at the bit of floor between the two of you as you fall to your knees before him. You lean back and rest your ass on your ankles, clasping your hands behind your back.

This is how he likes you. Completely submitting to him.

His fingers rake through your hair, pulling it out of your face.

“There’s my girl. Are you gonna be a good girl for me?”

Without lifting your gaze from the floor, you reply, “Yes, sir.”

He grasps your chin between his fingers and forces your face up to look at him.

“Always so sweet for me, aren’t you Omega?”

You try to reply but the words are lost on your tongue. He smirks at your loss of words as his fingers trail from your jaw, slowly down your neck, until they’re tracing over the top of your cleavage.

“Or maybe you’re playing innocent. Nothing about the way these tits are practically pouring out of your shirt screams sweet, does it?”

You whine up at him before biting your lip, trying to keep your pathetic noises from slipping past your lips.

“You think I can’t smell how fucking wet you are for your Alpha right now? I can smell the desperation coming from that little cunt of yours. Need me to breed you, huh? Fill up that sweet pussy with my puppies?”

You’re panting, eyes practically rolling into the back of your head as your tongue lols out of your mouth, drool dripping down your chin. You nod your head quickly, causing him to roll his eyes in disapproval. 

“Use your words. Now.” He’s gripping your chin again, pulling you to your feet with his single hand.

You whimper as your arms reach out, grasping onto his forearm. Your back is straining as your toes practically leave the floor. He doesn’t break a sweat–his face doesn’t show a single inclination of the strenuous activity he just pulled off effortlessly.

“Y-yes, Alpha. I want you to breed me. Want your cock so fucking bad, please.”

He releases his grip on your chin, bringing his hand to the top of your head and forcing you down to your knees again. You feel lightheaded from being forced up and down so quickly, but it just seems to heighten your arousal. It only fuels the wetness soaking through your panties and causes your thighs to clench together so fucking tightly.

“Fine. If you want it that bad, take it out for me. I can’t do everything for you.”

“Yes, sir.” Your hands shoot up to his crotch embarrassingly fast. Your fingers fumble with the buckle of his belt, your nerves clearly showing. Leon can’t hide the smirk and look of amusement on his face at your eagerness.

You take a deep breath and force yourself to make quick work of pulling his belt off and opening up the front of his pants, pulling them down his thighs. Your mouth waters looking at his cock straining in his boxers.

“Come on, baby. Don’t half ass your job. I said, Take. It. Out.”

Your thumbs slide under the waistband, slowly easing them down until his dick springs free.

A half whimper, half groan leaves your lips as his cock stands at full attention right in front of your face. You stare at it, eagerly awaiting his next instructions.

“Don’t let me stop you, princess. Suck my cock. Get me wet and ready to breed that fucking pussy.”

You wrap your hand around his large cock, slowly pumping him. You’ll never get accustomed to how long and thick his dick is. Every time he takes his pants off, it’s like Christmas fucking morning. 

You lol your tongue out of your mouth, right over the head of his cock. You stare up at him as your saliva pools on your tongue until the slow, steady stream flows down to the tip of his cock. The string of saliva being the only thing connecting your mouth to his aching cock.

“Sweet girl,” his hand caresses your cheek, continuing to meet your stare, “If you wanna taste my cock before I pound your fucking cunt, you’d better get it inside your fucking mouth before I say fuck it.”

You wrap your lips around his tip, sucking harshly. Leon’s head falls back as a groan sounds deep in his throat. You watch as his adam’s apple bobs while he swallows his noises down.

He brings his head back, his eyes immediately taking in your hollowed cheeks as you give it your best attempt at swallowing him full.

Something inside him snaps. He pulls your mouth from his cock and pushes you until your back crashes into the floor. 

He yanks your tank top over your head, practically destroying the fabric. Your breasts fall out, thankfully you decided against a bra today.

Leon stares at you in amazement, taking a minute to appreciate what belongs to him. You belonging to him makes it all that much better.

He brings his mouth down to one of your nipples, sucking harshly–impatiently. One of his hand wraps around your wrists, forcing them above your head. The other running down your body, caressing your tummy.

His lips trail from your nipple, leaving wet kisses down the valley of your breasts, stopping and suckling gently above your belly button.

His thumb runs over the stretch marks on your tummy softly.

“Fuck, you’re so goddamn soft. Imagine how soft you’d be swollen with my puppies, huh? You wanna have a belly full of my babies that I get to worship every fucking day?”

“Yes, yes! I want it so bad. Daddy, sir, Alpha, please.”

He chuckles at you before continuing to kiss lower and lower down your body. He peppers kisses in the hair surrounding the temple of his absolute obsession and affection. 

You’re staring at him intently, lost in your need for him. You can’t bring yourself to do anything besides sit there spread open for him. You’re baring yourself completely for him and all you can do is hope he fucking dives into you soon.

“Such a good Omega, huh? Will do anything to please her Alpha–to earn his knot. You want that? Want me to stuff you full of my come and then knot you? Knot you until I’m sure my puppies are in there?”

You grind your hips up into him absentmindedly. Your body is desperate for any sort of friction. His tongue, his fingers, his cock–it doesn’t fucking matter. You just have to have him anyway he’ll give himself to you.

“Please, Alpha. Fuck me, breed me, knot me. I need you.” “How can I say no to that? Now lay there and take it like a good girl. My good fucking girl.”

~masterlist~

[jeonqkooks]

our beloved summer | jjk (06)

You made a vow to hate Jeon Jungkook ever since he packed up and left you without a single explanation, but when he shows up at your door after years of radio silence, it turns out that maybe your resolve isn’t as strong as you thought.

pairing: producer!jungkook x songwriter!reader

genre/warnings: exes au, fluff, angst, eventual smut, swearing, kissing (omg k1ss1ng omg WHO IS IT ??? 😦), tbh this is the only warning i wanted u guys to read cuz 6 chapters in and we finally get sum action i feel like that's a win lmaooooo, jimin being Real as fook, unbeta'd cuz uhm i'm a godless menace who should be conked on the head, once again we are severely lacking jk in his own fic lol i'm owning up to this 🤗 BUT! this is probably the last chapter where jk feels like a side character lol apologies my dudes

rating: PG-13

word count: 8.1k (honestly i wrote obs6 just so i could get to obs7 lmao that's why it's a lil bit shorter)

note: my apologies if this sucks. you are legally allowed to stone me if you hate it. but i hope you don't hate it. but if you do hate it don't tell me just stone me lol 🤐 why am i so unhinged with this update

series masterpost / playlist ; moodboards ; taglist

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

I can see you starin', honey Like he's just your understudy Like you'd get your knuckles bloody for me

Exile - Taylor Swift (ft. Bon Iver)

The picture is fucking terrible.

“Jimin, what the fuck,” you grumble, staring at the huge framed photo on the wall, taken on the day of the opening party. You, Taehyung and Jimin are gathered on the floor of the dance studio, with boxes of takeout neatly sitting between the three of you. “I look like ass.”

Jimin barely glances at the wall, just continues to stuff his face with the dumplings that you ordered. “You look fine,” he says absentmindedly, mouth full, continuing to munch on the food despite your little dilemma.

“Bitch, I have my eyes closed.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“I look like I’m in the middle of a sneeze.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, squinting at your photographed self again. The more you look at it, the more irritated you become.

Realistically, you know nobody would pay enough attention to notice the immortalized visual of your fluttering eyes, and you yourself wouldn’t care about it that much. Maybe you would even laugh in good spirits and poke fun at yourself as you often do. Make a meme of it for the group chat.

“What’s the big deal?” Jimin asks.

You shrug petulantly. “I told you. I look like ass.”

Yeah, true, but it’s also more than that.

It’s the fact that the person standing next to you looks so good that you must voice your grievances. It’s the fact that he looks so much more than just good. 

The guys stop eating to look at you. You wonder just how much of what you’re feeling is written all over your face. Regardless, they don’t comment on it. 

One of them clears his throat, shaking the whole thing off.

“Did you tell Yoongi anything yet?” Jimin asks.

You poke at a lone dumpling with your chopsticks, popping the ‘p’ when you say, “Nope.”

“Damn, Y/N,” Jimin scolds you. “It’s been three weeks. He doesn’t want to push you for an answer but the man has got to be suffering.”

You flick a piece of spring onion garnish at him. It lands on his hair, a single bit of green sitting among golden locks. “I don’t know what to tell him!”

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Jimin shakes the onion piece from his head and chucks it back at you. “Obviously you say yes!”

You exhale through your nose, then take a bite of your dumpling. You nibble on the fried dough, stretching out the silence, delaying your response.

It hasn’t even started, and it might not even start. But you’re already thinking about all the things that could go wrong. Yoong is your friend, first and foremost. He’s a good friend, and you would be crushed if you lose that relationship. 

What if he hurts you, or you hurt him?

Sometimes, people are meant to hurt each other even if they don’t mean to.

Yoongi hasn’t seen your pieces in all of their jagged glory, how they’re only meant to reflect the light but never be healed by it. He’s still blissfully unaware of the ugly thoughts that have a home inside your head, and you’re afraid if you let him in, he’d realize it’s a place he doesn’t want to be. It’s hard to love a broken thing. You wouldn’t want to love you either.

Maybe this is the real reason that’s been holding you back all this time. Maybe it isn’t Jungkook - though he certainly isn’t absolved - but it’s you, and how you just don’t know if you’re someone who deserves to love and be loved. You’ve felt inadequate more times than you can count. You’ve been left before. Who’s to say it isn’t going to happen again?

You’re well aware that this is a bad way to look at things, but can anyone really blame you? You still have a heart, and despite how fragmented it is, you still want to protect it.

“I know that look,” Taehyung says, parting your fog and pulling you back to him. “You’re overthinking again.”

You roll your eyes. He knows you so well, but does he have to call you out every time?

“I’m not overthinking. I’m regular thinking.”

“Right. And to normal people, that’s overthinking.”

“It’s just…” you wonder out loud, gaze on the floor. “What if I go all in, and Yoongi sees me for who I am and thinks that I’m just an utterly sad person who can’t be loved? That I’m too much work when he’s got literally thousands of people throwing themselves at him left and right?”

Taehyung stares at the side of your face as he bites the inside of his cheek. His tongue soothes the spot, his jaw clenching once. “He’s not going to think that.”

“You don’t know that,” you say, the corners of your mouth tugging down.

“You’re not unlovable just because one person didn’t love you right. So stop it with that bullshit, because I love you,” he says, voice serious. Even Jimin stays silent as he listens to his friend, his eyes flickering between you and Taehyung. “And Jimin loves you. Hobi loves you.”

You merely blink, because you hate it when he’s right. In all fairness, you understand. This is the same thing you would tell him if the situation were reversed.

You deflect anyway. That’s what you do best.

“You don’t count,” you tell him with an unserious scoff, your tone starkly contrasting his. “You’re my family.”

You taste something bitter as soon as the words leave your mouth. You should know better than anyone, that just because someone’s your family, doesn’t mean they have to love you.

Taehyung reenacts the blinking guy meme before chuckling, holding a hand over his chest like you’ve just wounded him. “Ouch.”

“You two are getting nowhere,” Jimin interjects. “Just call Yoongi.”

“And say what?” you ask.

“I told you. Say yes. God, you’re so dense sometimes.”

You reach over to jab a finger into his side, making him hiss and shuffle away from you.

“That wasn’t nice,” you grumble.

“Well, somebody’s gotta say it.” He gives you a look, eyebrows raised for a few seconds before he lowers them and grows more stern. “Come on, Y/N. You know you don’t want to say no, or else you would’ve turned him down already. You said you wanted to start dating again. Yoongi is practically on his knees offering himself to you. What are you waiting for?”

There’s a voice in the back of your head - tiny, barely audible - that whispers, Who are you waiting for?

“Fuck it, I’ll say it,” Jimin continues. “It sucks balls that Jungkook hurt you, but you can’t let that affect you for the rest of your life. Not everyone is going to hurt you. You’re not even giving Yoongi a chance just because someone else did you dirty. If you keep always thinking about the worst possible outcome and banking on it to happen, then you’re never going to get anywhere. I love you, dude, but y’know.”

You stare at Jimin with your mouth slightly open, stunned into silence. When you glance at Taehyung, he’s surprised too, though probably not as much as you.

After a couple of minutes, you say, “Wow.”

“Tough love. I have my moments.” Jimin shrugs casually, like he didn’t just drop a truth bomb on your head. “But also…” He picks his phone up and types something in. Your phone instantly buzzes with a notification.

“Open the link I just sent you,” he says.

“You are literally sitting across from me.”

“Just open it! I made you a playlist.”

“Aw, Jimin, that’s so cute,” you coo softly, reaching over to pinch his cheek before he swats your hand away. You unlock your phone to see what Jimin made you, because that is some friendship hall of fame stuff right there. However, when the link redirects you to your music app, your smile immediately drops.

Aaand he’s back.

You stare at the screen for a good ten seconds to try and find your bearings, flabbergasted at something that is quite honestly very on-brand for Jimin if you think about it. “You made me a playlist called Dick Appointment with an eggplant emoji and the tongue out emoji and it’s mostly just Yoongi’s songs. Even the playlist cover is from his Valentino shoot.”

“So you can get it on while Agust D plays in the background!” Jimin grins, and you could just smack it right off his face.

“Park Jimin, who raised you? You are vile.”

“Validate me,” he demands. Oh, you would smack him. You really would. “I spent hours making that playlist.”

“It’s literally just Yoongi’s songs.”

“Yeah, but I had to curate an experience. I can’t just dump every song into a playlist and call it a day. I gotta make sure they fit the vibe.”

“I literally just heard the most profound shit from you not even two minutes ago.” Then, you turn to Taehyung with an exasperated look on your face. “Why would you let him do this?”

He just waves a dismissive hand in the air, like Jimin isn’t even there. “I’m not responsible for the stupid shit he does.”

Jimin crosses his arms in front of his chest, both eyebrows raised dramatically as he gapes at you. “You both suck. From now on, you can make your own sexytime playlists.”

“Nobody even asked you to do that!” you cry.

“Yeah! Which makes me an even more considerate friend,” he says. “Ugh. Whatever. Go call Yoongi.”

“You want me to do it now?”

“Yes. Because I know you’ll wuss out when you’re alone. You can stay and put him on speakers for us to hear or you can go out into the hallway. Come on, chop chop.”

“No, I have to text him first,” you protest. “What if he’s busy?”

Jimin narrows his eyes at you suspiciously, but allows you this after a moment. “Fine.”

You take out your phone from your bag that’s lying carelessly on the floor to draft a quick message to Yoongi. 

[12:59] You: got a minute?

The three of you go back to the food, abandoning the previous topic of conversation in favor of something lighter and meaningless or else you would go crazy waiting for Yoongi’s reply. After you’re finished, you and Taehyung are in the middle of putting away all the empty containers and soda cans when your phone buzzes again. 

You go to grab it to look at the notification, hands already starting to sweat.

[13:17] Yoongi: for you? always :)

You turn back to the guys to find them already looking at you. Jimin wiggles his eyebrows suggestively while Taehyung just stares at you.

“Time to get your whore on,” Jimin says in an exaggeratedly sultry voice.

You turn to Taehyung for help. “He’s bullying me.”

“Ignore him,” your best friend tells you gently. “Go call Yoongi.”

When you take your phone out into the hallway, you make sure to go to the far end of it, near the main entrance so the two dorks can’t eavesdrop. You’ll tell them everything once you come back anyway, but you don’t want them within earshot while you’re in the middle of it.

Yoongi picks up your call on the third ring. In the background, your ear picks up on some chatter.

“Hey, princess,” he greets you. Then he holds the phone away from his ear to tell someone that he’d be back in a bit.

“Hey,” you say. “Where are you?”

“Just at a fitting. I have an ad campaign to film next week,” he answers. “Did you call just to get my whereabouts?”

“No, I… If you’re busy, we can talk later.”

“We’re still in the middle of lunch break anyway. What did you want to talk about?”

You briefly regret not taking a minute to psych yourself up before. You suck in a deep breath, which eases your nerves for just a second, long enough for you to say, “Yes.”

You’re met with brief silence from the other end of the line, which only makes your palms more clammy than they already are.

“Yes?” he echoes confusedly. “Yes what?”

“Yes,” you say again. “To…”

The silence commences once more, and lasts longer than you think you can handle. Then, you hear him stop in the middle of a breath.

“Oh.” A subsequent chuckle in response to the lightbulb that must’ve been switched on. “To that?”

“...Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes.”

It feels like you two have invented a secret language that nobody else could understand. A single syllable, bouncing off the metaphorical walls of your conversation. Two idiots sharing the same brain cell.

“Yes?” he continues to prod, but at this point, you know he’s just teasing you.

“Yes! God, stop making me say it again. We sound so stupid.”

He graces you with a hearty laugh that makes you fight back a sheepish smile, even though there isn’t a single soul in sight to witness it. Yoongi makes you so fucking shy for some reason. Your nerves dissolve momentarily as you lean against the wall, your index finger running along a crack in the paint.

“Hmm, I wish you would’ve told me this in person,” he says, his voice soft.

“I can’t handle you in person. You’d tease me so much.”

“Because you’re adorable when you’re flustered, that’s why.” He waits a second before adding, “You’re blushing right now, aren’t you?”

“You’re being overly confident, Min.”

“Maybe,” he responds easily. “But am I right, though?”

“Shut up.”

When Yoongi said he would cook for you, you almost gasped.

“You can cook?” you had asked. It wasn’t an earth-shattering revelation or anything, but you suppose you’d never given much thought to the hidden sides of him. 

“Y/N,” he laughed then. “I’m a great cook. I could probably make a pretty decent career out of being a chef.”

“I didn’t know that,” you told him sheepishly.

“There’s a lot of things you still need to know about me.” It sounded like a promise. Like I’m willing to show you me. Like I’m willing to take the first step if you’d be in this with me too. “Does that sound like a good idea? You, me, dinner at your place?”

“My place?”

“Yeah, so you’ll be more comfortable. I’ll come over.”

This one simple gesture shouldn’t affect you that much, but it does. You appreciate that he’s considerate even when it comes to the littlest things. You swell with gratitude for the thought he puts into this, into putting your comfort first. It made you feel a bit better about yourself, calmed your stormy sea of thoughts enough to rationally accept the fact that he genuinely cares.

Regardless, it doesn’t stop you from spending most of the day obsessively cleaning your apartment. Even - and especially - your bedroom, although you’re sure that is not where the night will end. Every surface is spotless, not a single speck of dust to be found. It’s like the goddamn Pope is coming over for a house inspection. 

You haven’t had a first date in… fuck, how long has it been now? Nine years? It’s almost been a fucking decade already? You honestly can’t tell if that’s embarrassing or not.

But you remember the last time.

College, freshman year, with Jungkook. His yellow piece of sticky note that he slipped inside your favorite book. His adorably flustered expression when he timidly stood in front of you in the campus library. The way he was trying so hard to be confident and charming throughout your first dinner together. How he ran back to you after saying goodnight.

No.

You shut your eyes and shake your head, warding off any Jungkook-related thoughts before they could send you spiraling. You can’t reminisce about your ex while waiting for someone else to show. Yoongi deserves better, and that’s what you’re trying to be.

You’re not exactly sure how nice you should dress tonight. Yoongi told you that you could be clad in sweats for all he cares. If the dinner didn’t hold any connotation other than platonic, maybe you would’ve really donned your loungewear like you were merely having Taehyung and Jimin over for pizza.

You’d completely forgotten all the things people worry about in the early stages of dating, when you want to impress the other person but don’t want them to think that you’re trying too hard. 

Calm down. It’s just Yoongi. He’s seen you ugly crying with mascara running down your face, for fuck’s sake.

In the end, you opt for a sweater and a comfortable skirt. Casual. 

Yoongi rings your doorbell about ten minutes later than when he said he’d be there, holding a bag full of groceries. The visual alone makes you bite back a giggle and subsequently fail. You believe this is what people would call husband material.

You take his coat and guide him into your home. “Welcome to my humble abode,” you say shyly, gesturing around as you lead him into the kitchen to show him where everything is. Why are you acting like this? This isn’t you. If Taehyung or Jimin could see you right now, they would probably laugh. Hoseok would straight up be rolling on the floor.

You barely breathe as you watch Yoongi take in his surroundings. It’s intimidating, even though you know it’s just Yoongi. 

“I actually don’t know what I expected, but I like it. It’s very you,” he comments, smiling.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that it’s cute,” he says, throwing you a wink as he leans against your kitchen counter.

You avert your gaze immediately. “Oh… Thanks,” you reply, fiddling with the hem of your sweater. “So, uhm, what are you making? How can I help?”

“Just sit down. I got this.”

“Yoongi,” you say his name in protest. “I want to h-”

“I’m trying to romance you here. Let me do that,” Yoongi says, his smile turning lopsided as he starts emptying the contents of his grocery bags. Even though his tone is light, the gentle reminder of tonight being a date shuts you right up.

You take a seat at your dining table, though you can’t really sit still. As Yoongi starts working, you absentmindedly talk to each other about your day, about his campaign, about Seokjin’s album. At one point, you get up to creep over to his side when the smell of whatever he’s making becomes more prominent. You try to peek at the pot, curious, but he just shoos you away by bumping his hip against yours.

When you give him a small pout, you pretend not to notice the way his eyes dart to your mouth. You retract yourself from his personal space, choosing a spot on the other side of your kitchen island, staring at his back as he works.

You watch him expertly navigate your kitchen like he’s been here before. When he’s finished, he makes you sit down, not even letting you help bring the food to the table.

“What is it?” you ask once he’s settled in his seat, everything plated in front of you.

“Kimchi jjigae,” he says, a proud look on his face. “My mom’s recipe.”

It’s endearing, and it makes you smile.

For the most part, Yoongi lets you eat in peace, though there’s still a couple of flirtatious comments here and there. Every time it comes, you bite down on your bottom lip to try and snap out of that daze before you cough, as if that would help tone down the colors adorning your face. There’s no verbal response from you, and it seems like Yoongi doesn’t expect one either, because he just chuckles. You think he must notice the palpable nervousness that radiates off of you, but it’s not like you’re doing a very good job at hiding it.

You’re taking baby steps and he knows it. The fact that you even agreed to this at all is already major progress.

When you’re done eating, he clears the table while he asks you to open the expensive bottle of wine that he brought over. It does wonders for your nerves.

Three glasses in and you’re visibly more relaxed as you both sit on the couch in the living room, facing each other. There’s a small smile on your face that you can’t help, maybe it’s some of your inhibitions wearing off as a side effect of the alcohol. 

You glance around the room, and you take in the sight of Yoongi sitting here, this close to you. He feels bigger than your small world can handle.

“You know,” you start. If the wine didn’t make you more mellow, you probably wouldn’t be saying this. “There are thousands of people thirsting over you every day.”

Yoongi tilts his head, swirling the wine in his glass. “Really?”

“Don’t you look at the internet? I personally know two girls from college who are on the Yoongi Marry Me train,” you say matter-of-factly, like you aren’t borderline tipsy in front of him.

You aren’t an avid Twitter user, but every time you check the damn bird app, Yoongi is almost always trending. In every single one of his posts on social media, there is always an influx of comments asking him to marry them. Not only that, when word first got out about you collaborating with Agust D back then, people you knew - both old friends and acquaintances - practically bombarded your messages to see if it was true, and to ask if you could get them an autograph.

Yoongi stretches out his legs until they brush against yours. Your stomach flips even though it’s only your legs that are barely touching.

“The what train?”

“You seriously don’t know about the Yoongi Marry Me movement? Look it up. It’s a whole thing. People would do anything to, I don’t know, hold your hand or something.”

With an amused look on his face, he holds your gaze. “Would you?”

“What?”

“Would you do all of that just to hold my hand? Because you don’t have to, y’know.” He brings the wine glass to his lips, partially hiding his face from you, and you don’t know whether he’s doing it for your sake or his in preparation for the words he speaks next. “But I would do it to hold yours.”

You’re sure that your cheeks are burning bright, your stomach twisted in knots. It’s the wine, but it’s definitely the effect of his words too. You stare at Yoongi in surprise; no matter how many times he openly flirts with you, he’d still elicit the same reaction from you. It’ll be hard to get used to it. He just always seems to know what to say to make you blush like a schoolgirl, which you resent but you can’t deny the sparks of excitement that make your fingertips tingle.

Yoongi is smooth, and it’s even worse - or is it better? You haven’t decided yet - that you know he means every word he says. It makes you feel… wanted. It’s good to know that he’s being genuine, and to know that Yoongi isn’t the type of person who would ever pull the rug out from under you.

Yoongi is… stable.

You suppose, after everything you’ve been through, that stability is what you need. It’s good for you.

You try to swerve around the thoughts, to avoid them at all costs, but deep down you know now that they’re glaringly true.

That love is stored in two bags of groceries, so filled to the brim that some onions almost fall out. Love is stored in every flick of his wrist holding a knife, slicing the sharp blade across your cutboard. Clean cuts, yet he’s never this way when it comes to you.

Love is stored in a fond smile and adoring eyes when he sees how you cradle your expensive dishware like it’s a newborn baby before you set it carefully on the table.

Love is stored in a Yoongi-shaped silhouette, dancing over your countertops with practiced precision in every movement, filling in the cracks of your home. The love in him is reserved because you, like the moon when it crescents, still have a ways to go.

When he stands at your door an hour later with his coat in hand, you wait for him to speak first.

“Performance review?” he asks. “How did I do?”

“I… liked it. It was nice,” you say honestly. But you still feel the wine in your system, and it makes you bold enough to tease him for a change. “But it was my first date in a while, so it’s hard to tell if that opinion is objective.”

He rolls his eyes fondly. “Do I qualify for a second date then?”

You hum in thought, making him wait on purpose. “Yeah, I guess,” you say, feigning nonchalance, which earns you a hearty laugh.

“What are you doing tomorrow night?” he asks, hopeful.

“Don’t know yet,” you answer, though you’ll probably end up going home and catching up on a kdrama. “Are you coming in tomorrow?”

“Just in the morning. I have a shoot in the afternoon.” He shifts to lean his weight on his other leg, tipping his body closer to you. “But I can pick you up after.”

“Yeah? And where would we go?”

Yoongi shrugs in earnest. “Just drive around? Grab a bite?” he thinks out loud, tilting his head slightly to one side for emphasis. “I could take you to that popup store you mentioned.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “You would stand in line with me to buy a novelty mug?”

“Pretty sure we wouldn’t have to stand in line if I gave them a call,” he says, grinning. “One of the perks of the job, y’know.”

“Must be nice,” you laugh, then shift to lean just a tad closer to him. You look at him for a brief moment before you agree, “Yeah, okay.”

You and Yoongi stand there at the door, each of you on either side of the threshold. This would be an appropriate moment for a kiss, you think. That explosive first kiss, if this were a movie. Exhilaration courses through your veins. You feel it from your head to the tips of your fingers to your toes. The feeling is rendering you a mere teenager again. 

It’s exciting because it’s new. You have the entire book ahead of you, waiting to be written. At this point, anything could happen. You’re a blank canvas waiting to be drawn, a blank page hoping to be written. 

Wait.

Back up.

A kiss?

A kiss?!

With Yoongi?

You’re thinking about kissing Yoongi?!

Fuck.

Fuck?!

It’s the wine.

Your thoughts knock against each other like bumper cars, echoing loudly in your brain that it almost gives you a headache.

You stay still as Yoongi leans down, your heart racing while your brain just keyboard-smashes. You can’t tell if you want him to kiss you or not, but when he only presses his lips against your cheek, you feel two emotions at once.

The first is disappointment, the second is relief. They press down on you with almost equal force, and you’re not really sure which one weighs heavier.

Baby steps.

You blink when he pulls away, and he just smiles fondly at you as if he can read your mind.

“Goodnight, princess.”

You watch him until he’s in the elevator, until the doors close and the lift descends. Even when you know that he must be on his way to his car and that someone else is making their way up, you stand there, with your hand loosely wrapped around the door handle, your breathing slightly erratic as you process what just happened. 

Déjà vu? 

It’s oddly reminiscent.

You’ve been here before.

Part of you thinks he’ll burst through the elevator doors, or rush up the stairs if the lift is occupied, and come back to grab your face and kiss you senseless.

He doesn’t.

Jungkook knows you’re probably waiting for Yoongi.

He’s seen Yoongi pick you up after work almost daily over the past couple of weeks, and it’s driving him insane. Even on the days that Yoongi comes to the studio during the day, the guy is all over you, so much so that he doesn’t even bother being a nuisance to Jungkook anymore, which just makes him a thousand times more insufferable.

Something is happening.

He can’t weasel shit out of Jimin anymore because Jimin has been especially tight-lipped after accidentally spilling Yoongi’s confession to you.

Because that should be him in Yoongi’s place. Or should he say his place, and Yoongi is just a placeholder. An imposter.

Because it used to be him that you smiled shyly at.

Jimin’s words have been plaguing his every waking hour since he was forced to hear them. If she wants to choose Yoongi, let her do that too. It feels like he’s rewinding all of your memories, retracing them with cautious fingers only to find that his every footstep is being erased to make room for someone else.

An abandoned dirt road, while you walk down a flower-filled path holding someone else’s hand.

Like you’re stamping him out.

Like he was never there at all.

Not only are you denying him a chance, you’re giving it to someone else. When he tries to move at someone else’s pace, all he gets is left behind.

It’s not about Yoongi; or at least, it’s not just about him. Yoongi doesn’t even really matter to Jungkook in this equation. It’s about what Yoongi represents. An idea of a person that Jungkook can never be.

A bigger life. A stable present and an even brighter future. Yoongi is everything better than him.

And that’s his own problem to deal with, not anyone else’s. At the end of the day, no one has to live with his insecurities but himself.

But still, he can’t help it. Whenever he sees you with Yoongi, his eyes burn. Please don’t let him take my place, he wishes every time, you’re the only good thing about me.

It’s jealousy, sure, of course it’s there. 

But what if you realize what everyone else already knows? That Yoongi is better in every single way. That Yoongi is the person who really deserves you.

What if you start to see Jungkook the way he sees himself?

You hating him - despising him with every cell in your body - is a thousand times better than you deeming him unworthy.

“I talked to Jihyo,” he speaks up suddenly, when it’s only the two of you.

“Okay,” you answer, never taking your eyes off the page in front of you. You must have circled the words daisy a thousand times already, wracking your brain for anything that rhymes. “I don’t know why you’re telling me this, but good for you.”

At this point, you wonder if you should just avoid the studio for the time being. It’s empty here again. You resent Seokjin for drowning in concept photos. You resent Namjoon for leaving Jungkook here to fend for himself, but it’s only fair, because Namjoon was only supposed to give him a helping hand, not take over the whole thing. You even resent Yoongi a bit, for not being here right this second.

“I talked to her,” Jungkook says again, ignoring your sass. “She won’t give you a hard time anymore.”

This makes you look at him. You never asked him to do this. You never asked him to do anything. In fact, you have only ever implored him to sit still and leave things alone.

“She never gave me a hard time,” you say. Sure, you don’t appreciate being given the death glare first thing in the morning, but it’s not something that you can’t ignore. It doesn’t actively affect you, and the only reason Jihyo does it is because of Jungkook.

Because he broke things off with her?

Because he gives you more attention?

Ugh. Attention?

This is the stupidest and most childish thing you have had to think about in ages.

“You said she acts differently toward you.”

“And aren’t you the reason why?” you counter. “Because you two were fucking?”

Jungkook visibly winces at your words, like he did when you mentioned it the first time in the break room. You don’t mean to be snarky; you’re just stating the facts. They were hooking up. 

You don’t harbor any ill will toward any of his past lovers, and that includes Jihyo. You know she doesn’t have anything against you either, at least not on a personal level because you don’t know each other well enough to do so. She’s just someone you pass by every day on your way to the elevator.

“So why did things end?” you ask just for the sake of it, since he was the one who brought it up. But you’d be lying if you said you weren’t curious.

He hesitates for a moment. “She wanted something more and it wasn’t the same for me.”

It’s stupid that the tiny voice in the back of your head resurfaces, hoping that you were the reason why he couldn’t pursue things with another woman.

Jihyo isn’t you, that much is clear. You never asked for anything more from him, not once from start to finish. He was always the first one to pour love into you. It’s arguable which one of you loved the other more - maybe you loved each other equally, just in different ways - but it was a fact that Jungkook always took the initiative. He made the first move so you wouldn’t have to. He gave you the option to match his affection, and never have to worry about being left out to dry.

He took initiative, right until the very end.

You bite your bottom lip, then give him a curt response, “Okay.”

Your phone vibrates with a text from Yoongi but you don’t open it just yet. You look at Jungkook, who only looks back at you. His lips part slightly as he searches for the right words, or any word at all. It’s like you’re asking him to navigate a minefield when all he has to do is be honest. Even if he told you that he fell out of love with you, it wouldn’t be that bad. You would be hurt, yes, but you wouldn’t blame him. You would understand. It would be a reason.

Silence fills the room, save for the continuous tapping of your pen on paper.

He says your name, pleading. “I’m trying here.”

At Jimin’s party, Jungkook said you were someone important to him. You don’t doubt that he meant it, and that’s what infuriates you the most. You’re important, but he keeps running circles around you and making your head spin. You’re important, but everything he’s done makes you think that you’re the opposite. You’re important, just not important enough to get an explanation.

You know he’s genuine about everything he says, but that’s not enough. You can’t sustain yourself on just his words alone.

It’s another cycle of the same conversation, running over and over and over again. He’s reaching out but he’s holding back. You’re still getting nowhere. You don’t know how many times he has to make you ask this, only to not give you any clarity at all.

If there is a trait of Jungkook’s that you both love and hate at the same time, it is that he doesn’t know when to quit.

He texts you every day even when you don’t reply - one for good morning, and one for goodnight. He gets you a chai latte every day, which doesn’t do shit for your concentration because there’s not enough caffeine in it. He gets the door for you whenever you go into the same room together. He hounds your every waking moment. He makes sure that he’s the first thing you see when you wake up, and the last thought that crosses your mind before you go to sleep.

I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.

You suppose this is him, showing up again. In a lot of ways, it’s selfish. But it’s an effort too. Now your phone is full of meaningless messages that remain unread.

You barely glance at him. It’s routine at this point. He tries in ways that you don’t bother acknowledging anymore, because you figured that the best course of action is to let him wear himself out.  When he has had enough of it, when he deems his efforts to be enough to absolve his guilt, he’ll stop. He has to.

But at what point does it stop?

At what point will you stop wanting to give in to him? Your mind rages wars with itself every time you feel his eyes on you, and you have to kill the urge to not turn your head and look at him too. At what point will you stop wanting to go to him and let him in again? At what point will you stop unconsciously making him a priority?

All of this, you supposed, is to say: Do you still love him?

You know that if you sit down and get to the root of it, you’ll find an answer you don’t like. Even in this moment, you want him to tell you just a fraction of the truth, because that would probably be enough to reel you back in.

Your own heart claws at your chest but this is how it has to be for a while. All you can do is take it one day at a time, gently nudge your heart in one direction like a child that needs to be goaded, until he doesn’t live on the forefront of your mind anymore.

Until someone else does.

“No, you’re not.” You stand up then, closing your notebook with more force than necessary. “If you’re really trying, then I wouldn’t still be wondering why I wasn’t enough to make you stay.”

Even then, you’re still hoping that he’d say something else. But when you’re only met with silence, the anticipated disappointment in you bubbles, boiling. His reluctance to clue you in makes it easier for you to decide.

There's someone else who's willing to give you things that you don't even need to ask for.

In your mind, it's clear who you should choose.

Jungkook clenches his teeth, holding his breath as he watches you shove your things into your bag. “Are you going home?” he asks after a minute.

You could say yes and let the conversation die a swift and simple death. But for some reason, you choose to kill it violently. You bite the inside of your cheek before you tell him, “I don’t know. Yoongi’s picking me up.”

The chagrinned look that takes over his features for a split second is one that you immediately catch. Maybe it’s because he wants to make sure you know how he feels about this, or maybe you still have a way of reading him somehow. Regardless of what his face tells you, he doesn’t prod any further.

Your phone vibrates on the table, the sound ten times more thunderous amidst the silence that’s befallen the both of you. You don’t need to check the screen to know who’s calling, and neither does he. When you leave, the sound of your fading footsteps ricochets off the walls. It shoots right through him.

He hears every word of that conversation ringing in his ears then. He recalls that afternoon’s sunset; it was the most beautiful sunset he saw that year, despite the sun overhead mocking him with every magnificent glint of light. He sees the look on your face when his words finally register in your mind, the Oh moment when you understood what he was saying, when the smile you wore sunk helplessly to the floor because even though you knew that love had an expiration date, you hoped your love would be the exception. 

That memory fades, only to be replaced by something much worse. He sits there with Jimin’s words, echoing in his mind, reverberating around the room.

Technically, you and Yoongi haven’t been on a second date. You think.

You’ve seen him almost every night since the dinner, when he picks you up at the studio. Sometimes, you two just drive around. Sometimes, you sit by the river in the cold, eating hot ramen cups and giggling over nothing. Sometimes, he just takes you straight to your home if he has a packed schedule the next day.

These days, you see Yoongi even more than you see Taehyung. Even though he hasn’t explicitly implied that any of these outings is a date, you know you aren’t hanging out as just friends anymore.

It feels good to be wanted. The feeling is reinforced tenfold because it’s been so long that it’s like you’re experiencing it for the first time in a new body, as a different person.

But even after all of that, you two can still go back to being friends like nothing ever happened. Because in a way, maybe nothing did happen. Maybe things have always been like this between you, the only difference is now you’re noticing the meaning behind his words and glances.

You two can still go back, because technically, no line has been crossed.

But tonight, something feels different. It’s colder, but Yoongi keeps you warm with all the looks he’s been giving you all night.

It feels like you’re both toeing that line right now. 

You know that once you cross it, things can’t revert back to the way they were anymore.

You know that it will happen eventually, because Yoongi isn’t doing this just to half-ass it. He won’t back out, and he has made it crystal clear from the start. 

Usually, this is the part where he tells you goodnight and you have to pretend not to freak out when he kisses you on the cheek in goodbye.

He takes a step closer, you take no step back. 

“You know what I’m about to do, right?”

You do. You could say you’re even hopeful.

“I might have an idea…”

“Okay,” he says easily. He takes your waist in his hands and brings you closer. The way the corner of his mouth tugs upward tells you that he’s pleased, that you know what’s about to come and you’re letting it happen. Still, he asks, “Can I?”

You nod. That glowing sensation washes over you in waves.

“Words, princess,” he reminds you. 

Your hands land on the lapel of his coat. “Yes, you can.”

He chuckles, and squeezes you a little tighter. 

Then it happens.

The line you clumsily drew in the sand has been erased.

Yoongi is kissing you.

You’re kissing him back. 

He’s soft and warm and he holds you like you’re delicate. His sincerity, you can feel it in his kiss, and it’s only a fraction of it. Regardless, there is still life that blooms this winter. Inside of you, small and fragile, but it’s there.

You sigh into his mouth, feeling completely limbless if not for him holding your body upright. One of his arms wounds itself tighter around your middle while his other hand tucks your hair behind your ear so he could cup your cheek more easily. Yoongi tilts his head further to one side to deepen the kiss. You feel something in his kiss that you have never heard in his words, something soft and pleading. Wanting but still contained. Out of fear that you might run away, perhaps? You can’t blame him though. You are a bit of a flight risk.

The wind dances past like a nosy bystander, pressing you further into him like it wants you to be more sure in the way you move, in how much of yourself you’re willing to give to him. Instead, the cold just makes you shiver.

When you break away, his hand on your face moves to hold the back of your head. Yoongi doesn’t look half as flushed as you think you do, though his cheeks are slightly rosy.

Through a thin veil of clouds, the moon still shines down on his profile. 

The chill in the air, the mesmerizing view of moonlight dancing across his features, and most of all, the way you’re still lost in the kiss, in the feeling of being wanted.

“C’mon, I’ll walk you up,” he says, after you stay silent for a beat too long, hooded eyes basking in the warmth of a heart chasing your own. You want to want him. You do want him, but there’s still something missing. It doesn’t feel entirely right, but for now, you try not to dwell on it too much. Just let it be. Maybe in time, that void will inevitably fill.

Yoongi holds your hand through the lobby and on the whole way up even if neither of you says anything, just shy glances in the elevator and bashful half-hidden smiles. You don’t invite him in once you get to your door - because an invite now insinuates something that you just aren’t ready for - but he does kiss you again. If the kiss you shared downstairs is a proper goodnight kiss, then this one means see you later and doesn’t last half as long, but it makes you tingle just the same.

He pulls back, only to dive in again, and again, and again, until one chaste kiss turns into five and you have to push him away with a giggle so you can breathe.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, eyes still set on your mouth. “Couldn’t help myself.”

“Yoongi,” you say, a little breathily, like oxygen hasn’t sufficiently made its way into your lungs since downstairs.

He rests his forehead against yours. “You’ve never said my name like that before,” he sighs.

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to kiss you again.”

You tug your bottom lip between your teeth and pretend to consider this even though you know you would like to be kissed again. “Maybe I do,” you say after a beat, bravely. “Just one more.”

He gives you your final kiss of the night then, one that lasts a second longer than the others, like he’s trying to memorize how you taste.

You head in once Yoongi is out of sight. You lean your body against the door the second you snap the lock shut. You touch your lips lightly, reliving those moments again even though they happened mere seconds ago. You’re buzzing with excitement like a schoolgirl, every feeling coursing through your body all at once. 

You’re familiar with this. It’s the stage right before every love song you listen to suddenly reminds you of that one person.

You go through your regular evening routine with a pep in your step, thanks to a certain person tonight. You take off your carefully applied makeup and take a nice, hot shower. You think the heat would help melt away the high that you’re riding - like you’ve had too much coffee to drink and now your senses are beyond heightened - but it doesn’t. Once you’re fresh and comfortable in your PJs, you still feel that jittery feeling seeping through your pores, keeping you awake. There’s a message from Yoongi that tells you he has made it home safely.

It’s still early, and you’re far too restless to go to bed. You decided to brew yourself a mug of chamomile tea, even though you don’t even like chamomile and you can’t remember why you even have it, but they say that apparently chamomile is good for sleep. You decide to take the mug into the living room to sort through your mini mountain of mail that should’ve been dealt with days ago.

Sitting underneath that pile of junk mail and letters addressed to the previous tenant even though you’ve lived here for nearly two years, is a cream-colored card addressed to you. The material feels smooth under your fingertips, like velvet if that’s even possible. Inside, there are two names - one you recognize and another you don’t - typed out in a fancy calligraphy font and encircled by pretty flowers, all pinks and whites and romantic.

The saccharine sensation associated with the thought of Yoongi dissipates instantly. Instead, your mind blanks, only to buzz to life again momentarily with a newfound sinking feeling dragging you down.

You suddenly realize that Jungkook hasn’t crossed your mind once tonight. Not until now. That crestfallen look in his eyes from the other night appears in your mind again, clear as day.

You are, quite literally, holding someone’s declaration of love and yet, it’s not joy that you feel, having been asked to join them on their special day. 

You never thought you would see Jungkook’s family again - even though you always adored his parents and you felt that they loved you too - let alone receive an invitation to his brother’s wedding.

remember when y'all said u wanted a wedding?? well u didn't say whose wedding 😌

— all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted march 27, 2023]

[lyingindecay]

I really loved your Thaddeus fic lol :))

So I was wondering if you could write another with this prompt.

“i bought a few pieces of lingerie. want me to model for you?”

Gnaws at the bars of my enclosure.

Love

[Thaddeus x AFAB! Reader]

Summary: You get some lingerie from the dodgiest place, but it's okay because it's cute. You just have to show your boyfriend. Warnings: 18+ minors dni!, thigh riding, pet names, established relationship, first 'i love you's Word Count: 1.7k A/N: No pronouns used, but it is written wtih AFAB reader in mind. i love Thaddeus!!! this was supposed to be like 500 words since it's a prompt request, but this is a whole ass oneshot lmao i love writing thaddeus cause he's so failboy and sweet! hope you like this, thanks for the req!

You are sneaking through a mall when it catches your attention. Lace and shiny silk. The horrible lighting of the mall does not help at all, but it’s still alluring. You pause to stare at the articles of clothing.

The one you want is red, a sultry red. Some dust spots, but still very beautiful. You snatch it up from the broken display and shake it out. You can’t help but wonder where it came from. It doesn’t look worn, just dirty from the world around it.

You hold it up and notice it’s a pair of lace underwear. Your smile widens. You look back down and find the bra just a few feet away. You bend down to pick it up and hear a gun click behind you. You freeze.

“What are you doing in my store?”

You groan. “Um,” Your hands, still holding the underwear, go up, “just looking around.”

“Thief!” The woman behind you shouts. You slowly turn and shake your head. “Yes, you’re trying to take my product!”

“Ma’am,” You think being polite will help. “I was unaware this was your shop! These clothes… they were laid out. Look,” You stare back at the bra on the ground. “I will pay you however many caps you want. I need this set…”

Her brow cocks. She drops her gun slightly. “Okay. One hundred caps.”

You purse your lips. “Fifty.”

“Seventy-five.” She deadpans. “Take that or bullet in your fucking head.”

You roll your eyes. “Fine.” You huff and grab your pouch of caps. “Take this.” You throw the bag at her. “You obviously need it more than me.” You mumble under your breath. She doesn’t question what you said. You grab the bra from the floor, stuffing that and the underwear into your bag, and turn back to the woman.

“Whoa!” She’s looking at the caps in what used to be your pouch, “I hope whoever you’re wearing that for fucks you nasty tonight. With this much, feel free to grab that green silk pair as well.”

Your eyes almost pop out of your head. “Thanks?” Your face contorts, but you don’t question her. You grab the other pair.

“No, thank you!” She closes the pouch. “Now, get the fuck out of here.”

You do not hesitate to listen. You rush out of the mall and back towards your place. You only hope your boyfriend has not made it back to your home yet. One, because you need to surprise him with your new clothes, and two, because you did not want him to be anxious about you not being home.

You reach the settlement and someone, one of your neighbors, walks up to you. “Uh, hey,” his face drops, his eyes move towards the left of him, and his hand motions the same way. You follow his hand and see he’s pointing to your house. “Who the fuck is that man on your porch?”

Your eyes focus and you notice someone on your porch, facing the door. His forehead is against it, his arms are by his sides. Your palm hits your forehead, and you sigh.

“He says he knows you… But won’t elaborate.”

“Yeah,” You nod. “I know him. That’s my boyfriend. I’m gonna go check on him.” You smile at your thoughtful neighbor and walk past him. “Thaddeus?” You know it’s him, but it comes out as a question. He turns around, lighting up. His forehead is red from leaning on your door. “Baby, what are you doing?”

He freezes in his tracks when you say ‘baby’. His brain seems to short circuit. His eyes widen and he smiles. A goofy smile.

“Did you just-” Thaddeus blinks a couple times. “You called me baby.”

“Well,” You walk up the steps and reach Thaddeus, “you are my boyfriend, so that seems-” Thaddeus’ color drains from his face. It’s your turn to freeze. “You are my boyfriend, aren’t you?”

He can read your panic. “I am! I’m your boyfriend!” He grabs your shoulders and pulls you into a hug. “I’m your boyfriend…” He seems to be reassuring himself. He pulls away and you give him a look of confusion.

“Um, Thaddeus, you alright, bud?” You cock a brow at him.

“Can you call me baby again?” He gives you a soft smile.

“Sweetheart,” You grab his shoulder, and your expression softens, “let’s go inside.” Thaddeus nods. You walk past him and open the door of your house. “I was out, uh, looking at some stuff.” You place your bag down and turn to Thaddeus. He nods, wanting you to continue. “I bought some… I bought a few pieces of lingerie. Want me to model them for you?”

You watch Thaddeus shift awkwardly. “Lingerie?” He seems flabbergasted. You nod at him. “You want to model it for me? Like, put it on and show me- show me what it looks like on you?”

You let out a soft laugh. “Yes, silly.”

Thaddeus nods violently. “Okay! You wanna do it now?”

You nod and turn, walking towards your room. You wave for him to follow you and he does, happily. You motion towards your bed, “Sit down, please!” As soon as he does you walk back out of your room, “I’ll be right back. Close your eyes!”

You peek over your shoulder and see if he’s following orders. He is. He always is. You grab your bag and carry it to the bathroom with you. You strip down and grab out the red lace pair first. You put them on and stare at yourself in the mirror. You suck in air and smile.

“You coming out soon?” Thaddeus sounds excited and impatient.

You open the bathroom door and walk towards your room. You lean against the door frame and clear your throat. “You can open your eyes.”

He doesn’t hesitate. Not in the slightest. His eyes hit you, they’re going up and down your body. He doesn’t know where to settle. His hands rub up and down his thighs and he swallows hard. You bite the inside of your lip and raise your brows at him. “Do you like it?”

Thaddeus nods, unsure of what to say. “Can I-” He stops. “I want to touch you.”

“Oh,” You stand up straight and saunter towards Thaddeus. His legs spread slightly, and he gently pats his thigh. You sit down, straddling his thigh and you wrap your arms around his neck. “Y’know what’d be really hot?” You raise a brow at him. He hums, the only sound he can form as he stares at your chest. “Me getting off on your thigh.”

His eyes cut up from your breasts to your face. “Oh?” He is thinking about it. “That would be really hot.” You nod slowly in agreement, your heels planting on the wood floor. You grab a hold of Thaddeus’ shoulders to steady yourself and your boyfriend watches you. You begin to grind on his thigh, slow and steady.

Thaddeus’ hands move to your hips, and he holds you. His eyes watch you closely; how your tits bounce, how focused you look. You are absolutely divine, before him like a feast. And you are all his. You lean forward and begin to kiss him. Thaddeus doesn’t hesitate to kiss back. His hands grip your hips tighter as you roll into his thigh, and you moan.

Thaddeus’ tongue darts into your mouth. You continue to rock on his thigh as Thaddeus’ tongue explores your mouth. You let out a low whine and your nails dig into his shirt, scratching at his back. Thaddeus’ mouth moves from yours and to your jaw. He places sloppy kisses down your throat.

“Thaddeus-” You mewl. “Baby,” that catches his attention. He pulls away and looks at you. Your head is rolled back and your eyes are shut. “Help me out here. I’m so close!”

He pauses. His hands bare down on your hips as you grind into his thigh. Thaddeus raises his heel, resting on his tiptoes before bringing his foot back down. You let out a strangled noise and lean into him, your chest against his. “Again! Please, do that again!”

Thaddeus is obedient, and he does as he’s told. The friction from the fabric and his thigh has you slowly unraveling. A heat is building up and your body grows tense. You push yourself up on your tiptoes, getting a better angle on his thigh and place your forehead against Thaddeus’ shoulder. You let out a soft, pleasure filled cry.

“Thaddeus!” You moan into his shoulder. “Fuck!” Your grinding picks up the pace. Your orgasm hits hard and you are tense against Thaddeus. You’re groaning and moaning against him, your movements coming to a halt. You say the first thing that comes to mind as you come down from that euphoric high. “I love you.” You whisper into his neck as you place a kiss against it.

Thaddeus tenses up. “What did you say?”

You smile against his neck, “I love you.” You say it with more confidence.

“You do?” Thaddeus seems to short circuit again. You laugh and pull away from him looking in his eyes. You nod at him. He gives you a smile. “I love you too!”

You place your forehead to his and bite the inside of your lip. “Y’know, I spent an awful lot of caps on this lingerie, and I still have another pair to show you-”

“How much did you spend?” Thaddeus’ brows knit together.

Your face drops. “Uh, enough for the vendor to tell me she hopes whoever I’m wearing it for fucks me nasty…”

Thaddeus swallows hard. “I can do that- Give you your caps worth.” He shifts, obviously hard. He palms his pants and you smirk at him.

“There’s no doubt in my mind. Do you want me to show you the other pair? Or-”

You do not get to finish. Thaddeus shakes his head ‘no’. “You can show me later, I’m about to lose my fucking mind. I need you.” You laugh, and as soon as you give the ‘okay’ Thaddeus is on you. You’re flipped onto the bed and he’s above you. “I wanna show you how much I love you.”

You know you aren’t leaving the house for the rest of the day.

[cadybear420]

🔞 Piano Training 🔞

Fandom: High School Story (Original Trilogy)

Pairings: Aiden Zhou x Evie Ayana (female HSS MC)

Characters: Aiden Zhou, Evie Ayana (female HSS MC)

Rating: E

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Content, Minors DNI

Additional Tags: Erotic Roleplay, Professor-Student Implications, Power Imbalance Implications, Hand Fixation, Finger Fixation, Anal Fingering, Pegging/Strap-on Usage, Maledom, Powerbottom Aiden Zhou

Word Count: 4,226

Summary: Aiden and Evie do an erotic rolplay scenario, involving Aiden training Evie's fingers for piano-playing using a very unorthodox method.

A/N: My first smut on this site. I've actually written smut of these two before, I've just been too nervous to share it here lol.

Disclaimer: While finger strength and dexterity is indeed important for being able to play the piano, IDK a goddamn thing about learning piano and so I have no idea if any of the sexy stuff Evie and Aiden do in the fic would actually enhance piano playing skills. I did try my best to look up certain facts when appropriate, but seeing of course that this is an erotic roleplay, any obvious bullshit I make up is obviously not meant to be taken seriously lol.

Tags: @choicesmc / @lover-also-fighter-also / @lilyoffandoms / @where-the-wind-travels / @gaiuskamilah / @loreofyore / @tessa-liam / @dutifullynuttywitch  

Aiden sat on his piano bench with his legs crossed, facing the door of his music room as he waited patiently for his newest piano student. He drummed his fingers lightly on the bench, occasionally checking his watch. 

Soon enough, the prospective protégé entered the room.

“Welcome, Ms. Ayana,” A gentle smile– serious, yet welcoming– grew on his face. “Are you ready for your piano lesson?”

Evie barely heard him as she took in his outfit. The grey argyle sweater vest that fit nicely over the subtle contours of his chest, over a simple black necktie and a white button up with sleeves rolled up to the biceps. The dark grey slacks that hugged his hips, ass, and legs oh-so-perfectly, paired with a sleek black leather belt. And a pair of black oxford shoes to top it all off. 

It was an ensemble he’d worn so many times, yet the way it enticed her never wore thin. Semi-subconsciously, Evie reached down towards her crotch, feeling the bulge of her strap-on under her jeans. The base tickled her clit as she gently pressed against it.

“Ms. Ayana?” he tilted his head sideways, maintaining his serious demeanor. Evie quickly retracted her hand from her crotch, while also noticing how his pupils had grown, how his cheeks had turned pale red. 

“Yes?” she answered, meeting his eyes.

“Are you ready for your piano lesson?”

“I am, indeed.”

“Good. Now, how about you start off by showing me what you know?”

“I… I’m afraid I don’t have any experience. I was wondering if you could teach me, Professor Zhou.”

“You can just call me ‘Mr. Zhou’. You don’t need to call me Profess…” 

He took a moment to repeat Evie’s words in his head a couple of times. Evie raised an eyebrow at him. 

Then, his lips started to curl into a sly grin. 

“Actually… ‘Professor Zhou’ is fine.”

“Alright…” Evie quivered slightly, feeling her heart and her clit jump. “So, uh… you’d be happy to teach me?”

“Of course. That’s my job, isn’t it?”

“Yeah… so what do I do first?”

“Before you do anything… let me examine your fingers.” 

Aiden got up off the piano bench and headed towards Evie, taking both of her hands in his and running his fingers over her palms and fingertips. Her heart fluttered at his firm yet gentle touch, relishing in the familiar tenderness, the way his eyes seemed to darken at the mere sight of her hands. And knowing what it was slowly leading to… made her blood start to rush lower.

But as she spoke to Aiden, she put on a quizzical expression, raising an eyebrow at him. “Wh-what are you examining my fingers for?”

“I’m assessing your piano experience. It definitely does not seem like you have much of it. Or any instrument experience, for that matter.”

“You’re correct. I don’t know any instruments.”

“Well, you came here to learn piano, right? So that’s what we’re going to focus on. However…”

Evie felt her heart thumping faster. 

“Hm?”

“Before we have you attempting to play the piano, I think it’s important we test your finger strength first.”

Evie tensed, forcibly suppressing a very shallow gasp as her clit gave a particularly hard throb against the base of her strap-on, sending a wave of excitement through her body. “How come?”

Aiden held her fingers in his hands, caressing them and subconsciously squeezing them. “Playing the piano requires a great amount of finger strength and dexterity. A lot of instruments do, but especially the piano. If I can assess how good your fine motor skills are, I can figure out how to best train you on this instrument.” 

“Sounds good. So, what’s my first exercise?”

“We’ll start easy, but each of these little exercises will increase in difficulty,” Aiden reluctantly let go of her hands, and then stepped back. “First… remove my sweater.”

Evie almost grinned, but just barely suppressed it. Instead, she widened her eyes. 

“You want me to…?”

“Yes. Pull it off. It should be easy, shouldn’t it?”

Evie took in his unwavering expression, feeling a small tingle in her lower regions. She inhaled deeply, then nodded. As she took hold of the hem of his sweater, though, she got a brief glimpse of the growing bulge in his slacks. But she paid it no mind as she peeled off his sweater vest. 

“What next?” she asked.

“Undo the buttons on…” he paused. “Actually, before that… remove my belt and pants.”

Damn, already? Nevertheless, Evie bent down and quickly undid his belt buckle, pulled the belt out from the loops in his slacks, then unbuttoned and unzipped his slacks. She let the pants drop down around Aiden’s ankles, revealing opaque black lace panties and solid black knee-high crew socks underneath. 

“I think these exercises are a bit too easy…” she said, as her eyes roamed over his hips and legs. 

Aiden pulled himself out of his pants and smirked at her. “Don’t speak too soon. You need to undo my tie next. And I don’t just mean loosening it enough to remove– I mean untying it completely.”

Evie quivered again at his tone. “That shouldn’t be too hard…” 

She got to work– gently loosening the knot, pulling out the short end a bit, pulling out the long end completely with her thumb and forefinger, looping it back, and finally pulling it out. She stepped back, letting the tie hang over Aiden’s shoulders, under the collar of his shirt. His eyes widened. 

“Very good…” Aiden said. “You do have quite the skills…”

“I tend to wear suits to formal events, so I do have a bit of experience with neckties. I won’t lie, though… untying it can be a pain in the ass.”

“But with enough practice, it becomes less so, doesn’t it?”

“Exactly.”

“It’s much the same with learning any skill, piano included.”

“Oh, definitely. So what’s next?”

“Now we’re getting into a truly challenging exercise. I want you to unbutton my shirt…”

“That’s it?”

“...and I want you to try and undo each button in a row. To be able to go from one button to the next, in smooth succession.”

“...oh…” 

“Watch here.”

Aiden sat down at the piano and played some of the first few scales of Für Elise , the twinkling of the keys filling the room. But as she took in the gentle and pleasant melody, her eyes soon roamed away from his hands, and down to his ass on the piano bench. 

When he was finished, he stood back up and turned to Evie. 

“Did you see how my fingers moved across the keys?”

“I… I did, yes.” No, no she didn’t. But of course, having known Aiden for nearly five years now, she was more than familiar with the elegant manner in which his hands glid across the piano keys when he played. “It hardly looked like your hands even stopped moving.”

“Exactly. Being able to play the notes in smooth succession like that is an acquired skill. And to acquire it… obviously, you have to practice it, train the muscle memory. It takes work, so don’t be upset if you don’t get it right the first time.”

“Got it. So when should I start?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Evie took a brief moment to herself. Then, she reached up and began undoing each of his buttons in a row– holding each part of the fabric in each hand and pulling the hole over the button. Most of the buttons went out fairly smoothly, but for a few of them, it took Evie a little longer to open. 

After she undid the last button, she withdrew her hands, letting his shirt hang open to expose his chest and stomach. She took a brief moment to gaze at his features before turning her head up to him. 

“How was that, Professor?”

“For a beginner, you did quite well. You, of course, need more practice, but you seem to be on the right track,” he grinned broadly at her. 

“Yay!” Evie bounced up and down a little. 

“And keep in mind, if you do practice it more, you’ll soon realize a big factor of these particular sorts of skills is barely having to think about what you’re doing. When you train the muscle memory well enough, you should be able to go through the necessary hand and finger movement patterns by pure instinct, without even having to think about which one comes next. That’s the key to undoing buttons or playing certain notes in smooth succession.”

“Awesome… so are we gonna practice that some more?”

“Actually… we’re onto the final exercise.”

Evie felt her face heat up, her heart pounding in her chest. This was it. “And what is that?”

“Before we train your fine muscle memory skills on the piano, I want to do something a little more focused on… stamina .” Aiden smirked again, seemingly holding back a smile. “It’s just as important to be able to work the keys without getting tired or sore.” 

“And what will my exercise be for that?”

“Allow me to show you.”

Aiden closed the third highest button of his shirt and then tied the hanging pieces together into a knot just under his chest, covering his tits while fully exposing his stomach. Then he hooked his thumbs into his panties and pushed them down, letting them fall to the floor and freeing his slightly-dripping erection. Evie drew in a sharp gasp, and didn’t even bother to suppress it this time. 

“Is something the matter, Ms. Ayana?”

“N-no, just… what exactly is my next exercise?”

“I’m about to show you. First… you’ll need this.” 

Aiden stepped out of his underwear, then went to his discarded slacks and fished out a small tube of lubricant from the pocket. He returned to Evie and handed the tube to her. 

“Since when did people use lubricant for playing the piano? Wouldn’t that be incredibly messy?”

“No. You’re going to be working your fingers…” Aiden turned around and bent over the piano, his chest hovering just above the keys. Then he reached back and gestured to his fully-exposed, well-prepped asshole. “...in here .”

Evie quivered, her legs trembling slightly. 

“You mean… inside…?”

“Yes. Inside.”

“How will this help with–”

“I’ll show you. Sit on the piano bench and put your index finger in…”

Evie took ragged, shallow breaths, as she sat and then brought the tip of her finger at his opening…

“Ms. Ayana, lube!”

“Right! Sorry!”

Evie opened the bottle and poured a generous amount of lube over Aiden’s hole, making him shiver as some of the slick, cool fluid spilled down his taint and his balls. 

“Okay… now may I put it in?”

“Yes, now.”

Feeling her clit throbbing, Evie brought her finger back to his entrance and pushed in. 

“O- oh ~” Aiden gasped, his body tensing and his hands almost gripping the piano as Evie’s finger slid all the way into him with ease. 

“Am I doing it right, Professor Zhou?”

“Y-yeah you… are…”

“Are you feeling alright, Professor?”

“More than alright… don’t worry about me…”

“If you say so. So what do I do next?”

“Now curl your finger down until I tell you…”

Evie did as told, pushing her finger down until she felt the small, familiar bump of his prostate. Aiden let out a soft, choked moan, tightening around her. Evie inhaled, feeling her head spin. 

“I-is… is that it…?”

Aiden nodded. “Yes… j-just like that, E– M-Ms. Ayana…” 

“Now what…?”

“That… that spot you feel in there? Keep pressing on it with your finger, as many times as you can and as hard as you can, until I tell you to stop.”

Evie wasted no time at all. She thrust her finger into him, over and over again. Aiden bit his lip and drew in a sharp breath. 

“...am I doing it right?”

“Y-yeah… keep going…”

Evie kept going, repeating the movements. Aiden arched his back, instantly bringing her gaze to his round ass. She began thrusting in just a little bit harder, dragging the pad of her finger against his spot, just how she knew he liked it. Aiden gripped the edge of the piano tightly, tensing. Every sound he let out– every gasp, moan, whimper– seemed to come out as only strained grunts and squeaks. 

“How am I doing, Professor?” Evie asked, still pumping her finger into him. 

“Very good. Your st-stamina is incredible…”

She grinned. “Thank you! But… my finger is getting a bit sore…”

“That’s understandable. Your hands are… definitely not going to be poised like this when you play an actual piano. But for now… would you like to switch fingers? Perhaps use your middle and ring fingers for the rest of this practice session?”

“Yes, please!”

Evie withdrew her index finger, and drizzled a bit of extra lubricant onto her middle and ring fingers, before pushing them into Aiden. A small “ Ah~ ” escaped his lips as her fingers stretched him, and it all made Evie’s heart race. 

“May I continue?” she asked. 

“You may, indeed.”

Evie resumed fingerfucking Aiden, but with more ferocity. With every thrust in, she pressed her fingers hard against his prostate, curling them slightly. Aiden managed to remain mostly still, but every so often, he would tense, or arch his back a bit more, or continue letting out those delectable little sounds. Even just one of these reactions seemed to prompt Evie to move her fingers faster, harder. 

Zeroed in on her boyfriend, she reached her left hand up and placed it on his smooth asscheek, holding him tight. Aiden let out a soft moan at her touch as she continued to–

“Miss Ayana! ” Aiden turned his head back towards her with a piercing glare. His voice was loud, clear, almost sharp. Evie jumped in her seat slightly and quickly looked up to meet him, pausing her movements.

“Huh? Wha- what’s wrong…?” 

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Uh… I, uh…”

“This is a formal piano training session. Try to control your hands, would you? Such inappropriate behavior in this setting is not allowed.”

“Y-yes, A- Professor…”

Evie removed her hand from his ass and brought it down between her legs, discreetly fondling her bulge as she resumed thrusting her fingers. Aiden turned his head away again.

She carried on fingering him, and soon, Aiden’s breathing became quicker and heavier. 

“Y-you’re… almost done, Evie…”

Evie’s heart pounded in excitement. She pumped her fingers faster, while lightly brushing her thumb against his taint. He tightened around her, and that only made her speed up even more. Aiden leaned down and against the piano, making notes ring out together in oddly delightful dissonance as his chest pressed against center keys. 

“Professor…?”

“K-keep going…! D-don’t stop until I tell you…”

She did as told, keeping her fingers moving, not stopping for anything. Little by little, Aiden’s moans began to slip out more and more, and soon enough…

“Evieeee-!!!”

Aiden tensed up and climaxed with a long cry. Evie continued thrusting her fingers, massaging hard against his prostate and his taint, causing him to cum even harder and make even more of a mess of the floor beneath. She wiggled in her seat a bit as she watched him, her strap-on shifting against her, making her let out soft grunts and moans. 

Shortly later, Aiden panted softly as his body began to relax.

“You may… remove your fingers, now…”

Evie withdrew her fingers. After catching his breath, Aiden stood up and turned to face her.

“How’d I do… Professor?”

Aiden gleamed at her.

“Fantastic, Ms. Ayana. Especially for a beginner. I already have a feeling that you’ll become an exceptional piano player. 

“With a piano teacher like you? I’ll surely become great, without a doubt~”

A hint of blush grew on Aiden’s cheeks. 

“Of course, we still have to exercise the rest of your fingers… but that can wait. I think you deserve a break. Or even…” he tilted his head slightly, now with a more sly grin. “...perhaps, a prize. For being such an exceptional student today.”

“Oh yeah? And what would that prize be?”

Aiden smirked at her, before leaning down, cupping her face in his hands, and pulling in for a deep, almost ferocious kiss. Evie moaned into the kiss, and gasped loudly once he broke it.

“Professor Zhou!” she gave him a huge, wide-eyed stare, trying her hardest not to smile. “Isn’t this… well… kind of inappropriate? You are my teacher, after all…”

“...well…” 

Aiden hesitated for a moment, blushing softly as he began searching for his next words. But soon enough, they came to him, and his grin returned. 

“Do you want me to stop?”

Evie smiled back at him. “... Fuck no.”

Aiden climbed over Evie, straddling her lap on the piano bench, and pressed his lips to hers as he kissed her hungrily. Her hands gripped his waist, and quickly slid down, feeling his hips and then landing on his ass. She gave his plump cheeks a firm *squeeeeze* . Aiden let out a melodious moan, still kissing her.

“Sorry, I figured that… that would be… more acceptable, now…” Evie panted, speaking between kisses.

“It is, indeed, don’t worry.”

“Oh yeah? Hmm… then what about this?”

She moved her hand away, before bringing it against his ass with a splitting *SMACK!* . Aiden yelped, jolting a little, and Evie could feel his cock twitch against her stomach. 

“Th-that’s acceptable, too. And it’s also convincing me you’d be a fantastic percussionist as well.”

“I… might be interested in learning that, too~” Evie slapped both of her hands against Aiden’s asscheeks– more lightly this time, but still enough such that she could hear him gasp and feel his cock jump again. 

“I’d be… more than happy to train you. But for now, let’s focus on your prize. Alright?”

“Sure…”

“Now, how about we take this to the couch, where it’ll be more comfortable for what I have planned?”

“Oh, yes, please.”

Aiden climbed up off of Evie. He retrieved the tube of lube, then took her by the hand and led her to the couch. She laid down on it on her back, and Aiden reached for the front of her jeans. 

“Professor…”

“This is my prize to you. Let me take care of it.”

Evie nodded, and relaxed on the couch as Aiden undid her fly. Evie lifted her hips up, allowing Aiden to pull down her jeans and boxers, and finally release her neon-purple silicone cock from its restraints. Her heart thumped rapidly in her chest as Aiden drew his attention to her cock, his eyes darkening at the very sight. 

Wasting no more time, Aiden climbed onto the couch, straddling Evie’s legs and sitting just in front of her cock. She looked up quizzically, as he took her cock in his hand and gently stroked it, up and down. 

“Ahh…” Evie gasped, the base of the strap-on massaging against her. “You have… quite the talented hands, Professor Zhou.”

He grinned softly. “What else did you expect from a years-long musical genius?”

Aiden began gently rubbing her up and down. At first, she relaxed onto the couch, gasping and sighing and relishing the sensations. But barely even minutes later, she was squirming and looking at Aiden pleadingly. He didn’t notice, though, and only continued to jerk her off. Evie tilted her head, in the hopes that he’d notice, but to no avail. 

“Um, Professor…?”

Aiden finally met her gaze. “Yes?”

“Are we… um… not to be rude, but… uh–”

“Is this all your prize was going to be? No. Don’t worry, it’s going to be quite a bit more than just this.”

“O-okay… uh…”

“And you’re going to get it right now.”

Aiden pulled out the bottle of lube and drizzled some onto Evie’s cock. Then he lifted his hips up and moved forward, positioning his entrance over the tip. Evie bit her lip in anticipation, her heart pounding so hard it was almost sure to burst.

Aiden looked down towards her. “Are you ready?”

“Hurry up… please…”

Aiden slipped his hands under Evie’s shirt, sliding them over her toned stomach as he began to lower himself down, taking her all in. He bit his lip, trying but failing to hold back a moan, as he was slowly filled up by Evie’s cock. 

“Fuck…” she gasped. 

Aiden settled himself on her lap, sighing contentedly as he completely enveloped her. He gently massaged his fingers over her stomach, tracing the bumps and grooves of her washboard abs. His eyes met hers, his gaze half-lidded and tender, yet twinkling with a hint of mischievousness.

“You feel so good, Ms. Ayana…”

Evie grinned giddily at him, facing him back with a delightful little sparkle in her eyes. “A-as do you~” 

Evie reached up to Aiden’s waist and caressed down, over his hips and ass. Aiden inhaled deeply, chest rising, as he took in the sight and feeling of his student under him. Especially that damn smile on her face. The same damn smile she always had when she was under him. The one that made all his insecurities and worries seem to melt away. The smile that said “I trust you”. 

And just then, to accompany this smile, Evie gave his ass a firm *squeeze* that said “Hurry the hell up already, dammit!”. 

Aiden chuckled softly. Then, bracing himself, he lifted his hips up, and then thrust back down onto her. The base of the strap-on ground against her clit as his ass thrust against her hips. Then he lifted up again, then thrust back down again. Again and again and again… 

“Ooooh~” Evie let out a deep groan, throwing her head back against the cushions. “Do you do this with- ahh… all your students, P-professor?”

“Hmm…” Aiden stopped moving for a moment. “No, I have not. You’re an exceptional case.”

“Well, perhaps you should. I bet it’ll be very effective.”

“I’ll consider it. But for now… you’re more important.”

Aiden continued to ride Evie, bouncing up and down on her hips. He quit trying to hold back, letting his moans and gasps and groans come out in perfect harmony with how he moved. He kept a steady momentum, soon building up sensual rhythm with his movements. Frequently, he’d roll his hips back and forth as he thrust down, sometimes twisting them or rolling them side-to-side. 

He didn’t stop for a second. Every movement was smooth, deliberate… like he’d rehearsed it thousands of times before. 

“Ah~ Aiden– Professor… I… hah~ ”

“I take it you’re enjoying this, Ms. Ayana?”

“You… bet I am… haaahh~” 

Aiden’s eyes remained fixed on Evie, who looked back up at him with her classic drunken expression. Her darkened, half-lidded eyes. Her head slightly rolled over to the side. Her big, broad, slightly goofy smile that always made warmth spread through his body. 

He just couldn’t help himself. He rounded forward, leaning down to capture Evie’s lips in a deep kiss. He rolled his hips gently, still fucking her cock, making sure to not let go of it. Meanwhile, his own erect cock leaked with precum. 

“Professor…” she said, in an almost choked whisper. 

Evie could feel his cock twitch slightly as he kissed her again. And again. And again. All while continuing to gyrate on top of her, not missing a beat.

Eventually, Aiden sat back up and continued riding her as per usual again. A few minutes later, Evie began groaning, feeling that familiar build-up in her nether regions. 

“Aiden… I… I’m gonna…”

Aiden made his thrusts smaller, now swiveling his hips against her and intensifying the pressure against her. 

“Hnnh… ohhhh…. fuuuck…” Evie groaned as she felt her body tighten.

Aiden held onto her sides, rolling his hips faster and harder, more and more, panting faster and faster. Evie held on desperately to his ass, fingers digging into his cheeks, and began moving her own hips upwards to meet him. Her clit pulsed harder and harder, and with just a few more thrusts…

“Aiden-!!!”

Evie bucked her hips upwards and held them against Aiden’s ass, holding onto his hips desperately, as her climax raked through her body. Aiden continued to grind against her, making sure her cock massaged his prostate. Even as Evie began to relax, her orgasm washing over, he continued to ride her… and in time, Aiden clenched his teeth, yelling out as he reached his second climax of the day. He quickly grabbed his own cock as he did, spilling all over his hand and onto Evie’s stomach. 

After they both caught their breaths, Aiden climbed off of Evie’s cock. They cleaned up, and then Aiden laid down on top of Evie, his legs draped over her sides and his ass just gently brushed against her cock. Evie wrapped her arms around his upper back, pulling him close and grinning ever-so-widely. Aiden rested against her, nuzzling gently against the crook of her neck and planting a tender kiss onto her skin. 

“Sooo… when’s my next training session gonna be?”

“Hmm… how about the same time, tomorrow? In order to more effectively train you… I’d like to meet with you every day. If that’s okay with you, Ms. Ayana?”

Her grin grew into a devilish smile.

“As long as you’re the one training me, Professor Zhou… that’s more than okay with me.”

[ohbloggerimagines]

Could you write a fic about Peter making fun of Rocket being “pussy-whipped” and before Rocket can get say anything, Reader pipes up with “Pete, Rock is the only one on the ship getting any pussy soooo… what’s your point?”

Your wish is my command. Sorry if this sucks lol this is the first fic I've written in a long time and I might re-write this for you <3

You’d always known Rocket to be a hardass, of course, that's just who he was. Endless snarky and snide remarks, mostly towards Peter, that made you giggle. He definitely knew it made you laugh and would irritate the others just to hear you try and stifle a little snort here or there, and god, he loved it. 

Although, you weren’t safe from his endless teasing either, yet he was always softer with you. He didn’t think it was so obvious how head over heels he was for you or how he was always right there at your beck and call. 

“Rocky!” You shouted, fingers and mind tinkering away at your gun, adding modifications to it that you just had to have. “Yeah?” Rocket answered back from wherever he was nearby doing his own tinkering, “Can you bring me the uh-” Before you could answer, the tiny precise screwdriver you needed was already being handed to you. 

“Are you spying on me or just reading my mind?” You lightheartedly teased the raccoon, who always seemed to know just what you needed. It’s what you loved about him. “I’m just that good, doll.” Rocket’s toothy grin made you roll your eyes as you took the toll from his hand. “Thanks, smartypants.” You kissed his soft forehead, watching the hairs on his tail stand a little as they always did when he got a little giddy, as if he was blushing. He would swish his tail back and forth as if to try and not acknowledge how much he enjoyed your affection, but to everyone, including you, it was more than obvious. “Anything for you.” 

____

It was a slow day on the Milano, at least as slow as it could be, as you and the crew were traveling through space to some planet to do something, you were never sure what was going on, where you were going, that was all Peter’s job. You were along for the ride, and for Rocket, of course. 

With the ship on autopilot, everyone was hanging out in the ‘common area’ as you called it, which really was like a living room to you and Peter, the only Terrans on the ship. You sat on the large couch, eyes glancing over now and then at Rocket, who seemed deep into a game similar to Earth’s chess, with Peter. You could see his tail swinging back and forth in light irritation as the game carried on. 

Mantis sat on the other end, quietly meditating to herself, which she always seemed to do when everyone was talking and being joyful. You wondered if she fed off of the pleasant energy, or if she just enjoyed the noise. Meanwhile Gamora, with a little Groot on her shoulder, Nebula and Drax all sat together having light talk and sharpening weapons. 

You did have something to do though, and that was to fix Peter’s walkman. The headphone jack had become ‘loose or something, I don't know, just fix it for me pleeeeaase’ as Peter described, or really begged. It was clear after all the wear and tear the damn thing went through, it was a little beat up. 

“DAMN IT!” You jumped a little from your seat when you heard Rocket’s fist hit the table and a few game pieces hit the floor. “Ha! I win again, trash panda!” Peter smirked, leaning back into his chair confidently. “Screw you, you’ve got to be cheating or something.” Rocket snarled, to which Peter just laughed, “No, You’re just mad I’m better than you at something.” “You fuckin’ wish.” Rocket huffed, sliding down his seat a bit. 

“Y/N?” Peter called to you, “Yes Peter?” You sighed, shaking your head with a smile, “Is my walkman almost done?” He asked, like a child waiting for a toy to be fixed. “Almost, just be patient.” Peter groaned lightly and pouted a bit, but sat right up again when Rocket demanded a rematch. “You’re on!”

“Hey, Rock?” You spoke softly, not even glancing up from the walkman, “Can you go grab me some water please?” You sat up straight, back cracking from being slouched over. Rocket's feet hit the ground from the obviously higher than him chair, “ ‘Course.” 

Peter scoffed and grinned, “Come on man, we’re in the middle of the game!” “Shut up, I needed to get up and walk a minute anyway.” Rocket retaliated, ears flattening to his head in annoyance. 

“Jesus man, you gonna do everything for her?” Peter teased. You noticed Mantis opened one of her eyes to silently eavesdrop. 

“No, I don’t have to, I told you I wanted to get up anyway, and this is a good excuse to do it!”  “Rock-” You started, reaching out to him as he walked past you to make his way to the kitchen. 

“Man, you are pussy whipped!” 

Mantis had both eyes open now. 

Everyone else had been silently watching as well. 

Rocket’s mouth opened, ready to snap back at Peter, determined to get the last word,

“Hey Pete,” You smirked, “Rocket is the only one on this ship getting any pussy anyways, so what the hell is your point?” You tossed him his walkman, and watched his mouth slowly fall agape as he caught it. 

No one knew what to say, until Drax burst into laughter, causing everyone else to follow suit. “She really got you!” “I- wha- Hey, that's just, gross!” Peter huffed, upset that someone had stunned him. 

You glanced over at Rocket, who was staring at you almost lovingly, for the way you snapped back at Peter made him fall even harder for you. 

“Get fucked, Pete!” Rocket laughed, “Oh, wait, no one wants to!” He added, his machismo attitude almost bursting at the seams. 

You got up from your spot on the couch, bumping Rocket teasingly, “Come on, don’t be mean to the poor guy, he doesn’t need to be reminded.” Winking at Rocket, making his heart flutter a bit and that tail to get slightly prickly with love. 

“I’m gonna go get that water for you, sweets.” Rocket said, “I’ll come with you, I was sitting for a bit too.” You tousled the fur on his head. 

“You gotta go together for that, too?” Peter started, “Pete,” You glanced over your shoulder at him, “I can break that walkman just as fast as I can fix it.” 

Peter crossed his arms and huffed. 

You walked in front of Rocket, always a step ahead, and jumped when you felt your ass get slapped. You turned to scold Rocket, only to find his grinning ear to ear at a very jealous Starlord. 

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at him. Damn that raccoon.

[eyesontheskyline]

Hello :) F, I, S for the ask game <3!

F: Share a snippet from one of your favourite dialogue scenes you've written and explain why you're proud of it. Well this was hard to do. But okay, this is from chapter 15 of no such thing as over this. Clyde has offered Emily a job running an international taskforce out of London that seems to have been made specifically for her. Will's just walked into the bank.

...

“If it was you,” she says, barely moving her lips, watching Morgan trying to calm JJ, “I don’t know. . .”

“I know,” Hotch murmurs, his voice low and soothing. “We’re gonna be okay. You ready?”

“Yeah,” she replies, but then her phone is buzzing in her pocket. “No. Hold on.” She looks at the caller ID. “It’s Clyde – he can wait,” she says.

“No, take it,” Hotch says. “He might have something we can use.”

She swipes to answer. “Make it quick,” she says. “I’m on my way into a shootout with some bank robbing serial killers.”

“Does he know who the woman is?” Hotch asks.

“Was that Agent Hotchner?” Clyde says, all polite curiosity. “Do you know what he said to me, when he was trying to track you down? He said, ‘if anything happens to her, I will destroy you’. He meant it, darling. Would he be anything to do with the reason you’re considering refusing a very attractive job offer in my nation’s capital?”

“Oh, a girl can’t turn a job down for her own reasons?” she says. “There has to be a man calling the shots?”

“I’m speaking as a profiler, Emily, not as a misogynist.”

She rolls her eyes. Hotch shoots her a what the hell are you talking about look, and she holds up a finger: give me one minute. “I’m afraid I’m busy right now, Clyde – you’ll need to profile me another time.”

“Wait,” he says, suddenly all business. “Before you cut me off and get back to your gunslinging, tell me this. The team is all over – managing it out of London has been a marriage of convenience. If I made you the same offer, right now, based out of DC, would you take it?”

“Yes,” she says immediately, surprising herself.

“Wonderful,” he replies, satisfied. “Best of luck with your shootout – I’ll start printing your business cards. À bientôt, ma belle.”

She looks at the bank, at the door Will disappeared through and immediately took a bullet. “J'espère,” she replies, and hangs up.

“Anything?” Hotch says, as she stashes her phone back in her pocket and adjusts her earpiece.

“Nothing relevant.”

...

And idk, I like it because Emily and Clyde's dynamic is just kind of fun to play with. There's always some amount of power play and reading between the lines going on, they never seem to just be 100% upfront with each other, he's always a little bit flirtatious and she never really flirts back (interesting in itself when she flirts with plenty of other people). And then with Hotch in the middle hearing half of it like 'wtf'... Idk I just liked it. And I always wanted some acknowledgement of the 'I will destroy you' moment because that is a Big Thing to say and then just never have it come back in any way at all.

It took me a long time and a ridiculous amount of back and forth to figure out what her new job was going to be, because I really didn't want it to be running an entire Interpol office. (Because that makes no sense as a step from where she was, and I think it starts her on the path to miserable workaholic she's clearly committed to in Evolution.) So it was going to be a promotion in the FBI for a while... But I had "I'm speaking as a profiler, Emily, not as a misogynist" in my outline from the start and I really did not want to have to kill it lol.

I: Do you have a guilty pleasure in fic (reading or writing)? Answered (or non-answered) here!

S: Any fandom tropes you can't resist? Always here for only one bed and all its ridiculous permutations. Fake dating is fun. All those forced proximity 'oops I'm attracted to you, who knew' tropes.

[steviewashere]

For the WIP title game...can I ask for two? 🙃

Steddie apocalypse and Mer Steve?

❤️❤️

Yes yes yes!! Absolutely ask for two <3 Heads up on the apocalypse one, this is a 5+1 fic and has some first person POV journal entries. Which is all I've written so far for the second chapter lol. Bear with me.

Steddie Apocalypse

When I get back from duty, he hugs me. Checks in with me. Looks me over for injuries. For blood. I think I scared him. Sometimes I wonder why I even bother staying in Hawkins. Why any of us bother to stay strong to this hellhole. Something about sentiment, right? It’s the place I grew up. And even if I don’t like it. Or I’ve grown to hate it. Or maybe it’s just not mine anymore, I have this innate need to just stay put. To protect the people around me. Eddie hates when I phrase it like that. Says that it’s not just me protecting. It’s like I’m putting myself in danger on purpose. And I am, you know. I am doing it on purpose, the purpose being to protect. He looks at me, though. Looks at me like he knows how awful the inside of my own head is. He looks at me like I’m going to just disappear. Sometimes I look at him and see that dog. Sometimes I look at him and I get nauseous. Sometimes I look at Eddie and I begin praying to God. That he’ll figure out some science bullshit to reverse time. To put Eddie in a different place when Chrissy was supposed to die. I think I’m guilty when I look at him. Think that’s what stirs inside of me. But I don’t know. I don’t know at all. Can you feel guilty over something that wasn’t your fault? Am I allowed to feel that? It’s like when Dustin thought we initially lost Eddie. I took it hard, too, the possibility of Eddie’s death. But he wasn’t mine to grieve at the time. But now he’s my friend and I just feel guilty that he’s my friend this way.

Mer!Steve

Steve sniffles, cheeks beginning to redden. He sucks in a ragged, short breath and the indentations in his shirt flutter. Hands tugging hair with another hard pull. “Messy…messy thoughts. Blood and screaming and scary men. Bad men.” He crashes his palms into the sides of his thighs, shaking them out at his sides, then clenching at his sweatpants—marking the fabric with the short curls of his claw-like nails. “Hurt…hurt my friends. Family. You…you know, Ed-die.” With easy steps, Eddie eases himself in front of Steve. Stopping when their feet touch. He reaches out, slow and careful, and takes Steve’s wrists under his palms. Squeezes over the rapid thrum of his pulse. “You’re alright, sweetheart,” he whisper-coos. “Just a nightmare. You’re here with me now, nothing can get you here.” “Night-mare?” “A bad dream. Bad thoughts when you’re sleeping.”

[aroacesafeplaceforall]

Hi, I'm aroace. you "do not ship canon aroace char" is deeply misleading. I shouldn't explain it to you but aromanticism and asexuality are spectrums. Where Alastor falls on that spectrum depends on how who writes him. He can be comfortable with a particular "messed up" idea of "romance" that does not align with the normal concept of romance. He can be into kinks/fetishes without being into traditional sex - and he will still be ace. Hell, he's a serial killer, and guess how high is the percentage of sexual deviants among serial killers.

Grey aromanticism and grey asexuality are a fucking thing and it's genuinely a shame fellow aroaces try to shame those of us who are on the grey part of the spectrum into thinking that aroace characters cannot be shipped. Yes... they can. Just like aroace people can be in romantic and sexual relationships of non-traditional kind and still associate themselves with the labels.

Comparing homosexuality, often seen as non-spectral (though many people can argue and we should Not Be Like This About Labels), with spectrums of aromantic and/or asexual attraction is deeply misguided. It makes me wonder if you are fully aware what you're talking about.

*I've been in the fandom since the pilot and I never heard about Viv confirming his aromanticism, just his asexuality. If new information dropped, I'd love to hear it - but if he is just ace, you guys should now be assigning aromanticism to him just because. Romantic asexuals exist, it's normal.

Bestie… how about you check the post you’re quoting?

This is for all aroace characters. Not just some random ass demon (??) from a show I’ve never seen but people seem to be obsessed with…

Sure if they’re called aroace SPEC then go ahead and speculate… but if they’re called AROACE then well kinda different situations lol…

it’s also a different situation if someone is posting shit like “IF I EVER SEE YOU SHIP (canon gay man) WITH (women character) IM BLOCKING YOU SO HARD” and then turn around and say “AROACE IS A SPECTRUM IM NOT BUT OTHERS ARE AND I SAY THIS!!!”

I’ve also stated multiple times that I have far less of an issue with it then some of those posts might make you believe. I’m pretty sure I did a post somewhere about my “here’s how you don’t fuck up” rules.

I can’t quote it but I know some highlights:

-if your aspec you can ship, I know your not going to be gross about it (hopefully)

-acknowledgment of aspec identity in the fic no matter the contents

-if someone is written as sex-repulsed; don’t do the opposite. Same with romance-repulsed

Sincerely,

An aegosexual/aromantic pansexual, who’s been doing this shit for about 2 years now and known about aspec identity/advocated for, for far longer

[not-poignant]

Hi!! I hope you’re enjoying spring! And I hope that the warmer weather and the blooming flowers bring about comfort and rejuvenation (if they have indeed started blooming, I have no idea how and when spring springs in your part of the world at this time). 🌷

How do you feel about fanfics of your original fiction? I’ve read most of your works on ao3 and have been following your tumblr for a while so I know (or at least it seems like) you are very encouraging toward any type of interpretation and writing.

I’ve seen there are a number of works people have written that either use your original characters or your worlds and I’m wondering how that feels on a personal level. Have you read them all? I imagine it’s quite flattering. But what if things seem a bit out of character or not exactly how you imagined? And what if those out of character moments or out of world moments seem like misinterpretations rather than reimaginings?

Basically this is all coming from a place of uncertainty. I’ve written some Ice Plague fanfic that I am personally proud of but it’s scary 😳. It’s still a draft and has been sitting as an open window on my computer for months now.

I have so much respect for any artist who puts their art out into the world. You’re so amazing Pia!!

I meant to reply to this and then Life did it's lifening thing SO HERE I AM NOW

Firstly I have a blanket 'omg yes please I love fanfics of my stuff' - there's even a fandom tag wrangled for it on AO3 (it might not stay there forever, and idk how it happened, but it's amazing and I'm forever 'omg thank' to the person who did that, though I wish it happened for more original fandoms over at AO3 which are very fandom friendly and have lots of fanfiction).

But you know that, I just figured I'd say it again. :D

Now to the nitty gritty of it all:

Philosophically I think it's fantastic in general. Every author feels like they've 'made it' as a 'real author' at different points in their career. For some it's their first paycheck or royalties. For others it's their first published novel. For others it's their first positive review from a stranger.

For me, it was the first time I got fanart, and then the first time I got fanfic. That for me was the marker of realising I'd 'made it.' Everything else is incredible too, don't get me wrong, that was just my metric. I didn't know it was until I got there, and I was like 'oh, this must be the feeling other people were talking about.'

Have you read them all?

So, no I haven't. I have a rule that I don't read any fics for a universe I'm still actively writing in. This applies to fanfiction for works I'm writing right now (so I haven't read any transformative works like fanfiction for the Underline series), and it also applies to fanfiction for works I'm writing fanfiction for (I stopped reading BG3 fic the moment I started writing Palmarosa, and I don't read Stardew Valley fanfic either).

This is mostly a 'liability' rule so that people can't say 'hey you copied this idea of mine give me money.' That's not highly likely to happen, but it does happen, and I think occasionally people forget that if I set up enough foreshadowing in a story that's not finished, and other people unconsciously write the 'logical end' of that foreshadowing, and then I write it myself, I didn't copy them, I followed the logic of my own story, lol.

I do read everything once I've finished writing in a particular original world! Back in the day I used to leave a lot more comments and engagement and then realised that might not be wanted or might be strange, or even might be seen as playing favourites if I do that to some people and not others, so now I try to keep some distance so people don't feel like I'm breathing over their shoulder basically, judging them.

There was a period of people trying to check in with me about their fics to be canon compliant, and I sort of disliked it, because to me that's the opposite of what fanfiction is - they're not writing my version of a story - I'm doing that, they're writing their version. And as with everything else, just like you have to make up what's not present in say...The X-Files, I like it better when people invent their own solutions or change rules based on what they want to see. Now I'm a lot firmer about encouraging people to remember that fanfiction is 'anything goes' and it's really not at all about how I feel about their ideas or how "correctly" those ideas apply in my own mind about my universe.

That leads me to answering your next question:

But what if things seem a bit out of character or not exactly how you imagined?

GOOD!!! That's what fanfiction is! Anyone expecting anything different is like...wildly out of touch with the purpose of transformative works which are meant to transform characters, canon, plot points, and scenarios. If people want to take my characters and put them on a spaceship, they can. If people want Temsen and Gwyn to fuck and have a happy ending, they can write it and I'm happy for them.

I literally am extremely happy about this, even if it's so wildly not what I'd write it's actually a trigger for me and I can't read it lmao. That's what fanfiction is for.

Fanfiction isn't for me, fanfiction is for fandom, for the people in it, for the people transforming the original thing. I'm extremely lucky I get to participate in it, but do you think I'm out here worrying about whether ConcernedApe/Eric Barone (creator of Stardew Valley) thinks my version of Alex or Sebastian in my Stardew Valley fic are like the most 'in character' version? Nope. I don't want him to know about my fic at all, I'm doing terrible things to his characters lmao.

And what if those out of character moments or out of world moments seem like misinterpretations rather than reimaginings?

That has nothing to do with me, and it's not my business. It's wrong to even pretend to make it my business. I don't want to be flippant and say 'so what?' - So it's more like - that's literally the point of fanfiction. Or again - good!

People can make characters into self-inserts. They can turn a character into pure wish fulfillment. They can take a world they love (the Underline universe) and then put themselves in there and make Gwyn super femme and I'm not really going to want to read that and that's great, because ultimately it has nothing to do with me and it shouldn't have anything to do with me. They can make every character experience mpreg, if they love mpreg, I'm so happy for them lmao.

Tbh, I also feel this way about fanfiction for other fandoms too. Do I stumble into Dragon Age fics with characterisations so wild and offputting I'm like 'OH GOD NO' and want to throw my phone across the room? Of course! And what do I do? I close the tab and find someone who's not doing that. It's so free and easy to just make different choices and find (or write!) the fics I want to see in the world without judging other authors for living their best lives.

I want fanfic authors to live their best lives, and that includes me as a fanfic author. I don't want to - as a creator of some original universes - have attitudes that would go against that.

So yeah, I'm...what I would call pretty zen about people 'misinterpreting' my characters (it's not really a misinterpretation, because that assumes that the goal of fanfiction is to always write characters 'in character' and it's not - there are many many goals in fanfiction, being canon compliant is only one of very many).

I'm less zen about people trying to get me to approve their ideas for fics or headcanons they have about my stuff. First, that's not really my job in the sense that...this is their responsibility if they want to write a fic, and also it's not great for me to interfere with their creative process (and not really fair on me to expect me to do creative work for them outside of the creative work I already write - asking me to have thoughts on their headcanons usually ends badly if they're unrealistic lmao). Like, it's not really fandom 'normal' to just go up to the show creators of Teen Wolf and go 'hey do you think my headcanon would happen? What about if they all got pregnant?'

And second, it implies that this is an area I should have input into and it's not. Even if I said 'I hate fanfiction don't write it' like a hypocrite, people can still write it. That's how much I don't matter to the process of writing fanfiction for an original work I've created. If people make getting my approval for their headcanons my 'problem' by putting it in my inbox, I will reply from the perspective of someone who writes the canon (which can sometimes lead to headcanon shattering, which I don't want to do! So tread lightly, folks), if people don't want me to shatter their headcanons before they write the fic, don't share 'em with me - they're not my business. :D

This can get confusing because sometimes people are asking me genuine worldbuilding questions and hypotheticals in good faith about my writing, and sometimes they're kind of trying to ask about their writing and get me to do some of the hard work for them, and I can usually tell those folks by how many anons they send me and if they seem strangely fixated on a particular subject I clearly have no interest in writing about, like mpreg (mpreg anons, you know who you are). In those cases it's like *I hand the pad and pen to you, and now it's your turn to answer these questions - if I wanted this to be part of my imaginative landscape, I'd be imagining it, and I don't want to.*

I get to be here and share other people's fanfiction and fanart, that's a privilege I get to enjoy, but I don't sort of have to be here to validate what other people are doing or thinking or writing or drawing etc. It's something I get to be a part of when people choose to share it with me in a way that I can then share it with more people, but I'm not an arbiter of it.

It can exist not only in my absence, but also in the face of my active disapproval (bless all you Anne Rice fanfiction writers who said 'fuck you' to Anne Rice being extremely litigious about people writing fic for her works and doing it anyway, bless every single one of you).

Thankfully I don't disapprove of it at all, no matter how batshit triggery wild OOC the headcanons are, it's like looking at something happening in a building I don't live in and am not supposed to live in. My response is like: 'Well, I don't live there, so...that has nothing to do with me, but hey, maybe other people want to live in that building so I'll share the address to folks who know me too.'

[superherotiger]

hm so you'll ramble about the wips that won't even be complete in 5+ years but you won't finish the luna fic? okay worm (I'm a hypocrite)

Me tryna find the third chapter of fault lines like:

You’re on THIN ice bestie, but I’ll never refuse a chance to ramble haha, especially if it’s about the Outsider POV!!

‘It’s A Quiet Starry Place’ is by far my favourite AU from all the dadneto fics I’ve written! It kills me that I haven’t been able to work on it lately because there is just so much to dig into with this concept, especially in regards to Luna! Like where do I even begin?

I knew from the start that Laura and Luna’s dynamic was going to be a core part of this story, and getting to explore the world through their eyes is as fascinating as it is challenging. Logan (the film not the character lol) did such a good job at showing Laura as this highly competent and dangerous mutant but also as an innocent, learning child. It’s an interesting balance, and trying to figure out what they do and don’t understand because of their upbringing is something I have to ask myself almost every moment while writing the fic (which is why it takes so long to write too XD).

And of course, it wouldn’t be one of my fics if dadneto and quickson wasn’t the star of the show! I think Luna’s POV provides one of the most interesting, layered and complex perspectives of Erik and Peter that I’m probably ever going to have to tackle in this AU. Not only does this installment hint to a lot of events that have happened in their past, but Luna’s introduction is one of the most contentious points in their whole relationship. It’s easy to see that Peter accepts her as his own daughter almost immediately, but there’s still so much guilt and shame there for not knowing and not being able to protect her that weighs on him. And when all Peter needs is support, Erik is too busy struggling with his own thoughts, because how could the humans have gotten their hands on their son’s DNA? How could a violation like that have happened without any of them knowing? Erik’s protectiveness over Peter blinds him to realising that Peter has willingly taken on the role as a father himself, and in response, Peter’s protectiveness over Luna bites back, putting them at odds. It’s such an interesting dynamic, and it’s the plotline I’m most looking forward to writing in the coming chapters (because they are coming, I promise- I PROMISE OKAY?!?!)!

Some other elements that I love to think about but don’t always get to touch on because it’s from Luna’s POV is how the other X-Men and Brotherhood members are feeling over having clone children, most of which died before even knowing they existed. Some are quick to consider them their child, like Avalanche and Jean, who clearly took it hard learning that their respective kids had died without ever getting to meet them. Others have more complicated feelings about it, like Sabretooth and Gambit, which we’ll get a glimpse of in the next chapter. Sabretooth especially is interesting I think, because given the chance, I think he would have tried to be a decent father, if only to say he was better at it than Logan hah. Since he never had that opportunity though, he finds it easier to pretend he never cared about his kid instead of admitting that he might be mad at himself for not saving them in time.

If any of you are wondering how much I’ve thought about this AU, there’s a 12 page document dedicated just to the timeline, and I also have a list of all 23 children in the X23 program and who they belonged to lol. So yes, this AU lives in my head rent free and refuses to get evicted hahah!

Thanks for letting me ramble about this AU on top of all the other times I’ve rotted to you about it bestie, I love you!

-Superherotiger

Send me an ask about the backstory of any of my fics and I’ll ramble!! ✨

[fistfuloflightning]

IS THIS A FELLOW WITHER & BLOOM FAN I SEE ? No but fr you have absolutely immaculate taste in jiuyuan fics and I hardly see anyone talk abt that absolute masterpiece and so if it's not a bother..

what are your thoughts? theories? any opinions you have about it? or as I myself have left in pretty much every chapters comment section at least once, are there any songs you associate with it?

sorry I just love that fic so much and seeing you, a creator I greatly respect and who's work I adore, recommend it???? ugh this is like a dream come true

YES I AM!!! Hi!!! 👋👋 It’s no bother and I love being able to rant about fics with others <3 Im super flattered that you like my little doodles as much as I do making them!

I have so many feels about that fic and Jiuyuan’s pining, but it all just boils down to: Hou Xianrong can go rot in hell :)

But seriously, it’s a beautifully written story even though it can get difficult/painful to read sometimes 😬 (see above). I think I love the reveal/reunion scene the most tho. How a simple thing like a nosebleed could lead to finding out just how fucked you really are and the yearning~ my goodness 😭 

As for the street urchin jiuyuan pic, that was not intentionally for wither and bloom (I just wanted to draw young pissed off Shen Jiu and was wondering why he looked that way—realized everything is better with Jiuyuan lol) but it worked perfectly for it! Shen Jiu is fiercely protective of those he counts as his and I think that’s what sells me on this ship 🥺

As for music, hell yeah!

One World - Gargantuan Music

Prayers to the Wind - Eliott Tordo

Carry You - Ruelle

Starlight - Starset

Elastic Heart - Written by Wolves

Heavy - Linkin Park

Grave Mistake - Ice Nine Kills

Dynasty - MIIA (deeper vers)

Don’t Deserve You - Plumb

Yours - Russell Dickerson

Come Around - Papa Roach

Love Don’t Die - The Fray

I’ve got more but these are the ones that have the specific vibes and I love that music changes in meaning or emotion depending on whatever content you’re focusing on <33 Thank you sososo much!

[runariya]

Girl it's such a crime how little notes you get for how amazingly written your fics are!!! You deserve more attention :( the latest teaser got me hooked immediately!!! It's nothing like i've seen before, memories manipulator is such a cool concept!!

Oh, you’re far too kind—you’re going to have me in tears 😭

But honestly tho, it’s all good. I only started writing at the end of May, so I’m still quite new to it. Having my work not be widely known yet is just part of the journey, right? ☺️ I’m absolutely loving the process, especially because of wonderful people like you who enjoy what I do. This small audience is such a blessing, as it means I can truly appreciate every single person who supports me, recognising you all even by user-name 🤭

You’ve all got a special place in my heart 💕

And yes, ‘Remember Me, Remember You’ is going to be so much fun! I came up with the idea ages ago, but I’ll admit, it does make me a bit nervous with the whole character development, dual POV, non-linear storytelling and all the psychological layers… it’s quite challenging but well…lol

I’m terribly sorry if I’m rambling, I just can’t help getting excited about it 🤭

Thank you again for your lovely message – hearing such thoughtful and genuine feedback is honestly the highlight of my day 💕 lysm