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lay-z · 7 days ago

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You're the reincarnation of Peitho, the Greek goddess of temptation.

cw: 18+ | sex; cheating; angst; hurt/comfort; fluff; open end

No one could’ve expected this mission to turn out the way that it has after the endless briefings, preparations, and provided intel—but things turned sideways rather quickly and much more dangerous than anticipated—which led to tensions rising within the team.

Now, forced to fall back to a safe house somewhere in the wilderness of Verdansk, TF-141 is waiting for backup, tending to both fatigue and damage as they take turns on sentry duty.

While Ghost and Soap are keeping their eyes out for hostiles outside, patrolling the perimeter, Gaz is sleeping on the couch in the living room, and Captain Price is cleaning his rifle methodically at a wobbly desk in one of the dusty bedrooms upstairs.

At the sound of a timid knock against the bedroom doorframe, his eyes flit up and narrow.

“Come in.” He calls, his eyes lingering for a moment longer on his rifle before shifting over to the younger woman in the doorway.

By the way he hesitated, you can tell that he knew it’s you.

You have noticed that things have become even more tense between you and the Captain since he had that incredibly close call that surely would’ve ended in a rather complicated KIA report if Gaz hadn’t reacted the way he did and pulled him to cover fast enough just a handful of hours ago.

And now everyone is pretending that didn’t happen, which only infuriates you more.

“Captain,” you greet him tersely before clearing your dry throat.

There’s another pause as he patiently waits for you to continue while you’re momentarily distracted by the uncharacteristic slight slump of his broad shoulders and an unfamiliar kind of softness peeking through the usual sternness in his steel blue eyes.

“I just... just wanted to check on you. Make sure you’re okay, sir.”

He gives a soft scoff, setting down the rifle for a moment before he gives you a lazy smirk. “I'm fine, Sergeant,” he pauses for another moment, his smirk wavers into a grimace as he reaches back to rub his shoulder, “just a bit sore.”

Observing his tight grimace as he barely manages to tend to his injuries, you take an involuntary step into the bedroom; ignoring the thought that you’re intruding and clearly crossing those blurry lines you two have been dancing around for months on end now.

Still, the door falls shut after you give it the weakest push, and then your footsteps are nearly silenced by the thin carpet on the floor despite your heavy boots as you approach the queen-sized bed.

“You’re clearly hurt.” The statement is laced with obvious worry that goes beyond a simple superior/subordinate relationship, but you could care less in this moment.

You almost lost him today.

His smirk fades away and he gives a small sigh as he realizes that he can’t just ignore you—or the elephant in the room. John takes a seat on the edge of the bed and reaches for his shoulder to gingerly touch a particularly sore spot.

“Fine. I’m sore as hell, but that’s all.” He murmurs with a wince of pain, pulling his hand back as he tries to dismiss how bad it actually is.

“We've got painkillers for that, y’know.” The sharp remark earns you another gruff huff and you notice how he tries to straighten his shoulders once you take a seat next to him on the bed. Sitting down on one leg, you turn sideways to get a better view on his form.

“Let me at least check if there are any major cuts or scratches that need to be cleaned, okay?”

John sighs once again, clearly exasperated, but he doesn’t protest further, aware that it’s futile. “If you must.” He grumbles, reluctantly giving in, and then he reaches up to take the hem of his shirt; his fingers briefly brushing your knee for a moment as he tries to pull it over his head.

His body is lean and toned from years of military service; a fair amount of scars peeking through dark, coarse body hair along with the faded ink of old geometrical tattoos that look like coordinates. The large muscles of his arms flex as he pulls his shirt off, revealing an ornament of bruises and scratches littered on his buff torso.

“Yes, I must.”

As soon as he rids himself of his sweaty olive green undershirt, you suck in a small hiss as soon as you see the level of bruising on his right shoulder and flank.

“Nasty bruise you got there, sir,” you remark empathically, fingers already itching to touch before you eventually reach out to skim them over the deep bluish–purple marks.

You click your tongue in chide as he flinches away, and you grab a gentle hold on his flexing biceps to keep him steady as you check his skin for other wounds, and you must admit that you almost get lost in the feeling of his warm skin beneath your fingertips. You trace the curve of his back, feel each bump of his vertebrae, the raised skin of marks and old tattoo ink, the way his muscles twitch and quiver, goose bumps breaking out wherever you touch.

There is an imperceptible hitch to his breath, but he doesn’t stop your gentle ministrations.

“Looks mean, but you’re gonna live, John.” You announce casually when he eventually clears his throat as if to snap you out of your sudden trance.

The feeling of your fingertips on his skin is almost addictive—too goddamn pleasant. John can’t help but shiver when your touch grazes over his old and new bruises as well as the sensitive areas of his skin. He tries to focus on anything other than you, but it’s getting more and more difficult, and he lets out a soft laugh at your faux casual tone, trying to mask the fact that he’d really like to have you touch him further.

“Thanks for that enlightening analysis, princess.” The pet name slips out by accident and it rolls off his tongue too damn easy.

You swat at his biceps, purposely avoiding his bruised skin. “Is that the proper way to talk to your amateur nurse, Cap?”

He gives a low laugh at your playful smack, his smirk returning as he lets you inspect his bruises and wounds.

“Well, to be honest, I’m not sure if nurses should get so handsy.” He teases you in return, his smirk growing as he tries to ignore how good it feels to have your hands on him.

“Pfff.” You snort. “I can show you handsy, sir. This is nothing. I was just worried.”

He chuckles again, his dark beard twitching with the motion of his face. “Such thoughtful concern over your superior, hm?” He quips, his eyes trailing over to the closed bedroom door before returning back to you. “Ghost and Soap have guard duty until later in the night. Gaz is gettin' some rest downstairs. We’re basically alone.”

He cringes internally at his own assessment; sounding like a right numpty, though you don’t seem to mind.

“Mhm,” you hum absentmindedly, taking one last look at his back before glancing at him–only to find him already gazing at you, causing your heart to thump harder and your cheeks to warm. “What?”

John doesn’t respond right away, his blue eyes taking a long, lingering moment to drink you in. He takes in just how soft you look in the dim lighting of the bedroom, even still clad in your dirty fatigues. How your thigh is pressed against his the way you’re sitting, and just how perfect your hands look roaming over his bare skin.

He finally takes a deep breath and exhales slowly as he tears his eyes away from you to check out the door again before looking back once more, eventually answering in a soft murmur: “Nothin’.”

Meanwhile, your mind is racing: He’s my captain. He's taken, fucking married. He’s not mine. Not mine. Not mine to take. Not mine to want.

And yet, you almost find yourself pleading as you utter his name pathetically: “John–”

He eyes flicker immediately as you say his name like that—all needy and desperate. He swallows thickly as his heavy gaze lingers on you, taking in your flushed cheeks, parted lips, and how your lashes flutter.

John responds in kind; your name a gravelly murmur on his lips, just as quietly with the same hint of need in his voice.

He shouldn’t. You’re his subordinate and you’re too young. And he’s bloody married.

But he’s a weak man at heart, after all, and his blood is starting to rush and simmer while that familiar tingle starts low in his gut, causing his cock to stir in his cargo pants.

He nearly lost his life today—which wasn’t the first time, but the realization that he’s getting slow is clawing at his shoulders like a heavy burden since it happened.

John takes a deep breath, his bare chest rising and falling as his gaze flickers between your flushed cheeks and soft-looking lips. “You shouldn’t... You shouldn’t look at me that way. You’re my subordinate. I’m married–” He pauses, as if struggling to put his thoughts into words, before he continues: “I’m older than you. I’m your captain.” His voice is barely above a whisper–his way of warning you, of holding back, of convincing himself that this is a bad idea.

Your jaw clenches as his words sink in, settling deep and heavy in your gut and causing your own shoulders to slouch, my chest to ache, your stomach to drop. He’s right, of course, but that doesn’t make the situation better.

Heaving a shaky and long sigh, you glance at the dusty carpet briefly, trying to sort your jumbled thoughts and feelings before closing your eyes.

You’re tired. So fucking tired to pretend that you don’t want him, of having him pretend he doesn’t want you.

Letting your head loll forward, you rest your forehead against his naked upper arm; discreetly breathing in his scent before murmuring: “Then send me away, John. Give me the order and I’ll leave through that door.”

The feeling of your forehead on his bare shoulder makes him shiver, his fingers curling into himself as he tries to fight against the urge to reach out to touch you, to take what he’s been craving for months.. John can feel how exhausted you are—emotionally, physically, and mentally, and it mirrors how he’s feeling. He hates that he’s partly the reason for it, but he doesn’t dare to do anything to change it.

So he just sits there, listening to your words and trying to resist the impulse to wrap his arms around you in comfort.

“You should leave.” His voice is rough, though the usual command in his tone replaced by uncertainty.

You let out a snort, but it’s lacking any humour. This is unfair. Life is fucking unfair.

He smells musky; like three day old sweat, dirt, and stale cigar smoke, and you want to lick his throat, to finally have a taste while you rake your fingers through his thick chest hair.

“That’s not an order, sir,” you sigh, “that’s a bloody suggestion.”

John grits his teeth, his jaw clenches tight. He can’t deny that you have a point—he knows that his attempt at shutting this down is pretty pathetic. He knows it, but he’s not willing to admit it.

“You’re pushing it, Sergeant.” He warns you then, his tone more commanding now as he tries to keep himself from pulling you into his lap and doing something that he’ll most likely regret come morning.

“Get out.”

It’s a right stab to your heart as much as your ego, even though you know he’s doing the only right thing.

And of course, you will leave, hobbling away like a kicked puppy, and you will lick your wounds in some corner far away from him—and you might even finally let Soap lap at your neglected cunt like he’s been half-jokingly asking for until you forget your goddamn feelings for John Price.

Leaning back at once, you straighten up, clearing your throat before getting up from the bed, rolling my sore shoulders—sore from your rifles kickback and weight, sore from keeping your composure since watching your Captain nearly die today.

Perhaps somewhere in your silly, illogical mind, you thought it would change things between you. In a perfect alternate universe, John Price would’ve realized that there’s more to life than duty and survival—and he would be yours.

“Yes, sir. Have a good night, sir.”

John watches you go, his eyes following your every move as you roll your shoulders and clear your throat, slipping back into your role as obedient soldier, his sweet little Sergeant. He’s relieved that you’re finally leaving, he really is—or he desperately tries to make himself believe it.

Yet, there’s a feeling in his chest that says something entirely different. He can’t quite put a name to it, but it’s there none the less.

And it hurts.

“Good night... Sergeant.” He responds, his voice rough and uncharacteristically quiet as he continues to watch you, fighting the urge to call out for you to come back and stay.

And you don’t dare to turn around again before the bedroom door softly clicks shut behind you, leaving you standing by yourself in the semi-dark, narrow hallway of the safe house while your heart is racing, and your throat tightens as you swallow down a myriad of emotions before exhaling a shuddering breath. What the hell were you thinking? Throwing yourself at him like that?

That gruesome pressure returns in your chest and your eyes sting with tears as you lean against the door briefly, desperately trying to get a grip on yourself.

Distraction. Your spine straightens. You’re in desperate need of a distraction before you do something really stupid.

The sound of your footsteps slowly fading away brings an almost eerie feeling to the quiet night.

John remains seated on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands now as he tries to sort through his conflicting thoughts and emotions and will away the chub in his trousers. He’s more than aware that it was inappropriate for him to allow you so close to him, but he can’t deny the powerful urges he felt when you were touching him.

The sound of your sigh as your forehead rested against his bare skin haunts him; the memory of your touch on his shoulders now burned into his mind.

He never questioned it before, how the touch of Annette has never left him as breathless and discombobulated as yours, but perhaps it’s just the near death experience from today that has left his mind, body, and soul in such a bloody frenzy.

You find Soap downstairs, sitting on the tattered couch where Gaz is supposed to be; his head leaned back against the backrest, his canteen clutched tightly as it rests on his thigh.

Picking up on his light snoring, you approach slowly, careful not to startle him.

“Psst, Johnny?” you whisper, nudging the tip of his booth with yours, “Johnny? Aren’t you supposed to be on bloody watch with Lt.?”

Soap’s eyes shoot open at the sound of your voice. He’s a light sleeper as it is, but this mission has made him even more restless, and he rubs a hand over his face, scratching at the stubble at his scarred chin as he glances up at you, his bleary blue eyes narrowing as he tries to figure out what you’re doing here.

“Gaz’s takin’ my shift. What d’ye want?” He rasps out, his deep voice rough with sleep.

“Yeah, he’s a nice lad, innit,” you remark quietly, pondering for a moment as you take in his dishevelled state.

There are black grease smudges on his face, a purple bruise adorning his cheekbone, dark Mohawk looking like a hen’s nest, his tac vest half unclasped, woodland fatigues in disarray. He looks like a proper mess, though you’re not faring any better.

“You look like hell, Tav,” you whisper, mouth curling with a suppressed smile. He snorts, lifting his free hand to flip you off haphazardly. You huff in amusement, shuffling on your feet as you glance back at the stairs that lead to the first floor, and then back at Soap.

“I know you’re tired, but uhm–” Your stomach flutters and you stuff your hands into your pockets to keep them from fidgeting nervously. “Fancy a shag?”

Soap’s thick eyebrows shoot up at your blunt question, his tired expression shifting into one of curiosity and surprise. “A shag, eh?” He chuckles roughly, his lips curling into a wolfish smirk while his previously tired eyes start sparkling with bright glee.

“Cannae say I was expectin’ tha’ one now.” He straightens slightly, sitting up to get a better look at you and you almost shiver under his suddenly molten gaze as he looks you up and down agonizingly slow, before nodding his head in response.

“Aye, ‘m down.”

Exhaling a sigh of relief, some tension finally leaves your battered body.

“Brilliant,” you mutter with a step towards him; taking his canteen, you drink a long swig of the chilled water as if preparing for a marathon, before screwing it shut and holding out your free hand to him invitingly.

“C’mon, then. Don’t want the others to fuckin’ walk in on us.” You try to quip casually, though deep down, it’s a valid fear of yours.

Soap chuckles, and of course he notices your skittish nervousness, though how could he ever decline your offer—especially after a fucked up op like this one.

“Fair point.” He stands up from the couch, his body towering over you as he gives your hand a tender squeeze before he follows you towards the stairs obediently, his hand remaining securely in yours.

The sound of muffled moans and gasps fills the air, mixing with the creaking of the old bedframe and the wet slapping of skin on skin.

Soap has been sitting propped up against the worn out headboard; rough hands tightly gripping around your thighs as you ride his painfully hard dick at a tortuous slow pace, his grunts and curses blending with your soft mewls and whimpers while you roll your hips all sensual in a way Soap never dared to imagine.

He’s always fantasized about you ravishing him like a starved wildcat; scratching and biting as you tell him to fuck you harder—though he doesn’t mind the opposite. Not at all.

However, this is slowly turning into proper torture as you keep edging him—intentionally or unintentionally, he can’t tell; his brain is filled with cotton, his muscles bunched tightly with restraint to keep himself from bouncing you on his cock or fucking up into you with wild abandon. He watches how his cock disappears inside you; your essence creaming around the base of his shaft and matting his pubes as it runs down his sac.

The smell of your combined arousal is heady in the air; stuffing the small bedroom with pheromones and the scent of sex—intoxicatingly so.

Gripping your flesh tighter, his blunt fingernails dig into your soft skin as he growls out a command. “Faster. Fuck, baby–” He licks his dry lips, drinks in the bonnie flush on your cheeks, the hazy look in your eyes, and his chest puffs out. Steamin’ Jesus, you like it. “Go on, ride me faster, princess.”

Your lashes flutter shut, and you almost want to protest at the nickname, a meek attempt to keep yourself from catching anything too emotionally serious, but then Soap’s hand cups your jaw, pulling you back into the here and now with him.

“Look’it me, baby,” he murmurs deeply, his darkened eyes staring up at you in the low, gloomy lighting—a deep shade of indigo the way his pupils are blown.

And you don’t fight it. You let him guide your face down to meet his gaze, your breath hitching in your chest as you meet owlishly big eyes, seeing the raw adoration behind a faint glimmer of something feral and animalistic—like you’re something special and worth looking at, worth wanting, while his reverent touch sends wave after wave of violent shiver down your arched spine.

Then, with his cockhead nudging your cervix and his shaft stretching your sopping walls deliciously, you notice how gorgeous Johnny MacTavish is—especially like this. All debauched and fucked out because of your doing. Fucking hell, no, he’s gorgeous all the time if you’re truly honest with yourself.

A louder, more pathetic moan slips past your lips as your head lolls back when you finally pick up your pace at his encouragement. You’re properly impaled on his fat cock; feeling him in your guts as you ride him mercilessly, hands braced on his broad shoulders while his fingers dig into the fat of your ass. Your tits bounce with each grind, sore muscles clenching with exertion as you pant against his sweaty skin.

“Yeah, fuck... just like that, princess.” Soap murmurs, eyes rolling back as you start bouncing on his throbbing prick with wild abandon. “F-Fuck, so bonnie, baby. Feels s’fuckin’ good, fuckin’ perfect–ngh–” And he grits his teeth, nostrils flaring with sharper breaths, as he feels that familiar pressure in his balls, those electric tingles at the base of his spine.

He doesn’t know what you did, but he’s going to come sooner than he planned to. He forces his eyes to open as you moan his name; the sound causing his cock to twitch inside your tight channel.

And, fuck—

The sight of you is a goddamn fever dream; your body moving on top of him so perfectly, the pretty flush on your cheeks, the way your lips are parted, kiss-swollen because of him, your brows furrowed in pleasure. He can still taste your cunt on his tongue from when he’d sucked your essence off his fingers during foreplay.

You’re a bloody vision—a beautiful, sinful vision.

He tightens his grip on your ass cheeks, breath stuttering at the obscenely wet sound when his cock disappears inside your dripping hole, skins sticky with precum and your slick. His fingers dig deeper into your flesh as he pulls you closer with each movement, bucking his hips to meet your body halfway, to bury himself deeper inside you—desperate to leave his mark, to burn this moment into your memory.

Soon enough, you can feel yourself at the precipice of your own orgasm as you roll your hips more frantically; fucking yourself stupid and using his body while he’s taking what he needs just as desperately in return. He plays with your bouncing tits, slips one hand between your thighs to rub his thumb over your slick, swollen clit, leans in to drag his tongue from the valley between my breasts up the column of your throat before wrapping his bulky arms around your waist and pulling you close enough to capture your lips in a bruising kiss.

“M’gonna come,” you mewl hotly against his lips, legs trembling and nails digging into his meaty muscles as he grins back wolfishly. “Please–”

His lips are messy against yours as he captures your mouth in a fierce kiss, his tongue delving deep as he swallows your moans, licking into your mouth and lapping at your silky tongue like an eager dog, greeting his owner with a wagging tail.

Soap is losing control—control he was trying so hard to keep even before you proposed this.

His fingers slide up your body; from your ass to your hips to your waist, roaming over your sensitive skin with greed. He’s about to tip over the edge, all it take is another fluttering squeeze of your cunt as desire and adrenaline rushes through his veins. In this pleasurable frenzy, he growls out a command: “Cum f’me, princess.”

And you do—you come apart on top of him, your walls clenching and rippling rhythmically around his rock hard cock in a vice grip, and a guttural moan is torn from deep within his chest as he follows your lead and lets go.

His legs jerk, his toes curl against the mattress, and his abs flex under coarse body hair as he spills his load into the condom.

For a moment, neither of you finds the strength nor mental capacity to say anything as you heavily against one another for support. The room quiets at once; silence only broken by your panting breaths as you twitch and writhe with glorious aftershocks.

Then, Soap leans his head back against the headboard, a dull thud followed by a boyish chuckle as he keeps holding you close, your face buried against his shoulder, your quaking body pressed flushed to his. His other hand pets your hair soothingly—a stark contrast to the harsh command he had whispered into your ear moments ago.

“Good girl.” Soap smirks triumphantly as he feels how you relax against him, your muscles gradually easing and melting in his embrace.

His hand continues his gentle ministrations, his touch so gentle as he holds you close, your head resting on his shoulder as your lips skim along his collarbone, causing his flushed skin to pebble with gooseflesh.

“Ye feel better now, princess?” he asks, his voice soft and almost tender, a subtle hint of his Scottish brogue lingering in his words.

You nod slowly. “Better,” you repeat softly, vulnerable, the word coming out slurred. Pressing a kiss to his collarbone, you pull back with a lazy smile while his cock softens inside you, giving the occasional last twitch whenever you move and squeeze around him.

“Saved me lots of trouble tonight, you could say.”

“Ye’re welcome.” Soap murmurs in response and his arms tighten around your naked body, unwilling to let go just yet. He’s knows what you mean.

He could feel it right from the start, knows about the strange thing between you and the Captain, knows that this was just to take the edge off—a simple distraction, though a welcome one. He can’t quite help it, though—the protective, possessive side of his nature is suddenly rearing it’s ugly head.

It’s no secret that he’s wanted this, wanted you, basically since you joined the bloody task force. And he’d tried, God, he’d tried to shoot his shot with you multiple times now—and it’s the only one he keeps missing despite his sniper skills.

“Don’t fall in love,” he mutters under his breath before cupping the nape of your neck, pulling you even closer before he buries his face into your neck, breathing you in deeply.

Quirking an eyebrow, you let out a sharp snort, though your stomach flutters at his quip.

“I feel like that should be my line, Tav.” Soap is an emotional man—as tough and quick-tempered as he is playful and caring. A right sap that one, if you’re close enough to him.

Soap sighs, shoulders sagging. He wasn’t talking to you.

You drag your bottom lip through your teeth in thought, carding your fingers through his mussed Mohawk. “We’re good, yeah?” you ask, voice genuine, before you pull back slightly to meet his eyes.

They’re nearly shining in the dimmed light—bright and so beautifully blue again now that the cloud of lust has vanished.

Soap hums, his gaze momentarily flickering to your face as you ruffle his short hair with the tips of your fingers. He’s still breathing deep and heavy, his chest rising and falling beneath you in a steady rhythm, and he doesn’t answer your question verbally—instead, he simply grabs your chin with his free hand, angling your face towards his as he leans in for another kiss.

It’s sensual, passionate, and so very... intimate. Perhaps too intimate for the words he forces out next: “Aye, no strings attached, princess.”

The aftercare drags on longer than it should. You know that and he does, too—yet neither of you can help it nor cares.

Eventually, Soap lifts you off his lap carefully, and he sucks in a sharp breath when his overstimulated cock slips out of your abused cunt. He’s quick to grab his shaft at the base, keeping the full condom in place; smacking his lips at the sight at the sight of it—a waste of a perfectly good load.

Meanwhile, you roll over onto the mattress like dead weight, letting out a soft groan and feeling deliciously boneless.

Soap chuckles quietly at the endearing sight of your relaxed body and dopey expression.

His own body is still thrumming with a strange sense of energy, though he’s also feeling rather limp, sated. He rolls the used condom off of his softening cock, knotting it and reaching over to toss it into the open rubbish bin next to the bed before flops down beside you onto the old mattress, inhaling deeply as he stretches out his large frame, sore joints cracking and popping.

“Mmmh, ye’re one hell’uva woman, ye know,” he mumbles, his deep voice even rougher as he reaches out to pull you close with ease, tucking you in and holding you snuggly to his side while his calloused hand starts stroking up and down your back.

“Perhaps Cap should’ve more near death experiences–” He snorts.

Even in his exhaustion, he doesn’t miss how soft and right you feel pressed up against his large, muscular body, your head resting against his bare chest while his heart thuds strong and steady. He could get used to this. He wants to get used to this.

“–if it means ye’re gonna come crawlin’ into m’arms each time.”

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heliosunny · 5 days ago

Note

Oooo, I thought of something maybe slightly cute! What about a yan Jing Yuan x Reader, but the reader tends to be much more affectionate with other people, and tends to be pretty formal with Jing Yuan?

Like...reader will hug and ruffle the hair of Yanquing and Yunli (much to their chagrin), but tends to be much more stiff with affection toward Jing Yuan, if showing him any at all. Maybe the reader thinks being affectionate with Jing Yuan would be considered inappropriate, considering he is the general and 'The Divine Foresight.'

The perfect distance

Yandere!Jing Yuan x Reader

The morning sun cast a golden glow over the Seat of Divine Foresight as you stepped through the grand doors, a small satchel of medicine tucked under your arm. Jing Yuan sat at his desk, the usual stack of reports before him, though his gaze lifted the moment you entered.

"Good morning, General." you greeted with a polite bow.

"Ah, if it isn't my diligent healer." he mused, resting his chin on his palm. "Come to check on me again?"

"Of course. The healers at the Alchemy Commission insisted on a follow-up after your last mission." You approached, setting the satchel down neatly before stepping back, hands clasped behind you.

"Always so dutiful. You know, a little informality wouldn’t hurt."

"Respect is important, especially for someone of your standing."

He chuckled, but there was a weight to it. "Is that so?"

Before he could say more, the doors burst open, and Yanqing stumbled in, panting. "General! The—oh, Y/N! You're here!"

Your entire demeanor shifted instantly. A bright smile broke across your face, and before Yanqing could react, you reached out, ruffling his hair with a laugh. "Look at you! Did you run all the way here?"

"Hey—stop that!" Yanqing protested, though there was no real heat in his voice.

Jing Yuan's fingers twitched against his desk.

You only grinned, giving Yanqing’s cheek a playful pinch before turning back to the general—your expression smoothing back into polite professionalism. "My apologies for the interruption, General. I’ll ensure your medicine is properly prepared."

Jing Yuan hummed, his gaze lingering on you. "No need to apologize."

You were warm with everyone else—affectionate, even. But with him? Only proper distance.

-----

The Alchemy Commission was bustling as usual when you arrived, the scent of herbs and medicine thick in the air. Lingsha glanced up at you.

“Back again so soon?” she teased, setting down a mortar and pestle. “Don’t tell me the General’s been overworking himself again.”

You sighed, leaning against the counter. “You know how he is. I swear, if I didn’t bring him his medicine personally, he’d forget it entirely.”

Lingsha chuckled, but then her expression turned sly. “Speaking of the General… anything new with him?”

“New? Well, his recovery is progressing, though he still insists on working through fatigue. His blood circulation—”

She held up a hand, cutting you off. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Then…?”

“I mean, anything interesting? You’re around him all the time, and yet you never have anything to say about him besides his health reports.”

You shrugged. “There’s nothing else to say.”

Lingsha gave you an incredulous look. “Nothing? You’re telling me that the man who half of the Luofu sighs over doesn’t warrant any personal commentary from you?”

You frowned, genuinely confused. “I don’t see why it matters. I’m just doing my job.”

“That’s exactly the problem! You treat us like family. But with him, you act like a soldier reporting to a superior.”

Unbeknownst to you both, a certain silver-haired general had paused just outside the doorway, having been on his way to greet you��until the conversation took an unexpected turn. Now, he stood just out of sight, arms crossed, listening with far too much interest.

You sighed. “It’s different with him. It would be improper to act casually.”

“He’s still a person, you know.”

Jing Yuan, still eavesdropping, nodded silently in agreement.

You shook your head. “It’s not that simple. I respect his position too much to overstep.”

“Is that so?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin as Jing Yuan stepped into view.

“G-General!” you stammered, immediately straightening your posture.

“Speak of the devil.”

“I had no idea my presence was so… intimidating.”

You swallowed hard. “Not intimidating! Just… respectable.”

“Respect is one thing. But treating me like a statue is another, don’t you think?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, unsure how to respond.

“Even he thinks you’re too stiff.”

Jing Yuan hummed in agreement. “Indeed. I was just passing by, but it seems I’ve stumbled upon quite the enlightening conversation.”

Your face burned.

Oh, this was bad.

----

The streets of the Xianzhou Luofu were alive with celebration—lanterns glowed warmly against the dusk, the scent of spiced wine and roasted delicacies filled the air, and laughter echoed through the bustling plaza. It was one of many festivals the Luofu held, but this one was special: a gathering to mark the General’s full recovery.

You hadn’t expected such an event to be held in his honor, much less to be personally invited. But when the summons arrived, you couldn’t refuse.

Dressed in simple but elegant robes, you arrived early, intending to help with the preparations. Yet the moment you reached for a stray decoration to adjust it, a familiar voice stopped you.

“Now, now. Must you always be working?”

You turned to see Jing Yuan standing behind you.

You quickly bowed. “General. I just thought I’d assist—”

“You’ve done more than enough,” he interrupted smoothly. “Tonight, you should enjoy yourself.”

You hesitated, but nodded. “…Understood.”

Jing Yuan lingered for a moment, as if waiting for something more, but when you said nothing else, he chuckled and turned away, disappearing into the crowd to attend to his duties as host.

Left to your own devices, you did what came naturally—you kept busy.

You helped a group of children untangle their kite strings, laughing as they tugged at your sleeves, begging you to join their game. You chatted with the servers, exchanging jokes and lighthearted complaints about the hectic preparations. And when you spotted a young man struggling with a heavy tray of fruits, nearly tripping into a table, you immediately stepped in, steadying him before disaster could strike.

“Careful” you said, helping him adjust his grip.

He exhaled in relief. “Thank you! I swear, these trays are cursed.”

You grinned. “Just take it slow.”

He smiled back, grateful, and before long, the two of you found yourselves sitting at one of the long banquet tables, sharing a drink and easy conversation. He was a junior clerk from the Sky-Faring Commission, you learned, and his stories about bureaucratic mishaps had you laughing into your cup.

You didn’t notice the pair of golden eyes watching from across the plaza.

Jing Yuan stood near the edge of the festivities, a cup of wine untouched in his hand.

How effortlessly you showed warmth to others.

And yet, with him, you still kept that careful distance.

Then, with deliberate steps, he began making his way toward your table.

The clerk noticed first, nearly choking on his drink when he recognized the approaching figure. “G-General?!”

“Mind if I join you?”

You weren’t entirely sure how you ended up being whisked away from your conversation, but Lingsha had appeared out of nowhere, looping her arm through yours with a cheerful, "There you are! I need your help with something!" before dragging you off without another word.

"What’s the emergency?"

She huffed, adjusting the sleeve of her robe. "This sash won’t stay straight. Fix it for me?"

You sighed but obliged, fingers deftly retying the fabric. "You could’ve asked one of the attendants."

"And miss the chance to rescue you? Please. You had no idea what is going to happen next."

You paused. "…What?"

Lingsha waved a hand. "Never mind. Just—try not to look so approachable to random people tonight, okay?"

Before you could ask what she meant, she was already slipping back into the crowd, leaving you standing there, confused.

Shaking your head, you decided to find Yanqing and Yunli instead—familiar faces, easy company. You spotted Yanqing first, the young swordsman grumbling as he tried (and failed) to sneak a pastry from one of the dessert trays. You snuck up behind him and ruffled his hair.

"Hey—!" He whipped around, scowling, but the moment he saw it was you, his expression shifted to exasperated fondness. "Oh. It’s you."

"Miss me?"

He rolled his eyes but didn’t pull away when you playfully tugged at his ponytail.

Yunli, ever the composed one, merely raised an eyebrow as you approached. "Must you torment him?"

"Absolutely," you said, reaching up to adjust the slightly crooked pin in her hair. She sighed but allowed it, her lips twitching in amusement.

Meanwhile, across the plaza, Jing Yuan was surrounded.

People of all kind—all vying for his attention, some with thinly veiled flirtation. He smiled, nodded, gave polite replies, but his gaze kept drifting—past them, past the crowd, to where you were, laughing with his disciple as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

The night had been a blur of laughter, music, and far too many cups of Xianzhou’s strongest liquor. You hadn’t meant to drink so much—truly, you hadn’t—but between Yanqing daring you to try the spiced wine and Lingsha cheerfully refilling your cup every time it emptied, you’d lost track.

By the time you realized you were swaying on your feet, it was too late.

The world spun pleasantly as you wandered away from the feast, the cool night air a welcome relief against your flushed skin. The lanterns blurred into golden streaks, the distant hum of voices fading as you found yourself near one of the Luofu’s tranquil ponds, the water shimmering under the moonlight.

You plopped down at the edge, legs dangling precariously over the water, and giggled to yourself.

Oops. Maybe too close.

You leaned forward—just a little—to peer at your reflection, but your balance betrayed you.

For a brief, dizzying moment, you felt yourself tipping—

Then strong arms caught you, pulling you back against a firm chest.

“Now, now,” a familiar voice murmured, “That would be a rather undignified way to end the night, don’t you think?”

You blinked up at him.

His silver hair glowed under the moonlight, his golden eyes crinkled in amusement. He looked unfairly handsome, and in your drunken state, you saw no reason not to say so.

“Wow,” you breathed, reaching up to poke his cheek. “You’re really pretty.”

His eyebrows shot up.

Then he laughed—a deep, rich sound that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Is that so?”

You nodded sagely. “Mhm. Like a painting.”

His gaze softened. “And here I thought you only saw me as ‘The Divine Foresight.’”

You scrunched your nose. “That’s stupid.”

“Oh?”

“You’re Jing Yuan,” you declared, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “You laugh at bad jokes. You forget your medicine. You let Yanqing win sometimes even though he definitely doesn’t deserve it.”

“I see alcohol makes you rather… honest.”

You sighed dramatically, flopping back against him. “I’m always honest. You just never listen.”

He hummed, shifting to steady you. “Then perhaps you should tell me something else.”

“Like what?”

“Why,” he said, voice dropping to a murmur, “you treat everyone else with such ease… but with me, you keep your distance.”

You frowned, struggling to form a coherent thought through the haze of liquor. “Because… you’re important.”

“And that means I deserve less of your kindness?”

“No!” You huffed, frustrated. “It means I can’t mess up. If I’m too casual, if I say the wrong thing—what if you realize I’m not as put-together as I pretend to be?”

The confession tumbled out before you could stop it.

Jing Yuan went very still.

Then, slowly, he tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze. “That’s what you’ve been worried about?”

You pouted. “It’s a valid concern.”

He chuckled, thumb brushing lightly over your cheek. “Silly thing. Do you really think I don’t know you?”

“I’ve watched you scold Yanqing for skipping training,” he continued, amused. “I’ve seen you trip over your own feet in the halls. I know you sneak extra sweets when you think no one’s looking.”

Your face burned. “You—noticed that?”

“I notice everything,” he said, “Especially when it comes to you.”

Your drunken brain short-circuited.

Before you could respond, he sighed, shifting to lift you into his arms. “Come on. Let’s get you somewhere you won’t drown.”

You whined but didn’t protest, too busy marveling at how nice his chest felt to lean against.

Somewhere in the distance, Lingsha watched the scene unfold—then smirked and turned away, deciding some things were better left uninterrupted.

>The Morning After<

Your head pounded.

Groaning, you buried your face into the pillow, willing the world to stop spinning.

Wait.

Not your pillow.

Your eyes flew open.

This was not your room.

Oh no.

Fragmented memories flashed in your mind—Jing Yuan’s arms around you, his laughter, your embarrassingly honest rambling—

You sat bolt upright, then immediately regretted it as your skull throbbed in protest.

A cup of water and a small vial of medicine sat on the bedside table, along with a note:

"Drink this. We’ll talk later."

Your heart hammered in your chest as you scurried into the Alchemy Commission, still nursing the remnants of your hangover. The moment you arrived, you grabbed the nearest healer by the sleeve.

"Switch shifts with me. Please. I'll owe you forever."

They blinked at your desperate expression but shrugged. "Uh… sure?"

You nearly collapsed in relief. Perfect. Now you could hide behind the counter, avoid all human interaction, and—most importantly—never have to face him again.

-----

The General of the Luofu was distracted.

Reports lay unfinished on his desk, his usually sharp mind clouded with thoughts of you—your drunken confession, the way you'd curled against him, the way you'd finally spoken to him without that infuriating formality.

And then you'd vanished.

His fingers tightened around his brush.

Did you regret it?

Was it just the wine talking?

Or worse—had that clerk from the Sky-Faring Commission caught your interest instead?

The brush snapped in his hand.

"…I see."

He exhaled slowly, setting the pieces aside. He was Jing Yuan, the Divine Foresight. He did not lose composure over such things.

…Yet here he was, standing up, cloak already swinging over his shoulders as he strode out of his office.

Fine. If you wouldn’t come to him, he’d find you himself.

----

You were safe.

Hunched behind the counter, pretending to organize herbs, you let out a slow breath. Maybe if you stayed here long enough, he’d—

"Where is Y/N?"

Your blood turned to ice.

You ducked lower, praying that he wouldn’t see you.

"They, uh… switched shifts?" the other healer said nervously.

Footsteps. Moving away.

You nearly sobbed in relief.

…Until a shadow loomed over you.

"Hiding, are we?"

Slowly, painfully, you turned your head.

You swallowed.

"G-General! I—uh—was just—"

"Crawling away?" he supplied helpfully.

You winced.

Before you could react, his hand shot out, gripping the back of your collar like a misbehaving kitten. "Up."

You yelped as he hauled you to your feet.

You knelt before him in the empty side room, hands raised in surrender, face burning with shame.

"Explain."

You gulped. "I… may have acted inappropriately last night."

"Oh?" He tilted his head. "How so?"

"I—I drank too much. I said things I shouldn’t have. I embarrassed myself—and you—and then I ran away like a coward—"

"So you do remember."

You nodded miserably.

"And yet," he continued, voice dropping, "instead of facing me, you chose to hide?"

You flinched. "I thought… you’d be angry."

"Angry?" He laughed, but it wasn’t a happy sound. "I was worried."

Your eyes widened.

"Now," he said, stepping closer, "come here."

You blinked. "Wh—?"

"I can’t hear you from there."

You hesitated, then shuffled forward on your knees until you were right in front of him.

He leaned down, his face inches from yours, his voice a low murmur.

"Now. Tell me again—why did you run?"

"I… was scared."

"Of?"

"Of… you realizing I’m not as composed as I pretend to be."

"I already told you—I know you."

You bit your lip.

"And," he added, fingers brushing under your chin, "I rather like the real you."

"So no more hiding," he murmured. "No more formality. Understood?"

You nodded weakly.

"Good." He straightened, offering you a hand. "Now get up. We have work to do."

You took it, your face still burning.

After The Incident (as you now referred to it in your head), things… changed.

Not drastically—you weren’t suddenly clinging to Jing Yuan’s arm or calling him by some ridiculous nickname—but the stiffness in your interactions had melted away.

You still bowed when necessary, still addressed him with respect, but now…When he made a terrible joke during strategy meetings, you rolled your eyes instead of forcing a polite laugh. When he "forgot" his medicine (again), you scolded him openly instead of couching your words in deference. And when he teased you—which was often—you gave as good as you got.

Jing Yuan, for his part, seemed delighted by this shift.

But there was something else, too.

A lingering glance when someone spoke to you a little too familiarly.

A casual step closer when a visiting diplomat eyed you with a little too much interest.

A look—one that had even Yanqing gulping and backing away when he tried to drag you into another ill-advised sparring match.

At first, you thought you were imagining it.

But then Lingsha smirked at you over her tea.

"You really don’t see it, do you?"

"See what?"

She just laughed.

Whispers spread through the Luofu.

"Did you hear? The General personally reprimanded that merchant for overcharging them."

"He reassigned three clerks just because they were rude to Y/N in passing."

"I heard he nearly leveled a training ground because someone accidentally knocked them over during drills."

(That last one was an exaggeration.…Probably.)

It hit you one evening, as you sat across from him in his study, reviewing supply reports.

He was leaning back in his chair, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly mussed from running a hand through it one too many times. He looked… relaxed.

And then it struck you—

He likes having you here.

Not as a subordinate.

Just… as you.

Jing Yuan noticed your stare and raised an eyebrow. "Something on my face?"

You shook your head, smiling slightly. "No. Just thinking."

"Dangerous habit" he teased.

You threw a crumpled piece of paper at him.

He caught it effortlessly, grinning.

No one dared to mistreat you.

No one dared to overstep.

And no one—absolutely no one—dared to flirt with you within Jing Yuan’s line of sight.

(You weren’t sure whether to be exasperated or touched.)

But when you mentioned it to him, he merely sipped his tea and said,

"I have no idea what you’re talking about."

You snorted.

Liar.

-----

I'm currently facing writer's blockkkkkkkkkkkkk.(╥﹏╥)

#yandere x reader #yandere #hsr x reader #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #jing yuan x y/n #jing yuan #hsr jing yuan #jing yuan x you #jing yuan x reader

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keferon · 1 month ago

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Two Peas in a Pod: part 7/?

I'm so sorry for the delay. I struggled...

_________________________________________

"Jazz?" Blaster calls just loud enough for his mer to hear him. Now that the initial meeting was over, he wanted to take advantage of the break.

While understanding that the human was calling him over, Jazz was a bit hesitant that moving might start up the whole confrontation again. He glanced over to the other orca still floating a little ways away, •၊||၊၊၊ had his eyes closed and it looked like he was focused on dealing with the repercussions of his actions. His expression was twisted lightly in a restrained grimace with his right arm holding his side.

Slowly Jazz pushed himself further away, before turning over and swimming to the pier.

"Are you okay?" Blaster asked as he knelt at the edge.

With an uneasy look, he shamefully admitted, "it could have gone better…"

The chief vet speaks up before Blaster can, but not to Jazz, but into the radio. "Has anyone seen signs of reopening or blood?"

The Vet Chief wanted to fully isolate them from you, to keep them in a transfer-crate, at least until the injuries had a low risk of reopening.

Blaster shoots them an offended side-eye, as Jazz is literally right here. However, he pushed it aside, half listening to the radio chatter – all good from the sounds of it – and turned to what was more important. "Did he hurt ya?"

They'll take him away.

"I'm fine," he whispered, looking down as he placed a hand on his chest. It still stung, as the first hit was made with intent – he had gotten mad when it happened, did it show on my face, did they see it – and the rest, warning shots. "Just a bruise… it was more dizzying trying to keep away from him than anything."

–if the team reports you showing signs of aggression, they'll… remove him.

He hums in thought, eyes drifting momentarily as •၊||၊၊၊ disappeared from the surface. Blaster was a little nervous about that as he looked back at Jazz. "Do you think that you'll be okay, the two of you, I mean. Do you need us to separate–"

They'll take him away.

"No." Jazz insisted quickly, fighting to keep his voice low – behave – and shaking his head. "We should be fine now."

Blaster knew there was more going on, seeing as Jazz was soft spoken and avoiding eye contact; an old habit of hiding himself when speaking to staff, but it would have to be a talk for later. When Jazz felt safe enough to open up. So instead, Blaster smiled and said, "Alright. But me and a few others will be keeping an eye on you both throughout the day. Just to make sure you're both comfortable as you can be. It might be a bit rocky for the first few days, but that's okay, we were expecting that."

Jazz didn't respond, his attention had been captured by the other mer at the bottom of the pool, beneath him. He had been somewhat keeping an eye on him with his sonar, watching •၊||၊၊၊ slowly explore the tank.

Though, Blaster was just barely able to spot the other orca from the surface, and honestly wouldn't have noticed if not for Jazz. Pressing the call button on his radio, Blaster looked to the staff, "we've passed the first hurdle, everyone. We'll move onto doing rotation monitoring. Fred and Josh, you'll remain for the first shift. Everyone else, business as usual till I get a schedule in order."

"I've adjusted the medications and sedatives." The chief vet told Blaster, though didn't even look at him, as they were currently preoccupied sending messages on their phone. Not even a second later, Blaster's own was going off in his pocket.

"I'll look over your recommendations after." He sneered at them, though the vet had already turned to leave.

Then while folks celebrated the success and steadily wondered off to their main duties, Blaster's second brought up the mers breakfast from the kitchen. They set Jazz's down next to him, but held on to the other while they eyed the water with extreme caution.

"Ah, ya, no." Blaster spoke up before they even began to wind up, holding his hands out for the food. "Give it here, we are not chucking anything at him."

They snapped to him with wide, frightened eyes. Like Blaster hadn't been here to see the speeds that the wild mer had gone after Jazz. "You cannot be serious– you're going to attempt to pole feed him? Now–here? When they have the space to jump!?"

"No." He said with rising irritation towards their attitude and their poor handling of the situation. "I'm going to treat him the same as Jazz."

His second now looked flabbergasted, glancing between Jazz, him, out over the pool, and then back at him. "But–!"

Blaster pointed at both Jazz and up at the pair watching on the viewing deck. He wasn't stupid, he wasn't being reckless, he had been taking everything into account. And honestly, if he wasn't so mad about how the wild mer had been treated – and was just about to be treated – during meals, he'd probably be shaking in anxiety right about now. With a heavy sigh, he then carefully pulled the bucket from their hands to set it with the other, "look… I'm not trying to force you to do something you don't feel comfortable with. You're welcome to leave, I'll handle the meals and hopefully by the week's end, everyone will be feeling comfortable when it's time for food."

They took one last nervous glance at Jazz, before whispering – pointless, he could hear it clearly – "I don't think you can – or should rely on him to protect you… especially with how–"

"You're right," Blaster said deliberately louder than a normal speaking volume, "I am responsible for my own choices and actions. Thank you, for your concern. We'll talk in more detail later."

Thankfully taking the hint, they left.

Then the area was silent for a moment, save for the sounds of dawn songbirds being overruled by the sound of the scavenging birds of the morning. Starting to beg or fight for bits of food across the aquarium yard.

"They're right, you know." Jazz said weakly, still not looking at Blaster.

There might be other staff up on the deck that oversaw his pool, but one of the perks to being outside was that voices didn't carry as far unless one was intentionally loud. So they might as well have been the only two here.

It was just enough for words to come tumbling out, like he could talk freely once more. "I messed up, it wasn't his fault, he wants to be peaceful – I'm pretty sure, and I just… I think I ended up challenging him?"

"Jazz, listen, they misunderstood." He leaned over and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I'm not expecting you to come to my rescue, or put yourself between me and him, or anything like that. I know very well that I may be putting myself in a potentially dangerous situation, and I'm ready to face whatever the outcome might be. But what I meant was, that with you here – just like this, with us together. You are showing him with your actions that you don’t see me as a threat. That by willing to be around me and allowing me to touch you, you’re showing trust. Jazz, buddy, you’re a far greater help than those goons posing up there." The last bit was meant to cause him to laugh, or at least smirk.

But when Jazz still seemed like he didn't believe him, Blaster made a small gesture for Jazz to look. In turning his head to see •၊||၊၊၊, the mer was at the far end with only his head above the water and had a serious gaze fixed on Jazz.

"It might not seem like it, even with what had just happened, but he's relying on you." He waved at the wild mer and smiled, before reaching for a bucket and held it up in offering. But •၊||၊၊၊ simply scowled further.

"I don't think Mr. prowl-around-you-like-you're-breakfast relies on anyone." Jazz grumbles in dismay.

Blaster chuckled and set the bucket back down, "well maybe Prowl, is waiting for you to invite him over for breakfast. He seems to hold some expectations of you."

"Ya, he sure– wait, Prowl?" Jazz whipped his head back towards Blaster, finally looking at him again.

"If it fits, it fits." He shrugged with an amused smile, "though, out of anyone here, it should be you that chooses a nickname for him for us to use. I don't want to keep addressing him namelessly or calling him 'the wild' one, and I don't want folks to think that us calling him 'buddy' is his name." Then he laughed as he glanced back out to the sour mer still watching them closely, "I mean, come on, does he look like a Buddy?"

Jazz tried to stifle his laughter, "n-no."

Good, good, Blaster was relieved to hear it. Jazz was starting to relax back into his usual self. Coming back up from the depths to the surface to breathe. "So, what will it be?"

Jazz's smile had slowly begun to return and so did his hopeful enthusiasm, "I think Prowl is good."

"I'll send out a notice to everyone." And be sure to tear down all those horrible sticky-note suggestions. "But I am going to still try and learn to say his name properly," Blaster then clapped the orca's shoulder before stretching, "so I hope you're ready to have the worst student ever."

"You're going to learn Mer," Jazz asked in surprise.

"Heh, I'm shit at learning languages, but I'd be happy if you want to share more of your world with me." He then brought them back to the next part of their day. "But first, breakfast. Want to ask Prowl to join us?"

"I'll try." He said, before turning around. Though gave a slight pause and adjusted his stance so his side was facing Prowl. When he saw a slight shift in his expression, one that eased some tension in his brow, Jazz gave himself a mental pat on the back. Already a marked improvement.

{You hungry, Prowler?} Jazz asked. It was sort of funny having a word he understood that could connect to the mer's name. He wasn't sure of the meaning of •၊||၊၊၊ yet, or if it had one. But prowling was something he did, so it still felt like Jazz had gained another tiny piece of who they were.

{Yes.} He answered, rising enough that his shoulders could be clearly seen, side facing Jazz for a beat, before he slowly began to swim over. Caution or taking it easy due to discomfort, his moments caused only the smallest and softest of ripples. Like a silent hunter.

Yet, it made Jazz’s smile shift a bit higher. Prowl is prowling.

But for Blaster, his instincts were starting to claw up his spine, alerting him of a predator. He was forcing himself to relax and keep up his friendly smile by the time Prowl came within five feet of the pier.

Prowl eyed him up and down as he came to a stop, then gently turned after a moment.

"Oh, right!" Jazz abruptly speaking up in slight alarm cause Blaster to flinch – which in turn caused a moment of internal panic, because sudden movements are always a bad idea – but Jazz quickly reached up over the pier and grabbed the human by the legs – which caused Prowl to flinch, and oh-boy, was Blaster having flashbacks of close calls – twisting him so he sat with his shoulder turned towards Prowl. "Pretty sure that facing toward him is like telling him you want to challenge them."

"R-really," Blaster asked, both trying to distract from his thundering heart and focus on the new information.

"I think so? He kept telling me to stop doing it, before I realized what he was talking about, so it has to be some sort of an aggressive sign." They both looked back to Prowl, who seemed a little tense, but otherwise calm. {You okay, Prowler?}

{Yes.} His voice firm and serious, but did not look at Jazz when he answered.

"… Guess we're ready." We’re good, but he must still be uncomfortable with what happened.

Blaster handed Jazz his bucket first, hoping it would make the next easier. But then Blaster paused, seeing a distant look in his mer's eyes. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." Jazz fiddled with the bucket in his hands, but Blaster was still holding onto the handle. Not that taking it would be difficult, but it didn't feel like it was worth the effort.

"Jazz…" he pressed softly.

And Jazz retreated, "I… I don't feel hungry."

At least he was being honest about it.

Blaster had hoped that taking some time to talk would have helped to improve Jazz's current mental state. And it had a little. But his guilt over the misunderstanding with Prowl and the bad history with the chief vet were likely weighing too heavily on him. And as much as Blaster wanted to take the time and work through everything with Jazz, he couldn't right now, or rather Jazz would be unwilling.

Because Prowl was present. Even with a language barrier, Blaster didn't expect Jazz to feel comfortable having a personal conversation with him so close. But if Jazz didn't eat, then it was likely that Prowl wouldn't either. The trust was thin as it was, and hesitating too long – and not being able to explain why – would only make rebuilding trust harder. So, offering to use the holding pool and close the gate wasn't something they could do at the moment. And he hated it.

Blaster had to do something now to help restore Jazz's confidence and stop the spiralling of whatever thoughts were holding him back.

Good thing he was prepared for Jazz possibly becoming stressed.

"Hang on." Blaster said, his smile impish as he pulled the bucket back to set on the pier. Though, not wanting to risk Prowl backing off from him standing, he flopped back reaching for his bag strap, barely snagging it with the tips of his fingers. But he managed and pulled himself back up with it settling in his lap. "I've brought a little somethin."

Jazz didn't seem interested but waited none the less. Watching as Blaster pull out a huge plastic food-container – ... okay, he was slightly curious now and a little annoyed, because if he was going to tease him–

But then Blaster shook it with the biggest grin, and as the contents clunked around softly, Jazz's whole face lit up. Because what Blaster had just offered was the equivalent of a chocolate bar. There weren't many things that Blaster brought for him in a container, but there was only one that made that sound. "Moose jerky!?"

"Shh! Not so loud." He glanced up at the other staff, like he was doing something that would get him in trouble. But it wasn't a secret that Blaster made these treats for Jazz. And while it still pissed off the chief vet, there was nothing they could do about it.

It had caused a site wide outrage the first time he had done it. But orcas ate moose – the orca mers more so than the animals – even if it was mostly if there just happened to be one in front of them rather than an active hunting choice. But there was enough history, and with Blaster's dietary knowledge, he had won that battle.

He just chose to mix it up a little, rather than bring in raw meat. Not so different than some sun-dried fish really. And Blaster personally prepared it to make sure it was safe. Seasoning was just sea salt, simple, but tasty.

Jazz was now buzzing with eager energy. "Can I share with Prowl?"

"You’d better," Blaster laughed as he opened it and handed Jazz two strips that were almost the size of dinner plates. He could have tried to use it to mend the trust between him and the wild mer. But Blaster knew it would help Jazz foster his relationship with Prowl and that was far more important.

The whole time Prowl had been watching them and their exchange with intense focus, trying to figure out what was going on. So, when Jazz turned to him with a huge smile and held out what looked to be a piece of thin wood, he was wary.

{It's good!} Jazz wanted to say it was amazing, but unfortunately 'good', 'okay', 'safe' was all he currently had to work with.

After Prowl finally gave in and moved in close enough to take the offering, Jazz laid out on the surface. Careful not to get his food wet as he happily began to bite and tear small strips off. Taking delight in the satisfying sensation of the treat ripping and savouring the flavour as he chewed the tough meat.

Seeing how much Jazz was enjoying himself, Prowl took a tentative bite and immediately understood why. The look of surprise on his face had the other two laughing.

{Good, yes?}

{Yes.} Prowl then followed Jazz's lead and relaxed on the surface, enjoying the first piece of decent food since he arrived.

Blaster chuckled at the sight of the two of them and set aside the container to dig out his own personal stash to nibble on. "I've got more for you two sea otters, but only after you finish your breakfast."

Smoothing things over by sharing snacks always opened opportunities for bonding. Good ol' comfort food saving the day.

_________________________________________

Idk, this one felt very clunky to me, but I must move on -lays on the floor in defeat-

I'm now trying to put together a timeline of the all interactions that you share or like on your blog. Like a countdown clock to the flood/jailbreak, hitting all the angsty and fluffy notes, I want to make sure I can include everything. Q~Q

You and so many others have been showering me in praise and encouragement I want to live up to it. ♡(╥︣﹏᷅╥᷅)♡ I love you all, thank you so much!!

Going forward there is going to more Jazz and Prowl, without Blaster, I promise. Please forgive me and my long setups, my brain struggles with keeping things short, everything I write is a 200K+ slow burn. -cries-

-GLC

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OH HELL YEAH GIVE THOSE GUYS A MOOSE THEY DESERVE IT KDDKSHFV

Blaster over there is having battles on all fronts possible alsjfnfjnf

Also I'm happy they can have proper food at least sometimes~ Although I can't help but think that like. Jazz is happy because this poor moose is kind of a rare treat. Nice occasion gift you know. And then Prowl also loves the moose but in more "I was eating nothing but raw potatoes for a while and now there's a properly seasoned and cooked meal again" way. You know. Cause mers have all kinds of different foods in their cities and stuff~ While humans just go "here's your fish".

Anyway haha. The scene is so cute I love itt~

#he's pr. he's prowling #kamfnfkdmdhdkjdbdjdmdbdhd #the day is automatically better when there's two peas i #Jazz: I'm pretty sure I was displaying aggression #Jazz some time later after learning fish etiquette: *head in hands* N O #Funny thought. I just imagined Prowl thinking that Jazz is a bratty teenager but then at some point they have this conversation about #-numbers and stuff. And Prowl is basically goes WAIT. Not a teen NOT A FUCKING TEEN the guy is just being raised in awful environment???#that's not funky teenage growing that's a mer who doesn't get enough of anything in his life. not enough space to move so not enough movi-#-moving so not enough eating so not enough weight so NOT ENOUGH ANYTHING #Prowl is so busy worrying about that new strange place #he doesn't realize (yet) the actual way of it damaging Jazz #..........fuck imagine when he finds out that Jazz performs for humans #................that's gonna be a stong emotion.#GLC #apocalyptic ponyo #ponyo writing #ponyo jp writing #I love this chapter so much><#can't wait to see what it's gonna be like without all the humans around dkgkgnhrhd #JP are often meet and bond in very fucked up situations lol. But I'm sure the lack of humans might help~#glc I love you and your setups #the atmosphere is so there I can basically taste it

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yzzart · 20 days ago

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⋆˙⟡ BOYFRIEND!VERGIL ── HEADCANONS!

── content warnings: F!reader, references to games and anime, mention of Eva, Sparda and Dante, light, stable and a little mature content and Vergil being a boyfriend we all need and part two is here!

── word count: 713!

⭑.ᐟ Sparda's eldest son is meticulous,— not unduly so, perhaps,—systematic in all matters, occurrences, and duties; a classic and admirable trait of Vergil. —Something he points out as a peculiarity, a virtue; something he inherited from his father.

⤷ Therefore, Vergil would not avoid — or dare — to act, or behave differently, with you; the woman he loves, adores in that life. — The half-demon would be, exceptionally, delicate, susceptible and so dedicated to all the tiny, minimal and charming details existing in you; allowing Vergil to know you like the back of his hand.

⭑.ᐟ Hands? — Vergil loves to give kisses, seals full of love, respect and voluptuousness on the back of your hands; also demonstrating a gesture of pure grace and chivalry. — A good son learned from his mother. — It is one of the most beautiful ways to demonstrate your passion.

⤷ At random moments, without uttering or directing any words, Vergil will reach for your hand and give you a long kiss, accompanied by his sky-blue orbs contemplating you.

“Vergil?” — You called out to him, not sounding like a scolding, almost asking if something had happened or if he was going to leave for one of his duties. — “My love?” — Vergil intertwined your hand with his.

“I'm so grateful to have you.”

⭑.ᐟ Vergil always, always, referred to you as his wife. — Since the day, the moment that the emotional bond between you became stronger — more than your pride —, intense and true. — He claimed you by that title before all beings, human or demonic, or of another species.

⤷ And he declares, with all reason, bravery and honor, too, you as his queen.

“My wife.” — His deep, gravelly voice, so full of devotion, pleased your ears; you would never get used to or stop the shivers, the tremors you felt when hearing those words. — “My beautiful wife.” — Vergil detailed the statement with a touch of delicacy.

⭑.ᐟ Vergil is a man, half demon, of words and even a grunt, something a little incomprehensible to the ears, is worthy of attention to him. — Always enchanted by poems, and almost memorizing every line, you never failed to ask Vergil to say one for you. — And he never failed to fulfill your wish.

⤷ He remembered, even though it caused an unbearable and painful pain in his chest, the nights when his mother told stories and recited poems; after many insistences and beggings from him and his brother, Eva would never say “no” to her children. — Vergil wished she had the chance, the opportunity to have met you. — Although he had a little regret about her, he knew she would love you.

⭑.ᐟ During his departures, destined to resolve duties, to compromise with underworld matters — or, simply, to go after Dante and for them to enter into combat, as always — Vergil writes letters to you. — Yes, the eldest son of Sparda loves to write letters to you.

⤷ In his writings, he tries his best not to mention the misfortunes and disastrous situations that have come his way, but Vergil doesn't hide them from you. — You have a broad notion, wisdom about what happens in hell and with those miserable demons. — Reporting things, memories about his brother and, sometimes, testifying about how much he misses his mother; and declaring how many times he thought about you before writing that letter.

⤷ And you keep all the ones that were forwarded in a small chest. — They were all safe, protected, and could be witnesses of Vergil's love for, perhaps, your future child.

After some time, i surprisingly met Dante. It wasn't a planned, gentle or peaceful meeting, as you might imagine, of course. — But even in the midst of the usual chaos that surrounds our lives, there was a moment when i realized something i hadn't expected: i missed the presence of my incapable, irrelevant brother.

"Every time i close my eyes, it's you i see. Your gaze, your strength, your presence that somehow always knew how to find and touch the most hidden parts of who i am. — My desire for you is uncontrollable, my love. It grows every day, consuming me like a fire that cannot be put out. — You’re my beginning and my end."

"... know that even in the midst of the storm, you're the light that guides my path."

#vergil #vergil sparda #vergil dmc #devil may cry #devil may cry netflix #dmc #vergil x reader #vergil sparda x reader #vergil x you

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readrecieptoff · 24 days ago

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NRC: The Magicam Trend Outbreak!

housewardens

You were mindlessly scrolling through Magicam when one particular trend popped up — couples pulling off random, sweet gestures that left everyone else in their feels.

You watched a few clips, laughing at how adorable they were, and then an idea hit you. What if you tried it with your boyfriend? You had no idea how he’d react, but the thought of catching him completely off guard was too tempting to resist.

You could already imagine the possibilities — would he be flustered? Confused? Maybe he'd just stare at you like you were an alien for a second before realizing what was happening.

Either way, it was going to be hilarious. You figured a little spontaneous affection would keep things interesting. So, with a devilish grin, you prepared yourself for the most random (but utterly charming) moment of your day.

Who knew what could happen when you threw a little Magicam chaos into your relationship?

. . you randomly hug him from behind while he’s busy and see how he reacts!

Riddle sits at his desk, papers scattered across it, his bright eyes narrowed in concentration as he studies the latest report about Heartslabyul’s dorm activities. The dim glow of the desk lamp illuminates his perfect features as he pushes his glasses up, and his usual regal aura seems to wrap around him like a cloak.

His mind is entirely preoccupied with rules, regulations, and his duties. The hum of the room and the distant chatter from outside barely register in his mind — until the sudden warmth of your embrace catches him completely off guard.

You step softly behind him, and before he can react, you wrap your arms around his waist in a sudden back hug. For a split second, everything in the room freezes. His spine stiffens, and his shoulders are immediately rigid under your touch, as if his body can’t quite process the intrusion of your warmth into his meticulously organized space.

His breath catches, and he stares at his desk as if looking for an escape.

His voice cracks slightly, betraying him, as he chokes out, “W-What are you doing?!” His voice is still tinged with that air of authority, but there’s an underlying layer of something else — something softer.

For a moment, you simply rest your head against his back, feeling the tension in his body. Riddle hesitates, then shifts in his seat, glancing over his shoulder at you. His cheeks are tinted with the faintest flush.

“T–Tell me this isn’t part of some joke,” he stammers, unsure of how to handle the situation, his thoughts a swirl of conflicting emotions.

You tease him gently, your voice light. “I just thought you looked a little stressed, so I wanted to give you a break.”

Riddle’s mouth opens and closes, as though he’s trying to formulate an appropriate response. His pride and sense of duty demand that he push you away, that he maintain his distance. Yet, he can’t help but melt into the warmth of your embrace, his shoulders slowly relaxing.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters under his breath, though his voice isn’t harsh, and he doesn’t pull away. In fact, the longer you hold him, the more he allows himself to let go of the rigid mask he wears. His hands are still gripping the edge of his desk, but his fingers soften, no longer clenched in anxiety.

When you pull away, his eyes flicker to yours, and for just a moment, his strict demeanor falters.

“I suppose you can stay like that… for a bit,” he admits reluctantly, his lips curling into a small, barely visible smile, one that’s reserved just for you. And though he tries to hide it, there’s a soft fondness in his gaze that speaks volumes.

. . you pretend to doze off on his shoulder and wait for his reaction.

Leona is sprawled across the couch, his muscular arms crossed behind his head, his eyes half-lidded in utter contentment. The warm sunlight filters in through the windows, casting a lazy golden hue across the room. He’s doing his best to enjoy a rare moment of peace, his body relaxed, his posture completely casual. The tension he usually carries has melted away, leaving only the lion in its place — at ease, and just a little bored.

Sensing the perfect moment, you decide to press your luck. Slowly, you lean your head against his broad shoulder, feigning sleep. The weight of your head against him is light at first, and you keep your breathing slow and even, making it seem like you're peacefully dozing off.

You can feel the heat of his body through the fabric of his clothes, and the steady rhythm of his breathing calms you as well.

For a few moments, there’s no response from him. His golden eyes flicker slightly, but he doesn’t move. It’s only when you adjust yourself, just a little bit too close, that his body shifts. You feel his tense muscles under your cheek, his stiffened posture giving away that he’s aware of your proximity now.

“Tch. You’re really pushin’ it, herbivore,” he mutters under his breath, his voice rough, the edges of his words still thick with the lazy drawl of someone who doesn’t want to be bothered.

He doesn’t move to push you away, though. Instead, his hand shifts from where it was resting on the back of the couch, landing gently on your shoulder, as if claiming the space between you.

The subtle warmth of his palm against your skin contrasts with the usual indifference he projects, and you can feel his fingers curling ever so slightly, pulling you in just a little more. His tail twitches, and the tip of it brushes against your leg in a reflexive motion.

For a moment, you pretend to stir, feigning sleep again, but you catch the briefest, almost unnoticeable softening of his expression. His face is still slightly tense, but there’s something almost protective in his posture. His arm wraps around your shoulders, pulling you closer without even thinking about it.

“Don’t get used to this,” he grumbles, though his voice is quieter now, and the warmth of his body against yours feels far less forced than before. “Next time, I’m not letting you off this easy.”

But even as he says that, you notice his hand doesn’t leave your shoulder. And his tail, despite his attempts to act casual — seems to linger, just a little longer than before.

. . you hold up your phone like you’re recording a kiss cam and point it at him ?!

Azul is lost in the intricacies of his latest business venture, eyes glued to his parchment, his fingers flying across the desk. The low hum of his office, combined with the rhythmic tapping of the quill, creates an aura of calm efficiency around him.

His hair is meticulously styled, and his tailored suit is sharp, every line of his appearance designed to radiate authority and control. He’s completely absorbed in his world — until the sudden click of your phone camera interrupts his thoughts.

You hold up your phone, framing his flustered face in the “kiss cam” shot with the words “KISS CAM” displayed prominently on the screen. His eyes snap to the phone, his face turning an alarming shade of red as the implications of your actions hit him like a wave.

He freezes, his eyes wide, his body going stiff as he looks back and forth between you and the screen. His voice shakes slightly as he tries to mask the nervousness bubbling up inside him.

“What… What is this?!” he stammers, the words catching in his throat as his mind scrambles for a way to undo the situation.

You flash him a mischievous grin, holding the phone closer as if capturing every moment of his discomfort. “Azul, don’t tell me you’re too shy for a kiss cam moment?”

Azul’s face burns a deeper shade of red, and his fingers twitch at his sides, unsure of what to do with his hands. His usual confident demeanor has completely shattered, and he’s left scrambling to regain his composure.

“This is highly unprofessional! You can’t— this isn’t appropriate!” His voice rises a bit higher, but there’s a hint of humor in his panic, as though he knows he’s being overdramatic.

The discomfort doesn’t fade, though. Azul averts his gaze, but you can still see the faint blush creeping up his neck. He shifts in his seat, his gaze darting around the room as though searching for an escape, but no such luck.

You stand there, poised with your phone, watching his every move. Finally, in a mixture of resignation and a bit of nervous excitement, Azul leans forward slowly, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, his lips lingering for just a fraction of a second longer than necessary.

“You’re… impossible,” he mutters, his voice a mixture of exasperation and something else — something softer. “Delete that immediately, or else I’ll have to charge you for this.”

You can’t stop the smile spreading across your face, secretly relishing the blush that stains his cheeks. “It’s too late for that, Azul,” you tease, holding up your phone to show him the video you just captured, his flustered expression frozen for all eternity. “This is gold.”

. . you start dancing randomly in front of him and see how he reacts! !

Kalim Al-Asim is always full of energy, a cheerful and carefree spirit that brightens even the darkest of days. He's always surrounded by laughter, music, and joy, and it’s rare to see him without that ever-present smile on his face.

One afternoon, after classes, you find yourself hanging out with him by the campus courtyard, the sun setting and casting a warm glow over the scene. Kalim is sitting on a stone bench, a relaxed grin on his face as he watches the world around him.

Suddenly, without warning, you start to dance —nothing special, just moving to the beat of an imaginary song. It’s spontaneous and silly, but you do it to see how Kalim will react.

The moment you start, Kalim’s eyes widen in surprise, and his grin grows even larger. His laughter rings out, loud and infectious, as he jumps to his feet.

“Whoa, whoa! What’s this? A spontaneous dance party?” Kalim exclaims, clapping his hands to the rhythm as if encouraging your movements. “I’m in, I’m in! Let’s go!”

Without hesitation, he starts dancing with you — wild, carefree, and full of infectious energy. His movements are exuberant and full of life, and you can’t help but laugh along with him.

His colorful robes twirl around him as he spins and jumps with abandon, his infectious smile lighting up the entire courtyard. It’s impossible not to smile with him, his happiness so genuine that it becomes contagious.

“You’re amazing!” Kalim says between laughs, his golden eyes sparkling with excitement. “We should do this all the time! I’ll have the best music ready next time! We could even have a whole party!”

His energy is boundless, and despite the suddenness of it all, there’s something so wonderfully freeing about it. Kalim has a way of turning the simplest moments into unforgettable memories, and in that moment, as you both dance under the fading light of the sun, you realize just how much his exuberance makes life a little brighter.

. . you run toward him, and he instinctively catches you.

Vil stands in the middle of the room, his sharp features illuminated by the soft glow of the evening sun, his skin glowing like porcelain. His violet eyes glimmer with an inner fire, as always, his posture impeccable as he adjusts his jacket, his movements smooth and fluid.

His gaze is sharp, but there’s a hint of weariness underneath, as though the demands of his beauty and fame are beginning to take their toll.

Seeing an opportunity, you decide to make a dramatic move. With a burst of energy, you run toward him, not at a leisurely pace, but with all the enthusiasm and speed you can muster.

Vil’s eyes widen for a split second as he watches you approach, and his body instinctively shifts, a well-honed reflex honed by years of maintaining control and grace in every situation. As you get closer, his arms open just in time to catch you, the soft thud of your body against his chest resonating in the room.

For a moment, the two of you are frozen in the embrace, his arms around your waist, and you find yourself staring up into his flawless face, inches away from the perfection of his features.

Vil’s breath hitches ever so slightly, his usually composed demeanor momentarily faltering as he registers the closeness. His violet eyes lock with yours, and there’s a flicker of surprise in them, quickly masked by his usual cool elegance.

You feel the tension in his muscles, his heart beating just a little faster than usual as he holds you, but the expression on his face remains as composed as ever.

“You’re so… reckless,” he murmurs, though the coolness in his voice seems to lose its usual bite, softened by the intimacy of the moment. He holds you for a moment longer than necessary, as if he’s savoring the proximity, before gently setting you back on your feet.

His lips curl into that perfect, almost imperceptible smile, the one he saves for moments that truly matter.

“Next time, darling, I expect you to be more graceful with your approach,” he says, his voice low and sultry, but his hand lingers on your shoulder a moment longer. And for all his coolness, the glint in his eyes suggests that he doesn’t mind your spontaneity at all.

. . you surprise him with an unexpected compliment and see how he reacts!

Idia Shroud is lost in his own world, as usual. His blue hair sprawls messily around him, an electric halo of sorts as he stares intently at the screen, fingers flying over his keyboard in a blur.

His eyes, hidden behind his signature glasses, are fixed on the game in front of him — his safe space, his sanctuary from the chaos of the outside world. You can hear the faint sound of his voice muttering to himself as he adjusts his in-game character's equipment, focused to the point where nothing else exists.

You hesitate for a moment, watching him so absorbed in his game. Then, you step forward, feeling an unexpected surge of affection for this awkward, brilliant, and often misunderstood boy.

Quietly, you murmur, “Idia, you're really amazing, you know that?”

At first, he doesn’t react. He’s too absorbed, too entrenched in the virtual world. But then, you notice his fingers falter. His body stiffens slightly, and his breath catches.

Slowly, his wide eyes — surprised and yet a little soft, shift away from the screen and you realize he’s finally hearing you. His fingers still rest on the keys, but now they seem uncertain.

Idia’s gaze flicks from you to the screen and back, clearly panicked.

“W–Wait, what?” he stammers, voice high-pitched in shock. “M-Me? Amazing? I’m just a gamer. I’m.. I'm not anything special.”

You chuckle softly at his reaction, the familiar awkwardness that always surrounds him now being endearing instead of awkward. His eyes dart to his keyboard again, but this time, they can’t seem to focus as he fumbles with the keys, as if trying to regain control of the situation.

His cheeks take on a faint blush, a stark contrast to his usual cool demeanor. His nervousness is palpable, and you can practically feel the warmth radiating from him.

“I-I mean, I'm just... sitting here playing games all day, so...” Idia trails off, unable to finish his sentence. He clears his throat awkwardly, avoiding your gaze now. “I don’t know, you’re probably just... saying that because you feel sorry for me or something.”

His self-doubt is written all over his face, but his lips twitch in a way that almost betrays a smile, a small flicker of happiness hidden behind his words.

After a long pause, as if contemplating something far more profound than just a compliment, he mumbles, almost to himself, “Well… if you say so… I guess I won’t argue with you.”

Despite his usual attempts to downplay anything positive, the way he carefully places his hand on his keyboard again suggests he's finally processing your words. There’s something in the way his shoulders relax, ever so slightly, as if your words provided a strange but welcome reassurance.

You can’t help but smile at him, knowing that under all the layers of gaming jargon and the wall of anxiety he’s built around himself, there's someone who truly shines.

. . you walk up towards him, kiss him on the forehead, and suddenly walk away to see his reaction.

The atmosphere around Malleus is always one of quiet grandeur — his very presence seems to command attention, and his royal aura makes him seem untouchable.

This is a man who holds the weight of centuries of tradition and expectations on his shoulders. So when you approach him on a serene evening, standing by the moonlit garden as he stares up at the sky, everything feels still.

Malleus’s tall figure is a striking silhouette against the soft glow of the moon. His hair seems to shimmer in the light, and his eyes are lost in the vastness above. It's as though he’s waiting for something, or perhaps simply lost in his own thoughts.

You walk up to him, your steps quiet but deliberate. The air between you feels thick with unspoken words, as if the world is holding its breath. You stand before him for a moment, the words you want to say caught in the silence. But instead of saying anything, you make a spontaneous decision, driven by the electric charge between you, and lift your hand.

With a gentle motion, you press a soft kiss to his forehead, a fleeting, intimate act that feels both personal and daring. It’s quick — just a whisper of contact but the weight of it lingers in the air.

Malleus freezes, his eyes widening slightly, his posture stiffening as if he had been caught in a moment far more intimate than he had expected. His amber gaze follows you as you pull away, but before he can say a word, you start to walk away.

You move briskly, leaving him standing there in the stillness of the night, a sharp contrast to the calmness he usually exudes.

For a moment, there’s nothing. The world seems to pause, hanging in a delicate balance. You can feel Malleus’s eyes on your back, and there’s an almost tangible tension in the air. The only sound is the rustling of the leaves in the wind, the quiet rhythm of your footsteps fading into the distance.

Then, slowly, you hear him speak, his voice low and filled with surprise. “What… was that?”

His words hang in the air like a question, his tone not harsh or accusatory but full of genuine curiosity. There’s an underlying uncertainty in his voice, as though he’s trying to make sense of what just happened.

His eyes, usually so composed and regal, are now searching, confused and slightly uncertain.

Malleus takes a step forward, his tall figure moving in your direction, but you don’t stop. You continue to walk, not glancing back at him. The unease in his voice betrays the usually unshakable Malleus. He feels a tinge of vulnerability that he doesn’t often express.

“You…” His voice falters for a moment, as if trying to comprehend the situation. “You kissed me… and then proceeded to leave?”

Despite the calm exterior, there’s a vulnerability in his words that catches you off guard. His royal composure falters, and it’s a rare sight to see the ancient heir of the Draconian throne so thrown off by something so simple. His brow furrows slightly, and you catch a glimpse of his struggle, trying to understand why something as small as a kiss on the forehead could unsettle him.

As you continue walking, you can hear the soft sound of his footsteps following behind you, though he doesn't close the distance. His movements are hesitant, almost as if he's testing the waters, unsure whether to approach you or remain in the distance.

“I... I do not understand,” Malleus admits, his tone still laced with confusion but a little softer now. “Why did you do that?”

You can feel the heat of his gaze on your back, but you don’t stop. You want to leave him with a sense of longing, a small but significant act that will stay with him long after you’ve gone.

His voice calls after you again, quieter now, though there’s still a touch of that regal weight behind it. “I... I do not believe I will forget this.”

The last words echo in your ears, and as you turn the corner, you finally let the corner of your mouth tug upwards into a small, knowing smile.

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jesseisquick · 6 days ago

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💯

Spread throughout the adaptation of The Corbomite Maneuver’s script are bits and pieces of how Jim sees his captaincy, and it’s fascinating.

Bones calls him out for pushing Lieutenant Bailey too hard, questioning whether Kirk made the decision to promote him based on facts or because he saw something of himself in the young crewman.

From this it sounds more like Kirk might be trying to squash out any illusions in Bailey about serving on a starship, let alone any aspirations towards command. The Naked Time has Kirk bemoaning his inability to fully exercise his desire to love and be loved, because the Enterprise and her crew are of paramount importance. There’s also that last sentence, suggesting Kirk races towards captaincy for the glamour, not fully appreciating what he’d have to give up in exchange.

That in itself is interesting because there isn’t really a strong case that he should have to make a sacrifice out of his personal life- there are members of the Enterprise crew who come from Starfleet families- and that Kirk is martyring himself. He could have those things but there’s still going to be a cost, and judging by the trail of good friends Kirk has left across Federation space, it’s not something he would willingly pay.

Perfection or nothing else because that’s what a Starship Captain demands, followed immediately by how tired he is, how burnt out. Is Kirk asking for perfection to exercise his frustration with the situation they’re in and his situation as captain or because being Perfect means that his personal martyrdom to the image of a Starship Captain makes the sacrifice worthwhile?

Kirk’s also somewhat dismissive and nearly resentful of the crew with the exception of Spock. During the countdown he is sharply aware that how he conducts himself affects the bridge crew, that awareness separates him from them, in his own thoughts putting him outside the community of the bridge crew. Kirk feels that, having seen him pull a rabbit out of his hat at the last minute to save them during previous crises, they’re now dependent on him to pull rabbit after rabbit out of his hat.

At one point he even has to smother his upset with Sulu, who is looking at him with awe. Kirk says he’s bored of excess awe and excess dependency.

The literal next sentence is that Spock isn’t prone to excessive awe or dependency, and Kirk notes that Spock never asks that Kirk pull a rabbit out of his hat. I think there’s some resentment associated with that perceived excess of awe and dependency (not just of Sulu but the whole crew), that he’s the one that always has to come up with the plans, be something more than human, be A Starship Captain.

I think it’s interesting that Spock is, to Kirk, set apart from the crew not only because of his role as First Officer but because he’s the only one who Kirk feels isn’t dependent on him. There’s equality between himself and Spock in a way that he needs desperately and can’t get with the way he’s set up: never breaking the Starship Captain persona for the rest of the crew, being married to the Enterprise (and a faithful husband). The crew can’t see him as a person, and he can’t give himself to any other person because that would be tantamount to adultery.

He loves the Enterprise as much as he resents her, and even though he feels trapped he can’t free himself.

#yeah this this this #spock's 'the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few' meshes extraordinarily well w jim's responsibilities as captain #sometimes jim has to make the fucked-up decision bc it's slightly less fucked-up than all other decisions #if he has to sacrifice one person to save the rest of them.......#well look. it isnt ideal. jim isnt the type to stop looking for a better way out & more often than not he gets very lucky in that respect #he can usually think his way out of the situation or the stars happen to align and let him ride off w/o any losses #but if he HAS to. if he absolutely had to lose one person to save everyone else. hed be able to make the call #a healer like mccoy though? im not convinced hed be able to let go of that one person even if it was to the detriment of the crew #spock is really the opposite end of the spectrum. hes often so blind to the idea of trying to persist even when the odds are against them #that he misses the opportunity to save anyone.#mind u these are generalizations but like. we're already talkin abt the corbomite maneuver. lets look at the corbomite maneuver!#theyve all got 10 minutes until they get blown up. what's the trio up to?#mccoy: concerned about Bailey. the entire crew is at risk and hes telling jim that he cant report bailey unfit for duty on his #medical report! it'll ruin him! and jim was the one who promoted him too early anyway! mccoy will contradict him on the report if he has to!#spock: jim. we've exhausted all possible logical solutions to this. we dont have the firepower to go toe-to-toe with this creature #we cant escape it. we cant reason with it. its like chess — when youre outplayed the only outcome for you is checkmate. game over.#< fundamental difference here: spock doesnt see a way out so he doesnt blame jim for not seeing one either. mccoy sees - not a way out but #something jim can do to help one person (even tho it wouldnt matter in 10 min bc theyre all gonna get blown up). jim isnt doing this thing.#mccoy's not cool with that.#meanwhile jim: trying to pull a rabbit out of a fkn hat. this poor man. no wonder hes so snappish in this ep id be shitting myself #jim really is the middle point between spock & mccoy. if it comes down to it he'll do what's best for the majority #but not before hes tried EVERY other possible (& illogical) thing to save as many people as he can #ok sorry for this. i rewatched tcm recently and i forgot how good it is for showing their personalities #kirk #mccoy #spock #meta: st tos #star trek books #the corbomite maneuver #star trek tos

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phantomrose96 · 1 year ago

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Sham Sacrifice

(Hi it's time for my favorite headcanon)

...

Vlad Masters sat firm and proper on the Fenton Family couch, legs crossed, teacup pinched in his fingertips, fighting subtly against the sinkhole that came with the mistake of taking Jack’s usual spot on the couch. He appeared with all the same charm and delightfulness of an ant swarm rearranging your picnic.

Danny stood at the doorway, just-still-in-the-kitchen, just not inviting himself to join the adults in the living room where Jack boomed and rambled and Vlad sat so stiff and polite and nice that his tea in his hands was going cold.

“Oh, Danny you’ll love this story—Danny, you should join us—Danny this was, what, summer of ’84? When was that heatwave, Vladdy? The one where you—”

“There’s no need to bore Daniel with the mad ravings of two old kooks, Jack. Kids would rather be off at the mall or—some store, surely. No need to stick around Daniel on my behalf. I assure you I won’t be offended if you leave.”

“No worries, V-man. I’m good right here. I love hearing Dad’s stories." Danny met Vlad's challenge, speaking with more poisonous courtesy than Vlad had proffered first. "In fact I think he should tell a few more, if he’s got more in mind.”

“In fact I do have more in mind—” Jack answered.

Neither Danny nor Vlad were listening to Jack. They held eye-contact, Danny with a stern unblinkingness of a sheepdog on duty. A lot was said without words. A lot was understood when Vlad decided to visit through the front door. Vlad only used the front door when he wanted something.

And it was never good when Vlad wanted something.

“—the core reactor project, yeah? That summer? That was in the lab with no A/C. Top floor. We were sweating like pigs, all of us. And I dared you to eat the really moldy pizza from our fridge the night before and you ralphed right into—”

“—Surely you remember this more fondly than I do. Daniel, really, you can go.”

Not a chance.

“Actually,” Danny answered, brightening some as his opportunity struck. “I am interested in this. For science class I need to write a report on the invention of an important piece of technology. I was gonna ask Mom and Dad about the Ghost Portal. And now that you’re here, I can get the whole history.”

Jack made a giddy little noise. He leaned forward, words primed, but Vlad was quicker to the draw.

“Sorry to say, your faith in me is unfounded. I wasn’t the portal guy back in college—that was always your mother and father’s passion project. I was their skeptic.”

“Bet that’s got you feeling pretty foolish right now, doesn’t it V-man?” Jack chided, a quick jab to Vlad’s ribs that nearly unseated the teacup from his suspended saucer. “Considering the fully-functioning portal right beneath our toes.”

“I hardly feel foolish, Jack. Your calculation for the portal in college was never going to work.”

“What do you mean? Of course it did.” Jack thumped the ground with his foot. “It’s running the old girl right now.”

At this, Vlad’s eyes narrowed. For the first time he’d been shaken off whatever skeezy machinations had brought him in. His pride was being challenged, and by Jack no less.

“Absolutely not. With that calculation? Absolutely not.”

“Well forget the tea biscuits Vlad, because you’re going to be eating your words in a second. Mads, hold my spot,” Jack said, as if anyone was planning to take his spot. He bounced from the couch, scooted from the living room, and vanished into the dark maw of the lab stairs, leaving only the waning beat of his footsteps behind.

His absence filled only a swallowing few seconds. The footsteps returned, bounding upward, creaking with his heavy cadence, and Jack bounced back into the room in much the manner he left. A pad of yellow lined paper was clutched in his hand. When he dropped it on the coffee table, it revealed row after row of tight scribble, churning math, carrying down the page and occupying two entire pages more that Jack flipped through.

“Same baby I came up with in college. It just needed heavier dampening and higher voltage than what we made back then. The portal downstairs has that in spades. Well, in like two-thirds of a spade.” Jack tapped something on the last line. “The projection was still only hitting 70% of the threshold we calculated to reach dimension penetration. But it’s an art, not just a science. We fired it up anyway, and it took!”

Vlad grabbed the paper pad, agitated. His eyes ran over it. Then again. Until he settled on one line, a firmness overcoming his face. He tossed the pad back onto the coffee table, and Vlad leaned back into the couch, arms crossed.

“The lambda, Jack.”

“The lambda?”

“Check it again.”

Jack did, lips pursed, pad of paper nearly swallowed in his big meaty hand.

“What about--?”

“It squares. The units don’t balance otherwise. It originates from an integration step of λ*∂λ/∂t. It squares.”

Jack’s brow remained furrowed, firm, until delight cracked into his eyes, and he let out a laugh.

“Gods, my handwriting is gonna be the death of us. Mads,” he tapped something unseen on the second page. “That’s the genius of Vladdy. Cracked this puppy wide open with just a glance. I never noticed that in all my checking. That explains the missing 30%, at least. That explains how the portal took. Lucky for you Danny that Vlad was here—”

“Jack,” Maddie said.

“—your report can have the correct formula. It’ll be—”

“—Jack—”

“—A+ worthy—”

“—Jack,” Maddie said, curt. “Lambda is the ambient ecto-energy. It’s a few ten-thousandths of a unit.”

“It—huh.”

Maddie had surfaced a pen from her pocket. She sheared a few blank pages out from the back of the pad and started the formula fresh. She made quick work of copying it over, quicker work of solving it through – lambda-squared intact.

She hit the final line and hatched a pen mark beneath the number. Jack stared, confused.

“That can’t… no.”

He repeated the same. New pages torn loose. Formula copied over, processed, line by line by line—lambda squared—by line by line by line.

Jack settled on his answer. Same as Maddie’s.

Confusion made his face tense.

“So it’s not 70% of the way to the threshold… It’s 0.013% of the way to the threshold.”

He held the pen hard, his whole body holding firm and taut as the gears turned in his head. Jack’s eyes flickered across the formula, again and again and again. He looked to Maddie, like a dog issued a command he did not understand.

“But it worked,” he said, small. “But it worked.”

Jack stood, robotic almost, eyes lost in something far away. He disappeared into the lab almost as quickly as he had a few minutes before, but now he exited with a smoothness and a quietness so very uncharacteristic of him. It bothered Danny, somewhere deep in his gut.

Maddie followed, a possession matching Jack’s.

Danny’s fingers curled and uncurled. He’d succeeded. He’s successfully interrupted Vlad’s… whatever this was. But the disquiet infected him. He didn’t like it.

“So what does that mean?” Danny asked, perhaps to Vlad. “What’s wrong with the calculation?”

Vlad sipped on tea ice cold.

“Who knows?” Vlad lied.

…

The math didn’t work.

Maddie and Jack burned through paper, burned through pencils, burned through hours.

The math didn’t work.

Clothes stuck to skin. Sweat lingered fetid and stale in the cold basement air. Exhaustion beat like a slurry through their veins.

The math didn’t work.

The portal supervised all, placidly green, the light for their table, the light for their work when the lightbulb overhead burnt clean out and neither Jack nor Maddie could be pulled away to replace it. It stood, it watched, a testament of contradiction to everything they could not solve on paper, and yet everything they built directly into the fabric of reality.

And it should never have worked.

They threw every radical what-if they’d ever conceived over 20 years of ghost research.

The ecto-ether layer.

The latent activation stitches in space fabric.

The anti-ectomatter collision proposal.

The positive-feedback crystallization theory.

And still nothing worked.

All together, every crackpot theory in their favor taken for granted, racked them up to an activation energy 200x more potent than the calculation, and still just 2% of what would be needed to rip open, and hold open, a stable fissure between their reality and the ghost zone.

Maybe by pure luck, unfathomable luck, Fentonworks basement was directly situated atop a natural portal.

Maybe that would explain ripping it open. It did nothing to explain the stability. Natural portals were unstable by definition. There and gone in a few seconds. Not hours, days, weeks, months, a year, that the Fenton Portal had been open. Never so much as faltering.

It was late. 3am ticked away to 4am, and 4:30am. The discarded paper stacked higher than Jack and Maddie both. Calluses oozed from their hands at another attempt, and another, and another.

Maddie flipped through a folder’s worth of yellowed papers, aggressively thumbed over and over after two decades left untouched. And she settled on the one she’d passed over a few dozen times already, always seeking something else, something better.

This time she unsheathed it, and she placed it on the lab table.

“…If a mouse died. In the machine. If a mouse ran through the machine and accidentally bridged two live wires, and died of violent electrocution. 500 milliamps. Instantly melted into the circuitry.”

Maddie’s mouth was cotton-dry while she wrote. Ambient ecto-energy was low. Always very, very low.

Unless something very, very bad happened to something with the capacity to become a ghost.

The numbers wove. Maddie started the formula fresh, and it was pure muscle memory. A mouse. A big mouse, even. A 99th percentile beast of a mouse. And a wire that had been wired incorrectly. Something grounded that never actually grounded. An absolutely horrific amount of electricity.

0.37%, by pure numbers. If she included every permissive crackpot idea they had thrown on top, it topped out at 6% of the needed activation threshold.

Not a mouse.

“A cat,” Jack said, words gummy, tongue dry, face tired. “If we’ve got mice down here, maybe… a stray cat wandered in. Chased the mouse.”

Maddie nodded. It didn’t matter if it made sense.

She penned it in. A large cat. A devastating electrical short. Cats carried more ecto-potential than mice did. Ecto-potential did not necessarily go up with size. It went up with complexity. The things with the most ecto-potential were the things that most became ghosts.

1.45%, by pure numbers. 18% at absolute, absolute crackpot best.

“A dog,” Jack proposed with a shaky laugh. He swallowed. “A mouse… chased by a cat… chased by a dog… all electrocuted at once”

Maddie didn’t say the thing they both knew, which was that both of them would have noticed the evidence left behind by the electrically exploded pieces of a dog.

Maddie did it anyway. A mouse and a cat and a medium-sized dog, maybe just small enough to notice no evidence of, all together. All at once. All violently ripped apart, sacrificed to a machine still asleep in its wall.

Mice did not often make ghosts. Cats did not either. Dogs, occasionally. But infrequently. Very infrequently.

37%. At best.

“Jack.”

“Maddie, I know just—maybe something really smart—”

“—Jack—”

“—like an octopus—”

“Jack.”

“I hear, maybe, pigs are smart. If it was—”

Maddie was writing, already. Not for a pig. Not an octopus. Jack watched, and he knew what the numbers meant. The ecto-potential she penned gave her away. An ecto-potential that high.

65kg, an estimate

10,000 milliamps, a catastrophic accident, a death certificate.

A human’s amount of ecto-potential.

Maddie wrote.

And she wrote.

And she did not apply a single crackpot theory, not a single discredited proposal, not an ounce of exaggeration.

138%.

Threshold, and then some.

Comfortable, easily, then some.

For the first time, after all the hundreds of times she and Jack had penned this equation over the course of 2 decades, the number met her and Jack’s threshold.

A breakthrough.

A revelation.

A pure eureka moment.

Jack and Maddie were silent.

Alone in a humming basement. Alone with only the soft swirls of the portal for company, happy, stable, purring its contentment, singing to the cold air.

“It has to be something else,” Maddie said. And she said it weakly. And she said it childishly.

“You’re right. It can’t be this,” Jack echoed. “If someone died down here, we’d know. Dead bodies don’t walk away. We’d have seen it. O-or even if, if the body got stuck in the portal, we’d have heard of someone going missing.”

Maddie sat, quiet. A thought held her mind hostage.

“Unless they didn’t go missing,” Maddie said, and she said it barely audibly. “Unless the portal spit them right back out.”

“Then—that’s what I said—a dead body, on the floor, we’d have seen.”

“Not a dead body.”

“It had to be lethal, Mads—”

“I know Jack. But if they died, here, in the portal Jack, then their ghost did not get ripped away from the body and sent to the Ghost Zone. …They ripped the Ghost Zone here.” Palms slick with sweat smoothed over her notes. She pointed to one specific line and found her pen tip trembled no matter how badly she stabilized it. “The ecto-potential of a creature is how strong of a pull their ghost creates on the Ghost Zone. A strong enough pull means the ghost can reach the Ghost Zone and stabilize, like a fish reeling itself up, yeah? We agree on this Jack, yes?”

“Yes,” Jack answered.

“It’s what makes the math even work, Jack. Someone dying in the portal didn’t reel themselves to the boat. They reeled the boat in. Jack, they brought the Ghost Zone here…” Maddie wasn’t breathing right. She pulled sweat-soaked bangs away from her face. “Their ghost never left their body Jack. They died, Jack. And they walked back out.”

“…No. No,” Jack said. “No, they didn’t.”

“Then what?” Maddie asked.

Jack stared. He looked away. He didn’t like the expression on Maddie’s face.

“It—what about the ecto-ether theory?” Jack said, of the theory they’d tested and retested and tested all over, all night. He grabbed his pencil back up and pointed it aimlessly at Maddie’s piece of paper, pointed end out in self-defense. “If the ecto-ether is maybe… if it’s only 250-times stronger than we calculated. Then it could…”

Jack’s voice died. His pencil hung idle. Maddie’s paper remained unblemished.

“If it… was a pig,” Jack offered. “If it was a pig that died in the portal.”

“How, Jack? How would a pig get in? We lock all the doors at night, Jack. No one else can get in, Jack. It’s just us, Jack.”

Jack and Maddie were not there when the portal turned on.

Maddie’s statement carried two possibilities. Only two. Both felt like claws digging all the flesh right out of Jack’s heart.

“I want… I want to try the ecto-ether theory again,” Jack choked. “I think it’s the ecto-ether. I think it’ll work.”

Jack slid a piece of paper over, already covered in scribbles. In its single untouched corner, he started the equation for the several-thousandth time that night.

Above their head, birds were singing.

Sunrise hailed unseen from the windowless laboratory.

…

At 6am, Vlad answered his cell phone. The reception crackled, struggling through the layers of sheetrock above his head.

“Vlad?” Maddie’s voice crackled. “Sorry, did I wake you up?”

“Not at all my dear.” Vlad leaned his weight against the wall, playing with the singsong melody in his voice. “But you sound exhausted. Is anything the matter?”

“Yes. Well… Yes. Jack and I have—all night—trying to fix the equation.”

“Naturally.”

“We found something that maybe works.”

“Oh?” Vlad asked. He straightened, pacing now, cracklingly attentive. “And what might that—”

“If someone died. Activating the portal. We have an on-switch inside the portal’s interior. The trigger we use to press it is external to the portal, of course. But if someone went inside the portal, and they pressed it directly, and if they died, and pulled the Ghost Zone here—”

Vlad’s red eyes reflected pools of iridescent green. He twirled his free hand in the fringes of his cape, tongue working over the fanged edges of his teeth. He stared, consumed, forward.

“—and just, you, I was thinking, you’re the only other expert I’d trust to… maybe weigh in.”

“What does Jack think?”

“He denies it. He’s still. He’s trying other theories.”

“Well who knows, surely? The answer may lie somewhere you haven’t looked.”

“…I’ve looked everywhere, Vlad. That's the thing. There is no more ‘somewhere else’. I’ve looked.”

“You sound like your mind is made up.”

“I just… if maybe you have some idea.”

“Am I meant to talk you out of this idea?”

“Vlad.”

“Do you think I have some secret information you don’t? Sorry to say, I’m just your skeptic.” Some noise came through muffled from the other side. Vlad flashed a smile. “But…as your skeptic I will offer you this—It all sounds a bit absurd, doesn’t it? To kill someone and have them come back intact and… for you to never notice? Who would they be? How would they be? Surely not human anymore, surely. How would you never notice?”

Vlad paced forward, booted feet clicking along his laboratory floor.

“It would be ridiculous,” he continued, with a building crescendo, “so unfathomably self-centered surely, to not notice something like that befall someone so close to you, who died at the hands of your own invention? …If I’m correctly inferring who, in your household, you suspect of having activated the portal?” Vlad’s tongue lingered along his teeth.

Maddie’s line held, quiet. And the seconds of static drew long.

“Ah, apologies. I’ve overstepped,” Vlad continued. “I meant this as a vote of confidence in you. You and Jack both. Two people as attentive, caring, compassionate as yourselves. You would notice. I promise.”

“You’re… Okay, thank you, Vlad. I appreciate it.”

“Is there anything else, my dear?”

“No. No. Thank you, Vlad. I’ll think about this.”

Maddie’s line clicked dead. A chuckle built to Vlad’s lips and he let his head tip back with mirth. It lasted only a moment. He stowed his phone. And as if the interruption had never happened, Vlad reaffixed his attention on his own portal swirling in front of him. It bathed him, swimming green, purring contentment.

And Vlad vanished into his portal.

(Chapter 2)

#danny phantom #dp #dp fanfiction #GIVES YOU THIS GIVES YOU THIS GIVES YOU THIS #its my favorite headcanon so here you get a fic of it

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bitchlessdino · 2 months ago

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Good Roommates Don't (m)

for @ddeonghwa-s secret cupid collab i recieved you @haologram! Secret Cupid Masterlist found here!

Pairing: roommate! Minghao x barista!afab!reader Word count: 14.1k rating: R Summary: Xu Minghao had been the most ethereal being you've ever laid your eyes on to the point being unable of functioning like a normal person, but now you're roommates. Only time will tell when you lose your mind keeping your hands to yourself, so there needed to be a list of things you don't do if you wanted to be a good roommate. tags: meet-ugly, strangers to roommates to lovers, college au, barista au, down bad!reader, mentions of band, brief bdsm, mc fell first he fell harder, cum swapping, spitting, oral (giving and receiving), face riding, unprotected sex author note: thank you @lovetaroandtaemin and @gyubakeries beta-reading this with me. after writing towtsyfdtotbycf (holy shit) i was in a little bit of a slump and had several and i mean SEVERAL versions of this and for months racked my brain how i wanted to do this. Alta, i care for you deeply and we've gotten close in the last year or so, so i really wanted to write something that would amuse you and that you'd enjoy. and if you hate it you can use it as leverage to berate me on discord lol. but please, my valentine, enjoy my gift to you. happy Valentines day Alta (and tell me was i really not that slick) <3

When you first met Minghao, you almost killed him trying to save his life. At least, that's what you thought you were doing.

All you had to do was bear a normal shift at the Coffee Shop, attempt a semblance of a smile for the oncoming customers, and clock out at your normal hour, but the universe couldn’t even give you that. Instead, they sent you the hottest guy imaginable, along with the swiftness of a gazelle, the strength of a gorilla, and the intuition of a garden gnome. That day just confirmed that some things were better left alone.

A few things were already going wrong that day. For one, your alarm didn't go off. The alarm being your mom, who usually kicked you out of bed first thing at 9 am, since she had a doctor’s appointment. Fair enough. The strings of fate got you there. All the more reason why moving out seemed like a distant dream rather than a close reality. Were you really capable of being a functioning adult?

Then there was the bus and having to shell out twenty bucks for a Lyft when the next scheduled bus was reported to have broken down and was no longer an option. That twenty bucks could’ve been your meal for the next week, but no, being fiscally responsible was a circus act, and you were the clown being pied in the face repeatedly. As if you weren’t already putting on a face and juggling multiple things enough on a daily basis, today was no different.

And then, you were late to work—which again, was nothing new—but you were hoping that Nayeon, who was scheduled as the shift manager, let you off with a warning. Yet, somehow, that went wrong as well, seeing that the shittier manager on your shift, Manager Fi, was present instead. And, by the look in the old man's eyes, he wasn’t happy about it either, especially considering he assigned you bathroom duty for the end of your shift to make up for your tardiness. He never liked you since you started. Then again, he didn’t like anybody, and vice versa.

This morning was bad omen after bad omen.

Leading up to finally meeting Minghao—tall, scorchingly hot Minghao, with lips that looked soft as clouds. You hadn’t seen him around before until today, and perhaps it should’ve stayed that way, because you couldn’t see yourself facing him ever again.

He walked in with his large group of friends, all almost nearly as charming as him with a handful of faces that you’ve seen once or twice, but none that stood quite out like his. He had the kind of face that made you want to paint murals, write ballads, or stare long enough to linger too long over the same spot you were cleaning on the counter, windshield wiping until the wet streaks you wiped off devolved to discoloration and damaged the countertop’s cheap sealant. Eventually, you averted your gaze to conceal your flushed cheeks—turning away in clear embarrassment, thinking about how much of a fucking creep you probably looked overtly gawking at him—but you’d soon realized that was the least of your worries. You’d soon wish it ended with you looking like a creep.

The next moment you lifted your eyes towards him again, you found him in a compromising position, one that had you thinking—and that was your first mistake. His face twisted with discomfort, and he gasped as he covered his mouth. A million thoughts raced through your mind, considering all the possible reasons for his distress, and one screamed the loudest above all, setting off alarm bells. So you—being meddling and troublesome you—acted on instinct.

Hopping over the counter, you raced towards him, pulled him off the booth which he was luckily on the edge of, and immediately attempted the Heimlich. Finally, your CPR certification could be put to use. You embraced him from behind, putting pressure on his ribcage as you launched and thrust yourself against him, forcing whatever was lodged in his throat out of his body.

“I’ve got you!” you exclaimed heroically.

You put in as much strength as you could muster, truly hoping to save a life today, thinking out of all things that have gone wrong today, at least this would be one thing you’ve done right. You could feel your ancestors looking down on you to witness a proud moment in your otherwise boring and mundane life.

After several rough collisions with his body, he eventually spat something chewed up and unsightly onto the booth’s table, drawing the attention of several onlookers if your boisterous shouting hadn’t already. His friends were quick to look away, wincing in disgust while the cute boy doubled over in pain, holding himself by the ribs as you ran your eyes over at him in concern.

“Are you alright, sir? That must’ve been terrifying to suffocate on something so suddenly.”

He then finally lifted his head. His cheeks were flushed as anguish took over his features. “I wasn’t choking,” He rasped.

“...Come again?”

“Oh my god!” A third-party witness stood up dramatically from their seat. “This barista just saved this young man’s life!”

Suddenly, you were punished with attention, cheers specifically. All except the people who sat at the cute boy’s table clapped for you—or, rather at you now—and gave you standing ovations for your grand heroic act, when in fact, it wasn’t heroic at all. Meanwhile, you attempted to settle them down, flapping your hands dismissively and growing hot all over. You looked over the man you so-called saved as he strained to sit back in his seat, being tended by the friends he came with.

“Dude, you okay?”

“Shit, that looked like it hurt.”

“You probably shouldn't have been drinking it that fast, Minghao.”

It turned out you had severely miscalculated the situation. What appeared to be choking, prompting you to improperly administer a rough but appropriate Heimlich maneuver, was simply a mildly exaggerated reaction to hot coffee followed by a muffin to alleviate his burnt taste buds. You, of course, profusely apologized, as if you weren’t embarrassed enough for staring at him the whole time working your entire shift at the coffee shop because he was the most breathtakingly stunning person you’ve ever seen in your life. You might’ve just about broken his ribs and made his life flash before his eyes by abruptly slamming your body against him repeatedly, and not in the fun way.

Rather than an apartment, you were in desperate need of a hole deep enough to lead you to the core of the Earth to hide you from everyone else on the crust, ideally with cheap rent and good air ventilation.

You bowed your head in humiliation, unable to meet any of their eyes, especially with the possibility of them remembering your face with a lawsuit waiting to happen. “I can’t believe that happened, I am so sorry. If there’s anything I can do to make it up to you, please let me know.”

“It’s okay, really, but I think we’ve had enough excitement for today if you don’t mind.”

The attractive stranger—or Minghao, as you’ve learned from his friends who immediately rushed to him in concern—shook his hand in the air reassuringly. “Just, no more of that, alright? Make sure someone’s actually choking before trying to save them.”

“Right, please have a wonderful rest of your day,” you said, before returning to your station and disappearing behind the breakroom, screaming into your cubby and avoiding human interaction for as long as you could.

That scene replayed in your mind over and over like a recurring nightmare, burning the image of his beautiful face with such disdain for all eternity, while his name etched into your brain in permanent ink, embedded in every wrinkle in your brain. Minghao. A devastatingly beautiful name for a devastatingly beautiful owner.

Ugh. Get a fucking grip.

You just needed to get through the rest of the day. It would just be a couple more hours until your shift ended, and then you’d leave on the dot. It’d be just in time to make your appointment to meet your new potential roommate. Hopefully, it would be the silver lining of today’s catastrophic mess.

You met on electronic class forums while attending the same Cultural Studies course and somehow ended up relying on each other for notes. By your chat history, you seemed to have a lot in common—with the exception of his preference for tea over artisanal coffee—and you’d be lying if you said you didn’t get giddy seeing the green circle next to his username. Recently, he had just talked about moving into town after pondering the idea for so long, and as fate may have it, you’ve been looking for your own place to stay. You figured he seemed nice enough, and he even offered a reasonable quote on rent. It wouldn’t hurt to take a look. You just hoped he was as friendly in real life as he was online—with the day you had, you needed a win.

And, that win started with Chinese food, his choice, and it was a good one. You hadn’t been at this location before, taking note of the old-fashioned aesthetic touched by the harshness of modern neon signs that lit even the darkest of hallways. You were now thinking you ought to come more often as the heavenly notes of soy, ginger, and whatever concoction bled through the kitchen curtains and wafted through your nostrils the moment you passed through the double doors. Immediately, you were greeted by the host, visibly tired and overworked, with dark circles under his eyes, before he led you to a table in the center of the restaurant. You settled your nerves with a glass of water, trying to let the horrific events from today fade to as black as the soy sauce loitering on your table, waiting for a plate of dumplings to accompany them.

Funny how you could still have an appetite after everything that happened.

It wasn’t too long after you heard the same doors you walked through open, setting off the familiar sound of its wind chimes. You peered behind you, catching a glimpse of the new arrival, and immediately spun back in your seat, startled by the face that passed through your eyes. Trepidation brewed within you as the unsolicited visitor had your stomach in knots.

You couldn’t take another incident tonight.

You slunk into your seat, burying your chin in your shirt, hoping you’d somehow camouflage into your seat, facing away from the new arrival. Meanwhile, his eyes skimmed the room, walking in with purpose without guidance and greeting the employees as if he were right at home. Fortunately, he had yet to notice your presence as you slinked out of view the moment he passed by you to sit at the bar, while you made way into a booth in the dark corner of the restaurant, cursing the fates for their cruel games once again. You just had hoped that your new roommate would hurry it up already so you could get out of here before you were discovered.

And after about ten minutes, it felt as if all hope was lost. There was no sign of them and you were wondering if you had been stood up. Amid your anticipation, you were forced to pay attention to the person you were avoiding, seeing his patience wear thin with the tap of his foot as he sipped the last of his iced tea. Not a moment too soon, you saw him pluck his phone out from his pocket, fingers skittering over the screen before bringing it to his ear and scanning the restaurant’s floor plan. In the same instant, your phone went off, blaring your cursed ringtone, ‘Pocketful of Sunshine’, and the realization—along with the panic—quickly set in.

Alerted by the noise, his head whipped up from his screen. His eyebrows rose in shock, not all expecting the outcome that arose, and he dropped to his feet and quickly darted toward the sound that you—for the life of you—could not turn off fast enough. His footsteps matched the rate of your heart pounding in your chest, growing louder and closer until he found the source and located you cowering in the corner.

You lifted your head to lock eyes for the first time since this morning just as you finally managed to silence the ringtone and gave him an awkward laugh, waving with your phone in hand. Taking a nervous gulp, you awaited his disappointment, expecting him to make his quick exit after evaluating in the two seconds of your meeting that this arrangement would not work out because you were a deranged psycho with a savior complex. To your pleasant surprise, that didn't happen. Instead, you were met with a gentle smile and a glint of curiosity in his eyes. “There you are.”

You forced a sheepish chuckle. “Here I am, ha.”

Minghao softly chuckled before tucking his phone in his back pocket. “And to think just this morning you ‘saved my life.’”

You shut your eyes tightly, hands pressing together as if begging for forgiveness. “Again I am so, so sorry for that. It did look like you were choking.”

He shook his head reassuringly. “So you’ve said. I’m Minghao, or PalE8. Nice to meet you, CafeMixr0.”

“Is it…nice to meet me?” You asked dubiously.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

You blinked incredulously. “Well, for several reasons.”

He shrugged before entering the booth and leaving a healthy distance to sit just across from you. “Can’t think of any. Have you ordered anything yet?”

You shook your head, befuddled by his nonchalance, waiting to see the catch, if there was any.

“Good thing I know everything worth ordering.” His hand shot up before grabbing the attention of a server to get his order taken.

You weren't sure where the night was going. All you knew was the boy that you almost killed this morning was sitting across from you looking as breathtaking as he did this morning, even while slurping up his stir fry that was glossed with a sheen of chilli oil and swelling up his already full lips. Rather than a roommate meetup—if that was still the case—it felt like a date, a date you were exceedingly ill-prepared for.

Suddenly, you could feel the sweat on the back of your knees, feeling the strong urge to sniff the clothes on your back, unsure when the last time you did a fresh load of laundry and if your current attire was included in that load at all. Not to mention that bathroom duty that was forced upon you, which no doubt seeped into your clothes. You were better off naked, but then that would be an entire different kind of meeting, wouldn’t it?

“You’re okay, right?” You asked, trying to distract yourself from your spiraling thoughts as you barely finished your portion of chow mein—which was absolutely heavenly, to put it lightly.

He let out a light chuckle before kindly reassuring you. “How many times are you going to ask me? You and everyone from this morning. I’m fine, able-bodied and everything.”

“I just felt really bad. You looked really hurt.”

He couldn’t suppress his grin, finding your cautiousness amusing, but it only added to your unease. “I was hurt. You’re really, really strong.”

You winced. “Again. I am so sorry.”

“Don’t be. It’s a quality of a good roommate.” He finished the last bit of his meal before dropping a couple of bills without asking for the tab. “Come on. I’ve got to show you the apartment.”

You raised an eyebrow while sipping your warm tea before tapping your mouth with a napkin. “You still want to room with me? After this morning?”

“There’s not a lot of good options for roommates in the city, and what are the odds that you’ll try to kill me twice?”

He had a fair point, and it wasn’t like you had options lining up either. You just had to hope he didn’t regret taking this chance on you.

A big reason why you wanted to move out was to learn to be on your own, but in addition to that, the city had pretty much everything to offer. The city had it all, from job opportunities to the right people to meet, and the apartment Minghao led you to was the center of the entirety of it. High above the town square, in a room several floors up, there was a nook that had a view through a large window overlooking everything within about a two-mile radius. If there was anything nice to say about the city, it definitely looked better from where you were standing. The street lights illuminated streets, neon signs brought the local businesses to life, and people that ran the night life lived it to the fullest in the flashiest clothes imaginable. You had never seen your city like this before.

Meanwhile, the apartment itself was gorgeous and already fully furnished with stylish furniture and greenery that touched the kitchen and living room. It was graced with Minghao’s taste in art and an eccentric—but tasteful—color palette of warm browns, olive greens, and rustic oranges. It felt like walking into Minghao’s mind, seeing into his world, and you were given the opportunity of it being yours, being part of his world. He was generous enough to even let you pass through the front door.

“So?” he asked, gauging your interest, watching as you looked down at the city from the large window nook in awe.

You softly scoffed, unable to take your eyes off the beautiful view calling to you like a siren at sea. “Um, I’m sorry, you had trouble finding a roommate, how?”

He crossed his arms, admiring the sight with you, glancing at you through his peripheral vision and grinning when he saw the childlike sparkle in your eyes. “I’m new to the city, and everyone I know here has their own living arrangements. I didn’t want to go too far in looking for a new roommate. I thought we'd work well together, since we’re based in the same city now and have a lot in common based on our conversations.”

“I almost killed you this morning,” You’ve pointed out to…death.

“Although you’re…impulsive and unpredictable, I’ve seen worse. I think I’ll manage.” He splayed his hand in front of you, gesturing for a shake to officially seal the deal. “What do you say? Do you still want to be roommates?”

Everything about this screamed it was a bad idea. Putting aside the fact that you nearly killed the man, you could barely stand in the presence of him without your mind drifting to dark waters. It didn’t take rocket science to understand that putting you in that same living quarters with Minghao meant you might have to live every day together with your hands tied behind your back and thighs taped shut. You’ve surprised yourself with how you’ve managed to keep your composure sharing the same air—the air you were even thinking of savoring as you contemplated this offer.

You were down-righteously-bad. You weren’t a fit roommate for Minghao in the slightest.

Yet, you took his hand, letting his cool palm clash with your warmth as his digits wrapped around you in a tight squeeze before shaking. “Let’s do it.”

And that marked the start of a new chapter of your life, unraveling the challenge of being Xu Minghao’s roommate. Only, he wasn’t the challenge. He was a breath of fresh autumn air. He was kind beyond words and accommodating in every step of your move. You were already familiar with his gentle and patient nature, as he had frequently taken the time to clarify complex ideas for class, and you’ve learned about the majority of his interests prior from your online discussions, but seeing PalE8’s traits in person—embodied in Minghao—was bizarre. You realized he was still a stranger after all. A stranger that claimed your breath with a single bat of his eyes and turned your stomach inside out worse than a bad case of food poisoning, no less.

Meanwhile, the neighbors knew him by name, were endeared by his presence, and found him to be a delightful conversationalist as well as a helping hand when the situation called for it. He was better than your friendly neighborhood spiderman. He was your kind, considerate, intricately woven, beautifully complex, and knees-bucklingly handsome Minghao.

You weren’t usually a sexual deviant, at least not to this extent, but Minghao brought something out of you that you hadn’t felt for another person. However, if you were going to live together, that had to change. This crush was going to have to dwindle out of existence if you wanted to live together—emphasis on you—in peace.

So, that’s when you decided to make a list of rules that only you had to follow. Sure, you were an adult, and the thought of giving yourself rules to keep your hands to yourself was juvenile and stupid, but for the sake of your sanity, you were looking for anything that might work. That’s when you decided to make a list of things “good roommates don’t do”, thinking it would be shorter and easier to sum up than a long redundant list of things good roommates would do, and the first thing to top the list was easy.

Good roommates don’t almost kill each other (again).

That seemed easy enough to remember, considering the first time was traumatic enough, and fortunately, it didn’t take too much effort, considering you hardly saw each other despite living together.

You ended up taking up more shifts at work, desperate enough to even join the catering team, to keep yourself busy and afford the new expense of rent, sacrificing a lot more of your free time. Meanwhile, Minghao’s work schedule was not only demanding, it was inconsistent. Working at a popular art gallery as an artist and attendant with frequent and erratic events to go to until late at night prompted your roommate to be seen home a lot less than expected. By the time either of you got home, there wouldn’t be so much of a hello or goodbye either, just the sounds of bodies falling on beds in either rooms as the day’s fatigue engulfed you until you succumbed to sleep.

You’d be lying if you said that you weren’t a little disappointed by these circumstances, but then again, perhaps it was a blessing in disguise. Seeing him as little as you did meant less opportunity for you to screw things up around him, because it seemed to happen quite frequently when he was around. The few times you did cross paths, you still found ways to humiliate yourself.

“That’s mine.”

You held the toothbrush mid-scrub, bubbles foaming at the corners of your mouth, “Eh?”

“I think you’re using my toothbrush.”

Your cheeks immediately grew warm, and you shielded your face with the back of your hand. You spat into the sink and splashed water on your face to rid yourself of toothpaste residue before turning back to respond, his words jumbling in your head and bouncing from corner to corner to process them. “I-I don’t think so, this is the one I always use.”

He snickered, leaning against the door frame and crossing his arms, delectably dressed down in a gray tank top and sweatpants. The tempting taste of domesticity was sweet and permeated your tastebuds. “If that’s the case, we’ve been sharing, because I’ve always kept my brush there in the marble cup. Yours should be behind the medicine cabinet where you first left it.”

“What? You sure?” you pinned the used toothbrush on the sink’s porcelain before cracking open the medicine cabinet. “I’m pretty sure I took it—Ah!”

Startled by your findings, you dropped the toothbrush you gripped in your hand onto the floor when you’ve proven Minghao right as his toothbrush fell to the ground, now defiled with your oral bacteria and whatever was on the floor. The one day you take a shift later than usual because a member begged to take on more shifts, it blew up in your face. Seokmin, you will rue the day. “I-I’ll clean it!” You offered in a panicked tone.

He pushed himself off the threshold, waving his hand dismissively. “Don’t, please. It’s dirty; I can just replace it.”

Filled with guilt, you stepped aside to watch him pick up the dirty brush before disposing of it in the waste bin, “Sorry.”

“You say that a lot.”

He pulled a fresh toothbrush out of a drawer and ripped it out of its packaging. It was notably identical to his previous and your current abandoned toothbrush, down to the bristles. “No worries. See,” he turned the new hygiene tool for inspection, “Clean.”

“Regret having me as a roommate yet?” you joked anxiously towards his reflection in the mirror.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Nothing I can’t manage. I lived in a boarding house full of guys that shared things without asking and it didn’t stop at toothbrushes. You’re the first roommate I’ve had that’s apologized. I say that’s an upgrade.”

He went on to brush his teeth with his newly obtained brush, christening the bristles with a squeeze of fluoride toothpaste before scrubbing against his pearly whites. He never ceased to amaze you with his aloof attitude towards the situation, as if he’d become accustomed to your chaos when he didn’t need to be at all. This situation, however, did indicate that you had another thing to be added to the list.

Good roommates don’t use each other’s toothbrush (even by accident)

In your room just before you left for work, you haphazardly added to the list you put on a crumpled piece of paper you kept in your wallet, ensuring you held your list close before setting the pen aside. Your heart pounded against your chest, thinking what that had meant all this time. How you’ve pretty much swapped saliva nearly every day with Minghao since moving in. The fact that it had gone on for so long repulsed you, but not anymore than the tiny part of yourself that maybe had always known and continued to do it.

You held your digits to your lips, brushing the pads against the slit of your mouth, ragged breaths slowly leaving your lungs as you reached your enamel. Tension pooled in your stomach as the images that infiltrated your dreams were currently being conjured in your consciousness, while arousal chased down your legs as you clenched them together. Jolted back to reality, you wound your eyes shut, remembering how little he cared about the matter, how nonchalant he was when he found out. Meanwhile, here you were: perverse, losing your mind, and letting your imagination run wild like a hormonal teenager with her celebrity crush.

Fuck. You needed a night out. You had been cooped up in the apartment for too goddamn long. The only other place you went was work, and knowing labor laws, they had to give you a night or two off for all the time you’d been putting in. There was a whole outside world, and you needed to buck up and take advantage of it. You had to do something other than fawn over your very hot roommate. Losing some spare change was worth the sanity. At least, you hoped it was.

“You going out tonight?”

Hearing a familiar tenor voice, your head lifted up from fixing the strap of your shoes to see him remove his coat and store it away in the front entrance closet. “Oh, you’re home,” you stated.

“Yeah. The gallery is closed tonight for a bigger show this weekend, so I have a couple days where I’m off earlier than usual.”

More time for Minghao to be at home. Great.

You nodded, keeping your cool at the sight of his turtleneck hugging his lean and toned frame, making your heart work overtime in place of you this evening. “I see, but yeah. A couple of my friends and I are trying out that new place that just opened up in midtown.”

“Oh, let me know how that goes. Me and some friends had plans to go there too.”

“Okay.” You hurried your way to the door. “Don’t wait up.”

“Wait.”

Hand on the door knob, you cursed under your breath, squeezing your eyes shut as if bracing for impact before opening them, and turned around with an innocuous expression. “Yes?”

He held out his hand. “Your phone please.”

“Hmm? Why,” you asked, unlocking it before complying.

He smiled accepting it, before swiping his fingers off the screen. “I’m sending myself your location.”

And there your heart when pitter-patter again at thoughtful and kind hot as fuck Minghao. “I just told you where I’d be.”

“That could always change. Here,” he said, handing your phone back, beaming back at you warmly. “Just in case something happens, and you can always call me if you feel unsafe, okay?”

You gave a soft pout, cheeks growing warm at the thought of Minghao’s concern over you. It pleased you more than it should’ve. “Thanks. What are you gonna do tonight?”

He shrugged, taking a quick glance over his shoulder. “Maybe do some light reading and tea, paint if inspiration hits me.”

You gave a small grin, thinking just how Minghao those activities sound. “Sounds enlightening. Okay. I’ll be home soon.”

“Be safe.”

Even long after you’d left, you kept thinking about that interaction. How domestic it felt, how safe it made you feel, how seen you really were. It made you wonder if he was tracking you right now, looking at his phone, staring at the dot indicating where you were located. You wondered if he was thinking about you right now, because you were most certainly thinking about him.

Your mission of trying to forget Minghao by going out definitely was not working, but you took that as a sign to keep drinking. Your friends didn’t get to see you often with how much you worked, so they were just happy to see you were having a good time, not knowing you were trying to drown out the consuming thoughts of a certain man with a peculiar color scheme.

They wouldn’t have known the way you let yourself get felt up by a stranger near the dance floor, standing so close you could smell the knock off cologne he was practically bathing in as his breath hung in the air against your neck. When it went nowhere, he eventually left, looking for prospects elsewhere, while you stuck to your mission, seeing it work at some point at night. Until it didn’t, but you didn’t remember because eventually it’d all fade to black.

Your eyes ripped open, waking up with the biggest headache, blinded by the natural rays of light bleeding through blinds—only your room didn’t have blinds. You specifically made sure to have blackout curtains because you couldn’t stand waking up to the sun, and that hasn’t ever changed. Grumbling irritatingly along the lines about who turned on the lights, you flipped on the other side of the bed with a half awoken daze, your blurry vision making out a lumpy figure underneath the covers.

You drew closer in confusion, trying to make sense of what you were seeing before taking in the fact the lump had a face as blinding as the sun you turned away from, startling you upon recognition. Your eyes shot open, wide awake now, and you nearly stumbled out of the mattress before his arms grabbed you, latching on you before you could fall off and safely secured you in his tucked embrace.

“It’s a bit early for your charming antics, isn’t it?” Minghao chucked with closed eyes.

You blinked back at him, licking your lips anxiously. “How am I here right now?”

His eyes slowly opened, adjusting to the light. “You mean alive or in bed with me?”

Your cheeks grew hot. “B-both.”

“I wish I had an answer for the first question, but it seems your creator had more plans for you. As for your second concern, you seemed confused and tired, and I assumed you confused this bed for yours.”

“You should’ve kicked me out.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, rubbing his hands over your shoulders and sending a chill down your spine. “I didn’t want to wake you up.”

You let out a soft sigh, ridden with guilt. “I’d deserve it. I must’ve been annoying to deal with.”

He knitted his brows together, the corner of his lips softly turning down. “You really don’t like yourself.”

“No—well, maybe not lately. Maybe I’m just coming to the realization I’m not a good roommate.”

“No one is good at anything their first time.”

“You’re not denying it!”

“You’re a fine roommate.” Patting you on the back, he threw off the covers and pushed himself out of bed, leaving his room to trod toward the kitchen. You followed after curiously, like a duckling that imprinted on its mother, watching as he pulled out ingredients from the fridge’s shelves. “Anything you’re allergic to?” He asked over his shoulder.

“Nothing comes to mind.” You answered hesitantly.

“Good. The recipe is fairly easy anyway, it shouldn’t kill you.”

Your eyes widened and you quickly stood by his side as he set all the items down, he followed with gathering bowls and cookware. “You’re cooking for me?”

“Mmh-hmm.”

“You don’t have to.”

He turned his head slightly. “You have a headache, don’t you?”

“Yes but—”

“It’s just egg drop soup.” He patted your shoulder nodding his head over at the counter stool either of you would often have breakfast. “Sit. It’ll be done in a few minutes.”

You sat patiently by the counter, watching him chop and throw ingredients into a small pot, which filled your shared residence with a savory aroma. As soon as he was done, he presented the dish in front of you, garnishing it with fresh chopped scallions and parsley. He picked up a serving with a soup spoon and gently blew on the top before taking a quick sample and grinning at the result. Scooping with the same spoon, he held a serving towards you with proud eyes.

“Try it,” he urged.

As you accepted the offering, you tried not to think about how you were about to share yet another household item that would enter both your mouths and let the simple flavors fan out on your tongue, the warmth of soup dispersing throughout your body. You hummed in delight, already feeling it work its magic. “It’s delicious,” you said softly.

He grinned. “Feel better.”

“Thanks, Minghao.”

“No problem at all.”

As you enjoyed your thoughtful breakfast, your roommate cleaned up his mess. He wiped down whatever residue was left behind before heading to his room and coming out properly dressed in brown slacks and muted green patterned sweater when you were just about done eating. “Heading to work now.”

“You had work?” You asked surprised, “Why did you waste time cooking? You could have left already.”

He softly scoffed heading to the door. “I spent—what, five or ten minutes? It’s fine. See you later.”

In the last 24 hours, Minghao managed to make sure you were safe by tracking your location, gave you a good night's rest by not disrupting your sleep, and made you breakfast right before work. Then there’s you, black out drunk with almost no memory of last night (probably good you didn’t), annoying your overly nice and overly hot roommate, hogging a bed that isn’t yours, and eating a home cooked meal that probably set back his schedule. You were the worst. All the more reason for a new addition to the list.

Good roommates don't sleep in their other roommate’s bed piss drunk (again)

It seemed that this list of “don’ts” was getting longer, probably because you’re an awful roommate, and if there was a reward, yours would already be at the front door. You really, really had to make an effort to do something about this arrangement. Now that some time had passed and these interactions were becoming more frequent, avoiding him seemed to be out of question unless you wanted to give him the wrong impression. You would just have to become a better roommate, and that started with making up for this morning.

In the following months together, to atone for the bed incident and good deeds that followed suit, you shared the occasional breakfast if you had time (that is if you didn’t burn anything), even sometimes grabbing dinner or a late meal in the small gap before or after work. While in the late hours, when both of you should’ve been sleeping, you’d have a cup of your favorite beverages. He’d have his brew of tea for the night while you’d have a mug of coffee, awake under the stars and basking in the night, watching from the nook that you both grew fond of that was in the direction of the moon when it’s at its peak.

Of all people to share these moments with, you couldn’t imagine it with anyone else but Minghao. He was the peace amongst the chaos, the quiet you came home to after dealing with the noisy world that helped you heal like nothing else. You liked that about him, and now you were liking him too much, to the point you thought of him every day. What it’d be like for him to hold you in his arms, letting his warmth envelop your entire being the way his voice naturally does with a simple “it’s okay.”

You’d imagine how he’d look at you, how lovers do when they ache for one another so desperately they could feel it down to every atom. You’d thought of the words he’d say to you, the words he’d say to someone he’s madly, irrevocably besotted with, and every letter and word and sentence would be spoken poetry. He’d feel like love. You didn’t think it was possible for you to grow more attracted to him, but learning all these wonderful things he does and seeing up close and personal how beautiful inside and out he was, you were developing feelings and growing all these desires that you were ashamed to admit out loud.

And with that, you pulled out your list and a pen, jotting in a new item.

Good roommates don’t live in every waking moment staring at them or thinking about wanting to kiss them (no matter how hard it is)

You’ve lost count of how many times you’ve already broken that rule, but the least you could do was hold yourself accountable.

However, writing the rule didn't prevent future instances. Not from fantasizing, not from wet dreams, not from imagining a life together where you rid all your inhibitions and clothes and succumb to drowning in each other. Unlike every other rule that you’ve managed to avoid, this one was the outlier, flipping your world on its head and preoccupying every second of your thoughts with all things Xu Minghao. And what sucked was you were so guilt ridden, you couldn't even let yourself enjoy it.

This was your roommate for crying out loud. Your wholesome, nice, forgiving, and tolerant roommate that went beyond what was necessary to make you feel at home and comfortable. Only time will tell when he’ll see through you and finally kick you to the curb.

“Let’s go out.”

Your head lifted up from your phone with eyes large as saucers. “What?”

“We haven't really done anything together,” he suggested, cleaning up the dishes of the dinner you both had just had.

It was one of the few nights that you were both free. The coffee shop had more than enough staff, and you’ve exhausted the hours put in, while the art gallery was planning a grand exhibition, so they needed all hands on deck for the mornings for a few weeks, but evenings would be free until the week of. That left you two a lot more free time than you knew what to do with.

“We see each other all the time,” you pointed out.

“At home. We don’t hang outside the apartment aside from that one dinner the first day we met, so let’s go out.”

You blinked, watching him grab his coat before you could argue as he waved you over, his smile luring you closer and putting you under his spell without you realizing until it was too late. “Uh, where? It’s 9PM.”

“Anywhere.”

For someone who had only arrived in town a couple months ago, Minghao knew a lot of the good spots in the city. If it wasn’t food, it was book stores. If it wasn’t book stores, it was tea shops. He had a clear plan of the city, and without so much looking at a GPS, he could find his way around better than any native. And considering all the people he came with that day you met the coffee shop and all the staff at the Chinese restaurant, his index didn’t stop at places. He seemed more familiar with the people in your hometown than you were. Between you two, he looked like the real local.

Walking alongside your roommate, you turned to him curiously, “How do you know the city so well when you’ve moved in somewhat recently?”

He gave a soft smile looking into the distance, as if the gust of wind that passed through you both hit him with a wave of nostalgia. “I’ve been visiting for about four years. I only had the guts to become a resident recently.”

“Why’d it take you so long?”

“Student visa processes, paper work, all those things. Also, this city is great, and everyone I've met and have become close with is amazing, but home is just home. It’s all I’ve ever known.” He let out a deep sigh, taking in a deep breath before stretching out his arms and let fall back to his sides, turning slightly to you. “This country and town has become a second, though, some things even my home can’t beat.”

You mused at that, intrigued that he could find something appealing in here, then again you've been here all your life, yet Minghao showed you more you could ever imagine of it. “Like what?”

He simply smiled as their feet stopped at their final destination, a location they both aimlessly walked towards just a little off the center of the town. “I’ll tell you, as soon as we try this place out.”

Just off the center of town was a bar you had never heard of with a theme you’d never thought to put together on your own and definitely a place you’d never think to walk into with your roommate you were trying to keep platonic feelings for.

“Hey sexy babies, welcome to the Love in Leather BDSM Bar, where all your sexy dreams can come true.”

Oh, my god.

You were petrified. Every wall was decorated with leather or latex, either on display in a box, on a vulgarly displayed mannequin, or on an employee that was dressed in next to nothing, leaving no room for imagination. You weren’t shy about the theme of BDSM—there was always a small part of you curious about it—but it’s not like you’ve talked extensively about it with Minghao. The same person you were trying really hard not to think about sleeping with, which was especially hard in a place that served ‘cum shots’ and with their special for tonight being ‘buttery nipples.’

Glancing back at your roommate to get his reaction, he seemed to be just as startled with his findings as you were, but perhaps not as terrified as he should be, taking you by the wrist and weaving through the crowd with a marveled expression. You were grateful for the loud music playing the explicit versions of songs you wouldn’t otherwise hear on the radio, drowning out the sound of your heavy breathing and the loud thrum of your heart. You just had hoped he couldn’t feel your pulse under his fingertips, unable to untangle from his grasp as you felt the heat of his touch spread out through your whole body. You were trapped in a web you didn’t want to leave and that was the hardest kind to be in.

Suddenly, lights poured on the center stage of the bar. The music then slowed down, transitioning to another song, and a scantily leather clad woman entered that would erupt cheers of all clients seated in the chairs in front of her, to which she sent an air kiss and wink. Following the crowd, both you and Minghao decided to cheer along with them, your sounds of encouragement drowned out in the more enthusiastic and obscenely creative audience members of the establishment. Walking across the stage, she made a show of it, caressing her body in ways that would have a man on his knees howling at the moon (which you swore you heard once or twice in there) as money was thrown strewn stage like confetti, enough to pay for a few nice dinners uptown. After garnering the excitement, she descended down the steps of the stage, walking into her live audience. Her eyes skimmed through the endless crowds of people, landing on and picking one lucky front row member—a young, spry man no older than twenty-five—and brought him on stage, ensuing roars and applause, indicating the start of the real show.

What happened next was something you did not want to get into detail, but in layman’s terms, that audience member was having the time of his life with the use of a flog while everyone watched. You could only make the distinction of excruciating pain and pleasurable pain by the very loud affirmations coming out of his mouth and bouncing off the board he face planted on, and the words that passed through one of your ears and never wanted to come out the other. You were slack jawed from the scene, not at all expecting this scene today, and holy shit, you could not feel more suffocated knowing Minghao was witnessing all of this beside you.

He stared back at the scene, expression unreadable, but he seemed interested and unable to look away like it was an oncoming train wreck, looking as if he was stuck on the tracks and was making sense of what he was seeing. Suddenly, his eyes locked with yours and you watched as they softened with a glint of something behind them before you swiveled your head, feeling yourself burn from your face to your ears, clenching your free hand. This felt eerily like a date, but unlike the first dinner, this felt like a real one. An immense sexually charged one.

You were surrounded by sex at all angles, being tested to the most extreme degree. Tonight, you’ve learned dominance wasn’t particularly your thing, but if it were Minghao, perhaps you wouldn’t have minded.

But this, this was overwhelming. As if sensing your turmoil, Minghao tugged your wrist, making you fix your gaze on him again and read the words that he mouthed from his lips. “Time to run.”

Your fingers interlocked and feet picked up speed as you headed toward the door, running aimlessly for miles out of the bar in fits of smiles and laughter. There was no plan and no destination, you both just wanted out, and you’d only stop running when you reached a bridge, both your bodies collapsing against the metal railing. You both gave out in heavy pants, your breaths mingling as you faced one another.

“That’s crazy,” you managed to rasp. “Why did we think we could go in there?”

He gave you a tired grin back, looking in the direction from which you came. The light layer of perspiration made his shirt cling to his skin, and you get a sliver of his chest as he aired it out for comfort. “I don’t know. Try something new, but that.” He pointed where he faced. “That’s how I know so many places, I just walk inside.”

You ran your hand over your chest, baring the biggest grin. “Gosh. I feel like dying.”

“Iced coffee?” He kindly suggested.

“And tea?” You cared to offer.

Nodding back at each other, you both decided to walk the rest of the way back around, making a stop at a light night cafe and occupying their second floor balcony to taste the crisp air. As you sipped on your iced coffee and Minghao sipped on his warm tea, you quietly basked in the moonlit sky, as you’d done many times before. The adrenaline of tonight coursed through you still while you leaned against the railings and stared up at the stars, your elbows grazing close enough to spark that electricity that you’d feel whenever he ever got too close. This time, you were too tired to fight it, or you learned it’s about time you stopped trying to.

“I don’t drink coffee.” He abruptly confessed, penetrating the silence.

You softly scoffed, turning your head to him, taking his reminder as a jab for your ‘inferior’ tastes before taking a bigger sip of your delicious fresh roast press. “I know that. You prefer tea.”

“I mean, I don’t drink coffee, but the day you ‘saved me,’ I did.”

You hummed. “Oh. Yeah, you did. Funny. You got a coffee that day instead?”

He shook his head, smiling. “No, ask me why I drank coffee that day.”

You rolled your eyes, placing your drink on the side table before leaning your elbows over the railing. “Okay. Why did you drink coffee, Minghao?”

“I drank my friend’s mug on accident, thinking it was my tea, then tasted how scaldingly hot and wretched it was—”

You gasped, offended as a barista, “I work really hard on those!”

He waved his hand to calm you down. “Let me finish. I mistook my normal tea for coffee…all because I got distracted, unable to stop thinking about the cute barista who wouldn't quit staring at me from behind the counter.”

“...I apologize for being a creep.”

He shook his head smiling and set his tea cup aside. “Not my point.”

You stared into the contents of your drink, shaking the ice inside as you stirred the straw, trying to find any remains of your beverage and stalling for time to follow up with a response. Lips pressed in a firm line, you glanced at him from the corner of your eye, silence met on the other end as he keenly observed you, mirroring your posture while he sipped his tea. “So…You thought I was cute,” you managed to sum up.

“Thought…think…know.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?” You timidly asked.

“We’re roommates,” he reminded you, plain as day. “We should be honest with each other, right?”

“Honest,” you repeated, lethally soft.

“Yes, honest,” he confirmed just as quietly. “Don’t be afraid to tell me whatever is on your mind, just as I’ve told you what was on my mind.”

His honesty was cute, flattering. Your honesty could write up a restraining order. “Is that necessary? We only really live together.”

“It’s necessary because we live together, so yes, be honest about your feelings. Let me in on your thoughts, whatever they may be.”

Good roommates don’t forget to be honest about each other’s feelings.

He stood in front of you dangerously close, the lingering smell of his cologne that reminded you of the ocean wafting into your nose as he drew near. His gaze beckoned you close without so much a word passing through his lips, and you felt his presence close in on the distance as he leaned against the railing. You softly batted your eyes, adjusting to your sense being overtaken by all things Minghao, mind just filled to the brim with Minghao, as if you couldn’t get enough of him.

“You’re really committed to being a good roommate. I respect that,” you stated, harshly gulping. “Honesty. Where can I start?”

“Well, what are you thinking about right now?” He asked, face mere inches away from you, lips so plush you let out a wistful sigh.

“I’m thinking that…it’s really hard to think with your face so close in front of me.”

Despite that, he didn’t move, and instead he pushed a lock of your hair behind your ear, brushing against your helix to feel your flustered warmth bloom between his fingers. “Fair enough. What else?”

You wrapped your hand around the railing, stabling yourself on the floor in hopes of not falling over on your two feet, your breath being stolen in real time by your roommate who was looking more and more inviting by the second.

“And if I knew any better, I’d think you're about to kiss me.”

“Let’s wager that then,” he said as he reeled even closer, his fingertips once in your ears now guiding your chin, letting the surface of your lips feel the ghost of his as your breaths mingled against one another. “You can predict one of two things. One, I kiss you. Or two, I pull away. You get a prize if your answer is correct.”

“How is that a fair wager? You can easily change your response depending on how I answer,” you pointed out, ultimately playing along.

“I won’t,” he reassured in a coaxingly smooth tone. “I’ve made my choice.”

You raised a brow, attempting to look only subtly intrigued when in reality you’ve let him enchant you. “What’s my prize?”

“Loser grants whatever the winner wishes.”

“That’s irresponsible.”

“Knowing you, your request would be far from unreasonable.”

“I’m talking about you.” You narrowed your eyes, swallowing at seeing him come at you so close. “But, okay. I’ll play.”

The corner of his lips lifted mischievously, tilting his head to the side as his eyes narrowed back at you. “So, what’s your answer?”

Your eyes flickered up to him, rounded up in intrigue as you tried to follow his gaze. “You’ll…pull away. Public displays of affection are cute, but maybe not your cup of tea, at least not grand ones like kissing, unless maybe it’s one the cheek or on the forehead.”

He smiled and gently tilted his head, eyes piercing into yours and taking a sharp breath before pulling away, crossing his arms with a soft pout on his lips. “You’re good.”

You felt the sting of rejection despite your victory, as if you’d hoped you’d be wrong. That he’d take you right there against the railing and give you a fervid kiss that broke you down to your knees and you could even taste in your dreams, but a win was a win. A predicted loss was better than a false victory.

“I guess I won.”

He sighed defeatedly, crossing his arms. “You did. So tell me, what desire would you like for me to fulfill for you?”

You shuddered at his choice of words, clamping your legs together. “Well, what would you have wanted me to do if I got the answer wrong?”

“Is that your wish? For me to answer the question?”

You softly scoffed. “Don’t be so cheap.”

He rolled his eyes before taking a sip of his tea, “Doesn’t matter, you didn’t get it wrong. You get the wish. So go on, tell me your wish.”

“…Fine. Grant me your wish as if you had won.”

“You want me to grant my own wish? That defeats the entire purpose,” he chortled with knitted brows.

“It’s my wish, so come on. What’s your wish?”

“You don’t have to do this.”

“And we didn't have to place bets, but it doesn't seem like there’s any rules against it, so go ahead. Tell me.”

Minghao sucked his teeth before complying. “Fine.”

He moved toward you, hands settling over your hips and settling you on the floor beneath your feet as he gravitated toward, steadying his gaze on you. His face, inches away from you, and your breath hitched in your throat as he drew his lips near your ear. You heard the subtle squelch of his tongue as they licked his teeth, moments before the wish he dared you to grant poured out from his lush lips. “My wish is for you to…make me tea every morning, afternoon, evening, and every time I ask you to. Like my little tea gremlin.”

“Now that’s just evil, Xu Minghao,” You protested, lightly shoving him off.

He laughed. “No, it’s not! Think of it like pour over coffee.”

“Don’t try romanticizing it like it’s anything like my beautiful beans. Tea is tea. Coffee is coffee.”

“It was your wish to grant my wish.”

“Can I take it back?” You whined.

“It’d be dishonorable.”

You groaned. “Fine.”

He chuckled, “Let’s go home, hmm?”

Heading back home, you were embraced by a warm comfortable silence. There was a kind of silence that sanctioned your amicable living arrangement with Minghao to turn into something warmer, feverish even, something that you can’t even help but notice and your hands would occasionally graze one another on the way back, taking turn exchanging timid glances at you walked your path home.

“That was fun,” You admitted, taking off your shoes at the front door.

“Yeah, I think so. We should do it more often.”

You smiled at each other’s reflections as you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, seeing you take the same tube of toothpaste and started brushing your teeth. You smiled as he purposely bumped into you, raising his eyebrow as you stared pointedly at him in the mirror, not expecting you to retaliate with a light shove. Ensuing a nudging war, you attacked each other’s shoulders, getting caught in fits of giggles before you forced yourselves to split up, knowing nothing would get done if you both let it go on.

“Do you work tomorrow?” You asked through the gaping door of your room as he cleared a glass a water before bedtime, freshly out of a shower and the smell of his clean, light fragrance was beguiling even from a distance.

“Yeah. Do you?”

“Yeah.”

“Mmh.” He stalked over in your direction, a feign innocent smile on his lips. “That's too bad. We only really have nights like these together, it seems at least only for a little while.”

“It is,” You said, lathering up the last bit of lotion up your legs, feeling his eyes on you as they traveled the path of your hands.

The silence engulfed you, as if both of you were waiting for the other to make a sudden move, yet both of you remained still. Like a predator with its prey, unsure who was who, you both stood with uncertainty and palpable tension hanging in the air, waiting for the other to strike when the moment was right. Even the usually confident Minghao stood back as he observed you from a distance, eyes flickering over at you as you strided slowly towards him guarded with crossed arms.

“I guess, I’ll go to sleep now,” You finally said.

His gaze softened, nodding. “Okay,” he smiled, “good night.”

“Good night, Minghao. Sleep well.”

If only you had taken your own words to heart.

That night, you couldn’t help but stare back at the ceiling, fiddling with the covers as the night’s events replayed in your head like a home movie, your thoughts traveling at a million miles a minute, too fast for you to stop and collect them—let alone process them—and stole your precious slumber. So, as you lay in bed awake at night, squeezing your eyes shut and waiting for the night to take you, waiting for the fatigue and sleep to come, it never arrived. Instead, your eyes ripped open, heart pounding in your chest as you sat up from the mattress and tore the covers off your body. Your legs pushed you off the bed and lifted yourself off, carrying yourself out the room and out the hallway with determined steps until faltering at the threshold of another front door before you softly knocked.

You turned the knob, the door creaked open and you peeked your head through to see your roommate on the other end in bed, torso visibly bare as he slowly sat up at his late night intrusion. “Hey,” He mumbled, rubbing his eyes. “You’re up.”

“I think it’s the coffee,” you excused, clutching the edge of the door, “I can’t sleep.”

Wordlessly, he nodded, stretching an arm to beckon you towards him, and you slowly inched closer to him until you were completely under the covers. Occupying the space beside him, you nestled into the contours of his body as his arm cushioned the side of your head before facing one another, silence enveloping you. The only sound that bit into the silence was muted traffic, infinitely alive outside the walls of your confines. While it looked peaceful, and you felt as though you could melt into his arms, neither of you looked as if you were trying to sleep.

Rather, you stared at one another, making sleep even harder to attain as you traced every feature and took them in as if they were brushstrokes on a painting. Minghao may have worked with art every day, but he was a work of art in his own right, and you couldn’t help favor him above all others. You didn’t need a Van Gogh or Picasso, you had an original, a one of a kind Minghao.

And that’s when you saw his eyes begin to drift, lowering to the bottom half of your face, lips parting in intrigue as his breath fanned lightly against your cheeks. Your face flush in response, pushing your bottom lip between your teeth before they were caught, finding yourself doing the same with him and watching his mouth move in anticipation. You felt your pulse in your throat as much as you felt it between your legs, feeling arousal pooling and soaking your shorts.

“Do you want to wager another bet?” Minghao softly offered.

“What kind?” You breathed.

“The same bet, same prize. Do you think I’ll kiss you, or will I pull away?”

You mused at him, fingers extending toward him reluctantly, aiming for a lock of his hair laying stray on his forehead before smoothing it over his head, softly stroking him, feeling him lean into your touch. “Hmm, this time you’ll…kiss me,” you whispered with absolute certainty. “The tension is practically eating you alive.”

A grin stretched wide across his cheeks as a hand softly clasped over your face, thumb swiping across your cheek. “Right again.”

He closed the gap, slotting his lips between yours and languidly moving against you, letting you chase after his pace. You sighed against him, feeling his hand on your hip as he pulled your torso against his, the other rested against the nape of your neck as he reveled in your heat. Hands flying in his hair, you softly moaned as he kneaded your skin, feeling him trace the inside of your mouth with his tongue before he roughly pulled your weight from the mattress to topple you over him, letting your legs card between his.

“Minghao,” you quietly sounded against his lips, crushing your hips against his groin and hearing his sweet moan in response.

His muscles tensed as you pressed against him, while his legs clung to your thighs. His hands ran over the shape of your figure, unearthing an ungodly moan from your lips as he slipped beneath your shorts, etching over the curve of your ass and claiming your raw flesh in his hands, pushing you against him assertively.

You whimpered, grinding against him. “I know my wish.”

“Anything,” He tenderly mumbled.

“Call off work tomorrow.”

He smiled against your lips, bringing one of his knees to pin your bodies closer together. “Means you should too.”

“Oh, definitely,” You confirmed before reconnecting your mouths in a frenzied liplock.

Feeling the grind of your hips as his pelvis crushed against yours, his grunts slipped through every caress as his hand moved up your back. Soon, you started feeling something you had yet to see from Minghao in all your time living with him, the part of him you managed to evade but have envisioned a multitude of times, growing in his sweatpants and rubbing against your thigh the closer your bodies were.

“I have never wanted someone so bad,” He whispered in a soft ache.

His hands crept underneath your shirt, brushing against your skin, pressing against the small of your back. Pressing his torso towards you, his erection adhered to your thigh, the tension coiling in your stomach burned like wildfire, at an unstoppable rage. “Minghao,” you mewled, impatience singeing on your tongue.

“Somehow, I can still taste coffee on your breath, but I don't really mind it. It tastes really good on you,” He admitted before kissing you deeper, his moans buzzing against your mouth, hungry and alive as his hands dug into your flesh with utter greed.

“You taste really good too.” Your hand body scoured south, cupping his size under your palm and tasting his gasp as you sucked him between your lips. “I wonder what else tastes good.”

“You are something else,” he mumbled, through quiet chuckles. “Just like you to act on impulse.”

You let out a light scoff. “You are so—”

“Don’t start things you can’t finish,” he softly warned with a smirk.

“I’m not the one you have to worry about finishing.”

You moved down, the covers draped over your head as you kept your eyes on him and resting on the hem of his sweats. Minghao’s breath hitched in his throat, gulping while he felt your nails lightly claw against his bare torso, tugging the waistband off the tent he forged, revealing the lack of underwear and restraint he had left, now sprung against your face.

“Shit,” you said grinning, claiming him by the shaft, thumbing over the precum glistening at the tip. “Even your cock looks pretty.”

A soft pink decorated his cheeks and a hand meekly shielded part of his face. “You staring is how I got myself hurt in the first place.”

“Then I’ll be careful not to hurt you this time—that is, unless you want me to.”

You spat on his cock, a translucent ribbon stretching from your tongue to his length. Your saliva lubing your knuckles, you squeezed his girth in your grip as you stroked and felt him pulse in your hands, growing bigger the tighter you clenched. Minghao’s arms propped himself up and behind him as his chest heaved, blood pumping with every drag of your fingers, shallow breaths slipping out of him as he fisted the sheets beneath him.

You kissed the curve of the head, lips pursed to wrap lightly around him, suckling down his shaft, and feeling him twitch against your mouth when you chuckled. He softly whined, his hand extended toward you to tenderly caress the side of your head and tacitly pleading with you as you teased him. Showing him mercy, you took him with an eager mouth, closing your lips around his cock as you steadied your gaze on him. Moans vibrating around his girth, your tongue tucked on the underside of his shaft, hands wrapped tightly around his base.

“Mmmh like that.” He swallowed, exhaling through his teeth the deeper you took him. His abdomen flexing overtly as you moaned around him, vibrated against his skin, your pink muscle tracing over his veins as you worked your jaw to hug a tighter grip. “God, you’re perfect. Don’t stop, please…” he panted.

He palmed at your hair headily, his motor skills not properly functioning as he sucked in his breath, feeling his presence explore deeper. He leveraged his hips to regain some ounce of control, but the sounds of moisture and squelching burned his ears, and the heart in his chest was running like a marathon. His eyes, fluttering in and out of focus, trained his gaze on you while his stomach tensed, grasping the vision of you getting wide-eyed and bold as you gingerly ate him alive. Burning the image into his retinas, it made him want to explode inside you.

Threading through your hair, he pulled them up and off your shoulders, showing off your pretty features, doing everything in his power not to give his climax an early appearance. “I’ve never seen such a pretty mouth take my cock so well. Then again, I’ve never had a pretty roommate like you, or anyone like you.”

Flustered from the flattery, you sucked him like your life depended on it as you grew hot, making Minghao’s task to regain control strenuous to achieve. You hollowed out your cheeks, leaving no room to breathe, and felt him in your throat as your vision rolled to behind your skull to the point your language deduced to the sounds of gagging. You gripped his hips, nails plunged into his flesh as your drool dribbled down his groin, slobbering over his cock in an erratic, hungry mess.

“Yes, like that. My god,” He praised through ragged breaths, hips jerking gently up into you. He lightly threw his head back, the urge to ram himself down your throat getting exceedingly more tempting, but he suppressed it as he dug his nails into his own palms. “I’m so close to cumming, can I–in your mouth or should I…?”

You hummed a confirmation before you swallowed him whole until you met the base, meeting his groin as he vanished inside you, breathing oxygen not even an afterthought. Images in front of you dulled in color, pictures shapeless and unclear, and you pushed past your boundaries to let him find home in your mouth, deeply intent with him finishing inside you one way or the other.

“F…f…fuck...”

Pleasure rippling through him, Minghao pushed himself up from his position, thrusting weakly as he cradled your head, pouring his thick, ivory load into your mouth, which was insistent on receiving every drop. He filled your cheeks, allowing warmth to coat the inside of your mouth as he tenderly stroked your hair in gratitude. Cupping your cheeks as he let his hips falter, he gently pulled himself out of your mouth, amused at how carefully you were trying to not let any of his cum seep past your lips as you sat between his legs.

His fingers danced under your chin. “Are you gonna swallow?” Minghao tiredly chuckled.

With smiling eyes, you tilted your head, as if asking if you should.

He pushed your hair behind you, softly pressing his lips against your tightly shut lips. “Don’t if you don’t want to.”

An idea occurred to you then, and in an instant you pushed yourself up to board him as your knees took either side of him, looming over him. His hands naturally found your waist as you lifted his chin, eyes staring at you curiously as his hands ran up body and gently clawed down, awaiting your next move. You then thumbed over his bottom lip before dipping between the slit of his mouth and saw it naturally part, taking the digit and settling it between his teeth.

Now confidently, you lowered your head, swirling the contents in your mouth before pushing your thumb deeper, prying the entrance wider, and finding no protest as he sanctioned it. He dug the pads of his digits into your flesh in anticipation. His eyes fluttering, he watched as your mouth withdrew the generous gift he gave to you before you gave it right back to him as it gracefully streamed down on his pulsing, eager tongue. And nothing satisfied you more than hearing him sigh wistfully as it landed.

It sent you shivers how beautiful he looked despite how vulgar the act was. Only Xu Minghao could make tasting his own cum look so ethereal, and it only made you wonder what other things a face this beautiful was willing to do. You swiped whatever fell from the corner of his lips with your thumb, sucking the residue like leftovers before you connected your mouths, sharing and tasting his lewd tang in violent swirls, and pulling away to watch it stretch between your tongues.

“I guess toothbrushes aren’t the only things you like to share,” Minghao teased before pushing you on your back, grinding his resurrecting arousal against your clothed heat and lathering the thick, viscous substance flat between your tongues in your mouths as it dribbled down your chins until there was nothing but slobber. It was a mess, and the most unmannerly you’ve ever seen him, and you’ve never been more turned on.

“My turn.”

With a rough hand, he tugged you by your legs towards him, hearing you let out a yelp, and shoved down your shorts to expose your glistening, mouth-watering, arousal soaked entrance. Be still his heart. He felt himself throb seeing you ruin his bed, but hell if he wasn't going to be sucking those juices out of the sheets until he’d tasted every drop.

He kicked off his sweats, leaving him entirely vulnerable while you witnessed his cock slowly twitch back to life before he laid on his stomach between your arched legs. “If we want to talk about pretty things, your pussy is high up on that list.”

Not waiting for a response, he licked a thick stripe up your inner thigh, flickering over your folds before sucking them in his mouth, using the tip of his tongue to tease your entrance. He felt the flutter of your core before spitting, lathering at the juices, coating at entrance but not peeking to see what was inside. “You’re already so wet, fuck.”

“Hao…” You whined.

“Mmmh, I love how you sound,” he chuckled, running long strokes up your slit, wedged through you with every swipe, looking arm around your leg to hold you in place as his thumb brushed over your clit. “Are your moans always this delicious? Or are they reserved for when you’re thinking about me?”

Shaking your head, you were too turned on to answer verbally, while his mouth closed around your clit and sucked, utilizing his fingers to assume their previous position. You clenched your stomach, fisting into the sheets as you spread your legs, feeling them already clam up from the tension as his tongue flicked against your sensitive bud in unison with his fingers twisted up into, and you couldn’t help but writhe underneath him.

“Yes, spread those pretty legs for me,” he encouraged with a haughty smile before burying his face, his moans vibrating up your walls as his tongue massaged your walls and tasted your cock pulsing nectar, sending chills up your spine.

You mewled, and feeling reserved, you held your hands up to your face to shield the tears collecting at your eyes threatening to fall, but Minghao grabbed you by the wrists, roughly pinning them to the bed.

His eyes narrowed back at you before softening almost menacingly, “Don’t cover your pretty face, watch me.”

“But—”

“I want you to watch me fuck your pretty pussy with my mouth. Don’t make me say it twice.” He warned before he got you a quiet nod, earning you a kiss against your inner thigh.

His hand flattened against your inner thighs again, pressing them further away from another and delving his tongue deeper as he rubbed your clit, working your insides until he tasted every inch of you possible. He buried his face, but his eyes were clear, staring at you as he worked his jaw, engorging with his mouth that sent you above and beyond and his eyes that saw you at the result of your undoing. You had no choice but to cling on, freeing yourself from his grasp to have your fingers fly in his hair, navigating him as you took him for a joy ride, his tongue shifting gears as it picked up pace.

“S-shit!” You rolled your hips, threading your fingers through his locks and clamping his head between your thighs as you pushed him deeper.

“Yes, ride my face—fuck, use me, please,” he pleaded in a cracked voice, pouring his heart into his feast until he was practically suffocating, worth it to worship you and bring you to the highest peak of your pleasure.

Your legs trembled as his moans infiltrated your heat, the intense flicks of his tongue titillating you to the brink of ecstasy until he used it to fuck you in time with his fingers thrusting inside, clutching you as you held him in place and grinding against him. “My god, Hao!”

Hips shaking, you bucked into his mouth, and even after your release, he made no effort to stop, lifting you to his mouth as he got on his knees, eating you like a meal he’d never have again until he worked his tongue raw, tasting you and only you as your cum coated his mouth. You squirmed, the suction of his lips on your sensitive core in tandem with his tongue viciously swirling inside you overwhelming you beyond words, unable to kick him off as he held both your knees above his head.

“You’re gonna kill me, Hao,” you cried desperately. “Just put it in me.”

He chuckled before setting you down, meeting your lips halfway as he stroked his fully erect cock, massaging the evening’s concoction against your tastebuds, mingling the contrasting flavors as they battled in your mouth while the knowledge of it all pebbled your skin. Meanwhile, he ran his hands over you beneath your shirt, found your nipples, rolling them against his thumbs as his cock rubbed between your folds, ebbing your moans as they buzzed against his lips. “What if I want to play with you first?” He taunted.

You whined, brushing your lips repeatedly over his. “I want you inside me.”

“You’re cute even when you’re needy,” he gushed.

You clasped your hands over his soft, warm cheeks. “Minghao, please…”

He playfully rolled his eyes, kissing into your palm then down your wrist before his teeth playfully started nibbling at your skin. “Fine, because you asked so nicely. Just to let you know, though, I don’t have a condom on me right now, but I’m clean.”

“Then, we don’t need one.”

He grinned, stroking the back of your head. “I had a feeling you’d say that.”

Rubbing his tip down your slit, he savored your whimpers as he drew circles against your clit before sliding his length through your folds and stretching your walls, letting you slowly adjust to his presence. Your jaw slightly dropped as you took a sharp inhale, fingers digging into his shoulders and clinging on to him before you felt him sink deeper inside you, pacing his thrusts in a steady rhythm. Your eyes flit to meet his, feeling the back and forth of his hips as they snapped, while you reveled in each collision.

“Yes please…”

Before losing himself in his pleasure, he was determined to remember how you looked getting lost in yours, taking in your features as they distorted under his care. He first found your eyes–lost in a galaxy with an infinite amount of stars out of the way. Then, his eyes started to follow the slope of your cheeks, flushed to the touch against the back of his hand, saliva leaking out of your swollen lips. And your body with the shirt adhered to you by the sweat on your skin, clinging to your form and proving to him time and time again that you were not only the object of his desires, you were something straight out of his dreams.

“You look, taste, and feel good? Where have you been all my life? Really?” He landed a harsh thrust, pressing down on your nipples and smiling manically at how you whimpered in response, clutching you as you shuddered against him. “You like that?”

You nodded, clawing your hand up his back.

“Mmh, me too,” he drew his lips to your ear. “And I like you. A lot. I wouldn’t let someone go on and use my toothbrush for months if I didn’t.” He slowed down his thrusts, cupping your face to meet your eyes. “You like me too, right?”

Feeling your ears burn, you frantically nodded again, mewling after you felt him nip at them, teeth scraping under your earlobe before an open mouth pressed against the side of your neck. The warmth of his breath sweltering against you as you struggled to carry on with the conversation Minghao was determined to have.

“Yeah, you want me to take you on a real date?” He said into the nape of your neck, moaning into your skin as he dragged his hips, rutting into you like an animal. He barely made out your soft ‘yes’s in your sharp gasps. He gritted his teeth, taking you by the hips, pushing himself flushed against you. “Fuck, you’re so cute,” he groaned.

His hips took flight while he separated your mouth in a loud moan, feeling you becoming malleable under his touch and growing weaker as you recoiled against him. He lifted your shirt above your chest and neared your stiff peaks, rolling your bud against the base of his tongue as he pinched the other, moving out of pure instinct. You threw your head back, going mad with sexual gratification. Your body spasmed out of your control, yet you craved more.

“Harder,” You gasped.

He scoffed under his breath in disbelief. “You want even more?”

“Yes…I want you to cum inside me. I want to feel everything that’s yours, Minghao.”

Knees buckling at your titillating request, he gripped your ass in both palms, clutching you against him as he rammed himself up inside you, and you’re forced to hold on. “I’ll do you one better,” he offered, “why don’t I just make you mine?”

“I…Oh, god…” Your brain was becoming mush, only processing the sound, taste, smell, sensation of Minghao’s cock as he plunged himself inside you. It fogged up your thoughts, clouded your judgement, and only formed incoherent gibberish that took place of real vocabulary as they passed through your swollen lips.

“Be mine, hmm?” He asked, pleading. “That way I can be yours.”

Captivated by his words, you nodded, feeling him suck the life out of you as your body felt close to giving out, the hilt of his cock bottoming out inside you. You anchored your legs around him, following his pace before you felt something within reach, just seconds away from ripping a scream out of your throat that would surely ensue a noise complaint from one of your neighbors.

“Hao, I’m going to cum, I’m really close,” you meekly warned.

His hand settled against your thigh, nodding. “I can feel it. You’re shaking so hard. Let me have it, I’ll catch you. Every last bit of you.”

Ecstasy was just a word, but Minghao was everything, and you could breathe in that everything.

Your bodies crushed against each other, lost in heat as you became one. Breaths blended, bodies embraced, only faltering after you long finished the initial orgasms, coming back for more. You embraced the sheer carnivorous lust that quelled this several month long push and pull, adhering you by the sweat misted on each other's skin before your mouths tenderly met repeatedly.

Sleep felt futile, while the night felt everlasting. Minghao’s company was more than you could ever ask for, and by the time you did sleep, you were too tired to move. You collapsed against each other, bodies drowning in each other’s releases, sheets and pillows stained by the arousal from the evening’s lack of inhibitions. Minghao should’ve been just as tired, but instead he tended to your tired body, leaving kisses in its wake as he cleaned you off and slept alongside you in your clean bed, letting him worry about laundry in the morning.

With your eyes closed, mind in another world, Minghao was brushing the hair away from your face, softly smiling as you gently stirred and nestled closer to him. In response, he pressed a sweet kiss to your temple, warmth blooming in his chest as a grin developed on your face.

“I’ll take you on a proper date. I promise,” he said while you slept. “And If I don’t, pull the bad roommate card on me. You can punish me however you like.”

“…ok, I will.”

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