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itsapapisongo · 3 years ago

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very nice | choi seungcheol

Pairing: Choi Seungcheol x Gender-Neutral Reader

Genre: Fluff | Non-Idol AU | Rom-Com

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Language, minimal crack-like humor, and suggestive themes.

Summary: Tricked into going on a blind date, you find yourself sharing lunch with a charming stranger. Hilarity Ensues.

Taglist: @97-liners | @neonun-au

It starts with a sigh and aside to no one in particular but yourself:

“This is a terrible idea.”

It suddenly dawns on you that this night out with your friends isn’t going to be a night out with, well, your friends. You agreed to this clusterfuck of an idea—enjoying a couple of hours with friends you haven’t seen in God knows how long—because it had been set up at the last minute and saying ‘no, thank you’ wasn’t really an option. A break from the routine would do you a world of good and you thought to yourself, sure, why not, what’s the worst that could happen?

Well . . . this is the worst that could and will happen.

Because by the time you realize the so-called night-out-with-friends is a set-up for a blind date, you’re already seated on a nice table in a nice restaurant, opposite a complete stranger—a handsome stranger, so okay, that’s nice but, like, he’s still a stranger—and you’re left staring in disbelief as your friend, dear sweet N, leaves you to your own devices.

N waves, winks, and motions finger-guns with a mischievous smirk. You read their lips (“Have fun, baby!”) and try your damn best to hide the scowl that briefly transfigures your face. Two thoughts instantly cross through your mind: “you’re leaving me here?” and “what the fuck?”

“I’ll kill you,” you mouth back, motioning a thumb across your throat.

N shrugs, flips you the bird, then somehow disappears from sight Jason Bourne-style.

You blink, awestruck, and mumble, “That’s a neat trick.”

“Excuse me,” a manly, soothing voice startles you. “But I feel like missing out and I’d like some context. Before—er—any killing occurs.”

What? Oh, right. Blind date.

You blink once, twice, then slowly turn to the stranger—handsome, yes, but still a stranger—and smile a small, if sheepish smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. He does the same, though his is genuine and somewhat empathetic. For a moment, other than a bout of awkward silence and quick glances at each other, nothing happens until he reaches out with his right hand and smiles widely, as though to indicate the awkwardness is now a moot point.

“Choi Seungcheol,” he introduces himself, left hand delicately placed across his chest as he slightly bows his head. He stays like this for a second then sits straight, gives your hand a firm shake, before leaning back on his chair. “I’d say I’m thrilled and definitely not nervous, but I’d be lying.”

You say your name and he smiles, whispering it, committing it to memory. Anxious, You give the dinner room the once-over—waiters here and there, people having conversations in a variety of volumes, some eating, others waiting—and drag your chair forward, just enough so that you’re comfortable but not close enough that he might notice you’ve moved.

“So you’re . . . unthrilled and nervous?”

He half-smiles, beaming. “Anxious would be a better term.”

“Anxious isn’t the word I’d use for myself,” you retort, surprised at your own bluntness. He raises an eyebrow, equally surprised but not offended. “I didn’t mean that in a bad way. It’s just that—”

“It’s unexpected, I know.” Seungcheol shrugs, rolling his eyes in a I get it sort of way. “Especially when your friends trick you.”

“Yeah,” you mutter with a gentle but derisive shake of your head. “Our so-called friends.”

Seungcheol scoffs and shrugs again. “Our friends, nonetheless.”

You open your mouth to reply but, other than air, nothing comes out. You’re speechless, taken aback by both his polite tone and care-free attitude. He smiles at you, probably finding your dumbstruck expression both amusing and adorable, and simply chuckles at himself before taking a sip of water.

It’s odd that you hadn’t really noticed how handsome he is—well, you have, but not with depth—and when you do you just freeze. You blink, inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth, and mumble a dazed, almost dreamy “oof”. Seungcheol doesn’t notice because at that exact moment he glances at his menu.

Truth is, he isn’t. Choi Seungcheol is pretending to read the menu because he’s scared shitless and nervous beyond reason. You don’t notice because you’re looking at him like someone observing a masterpiece in a museum: delicately, silently, with so much appreciation that you lose yourself in the moment.

His hair is dyed in a grayish-blue tone that suits him rather well, parted in the middle, cascading over his brow and eyes. Though his complexion isn’t immaculate and you notice an imperfection here or there and a stubble settling in around his chin and upper lip, you can tell he takes care of himself and that he definitely has a skin-care routine. His lips are wide, slightly heart-shaped, perfect for passionate kisses or gentle pecks on the forehead. You wonder how’s that possible, mentally shrug, and chalk it up to genetics—and God having favorites.

“Good Lord,” you hear yourself whisper.

And so does Seungcheol because you watch—in slow-motion that isn’t as slow as you’d like—as he straightens his posture and looks up. Suddenly you’re making eye contact. Your eyes widen but you don’t look away. Instead your gaze lingers on his and you find yourself cursing through gritted teeth. Seungcheol’s eyes are dark, dreamy, and kind. They focus on you for a second before they move away and he decides to hone in on the menu again.

Those fucking eyelashes, you muse, eyes narrowing in jealousy and astonishment. Yeah, God does have favorites and He sure likes to brag about them.

“Do you know what you’re gonna have?” he asks in a shaky voice that prompts him to clear his throat. When he speaks again, it’s in a tone infused with confidence and baritone. “Because, truth be told, I’m really hungry.”

“That makes two of us,” you reply, nodding and thanking whatever deity is listening for bestowing upon you something to talk about. “What do you have in mind?”

“No idea. I’ve never been here before.”

You repeat how that makes two of you and he chuckles. It’s a light, almost child-like sound that makes you smile and blush but you’re too caught up in the moment to notice. Unsurprisingly, Seungcheol is still eyeing his menu and unconsciously pops his lips, muttering under his breath something about steaks. With a shrug and a sigh, he meets your gaze and shrugs, shaking his head as if to say hell if I know.

“This place is a bit—”

“Fancy,” you finish for him, putting on a snobby expression and pretentious accent that he finds funny because he guffaws and immediately covers his mouth. You glance over his shoulder and notice that a few heads turn your way but you wave as if you know these people and feign a smile. “Good food, huh?”

A lady with the face of someone that has sniffed shit but can’t quite get the smell off of their nose shakes her head at you and turns away. Her companion, a balding man, just stares, then looks at the snobbish woman with a blank expression.

“What do you say if we go somewhere else—” Seungcheol pauses, unsure of how to phrase the proposition. “—fancy?”

“I’d say, ‘let’s go right now’.”

“Cool,” he replies, half-smiling. “I know a place around the corner. Tasty food, ice-cold soju.”

“Lead on, MacDuff.”

Though the smile doesn’t disappear, it falters for a bit as he tilts his head.

“That’s—that’s not right,” he mumbles.

●

“LAY ON?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Not ‘lead on’, but ‘lay on’?”

Another nod as he serves the refills the shot glasses for the fourth time.

“Lay on, MacDuff,” he says in a flowery voice, one hand dramatically motioning a half-circle above his head while the other gently places the soju bottle in the center of the table. He clears his throat and recites, “Before my body I throw my warlike shield. Lay on, Macduff, and damn’d be him that first cries, ‘Hold, enough!’”

Whoa. That’s intense.

“You’re into Shakespeare?”

Seungcheol snorts and shakes his head as he offers you the shot glass. “Nope,” he replies, his voice low. “But I learned some of it for an audition.”

“How did that go?”

“It went—how to put it nicely?” He hums, nods, then meets your gaze. “I didn’t get the part.”

“Why?”

Seungcheol shrugs, but the gesture isn’t very convincing. “I don’t know.”

You click your tongue and say, “I smell bullshit.”

He chuckles, raising his glass. “Drink up,” he says, smiling. “Geonbae.”

“Geonbae,” you repeat after him, nod, then—clink!—bring your shot glass against his.

Drink, gulp, groan as heads are thrown back, then chuckles all around.

You’re still getting used to the taste of soju but it doesn’t taste as it usually does. Which is to say, it’s stronger than anticipated and it knocks you off your ass fairly quickly. But as Seungcheol serves the fifth shot, it tastes sweeter than ever before. Maybe it’s the fact that you feel at ease or that your stomach isn’t empty—because you’ve snacked on the banchans while you watch Seungcheol cook the beef—but you feel like you can drink the entire bottle and still be standing.

You down the shot and wince as it goes down your throat, nod, and give a thumbs-up. Seungcheol mimics the gesture with a sheepish half-smile and a small, but adorable nod.

“So, Mr. Shakespeare, tell me—” You scan the banchans and click your chopsticks together, settling for some green cabbage kimchi. “—why didn’t you get the part?”

“Alas, it wasn’t meant to be.” Seungcheol shrugs but doesn’t meet your eyes as he turns the beef on the small grill. Quietly, almost humming to himself, he serves you a piece on your plate, neatly putting on top of your rice. “Let’s eat deliciously, huh?”

You blush when you notice his smile. It’s the type of smile that crinkles his eyes and displays his teeth. It’s the type of smile that makes him look unbelievably cute and you wonder if he’s real, if all of this is really happening.

“Thanks,” you manage to say, unable to look away from him.

“That’s going to get cold.” Seungcheol points at your plate without looking. “None of this should go to waste, y’know?”

His mouth is full, his lips greasy from the noodles. He munches loudly and closes his eyes every so often, enjoying the food at his own pace. It feels like you’re an audience of one for an exclusive, never-before-seen gratis mukbang.

Gratis, which is, y’know, free of charge.

You blink, your reverie interrupted by Seungcheol briefly glancing at you. He looks away, clears his throat, and quickly refills the shot glasses. Once that’s done, he hands you the shot, nods, clinks his glass with yours, then moves forward to drink it when you decide to make something clear by asking—

“Are you, like, an actor?”

Seungcheol chokes mid-drink and snorts loudly. He coughs, smacks his chest, and clears his throat. All of this happens in less than three seconds. You can’t help but chuckle, though deep down you know it’s out of embarrassment; the nerves got the best of you. As he cleans himself up, looking down to avoid showing how red in the face he is, a sudden silence falls over the table. It’s as though Awkwardness itself had made itself a body and decided to join you at the table.

“Are you—are you okay?”

“I’ve been better,” Seungcheol replies, blushing and avoiding your gaze. “But I’ve also been way worse.”

You notice that he missed a spot: his left cheek is stained with sauce. You take a napkin, think of cleaning it, but instead relent. The napkin is balled up tight in your hand, crumpled and unusable. A microsecond ago it seemed like a good idea so why did you hesitate? It’s not like you’re flirting or trying to send a message—you’re just being nice.

But, knowing your dating history and the type of people N always wants to set you up with, gestures like these can be and often are misinterpreted. Thus you backpedal and decide to eat and try to keep the conversation alive, as friendly and unromantic as possible.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize, offering a small but clearly pained smile. “I didn’t mean to—well, y’know, have you choke on your food.”

“It happens,” he replies in a whisper.

Seungcheol shrugs, but he, too, looks pained. Maybe he still feels something in his throat or perhaps he’s just shaking off the shock. You look down at your plate and you just . . . blush. Sure it’s just a banchan of white rice with a sizable, delicious-looking, expertly cooked piece of beef, but it somehow feels special . . . something that’s not meant to be granted . . . something to be cherished . . . something very nice and unique.

“That makes two of us,” is your sheepish response and you hear him chuckling.

“Yeah, it really does.” He scratches his chin with his right hand and smothers it with some soy sauce that coats his chopsticks and index finger. “Shit, did I just—do I look like a slob?”

You raise an eyebrow and look past his shoulder, as though a camera is there waiting for a snarky aside. Instead, pursing your lips and shaking your head, you think to yourself: Boy, are you crazy? You look like a whole damn meal. Slob? Slob, my ass.

“You—slob—no—never.”

Seungcheol, who looks confused, leans forward to whisper, “Uh—what?”

Blink once, twice, thrice. Get out of your head, says a voice that’s oddly familiar. And if it’s familiar it’s because it is. It’s the Rational You. The voice that is constantly chastising the No-Filter You, the #HardHours You, and plenty of other You’s, and you often ignore it because not only is this voice way too formal but it’s a little too anal-rententive about most things. Which, in his case, is a phrase that means absolute everything.

He’s looking at you, says Rational You in its usual deadpan tone, so you better snap out of it.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh . . .” You blink, nod, smiling. “I am.”

Seungcheol smiles, nodding as he refills the shot glasses.

“Geonbae!” he exclaims.

CLINK!

Both of you down the shot, shake your heads, and chuckle.

He tells you about how he’s trying to be an actor. You tell him about how you’re trying to quit your job and start your own little photography studio with N. In between shots and more beef and kimchi stew and six packs of beers, fears and aspirations are shared. You forget about how you felt initially. He does, too, his smile growing each passing minute as you tell him about how you always thought Shakespeare was certainly interesting yet very overrated.

He is all smiles and giggling, and you can’t stop looking at him.

●

THE REST OF the night flies by. When it’s time to leave, you share the bill. No fuss, no muss. You share a cab and he walks you home. When you part ways, he smiles, shakes your hand, and walks back to the back. As he steps into it, he turns and calls you.

“Let’s make this a recurring thing,” he says, smiling with crinkled eyes.

“Let’s!” you reply, waving at him.

You watch as the cab drives away. And as you enter your apartment, you simultaneously curscurseise and thank N, who you find sitting on the living room couch with a glass of wine in hand.

“How did it go?” N asks, wiggling their eyebrows.

“It was nice.” You nod, flopping beside them with a chuckle. “Very nice.”

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smellslikemultifandomimagines · 3 years ago

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Hi, I really love your writing, can I request a full length smut where Jason jokingly dares the reader to give him a blow job during dinner with the rest of the Titans, not believing she would because she never does anything daring but the reader surprises him and actually does it to prove she can be daring and Jason has to keep his moans quite from everyone which he isn’t very good at and let’s be honest, Dick immediately knows what’s happening so he keeps asking Jason random questions just to tease him. Thank you, sorry if it’s to much, I just thought it would be a bit funny.

pairing: jason todd x fem!reader

warnings: smut → oral (male receiving), public sex lol.

word count: 898

a/n: sorry this took so long! also i love this concept holy shit

•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:• ☾ ☼ ☽ •:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:•:•

smut night has finished for the week - thanks for participating!

requests are open🖤

request guidelines✨

🌻masterlist🌻 (includes both smut masterlists)

Once the words slipped from Jason's mouth, you couldn't stop thinking about them. How would he react if you actually followed through with it? Would he be mad? The only way you would be able to find out is if you went through with it.

Everyone was in heavy conversation, so you decide now is the perfect opportunity to slide under the table. You sat directly across from Jason, so it made it so much easier to get to him. You muffle a giggle into the sleeve of your hoodie before trailing your hand up his thigh, letting him know you're there.

Jason jumps, not expecting that type of contact. He looks across from him and notices you're not in your seat. His eyes trail down his body, meeting your eyes from under the table. His cheeks flush a shade of red. He knew you were daring, but he did not expect this at all.

He coughs as your hand reaches his sweatpants-clad cock. You palm him gently, feeling him harden at your touch. His eyes lock with yours again; his bottom lip sucks into his teeth as you pull at the drawstrings.

"wait, Jason, did you try and steal the batmobile?" Gar asks in amusement and wonderment.

"aw, come on, like it was hard. He might have security traps built-in, but they're like from 10 years ago," he chuckles, clenching his knife and folk hard as you shuffle his sweatpants down his thighs. Your palms tease his thighs, pussy soaking at the thought of riding them one day. God, how good they would feel under your clit.

"so that's how you started working with Bruce," Rachel nods understandingly. The rest of you had always wondered how he even got to working with bruce.

"Alright, craziest thing you've seen when you've been out patrolling?" Gar asks Dick. Dick starts sharing a funny story, but Jason couldn't concentrate, his mind too clouded with focusing on not letting out moans.

By this point, your tongue teases his cock, circling around his tip before licking from the base up to his tip before repeating. The precum spills on your tongue nicely, a quiet hum coming from your throat as you take him in your mouth. His eyes widen, then close at the feeling of you sucking him off. You are so much better than he imagined.

One hand comes down to grip your hair tightly, his lip sinking into his teeth again to stop even the slightest sound from coming out. Jason's breathing becomes shallower as he relishes in the pleasure. God, you feel so good around his cock.

"fuck," he groans out, eyes widening as he didn't mean for it to. He makes up a quick excuse saying that he forgot it was Monday tomorrow. Gar groans also, complaining how he loathes Monday's.

"can we get a day off training tomorrow?" Gar asks Dick, who's eyeing Jason suspiciously.

"no, you guys know the rules. You get the weekends off, and that's it," he says in his stern dad-like voice. "but how about we order take out tomorrow?"

Rachel and Gar cheer in excitement. It's been a while since you've all order take out. Dick has been pretty adamant that you guys eat healthy to build up your strength.

Dick looks over at your empty chair, an eyebrow-raising as he reaches his foot out under the table, brushing up against your side. He muffles a chuckle as he takes another bite of his dinner. He never thought you'd actually go through with the dare, but good on you, he supposes.

"so, uh, Jason," he coughs out a chuckle. Jason's pleading eyes make contact with Dick's smug ones, a shiver passing through him as he wonders if he knows what's happening. "what do you think we should order?"

"fo-for what?" he chokes out, hand gripping your hair tighter. Jason leans forward on the table to make sure you couldn't be seen - not that you could, but he didn't want to risk anyone else suspecting anything.

"take out tomorrow. What should we get?"

"um, I don't really care," he coughs, hand shaking as he brings up his glass of coke to his mouth. He takes a big gulp, noticing that it's helping him not to moan out your name.

"Really, because I was thinking we should order from the new restaurant downtown? what do you think?"

"um, yeah, sounds good."

"oh, also, Jason, how would you like going patrolling with me later this week?" Dick asks, his face brightening in amusement.

Jason's close. He knows that if he keeps talking, he'll end up moaning your name and cumming in your mouth.

"um, yeah, okay." he struggles out.

"wait, guys, where did [y/n] go?" Gar asks suddenly, breaking up the entertaining tension between Dick and Jason.

"mm, hadn't noticed her gone. Must've gone to the bathroom or something," Dick responds, eyeing jason with such hilarity. Jason's jaw clenches, his stomach tightens as he feels the cord in his lower stomach about to snap.

Both hands grip your hair, pulling tightly as he cums in your mouth. He suppresses his moans through a notable cough, but one that makes both you and Dick smirk pleasantly.

Jason looks down at you, his eyes pleading with you. You wink as you swallow, wiping the corners of your mouth with your thumb.

═══════*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*═══════

tag list: (click here to be apart of the tag list!)

@dylanobrienhehe // @jermaee // @boxofsteampunkplaces // @bailaycantaconmingo // @thegirlyouworryabout // @mollyknm // @angelcbf // @greengarsstuff // @littlemaladaptivedaydreamer

═══════*.·:·.☽✧✦✧☾.·:·.*═══════

#jason todd #jason todd smut #jason todd x reader #jason todd x reader smut #jason todd titans #jason todd titans smut #titans #titans smut #smut night

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mlbigbang · 3 years ago

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2021 Ladrien Fic Rec List

We've decided to compile several recommendation lists out of our contributors' favourite fanfictions that were published during 2021! We'll be sharing these lists with you throughout December, in order to provide you with plenty of reading material before the ML Big Bang fics are published in January.

The Best Day of His Life by @jennagrinsoverml 2,853 words, Teen, 1/1 Chapters

You know that trope of the heroes using masks to hide their identity while detransformed? Yeah, that doesn't work here! 'Tis a lil' spicy (but what else should we expect from the mutual crush side of the love square?) and wholesome at the same time. I feel like we should get more from Adrien's POV and that's exactly what this story does.

No Secrets, No Lies by @marvelousmsmol 3,638 words, General, 1/1 Chapters

Post-Wishmaker reveal with fluff and childhood friends flashback!

moon prism power by @xiueryn 9,034 words, Teen, 1/1 Chapters

I love the banter and dynamic between Ladrien in this fic!

Skinless by @into-september 5,747 words, General, 1/1 Chapters

Masterfully crafted hurt/comfort fic of our favourite star-crossed lovers. Provides a bittersweet glimpse into Adrien's mind, and really shows what does it *feel* like that he loves the girl behind the mask.

It's so beautiful and sad the way that Gabriel's parenting hurts Adrien, and his feelings are explored so well, and the hurt/comfort is just so good

I’ll be your sword and shield by bookinit 10,726 words, General, 5/5 Chapters

I enjoy the dissection of the why of Chat sacrificing himself, and the mutual pining is *chef's kiss.*

all's well that ends well to end up with you by lecornergirl 3, 937 words, Mature, 1/1 Chapters

Ladrien doesn't even interact in the fic, but the vibes are undoubtedly there. Both of them being certified disasters when Adrien details on a party what exactly would he like to do with the superheroine of luck. Hilarity and embarrassment ensue.

Someday by @capesandshapes 982 words, General, 1/1 Chapters

bittersweet disney princess adrien :D

you drew stars, around my scars. by @theanxiouscupcake 5500 words, General, 3/9 Chapters

enemies to friends ladrien (up till this point)

double dare by @peachcitt 32,931 words, General, 30/30 Chapters

(Starts as Ladrien but isn't confined to it. Although to be fair none of these recs stay in their boxes, which I enjoy) The structure of this fic--stitching 30 daily prompts into one coherent story--is so neat, and I love smitten Adrien and smitten Marinette and this fic's characterization in general!

knock me off my feet by @sseagully 4,431 words, General, 1/1 Chapters

this fic is so cute!! fake dating ladrien where they're actually pining for each other is everything you could ask for in a love square fic, and there's an identity reveal too :D it's such a wholesome fic and makes you laugh.

#miraculous ladybug #ml #fic recs #ml big bang 2021 #ml big bang #ladrien #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug

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whltlock · 3 years ago

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The Cosmic Horror of Gotham City

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN / MASTERLIST / Subscribe on AO3

Pairing: Jason Todd/Non-binary!Reader

Summary: You and Jason trade truths.

Word Count: 7,097.

Jason let out a long, weary sigh then. You looked up expectantly. “You sure you want to know me?”

The question he posed was a hefty one, but almost immediately you stammered out, “Yeah. Yes.” You were scared he would run at the first sign of hesitation. You nodded, reinforcing your words. “It’s a bit late for that anyway, isn’t it?”

A bemused noise came from the back of his throat. He blinked at your words, and then his forehead fell into your shoulder. It rocked you backwards until you were able to brace yourself against his mass. You heard him sigh again as his nose nuzzled you shyly.

“Your funeral,” Jason muffled into your jumper.

Post secretive chat, the four of you set up camp in the kitchen. Despite an argument about moving to the coffee table—because it would be funny to watch giants cram themselves into the tiny space—both men refused to oblige. Fortunately for them, you’d taken the bribe of a second glass of champagne in exchange for you shutting up.

Donna and Roy assembled a board game while you were left to twiddle your thumbs. Between them, they devised a strategic game plan, including who deserved which colour pawn. As if it impacted game play, but you let them be since they discussed it so seriously.

In the meantime, Jason eyeballed you. He’d noticed the streaky, silvery tracks that you hadn’t quite managed to wipe from your undereyes. You fought the urge to rub at your skin lest it give him more ammunition to pry.

You listened to Donna as she recounted the rules so you were all on the same page. Roy punctuated each of her sentences with an enthusiastic bob of his head.

“This one’s yours,” he told you, handing you a purple piece with a toothy grin. “Sure you understand why.”

You snorted. “Thanks, Roy.”

“And for you, my first-second favourite,” Roy said as he passed the blue pawn to Jason. He accepted it with a roll of his eyes. Roy offered the last one to his lover, “My second-second favourite.”

“Why do you even have a favourite?” Donna demanded as she snatched the yellow one from him.

You patted her hand from across the counter in sympathy. “I don’t even get a favourite.”

Roy claimed the green one. He shot Donna a crooked smile. “To start drama, of course.” Then, he turned to you. “Don’t worry, you’re my favourite s-pawn of Satan.”

You blew out air in utter hilarity. “Thanks.”

With a sideways glance at Jason, you saw how he rolled his pawn between his fingers, then placed it on the starting line. When he looked back at you, he was expressionless. He held your gaze for a few seconds before his eyes dropped to your cheeks and moved upwards again. His brows furrowed while his head tilted in another silent query.

You peeled your eyes away, instead taking your first turn. Jason took his next.

As you cheered Donna on for landing on a ‘move forward three squares,’ you felt the boniness of a knee jut into your thigh. You ignored it until your skin felt tender under the pressure. You tried to glare at Jason but he was conveniently watching the board. You pushed his knee away with an unamused scoff. Thankfully, your friends paid no mind to the non-verbal quarrel.

“Aw, man,” Roy whined when he was overtaken. You had to giggle at how desperate he sounded.

Relentlessly, Jason’s knee returned. You immediately dug your nails into his jeans even though you knew it would prevent nothing. You fantasised about growing claws and sinking them into his flesh. He swatted at your hand, forcing your attention to him. Jason met your frown with one of his own.

You looked down, shocked, when his hand nudged up the hem of your shorts, just far enough that he was able to draw something. You watched as his forefinger traced ‘U OK?’ into your skin.

Goosebumps prickled your thigh. Your heart fluttered dangerously, both at his boldness and at his concern. But, in true you fashion, you turned back to the game. You did your best to ignore those pretty, determined eyes that peered at you incessantly.

Jason tugged on the fabric of your clothes twice, fist rested upon your knee. You grabbed his wrist with an annoyed exhale. “Yes,” you breathed, meeting his stare. “Now stop it.” The second part came out a hiss.

“Huh?” Roy asked, head swivelling between you two. Donna’s eagle-eyed attention latched on in curiosity.

“Jason keeps offering me his bike,” you lied through your teeth. You followed it up with a melodramatic sigh and, “He wore me down.” Sparing him a look, he read unimpressed. Jason had to wonder why you chose to say that of all things.

“No way, dude,” Roy said in a less-than-happy tone. “You said I could have that scrap heap when you were done!”

Jason’s lips thinned in offense. “I happen to love that ‘scrap heap.’”

Mindlessly, your thumb soothed over the soft expanse of his wrist, right where the dark bruises plumed. He side-eyed you strangely.

Donna snorted. “They’re riling you up, dumbass.”

Roy’s arms folded and his muscles strained against his shirt. His sceptical eyes darted between both of you, waiting for confirmation.

“I would never give this ungrateful spawn my bike,” Jason uttered. You let go of him, feeling the slightest bit irked by his words.

Roy harrumphed, then prompted, “What were you talking about then?”

You looked to Donna, hoping she’d make him stop. Instead, she smiled innocently as she anticipated a reveal of some kind.

There was a beat before Jason replied, “How disgustingly in love with Donna you are. It’s revolting.” Just to rub it in, he tacked on, “Have you told her yet?”

Roy spluttered, his freckles lost to the redness that bloomed beneath his skin. Donna fidgeted in her flustered state, hair cascading over her cheeks. A pleased smile stretched across your face at the sight of an Amazonian and whatever Roy was, flailing and unable to contain their emotions.

Your obvious satisfaction caused Jason to slip into smugness. He’d successfully diverted their nosiness. Sheepishly, he glanced at you and squeezed your knee in silent apology. You hummed under your breath, pinky knocking his. It was acceptance, he hoped.

“Roy?” Donna asked unsurely.

“Cat’s outta the bag, I guess,” Roy mumbled as he faceplanted onto the counter. She was wide-eyed as she watched him.

Okay, maybe you felt a little bad.

Somehow, despite the interruptions, you all continued on.

A game of Trouble proved to be more rambunctious than you expected. Between the clicking of the plastic cup and the competitive jeers between all of you, it was a whirlwind of excitement.

You hadn’t played games like this since you were young, so it was nice to be around those who indulged in the simplicities and amusements of childhood. The champagne was just a grown-up bonus.

Donna, Jason, and you were gathered on the same square, not far from the finish line. Much to Roy’s dismay, he’d fallen behind again. A million complaints had come from him each time the distance grew wider.

However, a miracle quickly changed that. Roy rolled a six, propelling him past your pawns and to the end of the game with ease. Simultaneously, your victory-sure faces dropped. Donna looked downright murderous. You huffed, tossing your player piece at Roy’s head.

Jason scowled. “Why does karma reward your bitching?”

Roy’s grin grew at their shared blasphemy, revelling in poor sportsmanship.

Playing might have been an enjoyable feat, but the outcome... the outcome was not as endurable.

As the conversation devolved into a scuffle, you grumbled, “I’m going to put this away,” and jumped off the bar stool, leaving them to it.

You took each bottle and squeezy-tube out of the bag one-by-one, mystified by all the labels. You read them as you placed them on the bathroom counter. It was nice of Donna to bring a house-warming present, although you had no clue how to use the items successfully.

“What’s taking so long?” came Jason’s voice. Glancing over your shoulder, you saw him lean against the doorframe. He seemed amused when he spotted the endless sprawl of moisturisers and serums and cleansers.

“She gave you that as well, huh?”

Your face scrunched with confusion. “What?”

He peeled away from the wall. “Donna got me the same gift almost ten years ago,” he elaborated.

Your next question was incredulous, “You’ve been friends for that long?”

He nodded.

“No wonder why they put up with your shit,” you muttered.

Jason snorted as he moved you out of the way. He took over to sort the bottles. The space between your brows remained pinched since you didn’t understand.

“What are you doing?”

“Order of use,” he said simply.

Your mouth gaped, but you forced it closed to mumble, “Oh... okay. Thanks.”

He dismissed your appreciation with a shrug.

You eyed the last tube as you swiped it from the line-up. Your voice wavered as you asked, “Did she give you this too?”

Jason looked at the scar oil for a moment. He sensed the sudden wave of unease that was unleashed because of the personal question, but he wasn’t too bothered in the confines of the bathroom. He swallowed to ensure composure—to keep redness from flooding his face.

“Yeah,” he said, voice gravelly. He took the tube from you and twisted the cap. After he’d torn the protectant seal off, Jason squirted some of the liquid onto his finger. He sighed inwardly, hoping to quell his own anxieties. It was another beat before he dabbed it on his cheek. It was more so to convince himself than you when he said, “No big deal. Just like that.”

You watched with humongous eyes as he fully acknowledged the scar that always bothered him. You fought the urge to stare as the oil glinted under the fluorescent lights. Your gaze dropped to his hand. He offered you the rest to try.

Apprehensively, you lifted your arm. He met your eyes, to which you nodded your consent. He wiped the rest of the oil along your scar with careful precision. His touch was delicate and precise. Unintentionally, you drew nearer to him as you tried to compute his kindness.

When he was done, you patted the excess on the mark on your chest. Jason’s eyes tracked the motion before they sloped back to your face. You knew what he wanted to ask: it was an oddity of a scar—uniform and circular, vaguely medical.

But he didn't. Jason only watched in silence, making no further attempt to push the boundary between you two. Although it felt like another prickly boundary crossed as you stood close enough that his breath fanned over your chin.

You wished he wouldn’t be so hesitant—so here but also there.

You grew uncomfortable as his gaze dragged across your face without a word. He saved each fleck and fine line to memory as if in search of something precious.

So, shamefully, you glanced at the corner of his mouth. You followed the silvery vein up to his bright eyes, and then to the drooping whiteness of his hair. You liked the streak amidst all his curls—made him unique.

Immediately, he ducked his head in response. Jason cleared his throat as he returned to himself.

“Where’s Donna and Roy?” you asked, more so as a truce.

His eyes didn’t lift from the ground, but you heard the slightest cheekiness to his voice as he said, “Went to the roof. Got tired of waiting.” You rolled your eyes. He shifted on his feet. “Will you come? In case they’re...”

“Oh, yeah, I’ll watch with you,” you joked monotonously.

Jason gave a wry smile, finally looking at you again. “Right.”

Your mouth twitched too.

You took one last look at the nicely patterned gift bag before you dumped it in the trash can. Jason tsked at the blasé action. You ignored him. “Let me get a jumper first.”

“I can grab it.”

You blinked at him, forehead furrowed. “This is my house. The least I can do is dress myself.”

“But I owe you, as my gracious host,” Jason mocked.

“I’ll get you one of Roy’s,” you retorted. As if he hadn’t stashed some of his clothes here already.

Jason smirked. “Not if I get there first.”

He was swift to spin on his heel.

“Hey!” you shouted, running after him.

When you got to the roof, you found the couple sprawled across a large blanket. You assumed they’d been stargazing until they’d fallen asleep.

Had you really taken that long?

You’d all been drinking, you reminded yourself. They were sleepy.

You looked to Jason to check if he wanted to stay. He shrugged in turn. There was enough space beside their slumbering forms so he sat down next to Donna. You relaxed into the spot beside him.

Jason followed the splotches of colour that lit up the Gotham skyline. It was quite a sight when it wasn’t accompanied by a hallucination.

You looked out at well, wondering what he saw. Wanting to steal a sliver of his attention, you bumped shoulders. “Tell me something.”

He glanced back with a hum. He was quiet as he considered what to share; a tale that might be of interest to you. “Do you know much about Greek mythology?” he asked. You shook your head. “Hesiod,” —the renowned poet, he explained— “believed the cosmos began with primordial deities, who gave birth to the Titans, and them to the Olympians.”

You snorted. “Dick thinks he’s that important, huh?”

Jason joined your amusement as he nudged you pointedly. “He wants you in on it, too.”

You let out a noise, unsure if he’d meant it as an insult or not. You turned back to the sky. “So, we should thank those deities for creating life?”

“Not exactly...” he murmured. “There was one more, before them. The ‘first of all.’”

Intrigued, you asked, “Who?”

“Chaos—the Void.”

You sought out his face, caught off guard by how stark the words sounded in the breezeless air. You looked him over with concern although he guarded his gaze from yours. “You don’t believe that, right?”

“The Gods are real in some form,” he said, eyes drifting to you. His fingertips grazed your leg as he was consumed by his own ravaged thoughts. “Look at you.”

Look at me, he wanted to add; what should’ve been a mass of rotten flesh and bones and worms, walking—talking—conscious to a fault.

You remained wordless, unsure how to respond to a confession that sounded so simple at surface level, but you’d heard the pain and consternation in his voice as he’d said it.

Jason still felt the wisps of darkness that aimed to choke the life out of him, both in sleep and waking hours. He eyed his bruised wrists and recalled the nightmare that had put them there. “It’s real,” Jason whispered to himself. “I know it is.”

It might be Gotham City itself, he thought. Reigning God over an ungodly place. Might be why the good guys never win.

A sad frown slipped onto your face as you observed his internal struggle. You set your palm atop his, hoping it would help soothe him some. “Maybe he’s friendly?”

A low dash of laughter leapt off his tongue. It was bitter with jagged edges, but he tried. He said your name, “You can’t befriend a cosmic terror.”

“I’ll do it if it makes you feel safer.”

“You belong in a padded cell,” Jason scoffed. You shot him an unaffected smile as you leant back on your palms. In disbelief of your self-assuredness, he shook his head.

But didn’t he have that same confidence? Or, was it purely fuelled by a lack of will to live again? Jason stewed in those thoughts as he traced the nearest constellation.

You digested the sight of his silent form while he looked up at the sky. He didn’t seem as grief-ridden now, but you were still cautious.

Eventually, he moved, jaw set upon his shoulder as he looked at you. The fire in his eyes simmered. “What’s your birth month?” he asked, head tilting in interest. “I’ll tell you the story behind it.”

You shifted closer so you could listen to him regale a tale of a world greater than the one you’d only discovered recently. You nodded every so often, encouraging him.

At one point, he pulled out his phone to show you ancient artwork of zodiac constellations. The imagery was beautiful, even if you couldn’t find them hidden amongst the clouds. You thought the stars in the sky were much simpler than the mythos art behind them. Nonetheless, you were spellbound by his fervour. It was a nice change to see him so unabashed in his spiels again.

You lapsed into a hush when he was done, back to admiring the city. You were once again reminded of how you could survive silence with him without it becoming awkward.

That didn’t mean it couldn’t be awkward, though. Like you made it now, as anxiousness filled you from your cold toes to your gut. You were brought back to the emotions you’d dwelled previously.

Sensing your pensive state, Jason turned to meet it. However, your eyes hurried away, landing on Donna and Roy. You were surprised that they’d remained asleep this entire time. His eyes skirted the same path before his head slanted. Reluctantly, you looked to him. His brows creased in question.

Nerves swallowed you up as you considered and re-considered what you wanted to ask.

“You’re staring,” he finally said.

A cagey huff escaped you. “You’re one to talk, you know.”

His mouth quirked at being called out for the habit.

Fear fluttered in a lively burst at his obvious entertainment. Unsure, you began with, “Can I…—I want to ask something.”

He hummed, urging you onwards.

You swallowed, preparing for the fallout. “Do you love Roy?” It was a mortifying croak.

Jason let out a short bark of laughter, reigning it in as soon as he remembered he would wake the dead—and his stoic self. “That’s what’s been bothering you, huh?”

“I’m not—it doesn’t—it doesn’t bother me that you like guys, or just Roy, or whatever,” you stumbled. Your panicked eyes swayed to and fro. Your hands slipped inside your jumper as you felt like you’d said the wrong thing. You didn’t want to say too much, but you also didn’t want to hurt him in the process of getting an answer.

Jason said your name, low and husky, forcing you from your thoughts. You chewed the skin of your cheek as you looked up. “It hasn’t been like that for a long time.”

You tried to contain your sigh of relief. Still, you felt the need to over-explain yourself so he didn’t misjudge your intentions. “Labels or not, I don’t mind. I don’t give myself one…” you admitted. You peeked at him, dazed to see him listening so intently.

“Is that why you use those pronouns?”

You were elated that his response hadn’t made things worse, but you shook your head. “No… that’s… you know how something makes you feel like a man?”

Jason shrugged. “Guess so.”

“I don’t feel that, in either direction.”

He mulled the idea over, deciding he needed to have a conversation with himself on the topic. “Good to know,” Jason murmured. His gaze moved back to you. “Is it, uh, okay when I call you ‘sweetheart’?” he asked, sounding sheepish.

You looked at the lumps that were Donna and Roy before you responded. Slowly, you nodded.

He gave a nod of his own, lips pursed. “Cool.”

“Sorry I snapped at you,” you said softly.

Jason looked at you with a small, teasing smile. “S’all good. You can’t stop jealousy.”

You sputtered. “I wasn’t jealous.”

“Right. ‘Course,” Jason said. “You just don’t like my attention being elsewhere.”

“Well, there’s no one more interesting or entertaining than I,” you deflected. Stupidly, you hadn’t disagreed.

He rested his chin on his shoulder as his eyes roamed your face, making you writhe internally. Jason let out a hum, but you weren’t able to decipher whether it was in agreement or otherwise.

Your heart stuttered when he murmured, “Jury’s still deliberating that one, sweetheart.”

Your gaze dropped to your clothes and a hand crept over the material, picking at imaginary lint. His ever-so-observant eyes continued to monitor your every embarrassing movement.

Jason let out a long, weary sigh then. You looked up expectantly. “You sure you want to know me?”

“Your funeral,” Jason muffled into your jumper.

You woke up bleary-eyed and tired. Your knuckles assaulted your eyes as you blindly walked into the kitchen. In front of you was an indistinct vision of Roy as he dashed around the room frantically.

“Hello,” you announced your presence in a clunky tone, standing like you’d been plucked from a badly animated video game.

Jason stopped chuckling at Roy and his face softened as his eyes landed on you. “Hey,” he greeted, but it was lost amidst Roy’s immediate complaints.

“Someone called in sick again,” he told you as he stuffed food into his mouth. He came up to you, pausing to look you up and down. “You look like shit,” he said. “Bad sleep?”

“You too,” you smiled at him thinly, but you shrugged as you didn’t have an answer beyond that.

“Take a nap, short stack.” Roy pat your head with a grin. You saw the crumbs of what he’d been eating and made a disgusted noise. “Be good,” he said, ignoring your reaction. He then repeated it as he looked over at Jason.

“No promises,” you sighed as Roy once again breezed past you. You winced as he slammed the front door behind him.

You shuffled up to the counter, taking in the smell of flour for the first time. Your stomach grumbled because of it. When Jason turned around, it was with a plate that he slid towards you. You glanced down, realising it was the same order of waffles you’d made at the diner when he’d forced you to eat.

“You know I only ordered this to be annoying, right?”

His head tilted obnoxiously. “Yeah. But it looks good, so.”

You didn’t argue since it was the truth. You got stuck into the waffle without another word, sinking into the taste of chocolate, fruit, and cream. A match made in heaven. You only briefly looked at Jason, whom ate beside you. Absently, he scrolled through his phone.

Through a mouthful of food, you asked, “What are we doing today?”

He side-eyed you. “‘We’?”

You huffed, swallowing the food before you spoke again. “Fine. What are you doing today?”

Amusement danced in his eyes. “Nothing. You?”

That irritated you more. “Nothing,” you seethed. “Separately, obviously.”

He bobbed his head, feigning ignorance despite his desire to laugh at your scowl. “Sounds good.”

You harrumphed when he went back to tapping at his phone. In retaliation, you began to scrap the fork against the ceramic plate. It only urged you on as he winced, and again when he glared at you.

“Cut that out,” Jason warned. You ignored him, accidentally eliciting a particularly brutal screech of the utensil. The sound made you nauseous that time.

He swiftly snatched the fork from your grasp. “Eat with your hands like the child you want to be.”

“I’m a child of the cosmos,” you mocked inaudibly. Yet, he managed to catch it, and a deeper frown took over his expression.

Unfortunately for him, he seemed to forget who you were. Out of spite, you concentrated on your empty palm, summoning a knife-like shard. You began to use it like a toothpick to eat the rest of your food.

Jason’s head tipped backwards in exasperation. He let you know with a drawn out, frustrated sigh.

Your chin jutted out in his direction knowingly. “Headache?”

His eyes narrowed at you. “A big one.”

“Hmm. Let me grab you an aspirin,” you said airily.

“And a pillow.”

“Why?”

“So I can smother myself with it,” Jason drawled.

You bit back a laugh. “Let’s go for a walk once you’re done.”

He snorted. “Sure.”

There was quiet between you. Unable to sit in it, he let out another sigh and leaned forward to catch your eye. “We can do that, if you want,” he tried to amend.

You let out a dismissive hum instead of an actual reply. He prodded you with his knee to draw something more.

“Maybe later,” you answered.

Dejected by your response, he realised he may have hurt your feelings. “Yeah. Alright,” he said, voice quiet.

A few minutes had passed when you suddenly cut through the onerous silence. “Dick trains everyone at the manor, right?”

Tense, he agreed.

“I want to go there,” you said, shifting to look at him. “Not today,” you added quickly, because the idea of going right now scared you. “But... soon.”

Jason swallowed, not liking this news. His jaw locked.

“Raven said she could help me, right?” you prompted when he said nothing.

He nodded slowly. “She did.”

“I want to see her, at least.”

He felt a little better knowing what you were really after. “Uh,” he considered aloud, discomfort surely obvious. “Okay. I’ll let her know.” Because he couldn’t deny you that, especially with how your powers—or more so your temper—concerned you.

“Will you come with me?”

Those words caused him to go rigid. He didn’t want to go anywhere near the manor. But glancing at your face, he was met with a pitiful desperation in your eyes. A lump rose up his throat as he cycled through potential excuses. Words faltered and died on his tongue.

You noticed his agitation. “Oh,” you said, focusing elsewhere. “S’okay. You don’t have to.”

“No, I—” Jason rushed out, trying to keep from disappointing you further. “I will. I’ll come.”

You still faced away, not letting him see how your features brightened in case he felt pressured. “Are you sure?”

His tongue dragged over his bottom lip, completely uncertain. “Yeah.”

Doing ‘nothing’ eventuated in exactly that. Both you and Jason plopped onto the couch on opposite ends, participating in your own activity. Jason thumbed through his copy of Pines, absorbed in the fascinating tale. Occasionally, he would look over to check on you or his phone.

You, on the other hand, had found an adult colouring book on your way home one day. The swirly, patterned line art had enticed you to purchase it, along with a small pack of coloured pencils. You filled in the blank blocks with some semblance of order, however you often went outside of the lines to draw other random things. It was a practice in stretching your creative muscle, you would argue.

Your legs had grown sore, tucked beneath you for some time. You stretched them out with a low sound of relief, then placed them upon the coffee table. You sunk lower into the couch as you did so. You knew your back wouldn’t thank you in half an hour, but at that moment it was the perfect position.

However, Jason seemed intent on ruining your comfortability and fun. “Get your feet off the table.”

Your gaze rose from the page to his face to see he wasn’t even looking at you. “No, thank you,” you said, “I’m fine right here.”

Swiftly, his jaw moved from his book to you, brows raised high, begging for you to test his patience. For a split second, you swam in the cauldron that was his potion green eyes. You felt like a witch lost in their sickly-sweet brew.

You inhaled shallowly as you came back down to Earth. The edges of your mouth quirked into what you hoped was an endearing smile. But really, you found you were the only one charmed when he spoke in a steely tone, unimpressed by your defiance. “Now.”

“I have socks on,” you argued.

His nostrils flared and the muscle of his jaw ticked. Sullenly, you let your feet drop from the tabletop. He allowed the stiffness to release from his posture when he was satisfied.

However, you weren’t happy. You wanted to stretch your legs, preferably in the most belligerent way possible. So, you moved your feet from the floor to the sofa and manoeuvred them under his closest thigh. He heaved a sigh but otherwise said nothing.

You pushed them further beneath him until you could slide down the cushion into a half-lying position. He ignored you as he flicked to the next page. You picked up your own book to continue your doodles.

It wasn’t until Jason was sure you were busy that he peeked. He glanced from your face to your feet, noting how unbothered you were to be tangled with his limbs. He tried to settle his nerves—this was how normal people acted when they were on friendly terms.

Twenty minutes later, you grew bored of the colouring and the position. You pulled your feet back to your chest, startling Jason. He watched you through cautious blinks as you pulled the cushion you’d been lying on into your lap. You fluffed it, then placed it on his legs. You moved around, clumsily, so you could fall into it backwards.

You looked up at Jason once you’d done so. He stared at you, arms rigid by his sides. He didn’t know how to react. Pet you like a dog? Throw you across the room for invading his personal space?

You stared back, curious about this new kind of intimacy with him. He didn’t argue even if he looked stressed. The minutes passed without a word shared, until he stiffly looked back at his novel—although there was no way he could read a single line without screwing up now.

You held your book in front of your face, using it as a shield for your sudden jitters. You weren't quite sure what to do. You felt stupid, staring at the pages that were meant to keep you preoccupied.

An idea came to you. You plucked a pencil from your side and flipped to a blank page. You began to scribble, glancing between the illustration and Jason as you worked on your masterpiece.

Eventually, he called you out for it. “What?” he asked apprehensively, chin tilted downwards.

You sent him a playful smile. “I’m drawing you.”

“You are?” There was a hesitant edge to his voice.

You nodded. He quickly tossed aside his own book to snatch yours.

“Hey!” you cried, trying to steal it back.

However, he laughed—not a snicker, or a snort, or a chuckle—a proper full-bellied laugh. It was rare to hear from him, and you were pissed because the book concealed it.

“This is just a double chin,” he stated, peering over the paper’s edge. Amusement glimmered on his expression.

“That’s my view,” you told him wryly. His mouth twitched again.

He hummed as his fingers scratched the stubble on his jawline. “Alright, my turn,” he said, holding out a hand for the pencil. You gave it to him with a wide smile.

You relaxed back into his lap, eyes drifting from his look of concentration to the rest of the apartment.

He chewed on his lip as you looked at him again. “Hey, van Gogh,” you murmured, nudging his abdomen. “You almost done?”

Jason rolled his eyes, instead choosing to finish his artwork in silence. After another minute, he put the pencil down. When his gaze slanted your way, you felt nervous. How did he see you?

He flipped the book around. You clasped your hands over his so he couldn’t escape and yanked it closer. You squinted, taking in his piece with an intrigued noise.

There were two drawings. The first was a silly scribble of a smushed face, entirely too stretched out to be a real person. Your eyes moved to his hidden behind the page and you scoffed funnily.

He greeted you with a crooked smile. “That’s my view.”

You went back to inspecting. The second sketch was a lot better, although truly, neither of you were artists. But you had to admit, he’d drawn you as nicely and dreamily as he could’ve.

You gave a coy smile as you dropped the book. “I guess it’s good enough to keep.”

He shrugged off the compliment.

You touched his arm. “Sorry I made fun of the cosmic stuff.”

He blinked out of surprise. “S’okay. It’s hard to believe.”

There was another pause before you uttered, “You’re vibrating.”

His face creased with confusion. “Pardon?”

You fumbled beneath the cushions to produce his discarded phone. It was held in front of his face as you repeated, “Vibrating.”

He clucked his tongue as he took the phone. Once he’d read the newest message, his eyes slid from the screen to your face. “Roy wants me to go to the store.”

“Okay.” You dragged yourself from his lap. One palm still rested on his thigh as you got used to being upright again. As you tilted to look at him, you scared yourself with how close you were.

Only a couple inches apart, Jason’s eyes trawled your face. You blinked, wondering if he’d said something during your fright. Your gaze dropped to his throat, watching him swallow beneath the tight muscles there. You saw faint scratch-like scars at this distance.

“You coming?” he asked in a quiet, hoarse tone. You glanced up to meet his uncertain eyes.

You nodded and replied, “Vibrating.”

Jason swiftly pushed you off him as he tried to hide his huff of laughter at your stupidity.

One thing you realised quickly was that Jason didn’t do well in crowds of any sort. The moment you’d come off the street, he’d been nervous and stuck close by. He’d tightened his hoodie around his face to hide from the world. You didn’t think of yourself as a particularly comforting person, but you were apparently good enough for him.

At your insistence, Jason selected a shopping cart to stroll along with. You walked beside him, eyeballing all the colourful things in the supermarket. You stopped to gawp at all the fun cereals you hadn’t grown up with.

“Hey,” he hissed, latching onto your wrist within a few seconds. “Don’t wander off. We’re still in Gotham.”

You turned to him. White curls broke up the unamused expression he wore. You frowned as you breathed through your annoyance. “You Americans are spoiled,” you told him petulantly.

His grip loosened. “What d’you mean?”

“I’ve never seen half of these things.”

Jason fell into meekness at the explanation. “Oh,” he murmured, taking a metaphorical step back. Grocery shopping was an overwhelming experience for him, but for you—maybe it was overwhelming in a good way. “Sorry.”

You shrugged him off but nevertheless returned to his side. You continued on and let the whir of the trolley wheels guide you.

Jason’s tone was gentle as he asked, “You miss it?”

“Novi Grad?” He nodded. You paused, thinking it over. You glanced at him. “Yeah. Some of it.”

“What’s it like?” he probed and you felt his curious eyes observe you as you turned into another aisle.

“Beautiful, but decaying... Stark’s bombs ruined so much of its spirit,” you said dismally. You thought of how poverty had the city in a chokehold. “It was never a rich country, but... it was simpler before all that. Safer.”

Jason gave a glum snort. “So, Gotham two-point-oh.”

You agreed half-heartedly. “You would like the castles,” you said, recalling the grand stone brick and mortar, “by the lake. Perfect for being sad.”

He shot you a smile that you didn’t see. “Sounds like me.”

“I know,” you said with a roll of your eyes, but then you brightened considerably. “You know,” you said as you stepped into his path, “I was arrested at a protest.” You amended quickly, “When I was taken.”

Jason stopped. He looked you up and down theatrically. “Should’a known you’re an activist,” he muttered. Truly, it was like another piece of the mystery unravelled before him. He liked that the spitfire in you had gone to a good cause.

Your eyes narrowed. “Okay, mister vigilante, sir.”

“Were you this annoying before, or did that come after?”

You huffed and spun around. You climbed onto the lower rung of the trolley so he’d have to push you as well as the stacked groceries if he wanted to move. A laugh rumbled through his chest as his arms wound around you to grab hold of the handle bar. His fingers sidled against yours on either side, an unusual warmth between them.

“Pretty admirable getting arrested for the cause, you know,” Jason commented over your shoulder.

You casually shrugged into his nearness. “We were being used as lab rats.” You made a bitter noise. An entire sovereignty of peoples, considered low status—unimportant, throwaways, unworthy of life—subjected to the horror of mankind. By those who thought themselves above ethical law and morality. “We just didn’t know the true extent.”

One of Jason’s thumbs grazed your hand. “Br—uh, Batman—picked me up when I was twelve,” Jason said.

Your jaw snapped, bewildered. “You were fighting crime at twelve?”

He let out a humourless laugh. “I wasn’t even the youngest.” You looked appalled by the proclamation. “Yeah,” he muttered his agreement. He stopped to pull something from the shelf.

“You turned out... okay,” you said, as if testing the words. Jason wasn’t one hundred percent sure that it wasn’t a question.

Nevertheless, a flimsy smile played on his lips. “If you say so,” he replied, returning to the cart.

A stranger rounded the corner then, the first in a while. The contents of their basket rattled by their side. They passed by you without a second glance, however, you felt Jason press closer to your back, hiding from view.

You elbowed him when it was safe again. You heard the soft sound of rustling fabric as he swivelled to check. He began onwards in timid silence.

You strolled down the next aisle, eyes roaming over the shelves. “Stop here,” you told him abruptly. He pulled the cart to a standstill, withholding his protest.

From your perch on the cart, you started exploring the boxes, deciding whether or not you’d like any flavours enough to try one. When it took longer than a few seconds for you to choose, you felt a head droop between your shoulder blades. You leaned a little more Jason’s way, allowing your gravity to shift closer to his own.

He hummed as his arms crept closer experimentally. You felt the slight pressure of them as they squeezed your sides. “Are you going to pick one?” he yawned, not mentioning your distracted state.

“Yeah,” you mumbled. But you didn’t want to, knowing he’d move away. With a soft sigh, you grabbed a box and tossed it into the cart.

It was a surprise that Jason didn’t let go as he instead knuckled at his eye.

“Are you going out tonight?” you asked, concerned.

“Uh, yeah. If Roy gets back in time,” he said, trying not to yawn again.

You twisted around to scowl at him, forcing him back. He looked up at you from beneath his eyelashes, much too flippantly. “Don’t worry your pretty head off. I’m all good.”

“Uhuh.” Curling a finger around the string of his hoodie, you tugged at it in disbelief.

His eyebrows raised. “You done or can we go?”

“Done,” you said with a glare.

He knocked you back against the cart lightly, sporting a smugness that annoyed you more. At least his arms returned to their position around you, you thought indulgently.

You hopped off the cart at the checkout so you could help Jason unload the groceries. However, you realised that something off to the side had distracted him. You followed his gaze beyond the supermarket doors to find only emptiness. He looked back with a furrowed brow, placing more items on the conveyer belt. Again, he glanced over. His fist rubbed his cheek and he looked back at you. He fished out his wallet and passed it over.

“I have to, uh. Phone call,” Jason spoke haltingly. You jerked your chin once, although you very much doubted it. Without another word, he turned and stalked through the exit doors.

You pocketed his wallet, instead paying with your own money. You grabbed the bags as the attendant handed them over and placed them inside the trolley. Ruefully, you wondered how the two of you were going to carry all this home.

“Thank you,” you said once they’d finished the lot. You moved out of the way to wait for Jason.

With nothing better to do, you chose to go through his wallet. You searched for his driver’s licence. You were confused to see that it didn’t have his real name. You thumbed over the card. Other than the false name, it looked legitimate.

You looked up as he strolled towards you, hands in his pockets. The moment he reached you, you were quick to ask, “Why do you have a fake ID?” A horrifying thought struck you. “You’re not underage, right?”

He snorted, snatching his wallet back. “Do I look underage?”

“No...” you said warily. “Are you a wanted fugitive?”

“Jesus, no.” His fingers clutched at his nose. “You really haven’t googled me, huh?”

“No?” You swallowed nervously. “Should I?”

It was his turn to falter. “Uh, I’d appreciate if you didn’t.”

“Why?” you asked, tone weak.

“Look, I—I’m not on the run, alright? It's just about my family.”

“Your bio one?”

“No,” Jason answered sourly. “My Wayne one.”

You nodded slowly, not entirely convinced.

Remembering something you’d tried to do with him a long time ago, Jason stuck his pinky out. Your eyes narrowed as you looked at his outstretched hand. It was the same action he’d made fun of you for.

He huffed when you didn’t immediately agree. “Promise me?”

“But... I want to know,” you said truthfully.

Jason made another aggrieved noise. “You’ll never hear the full story if it isn’t from me.”

Okay, he had you there.“Fine,” you muttered and swiped at his pinky, then crossed your arms.

“I ordered us an Uber,” he said to change the subject, hoping to lessen your glare.

Your weight shifted from one foot to the other as you glanced to the side casually. “Good. You would’ve been on your own otherwise.”

A/N: If you enjoy my work and have the means, consider tipping me on ko-fi!

__________

Tags: @crumpets-are-better-with-jam, @caswinchester2000, @missxfeels, @thequietchildren, @midnxghtblue, @plantedcats, @darkness-falls-xo, @urminebutidontwantyou, @sweetsaph, @thetiny-hufflepuff

If you want to be tagged, you must turn off "hide blog from search results."

#jason todd #jason todd x you #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #batfam #tchogc*

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the-only-ace · 3 years ago

Note

Can you do a TaeminxReader where both the reader and Taemin are on The Knowing brothers and Heechul continuously flirts with the reader.

hello there~ i honestly don’t know if you still remember requesting this but here you go! i am so sorry for answering after such a long loooong hiatus. also, i am not really familiar with all the segments for the knowing brothers so i apologize in advance if some of them do not make sense. hope you still enjoy it nevertheless!

taemin scenario: just add jealousy

pairing: taemin x reader

word count: 2.3k

summary: taemin and reader have been liking each other for quite a while now and promoting as a duo together makes their relationship even more complicated. maybe a sprinkle of jealousy would finally ignite the sparks between them.

warnings: none

send in your requests here!

taemin plopped down on a seat and loosened the black necktie he was wearing for the knowing brothers recording. he reached over the table to grab a new bottle of water and contently chugged down its contents. the shoot just wrapped up and the cold drink was refreshing especially after participating in a lot of the activities today. he already spent more than a decade doing variety shows but this one made him extra tired. maybe it comes with age? who was he kidding, twenty-seven is not yet considered as old. he can perform and dance for hours and gladly do it again the next day. comparing to that, a tv show guesting should be a piece of cake but why does he feel more than relief to wrap it up earlier than expected.

with a long heavy sigh, taemin tilted his head backward and close his eyes. he knows exactly the reason why he feels exhausted and also annoyed. it was because of his certain senior called kim heechul.

a frown quickly formed across his forehead as the events a while ago replayed on his mind.

exhibit a:

“with your great chemistry on stage, fans keep on speculating if something is going on between you two. is there something we should know?” heechul asked as the cast talks about your debut single.

honestly, you were not that surprised with the question since it was quite a buzz across social media already. the other members of your girl group practically shoved their phones to your face whenever they saw comments regarding your performance. of course, their loud teasing comes next as if they were a package deal of some sort–which you don’t remember purchasing at all.

“no, we’re both just good friends.” you answered confidently with a chuckle. “i think my chemistry with taemin only comes from how much effort and passion we have put in our every performance. seeing such reactions from our audience makes both of us happy since it means that we did something great up there on stage.”

taemin was nodding silently beside you like a cute little puppy dog as he listened to your answer. he was quite proud of how well you handled the question on your own.

“so does that mean you’re still single?” the super junior member continued to ask.

“um… yeah, pretty much.” you laughed as you nod.

“then i can ask you out?” well, that one caught you off guard.

“hey, isn’t that a bit inappropriate?” taemin can’t help but interrupt your conversation.

“why is that?” the older guy snapped back and sounded a bit offended.

“because…” okay, taemin did not really think this through but thanks to his variety show experience, he was able to blurt out an entertaining response. “aren’t you a bit too old for her? wouldn’t that put you to… i don’t know, jail?” the comment earned laughs and more insults from the other members.

“look here, mister! she’s of legal age so what do you mean jail?” heechul stood up from his seat and started to point his index finger towards his junior. "also, don’t you guys think it’s up to y/n to decide?“ he directed his look to you and raised an eyebrow. “so, what do think?” he tried to pull off a flirty look.

“well, they do say age doesn’t matter in love.” you shrugged as you went with the flow.

taemin knew that you’re also good on variety shows especially on how open you are to any situations that were thrown in your way. you always have the best responses and reactions. that is why people from the industry love to invite you over to shoot an episode with them. however, he kind of hoped that you have let go of the idea of flirting back.

exhibit b:

heechul pulled out the empty chair beside him and patted it, indicating for you to sit beside him. you removed the black backpack you were wearing and placed it on top of the desk as you gladly sat down next to him.

“so where should i take you for our first date?” his sudden proposal caused you to scoff and let out an amused laugh.

“well… i do love eating expensive steak in a fancy restaurant where i can wear a beautiful dress that you bought while thinking of me.” you teased with a sweet smile.

“isn’t that too much for a high school student?” he mumbled to himself before reaching out to brush the stray hair on your forehead. “okay, oppa will do it for you.”

you placed both of your hands underneath your cheeks and looked at him cutely. “thank you, oppa!”

“oppa? more like samchon if you ask me.” taemin looked back from his seat in front of you two.

“alright, what the hell is your problem today? did i do something wrong?” heechul replied incredulously with his eyes wide.

“he’s just probably jealous. he wants some steak too.” you playfully stuck your tongue out before pushing taemin’s head so he would look in front once again.

exhibit c:

all of you are now playing the whisper challenge and it was yours and heechul’s turn. he was the one guessing and you were the one mouthing out the words. both of you are going at it for a while now and it makes you a bit frustrated on the inside. you can feel the sore throat creeping in as you blatantly repeated the same phrase over and over. he’s great at a lot of games but this one is definitely 100-percent not his forte.

“ah… ah ah, i know it now!” he finally said confidently with his right first up in the air. “i love you…”

his answer made you cover your face and burst out into fits of laughter before waving your hands in front of you indicating that he guessed the phrase wrong.

“i love you!” he repeated with more conviction.

“no, that’s not the word!” you shook your head while giggling.

“yeah, i know that’s not the word. i just want to say it to you.” he nodded before giving you finger hearts which you immediately reciprocate.

both of you are playfully flirting for most of the recording but this one got to be the cheesiness lines you heard today.

taemin was pulled out from his train of thoughts when he heard you snickering loudly from across the room and his head hastily snapped in your direction. there you were, wearing a high school uniform that matches his and he was not going to lie, he was stunned when he saw you wearing it the first time this morning. you look bright and youthful with the red checkered bow around your neck. your high-waisted skirt emphasizes your curves. your pair of black thigh-high socks were the perfect length to make your legs look longer. your hair was pulled up on a half ponytail which he doesn’t usually see on you so it was a sight for him to remember. there was a soft blush on your cheeks and across the bridge of your nose. the gloss on your lips was also mesmerizing as it catches the light every time you speak. that didn’t help at all given the fact that he often caught himself staring at your lips too much lately.

seeing you made him think that if you both met as high school students, he would have undeniably confessed to you in an empty classroom after class. he chuckled at the thought. he was not quite sure if you would have liked him back in high school since he was not confident in himself back then.

his daydreaming was cut short when he realized who you were talking to. it was none other than the kim heechul. he can’t help but observe as the two of you conversed animatedly with each other. he knew that heechul was a funny guy but he’s not that hilarous for you to laugh that hard. while listening to whatever story he has been conjuring, you were pulling your hair up in a quick messy bun since the studio was quite hot with all the lights around.

what happened next almost made taemin fell down from his seat. a scowl immediately appeared on his face as he watched heechul casually wiping the sweat on your nape with his handkerchief. not that taemin was counting but that was the 9th time he flirted with you today and not to mention that it was already after the show.

he bitterly watched as you both bid your goodbyes and now you were walking towards him. he cleared his throat and took another gulp from his water bottle.

“what’s with the long face?” you asked in fluent english as you sat down on the desk in front of him.

“what?” he looked up with a confused face.

“i thought you were taking english classes?” you mocked him–this time in korean. you nonchalantly reach out for his drink and took a sip.

you and taemin knew each other for quite a while now, almost 4 years to be exact. you were on friendly terms with him even before debuting as a duo but after spending these past few months preparing together, you have gotten much closer with him. too close that it became complicated for both of you. it was quite obvious that you two were acting more than friends but no one clearly expressed their feelings yet. the tension between you and him when you were alone became heavier and heavier as the days went by. you always have this urge to bring up the situation you two are in but everytime you were about to speak out, taemin would suddenly open up a conversation about a whole different topic.

“so what were you and heechul-hyung talking about a while ago?” yep, lee taemin always has awful timing.

“he just wanted to make sure that he didn’t make me feel uncomfortable during the recording a while ago.” you shrugged.

“oh, how sweet of him.” taemin scoffed and straighten up from his seat. “he even has to wipe your sweat for you.” he muttured under his breath.

“what was that?” you already heard what he said but it was too faint and you just wanted to make sure.

“nothing.” of course he would deny it. what did you expect?

“so… are you like jealous of heechul or something?” you were only joking, well half-joking. you used this opportunity to slowly open up the topic and to finally know where do you stand in his life.

he held your gaze for a few seconds before crossing his arms across his chest. you were not fully prepared for his serious stare and for what he said next. “and what if i am?”

“huh?” your dumbfounded voice was a couple of notes higher than usual.

“i said,” he leaned forward and looked up to you under his lashes. “what if i am jealous?”

you sat there frozen. you helplessly stared back at his eyes and looked for any signs that he was just fooling around. except it was clear as day, he meant what he said. you always have waited for this. you imagined all the possible scenarios. you even prepared what you would say once this was brought up but why were you speechless now? why do you feel all clammy and nervous? why can’t you calm down your frantic heartbeats?

you took a deep breath and forced yourself to bring back the confidence you once had. “then why don’t you ask me out already so you don’t have to feel threatened with every guy out there.”

“you know what?” he stood up and suddenly he was now towering over you. his scent wrapped all around you and it made you overheat even more. “i might just do that.”

“then i might just say yes.” you crossed your arms and hoped that it can disguise your slight shaking. whether it was from excitement or not, you do not know anymore. everything was happening so fast that you were not sure if you were comprehending them properly. you felt light-headed as you waited in silence.

“so we’re doing this?” his low voice broke the stillness.

“yes!” you responded a little too enthusiastically for your liking. you’re a mess right now, you ain’t denying that.

taemin chuckled softly before discreetly slipping his fingers under yours.

oh, god. you felt a shock and then a shiver from his touch. it was not like it was your first time to have skin-to-skin contact but this one was quite different. you can feel the tension slowly rising along with the heat on your cheeks. you can feel the frustrations that were build up every time you wanted to touch him in a not-so-friendly manner. you were willing to bet your life that he was currently feeling the same as you when you witnessed his eyes dilate and darken.

“look, as much as i want to make out with you right now. we can’t.” he took a step back and put his hands in the pockets of his black slacks.

you felt both relief and disappointment when he widened the distance between you two. you can now catch a breather at last.

“i mean we can’t… here.” he suggestively added before turning away. “i’ll be waiting in my dressing room.”

there goes your breath again.

it took you a minute to recover after hearing his inviting words. you looked around while you fan your warm face with your hands as if it helped with cooling yourself off. you closed your eyes and relaxed yourself for who knows how many times already. you then hopped down the desk and made your way to the place you can’t wait to go to.

if this was what jealousy does to taemin, you absolutely cannot wait to see more of it.

#shinee #taemin #lee taemin #taemin x reader #shinee requests #shinee scenarios #shinee world #shinee request #shinee scenario #taemin scenarios #taemin requests #taemin scenario #taemin request #jealous taemin #lee taemin x reader #shinee x reader

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severalcakes · 2 years ago

Text

ELDEN RING BOSS RANKINGS

(SPOILERS AHEAD)

Bet you weren’t expecting to see those words again, were ya? Yeah, I didn’t liveblog my Elden Ring experience, but you can bet I had one! And, now that I’ve slain the space whale and married a rock, I feel it’s time I gave my two cents on which bosses were best!

I’m only ranking Great Enemy bosses, mind you, as, while the cave and tunnel boss encounters were pretty fun, I sort of hold them all as equal in my mind. Also, I’m only doing my top 10, along with an honourable mention.

Oh, what great timing! It’s time for the honourable mention:

HONOURABLE MENTION (LIKE YOU DIDN’T KNOW THAT ALREADY):

Malenia, Blade of Miquella

Unlike with the Nameless King on my last list, I actually beat Malenia. With the help of a furled finger, of course. But that got me thinking. Cards on the table, I don’t think Malenia is an exceptionally well-designed boss. She’s got too much health and is too fast for a lot of players to deal with. But it’s like thousands of gamers have come together around Malenia, showing off both joke characters and awe-inspiring talent. Without Malenia, we wouldn’t have a legend like Let Me Solo Her, or that boss corridor full of memey hilarity. So, she gets an honourable mention, not for greatness, but for the completely unique impact she’s had.

Furled Finger Kokushibo, I salute you. Thanks for your help.

TOP 5:

5. Rennala, Queen of the Full Moon

Rennala is a boss where everything comes together just right: great spectacle; incredible music; unique and challenging gameplay. She’s the boss where “caster” aspects are the most well-executed. However, I feel that she’s a little too easy, and the spirit summoning in her final phase is somewhat of a crutch.

4. Elden Beast

The Elden Beast is brought down by immediately following Radagon. This isn’t enough to diminish its impact in my mind. Fighting this space whale is a meditative, almost rapturous experience, helped in part by its incredible theme song. It’s a fight that manages to feel fair despite the vast health pool, and challenges you to keep a cool head.

3. Starscourge Radahn

Unlike the previous two on this last, the strength of the Radahn encounter is purely in the gameplay. You have to find synergy with this enormous army of NPCs, keeping them alive long enough just to distract Radahn. This is also the best fight for mounted combat in the game.

2. Godfrey, First Elden Lord

This is up here mostly because of the soundtrack. But, also, it manages to feel like a duel between equals and, simultaneously, a battle for the fate of the world (moreso than the Elden Beast, mostly because Godfrey shows off his personality). Every crash of his axe is euphoric, and his masterful moves are truly satisfying to learn to dodge. A masterpiece of design.

1. Dragonlord Placidusax

I feel the best aspects of the Elden Beast encounter are derived from the Dragonlord. This fight is a feast in every sense, and is the perfect length and level of challenge. The atmosphere, design and gameplay are nigh-on perfect, forming a memorable cap to the sequence of dragon fights in the game. The Dragonlord encounter is the pinnacle of the game’s whole aesthetic, and its most engaging and fun fight for me.

#elden ring spoilers #elden ring

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bakatenshii · 4 years ago

Text

Flushed

Dabi x Reader (BNHA)

word count: 5.1k

TW: 18+, smut, dub/noncon, drug use/abuse, corruption, virginity, (mild) blood

A/N: I am 12 days late for Sunny’s birthday, but my heart beats for one person and one person only— the light of my life, my wife @blahkugo, who wrote me two (2!!) Shig fics for my bday Charity & Sludge, that I reread on the daily like the morning news. Cheeky shoutout to @thisisthehardestthing for writing one iconic sentence in here that I would have framed if I could.

flushed

/fləSHt/

(of a person's skin) red and hot, typically as the result of illness or strong emotion.

cleanse (something) by causing large quantities of water to pass through it.

Dabi doesn’t prowl for prey, he’s not on the lookout for fowl to take home for dinner. No, they come to him. It’s easy, always so obvious, he plucks them out like chicken in a hen house, ripe for breeding.

It wasn’t hard to spot a desperate girl burning out, Hell, the campus’ full of them. But you had something more, something fun, something that made his lips quirk up and his dick twitch— you were uncorrupted.

He can just tell, despite the airs you try to give, the aura of a virgin’s akin to an omega in heat to a starving alpha. Sweet, honeysuckle, the tiny flinches when a man gets too close, the breathy lilt in your voice when they propose something too risque; he inhales it all, commits it all to memory like you were desperately trying to do as you chewed on the tip of your pen and scratched out lines on the book in front of you.

He didn’t need to push, you were already teetering the line, but he did it anyways— because it was fun.

It was elating to watch you stumble into class the next day, eyes dark with sleepless anxiety, misery painted into every crevice of your features while your notes were tucked neatly into the drawer in his room. Really, you shouldn’t have left them so open on the lecture hall table, it’s like inviting a robber home and cooking him a three course meal.

Finals season marked the end of your social life, and the beginning of Dabi’s career. It was almost boring, the repetitive nature of his job; too easy, too simple, a mockery of the entitled bookworms who look down on scummy repeaters like him. But the entitlement is what fuels him, over-achievers fearing for two simple digits on a crumpled sheet of paper as if it’s worse than death itself.

He thrives off of their stubbornness to accept anything below perfect; the hilarity of it all, the irony that their insurance to achieve higher standards than that of a scum like him only fuels his lifestyle, bringing him deeper down the depths of degeneracy.

He sat behind you closer than usual, spoke a lil louder than usual, dropped in the most nonchalant comment about a study drug kids are crazing over these days. He watched as you flinched, hands stopped moving to listen in to the spiel he was spewing, the fishing hook he was dangling in front of you.

A magic pill, one that’ll help you concentrate, kill any sleepiness, get you buzzed for hours on end— best of all, it’s totally legal, he gets it from a pharmacist, scout’s honour.

That’s what he told you when you turned around to him at the end of class, whispering in hushed fear, nerves bouncing off your skin in goosebumps on your exposed arms.

Why he’s selling it? Because he needs some extra cash, he said. He knew you didn’t believe him, but he knew you were desperate enough not to care.

When you met him in the dead of night at the empty carpark of his building, he knew he’s got you; hook, line, and sinker. No self-respecting girl would meet bottom-barrel trash like him in a deserted location at half three in the morning, no, you were untainted, but you weren’t pure.

He didn’t need to know it worked, doesn’t matter what your test results reflected, all that mattered was that you came back to him a few weeks later, met him at the same dingy carpark, hands trembling slightly less this time.

He pretended to scold you, reveled in the way your lips curled into a soft pout, and warned you that tolerance builds fast. Do it in moderation, he had said— he’s the world’s biggest hypocrite.

You came to him only a week later this time, and Dabi had pretended to be shocked. He wasn’t, he gave you a lower dosage the last time, there was no way you’d have been satisfied. Microdosing leads the unsuspecting to addiction, the one fact he learned from school. He lectured you, asked you if you’d built up tolerance too fast, if you wanted to try something different?

He watched as your eyes lit up, pupils dilating in excitement at the promise of something different, something better. It really was too easy. You were too easy.

That night he invited himself over to yours, said he’d wanted to make sure you didn’t have any side effects. It was new, after all, and it was stronger. He’d sit there and be quiet, he promised; it was all out of the kindness of his own heart.

It was almost embarrassing how eagerly you’d lie to yourself in hopes of a better grade.

Dabi wasn’t gonna do anything to you that night, trust takes time to build up after all. Besides, it’s no fun to pounce on the prey before they started running. You studied the nonsensical scribbling on annotated novels, he studied your tiny movements, twitches, nervous habits; etched them into his brain for future use.

A too-long breath, a gasp, a clench of the fist signaled your come-up. He timed it, approximately thirty-five minutes for the initial peak, then smaller spikes at half hour intervals, totaling in four hours before you came down. Impressive, still, considering he’d given you the same dosage as the first time.

He stuck to his words, staying quiet only until prompted, offered you water every once in a while, really, he deserved an Oscar for playing the best supporting dealer. It only took two more sessions before your tolerance peaked again, calculated and timed to perfection right before the next assignment.

The beauty of seeking out an English major was that they’re always searching, reaching into the void for any type of inspiration to translate into eloquently formed words. The beauty of seeking out you, was that you were already in too deep, hooked by the lil pills and plunged into the bottom of the ocean.

Your grades rose while your inhibitions sank, a dramatic irony, isn’t that what they called it?

It’s cute, really, he only had to give you a nudge this time. Asked you how your assignment was going, played the sympathetic friend, and offered you something completely new, completely different. ‘Have you ever tried 2CB?’

Silly question, rhetorical, almost; of course you hadn’t. Innocent sweet girl like you never would’ve even touched weed, much less a hallucinogen. But he poses it to you in an eager tone like he’s genuinely waiting on an answer, like this isn’t just one big game to him. He laughed when you said no, asked him what it was— do you want him to show you?

You trust him, don’t you? He’s helped you through your exams, supported you through your assignments, honestly, he deserved a pat on the back. Don’t tell him you didn’t trust him, come on now, that’d break his heart.

He didn’t expect you to put up a fight, but you gave in almost too easily, guess those lil pills really did migrate and nest in your bloodstream.

The safety of your own dorm room was always granted to you, a faux-sense of security to veil you in, shield you from the true depth of depravity you’ve sunken to. He held you underwater in a net, ensuring you that he’d pull you up whenever— ‘just say the word.’

The net had long been cut, he’d admired the way you’d comforted down there, paddling aimlessly in hopeful conviction.

It’s become routine, almost. Dabi lets himself in easily, settles into the couch across your desk, pulls out a baggy and passes it to you. “A psychedelic,” he explains, “you’ll see colours you’d never seen, find beauty in everything, an artist’s best friend,” if he does say so himself.

He watches you pop the lil pill in your mouth, follow the stream of water pour down your throat, traveling the rips and divots of your tongue, before it drops down your throat into your bloodstream with a bob of your larynx. You’re so pliant, so obedient, he reminds himself to thank your parents for grooming such a cute lil doll.

You let out a loud gasp an hour and a half later, and he watches your fingers curl into themselves; and for the first time he speaks unprompted.

“You good?” It’s almost genuine; the curiosity, at least. He wants to know how articulate you are, needs to know how deeply submerged your consciousness has become.

He watches as you meet his gaze, little tongue dashing out to wet your lips, and nods once, twice, slowly. You shake your head almost immediately after, croaking out an, “I feel ill,” before pushing meekly at your desk to stand your body up. Cute, weak.

Just how he likes them.

He reaches an arm out to you, pulling you into his chest easily and nests your head into the crook of his neck. “Nauseous, aren’t you?” You nod, and he smirks. “Don’t worry princess, it’s just a rough come-up. I’ll make you feel better, I promise.”

It’s almost believable, how sickly sweet he sounds. Too many sitcoms accumulated in recycled dialogues to woo girls in any situation; mix and match, simple yet effective.

He can feel the restless rise and fall of your chest pressing against his, short quick pants as if gasping for air, a small hand scraping at his arm; yeah, you’re definitely coming up.

He picks you up and nestles you into your own couch, so easily as if handling a ragdoll, then walks to the kitchen and pours you some water. The perfect friend, the perfect support, the perfect dealer. You’re so vulnerable, so exposed, you don’t even know it; it makes his brain fog over with carnal desire to pounce— but he doesn’t. Not yet.

He lays back on the couch with you, arm snaking around your shoulder to coax you into a subdued euphoria. All the words he’s garnered throughout the years of fishing for his next meal come bubbling out so naturally in practiced scripts, “It’s okay princess, it’s a stronger pill. It’ll make you feel better, I promise.” He’s promising a whole lot, tonight.

“Hey,” he tips your face to meet his with all the tenderness of a lion stalking its prey, “I’m here, right? You trust me, don’t you? I’ve never let you down. I’ll never let anything happen to you.”

It’s hard to force down the gagging noise on cue with his disgustingly fake, rom-com lines, but the way he can feel your body loosen, relax, and mold into his tells him he’s close. So close.

This is the best part, this is what he’s good at; the last stretch of patience while stalking his prey, with footsteps so light, treading so carefully, until the air slows down around him and he can taste your scent wafting through the air.

It happens in an instant, a whole-body jolt as you tense up, euphoria announced with a sharp gasp. The smile that crawls up his face is nothing short of sinister, predatory, but he knows you don’t notice. You can’t. Your eyes are strewn shut, basking in the high, and he takes the moment to swallow the pill he’s held under his tongue.

It’s no fun to tripsit, he doesn’t get anything out of that, and Dabi doesn’t do things for free. He feels your head fall back onto his shoulder, short breaths warming a ripple of goosebumps up his neck, and watches as you push your heavy lids open to gaze at the ceiling.

He can feel your giggles reverberating through his chest before he hears them, innocent, pure, unsuspecting. He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, because virtuous girls like you like to be treasured, made to feel special, safe— he can make you feel safe; no one’s told him not to play with his food before he eats it.

He watches as you flutter your eyelids at him, sigh into his touch, really, you’re the textbook prototype, he doesn’t even need to adjust his tactics. “You feelin’ good?” A hot breath into your ear, and he revels in the way your lips pout to let out a soft sigh.

Funny how differently you react when you’re high out of your mind, maybe it’s the drug, or maybe it’s just Dabi? You’ve always wanted a bad boy like him, didn’t you? Good girls like bad guys; it’s textbook cliché, and you’re the blueprint.

He doesn’t wait on an answer, he knows it: you’re feeling good, great— divine. He’ll be right there with you soon, he promises.

“Tell me what you see, princess,” Dabi’s not listening when a cascade of nonsensical descriptions come bubbling out, he doesn’t care. It’s all to get you to keep talking, shift your attention elsewhere while his hand slithers down your arm to play with the hem of your shirt.

At the first brush of his finger on the bare skin of your waist, he feels you purr into him, eyes rolling back in bliss. It’s his cue to give you more, invitation for him to snake his other hand up your naked thigh and knead the flesh gently.

Gentle does it, he’ll bring you higher as you go.

He ghosts a breath just under your ear, nipping at your lobe, and admires the full body shiver tumbling through. Moans, loud and needy, come panting out past your lips and echoes off the walls before bouncing back to him. He lets you symphonize short breaths and whiney pleas with each lick and suck traveling down your neck, painting blooms of purple and red as his hand travels dangerously high.

A firm grip is all the warning he gives you before he tucks his fingers into the crease of your thigh, laughing almost at how obediently you spread your legs. What happened to that pure, innocent girl? Guess under all that laid a dirty whore, just like the rest of ‘em.

It was slick, so wet, pussy dripping past the delicate lace and drooling over his fingers. Lace, befitting of a slut who lured him in with the fake charms of a virgin. He slides a finger down your slit, gathering up all the juices before presenting it to you.

“What do you see?” He holds up his finger, slick dripping down like syrup, and watches your pupils dilate in effort to focus. He can see the way your lips part, string of saliva connecting the two soft molds, before gasping out, “melting ice cream.”

“Want a taste?”

You clamp over his finger before he even asks you to, sucks on the digit like it’s a melting ice lolly, before your eyes shoot open and mouth twists in disgust. Of course it doesn’t taste nice, normal food isn’t even edible when you’re rolling like this. You’re sticking your tongue out, in an attempt to air out the taste, or maybe you’re just a dumb dog, a dumb bitch, he’s not sure. He doesn’t really care.

The same hand, now slick with saliva, grips your chin and crashes your lips into his. His tongue finds yours first, tip licking up the crevice of yours lolling out, and he sucks it into his mouth like it’s a crime for it to be kissing the air.

There’s no modesty, no gentleness, his tongue pries your lips open, and he feels the weakest form of resistance before he’s thrusting the muscle down your throat. He lapping over the back of your teeth, traces over each bump and rugae on the gummy sides, and snickers at your shit attempt to kiss him back with your slack mouth drooling out the corners.

He feels a pawing at his arm— your hand meekly grabbing at the sleeve of his shirt to bring him in closer, press his chest into your soft tits, crowd him into you more, more, more.

It’s cute; it’s stupidly desperate.

He gets it though, it’s no worries. Human nature is all it is; the desire to climb higher and higher— he wonders if he can get one out of you before the pill hits him.

There’s no gentleness in the way his hand slots between your legs and cups your dripping cunt this time. He wishes he has more time to admire the way your legs quiver and twitch with every firm pat against your clit, but he’s on a time crunch. There’s so much time to spare, he can play with it all he wants later.

He can feel your needy moan vibrate through his lips and reverberate straight into his brain, sloppy mouths working simultaneously together and against each other as he rips your panties and shorts off in one go. Any self respecting girl would shut their legs in shame, in embarrassment, any attempt to protect their dignity, but you don’t. He doesn’t let you, anyways.

A hand moves under your shirt to roughly grip at your tits in the same breath he sinks a finger into your sopping hole. Inhale; squeeze, thrust, exhale— you moan. It’s tight, as tight as a virgin pussy should be, but not too tight that it fights against the foreign digit ramming into it at a relentless pace too rough and quick to befit an unexplored hole.

He can feel the pulsing around him, gummy walls milking his finger for all its worth, and he digs his palm into your swollen bud; it’s all he needed for you to come undone. You don’t squeal, you don’t scream, the 2CB in your system rendering you incapable of anything except long breathy sobs of his name.

His finger pops out with a wet squelch, and he brings it to his mouth to taste it; tarty, thick— he’s still sober. You’re blubbering out drivel about the stars you saw, the colours swirling around at the peak of your euphoria, you think you saw God— is Dabi God?

Dabi had to laugh, pat you on the head with his hand covered in syrupy slick, watch it leak and clump your strands of hair. He picks you up with your shorts and panties drenched through dangling at your ankles, and walks you to your bed.

You don’t notice, still basking in the afterglow; he knows this. Not that you’d push him off, tell him to stop. Not in your state anyways. You couldn’t even if you wanted to.

He drops you once the bed’s in frame at the same time he feels his pulse rise, heart palpitate, and a wave of nausea threatens to bubble over. It doesn’t; he doesn’t let it. An experienced veteran would never. It’s a welcomed sensation, one he’s all too familiar with, and he gives himself a brief minute to breathe it in, savour it, before glancing back down at your limp body on the bed.

Is it your body? He can trace your silhouette from the dip of your waist, the full of your hips, something glistening, gleaming in the light— your pretty little virgin cunt. His eyes roll back at the next inhale before he finds himself landing on the bed on top of you, forearms digging into the soft mattress of your bed.

He hears your voice singing into his brain, soft lulls of his name stringing out in DabiDabiDabi— the desperation and need shooting straight to his cock, he doesn’t even need to look down at your soft pliant body, welcoming him, inviting him in.

“Feels good, yeah?” His voice comes out rougher than usual, low and strained, and laughs at how eagerly you nod, watches your chin catch the air and paint strokes of colour following the route it takes, “Who makes you feel this good?”

He knows, he knows because it’s all you’ve been able to say the past while, the only word on your mind that you can even blubber out—

“You, Dabi,” your pants grow heavier; his pants grow tighter, “it’s you Dabi, please—“

A hand reaches up to cradle his cheek, your soft, uncalloused, hand, and he grips it by the wrist before bringing it up to his face. He traces every line that curves and meets on your palm with his tongue, letting it be covered entirely with drool before wrenching it down under his joggers and into his boxers to cup his aching erection.

His hips rut into your palm almost immediately as a knee-jerk reaction, every hump into your tiny hand has him panting into your face, sweat beading at his temples. His tongue drops down to lick at your lips, asking for entrance, begging for access. Your lips might’ve parted just a fraction, maybe just to let out a breathe, but Dabi takes it as permission to thrust his tongue in and prod at your dormant one.

He can feel you gag at the sudden intrusion, throat convulsing to push back the unfamiliar slimy muscle, and he briefly considers yanking your hand out and shoving his cock down that pretty little mouth of yours.

But he doesn’t, because he doesn’t have the patience. He needs it urgently, needs your tight virgin cunny stretching and agonizing over his overbearing size, needs to feel the flutter of the gummy walls with each thrust; he needs it bad, he needs it now—

Your hand is wrenched away as he yanks both waistbands down to his thighs. He looks at you, eyes blurring through kaleidoscopic vision, and makes out your disoriented gaze staring back at him. Disoriented with toxins, disoriented with need, lust, desperation— a hand reaches behind Dabi’s neck and pulls him back down to crash bruised lips together.

It’s all the invitation he needs, not that he needs it, no, what he needs is to sink his painfully hard cock into that sweet, sweet cunt of yours. There’s a faint squealing coming from underneath him, and he thinks he can feel nails digging crescents into his nape, but all he can feel is your warm, wet walls clenching around him.

There was no need to prepare you for any longer, there’s no point if he doesn’t stretch your virgin pussy out with his own cock; it’s wasted on fingers, his fingers don’t deserve to feel the way you walls quiver and contract around it. The pitched cries stop eventually as he feels your body go pliant and soft, and he has half a mind to realize you’re probably starting to come down soon.

He doesn’t wanna deal with that, you won’t be sober for another few hours, but you’ve peaked already, and not with him; that’s not fair, that’s no fun. His cock stills inside you with half still unsheathed and he reaches down into his pocket to take out a baggy of powder. There’s a spoon in, thank fuck, and he feeds a small bump right up to your nose.

“Inhale,” he slots it right up your nostril, “it’ll make you feel good, didn’t you feel good?” Your head lowers to nod, bumps the edge of the spoon right into the cartilage of your nose, and inhale. Good girl.

The baggy is tossed haphazardly before he’s working his dick into you again, cockhead pushing through the doughy walls in search of that pocket at the end of your pussy.

You don’t struggle anymore, instead clinging onto his shoulders and carving half-moons into the flesh. It hurts a lil, and Dabi doesn’t like it when it hurts, not when he’s the one hurting.

He snatches your hands off him and pushes them above your head, into the plush forgiving mattress. His teeth are back on your neck, biting over the ripples of purple and green and red and blue, reveling in your cries and moans that come out in symphonies.

It feels good, great— divine, it’s what he deserves for bringing you to Nirvana. He’s basically your muse, after all, how can you truly describe rapture without experiencing it first?

He can hear your moans ringing out from underneath, can see them traveling in the air in hues of reds and pinks and reds and reds— there’s red on your bedsheets, of course there is. He forgot that’s what comes with a virgin cunt; blood, mixing with the translucent coating his cock, dripping down and painting the crisp white sheet red, drifting into the air and congesting the whole room with red.

He inhales the colour, sucks it into his lungs, and uses it to fuel the pistoning of his hips. Your breaths turn to pants, turns to sobs of his name leaving your lips again, and he thinks you look good, so good, taking his cock like this. You should thank him for bringing you to your second orgasm.

Just look at you, crazy isn’t it? Crazy what a lil pill can do. But he’s got something better, something so much better, something that’ll bring you to a new dimension. You want that, don’t you? C’mon don’t be shy, Dabi will bring you right there, don’t you worry.

There’s still the faint cries from your orgasm when he flips you over and pushes your face into the untainted sheets. He watches as your hands sprawl up to grip and grasp at something, anything, and his hands ease up on the hold on your skull for a second to let you wheeze and greedily gasp for air.

He flickers a trail of blue down your back, watches the flames dance and rage in a mirage, every bouquet indented by the ligament of each tender rib, and there’s a faint scream. The pitch rises with the flames, taunting it to go higher, faster, paint murals in every swell of your back until he can’t see anything except ash coal char.

Dabi blinks, squints his eyes as he throws his head back to focus on the paint chipping on the ceiling. It cracks and crinkles, shying away from his pointed glare, before he sucks in a deep breath and looks back down at you.

There’s no ash, no char, only warm tanned flesh, pressed flush against the pristine white sheets underneath. It burns against the pads of his long fingers splayed out across your back, and he winces in annoyance at the irony.

You don’t seem to notice his pause, too fucked out or fucked up to register what’s going around you probably. A mixture of both; Dabi can’t really remember what he’s given you or how long he’s been there.

He can’t decide if he wants to stay there anymore, can’t make out the pros and cons of either. He counts them off with each painful yank of your hair, each harsh thrust into your abused virgin cunt— it was that, wasn’t it?

He was there because he sniffed out a cute lil virgin, one so untainted and untouched, one begging for him to corrupt. He’s not known to be very generous, but sometimes he gets into one of those moods; it can’t be helped when there’s a desperate doll waiting to be torn apart.

He knows what you want, can read you with his eyes closed— you don’t need eyes to feel the pulse of a greedy cunny; it clenches with every slap of the face, damn near clamps down entirely as his slender fingers slither around to the front of your throat.

Two fingers shove past your lolling tongue and yanks your head back by the digits hooked on the corner of your mouth. There’s drool, and spit, and so many fluids coming and entering all at once— and then you’re coming, again, probably, for the third time that night. Fourth?

It’s methodical, straightforward, he reads the instruction manual once, maybe twice if the first one’s a bit faulty, and he’s got it down to muscle memory.

At the sound of heaving he looks back down again, admires the feel of two of his fingertips fucked straight into the back of your throat, and pushes down on the rugged gummy wall. You gag, and he laughs. It’s cute, so cute, you’re real cute, you know?

“Such a good lil whore aren’t you?” He digs his nails into the flesh of your hip and rams his cockhead until he can feel the kiss from your puckered cervix. “All fucked out of your mind, bet you can’t even hear me, can you?”

He watches as you gurgle out words past his fingers wedged down your slack mouth, and choke on the pools of saliva drooling out. It’s the funniest sight, fascinates him to death, really.

A slap to the face might bring you out of your daze, so he slips his hand back out of your sloppy mouth and revels at your body propelling forward straight into the headboard. He grasps at the tips of your hair and wrench your body back towards him before any satisfying impact could sound out. It’s a shame, but concussions are not in his agenda.

“Been fucked so loose, filthy slut can’t even keep your body up,” he rolls your hair around his hands and yanks back until your skull meets his chin; it’s excruciatingly painful, probably, and that’s why it’s the best.

It’s the perfect way for your mouth to fall open naturally, to scream, squeal, fluster around in attempt to be freed from the position— it creates the perfect hole for him to spit in. He watches as your face contorts in disgust, tongue pushed out to let his spit drool out the sides, but that’s no fun, not very nice of you, is it?

“Swallow,” he assists you with an extra hard thrust, and you choke on the moan coming out. His hand comes forward from your hip to rest under your chin before pushing it up so it clamps shut, “I said, swallow.”

Your eyes flood with tears that waterfall down your face, and God, he thinks you look the best like this— wrecked on his cock, body littered in purple and red, covered in sweat and blood and cum; his perfect lil cocksleeve, just for him.

It’s emotional, almost— religious, even, he can feel the palpitations in his heart thumping against his chest echoing off the headboard banging against the wall, and lets the euphoria consume him, wash over him as he coats your walls with hot ropes of cream and white, hips stuttering with your greedy cunny fluttering and clenching around it, milking and sucking in his cock in deeper, deeper, more.

He thinks you might’ve cum, might still be cumming, but all he can hear is the Messiah calling for him, choir singing lulling him into an infinite jubilation; he closes his eyes to bathe in it, let himself be cleansed and washed over with ecstasy.

When he pulls out, your body flops onto the mattress, and he watches as white dribbles out your quivering hole, mixing with the red on the sheets, creating a puddle of pink and magenta, before passing out in the fuschia.

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wangxianficrecs · 4 years ago

Photo

Follower Recs

Stories I haven’t read yet, but clearly need to put on my ever-expanding List.

~*~

Welcome back queen [Thank you, it’s so lovely to be back!] if ur still doing follower recs I gotta recommend I would wait for a thousand years by bleuett it’s soooooooo good

[This one was actually recced to me by two different people, the other of whom said, “ Maybe I'm crying a little so I feel like a should recommend ‘I would wait for a thousand years’ by bleuett on ao3.”]... it’s def. on my List!

I would wait for a thousand years

by bleuett (T, 10k, wangxian)

Summary: During the worst of winter, a traveler comes to stay at Lan Wangji's inn. He wears a red ribbon in his hair.

“Do you see the rabbit?” Wei Ying asks and points at the moon. “That’s the moon rabbit, he helps make Chang’e more immortality elixir. He keeps Chang’e company.”

“I do not wish the rabbit for company,” Lan Wangji says tightly. “You are the one I want by my side.”

“And I’m here, Lan Zhan. If you go to the moon, I’ll follow you, I’ll always be here now.”

~*~

I just read a great fic by aisthuu "every love story is a ghost story", didn't see it in your recs so wanted to recommend it! LWJ is a guqin composer and teacher, buys a cheap guqin off eBay which ends up being attached to WWX's spirit from canon era. It's bittersweet, LWJ deals with Lan's homophobia (implicit in a Lan way) and his feelings towards the ghost. This is author's only ao3 fic and honestly I don't remember how I stumbled upon it, but I'm happy I did and hope you will enjoy it too! [I’ve recently read this one, and loved it!]

every love story is a ghost story

by aisthuu (M, 59k, wangxian, my bookmark)

Summary: The man is in Lan Zhan’s bed. Did they—he begins to wonder, eyes trailing to where the man’s body lies under the blanket. Had Lan Zhan—?

Then the sleep-fog clears and Lan Zhan realizes that the young man isn’t quite opaque around the edges.

“You’re a spirit.”

The spirit narrows its eyes. “I’m so much more than that.”

(Lan Zhan buys a guqin off eBay for a suspiciously low price, only to find that it’s haunted. And now there’s a ghost in his bed.)

~*~

Ok so I absolutely have to rec "see you yesterday" by glyphic. It's a wip, but it's currently at 101k so there's a whole lot there, and it's terrible and wonderful and beautiful all at once. The way the backstory of canon events is adapted to the modern-with-cultivation setting is brilliant, and then there's the amnesia, and then there's the time loop. This fic lives permanently rent-free in my brain.

see you yesterday

by glyphic (M, 101k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary:

Wei Ying 21:09 hey lan zhan what’s the weirdest way youve died

Lan Zhan 21:11 Falling encyclopedias.

Wei Ying 21:12 omg no way that’s so rude turning books against you???

Lan Zhan 21:13 A betrayal I will never forget.

On Halloween night, an exiled demonic cultivator and a Lan disciple get stuck in a time-loop, find each other, and try to figure it all out.

~*~

If you are looking for recs for yourself I absolutely love (the complete!) story Just as the Snow Melts by draechali on AO3. It's a canon divergence where everyone lives, even WWX! ~ @airmidcelt

Just as the Snow Melts

by draechaeli (T, 67k, wangxian)

Summary: Like a snowy mountain top in spring the residents of the Burial Mounds trickled down the mountain and joined the flow of society.

“I went to the Burial Mounds,” Lan WangJi said.

“Ah, yeah… I’m sorry Lan Zhan,” replied Wei WuXian, “I hadn’t thought anyone would come to visit. I am still not sure how it happened; I brought A-Yuan to Yiling to play by the river and then ended up somehow teaching a bunch of children swimming and writing along with him.”

~*~

Hello! It's come to my attention that you have not as yet read Grandmaster of Meme-onic Cultivation! Please do! It's the only thing that gave me joy during 2020 😆 like proper belly laughs and disney villain style cackling. It is a wip, and it is long but so so worth it!! The author has reworked the entire canon through these message crystals and still conveys complex characters despite the tricky format. It's just so good!! Highly highly recommend it! ❤ ~ @theladypeartree [Oh! I’ve been subscribed to this one, and know that @swaglexander-the-great is a reliable provider of Hilarity, so I’m excited for it to be finished!]

Grandmaster of Meme-onic Cultivation

by Hades_the_Blingking (T, 49k, wangxian, WIP)

Summary: The Untamed universe is exactly the same, except everybody has magical crystals that have a suspiciously familiar messaging system. The story is pretty much the same as the show, except everyone lives!! (so minor changes).

or in which Wei WuXian tries his darndest to date Lan Zhan, Jiang Cheng possibly has a aneurysm, Jin ZiXuan is still the most awkward human alive, and Xue Yang makes me write some VERY cursed things. Written in chatfic format! :3

~*~

Chomrafy on AO3 deserves love and encouragement; she’s written a body of compact, poetic, and eloquent shortfics each of which can stand alone, but that comprise an intricately cross-referential and mostly internally-consistent universe. They’re grouped as chapters in works according to theme; for example, “in cupped hands” focuses upon Jin Ling and his second-generation baggage; “Departure in Autumn” portrays the last years of WWX’s first life. Follow the tag “Chomrafy’s MDZS shortfics.” [I don’t see this tag?]

in cupped hands

by chomrafy (G, 2k, wangxian)

Summary: Of secrets, of futures, of love. A Jin Ling-centric collection of 200-word fics.

Ch.1: Jin Ling repays a debt (JL, JC, & WWX). Ch.2: Jin Ling and a ghost in the mirror. (JL & JYL) Ch.3: A matter of friends (JL & the other kids) Ch.4: In this house we don't keep dogs (JC & WWX) Ch.5: In the end, he remains silent (JL & uncles) Ch.6: A first night hunt, of sorts (JL & the other kids) Ch.7: Jin Ling, forgiving, forgetting (JL & LXC & JGY) Ch.8: Jiang Cheng and Jin Ling argue (JL, JC, & WWX) Ch.9: Jin Ling and his father (JL & JC) Ch.10: Jin Ling speaks up (JL, JC, & WWX) Ch.11: Jin Ling and a piece of home (JL, JC, & WWX)

Departure in Autumn

by chomrafy (not rated, 6k)

Summary: Four perspectives. A steady march to the end.

Ch.1: Because if anything happens to them, Wen Qing would never be able to heal with these hands again. Ch.2: As long as this is still home, Jiang Yanli will wait as long as she needs to. Ch.3: Five times Jiang Cheng reaches for Wei Wuxian, one time he turns away. Ch.4: Whether the road is broad or narrow, bright or dark, they would have to keep walking. Wei Wuxian digs Wen Qing's grave.

~*~

Hello, hope all is going well. I don't have an ask, by I do have a recommendation. I read this fic a while ago and found it again. I just wanted to recommend this for everyone. Let me know what you think please. Thank you. [Oh! This one’s in my To Read list, but I’d forgotten about it. Mmmm, fox!wwx and dragon!lwj.]

Ten miles of Lotus Flowers

by Yukirin_Snow

M, 274k, wangxian

Summary: He was a mischievous fox spirit, wreaking havoc where he went, about to depart on a journey that would span centuries.

He was a heavenly prince, a proud dragon destined to ascend the throne to become emperor.

Neither expected their paths to collide over the span of three lives.

~*~

I forgot if it was your blog 😥 that recommended “Bestseller” (when Wei Wuxian writes the Xianxia cut-sleeve equivalent of Fifty Shades of Grey, based entirely on his experiences with Lan Wangji, he doesn’t expect it to become the next big hit) (https://archiveofourown.org/works/21528316/chapters/51318766)

But OMG IT WAS HILARIOUS!!! I LOVED IT!! And if it wasn’t your blog, I’m so sorry for how weird this sounds 😭😭😭😭 I just loved this fic so much that I have to tell it to someone 😢 [It’s on my List, but I haven’t read it yet!]

Bestseller

by pupeez4eva

M, 8k, wangxian

Summary: He had written the book to prove a point. It was never supposed to be a big thing, and he certainly never intended for everyone — Jiang Cheng, Zewu-Jun, the Juniors, literally everyone— to be reading about his sex life.

Oh God, he definitely needed to make sure Lan Zhan didn’t find out about this.

(Or, when Wei Wuxian writes the Xianxia cut-sleeve equivalent of Fifty Shades of Grey, based entirely on his experiences with Lan Wangji, he doesn’t expect it to become the next big hit).

~*~

I’d like to rec On Your Marks, Get Set, Bake! by @blackwiresgrowonherhead

It’s one of my absolute favorites and I laughed out loud so many times when reading it

on your marks, get set, bake!

by BlackWiresOnHerHead

G, 41k, wei wuxian & juniors

Summary: Jin Ling resumes thumping on the door to room 721, and the small collection of freshmen starts chanting “Senior Wei! Senior Wei! Senior Wei!” with increasing volume until finally Wei Wuxian opens the door.

“Yes?” he says with his widest, most innocent eyes.

“Senior Wei!” demands Lan Jingyi, shoving himself to the front of the group. “Why didn’t you tell us you’re a contestant on this year’s season of The Great Gusu Bake Off?!?”

Several months ago, college student Wei Wuxian secretly competed in the most popular reality show in the country. The show starts airing in the fall. The freshmen in his dorm collectively lose their minds.

~*~

If you're in the mood for v. short ridiculous fun fic, may I suggest My chain hits my chest/When I'm bangin' on the radio by x_los It's 2k modern cultivators AU, featuring WWX calling LWJ's sword Bitchin' [omg I’m laughing so hard] and I think it's more fun going in blind?

My chain hits my chest/When I'm bangin' on the radio

by x_los

T, 2k, wangxian

Summary: Lan Wangji finds he doesn't even need to call for help for Wei Wuxian to come running.

#follower rec #wangxian fic rec #I HAVEN'T READ THESE YET #wangxian #mdzs

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