#slowly clearing out the arts in my drafts

[angrykittybarbarian]

A list of things that bother me about Dragon Age: The Veilguard Part 2

I already touched on a few things that caught my attention and personally irked me about the game. After getting through some more of it naturally a few more points have come up. Though I think they are not really new aspects but more concrete examples of what I had touched on last time.

Without further ado, let's get into it.

!Spoilers below the cut!

The dialogue is repetetive and at times contradictory

Like I already discussed last time the dialogue is bad, to express it in the simplest of terms. As I progressed through the game I stumbled upon a glaring example for what I mean.

In the questline where you infiltrate a Venatori meeting there is a part where Neve in disguise and in company of Rook and another companion gets a Venatori to admit that Elgar'nan was present but not Ghilan'nain. For some inexplicable reason Neve turns around and repeats this twice as if Rook wasn't present.

But moving on.

I stated in my last post that the game feels the need to state the obvious. This is what I mean. It makes the dialogue feel like a rough draft that was incorporated into the game without further polish.

As of its contradictory nature two examples come to mind.

In Harding's companion quest you meet this dwarf of Kal Sharok. His dialogue is stoic, no bullshit straight to the point and passionless. Which was fine. But after several minutes of him being that way they get to stone statue Valta who speaks in these misteryous riddles and suddenly he switches to this unserious tone of "Oh that weird statue, we never know what she's saying, ain't she funny." (I'm paraphrasing here). I was confused for half a minute because of his sudden change in attitude and left wondering what his characterization is supposed to be now: serious or quirky?

Same thing with Taash's whole story. This is especially upsetting because I feel like they could have done such great work with it.

Instead it suffers so much from several inconsistencies that I felt sorry for the VA because they actually did a great acting job.

Taash has a coming out scene with their mother where they reveal they're non-binary. Ignoring the usage of modern terms in a medieval-ish setting, the conflict about their gender makes no sense.

The writing wants you to believe Shathann is not okay with her child being non-binary but she never actually expresses such a thing. Actually Shathann sort of had an inkling that Taash was no ordinary woman ("Behaves more like a man...") and she never passed any negative judgement on it. When Taash told her this she even tried to understand by categorizing their identity into qunari vocabulary she knew (remember the term aqun-athlok?).

I get how hard it is to have an overly critical mother and the feeling of not being good enough but that was not what Shathann was about in that scene and it did Taash so dirty because they looked more like an entitled teenager than someone suffering from trauma and perfectionism.

Some old characters are mischaracterized

It's Scout Harding. I mean Harding.

I was really excited to have her as a companion in the new installment but they sort of butchered her character that I found myself annoyed everytime she opened her mouth.

And this is because they make her sound so immature. Really think about it. DATV somehow makes Scout Harding sound younger and more childish than she was in DAI despite the fact that she is supposed to be a whole decade older in DATV than in DAI.

I don't know what direction her VA recieved while recording but everything was pronounced so slowly and extra clear that it seemed at times that Harding was either talking to a confused elderly person or a child.

She herself uses expressions not fit for her age. The most jarring moment was when she called the Blight in D'meta's Crossing 'weird' and sounded like a teenager who has stumbled upon furry art for the first time on deviantArt. This pattern pretty much continues throughout the game. And it hurts so much.

Also Morrigan. She at least still uses her even for DA setting standards antiquated vocabulary but she is too happy and cheery and friendly.

Morrigan is not a nice person to those she does not know and like personally. But to Rook she was so nice despite having met them for the first time.

The Morrigan we have come to know love/hate should have been more snarky or at least more neutral in her demeanor.

The Venatori

I don't know why they are still a thing honestly. I was under the impression they have lost all footing after the death of Corypheus. Why would they follow the Gods of the people their country systemically abuses anyway?

Bonus: Why would the Antaam for that matter, as the qunari are so notoriously arcanophobic that they leash their mages, sew their mouths shut and literally call them "dangerous thing"?

Solas' spy network and agents

What happened to them? Where are they? Shouldn't he have a small army? Why weren't they used as the gods' agents instead of the Venatori? Surely, Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain would have an easier time simply controlling Fen'Harels elven army after imprisoning him in the fade.

The Chantry

It is just not present. Sure there are some Chantry buildings but there is no discussion of faith. In all previous DA games the Chantry has had a constant influence that could be felt everywhere. Faith was discussed and explored from various angles and perspectives, ranging from ultra conservative to progressive. But in Veilguard it's not there.

Why are we not exploring the Tevinter Chantry more? Why doesn't Emmrich discuss the nevarran Chantry, who follows the Sunburst Throne in Orlais, in regards to the Mournwatch, their necromancy practices and magic? Why was he not affected by the mage uprising that started in Kirkwall? How does he deal with faith and the Chantry? It is simply never mentioned.

By all accounts, this game avoids delving into the world like the plague.

[the-messenger-hawk]

boys meeting up again and finding out that The Kids Aren't Alright

I'm hungry for Wangnan's degeneration arc ("viole arc") like you wouldn't believe.

I had an idea a while back that Wangnan's repeated experiences of torment were building up to a moment where his mask that he's maintaining finally snaps.

And just like...I'm not really covering this well enough, but as Viole, Bam had become like miserably resigned to doing and experiencing horrible things. He was the source of light and hopeful energy in his group to begin with, and had that all ripped away from him by FUG. But then in comes Team Sweet & Sour and their (not-so) fearless leader injects light and life back into his path, and leads him back to the friends he thought lost. But now, Bam is getting more confident and willful with every single chapter (even slightly arrogant here and there?), while Wangnan is going the opposite way, crumbling and getting closer to a complete mental breakdown. Him snapping just seems inevitable, and when he does, I think it would be satisfying and karmically appropriate for Bam to be the one to save him in the same way.

[caramel-flan]

🌙 “Wherever her spirit may be...perhaps she will look at the Liyue of today, and steal a smile when she sees the prosperous land that it has become.”

[chacharoni]

okay so i still have that one character whose design i need to flesh out a bit better but for the time being the one i have looks alright so i went on to draft the first 5 pages and im surprised how much better i like this version ??

i’ll incorporate bits of the previous draft in this now too and fix some issues it had but oh man oh boy, im so excited for this and i’ve managed to maintain my interest in the story for over a month now wtf

[fivewholeminutes]

HEY LOOK I BLINKED AND IT'S ANOTHER WEEKEND ALREADY time is an illusion which hates me

Y'all i love u not ignoring u, just having a busy weekend, but i am kissing on the mouth everyone who sent me an ask lately 🥺

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Treasures of the Fraud

♡ featuring: pantalone x f!reader

♡ summary: it's been forever since you've seen your friend, and as the hero of liyue, a new interruption has arisen. you pursue it, only to find memories awaiting you. wc: 9.1k+ (D:)

♡ cw/tw: long lonnggg fic, obsession, mentions of murder, mention of suicide, mentions of blood, manipulation, toxic pantalone, mean pantalone, possessive, spanking, degradation, mild praise, fingering, thigh riding, missionary, overstim, begging, edging, comeshot, pet names (darling, slut)

notes: helloooo!! ive been slow to get stuff out college is kicking my ass rn so sorry. not proofread so i apologize for any mistakes. I can't wait to have more time :) art by yion_yi on ig! <3 comments and reblogs are appreciated!

12 years ago 

“Come get me!” 

The boy with inky curls spiraling down his back dips through trees, ducking under low hanging branches embellished with vibrant autumn foliage. Messy blends of pink and purple melt across the slowly bleeding sun carried into the night. His silhouette resembles that of a malevolent spirit peeking behind the boughs, leaping over tangled twigs and shallow ditches. His excited screeches signal you to chase after the leading direction. You’re both screaming and laughing down the undoubtedly dangerous shortcuts. If your mother knew about the adventurous risks you were taking at 13, you’d never leave the house again. Tag is a troubling game—despite the thousands of times you’ve played with him, you regularly end up being “it”. You don’t care about losing, though; having someone to call a friend is enough.  

You turn into a clearing with columns of trees overseeing your small presence, hundreds of them. The colder night is rising, not a celestial body to shield.  In this deep blue void, the leaves seem to be aggrieved at your interruption of some secret meeting, angry and smiling faces crumpling in the whispering wind. You spin around frantically, looking for signs or laughter, but neither reveal themself. It’s quiet besides the downy linger of grass. Your shoulders are snatched back and shaken to a rattling shock. You scream, and he laughs. 

“Rahhh! Did I get you?” he jests. Your eyebrows narrow, and you push him lightly to a stumble. 

“You scared me!” 

“Hah, that’s the point. C’mon, it’s late. Let’s go.” He's scared too, swiftly grabbing your hand as you both brave the darkness back to the village. 

“We should’ve been home a while ago” you say quietly. You feel the chill in your bones and press yourself closer to him. 

“Yea.” He holds your hand tighter at the sound of a small rock bouncing down a steep hill. 

“I had fun today. Let’s do this again tomorrow.” 

“I have something to tell you.” 

“Okay.” 

“I’m moving in the morning” he states. It was nonchalant, but your stomach turns a churning sickness. One you can’t understand yet, it makes you uneasy. 

“Oh. Okay, then.” It isn't okay, not in the slightest. But it had to be. Your best friend of 8 years looks at you, aiming to register the gravity of the situation. You both say nothing, but tears start to brim in your eyes in the silence. You wipe them with your arm. 

“Will you miss me?” he asks. 

“A lot.” 

“I’ll miss you too. Lots and lots.” He sways your interlocking hands. You pass by vacant homes tattered and aged by abandonment, overgrown with invading ivy. Homeless reside, caring each other to warmth from the freezing draft. You were lucky to have a home in this little forgotten sector of Liyue. It's a small, unfortunate room, with holes in the roof that drips when it rains and bags over the windows to keep the heat in. The stove never works, and you share a bed with your mother, but every birthday she makes sure to save just enough for a slice of cake with one candle. There isn’t more you could ask for. Everyone in the village suffered from poverty but they made it work, sharing crops and dairy to persevere until the next year. That’s how you met him, sitting on a rock as your mother collected rations. You perform two pebbles in your hands, mumbling sea shanties while imagining voyage on a grueling journey—he sat next to you. 

“Those aren’t dolls. They’re rocks.” 

“You’re a rock” you retorted.  

“No, I’m not.” 

“Do you want to be a rock?” 

“...That’d be kinda cool.” You gave him a pile of pebbles, and he joined the trip. 

You’re getting closer to the village, still processing who you’ll play with once he’s gone. You glance at him, he’s spaced out in a faraway stare. You crave the power to read minds. 

“Can we talk about something? I’m getting sad” you sniffle. 

“What should be talk about?” 

“What are you going to do after you move?” 

“I’m gonna be super rich” he assures, looking up at the starless sky as if a meteor would shoot across and grant his wish. “What about you?” 

“I’m going to save the world” you proclaim.  

“Cool. I hope you do.” 

“Me too.” 

You arrive at your makeshift door drawn together with scraps of wood and twisted rope for hinges. A dim candle glimmers inside, most likely your vexed mother waiting for your tardily return. He makes space for your entry, and you undo your hands for the last time. Before you go, he snatches your wrist. His eyes are foggy, cheeks an anxious tinge of pink. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling, but the strings in his heart are tense. His mouth shapes to say something, but nothing returns. 

“Yeah?” 

“...I... I’ll really miss you a lot” he whispers with a lump in his throat.  

“Then don’t forget me, okay?” 

“I won’t.” 

“You promise?” you say and raise your pinky towards him. He curls around it. “I promise.” 

“Good. By the way, you’re it now.” 

“I’ll get you back when I see you again!” he chuckles. You bid your goodbyes, unaware that it would mark the unforeseen conclusion. 

Leaves crunch under your feet as you make your leisurely traverse to Liyue Harbor. It’s just before sunrise and you finished helping the elderly in Qingce Village carry copious amounts of heavy produce to their homes. The thankful candies from seniors' jingle in your pocket as you stretch your weary arms. Your mom offered to cook, but you're determined to locate the best commissions Katheryne had before afternoon. “Maybe I’ll pick up some rice buns” you think out loud at the rumble of your growing appetite. You still had a long way to go before you got to the harbor. 

This was your new normal. After your thundering battle with Ningguang and Keqing against Osial, you became an example of Liyue’s triumph. You also became more aware of Fatui tactics, wiping out their swarms with the raging fury of your pneuma and swinging vision. Days of grueling bloodshed resulted in your victory, cementing you as the lionheart of Liyue. Beat up and bruised, the only request you made after your fight was a hot meal and a place for your mom to retire. They delivered both, and you used your recent hero status to provide help to the villagers where needed, be it casual favors or ruthless assault on Fatui agents. You were neither rich nor poor, and lived off the land and kindness of the Liyue Qixing. They often suggested you focus on less mundane tasks, but to you, the most vulnerable age groups warranted priority. There was something about the lighthearted innocent squeals of children and mellow grandparents rocking in their wooden chairs that made you protective to an almost volatile extent. 

Bustling interactions of trade and commerce carry through the wind as you enter the harbor—a sound that’s brought you peace for years. The smell of food vendors has you drooling instantly. As you devour the complimentary rice bun, you feel the yank of a little hand on your skirt. You look down and a boy with brown hair searches for familiarity in your face. You recognize him, babysitting him numerous times. You kneel and pat his head, but he doesn’t react or move.  

“Hey, what’s up? Where are your parents?” you question, briefly scanning your immediate area for his family. He’s hesitant to speak, as if he can’t find the panicked words, and rushes into your arms. You hug him instinctively and let him sniffle into your shoulder. You pick him up in your grasp and raise his head with your other hand so that he’ll hopefully be open to your compassion.  

“Can you tell me what’s wrong?�� The boy wipes his chubby tomato-red face. “Grandma is on the floor, what do I do?” You quell your rising nerves to suppress his alarm and speak calmly.  

“Where is she?” 

Speed walking towards the destination, the commotion of a small crowd surrounds a kneeling woman in the distance. She’s on her sun-spotted hands and knees, wailing for some bygone Archon. “Grandma!” he yells and jumps out of your arms. You run after him, relieved that the worst case scenario hadn’t occurred. You push through the group and get eye level with her, forehead pressed to the ground spouting religious scripture. 

“Are you okay? Do you need medical assistance?” Wise sunken eyes wrinkled with age and torn by tragedy stick to your heart. Her feeble hands encapsulate yours, and tears stream down her cheeks. “They took my baby!” she rasps, rocking back and forth. “Who did?” you ask, and she weeps harder. “They took her memory...my baby, my daughter!” You support her weight and lift her hunched figure off the pavement. “What did they look like, ma’am?” 

“A black hood...red mask” she recalls shakily. Instantly miscellaneous chatter ensues. They whisper nervously in each other's ears, he who shall not be named steals their voices. “Fatui probably got ‘er” you hear the mumble of one. Fatui. Your blood boils at the word, and you direct your view to the shrinking man with hands in his pockets. “‘He’ got all of us” he scoffs. “Did they hurt you guys, too?” you ask, and they stare. They’re pained but accepting.  

“500,000 mora.”  

“194,000 for me.” 

They list off their debt one by one, and you’re horrified at the accumulating number. They seem to endure, however; no longer phased by the incurable tally haunting their lives. “H-how are you paying any of this?” 

“We can’t. It adds up. Interest, late payments, it always does. So, we give everything, and ‘he’ takes everything, until we have nothing left. We die poor without a possession to our name” a woman sighs. As a child, you heard of the loan sharks that purposely fed false promises to the poor, and once they were reeled in, charged insurmountable payments to blackmail��it was the origin story of most people in your birthplace. Your soul aches for them, but is there anything you can do? 

“...I’ll help you, all of you. I’m sure I can-” 

Ningguang arrives. She's a nurturing figure to you, the kind that asks if you’ve been eating well and politely scolds you.  “What happened?” You lead the tired elder to the Jade Chamber, and she tells her story through choked sobs. You didn’t expect Keqing to already be there, arms folded and turned away from the situation. Ningguang can barely glance at the woman. 

“They stormed my home and took my jewelry and belongings. They took the pendant my daughter gave me; it had her face in it. Archons give me strength, my baby! I can’t afford it; I have nothing!” she quakes. You rub her back and Ningguang nods, listening—you can’t help but notice the anxiety blooming on her abstracted face. They take her through the process and once she leaves, Ningguang and Keqing look at each other with a silent understanding. The room is eerily quiet, and Ningguang paces back and forth in front of the intel wall contemplating an uncertain danger. You fumble with your thumbs. 

“What are we going to do about this?” you wonder. Keqing clears her throat loudly, attracting the attention of Ningguang. She looks at you, and sighs deeply. “We already know about this issue.” 

Your ears perk up. “Great, so how can I help?” 

“By doing nothing, (Y/N)” Keqing says. 

“...What?” 

“I have eyes everywhere; I’ve known for a long time. The Fatui are not people to be taken lightly, especially the harbingers. A few of their skirmishers were caught trading exotic goods and taxing medicine at high prices, on top of extorting the impoverished regions.” Ningguang points to one of the many Fatui exclusive headquarters on the wall. “Pantalone is the richest man in Teyvat, he has more political influence than anyone can imagine, and they answer to him. We can’t risk getting involved with this. They’ve brought this upon themselves, and unfortunately, they must deal with the consequences.” 

You can’t accept this response. How can they just desert them? It doesn’t comprehend in your naïvity—you scold yourself for not spotting the signs sooner, furrowing your brows and looking at them with distaste. “I expected this. You shouldn’t have said anything” Keqing chides. “...Why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve helped before-” 

“You’re the last person I wanted to know about this” Ningguang interrupts. Your anger feels misplaced, and you bite your lip in restraint. She sits next to you and offers fleeting comfort with a graceful hand on yours. “You’re quite the reactionary type. In due time, this will be sorted. But right now, I need you to calm down, and trust me.” It sounds desperate, you know you shouldn’t go looking for answers, but a snagging thread pulls at the back of your consciousness, all too convincing. You bounce your leg. “You should want revenge just as much as me. Where we came from, where they end up, it isn’t fair.”  

“You know I do, more than anything. But we must handle this with care, before too many people get hurt. I’m doing this for the betterment of Liyue as a whole. It’s not easy to make these decisions.” 

“We can’t just go around serving justice, there’s laws we have to act with” Keqing adds. You don’t reply and stand up abruptly to leave. The worried Tianquan grabs your wrist one last time. “Promise me you won’t make a mistake, (Y/N). I’m trying to protect you” she pleads. 

“I promise. Thank you.” You flash a half genuine smile, already planning to rebel against her wishes. 

Who exactly is ‘he’—Pantalone. You don’t even know where to start looking. Too many headquarters, infinite possibilities. The best way you have to find him is through Fatui agents.  

You start taking up odd jobs late in the evening, scouring for the possibility that a fatui agent might fall into your hands. Though you considered playing the part of an impoverished villager taking out a loan at Northland Bank, it didn’t guarantee that you’d meet Pantalone in the flesh—it’s more likely that would raise unnecessary suspicion in the process. It’s awkward at first, seeing the hero of Liyue fish on the dock for petty change throughout the night. As you do, the malicious fire in your eyes burns bright at the occasional voice in chill silence. Your vision glows as you toss the hunting knife between your nimble digits. Listening closely to conversations, hoping that one might be unguarded enough to slip up, but nothing of the sort appears—not even the boldness of Fatui skirmishers enables them to divulge secrets under the baleful existence of Celestia.  

The moon illuminates sweetly on the tranquil waters lulling you to drowse. You hadn’t heard much since the start of your escapade. A fishing pole is weak in your resistless hold, and you’ve evidently given up on the idea of portraying the hardworking fisherman tonight. You vowed to help the people of Liyue, but justice was seemingly unfeasible. Maybe a direct approach? Should I ambush their headquarters? More so a suicide mission, you’d have no luck achieving that. Just as you’re about to leave, the crunch of withering grass straightens your posture. You make yourself hidden with a burst of energy and slouch behind the bushes as a Fatui pyro agent charges along the route. Through the glutted leaves obstructing your vision, you can just make out the heavy bag on his shoulder and jagged blade waiting restlessly on the other. His stride points towards Qingce Village. You hold your breath disguising yourself with the scenery and allow him to take a few feet between you before you begin following him. He’s rather shifty, those veiled eyes darting back and forth at the lightest noise. You’re careful to glide behind trees, moving with the heartbeat of the wind and taking advantage of the various melody's nature offers. You suck in a breath and duck behind a boulder a few inches too close, and his head snaps in your direction. The feeling of being watched besets him, but with no way to prove it and time running out, he secures his knife for the hypothetical ambush, and makes haste towards the target. Turning a tree, you watch as the pyro wielder knocks on the house of a small worn cottage. A short stocky man appears, shading half his body behind the door. 

“H-hello...” you hear faintly. The Fatui keeps his hand firm on the door, one boot propped under the hinge. He presents the flaming knife loosely as he towers over the man. “We’ve given you time.” You were sure now that he's working for Pantalone.  

“I don’t have it. P-please, if you could just give me some more-” He slams his fist against the wood, a resounding thump shakes the home. The man cowers. “Give me everything you have. The Regrator won’t wait any long-” 

A small rock flies past his mask, skidding on the ground until it comes to a stop. He glares in the direction of the tree you’re hiding behind. You have no plan, nothing but the distracting impulse to stop the assailant from attacking. “Stay here” he commands, and stalks towards you. His slow footsteps get increasingly louder, playful stomps toying with your obvious whereabouts. He twirls the razor-sharp knife, and as he sharply peeks around the corner, you’re nowhere to be found. “Here, kitty kitty” he taunts, spinning towards the lake, then the village grounds for footprints. He severs the air aimlessly in mirth, believing some amateur fighter came to challenge him. As he monitors the tracks under you, you drop down from the wiry branches. Legs wrap tight around his neck, and you catch hold of his hood trying to pull his mask off. He gags but he’s too quick, throwing off your steadiness as he slams your spine on the grass. He whips around to take a stab at your chest, but you roll away guarding the vital arteries. You kick him in the crotch, and he recoils giving you ample time to stand.  

You can’t feel the wet laceration dripping down your abdomen as you take a slash at his throat with your weapon, infused with elemental energy. He leans back and meets your strike. You trade blows, the strength of your smite bursting sparks of light above the scratches and bruises. Your wrist burns with the unmoving knives stumbling you. He begins to manifest blazing knives circling his figure, and you jump back from the singing cut melting the cloth. You wipe the dried blood from your mouth, and in the blink of an eye, he disappears. Suddenly, red auras similar to the pyro agent surround you. One by one, the clones charge at you, and you parry their overhead onslaught. Something is different about the last clone, your vision revealing a brighter outline than the others. When the next clone attacks, as you counter you pretend to fall for his trick. With your eyes on the other, he immediately passes through the black fog to deal the killing blow. You’re quicker this time and heave a heavy tear into his chest. Crimson splatters the grass, it shatters his element and rips open the robe. You tackle him on the dirt and wrestle until you kick his weapon away. Your knee digs into his back, and he can barely breathe with his arm locked behind him and knife rigid against his neck. He ttempts to swing at you, but you wrench his arm tighter and slice into his skin just enough to draw blood. 

“Fuck. Okay!” he wheezes. “Where is Pantalone?”  

“I don’t know what you’re- shit!” You’ve lost patience long ago and twist his arm to dislocate the shoulder. He lets out a blood curdling scream thrashing in pain—you tug hard and focus him. “Shut up and answer my question. Where is Pantalone?” you demand. He hisses in pain and coughs up phlegm mixing with reddening soil. “Kill me.” 

“Just tell me and I’ll let you go.” 

“I’m a dead man, either way.” he rasps and hangs his head waiting for the execution. You grit your teeth; a drop of guilt leaves a bad taste as you thwack the pressure point on his neck that forces him unconscious. You glance at the bag he left and limp over to rummage through the contents. Useless papers crumple under stolen items, but one note catches your eye. Presumably a to-do list, you read to the bottom. A list of homes, goods on standby exchanges—at the bottom of those, a rendezvous point: 

Report back- Yilong Bank, Liyue 

You rest in a plot of prickly bushes and leave in the morning after patching yourself up. You couldn’t stop now, not when you were this close to facing him. You soothe your body from the twigs prodding you all night, and check the wound suppressed by gauze. It’s a light scar now, apparent after bathing in the warm water on the outskirts of Qingce. You contemplated telling Ningguang about what occurred, but imagining the look on her face once she knew kept you moving. 

Tucking your vision where it can’t be viewed, you take a waverider to Yilong Port into the afternoon. You concoct a half-baked scheme, one that relies on every scenario being perfect to a tee. Unreliable, but probably your only chance. The plan amounts to scaling the building and breaking in through the office window, snatching everything owned by the villagers and breaking out before anyone notices. Easy in your capabilities, but you have no idea what the building looks like, nor do you know where the office is. The man driving wears all black, an outfit that stands out from the rest of the region. He stares at you blankly, and once you’re aware, you meet eyes. His smile is uncanny, stretching across his face with an abnormal friendliness. 

“Is this your first time at the port?” he asks, finger tapping the wheel. Be it sleep deprivation or ignorance; you don’t recognize red flags in his behavior.  You smile at the courteous face. “Yeah, the weather’s beautiful out here.” 

“Mhm, hot weather up here. On vacation?” 

“Nah, I have business here.” The minuscule edge of your vision catches in the light. He homes in on the passing twinkle. You wonder why his eyes widen momentarily, and his finger starts to tap methodically, as if memorizing a coded pattern. 

“Business...what kind?” 

“Oh...I have some items to trade.” You close off your answers feeling that you’ve said too much. He subsides with a stale expression. “If you’re looking to trade, you might find luck at Yilong Bank” he utters monotonously.  

“And where is that?” You feign disinterest, but victory is too loud on your tongue. 

“Up the mountain.” The waverider halts at the harbor, and he turns his head away from you unusually cold, akin to a mechanical bot shutting down. “Welcome to Yilong Port.” 

You make yourself invisible in the crowd and wait for nightfall. People still roam the port along with Fatui monitoring the front of the bank, which gives you leeway to blend in as you find passage around the back of the mountain. It’s a steep, dark incline jutted with irregular jagged stones. The imposing size of the climb tangles knots in your stomach, and you wipe the persistent sweat on your top. In one huge leap, you latch onto a craggy indent, and begin your ascension. 

Your legs feel like jelly with each contact of the unforgiving breeze. You sway alongside the spirit of anemo and swallow your anxiety before leaping to the next rock. Shoes plant into rock and nails excavate fresh cobble on the next jump. By the time you’ve realized, you’re already up most of the mountain. You tug yourself even with the land as a barreling gust of wind goads your glance to the ground, kilometers beneath you. Your breath stills, and for a second dizziness overtakes your nerves at the thought of slipping. I could die, one mistake and I’m dead. You focus, and spring to the next piece. Without warning, rock gives way into pebbles at the weight of your foot. You nearly plunge, but anchor onto the small bump out with one hand. You’re dangling off the edge, playing with death while you fortify your body. Hyperventilation makes your heartbeat thrum incessantly and stress palpitates tired muscles; If you didn't have your vision, you would’ve fainted to your demise. You bite the bullet, push your heels in and persevere through the hurdles. The next thing you clutch is malleable in your palm. You vault over the cliff, the smell of dew is overwhelming. The back of the bank—the end goal—is visible.  

One Fatui member remains in the front. You scale up the building effortlessly, nothing compared to the hell you just went through. Shifting window to window, your eyes land on the pitch-black darkness of the room at the top of the building. An ideal glow casts on the fraction of precious gold resting on a coffee table. This has to be it. You slink through the window soundlessly, and land on the balls of your feet. Analyzing the dish, you don’t discern the pendant. You can faintly identify some bookshelves near the dish, and tiptoe further inside. You creep around luxury sofas, and squint at the embellished glass case next to the door, containing all manner of jewelry and valuable possessions. You won; this was it. You scurry to it, moving with abrupt carelessness. One more step. 

Click 

The fireplace you didn’t heed is set aflame. It flickers sneering shadows on the opposite wall and brightens the case. You pause and hope. There’s a confining silence stirring in the room, like someone is with you. The case is visible now, and so is the key to opening it. 

You fell into a trap. 

“Looks like I have a little thief on my hands.”  

A bittersweet voice in the sable, reminiscent of rich dark chocolate, rolls off the room. He steps out obscurity behind his desk and your eyes adjust, revealing the tight black turtleneck compressing his willowy torso and gloves adorned with silver rings. You can’t see the upper part of his face, but the chains of his glasses hang in front of that duping smile. You expected the Fatui harbinger to be on the stronger side, physically intimidating. It’s not physical, but you feel a certain fear boiling in your body. He’s not terrifying, but you tremble. His presence makes your hair stand and sends waves of goosebumps up your arms. You can’t find the will to move your wobbly legs. His charmed laugh rings in your ears and causes you to hold your breath. He has no vision; you shouldn’t be afraid. You could take him on easily, why can’t you fight? 

“Hello, honored hero of Liyue” the headless man taunts. It makes it worse that he knows who you are. How long had he known you were coming? Was your plan doomed from the beginning? Your feet are stuck in molasses as your fight or flight shuts down at the man before you.  

“Now, tell me. What is the little thief doing, barging into my office to take the possessions I worked so hard for? Not very heroic of you, If I may say.” There’s power in his stature—you forget how to speak. He holds his palm out to you. Tangled between his fingers, is the ornate golden pendant you’d been searching for, a woman’s face in the frame. Your eyes widen, and the sweet familiar curve of his lips stretches in amusement. 

“Is this what you’re looking for?” The plod of low-heeled boots accompanies unveiled darkness, and you can observe his entirety. Amethyst eyes drunk with an orchid hue pool into your being. Lazy curls brush against his glasses and kiss his porcelain skin. He’s beautiful, a calm enticing rip current that sweeps you with immeasurable pressure before you can pull yourself out. He leans on the desk, observing the chain halfheartedly. If you weren’t careful, you’d mistake the look on his face for genuine kindness; you’d drown, just like he craved. Nonetheless, you can’t shake the emotion his smile grants. 

“Yes. That’s all I need, and I won’t bother you again” you whisper meekly, hoping that he’d let you go with the pendant in a spur of forgiveness. The jest in his eyes says something different. 

“Come get it.”  

Come get it. Your mind begins to piece the man into a stage of your life you’d forgotten. It can’t be him. Memory tells intrusive truth in short flashes. Inky curls spiraling in front of you as you chase. He was consistently miles ahead of you. It was irrelevant how far apart you were; he’d always find you. That big, curving smile for every match he won. Purple eyes glancing back at yours; the same ones that withheld tears when you said goodbye. 

“Come get me!” 

Tears stream down your eyes for the friend you thought you’d never see again. Childhood laughter bleeds into his current cat-like conniving snicker, and you gaze at his face. 

“I... remember you” you choke. He looks up without a smile, perceiving an unexpected thought, and meets your eyes. There’s a hint of affection in the warm smile beaming on his face. “My my, (Y/N). You have quite the memory.” 

You’re motionless, full of something that catches in your lungs. This isn’t the triumph you wanted, and now that you’re face to face you feel powerless. He must’ve known the entire time. Watching you fight and work alone, sending Fatui to roam in Liyue, all done to toy with you. Your lip quivers, swelling in your already deafening heartbeat.  

“How long...” you utter. He inquires with the tilt of his head. 

“How long have you been messing with me?” Your eyes adhere to the floor, pride that won’t permit you to shed misery for Pantalone. He drinks in your resistant frame, the kind he desires to break; perhaps this game of cat and mouse isn’t done, after all. 

“This hurts me too, (Y/N). I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t so…persistent.” Your confusion spills over in shaky, weak huffs. You can’t maintain your composure, and make yourself first to oppose the authoritative man on his own territory. 

“How could you do this to anyone? We grew up poor!” You shout with balling fists. 

“It’s inefficient to dwell on the past” he replies with gentle cadence and languid grace unrepresentative of his cruel tactics. You nearly regret raising your voice. 

“These people are at their wits end and you’re taking advantage of them” you chide. He slowly paces towards you. Pantalone looks down on you from height disparity, but the royal glower pities you, judges worth you can’t see. 

“Driven by emotions, are you that simple? You presumed that if you stormed in here, and professed a touching story, that I would suddenly see the error in my methods?” You’re not sure what you’re here for anymore or why you haven’t left yet. Subconscious urges can't determine if they should slap or hug the man inching towards you. “I simply enforce contracts and exchanges. No one can be swindled by a debt accreted on their own.” 

“No one asks to be poor either” you interject. Pantalone’s a foot away from you now, analyzing your reactions to his personal entertainment. He recalls the blurry past—the pranks you pulled together that ultimately failed from your loud hurried sneakiness tripping to alert the farmers, helping out for loose change so that you’d split a snack between each other that wasn’t big enough to share, gazing at the twinkling night imagining a distant future—you changed and stayed the same, but he keeps wanting more.  

“Weigh the odds. They either die impoverished or live by passage of loans. I merely provide a service. Does that make me so cruel?” You can’t find an answer. 

“You’ll always be my friend, but I need it back. It can’t be much to forgive someone’s debt” you plead.  

“You still consider me a friend?” 

“I think…you’re hurt. And you’re trying to heal. We all are. I know I’ve dealt with a lot as I’ve gotten older and I think you have, too. Power corrupts even the best people in this world, so maybe you’re not a bad person. But you’re doing bad things, and this isn’t the right way to get better.” 

Pantalone is quiet for a few long moments. His hands web his face, but you can clearly see the pearly fangs in his open-mouthed smirk. Then he laughs—dulcet and mocking, it lingers for too long as he throws his head back and relishes the obtuse notion. He gazes with insulting compassion and stalks towards you. 

“Incredibly…. gullible. Mora is the pathway to all endeavors. Devoid of gnosis or divine knowledge, wealth has rendered me impervious to control. Suffering and destitution only manifest if I will it. I am the guise of a false god, an emblem of achievement.” It’s borderline delusional the way he regards himself, arms moving in theatric grandeur, the star of his own opera. 

“Does that make you feel good? Stepping on the backs of the community that raised you, and abandoning them because they chose not to be influenced by greed?” Pantalone towers over you. His fingers brush light against your sensitive ears, trail to your clenched jaw, and finally cup your frustrated cheeks with the cradle of a long-lost lover. 

“It does, in fact. I’m not easily swayed by ridiculous optimism, that’s why I’m at the top. You’ve devoted your blood and tears to a region that will succumb to adversity in your absence. Is that not a pointless feat?” 

“So what? That doesn’t mean we just don’t help people. You have nothing without the Fatui, you’re a pawn just like the others” you retort. He brings his lips close to the shell of your ear, and his breath hot on the untouched skin drags a tingle up your spine. 

“And what do you know about the Fatui?” he whispers. 

“I know enough. You’re all disgusting.” He huffs out his nose. 

“Disgusting isn’t the right word. I’d say...opportunists.” Pantalone backs up, sliding his hand up your chin and tilting your attention to the intense glint. “But you’re clever, I’ll give you that. If only you were clever enough to know your place.” You'd forgotten you were acting out of line. You refocus your mindset to negotiation. 

“I’ll do anything you ask for the debt. Please, just give it back.” The word “anything” evokes a malicious yearning—so forthcoming without understanding the implications of “anything”, of eternity. He caresses your cheek. 

“Anything, hm? Even if I said to give up being a hero for good? Would you still call yourself a heroic traveler if you weren’t allowed to travel or adventure as you please?” he teases. Your mouth opens to refute, but you bite your bottom lip instead. Pantalone walks back to his desk and leans while dangling the golden chain. Now that he’s far, the invading space between you two shows how insignificant you are in this luxury palace. 

“Your resolve moves me. Consider this; make an exchange with me, and I’ll guarantee not only her debt, but the debt of all residents in Liyue forgiven” Your face instantly lights up, ready to accept it without thinking. 

“What is it?” you ask. 

“In exchange for regional loan forgiveness, I want you.” 

“...What?” 

“I want everything you have. It’s the fairest exchange I can make. Your obedience, your loyalty, and your body.”  

The choice turns in your frontal lobe. You can’t fathom giving yourself to a man, let alone a Fatui harbinger. It’s unbecoming of a hero to lie with the enemy. 

“Absolutely not” you assure. 

“Alright. Then allow their village to be reduced to nothing.” No, wait. “You may leave. However, if you do, you’ll cause great misfortune to that woman and her struggling family” You play into his covet so smoothly as you stand in the center of the room, reluctant to leave.  

“I’m not a complete monster, so I’ll give you 5 seconds to make a choice.” He sways the pendant in his hand like the transient time of an hourglass. 5 seconds, all you have to sign your life away. 

“4.”  

What if no one ever sees you again? What’s the point of sacrificing your happiness and freedom, are the people of Liyue truly worth it? 

“3.” 

You could threaten him, take him hostage so that a harbinger might bow to your demands. That, or they kill you, and the village suffers anyway. 

“2.” 

You think of your graying mom, the sweet boy with his chubby red face who cries over the smallest things, the grateful elders that give you candy after every good deed, Ningguang and Keqing stressing over the next financial impact. 

“1.” 

“I’ll do it.”  

Pantalone swings the chain into his palm, an undefeated smug overbearing as he sets it on the desk. There was never a point in resisting; he always got what he wanted, no matter how long it took to achieve it. He waited months—no, years—to get you in this exact moment. There’s a daunting beguiling charm in the way he closes the gap between you two. You glare at him; a temper common people would dread shooting. He assesses the pending punishment and lowers himself eye-level. He grins, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“I can see the defiance in your eyes. Do you want to talk back? Go ahead, challenge me.” You don’t test this scenario and turn your head. “Don’t patronize me. Get it over with, ‘Pantalone’.” 

He quirks an eyebrow, and pliable flesh strains your teeth as your face is gripped rough by satiny leather. You’re twisted sharply to the calm expression—it humbles you. 

“That’s not how you address your superior. What should you call me?” You don’t answer promptly to his liking, and he tightens his grip. “Answer me properly, darling.” 

“...Sir.” Pantalone plants a sickly sugary kiss on your forehead, the kind that makes you forget how petrifying he can be, and lets you go.  

“Good.” He walks back to the desk and sits in the onyx chair embellished with silver jewels fit for a king. His chin rests on bridging hands. “Strip.” 

You don’t move, your heart hammers in your chest at the request and you stir uncomfortably. You have no experience with sexual gratification, let alone exposing yourself to an old friend.  

“(Y/N). Don’t make me say it again.” Keen agitation in his voice serves as a final warning. He eats you with his eyes, homed in on your hands clumsily snaking the top over your head. A glimpse of the scar you received during your fight with the Fatui captures him. He takes a mental entry, for an explanation that might justify why the agent suddenly goes missing. You were generally too busy to look in the mirror or analyze your assets, and pleasure was a removed afterthought—so the hungry fervor warming your skin and permeating the room clamped your thighs shut. You’re visibly flustered and nervous fumbling with the clasps on your bra while stabilizing your anxiety, and he delights in every second of the accidental strip tease. It feels like fresh meat introduced to a savage animal, and the instant your bra omes off, a new vulnerability coils in your gut. You move to your bottoms; the sheen of sweat polishes your plush thighs to wiggle out of them. You’re left in nothing but tantalizing panties hugging you in the right places. His eyes undress and redress you, tracing up and down the perk of your nipples, tempting fullness of your thighs, each unseen curve and perfect imperfect mark on your glistening body. He lets out a deep breath to stop himself from jumping over the table and taking you right there. 

“The underwear. Take it off” he says, an undertone of lust. You shimmy the fabric off and fully expose yourself. You impulsively cover your intimate parts and avert your eyes, but you can still feel Pantalone on you, ravaging you. He doesn’t bother telling you to put your arms at your sides, your bashfulness combined with an attempt at stoicism is comical. 

“Ah, the little thief is trying to act tough. That's cute” Pantalone teases and leans back in the chair. Manspreading, he pats his thigh. “Crawl.”  

He’s hellbent on shaming the defiance out of you. It’s a vile command, but you begrudgingly drop to your hands and knees. You drag your chaffed knees on wood, balancing like a newborn fawn adjusting to its legs. It’s humiliating and downright degrading; the cold floor fails at cooling your burning fever. You’re on the verge of tears, but Pantalone can’t help but smile. You get around the desk and look up at him, waiting for the next horrible thing he’ll have you do. “Unfortunately, the stunt you pulled impeded my paperwork. Be a good thing and sit on my lap until I’m done.” A “thing”—that’s all you were now, a shiny trophy meant to be ogled at but never taken seriously, used and thrown away. You stand off your scraped raw knees and straddle his thigh, hands balancing the leg so you don’t fall. 

And Pantalone starts to work. Working as if you’re not there, filling in the spaces on his documents. For some reason, it’s more demeaning this way, you truly are just a prize. One hand dances beautiful penmanship in masterful motions on embossed paper, the other fondles and explores your being. The gloves brush down your delicate spine, nonsensical shapes drawn on your lower back that make you shiver and pool heat in places you’ve never thought of. You’ve never been touched like this, it’s needles light on your skin. They move to your stomach, pleasant circles above the pelvis that threaten to go lower. He’s careful to trail his hand up your cleavage and behind your neck, neglect your hardening nipples and repeat the process over and over. He’s painstakingly slow, savoring the dazed arch of your back, massaging your inner thighs and dragging the sleek material over your rear.

Middle and index sweep across your lips, pulling your bottom lip to reveal teeth, and prods your mouth. Pantalone’s fingers are invasive, they exploit your gums and twirl around the squishy tongue molding to his appetite. He plays with the pink mass, and it fills you like a kiss. He’s everywhere and he hasn’t looked at you once. You hate it, the kind elegance and refinement of his technique that makes every calculated word and action reek of opulence. Yet, arousal pools on the surface, sticking to your labia and clouding your drowsy mind. It’s an extreme ache that doesn’t go away from cold showers or shrugging off like you usually would. You can’t remember what you did today, yesterday, or the day before that. The sensation of him consumes you and persists in spots he left. He smells of expensive cologne, hints of heady wood and sage. You’re lucky his fingers are in your mouth, or piteous moans would spill out of you. Flat on his thigh, the subtle jolts of his leg rub against your hypersensitive clit and set your nerves on fire. Throbbing swells in your core, and you struggle to stay stiff as your hips stutter.  

Pantalone knows exactly what he’s doing. Your labored pants sound like saintly melody while you writhe on his lap. The fabric goads your pulsing pussy, and you hang your head in embarrassment of the juices soaking your thighs and his. He’s surprised you have strength left to withstand the itch. You do your best to hover above it, trailing thick strings of slick. “There’s no need to pretend you don’t like this. Just give yourself to me” he whispers. And it’s so enticing, an invitation that might let you come if you ask. However, remnants of pride cling to your melting resolve, you can’t give in yet. He takes the fingers out and presses on your nipple, flicking the bud. You can’t hold the mewl, and he snickers.  

“So indignant for the hero of Liyue, to be on a harbingers lap, reduced to a pretty pet.” Your ears tune out the insults. The damp gloves pull and pinch your puffy nipples, then knead to soothe the pain. He does the same to the other, switching between both as he feels you squirm.  

He works on the last few pages. Piles upon piles of reports and records—they detail the deaths, or “suicides”, of clients who’d disappeared mysteriously after extended absence of payments for millions of mora, people who dared go against the Regrator. Unruly, uncooperative clients that take advantage of fair exchange, and pay the price for it. 

Your arms get tired, and you settle on him again. Pantalone starts to softly bounce his leg, enough for you to notice the friction on your clit. It’s too much, you can’t take it anymore, and start to rut your hips on his thigh. You look messy, smearing your essence on those overpriced slacks and biting back your moans. Pleasure flows in your veins, and you give up. His cock throbs nonstop, print stealing space in his pants. “Did you believe I wouldn’t catch you? You’re not sneaky enough. You’re not good enough," he taunts from the corner of his eye. You hump his leg like a desperate bunny, chasing the addictive high.  

“Nasty slut, fucking your hips on a man you barely remember.” He moves his hands to your clit and replaces the slacks with slippery leather. You grind on it harder and hold your moans. More, more, more. He coats it in the mess and finally diverts his attention to you. He teases your entrance gliding vertically on your vulva before pushing one finger in. It hurts at first, but your walls hug him eagerly, pulling it deeper. He coaxes it to take another and starts scissoring your gushy walls.  

“I’ll devour you. I’ll inscribe my name upon every surface of your physique until it adorns your lips, and I’m the only thing that remains.” Pantalone starts pumping rhythmically, tormenting, poking everywhere but your g-spot. Gloss drips down his knuckles and glazes his rings. 

“S-sir please, s’too much” you whimper, mustering up an ineffective stable voice. “Hmm? Can you hear the lewd sounds you’re making?” Loud squelches sing from him fucking your insides. Each time you try to speak, he elicits another moan. 

“M-my sto-mach hurtss” you whine. He holds your waist in place with the other hand and continues the assault. “I know, it hurts? Would you like me to alleviate the pain?” he coos. You nod fast. 

“Hold it in. You ask for permission every time you’re close, do you understand?” You don’t reply and try to angle your body to get more contact. You make the mistake of guiding yourself to your clit and earn a harsh stinging slap on your hand. “Don’t touch what’s mine” he orders. You’re frustrated and he’s doing it on purpose, it’s entirely too hot where pleasure and pain blur. “N-not yours” you stammer, and he stops. He pulls out your warmth and you whine from loss of pressure. Looking at him, there's no smile, and the irritation on his face makes your heart drop. You're really in for it. 

Without delay, your stomach flies over one of the chair arms, and you hold onto it for dear life. It presses firm on your ribs, and he slants your ass to the air. “You have courage, speaking back to me” he says. He pulls his gloves off and hurls them. They’re lovely, the silken soft hands of a man who hadn't lifted a finger through combat a day in his life. They sink into your sex, and you moan out for him. The other winds back, and you feel the palm hit brutally on your unsuspecting backside. Crack. It echoes in the room, and you almost fly forward. 

“Disrespectful.” Crack. He keeps pumping through it, and tears collect in your lashes. 

“Disobedient.” Crack. There’s blood rushing to your head, and violent smacks make your pussy flutter and ass ripple; his control won’t give you adequate touch.  

“Little.” Crack. Every time he feels you getting there, he pauses. A masochistic pleasure whirls innermost. 

“Brat.” Crack. Both cheeks are a sore fiery color and beginning to welt, but he resumes. You’re drenching his palm, sobbing from prolonged edging and Pantalone laughs. “Pfft, you’re crying? Too embarrassed to beg? Perhaps I’ll give you what you want, if you grovel hard enough, darling.” An incoherent orchestra of please’s mesh with broken moans. “Sir m’sorry. Wan’ it so bad, p-please!” you mumble. There’s no dignity on your lips, no residue of the hero you once were. Drunken ardor floods your short-circuiting brain. 

“Oh, what do you say? You want it? Is that it? I'll let you have it... but only if you say it loud and clear for me” he croons. He winds his fingers in a come-hither gesture that licks your core. 

“Please...I won’t misbehave again!” He spreads your ass apart and watches your hole pucker from lining the brink. 

“I’m not sure I want to give it to you now. It's a lot more enjoyable watching you squirm and beg.” 

“’M yours, sir. Please give it to me. I’ll be s’good, promise!” you mewl. You’re so pathetic, it’s endearing. He simpers and maneuvers impossibly fast while gyrating your clit. “How humiliating. You’ve satisfied me.” Your eyes roll back, and you dissolve in pure euphoria. There’s black dots in your vision, and it doesn’t stop as he starts torturing your overstimulated clit with the pad of his thumb. Your tears only encourage him. You jerk and spasm, but he moves where you move with insistent skill. “T-too m-” 

“Aww, what’s wrong? Isn’t this what you wanted, where are your manners?” Pantalone pulls out and delivers staggering mean swats to your pussy, and you recoil. “Say thank you” he demands. 

“Thank you, sir.” He hums and picks you up in his arms. Before color can return to your numb cells, he lays you on the desk. You watch him pull his shirt up to his pecs with haste and uncover the lean skinny midsection. Unzipping his pants, he unsheathes his leaking thumping erection. Even his dick is pretty, it curves upwards and shades a starving dusty pink past the thin strip of tissue on the underside of his bulbous tip. Composure thinning, a bead of pre come runs down his tip at the sight of provocation sluicing your ass and thighs. His glasses plunge down his neck, body blushed wildly, but he doesn’t care. Pantalone slides between your labia and groans at the sound. Engulfing the tip in awaiting velvet warmth, “You’re so good for me, hm?” he sighs. You embrace him, delicious searing stretch of your walls forming to his cock. Your orgasm builds just from your body accommodating the size. He places your hands on your calves and holds them at your sides. He slips out, and in one swoop, drives into you. His heavy balls smack against your ass as he thrusts frenetically in the gooey grip he’d been waiting for, stalking and spying for. He digs crescent shapes in your waist and uses you to his abundance. The desk base creaks and grinds on abrading wood and obituaries float to the floor with overturned calligraphy ink from the unrelenting momentum. You throw your head back and indulge the carnal lust washing over you both. 

“You’ll never see anyone ever again. Fuck- you’re mine, and mine alone. You’re nothing but a come dump, your purpose is to please me, hah, until I say it’s over” his voice is unexpectedly deprived and weighty with vulgar whimpers. Pantalone eyes your neck and encapsulates it in his slender hand. He clenches tight and releases in sporadic bursts that have you seizing around him. For a split second there’s the image of you—exorbitant pearled collar wrapped around your throat, with “Pantalone” inscribed in bedazzled letters—and he loses it. He swipes your clit rapidly and feeds you deep strokes; you’ll definitely die. You speak, but it’s unintelligible rambling. 

“Use your words” he lilts, squeezing your airflow taut. “C-can I, sir, please?” 

“You’ll do it on my command.” Pantalone thrusts frenetically, you can feel him bucking, twitching and quickly approaching his climax. His hips sputter, chanting some mixture of your name and curses under his breath. “You’re so obedient for me, aren’t you? F-fuck, darling, go ahead. Come on my cock.” You permit yourself to surrender, white noise streams in and time slows as you come down his shaft. A creamy ring forms at the hilt of his slaps. You recite “thank you” through wails with the semblance of a follower at the altar of their savior. Then he grabs your face and goes in for a kiss.  

It’s sloppy and misses half your lip, but its doughy attachment mellows your blissed out head. His lips taste like the bitter excess of green tea, and you crane for a better sample. His tongue does things his fingers couldn’t, and swirls around yours in a passionate bruising waltz. Pantalone breaks away, a string of saliva when he frees himself. “Mm, coming. Gonna claim you everywhere” he whimpers. Sweat on his lustered abdomen, he pumps his tender cock before spurting thick hot ropes across your tits and stomach. He paints your vulva with the rest and plunges the tip in your entry so as to not waste the endless globs of white. He tremors inside you until soft, and when some dribbles out he fingers it back inside.  

Afterwards, Pantalone opens one of the drawers on the desk and takes out an embossed loan dismissal form. You can’t read the finer details through hazy eyesight. “It’s already signed, so don’t worry. I won’t deceive you.” He caresses your face in his normal sing-song attitude. “We depart in the morning.” You don’t have a clue where you’re going or how you’ll get there as you drift unconscious. Once you’re asleep, Pantalone shuffles in a different locked drawer. He twiddles the stunning purple geode in his hand, a crystal lined mineral you gave to him years prior. He looks at you, then the druse, and cackles. 

“Mine. Always.” 

[withlovemark]

to be loved - steve harrington

warning: mentions of steve's wounds, little angst! but it's a happy ending i promise

pairing: steve x reader

words: 2.3k+

summary: steve finally allows himself to believe in love again

an: i posted this a couple of days ago? and just now realized it got deleted. not really sure what happened there. anyways, found this in my drafts a week ago? (i have no concept of time). i didn't want to leave it rotting there so i wrote a quick ending and here you go. hope its okay!

-

three light taps, a knock that echoed throughout the boy’s dimly lit room, a sound enough to startle him after the events that have taken place in the past few days. not a single other person was in this house, a normality that he has accepted. steve’s parents were never around and he had no other relatives that would even care if he was still alive. his friends were a bunch of high schoolers, except for robin and…you.

he knows he’s messed it up with you. he can see it with the way you avoid his glances, the way you would choose to sit in the furthest chair away from him, the way you would get quiet when he was around and the way you stopped yourself from reaching out for him. the familiarity of your touch is no longer accessible, becoming only a memory. he can’t blame you though, your last words to him still replaying in his mind, loud and clear.

“i don't think i can do this anymore steve, i can't keep coming to your house, sleeping in your clothes, doing things that friends aren’t supposed to be doing, just for you to still be thinking about her.” 

he’s about to roll over onto his bed. to sleep the remnants of the past away. to keep ignoring everything like he always does and get ready for a new day, pretending he was healed. that he was okay. he was not. 

nowadays, it’s easier to slap a smile on his face instead of talking about his feelings. the last time he let himself truly feel something, he got his heart ripped out of his chest and trampled upon like it meant nothing, like it was a rock you could use to skip stones, one that you could let go of and not care enough whether it comes back to shore or get lost in the deepest parts of the lake. 

another knock makes its way to his ears. he thinks he’s imagining it until another one comes. grabbing the bat he hid between his nightstand, he slowly made his way to his bedroom door, feeling absolutely drained. the pain on his stomach, from the demobats that got a taste, still stinging, a pain that travels throughout his body with every miniscule movement. slowly, he carefully unlocks his door, ready to swing, until his brown eyes meet your wide, shocked ones. letting out the breath he didn’t even know he was holding, he slowly lowers his bat. 

“hi,” you whisper, “i uh, got in using the spare key,” a sheepish smile on your lips, holding up the silver key that was hidden in the dead plant placed on his front door. the key he told you about so you could sneak into his house at any given moment. the key that led to love marks all over his body, painting pink and purple constellations. the key you haven’t used since that night you decided to end whatever it was there to end. 

“you agreed to no feelings, that we would just be friends with benefits and that's it, you know that's all it could be,” steve has his face resting on his palm, his once perfectly styled hair going in different directions. like this - bare chest, lips still red from yours, neck stained beautifully by the artwork you left behind, he looked like he belonged in an art gallery. 

“i-i know, but i-i couldn’t help it…it’s just so easy to fall in love with you,” a confession that leaves the boy paralyzed, doe, teary eyes staring up at his brown ones — almost pleading.

“stop. you don’t know what you’re saying.” he’s angry. mad that those words could slip past your lips so easily. mad that even though you’re looking at him like he somehow brought the moon to you, he still can’t find it in himself to believe it. 

“steve-,” you try to reach out for his hand but he pulls away before you could even feel him. all you want is to pull him into your arms, to remind him that he is worth loving but you see the battle in his eyes, the war that’s taking place in his mind and you know he has his kingdom closed, walls up, ready to strike and defend himself at any second. there is no room for you in his castle, you see that now. 

“i-im sorry,” your voice was gentle, afraid he’ll completely lock the gate on you. the last thing you wanted was to fight, you’re defenseless when it comes to him. 

“let’s just pretend that none of this happened and we can go back to being friends, nothing changes and for the sake of us and the others, no questions asked,” his words were met with silence that cuts through like a sword against your neck. 

you felt detached from reality, feeling like you were watching this conversation happen instead of being a part of it. you had no control when you slowly got off his bed and quietly switched back into your clothes, his words transferring a sort of numbness to your whole being. 

he watched as you removed his t-shirt from your body and tossed it into his laundry bag, slipping back into your own clothes, making him think that his old t-shirt looked way better on you. yet all he did was watch. watched as you gave him one last forced smile and walked out of his room. the sound of the front door opening and closing traveling throughout the house. 

the days that followed after were stolen glances, opposite directions, uncomfortable silences, tiptoes, lingering feelings, longing stares, tension. neither one budged nor made the effort to even act like friends, going along with the others like they were fools when in reality, there can be no one more foolish than the pair. 

“hi?” he greets you just as quietly, head tilted, confused, like a puppy who was hearing a new sound for the first time. he sees you glance at his bandaged stomach, eyes traveling up to his bruised neck and notices the way you want to reach out to him but just like all the other times before, you stop yourself. 

“i-uh i brought you some food, and a first aid kit,” your voice still a mere whisper, he nods, guards down, stepping aside as you walk into the room you’ve been in countless times before. 

you placed the bag on his vanity, taking out it’s contents one by one and like before, he sat upon his bed and watched — a bowl that seemed to contain his favorite chicken noodle soup coming into view, it’s aroma hitting his nostrils, a clear tupperware filled with your famous homemade chocolate cookies, one that smells like home, the ones the kids would fight over with, resulting to an extra batch made just for him since he never won. 

he suddenly realizes how hungry he was, not really having the motivation nor the appetite to keep his stomach full. his body responds by lightly growling, a sound he hoped you didn’t hear.

“you should eat,” you break the silence, looking at him through his vanity mirror, “gonna need all your strength back to make sure you can always play hero,” you send him a small smile, he softly chuckles at your words, eyes falling to his sheets which suddenly became interesting, when was the last time he changed his sheets anyway. 

“i also brought you new bandages so you can change that every couple of hours, make sure it doesn’t get infected, with all these monsters around, that’d be the lamest way to go, y’know?,” you joked, trying to lighten the air. he stares at your back, contemplating. regardless of the fact that you were always an arm length away, he missed you.

he wants to be selfish. he wants to be taken care of, to be loved. 

and for the first time in a while, his mind is silent, focusing only on the fact that you are there.

making his way over to you, he wraps his arms around your waist, hands falling on top of each other, sitting tightly on your stomach, his head hiding on the crook of your neck, light puffs of air falling from his lips causing goosebumps to rise all over your body. he feels you stiffen, holding your breath, before relaxing back into his chest, hand gently hovering over his. you stay that way for a while, a minute or two, before you turn around, still in his embrace. slowly your hands make their way to his neck, fingers dancing lightly around his red, bright scar and ever so gently, landing around his cheek, eyes on yours, “are you okay?”

with those three words, the gates open and with it came a river of tears. he shakes his head no and this time, he lets you pull him into your arms as he found solace in your warmth, your perfume that smelled like the sweetest of flowers, making him feel like the sun was on his back as he laid his head on your chest. your fingers immediately run through his silky hair and he feels like a huge weight has just been lifted off his shoulders. 

“thank you for being here,” his voice hoarse from the quiet cries that slipped past his lips, he pulled away, admiring the way the moonlight from his window reflected itself into your eyes, brushing back the strand of hair that dangled in front of them. 

“i-i thought i was gonna lose you,” words that broke the boy’s heart. he can’t even imagine what he would have done if the roles were reversed. “i-i was so scared,” you continue, trying to hold back the tears that were begging to fall. 

“hey,” rough palms making it’s way to your cheeks, softly caressing you, golden eyes shining, “you will never lose me.”

“haven’t i already?,” you cry out. you hated the way you danced around him like he was a stranger. hated the fact that you couldn’t allow yourself to find comfort in him, afraid you would cross the line that the boy remarkably drew out and completely lose access to him. 

“no,” he lightly shakes his head, “ no….hey, look at me,” his finger under your chin, gently pleading for your eyes to find his. “i’m right here, i’m not going anywhere, i’m sorry i’ve been running, i was just…scared,” he admits. 

“scared of what?,” you urge him on, waiting for the answer to the problem you’ve been trying to solve. his hands find their way around yours as he looks down, composing his thoughts. 

“i was scared you would finally realize there will always be someone better, that you’d leave and i’d be all alone again,” he spills his truths. and you can’t fathom how blind you’ve been to not see it. the reason behind nancy appearing in his thoughts. 

“i’m not her, you know?” you say quietly. he nods, “i-i know,” he says guiltily. 

“and i don’t want better, steve…i just want you,” you confess into the night, steve feels all the air rush into his lungs, almost like he was learning how to breathe for the first time. he searches your eyes for any signs of doubt but only saw his own reflection in them. 

“do you want me?” you barely heard your own voice, afraid of the answer. he scoffs, “god, is that even a question?,” you look at him, confusion etched onto the creases of your eyebrows and steve almost wished the bats got him instead of realizing that he has left you doubting his feelings for you.

“of course i want you,” his brown eyes staring deeply into yours, “i can’t get you out of my head, all this time all i wanted was to be near you, to hold your hand, god, y/n i’m in love with you and i prayed, god i prayed to a guy i barely believed in that we would both make it out there alive because i-i can’t imagine my life without you and-,” he’s breathless, telling you everything he has wanted for weeks. word after word stumbling out of his lips as your smile grew with every syllable, until you couldn’t take it anymore. 

you pulled the boy towards you and like magnets, you connected, quickly placing your lips against his before your eyes drowned in your favorite color, the smile forming on his lips evident “i said it before but i’m in love with you too.” 

his eyes soften, finally allowing himself to believe those words, soft lips meets yours once again, battling, making up for all the lost time, hands automatically finding its way up his brown curls like they were meant to always be there, his, around your waist, pulling you as close to him as possible, fearing that if he let you go, you’ll disappear as if it was a dream.

but as you make that little sound, the one that drives him crazy, butterflies erupting in his stomach, he knows that this is better than any dream he could ever imagine. you were here with him. you were in love with him. 

your hands slowly starts making its way down to his body, but before the situation could escalate, he can’t help but break the kiss off, the pain from his wounds still evident, he lets out a sharp moan, “ow,” snapping you back to reality.

“oh my god, i'm so sorry,” you apologize, inspecting his bandages. 

“don’t be,” he reassures you, a light kiss placed upon your lips, “you’re worth it,” he teased, causing your giggles to harmonize, his forehead leaning against yours, a content sigh slipping off his lips. two eyes crinkling, sharing light smiles. 

“as much as i would love to stare into your eyes forever” you break the dream-like state, “i worked really hard on that chicken noodle soup and it would be a shame for it to go to waste,” you laugh and he holds on to the moment as long as possible. 

“now, we wouldn’t want that, plus we have forever to lovingly gaze in each other’s eyes,” he winks, sending you into a fit of laughter. he kisses you one more time before grabbing your favorite t-shirt, his t-shirt, in his drawer and handing it to you.  

an: i really don't post in this acc unless i have something to post lmao. also, currently in my bridgerton phase so don't mind the profile pic, or do mind it? feel free to let me know your favorite bridgerton :)

[k-zuzu]

에이티즈

jongho 𖹭 afab!reader

love 2 hate u.

synopsis: as a constant presence in ateez's house for the past year, you've become an unofficial ninth member, sharing meals and living space with them, the perfect cover for your arrangement with your enemy who can't stand you. and you can't stand it when he fucks you in missionary.

content: smut/filth, (minors do NOT interact), pwp, enemies with benefits, reader is mentioned to have past boyfriends, enemies 2 whattt???, angst if u wear glasses and squint, aftercare, cuddling, kinda toxic?, swearing, not proofread, afab!fem!reader, lowercase intended.

explicit warnings: fully consented unprotected hate sex, rough!mean!dom! jongho, manhandling, spanking | slapping your cheek | hurting you, hair pulling, jongho's fingers in ur mouth, doggy style, missionary, oral (m!receiving), jacking off on your face, facial, cum/spit swallowing, name calling (bitch, slut, whore, baby??) basically just pure filth.

zuzu's note: love sex is the best (love sex w/jongho) but... hate sex with jongho..? i think i'd die. so. i took a break from my stack of homework to write this. i still have my enemies to lovers slow burn w/jongho in my drafts and idk if it will ever see the light of day. i wrote this with the intention of just ending it on a hate/sad/neutral note, but i wanna marry jongho and i want him to love me so i can't do it for the sake of art.

"you had to go and be a little attention whore, hm?" jongho grumbled, his hips snapping against your rear as he pounded into you from behind. he yanked on your hair, slamming your head against the mattress twice, eliciting a high-pitched whine from your throat. you glare at him.

"i- i wasn't being an attention whore," you shot back and slammed your ass against him, earning a twitch of his eye as he abruptly halted his thrusts. "it's not my fault you marked my neck yesterday. they were bound to notice."

"you could've tried a little harder to hide it, no?" he leaned in, his chest flat against your back. his left hand pushed your hair behind your ear, but it eventually fell back down. "you wanted them to see, to wonder..." he began to slowly thrust into you again. "i don't want them knowing that i fuck useless sluts like you."

"well—" your retort was muffled and rendered useless when jongho forcibly pushed three fingers into your mouth.

"shut up, bitch..." you felt a harsh sting on your left ass cheek. you felt his veiny dick hit your cervix repeatedly — jongho didn't like using protection when it came to fucking you, he made that clear. he loved the thrill of seeing your expression whenever he would threaten to cum inside you.

you had only been fucking for 10 minutes right after san walked out the door and you secured that the house was empty but both of you were already so close to cumming the faster jongho moved his hips against you — the deeper his fingers went into your mouth, muffling each moan he forces out of you.

you could feel your climax building up in your stomach and your moans become more and more short of breath, your grip on the mattress tightens and your toes begin to curl when jongho abruptly stops thrusting and he pulls his fingers from your mouth. "what the hell?" you turn your head to look at him, only to feel your body to be slammed against the mattress in a split second and your legs are pushed against your chest when jongho slams back into you.

face to face.

you hated when jongho did missionary. when you'd do missionary with your old boyfriends you get to look at each other with love and kiss each other and he'd whisper cute praises in your ear — missionary with jongho was different, it was when you'd see him in a different light and you didn't like it because fucking him knowing you hated his guts was the reason you made this arrangement.

with this pose, you get a full show. watching his expression shift while he pounded into your tight pussy, his brows slightly furrowed and his eyes ocassionally fluttered shut, maybe he didn't want to look at you. small grunts and warm sighs escaping him. you hated this position because you associated it with love and you had hoped at some point that jongho would lean in and whisper sweet nothings in your ear and kiss you on the lips and love you.

but every time you did missionary he wouldn't do any of that and you're not sure if he even thought about it the way you did. the enemies with benefits thing was destroying you as each second passed and you wanted to stop because you missed the concept of intimacy, but what little hope you had left of waiting for the day jongho would kiss your lips kept you from leaving the agreement.

your lips parted slightly small mewls coming out of your mouth as you closed your eyes, a small tear escaped you but you masked it, leaning up and latching yourself onto him, scratching his strong back with your nails. "harder," you cried out softly as he thrusted faster. "so good..." you whispered.

hearing the praise, jongho followed your command. "can't handle it anymore, baby?" jongho's pet name completely ruined you, the affectionate tone of his voice only adding to the confusion swirling in your mind. does he truly hate you, or was this a ruse to mask his own feelings? as you gazed into jongho's eyes, you pictured the perfect relationship with him, the perfect sex that wasn't full of hatred, you pretended that the spark in his eyes was love and you felt your body weaken further, your pussy clenching around his still-hard cock.

your body weakened and your back slammed back against the mattress as you caught your breath. your closed eyes fluttered back open when you notice that jongho hadn't reached his peak yet, but instead of chasing his release, he seemed content to stay buried inside you, his hips paused mid-thrust. his face was an unreadable mask, his breathing steady as he maintained eye contact.

you wanted to ask 'what's wrong?' but that would be too unusual. instead, you found yourself staring into jongho's eyes, feeling a sudden wave of embarrassment wash over you. had you really just cum to the thought that the man who obviously had nothing but hatred for you was in love with you? you bit your bottom lip and averted your eyes, but jongho's hand snaked up to grasp your chin, preventing you from looking away. "you're so..." he started, his voice low and intense. he paused, as if searching for the right word.

so what? sexy? pretty? ugly? unbearable? what? what? what?!

"don't look at me like that," jongho muttered, pulling out of your trembling body. his cock remained rigid, a testament to his self-control. without warning, he positioned himself kneeling above your face, his hands grasping your small ones as he guided them around his thick shaft. "go on,"

your hands slowly pumped his hard length, the thick heat of his flesh filling your palms. his hips rocked forward, his arousal occasionally brushing against your lips, a tantalizing promise that you ached to fulfill. it was close enough that you could suck it and taste him, you never got to taste him — but you knew jongho didn't want that, he never tasted you either. he believed fucking should be the extent of the agreement, any form of oral sex would be "too intimate."

you were unsure if you yearned for intimacy or intimacy with jongho.

"suck it like the slut you are..." jongho said. you wondered if you were hearing things, did he really ask that? you followed his orders, your lips parted and you sucked on his tip. "fuck," he groaned. "you're so desperate for my cock, huh?" he thrusted into your mouth, tip hitting the back of your throat, and his balls hitting your chin. you couldn't help but gag against him at the sudden intrusion.

"s-say it," jongho rasped, his voice strained. "say you're a desperate little toy that can't get enough of my cock." you hesitated, your words muffled against his flesh. how the hell were you supposed to say it when his fat cock filled your mouth? "say it or i'll pull out and finish all over your face instead," he threatened, his hips bucking forward as he slowly fed more of his length into your mouth. you gagged around him, your eyes watering as you shook your head, you didn't want to give in to his demand.

"bitch," jongho cursed, pulling out of your mouth and backhanding you sharply, erupting a yelp from you. "open your mouth and tell me what you are," he ordered, his voice cold. he pumped his own fist over his lap, the wet sounds of his hand working his slick flesh filling the room. his other hand slapped you again on the same cheek then forced you to look up as he jerked himself off on your teary-eyed face. his tip occasionally rubbed on your red cheek and he threw his head back, hips bucking against his own hand. "you're so ashamed to admit something so obvious..." he continued weakly.

you hesitantly parted your lips, tears spilling down your cheeks as you whispered, "i-i'm a...slut for your...your...c-cock..." jongho's face darkened, his hand moving faster over his erection.

"louder," he hissed, his eyes locked onto yours.

you swallowed hard, your voice shaking as you screamed, "i'm a slut for your cum, jongho! i'm a desperate, pathetic slut who needs your cock and your cum to feel alive."

jongho's hand froze at your words, he whispers, "you're damn right you are," before pulling back and firing a thick stream of white onto your cheeks, neck, and chest. you sat up and grabbed his dick, putting it in your mouth so you could taste his cum, only for him to pull you off of him by your hair. "who said you can do that?" he grabs his cock and aims it in your face, pumping it slowly as cum continues to spill out of him until he was empty. "open."

on command, you opened your mouth. jongho pulled your head back by your hair and he took a second to collect his saliva before spitting it into your mouth and connecting your lips with a deep kiss.

a kiss?

your eyes fluttered shut as you kissed him back. his grip on your hair loosening as he cradled your face and continued to make out with you. you couldn't think, what mattered was that he was kissing you. someone he couldn't bare to face but he could handle fucking. he was kissing you.

"ah-" you almost whined when he pulled away but you gained composure when you caught sight of his soft expression.

"don't be so pretty all the time." he whispered.

"...what?"

"i said you look like a fucking lime." he said louder and playfully pushed your head to the side, he shuffled out of the bed and put on his shirt and underwear. "stay there," he said and left the room. his room. usually, jongho would fuck you in your room so he could just leave when you two were finished but today was different. you never noticed it before. you pulled his blanket up to cover your body, realizing it was a bit gross since his cum was still on your chest. slowly, you moved yourself off of the bed and sat on the edge.

"woah, where are you going?" jongho walked into the room and rushed toward you. "do you not know the definition of the word 'stay?'" he asked, kneeling between your legs and wiping the almost dried cum in between your thighs with a damp paper towel, slipping a finger inside so he could empty you fully. what the fuck was he doing? you wanted to so badly ask, but he seemed so focused. he took another damp towel he brought with him and began wiping your face, neck, and chest.

it was too quiet. you could only sit and watch as he grabbed your arm and wiped each one down with the towel, eventually, he threw a shirt of his on the bed and sat down. "wear this." he said. "i don't like seeing you wear mingi or yunho's clothes when you stay over."

you blushed but you hid your smile and slowly put the shirt on.

"come here." jongho patted the space between his legs and you shuffled closer to him, wondering what he would do next, he turned you around so your back was against his chest and he began brushing your haid. "are you sleepy?" he asked.

"a bit..." you replied. voice raspy.

"sleep here tonight."

you wanted to protest because what in the fuck was going on right now? literally. what the fuck? what the fuck?

"...okay." you whispered.

you can hear the clank of the brush against the desk by his bed and he moved to lay down, prompting you to lay down as well, facing him. you wanted to ask but you wondered if it would ruin the moment.

"don't you hate me?" you asked, voice soft.

you can see jongho's expression stiffen, he nervously licked his lips and gulped. "...i did." he said. "i guess i broke a few rules tonight, didn't i?' he chuckled. "having you suck me off wasn't too bad. kissing wasn't too bad either."

"i liked kissing you." you deadpan. you wanted to be direct because jongho kept beating around the bush. "did you like it?"

"i... i did." he hesitantly replied.

"do you think that if you didn't set that dumb boundary a long time ago, then—"

"go to sleep. your pretty little head might explode." jongho knocked on your forehead.

your mouth shut tightly, but after a few seconds you tried again. "seriously—"

"sleeeep." jongho covered your face with one hand.

"so annoying..." you grumble and close your eyes, shuffling to turn around from him. you can hear his soft laugh and his arms suddenly wrap around you.

"we'll talk in the morning."

main masterlist.

[spaghettificationandpretzels]

Idle Hands

I'm clearing out my drafts, so please enjoy this super short one shot. I'm not all that happy with this, but I've been working on it for months, and if I kept working on it, it was never going to get posted.

Contains: Historically inaccuracy around coconut oil and rum, fluff, smut (P in V).

933 words

John gets bored on your spa vacation.

When Tommy suggested you and John go to one of those new fandangled spa resorts by the sea to take a break from the rush and smoggy air of Birmingham, you knew it would be a change. What you didn't know was how bored you were going to be, one can only soak in the Grecian pool so much.

When you returned from your spa treatment, John was lying on one of the couches in your room, naked under the towel wrapped around his waist as he read the Birmingham Times, looking disinterested. You walked behind the loveseat and wrapped your arms around his body as he twisted himself to kiss you. He pulled back with a smile and took a deep breath. "You smell like that fancy rum we give to the Toffs at the Eden Club, the one from the Caribbean."

"Yes, I just spent the last hour getting a coconut oil massage." It was nice, but even a trained masseuse had nothing on John's strong, capable hands. You made the short journey around the seat and sat next to him, but he grinned and lifted you onto his lap. "What are you doing?"

His eyes filled with mischief as he placed his hand on your thigh. "I got lonely without you."

His calloused fingers grazed your inner thigh, his trigger finger the roughest as they slowly slid closer to the leg opening of your loose linen shorts. "I'm sorry, Dearest. You could have come with me. They did have a couples option."

He started running his fingertips up and down your leg, from your knee to just inside your shorts and back again, before letting out a sigh. "I'm bored shitless, love. There's nothing to do here."

You raised an eyebrow. "Nothing? I can think of a few things."

The way he grinned and tilted his head told you the game was on, and a bulge radially grew in the towel as he pulled you into a kiss. You couldn't decide whether to remove his towel or your shirt, and the room filled with laughter as your hands collided midair in the rush to choose. The towel fell away as the knot came undone, and a moment later, his hands found your bare skin.

He palmed your breasts as his lust filled eyes raked over your body. "You're so fucking beautiful." He pushed himself up and pulled you further onto his lap as his lips found yours with force, his teeth meeting your flesh as his hand moved to your lower back to press you to his hard cock. The kiss turned softer as his other hand made its way to your core.

He smiled into the kiss as his fingers ran through the mess between your legs. He swallowed your moans as he zeroed in on your clit and dug your nails into his ample bicep as your head fell against his chest. He was infuriating sometimes; his need to take his time and enjoy it like he was walking through an interactive art gallery made you far more desperate than you were willing to admit. "John, please, you had your fun this morning, have mercy on me."

His chest rumbled with a chuckle, and you fought the urge to sink your teeth into his plump lower lip as he brought his fingers down to your entrance. Just as you were preparing to protest again, he pulled his fingers away and grabbed his cock before rubbing it up and down your slit. "Well, hop on Love." He held himself steady as you slid down and settled into his lap.

You stayed still, adjusting to his size as one of his hands landed on your lower back while the other found your cheek. His fingertips brushed your cheekbone as you started to rock your hips, and his nose bumped yours as affection poured from his mouth. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you to his chest as he took over the pace and you buried your head in his neck as your nerves lit up like the night sky during a bomb run.

He hit his stride, and an inferno followed the path his hand made from your back to your clit as he rubbed it in tight circles while your breath caught in your chest. Your teeth found the junction of his neck and shoulder as the sparks of pleasure grew overwhelming while the steady pressure of his cock on your G-spot made your thighs twitch against his firm body.

He was grunting like an animal, snapping his hips up at the end of each stroke to kiss your cervix before pulling out almost all the way and starting again. Your nails dug into his skin and opened your mouth to warn him of your oncoming fall over the edge, but he already knew and took you in a searing kiss as he pushed you over it. Your world spun as you landed on your back and he folded you like a pretzel as used all his leverage to slam into you.

It was so much it almost ached, but just as you were about to try to beg for mercy between desperate breaths, you felt him pulse inside you, and his weight collapsed on top of you while his chest heaved and his hips stuttered with aftershocks. He took a deep breath, and you felt his lips fall all across your face in gentle kisses. "You right, Love?"

You nodded. "I'm great. Are you still bored?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, I'm great too."

Fin

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

Hello! Can i request a fem! Rover with a (Gender Neutral) Reader that is an expert in multiple martial arts and is a genius at planning and everything but is a bit clueless when it comes to love and have a hard time expressing it correctly?

Ooh, wuwa requests! Sure thing, anon!

Rover and Reader, And the Case of the Awkward Love.

(Warning: Might be OOC!)

This can also be read as Male!Rover in case you don't want to read it as Female!Rover.

Rover Got it Lucky, That Reader Fellow is a treat...Except not in a romantic sense, seeing as you struggle a little to really show how much you love Rover.

Literally, I think Rover would find it both amusing and a bit concerning. You, the Reader, who is both a Martial Arts Master and a Genius in Strategy, with the most god-like time management even Huaxu Academy is scratching their heads over...is losing in the Game of War.

You can beat anyone in chess, beat any Tacet Discord to utter non-existent pulp...and the love warfare, it seems, was your greatest weakness (so far). Luckily, the Rover is here to help!

"Hey, it's okay." The Rover smiles at you warmly, a hand on your shoulder. The way Rover's presence is both calming and gentle is always nice and welcoming. "There's no rush."

Such simple words, yet the undertone intention is clear: Be you.

Safe to say, Rover won your heart very easily. It's only a matter of time, of course, before you master the Art of Love...and shower this wandering rover with all the attention and affection only you can provide!

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: I am so sorry for being so inactive! I had a lot of IRL tasks in my hands that required my full attention, and I couldn't squeeze enough time to even finish simple requests 😭 I PROMISE, I'M SLOWLY COMING OUT OF MY GRAVE A LITTLE—OR, AT LEAST, I'LL TRY SOBBING.

Safe to say, I am trying to catch up with the requests still chilling in my drafts/inbox. I'll be back with the writing grind (hopefully)!

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

[playmiya]

chapter three: world is a fuck previous ⎯ masterlist ⎯ next

Atsumu's running one hand through his hair and shoving the mask in his bag with another has he sprints up the stairs of Otsuka.

One of the newer, nicer dorms of the Uni, he almost feels jealous of his building, characterised by its old architecture and patchy Wi-Fi. His knee hurts from where the thief from earlier managed to land a kick, but he pushes on, wiping away blood from a stray cut on his cheek and hoping it's not a deep wound.

He throws the door open to the common room, surprisingly empty at 8PM on a Tuesday, to see your figure intensely taping your knuckles as you wince. Your eyes flit up to his, and you fumble with the tape until it stretches into a long line, hanging from your hand. You gaze at the cut on his cheek, and he stares at your hand til he clears his throat.

"My cat knocked over a bowl."

"My dog's got way too much energy."

You giggle, and he laughs, feeling more comfortable as he drops his backpack at the door and moves closer to the couch you were lazing on.

"You must be Atsumu," you say, offering him your free hand, which he takes. "And you're [Name]?", he asks, giving you a once over. He can't help but appreciatively admire you, which doesn't go unnoticed.

"Are you seriously checking me out right now?", you gasp, wrangling your hand from his. He falls into his witty, charming ways almost immediately.

"If art's staring right at ya, would ya not admire it?", he drawls, and you roll your eyes in mock annoyance, unable to hide the way your lips quirk up in amusement, despite the cringe.

"You must say that to every girl you meet. A little bird tells me that you meet a lot," you speak, settling into the couch as he pulls up a chair in front of you.

"I didn't know this was an interview into my personal life," Atsumu responds in faux shock, pleasantly surprised by your directness.

"Well, that's really what's getting the views for us, isn't it?", you say, flipping your moleskin notebook open and clicking your glittery pink pen.

"I'm being objectified and I don't like it," Atsumu jokes and you make a laugh, scrunching your nose in the process.

"And no, I don't. Say that to every girl I meet. Just to sassy editors that bite back," he adds, and you have to fight the weird feeling in your stomach to continue this interview in a more ... professional manner.

Clearing your throat, you ask him if he's ready to be recorded, and after his assent, you start.

"Okay, rapid-fire questions now. Please answer with the first thing that comes to mind." He shoots you a thumbs up.

"Greatest accomplishment?"

"So far? Repping Japan at the U19 Worlds."

"What are you grateful for?"

"Myself", he smirks, and you fight the urge to roll your eyes again.

"Dream dinner guest?"

"Myself 20 years from now. To see if I've made it."

"Do you want to be famous?"

"I already am."

"Current concern?"

Washing the blood out of my suit. "If my roommate left me any dinner."

"What song did you last listen to?"

"2 soon by keshi."

"What's a secret skill that you have?"

I can shoot webs from my wrists! "I'm really good at skincare."

"Okay," you murmur, scribbling as he spoke. He feels like peering over and reading what you wrote. "Longer questions now."

"How do you manage your time between being a student and an athlete, as well as enjoying campus life?"

I don't, is what he wants to say. He barely hangs on by a thread — or a web, if you will — taking each day as it comes and knowing that as Spider-Man, he'll always need to have excuses up his sleeve to run from one commitment to another. Instead, he blabs about schedules and planning and using Notion, which in reality scares the shit out of him.

"What do you think about the current competition in the volleyball circuit? Are there any players who you think could bump you down the rankings at the draft?"

"Everyone's good," he says slowly, considering his words, and then a lazy smirk settles on his face. "But I'm the best."

"Riiight," you intone, writing something down. "You do know this is being published?", you add, and he hums. "I said what I said."

"What are your opinions on the current safety concerns on-campus?"

He shrugs nonchalantly. "I still gotta do what I gotta do. We got Spider-Man. He'll protect us."

You raise an eyebrow. "All the time? Don't you think we should take matters into our own hands?"

Atsumu's taken aback by your response. He knows reactions towards Spider-Man are extreme; some hate him, while others love him, but this is new.

"Has he ever let us down?"

"Well, yeah. He let a Five Guys get absolutely demolished by Electro last week, Rhino ran through a block in May, and everyone knows about Tokyo tower—"

He has to hide the burn in his cheeks from the embarrassment of Tokyo Tower, remembering the humiliation of that evening. "Yeah, well, some may say he was trying to protect everyone from heart attacks by letting that Five Guys get destroyed, and that Rhino thing was just police negligence if you think about it," he protests, and you scowl.

"He's a good hero, sure, but not the hero. We need more than just one guy swinging around to keep Tokyo safe."

He's about to open his mouth when he feels the hair on his arm raise, and that awful feeling of something cold creeping up his spine settle into his bones. His phone beeps with an alert, and he sees Osamu's text flash across the screen. Fire in a mall nearby. Suspected work of an arsonist.

He doesn't notice your phone light up, and Yachi sending you the screenshot of a headline along with a location, and the way you begin squirming in your seat, wanting nothing more to finish this interview now.

Atsumu beats you to it, making the worst excuse he's possibly ever come up with.

"I'm having an attack of explosive diahhrea."

taglist: @diorzs @egoistars @southernfrogprincesd @dazqa @milesmoralesluvs @she-lovesmyheartshapedsunglasses @dailyakira @giocriedpower @punkhazardlaw @loverlunaire

[valentine-writes]

boys don't cry

「 tws + notes: no tws, unedited, masc coded reader (kinda. no pronouns used!! but trust y'all i'll b writing masc reader stuff soon cuz I Need It), inconsistent lengths for each character i am Filled W/ Favouritism, kisses can be platonic (spider-noir part i love this man), reader is used to bottling emotions up, the spot's part is Not That Serious, characters all love u and wanna help :> 」

「 gn!reader, can be platonic or romantic <3 」

↳ ft. gwen stacy, hobie brown/spider-punk, jessica drew, lyla, margo kess/spider-byte, miles morales (1610 and 42), miguel o'hara/spider-man 2099, (spider-man) noir, pavitr prabhakar, peter b parker, and the spot/johnathan ohnn

author's note: this song slaps╰(*°▽°*)╯ also see other songs below which influenced this <3 u can slowly see me losing the slash srsness as the character progress,,, apologies. many :(( anyways!! had this marinating in my drafts so im posting. hopefully will get time to clear my inbox and fulfill reqz! tysm for ur patience lovelies !!!!（。＾▽＾）<333

“i try to laugh about it / hiding the tears in my eyes” – the cure, boys don't cry

“i didn’t want you to hear / that shake in my voice / my pain is my own” – car seat headrest, 1937 state park

“i don’t know why i am / the way i am, not strong enough to be your man” – boygenius, not strong enough

▸ GWEN, who all too familiar with what it's like to keep up a tough act for the sake of not falling apart.

she's grown accustomed to letting emotions eat away at her until they're too big to deal with. which is why she's quick to feel empathy when she sees that you do the same thing.

she won't force you to talk about anything you don't want to– but if you need an outlet, she hands you her drum sticks.

"maybe it'll help you like it helps me." gwen explains, giving you that awkward little smile of hers that makes everything weighing on you feel a little less heavy.

always trying to help you find a way to channel your emotions. even if drumming doesn't work for you. maybe it's singing. maybe it's art. or maybe you just need to cry. no matter what it is, she doesn't mind. she just wants you to let it out in a healthy way.

▸ HOBIE is instantly aware of the fact you're the type to laugh and joke around to hold back tears.

you're trying your hardest to keep smiling, but he sees it falter as you try to speak, choking out the words while holding back a sob.

"'s okay to cry, y'know? no one 'round here but us anyways." he reassures.

you take a sharp inhale, knowing it was useless to pretend. he was always emotionally intelligent, able to read you like a book. sometimes you wondered if he could read your mind. or maybe he was just attentive with you.

he puts a hand on your back, gently rubbing as you feel the tears run down your cheeks. this turns into an arm around your shoulder as you cry, until you're fully sobbing– he decides to just pull your into his arms.

he's still holding you close, even as your cries subside into sniffles. always encourages you to be real with him. there's nothing he loves more than you being unfiltered– even if it means expressing negative emotions. to hobie, vulnerability is bravery.

▸ JESSICA DREW who's quick to notice you the minute you turn away to conceal your face.

she pulls you aside discreetly, knowing you probably didn't want attention of others. tries to meet you eye-level, asks you directly about what's wrong.

after a few seconds of silence, you finally break.

"i feel so weak." you sniffle, not meeting her eyes.

"for doing a little crying?" she sighs a little, shaking her head. "not at all. you're strong– you've been strong. but even strong people gotta cry."

she'll talk you through it or just sit beside you, offering you advice or even just a space to vent. she's very busy all the time– but she'll set aside time for you. tells you that hiding from emotions only works for so long and that tells you that you aren't any less tough in her eyes for feeling them.

you're only human after all. you deserve to live out the wholeness of the human experience.

▸ LYLA isn't really all too involved with your day-to-day life shenanigans (being the best ai assistant is hard), but she always makes a point to check up on you when she gets the chance.

besides, miguel sure isn't gonna gossip with her like you do.

"you doing good?" she'll ask, grinning.

you only respond with a weak "yeah" and the fakest chuckle she's ever heard, as you clearly attempt to blink back tears.

she doesn't know what to do. tries to wipe the tears that eventually fall with a virtual hand that phases right through your face. well. at least she had good intentions.

"hey, hey–" lyla gets you to take a deep breath. "look at me."

she says your name, regrounding you. you look up at her, and for a moment, she's certain that she's felt something akin to sympathy. she's felt something real.

lyla doesn't let that distract her from her objective– right now, she's gotta comfort you.

she repeats your name, "...it's okay. you cry if you feel like it."

▸ MARGO who sits you down, letting you be the one to speak first when your smile wavers.

"i hate fuckin' crying.." you laugh weakly, trying to make the situation better. it doesn't help control the tears. "i feel so lame for it."

"you know," she whispers, taking your hands in yours, "i still think you're pretty cool."

she gives you a grin that's so earnest– so sweet– that lets you know she's being honest.

"okay, so this might be stupid,, butttt–" encourages you two to listen to some moody music so you can get whatever you've bottled up out of you systems. it's cathartic, crying your eyes out with her as whatever the two of you have queued up blasts in the background.

doesn't judge you one bit for crying.

"only way out is through." she shrugs. "gotta feel it before you can actually let it go."

▸ MILES (1610) who had just asked an innocent question about how your doing, now watching as you struggle to respond.

after a strained moment of searching for words, you shrink away and hide your face in your hands. he scoots by your side, asking before gently taking your hands away from your face.

"what's wrong?" his voice is soft. gentle as he looks at you with the sweetest concerned expression.

"i shouldn't be crying.. it's stupid... i feel so, so stupid–"

he frowns at these words. "i don't think it's stupid."

societal expectations forcing people to put on a tough act just to conceal emotions deemed as "weakness?" not a new concept to him. he's just sad that it's impacted you so deeply.

after this, will actively check up on how you're doing emotionally. will pull you aside to have a heart-to-heart if he senses the slightest thing off. terrified of being shut out by you, will always offer for the two of you to deal with whatever you're struggling with together.

▸ MILES (42) who asks more bluntly than he had intended when he senses you're not doing okay.

you take a sharp inhale, giving him an unsteady smile which only makes him sigh. no matter how much you try to make the situation lighthearted, his expression never changes.

"nah. you're not fooling me." he walks over to you, his voice softening as he looks at you. "...what's got you upset?"

a really good listener. lets you rest your head on his shoulder as you vent and let it out.

he's not the most open himself, so of course he understands– but he doesn't want you to be like him.

you thank him for putting up with your breakdown, feeling a little awkward as you pull your cheek away from his shoulder and look at him.

you watch as he falters for a moment, gently grabbing your arm and pulling you in for a warm, slightly stiff, side-hug.

"don't thank me for that– it's just what you deserve." though his quick to dismissal of what you'd said seems to be the end of his sentence– you watch as he unclenches his jaw, hesitating before he says something else.

"anytime. i mean it."

▸ MIGUEL who is jus like u for reals doesn't quite know how to cope with emotions either. that doesn't give him an excuse to not try with you.

he can't find the right words, but you see the empathy in his eyes. he offers quiet comfort– places a hand on your back, rubbing it as you lean into his side

"don't hide your face from me." he mutters to you. "it's just me."

your hands fall from your face into your lap, shoulders slumping. he feels you tremble softly, as you to reply.

"this should be for me to deal with. i should be strong enough." your words echo in his mind.

maybe because he's told himself the same thing too many times before as well. it's painful, the way that this moment with you reflects a mirror image of himself.

will crumble his own walls if it means you'll do the same. tries to be open to encourage you. you'll learn together.

▸ NOIR who is a gentleman through and through. always. tells you that he'll give you anything you need.

"i don't know what nitwit told you it wasn't okay for you to cry," his choice of words makes you crack a slight genuine smile, "but you don't have to believe them one second."

as your facade slowly crumbles, his gloved hands cup your face as you cry. he dries your cheeks, patiently nodding as he listened to you ramble on about everything you've been holding back.

when you've calmed down, he presses a kiss to your forehead.

to ache like this and still be concerned over burdening others– he's now finds little ways to remind you how precious you are to him. that he'll always care.

▸ PAVITR, who approaches you as delicately as possible. he tries not to do anything that will make you feel backed into a corner.

he knows that feeling scared can lead to lashing out. tries to be casual about it to ensure you're as comfortable as possible.

you crack an obviously forced joke and he glances at you questioningly.

"you're not telling me something, aren't you?" he asks. pavitr's secretly hoping he was good at playing this careful– but you had picked up that he wanted to talk to you about it for a while now.

you're both obvious.

your grin fades as you chuckle dryly. "i don't... i don't want to– it's embarrassing."

"what's embarrassing is that i didn't notice earlier. don't be shy. we can figure it out together, okay?"

offers all the help he can. even (secretly) messages gayatri for "advice for a friend" you!!! you are friend!!!!! he doesn't name drop tho. privacy king.

▸ PETER B(E MY WIFE) PARKER. the one who drags you outside to chat about it and cracks a stupid joke himself. it alleviates no tension at all.

"..ahh,, no, nevermind that kid. you okay?"

a shake of your head and his smile fades a bit. he grips your shoulder, shaking you gently.

"been there plenty of times. trust me– better to get it out now."

and for a while, it's just a conversation. you're both sitting outside, the night air bringing a chill to your skin. he offers his jacket– and then proceeds to pull you into it while he still wears it, your back pressed to his chest.

it goes unspoken, but he knew you had been struggling for a while now. he's relieved to finally get a moment with you.

he'll always be looking out for you. even if you don't realize.

▸ THE SPOT/JOHNATHAN OHNN panics ever so slightly. this is the first time you've ever cried in front of him. so he does what he does best– and just asks questions.

"you've been bottling it up this whole time?"

"mhm..."

"for how long?..." your response causes him to pause, blinking several times before parting his lips to speak again. "...oh. oh wow– yikes–" he means well i swear.

will scour the multiverse in search of a quiet place for you to lay this all to rest.

you admit, you're certain you don't need all this– but he seems happy to put in the effort and lead you into a portal into a nice area to relax.

"are we breaking and entering into someone's house?!"

"uh– don't worry about it for now."

[the-messenger-hawk]

kinder beginning:

aka- au where they grew up and started climbing together

[chitty-chitty-bang-bang-bang]

Vladislav’s Fluff alphabet

Original template by @eekshade

Requested by @rthounasty (you’re right, Vlad deserves more love)

Warnings: Occasionally vulgar language

Author’s note: The reader will be human here. The whole fucking edited draft of this got deleted bc of my bad WiFi and I had to redo it… Perks of living in a shit hole ig.

_____________________________________________

Admiration. (what do they admire about their S/O)

Vladislav admires the fact, that you see him for what he is. You’re not intimidated by his past or reputation and he doesn’t have to keep up this front around you, because you see him right through and it is such a peculiar feeling to have someone who loves him for him.

Boldness. (how bold are they in regard to their S/O? who confessed first?)

Funnily enough, I feel like you would be the one to confess first. He is a very proud vampire and the thought of a rejection subconsciously scares him way too much to hit it off with you. But after you two are already dating, he’ll be the more bold/initiative one.

Comfort. (how do they comfort their S/O?)

Vlad is very observant. Much more observant than you think. Even if you try to hide it, he always notices when you’re down and starts a conversation with you. Usually on some random unrelated theme, but it slowly gets you to open up and talking about what’s got you so bothered. He’ll just listen and let you get it out of the system.

Dates. (do they prefer going out or staying in? do they prefer fancy or simple?)

Staying in is a more plausible option in Vlad’s eyes, because you get to relax in privacy together. In public, there is still some level of discomfort that might prevent you from being that affectionate together or having deep personal conversations. Usually you go out on the town, if some of your/Vlad’s friends call you along.

Equal. (are they more dominant or passive?)

Once he really gets comfortable within your relationship, he starts taking initiative and mostly volunteers to make the decisions. However, if you have a more persuasive type of character he’ll probably slow down a bit. It is quite refreshing for him to not have any competitiveness in a relationship.

Family. (do they want to start a family?)

I think, that if you don’t initiate this yourself, it wouldn’t be in his plans. Children are quite complicated creatures and he’s not sure, if he’s cut out to handle one, especially considering that the child in question will be from a completely different world, that he struggles to understand. But if you end up raising a child together, he turns out to be more than a decent father figure.

Goofy. (how serious are they when it comes to a relationship?)

Vlad takes your relationship very seriously. He has rather clear intentions on one day making you a vampire and living together forever. But that doesn’t mean he’s constantly dwelling on it. The best part of having a partner is getting to be laid back and genuinely unwind.

Hugs. (how do they hug?)

Two words: bear hugs. He straight up scoops you up and squeezes the last breath out of your lungs in the most affectionate way possible. Sometimes you have to remind him to be gentler, because he legitimately can crush your ribcage (he won’t though, I promise).

Interests. (what Interests do they want to share with their S/O)

You really inspire Vlad to create. He already creates a lot, but after you appeared, his amount of poetry/art done almost doubled. He doesn’t show you everything he makes. Instead he carefully picks out the best works to present. The other “rejects” will forever stay swept under his coffin or tucked away somewhere in a cupboard.

Jealousy. (do they get jealous?)

Vlad can’t help, but sometimes view your friends as potential rivals. These are just intrusive thoughts, that can never leave his head, even though he knows it’s stupid. He never acts on them, to be sure. But just the feeling itself is very unpleasant to him.

Kiss. (how they kiss/favorite place to be kissed, and vise versa.)

Vlad loves neck/shoulder kisses both on the giving and the receiving end. He finds these especially romantic and intimate. To him, the fact that you let him kiss your neck really shows how much you trust Vladislav to not hurt you. Also, I have to mention that Vlad is probably the best kisser ever, since he had a lot of time to practice.

Love Language.

Quality time is definitely Vlad’s main love language. Nothing shows his love and devotion more than just sitting together for hours and talking about anything and everything. Sometimes you don’t even have to talk. Even being together in one room, being close to each other, it means so much to both of you.

Meals. (kitchen dynamics.)

Vladislav doesn’t cook, obviously, but he’s willing to try for you. He might cook something in your kitchen, using some old recipe he found in Viago’s library and it’s probably going to taste absolutely inedible, but it’s the thought that counts, right? But honestly, with time he actually gets really good and can cook a legitimately tasty meal for you.

Nicknames. (what do they call their S/O?)

He is very straightforward in that way, I think. He either just calls you by your actual name or “My Love” / “Dragostea mea”. He might occasionally use some other pet names like “Darling” / “Lubi”. But overall, sticks to the classics.

Openness. (how open are they about their past/emotions with their S/O?)

Vlad takes his time with opening up to you. He slowly shares random snippets of his thoughts and watches how you react to them. When he knows you well enough, he’ll be completely transparent about his present and past experiences/feelings.

PDA.

He is rather hesitant with public affection. To him this sort of stuff is private, not something to be shared with the world. But simple gestures like holding hands or leaning into each other are totally okay with him.

Quarrel. (how they apologize/ how long it takes them to forgive their S/O?)

It all depends on you. Vladislav is a very proud vampire and even if he knows, that he’s in the wrong, it takes him a while to apologise. If you give him time, he will come around to it on his own, but if you confront him about it really speeds up the process. He doesn’t really hold grudges on you for mundane arguments and forgives you easily.

Rules. (boundaries they have.)

No violence. He’s got enough of that in both his normal and romantic life and he’s sick and tired. Vlad just wants something sweet and peaceful for once and having these aggressive outbursts is the exact opposite of his ideal relationship.

Security. (how protective they are of their S/O.)

Vladislav seems to be a bit more on edge when you are around people he doesn’t know. Even if they are your friends, it takes a while to get him to trust them. He remains very vigilant and observant, as if he’s expecting some kind of a catch. This tension disappears after a bit of time spent with the new people.

Time. (how long does it take to fall for their S/О?)

Vladislav is all about slow burn, I think. Only after he truly gets to know you close he starts to develop romantic feelings. It’s the little parts of your personality that are hidden from most people that really make you special to him and Vlad wants to have this personal connection, before a romantic one.

Upset (what things upset them in a relationship?)

He is really upset, if you are afraid of him. Of course, you’re not terrified. Otherwise you two definitely wouldn’t date. But if you flinch when he gets close to your neck or fidget uncomfortably at the sight of his fangs it makes Vladislav so angry about his own nature. He really wishes he could be human sometimes.

Vacation. (what kind of traveler are they with their S/O?)

Vlad is pretty spontaneous with this sort of stuff. One day he may just wake you up and say you’re going to Transylvania with zero explanation. He does prepare himself for travelling somewhere he has never been before, but it’s usually done by reading books with very very very outdated information, so please do your research too. Don’t let him plan the whole thing by himself.

Words. (promises they make to their S/O.)

He promised to keep you safe. Vladislav has lost way too many close people throughout his existence and he’s not about to let you be one of them. The world is full of dangers both for the living and the undead and if he can provide you any sense of security, he will.

Xenial. (how they make you feel welcome/what makes them feel welcome?)

Every time you walk into the room, you are greeted with this signature toothy grin of his, that just can’t not make your heart swell with warmth. Such a small gesture, but really shows Vlad’s true feelings towards you. And when you reach out to hug him anytime he’s close enough to you to do so, it makes him feel like the most important person in the world.

Yearning. (do they miss their S/O easily? what do they do about it?)

He doesn’t look like someone, who gets separation anxiety… but he does get it. He doesn’t like to be away from you for too long, because it makes him feel lonesome. Sure, his flatmates are still there and that is great, but it’s just not the same feeling. He knows it’s not entirely healthy, but what can you do?

Zzz. (sleeping habits/how they cuddle.)

Vladislav likes, when you lay on top of him. He sleeps in a rather straight position, so he’s stable enough to use him as a second mattress and he just enjoys your weight on top of his chest. It calms him to feel your presence so apparently. If you get cold from his body temperature, he first lays a blanket over himself, then you go on top.

[azalawa-scroggs]

On why I think the "Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth Chooses Death" note was meant literally

I've had this in my drafts for a while after seeing a poll that elicited a little discussion on the topic. I know this is the fandom's majority take on the subject so I'll probably be preaching to the choir, but there (rightly) is discussion about it nonetheless so I felt like giving my arguments.

I'll put it under a read-more just in case people missed the warning in the tags. Considering the topic, naturally, here's a warning for discussion of suicide. Please take care of yourself!

The thing is that Justice For All is very, very ambiguous on that. It does what Ace Attorney is really good at doing - brushing a serious topic then waffling on it until it really doesn't say anything about it, giving itself the benefit of doubt but never making a statement. Both Phoenix and Franziska's dialogue strongly hint that they have a certainty that Edgeworth is still alive, and they're proven right. The narrative doesn't try really hard to sell us the idea that Edgeworth died - Edgeworth is even on the game's box art. I've watched a few JFA walkthroughs hunting for people's reaction to all the Edgeworth talk and his apparent death, and nobody really seems to buy it - either going through great confusion or immediately going like "oh he can't be dead there's no way - he's so coming back."

However. However. It's just impossible to ignore all the subtext that points at the note being real.

The game textually sets up Adrian Andrews as a foil to Franziska. In the parallel Edgeworth draws, Celeste is supposed to represent Manfred - a mentor she admired and whose guidance she lost. But it was a deliberate choice from the writers to have Celeste die by suicide. In the same game that spent a whole game-wide subplot on slowly revealing Edgeworth's apparent death by the exact same means. Edgeworth is the one who gives Phoenix the information about Adrian and Celeste's backstory. And Franziska revealed to us she wasn't seeking revenge for her father, but for her "little brother" - in the parallel between her and Adrian Andrews' stories, it's easy to see Celeste paralleling Edgeworth, not Manfred.

And in fact Adrian is also a clear parallel to Edgeworth himself. He, too, lost the guidance of his mentor and was left questioning everything. In the infamous scene where he interrogates her in the first phase of the trial, he even puts his own words in her mouth.

If you're going to say you would "choose death", that is of no concern to me.

If you consider Rise from the Ashes, Edgeworth's dialogue leaves even less room for doubt regarding his mental state. Compilation:

Edgeworth: Hmph. Some people need very little excuse to think ill of others. It's a fact of life. Impossible to stop. Some of them even go so far as to present me with toys like this… They think it's funny. (Referring to the award he was just given)

Edgeworth: Why, I ask you? Why!? All along, I've done only what I believe is right. I have nothing to be ashamed of! But still... Phoenix: (Wow, I've never seen him this out of sorts...)

Edgeworth: Hmph. I've had to live the past two years with rumors flying around. What's another allegation to me? Ema: Cheer up, Mr. Edgeworth! I'm rooting for you! Phoenix: (That's Edgeworth for you... Always trying to hide his real feelings.)

Edgeworth: There's no excuse for what I've done. Two years ago, I used false evidence to obtain a guilty verdict. That's what it all breaks down to, and nothing I do can erase that fact.

Edgeworth: I'm tired, Mr. Wright. I feel as if… something inside me has died. [...] I know the path I've walked. You don't need to tell me. And the path I've walked... hasn't been a just one. I can't forgive myself for what I've done... and no one else should forgive me either. Phoenix: (Uh oh. I think he's serious!)

Edgeworth: ... It's too late for me. No matter what anyone may say, I realized today that I can't change my own mistakes! Not only that, but I don't even trust myself anymore. Chief Gant was right...

And of course:

Edgeworth: If you'll excuse me… there are still some loose ends that need wrapping up. Take care, Chief Prosecutor. Phoenix: Edgeworth! What will you do now? Edgeworth: ... Phoenix: Well, whatever you do, just remember. What happened in this trial can either make or break you as a prosecutor. In the end, it's up to you. Edgeworth: I know... It seems I owe you my thanks too, Wright. But what I face now... is my problem. Phoenix: Edgeworth... I'll be waiting for you in court. Edgeworth:... Farewell.

I've pulled all my quotes from the wiki, which I believe takes the DS version, but the retranslation of the port makes things even more blatant. Instead of "either make or break you as a prosecutor," the line was retranslated as "You can let what happened kill the prosecutor in you, or you can let it help you grow."

I don't know how much more literal you can get.

Of course, none of this dialogue strictly refers to anything but a professional crisis for Edgeworth. But it is a true crisis, one he takes very deeply and personally - it is his entire moral system that is crumbling down. And the phrasing of some of those lines is downright chilling. "I can't forgive myself, and nobody should do it either" "I feel like something inside me has died" "It's too late for me" or even those ominous "loose ends"... Whatever his final conclusion, he is not doing well. That's one thing RftA makes abundantly clear.

But then why are Phoenix and Franziska so angry, you'll ask me? Grief, of course. Why is Franziska adamant he still lives? Grief, of course - specifically denial. Why does Gumshoe know Edgeworth still lives? Several options. Edgeworth contacted him knowing he'd need someone to help him come back once he decided to come back, or Gumshoe is the one that prevented his note from turning literal, or Edgeworth contacted him at some other point for another reason - it could have happened at any point in his little mental health gap year.

It just makes much more sense to me than the alternative. Why leave a note saying he "chooses death" so unambiguously only to rely on a play on words? He was shown writing a perfectly good resignation letter right before that - the note was meant to be one step further from resignation. And why leave his loved ones in the dark, mourning him, for one entire year if he just deliberately left for soul-searching purposes? The man is obtuse when it comes to feelings, and honestly I could see him pulling this, but... not in conjunction with everything else.

And his arc just makes it make so much sense as well. Depression is often a comorbidity of PTSD, which Edgeworth has, as close to canonically as possible without it being spelled out. He is in an extremely fragile place psychologically - two months earlier his trial dragged him across the coals emotionally, his traumatic past revisited and revealed in an extremely public way. His quest for "perfection" was shattered not just through the losses he suffered at Phoenix's hand but through the sudden, deep and complete betrayal of the man who taught it to him. He only had one moral high ground left - the fact that he never knowingly forged evidence - only for that to be ripped away from him too. Of course he could be nothing less than unstable.

So anyway I don't have any fancy conclusion but yeah I can't imagine "Prosecutor Miles Edgeworth Chooses Death" wasn't meant literally. Even though I'm pretty sure that wasn't the authorial intent, I think it must have been somewhere in the works anyway, otherwise there wouldn't be so many hints to it.

[casablancarossa]

Kiss Kiss

<<a [Valentines] taemin x reader scenario>>

I am back from the grave(read as work) and I totally do not have 8 drafts sitting waiting for me wanting to be posted.

Synopsis: It's Valentines day and you may be a little pissed Taemin isn't with you. Well it's nothing that the rest of SHINee and friends can't fix Pairings : taemin x female!reader Genre : Simple fluff, implied sexiness. Author's Note: Anyway. I could not live with myself if I did not have a Valentines story for our boy. For a fic about you and Taemin, Jinki is here a lot, but I miss him and I need to write about him or else I will cry. Enjoy your stay <3

"Come on Y/N, wake up, we're here"

You felt a hand quickly patting you at the shoulder with urgency, slowly lifting you from your slumber. While dazed, you could slightly make out that majority of the passengers in the bus were now disembarking, all speaking about one thing and one thing only, that hopefully the weather remains clear for the fireworks.

Begrudgingly, you shifted out of your seat, dragging your feet as you hop off the step at the door, stretching your arms out into the air as you yawn and continue stretching your body up.

"Do you think eonnie is going to be angry we are late and hungover?", you groaned, your hands fumbling in your pockets trying to find your sunglasses.

"At least, I managed to convince you to look pretty, or else I'd be lynched", the tone in your friend's voice was far from impressed.

"I don't see how my best friend would care if I look like sewage. We're here to support her gallery remember? I don't need to look pretty for it."

An obvious frown decorated your face, reaching for the sunglasses in your pocket, coolly sliding it onto your face before flashing a smile and quickly hooking your arm around your friend's arm. He smiles back at you and rolled his eyes before he leads you at a certain direction.

Jinki had been begging for you to join him so he could attend your friend's gallery show, who had finally landed a spot at Lunar Art Show, a festival focused for the Lunar New Year celebrations and with a huge art expo alongside it. You had promised to attend the last day of the festival as it was going to be a special Valentines event, with tons of games, food and events themed around the day.

If you weren't so hungover, you'd appreciate the slight shift in the decor, now doning soft pastels and hearts across the banners and buntings.

"Hey Y/N, should we get a quick snack? Your friend said the gallery doesn't allow food inside.. It'll help you ease the hangover", Jinki flashed a smile, giggling at your current predicament, currently struggling to stand still without swaying, almost falling over a couple of times.

The quick wave of your hands, followed by a thumbs up, hinted that you could go for some food, grumbling that how you and Jinki drank last night was next to inhumane.

You blamed the man with you for the state you are in. But you also didn't expect that both of you would be passed out on Minho's sofa after rounding up the SHINee members for what was supposed to be a 'small drink'. And while you could barely remember why you decided to drink yourself blind, the rest surely did.

Leading up to Valentines was an important event for you and Taemin, and as cheesy and cliché it was, Valentines day was your anniversary day as well. It was just serendipitous planning that you two ended up being official on that date and you two didn't mind at all. More often than not, Taemin enjoyed making a week out of it, citing that discount chocolate is still chocolate, to which you would laugh at and call him an idiot for it.

But almost a week ago, Taemin had been rudely taken from your company, being sent off to Japan for work, which bummed you out. With his solo concert in Japan around the corner, it made sense that they would want him there for a while leading up to it, but you had hopped that you would be at least given a day or two after Valentines, until he needed to leave you.

However, Taemin could be a bit dense with texting anyone, often forgetting to contact his members, family and you. When you tried to contact him last night to greet him 'Happy Anniversary', you were greeted by voicemail. When he finally responds, all he sent was a heart emoji and a quick informal 'see you soon' message. That's when you went on a drinking rampage. Starting the night by knocking on Jinki's door, already half cut, slurring your words. After Jinki was a quick visit to Kibum, who was not impressed by you barging into his home, but decided to join in on the fun after you promised him that you would buy him that wine from France that he has been on the waitlist for.

The final stop of the night was Minho who had to listen to your ramblings. Maybe you were too drunk to say anything about it then, but you could recall him laughing at you for crying about Taemin.

Your face scrunched trying to recall that Minho tried to propose to you, Key argued something vague about trying to keep you at home and some plan involving you and Jinki, ordering more alcohol. That's really where your memory drops off and the next thing you remember is being up and being shoved into the bathroom after Jinki begs you to go to the Lunar Art Show with him.

The smell of food distracts you as you snap back to reality to see Jinki, happily eating away and observing the crowd. You two had placed yourselves around the standing table, sharing a bowl of tteokboki between you.

"Hey.. y/n... "

"Hm??"

"You good?", Jinki asks softly before folding hid arms on the table, leaning in slightly to look at you.

"Yeah.. yeah.. the hangover wore out after some water", you replied nonchalantly as you take a bottle from the table and take a big gulp.

"No.. I mean.. are you okay?", the tone of his voice shifts slightly with the question almost sounding sheepish.

"I'm fine oppa. Lets not talk about it.. " you sighed, dropping the fork into the bowl, your appetite slowly dwindling down.

Jinki pursed his lips, as he follows your line of sight. Acknowledging that maybe being surrounded by lovey-dovey couples was not the best idea to placate your sour mood, he was left to handle the mission of making sure you were here, unless he wanted to feel the wrath of his maknae.

He observed how despite how sunny it was, there was a gloom cloud that loomed over your form. The sudden onset public display of affection from passerbys earned a scoff or a grunt out of you, muttering how stupid the company was and more so how stupid Taemin was.

"Hey Y/N, lets go see the gallery. Maybe a friendly face might cheer you up", Jinki muses, quickly feeding himself the remaining food and disposing of the containers.

His arm quickly hooks around yours, leading you towards the area of purpose built lodges, each containing a gallery from different artists. He bided the time, walking slowly as he points out some painting that he thinks would be nice for Key's apartment.

It did warm your heart that Jinki was making an effort to cheer you up. God knows the other two weren't. Minho and Key were useless last night and were virtually nowhere to be seen when you woke up. Although you did appreciate that Key had dropped of some new clothes and his own personal cosmetics bag, for you to play with, leaving a note something along the lines of 'Just because you cried like a baby last night, doesn't mean you can't go out looking like you are in your bad bitch era. Sorry that Taemin is an idiot'.

Finally the sign of your friend's name caught your attention, finally arriving at a decent sized lodge. As you enter through the curtain partition acting as doors, you were immediately greeted by a hug from your childhood best friend, Jieun.

"Hey, glad you could make it", she chirpped, tightening her hug around you.

"Yeah.. this looks amazing", you sighed, quickly scanning the area. "Did I miss much?", you asked worried, noticing that the number of people were slowly counting down.

Immediately in your hands, Jieun passes a glass of champagne, giggling at the fact you made it to her show, but more importantly that everything was falling into place.

"Not at all, in fact, today is extra special, I got the go ahead to display some pieces in the garden behind the lodge, you might spot one of the paintings, you helped me with. If you start from the right , over here.. " she gestures to the large brutalist piece on the far right of the space. "..it'll loop you back here"

Right. Start of with the dark, cold paintings. You stare at the welcome piece, sensing the sereness that comes with a cold industrial scene.

Click.

The flashing light of the camera that seemed to have manifested to Jieun's hands didn't even make you budge, you were used to it and nothing made her more happier that taking the subtle moments when someone is looking at her work, whether its by the subdued grin, or lost daze in their eyes, or the clenching of their fists. It was all prime material for Jieun and often perfect reference photos for the future.

"Trust me, it warms up eventually.." she smirks, nudging your arms with her elbow.

Jieun spins to look at Jinki, immediately linking arms with him. "Now for you, I think I have a piece that might you might be interested in".

You smiled, watching Jinki get whisked away by your friend with a stupid grin on his face. He was always into her and you assumed there was a high chance she was the reason why he was so hellbent in getting you here. The smile slowly disappears from your face the minute they were out of sight, and you turn your head to see painting on alternate sides, lining up a path for you to observe and appreciate the work.

The amount of people were scarce, but you figured most people would go through the galleries first before settling at a spot in the park to participate in the outdoor festivities. You guessed it is nice to finally appreciate your friend's work in silence without a crowd hovering over a painting.

Jieun didn't lie, slowly as you walked down the path of paintings, the subjects became warmer, slowly colours were being introduced. Some of these painting you managed to catch at their conception. If you weren't being dragged from schedule to schedule with Taemin, more often than not, you would be in Jieun's studio. More often than you'd like to admit, but Jieun had a habit of using you and Taemin as the human subjects for her work and she would capture the quiet, mundane but intimate moments that you and Taemin shared.

Sure enough, as colours seeped into her work, so did livelier characters. In your head you noted 3 paintings that you were convinced you and Taemin had posed for a couple of months ago. It was nice to see the finished work, admiring the the intricate yet subdued design.

As you take more steps forward, you see the very painting Jieun was referring too. The very first painting you participated helping with. It was a large art nouveau style painting of two lovers by a window. Distinctively, pose for pose, even down to the colour palette, it was a recreation of your photo with Taemin during a shoot of W Korea. You dabbled in light modelling and it was a last minute gig that paid enough to cover your bills. It was also the day you had met him for the first time and a during a particular 'set', Taemin had thought that angels finally roamed earth when he looked at you.

It was undeniable proof, he looked at you differently. There was want and longing behind those midnight pools. When the photographer would pose you two with closer physical interactions, Taemin would almost stop breathing the minute your eyes met. Even you, could barely look away, noticing the the lack of shift in his gaze, like he is truly and madly in love with you. The last photo of the shoot was the photo used for the painting.

It was in front of a tall pointed arched window with enough ledge to sit one person. Taemin carefully held your hands as the photographer directs you to sit on the ledge in front of the window and have Taemin either in front of you or beside you. While you were struggling to get up due to the dress you were wearing, a pair of hands grabbed on either side of your waist, using the momentum of your jump to lift you in the air, enough that you can finally sit.

The surprise interaction caught you off guard, giggling wildly as you lightly smack Taemin's arm. The photographer takes a test shot of that moment, and proceeds to ask you and Taemin to just relax, casually talk for some candid shots before posing you two.

While you and Taemin made light conversation, talking about work, and each other, somehow that conversation was relationships. It was nothing serious, just about types and ideals, but it was enough to know that both of you were single.

The shoot went on without a hitch, and the assistant photographer finally called for shoot ending, thanking everyone for their hard work. Their hands quickly wave you two over, claiming that the photos were perfect.

Softly whispering Taemin's name, you ask him if he could assist getting you down. He turns on his heel, offering his hand out to you, ready to support you. Unable to slowly shift yourself down slowly, you prepare to jump down down instead, preparing to brace your ankles. However Taemin reacted differently, his arms reach out as he sees you ready to hop down. With your jump, Taemin quickly wraps his arm around your waist essentially guiding you to fall towards him. At the shock of feeling pulled towards him, your arms reaches out, wrapping around his shoulders, clinging onto him as you found your footing. When you finally looked up at him, you found yourself staring at him differently, as if the answer to everything lied with him. Your faces were barely apart, close enough that Taemin could see how your lips quivered, how your eyes darted from side to side, inspecting his face, how he could get used to seeing this face up close every morning.

Click. The shutter of the camera finally pulls the two of you back into reality, smiling awkwardly as you try to distance yourself from Taemin.

"Sorry, I couldn't help take another shot, it just that.. Wow the chemistry between you two in unreal.."

Brrrrp -- Brrrrp -- Brrrrrrp

The vibration of the phone in your pocket, distracts you as you reminisce about the day you first saw Taemin. Speak of the devil. As you stare at your phone, seeing Taemin call ID flashing. You cleared your throat and picked up the phone.

"My love?" his voice was timid.

"I'm surprised you even remembered me today.." you tried to control your own voice, trying not to scare him away.

"I know... I miss you. I should have fought harder to stay until our anniversary"

"It's fine"

"It's not, Minho called me this morning, saying how drunk you got"

"I'm guessing you heard from them"

You internally cursed yourself. Even his dry chuckle sounded like music to your ears. An audible breath rings from your end, unable to speak.

"What are you up to?", Taemin breaks the silence.

A sigh escapes you as you finally perk up and continue through the gallery finally ending up at garden, where more paintings line the way.

"I'm at Jieun's show. I'll take a photo of it later but she has a few painting of us scattered about."

"Oh? It's Valentines and you are out spending the day with someone else?", he teased. You could tell he was smiling as he said it.

"Well, if someone didn't piss me off last night, I'd be more than happy to sit at home and spend Valentines through the phone" you quipped, a little bit annoyed.

"Oh, how perverted of you my love"

Your arm drops, but even then you could hear Taemin giggling away through the line, calling your name repeatedly until he heard you respond. At this point, you were barely appreciating the artwork, all you could focus on was speaking to Taemin, hearing about his day, what his plan is for later.

"Wah, Jieun really decorated this place very well" you began to speak admiring the view.

The path of paintings led to a metal framed gazebo, adorned with flowers and cute decor. It would be a perfect location for couples to take picture in, with a small pond serving as a backdrop. Truly it was picturesque. At the center of the gazebo was small circular table and two chairs facing each other. You step into the gazebo, still talking to your boyfriend, mentioning that it is covered with peonies and lillies, which happens to be yours and Taemin's favourite flowers.

"I wish you could see this. It's gorgeous", you wistfuly sighed, leaning up against the frame of the gazebo looking out onto the water.

With enough shrubbery and trees, the spot almost felt secluded, like from across the water, no-one would spot the gazebo or the people roaming that portion of the garden.

"Do you remember the night you said you loved me for the first time?" Taemin passively asks.

"Of course I do", you stall trying to scramble your memories. "We were at a park in Jeju. You tried pick flowers while I wasn't looking. By the time, you gave them to me.. it was all mushed up and bent"

Your body navigates to one of the metal chairs, fluffing up the chair pillow, settling yourself on it as you keep the phone close, rummaging through your bags to grab your earbuds so you could freely talk to Taemin without struggling to hear him or placing him on loudspeaker.

Before you could pair your earbuds, Taemin spoke freely once more, distracting you.

"Do you remember the day with Kai and the party lights?" he murmurs softly.

"Yeah. That was the day I injured my ankle..and you had to carry me home..", your whined, remembering how

"Aaaand?" he sings slowly trying to hint at something else.

"I don't know.. " you scoffed, leaning back into the seat and looking up, pressing the phone tightly against your ear. "Now that I think about it, the gazebo I am in, is similar to that stupid gazebo I had to climb to hang fairy light for Kai. But I don't think that's what you meant"

"No" he tuts his tongue before sighing again. "It was the day I proudly said you were mine to everyone"

Now it clicked. The only other non-relative person at the tjme who knew anything about you and Taemin, other than Jieun, was Kai. Taemin managed to persuade you to help him decorate a gazebo for a suprise birthday party and essentially the people who turned up to the party, happened to be the people Taemin considered ,important in his life. Nothing could take away the stupid smile on his face because even at a small scale, he could say he loved you so openly and be met with support from his peers.

The memory made you smile before furrowing you brows trying not to get too emotional at the fact that Taemin isn't with you.

"My love, stop with the questions, if I end up crying again, I'm going to tell your mom" you half heartedly laugh, pressing on the inner corner of your eye to prevent tears from running down.

"Okay, okay, last question. Do you remember the day we met?"

You could barely contain your smile.

"Well of course, I literally just passed by the painting she did of our shoot" you beamed happily before standing up. "Are you free to video call? I can show it to you while there is --", you spin around and almost dropped your phone on the table.

There he was standing outside the gazebo, holding a boquet of peonie and interweaved then were pieces of randomly picked flowers, disheveled and a little of place.

"Do you know how hard it was to convince Jieun to ask for a gazebo?" he laughs, taking a step towards you.

Words barely formed out of your mouth, too stunned to even comment at the fact that he was here. Taemin is standing right in front of you, on your anniversary, on Valentines day. His arms wrap around your torso, pulling you into a tight hug, placing a soft kiss on your forehead.

"You did this?", you asked bewilderedly, looking around you.

"Who else would mix lillies and peonies? But I set this all up for you"

Your head pans to look at Taemin's face who was admiring the set up that he manage to pull together at the last minute. The way his hair careful frames his face and the delicate mole on the side of his nose stands out against his pale skin. How the corner of his lips are slightly upturned, trying not to smile so loudly that he'd seem full of himself. It was the face that sent you sleep, feeling safe at night and warmly greeted by the heavens in the morning.

Taemin grabs your hands and leads you back to the table in the middle of the gazebo, taking a seat before gesturing for you to take the seat in front of him. Then he began to explain how he managed to convince his manager that as long as he remains out of "sight", maybe he could fool the company that he was still in Tokyo, while he took an early flight out to Seoul this morning. Carefully, he elaborates that he had had this planned for about a week and literally the only thing that held him back was the sudden notice of flying out to Japan.

"Look, I would do anything to spend this day with you, you have to trust me on that. No matter what schedule I have. Even if we have the tiniest second to be together. I will always be here with you, telling you how much I love you and how I can't wait until everyday is Valentines day with you" Taemin softly sings his words, holding onto your hands.

The way his fingers dance over your palms, almost luring you into a trance, you were hooked on every word. It made your heart swell because for a moment, it felt so genuine. Like it was your first Valentine all over again.

Suddenly, Taemin stood up, holding his hand out to you, encouraging you to stand. He quickly sets you aside for a moment, attempting to slowly wiggle the metal table to one side and rest the chairs beside it.

"I know there is no music, but..." Taemin smirks before curtseying in front of you. "... may I have this dance my love?"

The cheesiness of it all made you groan, but you couldn't help but smile in the end. Sure it was cliche but there are times where the fluffy red hearts, the overly sweet messages and the ridiculously grand gestures, are things that you loved experiencing once in a while. Placing your hand on his, he pulls you closer, resting his hand on your waist as you two say to the sound of the wind, the water and the festival.

A few beats later as if your heads were at the same point, thinking a like, you began humming one of Taemin's songs, with him singing along. You knew then and you knew now that you could spend forever in his arms, listening to his soft voice sing as you dance whenever and wherever, slowly setting pause on the world, because for those few minutes, it was just you and him and everything was going to be okay.

Carefully, Taemin holds your hand and spins you on the spot before catching to keep you still. His body leans over first placing a kiss on the crown of your head, then to your forehead, then to your nose. The obvious frown on your face when you didn't get the kiss, you were so desperately craving for didn't happen, Taemin let out a giggle before cupping your face with his hands and pulling you in for a kiss on the lips.

You savoured every moment the way his lips would move against you and how his tongue would dart between your lips, parting them enough that he could pinch one with his teeth and hungrily nibble on them, and that was just a preview of what was to come.

Click

"Oi, you two, this is still a public event"

The voice that clearly didn't come from you or Taemin, sent panicked waves through your body as you turn to see Jieun and the rest of the SHINee members, trying to control their facial expressions. Had they given the two of you more time to yourselves, they would be walking on partial nudity and scenes that are too explicit for young kids. You quickly spotted in Jieun's hands, was a camera, the first noise you heard before her voice. For a moment, you thought it was someone from Dispatch or something other, because you were convinced that the only best option was to drop and pass out.

"You all knew? You guys were part of this?", you gasped, suddenly feeling dumbfounded at the fact that you were basically led here blindly without questioning the odd behaviours.

Jinki was into Jieun but he wasn't that shy, that he couldn't see her on his own. Kibum was never too keen on doing leaving his makeup-kit at someone else's place, but when you had no intentions of leaving Minho's, the next best scenario was to bring everything to you as soon as you woke up and Minho himself was too damn excited that he would almost spoil the surprise.

"Yahh, control yourselves, it's only been a week" Kibum complained before scoffing and trying to break the awkwardness by chucking a the bulb of a flower at Taemin.

"Ya Lee Taemin, I would like to have my gallery back please" Jieun hissed quietly as he turns to face the path, hearing a new surge of crowds viewing her work. "And plus, you're not meant to be here, so either get a move on, or wear a mask"

As the crowd had began moving down the path, Jinki, Minho and Kibum frantically look for their masks to hide their faces, the hilarous moment caused Jieun, to quickly snap some shots.

Meanwhile, you yourself had rushed back to the table, quickly grabbing the bouquet Taemin brought with him, trying to hide his face amongst the flower, laughing as he got petals shoved into his mouth from the shock. As you two try to hide behind the bouquet, your arm raising it just enough to cover your faces, while your spare hands were intertwined side by side as you look into each others eyes, seeing how easy it would be to sacrifice it all. To no longer hide. To no longer lie.

Click.

Behind you two, that was the last photo that Jieun took of you and Taemin that day. Two lovers, budding shyness, hiding themselves from world, sweet, innocent and secretive.

Madly inlove.

Made for each other

That was you and him.