#yifan fanfics

[audriel]

behind the scenes: let's start thinkin' bout it

chapter 2 : lingering wounds

this chapter really writes itself. all i have clearly in mind is a conversation between Qiao Yifan and Wang Jiexi. i have thought of writing the remaining All Stars, but the conversation ends up much bigger than i expected. definitely more angst and hurt-comfort, which is me going back to my roots lol. it also makes it harder to find a proper ending. after scrapping some rough ideas, this is the end result that i am pretty satisfied with.

this chapter can be said an analysis of Tiny Herb. and I know how risky it is, and it's rather hard to avoid bias. but Tiny Herb is among the teams that we do have more knowledge of their inner workings from the novel. and i must admit, while i admire Wang Jiexi and his dedication to Tiny Herb (fangwang is also one of my fave pairings), for me current Tiny Herb is not impressive... and its future is worrisome.

my bad impression did indeed start with the way they handled Qiao Yifan. it can be summed up as a mere mismatch between Qiao Yifan and Tiny Herb. that our Yifan is unsuitable for Tiny Herb and vice versa. that ultimately Tiny Herb is an employer and workplace, that this kind of thing does a common occurrence. no one is at fault. we just happened to be spoiled with teams like Happy and Blue Rain who are in comparison very flexible and inclusive. (then there's God Ye, who stands tall above the rest, who notices things that the Magician doesn't)

but i cannot help but disagree.

in my experience as an employee (or capitalist slave lol) who ends up studying about business&management, human resource is the greatest investment a company or any business can have. it can make or break the business. so usually, HR recruitment and training get a lot of attention, if not a priority. so it's no wonder that all teams will have their own training camps, so they will have easier time to mold and pick their future team members. especially there's an obvious quota or limitation of how many people can be in the team. then there's also nature of the teams, which highly requires ability to adapt and to work with others. this should make being promoted to the team very difficult. the ones who did get to be a member of the team, even though only a sub, should be the cream of the crop.

Qiao Yifan is no exception.

this is clearly implied in the novel when it's mentioned that he has only played Glory for a year by the time we got to know him (Ch147). only further strengthened with how quick he adjusts to Ghostblade class and to rough diamond Happy in the new server.

However, Qiao Yifan has never played an official match, to the point that all pro players and the All Stars' audience have no idea of his existence in Tiny Herb. and by then half season have passed.

half season!

(forget how strange the timeline is, s8 is a mess)

that's such a waste of time and money. seriously. HR is an investment because the result will not show immediately. HR is also costly because they put a lot of money into developing the people into what the company need. recruiting a fully developed talent (transfer) is expensive, so it's usually more cost effective to acquire from universities (training camp) and develop them in the company (the team).

how can you develop your team member without giving them experience??? especially when it's highlighted throughout the novel, through many pro players, how important experience is. how it's the only way for a rookie turn into a veteran.

not only it doesn't make sense from business standpoint, it also doesn't make sense from team standpoint. by benching Qiao Yifan, Wang Jiexi has crippled his own team, reducing the potential strategies he can use. and by not giving him a chance to grow, thus reducing his chance to stay, requiring Tiny Herb to seek and acquire and train/introduce another new person, adding another new variable into the team that might end up the same.

then there's Wang Jiexi's thoughts of Qiao Yifan.

Wang Jiexi already couldn't see any value in keeping Qiao Yifan in the team. He also knew the kid was having a hard time meshing with the team. Perhaps if he wasn't in a Champion team and in some other no pressure mid-tier team, he might be able to make some progress? -Ch144

made worse with the rare time Qiao Yifan shows any negative feelings towards others.

"How lucky... to be instructed by a god-level player like captain so often..." Qiao Yifan silently thought. -Ch145

on my the first time reading it and on my reread, these words still rub me the wrong way. first, it's so cold and ruthless. he strips down Qiao Yifan to his value to the team. okay, we can accept that it's necessary in such highly competitive environment that is Glory. you cannot just add all good vegetables into the shopping cart, just like Ye Xiu said. second and my greatest source of vexation is that he knows that Qiao Yifan is not meshing with team, but his solution is to put Qiao Yifan in an environment with no pressure? really? true to his magician, title his reasoning doesn't make sense, which irks me so much. because it doesn't seem he bothers to know the reason why.

teamwork requires everyone to work together. it's a relationship of mutual trust and respect. it takes all sides to make it work. from his thoughts, it gives me the impression the fault lies in Qiao Yifan for being weak, for buckling under the pressure, thus not gaining trust and respect from his teammates for them to willing to work with him.

the least kind explanation for his way of thinking is that Tiny Herb's self-sacrificing values are taken to the extreme. considering he has changed my playstyle for the team and the championship, he really cannot fathom why the others can't. the less kind explanation is that being a genius make him unable to understand others who are not. the kindest explanation is that he's too busy to instruct the substitutes personally, which is reasonable considering Tiny Herb's overdependence on him, so he cannot really see the problem in Qiao Yifan. he might leave that job to his vice captain, which unfortunately for Qiao Yifan is Deng Fusheng, who might not even fully understand why Wang Jiexi assigns Qiao Yifan an Assassin account to properly instruct him.

it might also be all of them. if we think kindly of Wang Jiexi, he might be aware of his shortcoming, so he relies on his vice captain in developing and training the rookies. Fang Shiqian is particularly good at this, as seen from the main roster that used to have Fang Shiqian as the vice captain. case in point, his attempts in recruiting new member for his team after Fang Shiqian retired are by acquiring developed talents: Xu Bin, an exchange with Li Yihui, Tang Rou and Qiu Fei who have been personally instructed by Ye Xiu.

this kinda explains his cold rationality. and the way he handles Gao Yingjie. whose personality is not much different than Qiao Yifan. it really gives an impression he really doesn't know how to deal with such a different personality compared to his own. that's why he takes such an extreme approach, by losing publicly against Gao Yingjie, which i don't think it's well thought out.

it might be just me, but in my own experience in teaching people (and also from Ye Xiu/Happy and Wei Chen/Blue Rain's example), in order to build confidence it's not really that complicated. just let them gain experience, let them try and fail, but also make sure they know that failure is not the end of the world, that they have the team's support and understanding. that's it. others might scorn them, but the team will have their back. call it tough love. call it a balance of care and cruelty. everyone's a beginner at first, even geniuses. meanwhile, Gao Yingjie is too well-protected. he's kept from hardship too much. that's why i've got the feeling that Wang Jiexi's approach has a high chance of blowing up on his (and Tiny Herb's) face.

and also why future Tiny Herb is worrisome, because it's not only the team who is overly dependent on Wang Jiexi, the whole club, too. it can be minimized if Wang Jiexi stays after retirement... but i feel he will be as decisive as his predecessors. Gao Yingjie will have such big shoes to fill, if not too big.

then there's the team environment.

particularly among the reserve players, which eerily reminds me of Excellent Era's training camp, which might be what Ye Xiu's also thinking with his comment of role model and crutch to Wang Jiexi after the match.

Is he saying that I've been working too hard all this time? But when you were in Excellent Era, weren't you also giving your all to carry the team on your shoulders? Wang Jiexi watched Ye Xiu's retreating silhouette. -Ch1334

in the later match against Thunderclap, it seems that Wang Jiexi does stop trying too hard and let himself being isolated from the others in order to reduce the dependence and in the playoffs against Samsara, it suggests that the younger members manage to make a turnaround. that it bodes well for the future of Tiny Herb.

but here's the thing. it only shows hope for the current main roster of the team. the subs? they don't really have the proper mindset. it's shown in the way they barely worked together and then lost against Lord Grim and co., in the way they made excuses, made worse with Xiao Yun's behavior when he's being the most senior, the one considered as half-main roster and half-sub, but also always being sought to be replaced by Wang Jiexi. no wonder he acts out, bullies are often insecure. this paints a rather grim picture of the championship team environment that Wang Jiexi (and Tiny Herb) creates, and also the double standard he's shown in the different way he treats Gao Yingjie compared to other rookies.

there's a ticking time bomb right there.

the problem might even lay deeper, or start sooner in the training camp. this is a high possibility, considering how Qiao Yifan got promoted despite his unsuitability and how Wang Jiexi is always seen looking outside the team for potential talent.

that's why i come to the conclusion that Tiny Herb's future looking grim. being a rich championship team in the capital, they might manage to draw high-quality talents, but if they are unable to develop them... they might be left behind other teams with better team environment, championship team or not (Thunderclap, for example).

wow it ends up long, i actually want to add my thoughts about Qiao Yifan's characterisation. but i think the chapter speaks for itself. just because we see Qiao Yifan moving on, focusing on the good things, showing no resentment towards Tiny Herb. it doesn't mean he's not hurt. i am close to tears when i read Qiao Yifan's thoughts during his time in Tiny Herb. he's just a kid. it needs to be acknowledged, by themselves, and by the club. it might create a better environment for them all.

[luhans-cumstained-body]

our special, little secret 🎀

fandom(s) ; exo pairing ; lu han x wu yifan (krishan) summary ; lu han loved his father. he loved him so much he'd let him do just about anything he would want with him. while yifan can't help but think his son was just growing up to be prettier by the day. wordcount ; 4.1k content ; pwp, anal sex, anal fingering, large cock, crossdressing, creampie, loss of virginity, feminization, daddy kink warnings ; father/son incest, grooming, underaged (teen)

read the full thing on ao3 - here ! there's a small preview under the cut.

Lu Han knew it was bad, he wasn’t stupid. Even if his peers loved to tell him he was. His Daddy wasn’t meant to touch him there, but he did and he always explained that was Daddy’s special way of showing he loved him. They had to keep it a secret though, or Lu Han’s mother would feel jealous. It started when Lu Han was going on fourteen, that was the first time Yifan came into his room when everyone was supposed to be asleep. Lu Han was sleepy, confused and not remotely uncomfortable as his father pulled his duvet back and shortly after tried tugging down Lu Han’s briefs. He kissed Lu Han’s cheek, who hummed content in the darkness with a huge grin on his face with the show of affection, eyes still closed because Daddy told him it was all fine. Mindlessly, Lu Han had turned to lay on his stomach when told and while his brows did furrow when he felt Yifan’s large hand run across his ass, he stayed put. Too trusting, devoted and simply loving his father. Maybe it did border on him being in love. There was a gentle reminder for Lu Han to relax when he felt a wetted finger enter him, when he all too naturally tensed around what was penetrating him so unexpectedly. Instinctively, always wanting to make his father happy, Lu Han apologized as he was being molested. ...

[blueberry-ash]

Writer’s Month 2024, Day 6 (‘flame, forest’)

TKA, GaoQiao, with background (sad) SanXiu. T-rated, but with implied themes. Recursive fanfic for GK's lovely story Spiral, and very much just stealing the setting from that world.

.

It isn’t something Qiao Yifan means to stumble across.

He’d been walking eagerly through the forest—maybe a little absent-mindedly, if he’s being entirely honest—happy to be back home after the longest stretch of his apprenticeship so far, and maybe kinda buzzing with anticipation at the thought of meeting up with Gao Yingjie after months of slow-travelling letters as their only form of contact. (And, okay, perhaps there had also been the occasional, incredibly heady dream—at least some of which Qiao Yifan is dizzyingly sure had been fully shared between them—but Qiao Yifan is doing his best not to think about those right now; he’s pretty sure there’s only so much anticipatory buzzing he can handle while still functioning as an actual human. Not to mention, he has no intention of being disrespectful enough to assume—)

Anyway, it’s possible that Qiao Yifan has been daydreaming a lot since Gao Yingjie had written that, yes, he’d love to join Qiao Yifan for the village’s Imbolc celebrations, so long as Qiao Yifan managed to get home in time. Qiao Yifan had never been so relieved to see the snowdrops as-yet-unopened when he’d finally arrived home the night before, but he’d woken this morning to An Wenyi making spring pancakes, and Luo Ji pointing out the flowers swaying prettily in the rising morning wind. Qiao Yifan doesn’t actually know whether snowdrops grow in the coven’s part of the forest—and the more reasonable part of his mind has been doing its best to point out that, even if they do, there’s no guarantee that they’d bloom on the very same day—but that hasn’t stopped Qiao Yifan hoping, and—

Okay, he really isn’t paying all that much attention to where he’s walking. It’s not as though he’s forgotten the route from his village to Autumn Tree’s clearing and, for all that his time away has felt like forever to him, it’s barely been a heartbeat’s thump to the ancient forest. The path hasn’t really changed at all, and Qiao Yifan is perfectly comfortable with letting his feet lead him past this tree and that, while his mind races ahead to whether or not Gao Yingjie will be waiting for him.

No wonder, then, that Qiao Yifan has barely even registered having reached the maple’s clearing before he’s been caught by the sudden curl of fingers around his wrist, and the warm hum of Gao Yingjie’s magic tugging him back and away—Gao Yingjie’s eyes wide, and Gao Yingjie’s free hand raised to his lips in a signal for silence.

Qiao Yifan stares, as much caught by his joy at seeing Gao Yingjie as by his surprise at Gao Yingjie’s unexpected manhandling.

(That Gao Yingjie is wildly powerful is something Qiao Yifan had maybe taken slightly longer to realise than he ought to have, but that doesn’t mean Qiao Yifan hasn’t had…thoughts…about maybe one day being bold enough to try convincing Gao Yingjie to use that power on him in a more, uh, unorthodox kind of way.) (That Qiao Yifan has had those thoughts doesn’t remotely mean Gao Yingjie has had them too, however, and so Qiao Yifan immediately does his best to pull himself swiftly together.)

Qiao Yifan isn’t sure what embarrassing things Gao Yingjie is still clearly able to read upon his face—but the fact that a blush blooms rapidly across Gao Yingjie’s cheeks sets Qiao Yifan’s own ears to boiling.

Still, Gao Yingjie doesn’t actually let go of Qiao Yifan. Nor does he stop holding his finger to his lips. He gestures, instead, with his head, toward Autumn Tree’s clearing.

Oh.

Oh.

Qiao Yifan forgets about snowdrops, and Imbolc, and the rush of all his daydreams.

In the clearing, there’s a small flame by the tree, and two men. One man has fox ears, although they can only be seen because the wind has tousled his hair just so, while the other feels like—like earth, Qiao Yifan thinks. Good, clean earth, and richly scented timber, cut with a sweet line of decay.

Qiao Yifan is far enough through his apprenticeship to know a ghostly spirit when he sees one, no matter how beautifully its nature has been hidden. Of course, he recognises the familiar form of his village’s leader, too, but the presence of Ye Xiu is an everyday occurrence, while the presence of Su Muqiu—

‘It’s him,’ Qiao Yifan says, extremely softly, with a quick glance to Gao Yingjie.

Neither of them feel the need to clarify which him Qiao Yifan is referring to.

Gao Yingjie simply nods and keeps watching, a look of earnest—if openly conflicted—curiosity on his face.

Qiao Yifan can relate.

This is something so intensely private—something very much not intended for him to be witnessing—and yet some part of him wants to keep on watching, too. It’s like he’s been trapped by the familiar-unfamiliar sight of the man he can recognise despite never having met—a man Qiao Yifan can guess the name of not only from the familiar gold of Su Mucheng’s hair being tossed around his shoulders by the wind, but also from the expression of an affection so vast and raw on Ye Xiu’s face that… that who else could it be for, really?

Qiao Yifan’s chest hurts.

The men talk softly, lowly, saying things Qiao Yifan thankfully cannot hear. They smile, and Su Muqiu murmurs something teasing, and Ye Xiu laughs a full, loud laugh with eyes gone bright with tears and joy alike.

Qiao Yifan’s heart aches to bursting.

When the men’s foreheads rest gently together, Qiao Yifan and Gao Yingjie step back without a word, finally walking quietly away from maple’s clearing. They stay silent until they’ve meandered past unmelted snowdrifts and blooming snowdrops alike, and found themselves at the brook.

It’s Imbolc, not Samhain, Qiao Yifan thinks, and the dead don’t usually—

But then, the dead don’t usually take their rest as tree spirits, either. And when has Village Leader Ye ever conformed to usually…?

Qiao Yifan can’t stop hurting from the thought of it. From the weight of their affection. From actually seeing what he’s known for so long—Autumn Tree, and Su Muqiu, and Ye Xiu’s lost love—three different things, and yet one and the same.

There’s a reason Qiao Yifan was always so fond and respectful of the clearing, even before his feelings for Gao Yingjie had added a new, more personal layer of vibrancy to the mix.

Qiao Yifan shrugs off his heavy coat, spreading it on the ground by the brook’s edge. Gao Yingjie smiles and does some clever, tingly, magical thing that lets them sit on Qiao Yifan’s coat and take their boots off, letting their bare feet dangly in the brook’s tinkly, ice-melty waters as though it were the far end of summer rather than the whispered start of spring. (Gao Yingjie has heated them, of course, rather than the water directly—Qiao Yifan knows enough to know that Gao Yingjie isn’t going to go around altering the natural scheme of things and, anyway, Qiao Yifan had recognised the delicious touch of Gao Yingjie’s magic as soon as he’d nodded his head at Gao Yingjie’s hushed suggestion.)

Gao Yingjie’s weight against Qiao Yifan’s shoulder provides a solid, welcome balm.

They don’t talk about Village Leader Ye and his long-dead sweetheart.

They talk about Spiral’s hibernation, and Qiao Yifan’s apprenticeship, and the cross-cultural studies Gao Yingjie has recently begun beneath Yu Wenzhou’s visiting tutelage. They talk about the sweetly-drooping snowdrops, and the cheery winter aconite, which—Gao Yingjie explains—blooms much closer to the coven, and even sooner than the snowdrops, too. (He’s been visiting Autumn Tree’s clearing daily for a little while now, he explains with a sweet, slow smile, and Qiao Yifan longs to lean in and kiss him.)

They talk about the village’s planned celebrations for the evening, and whether Gao Yingjie is still interested and able to attend—he is, he says, of course he is, in fact, he can even stay the night if things run late—and then Qiao Yifan can’t speak for a few moments at all, his brain having been completely scrambled by the sheer amount of energy needed to stop himself from jumping to false conclusions while also very much wanting to imagine a night spent with Gao Yingjie in his bed.

They talk—as though Gao Yingjie is likewise grabbing at threads for anything likely to stop his cheeks from heating after that conversation—about Fang Shiqian’s ill-timed head cold, and An Wenyi’s newest business venture. About the morning they’d met slightly further up the brook—back before autumn’s first frost, and preparing for a last farewell before Qiao Yifan’s departure, only to have accidentally met up with a remarkably wet and flustered Liu Xiaobie, and a Lu Hanwen who’d been looking more than a little pleased with himself.

If they don’t talk about Ye Xiu and his beloved, though, that doesn’t mean they aren’t still thinking about it.

‘I’ve read that some maples have a burst of energy at Imbolc,’ Gao Yingjie says quietly, after a while. ‘Their—their vital energy, I mean. So, it—makes a kind of sense. For him to have manifested today, I mean.’

Gao Yingjie’s foot presses against Qiao Yifan’s, so warm and solid beneath the water’s icy flow. Qiao Yifan shivers.

‘I see,’ Qiao Yifan says slowly, after an even longer while. And then, all in a rush, like he can’t stop it from tumbling out of him, ‘You know, I’m really so very, very glad to—to have you here. Like this. With me, Yingjie.’

Qiao Yifan’s training means it isn’t entirely impossible that Qiao Yifan might, in theory, be able to talk to Gao Yingjie as often as they pleased, if Gao Yingjie were to die but choose to stay with the living, and not even only on special days, but this is—spirits, this is infinitely better. This is by far the very best. Qiao Yifan can’t help but feel the full intensity of that right now—can’t manage to shake this sharp awareness of the immense good fortune they have to be in love, and alive, and together.

Gao Yingjie doesn’t say anything further, but he swivels sideways and kisses such warmth into Qiao Yifan’s skin, into Qiao Yifan’s mouth, into Qiao Yifan’s soul, that Qiao Yifan knows he feels the same.

[fairyixingstuff]

— netflix help center | tao + kris + luhan ♡

[itstheoneshot]

Tutor

request

Summary: You'd do absolutely anything to make sure you don't fail English class... anything.

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairing: Kris Wu x Reader

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, Unprotected Sex.

You lift your gaze as your name is called out in front of the class by your teacher, you know exactly where this is going, but you're still not prepared for the harshness of her words.

"You failed, again. How long is it going to take you to learn English?" She asks.

You can barely understand her, she talks so fast you can hardly keep up. Having to take English as a second language is exhausting, you would do anything to get out of this class, but unfortunately you're not able to if you want to get your degree.

"I'm sorry, professor." You mumble, stuttering over the few words in English that you're actually confident in.

You feel a blush run to your cheeks, you're flustered after being told off, embarrassed that now the whole class is aware that you're failing.

"Why can't you be more like Yifan? He scored 100% on this test." Your teacher asks, her tone exasperated as she points across the room to the other student.

You look over at Yifan, as he stares back at you. He seems uncomfortable too, to have been used as the example of how you should have performed, he grimaces as your teacher continues her spiel.

"I wasn't lucky enough to get to live in Canada, professor." You say, sarcasm drenching your words.

Yifan laughs at this, but with a pointed look from your teacher, he quietens, though you can still hear him snickering. You wipe the smile off your face, as you know that your teacher didn't find what you said funny at all.

"You need to do better, or you'll be repeating next year. This is your final warning." She says.

You nod, though you don't reply, just wanting to sink into your seat and disappear. You stare down at your notebook in front of you, analysing the work, not understanding a single fucking word of it. You quietly sit through the rest of the class, furiously copying down notes from the whiteboard, though you truly only can read not even half of it.

"This essay is worth 50% of your grade. You all need to do well to pass." Your teacher says.

Class is soon dismissed, and you gather your books together to leave. You keep your head down as you walk out of the room, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone, too embarrassed about today. All you want to do is go home, as you make your way down the hall, in the direction of the exit.

You make it all the way to your car before you realise you have been followed, you turn on your heel to come face to face with your classmate, your friend, Wu Yifan, you're not super close, but you still know each other well.

"You walked so fast." Yifan complains.

You laugh at this, making a pointed look at his too-long legs, he is always the fastest walker, out of everyone you know, so surely keeping up with you wouldn't really have been a problem.

"I have to go home to study." You reply.

"That's why I wanted to speak to you." He says.

"Why?" You ask.

You try not to overthink, though from the hit your self-esteem took today, you fear the worst, you fear that Yifan is going to make you feel bad for failing. He is so much better at English than you, hell, he's better than you at every class you're in.

"I was wondering whether you'd like me to help you?" He asks.

"Like... tutoring?" You ask him.

Yifan nods eagerly, almost making you laugh at how excited he is at the idea. You raise a brow at him, you feel like there has to be some kind of catch here. Though you don't question it for long, you desperately need to pass this class, and after not understanding the essay question at all, and knowing that it is worth so much of your marks, you'll take any help you can get.

"Okay, thank you." You say.

Yifan smiles at you, shaking his head.

"No need to thank me, I want you to graduate too." He replies.

You nod solemnly, not holding onto hope, you feel so fucking stupid, you just wish you could do better, be better.

"Do you want to come to my place to study?" Yifan asks.

"I'll follow behind you." You say, gesturing to your car.

Yifan reaches out to you, grazing your cheek gently with his fingertips before turning to walk to his car. You shake off the shivers that his touch gave you, before stepping into your own car, and following him as he drives in the direction of his house. You've been there before, Yifan often holds parties, but you've never been there alone.

———

You pull up out the front, just as Yifan gets out of his car. He jogs down the driveway to meet you, he takes your books out of your hands, and rests his arm over your shoulder to guide you inside. It is cold out, and you appreciate the warmth, leaning into him as you walk through the front door.

"You live alone?" You ask him.

The only time you've ever been here, you've been intoxicated. You had assumed, like the other college kids in the area, that he either lived with his mother, or lived with friends. Though the house is empty, and from what you can see, there are no other signs of life, so little possessions, barely enough to sustain just one person.

"I do. My mother stays with me sometimes, when she has time off work, but otherwise, it's just me." He replies.

"Isn't that lonely?" You ask.

"It's not so bad. I'm used to it, I like the privacy." He says.

You notice Yifan's arm still around you, and feel a blush run to your cheeks as he does too, before letting you go.

"I'm sorry." He mumbles.

You struggle to reply, unsure of what to say, you know that Yifan meant nothing by having his arm over your shoulder, but the skinship has you confused, feeling strange, and overwhelmed. You feel tiny next to him, as he leads you over to the dining table, placing your books down on it, and then pulling out a chair for you to sit in.

"Thank you." You say.

Yifan sits next to you, and you flip though your book to the page your essay question is written on. To you it just looks like jumbled letters, your handwriting is not neat, English is so complex to you, compared to your native Mandarin. You feel exasperated, prepared to bawl your eyes out at any moment.

"It's too hard." You complain.

You gasp, as Yifan reaches over to tuck your hair behind your ear. He turns your cheek to face him, and gives you a reassuring smile.

"English only." He says.

"Okay..." You sigh.

Yifan begins to explain to you the concept of the essay, and as he continues, you find yourself zoning in and out, constantly asking him to repeat himself, as every second word feels like complete gibberish. Every minute gets harder, you feel your train of thought slipping, but you need to do this fucking essay.

"I can't do this." You say, your English is slow.

"Yes, you can, you are so much better than you think. You just need more practice." He encourages you.

You shake your head, unable to form the words in English to portray how badly you feel that you are doing. You've barely written a paragraph, and you feel like Yifan has written every second word for you. His hand rests on yours, holding the pen, and you feel that stupid blush run to your cheeks again.

"I'm just so fucking stupid." You whine.

You let your pen go, dropping it on the table, and lean your head back, staring up at the ceiling. You feel as if there is no way you can get this work done in time, you feel anxiety begin to course through your veins, only being grounded by the man next to you, who is absentmindedly holding your hand still.

"You're shaking..." He whispers.

You don't respond, as it takes you a moment to understand the English words, though when you do, you sit up straight again, and turn to face Yifan.

"Should we take a break?" He asks.

"Please." You reply.

"We still have to speak English, though." He says.

You sigh again, trying to think of the right words to say, but at this point your head is so cloudy you can't even think straight. Yifan's hand is still holding yours, and you can't help the way that it makes you feel. Giddy, confused, overwhelmed, you're not really sure what you're feeling anymore.

"Can you write my essay for me?" You ask.

"I can't do that, you have the ability to do it yourself." Yifan laughs, shaking his head, "But I can definitely help you learn."

"How?" You ask him.

"Come, just walk with me." He says, standing up.

He pulls you to stand with him, and leads you around his house. He points to different things, photos, furniture, rooms, asking you to name them all. You find this surprisingly easy, though he guides you for some things, but you find yourself growing suspicious as his grip on your hand gets tighter, and as you realise there is only one room that you haven't been in yet.

"Your bedroom." You say.

"Good girl." He replies, his tone lower than before.

You stare at him for only a moment, before he surprises you, leaning in to press his lips to yours. At first you are unsure how to respond, but as he moves his hands to your waist, you find yourself complying. He's tall, handsome, and apparently into you? You never would have guessed it, but of course your self-esteem is so low you had assumed that nobody would be into you.

"Is this okay?" He asks.

You stare up at him with wide eyes, as you find your anxiety melting away. The breaths between kisses are too long, you don't want to think about your essay anymore, you just want... him.

"It, umm, it is more than okay." You reply, struggling to find the English words but getting there again.

Yifan hums in response, kissing you again, this time with more force. You hold tight to him, as he effortlessly lifts you off the ground, and you wrap your legs around his waist. He grips tight to your ass as he carries you over to the bed.

"I can help you write your essay." He says between kisses, laying you down, hovering over your body.

"But why?" You ask, confused and intrigued by the change of pace.

Yifan doesn't respond, instead tracing his fingers down your front, finding position at the hem of your shirt to pull it up over your head. Your breasts are spilling out over the top of your bra, and Yifan takes a hand to your chest, palming the flesh, sighing in content and want.

"Fuck, you're so fucking pretty." He purrs.

He stops for a moment to tear his own t-shirt off, shit, you've never seen him shirtless before. Broad-shouldered, defined muscles, god damn he is breathtaking. You forget what you're even here for, the essay means nothing now you are underneath the hottest man you know.

Clothes are stripped off, one by one, until you are both naked, Yifan has his cock in his hand, stroking himself while kissing you, teasing your clit with the head, staring deep into your eyes.

"What's the English word for this?" He asks with a smirk.

"Your cock." You reply, rolling your eyes at him, still wanting to teach you English even now.

"Clever girl..." He starts, "And what would you like me to do with it?"

You're almost ashamed to know the words you are about to say, sure, you might be failing English at school, hence even being here with Yifan in the first place, but these words you know.

"Fuck me, Yifan." You breathe.

"Good girl." He says.

He takes his hand away from his cock, and to your core instead. He warms you up slowly, from one, to two, to three fingers. You can barely contain yourself, your back is arched as he prepares you for him, and shit, you really are going to need preparation.

"Are you ready?" He asks.

"Yes." You reply.

Yifan slowly teases your entrance, and then inch by inch, pushes through to bottom out inside you. You hiss through the initial painful stretch, as Yifan slowly pulls out, only to thrust back in again. You hook a leg over his hip, begging him deeper inside you.

"Look at you, baby, you're so strong, taking all of me." He praises.

"Feels... so good." You moan.

Yifan leans back so he can admire you as he fucks you, you're overwhelmed as each thrust hits you in just the right spot. As Yifan comes closer to kiss you again, you dig your fingernails into his back, dragging them down the skin, leaving red marks in their wake.

Yifan moans into your mouth, enamoured by the way you clench around him every time he hits your sweet spot. You lean up to kiss him, and he slips his hands under you, before rolling onto his back, pulling you on top of him. You sit up, with his cock still deep inside you, and Yifan helps you as you ride him.

Grinding down every time you lower yourself, you feel each second that you're closer to release. Yifan can sense it, with the way you can barely make a sound.

"Tell me what you want." He says.

"I want—” You start, without releasing you had dropped back into your native tongue.

"In English." He orders.

You try and focus, though you can barely remember a single word in Mandarin, let alone English. You need Yifan to guide you, just like he is guiding you on his cock, you need more.

"I want to... I don't know the word." You say.

Yifan pulls you down to kiss him, and begins to thrust in from under you. You begin to unravel, each second feels like a hundred years, as you try to resist, but you can't keep it in anymore.

"Cum, baby. Cum for me." He says.

With the new word in your vocabulary, though definitely not one you can use in your essay, you finally feel your orgasm come to peak. Yifan holds your legs still, stopping their shaking as he fucks you through your high, though just as you begin to be able to think straight again, as you descend from your peak, Yifan pulls out just in time to release all over his stomach. You roll onto your side next to him as he strokes himself, and you take a hand to his cock too, to help him finish.

"Shit, that was... amazing." You sigh.

"You were amazing." He says.

"No! What I am, is going to fail my assignment." You reply.

Yifan kisses you again, before standing up and wiping his stomach clean with his t-shirt. You watch him pull his underwear and tracksuit pants back on, though he remains shirtless.

"I'll write your essay. You just have to pretend you understand it." Yifan says.

You stare at him in shock, while you get yourself dressed. He watches you intently, biting his lip as he waits for you to respond.

"What do you get out of this?" You ask.

Yifan smirks at you, as he takes your hand to lead you back out to the dining table.

"Round two later, and more, if you'd like." He says.

You look down at your notebook, and then back at the handsome man who has you totally fucked out right now. Sure, you need to pass school, so you'll take any opportunity you can, but you wouldn't say no to him anyway, not after how good he made you feel.

"Deal."

[kpoptrashlord-007]

Extended Stay;; WYF [pt.1]

Check out Part Two here~

Word Count;; 10.4k total, 5.2k for pt.1

Genre;; Zombie AU [Horror], Mafia AU [Violence], Smut

Pairing;; Kris Wu x Fem!Reader

Summary;;

     There comes a point in every relationship where things start to get serious. For you and Kris, that point comes in the form of a weekend getaway at a paradise resort. While you have your doubts about the many secrets he holds, there's a part of you that wants the relationship to thrive, to grow into something greater.      All great things, however, must be strong enough to withstand a storm and the quickest way to learn of a person's true character is under unfathomable odds.      Luckily for you, an island gone dark promises many hardships.

Collab Info;;

The Undead - an EXO12 Collab hosted by @biaswreckingfics ♡ 

Check out the Masterlist for more great EXO Zombie AU fics!

Warnings;;

Zombies!! + Mafia AU so 

Graphic depictions of violence, gore, horror in general, guns Explicit Language!! Explicit Smut!! Thigh riding and fingering, daddy kink

My Networks;; @supermwritersnet​

My Masterlist

   The jet touches down in Banoi minutes before 6pm, much earlier than scheduled. Despite night fast approaching, the sun is still high and bright in the crystal blue sky. Nary a cloud taints the endless canvas - there aren't even birds floating on the gentle sea breeze.

   Stretching your legs without fear of touching the seat in front of you or even coming anywhere near it, a yawn escapes your lips. Travelling by private jet is a level of luxury you never thought you'd experience and yet here you are, as impressed as you are bored.

   You tear your gaze from the small glass panel and its view of the Royal Palms Resort. It was a long flight and you want nothing more than to disembark this extravagant tin can and take a gulp of fresh island air, to feel sand beneath your toes as the warm ocean kisses your feet.

   The stewardess approaches you. She is smiling. Of course she is - that smile hasn't dropped for the entirety of the flight. You wish it were contagious but it's a weak facade, incapable of eliciting anything close to a spark of emotion within you, and you have a sneaking suspicion that it's all for show. Anxiety twitches her upper lip and her hands shake as she hands you a menu. It's the same menu you've seen a hundred times over the course of the flight.

   You've started to hate it.

   Just a little.

   "Would you care for any refreshments before you leave, ma'am?"

   "God, no"—you wave her off—"I'll just have a scotch when we get to the bar."

   "Of course, ma'am."

   She scurries toward the back just as Yifan comes through the very curtain she's trying to disappear behind. They come close to a collision but he sidesteps her. Towering over her much smaller frame with a look that screams murder, it doesn't surprise you when she quivers. You, too, felt the same way the first time you met him.

   On the surface, Yifan is like ice.

   It becomes noisy fast; the stewardess is apologising nonstop, the pilot announces you're clear to leave, the bodyguards are shuffling to and fro and you're sighing in relief. There's a hiss as the doors open and a quiet howl rolls in on the breeze. Outside is otherwise silent.

   This realisation sends a shiver down your spine.

   You can't help but wonder if Yifan somehow managed to buy the island for the weekend. If it were an option, you think he would have. Extravagance is part of his lifestyle, after all, and he likes to display his wealth, flaunt his power, showcase his trophies.

   Stretching as you stand, you glance toward the exit. No one else is moving to leave yet, hung up on small details and menial tasks. Even the guards have yet to reach the door, stopping periodically to 'assess the situation'. They're just a bunch of lumbering fools. If a threat appeared, they would only serve as cannon fodder for their boss's escape.

   Yifan is calculating. Not cold, but calculating.

   He's the type of man that can find a purpose for anyone and everything. Even the worthless can be made useful. You don't find this to be a problem, not really. If anything you can appreciate his quick thinking and impartial approach to problems.

   Your issue lies in that you don't know how he views you. Sure, he flew you out to some luxury beach resort in the middle of the ocean for some R&R, but that doesn't mean much. Material things have no real value - they can be replaced, spent, tossed. No matter how much he loves his possessions and his collections, they are not what's important to him.

   What is important to him, however, is a mystery to you.

   Yifan is a man of many secrets.

   Hot on the trail of the security detail, your pace is erratic and sluggish until you finally reach the exit. Even within the shade of the men in front of you, the air is warmer here. Light pours in around them, basking them in an orange glow. There's an urge growing inside you just to push them out of your way, to shove them head first onto the tarmac down below. It's unbecoming of you but you can't shake it loose.

   "All clear, boss."

   "Thank you for your hard work."

   Yifan's smooth voice rumbles deep in his chest as he speaks and you know they've annoyed him. For a brief second you think he might indulge you and help eject them but you know better. Nevertheless, it brings a smile to your lips just imagining how the whole thing might go down. He's much too meticulous to ever give in to baser desires, however.

   "Sure thing, boss."

   When they don't move, exasperation taints his tone. "Why don't you check the perimeter of the plane?"

   "On it, boss."

   They descend the airstairs one step at a time, surveying the area all the while. The runway is clear of… everything. There are no other vehicles, aircraft or otherwise. No one is even here to greet you. While you've never travelled in such luxury before, you assumed the service would be better than a commercial flight. Where are the staff members and their welcoming gifts? Who was meant to tell you where to go from here?

   Slipping on a pair of shades, Yifan gives the jet one last glance before his Louis Vuitton shoes patter down the stairs. Dirt spirals in the air close to the hangar the jet will soon crawl inside. Despite the tropical palms and the endless beachfront, the concrete is dusty. It leaves a smudge on his pristine black suit.

   Warm, moist air tickles the back of your neck and you jump, hand flying up to rub the exhalation off your skin. The stewardess is next to you, eyes wide as she looks out over the island. Mesmerised by the sparkling ocean, she doesn't notice your reaction, your discomfort. Her lips fall open and she inches forward.

   "It sure is beautiful here."

   "Yeah," you say, stepping aside to give her a better view. "It's paradise, apparently."

   "That's an understatement."

   "I'm hitting the bar the moment we get inside. How about you?"

   At this she takes a step backward, smoothing out her stereotypical attendant outfit and clearing her throat with a slight bow of the head. "I'm here to work. I'll be waiting here until you're ready to leave."

   "On the plane?"

   "Yes."

   "For two whole days?"

   "Yes."

   "How?"

   "What do you mean?"

   Sparing a cautionary look at Yifan, you inch closer. "Won't you, like, die? There's only peanuts and wine on this thing and it'll be turned off, won't it?"

   "The plane has generators that will be connected to a power source inside the hangar for the duration of your trip and we have a supply of food, water, and other essentials, both for the crew's comfort and for emergencies."

   "Is that your flight license training talking?" you tease.

   She lights up at the mere mention of it, her eyes twinkling. About halfway through the flight you grew bored of listening to Yifan's business calls and sought out a new companion. It didn't take long before she had opened up to you about her lifelong dream of becoming a pilot. When you're passionate about something, it's hard not to express your love for it.

   "Everyone knows that basic crap." It's the actual pilot that speaks, having left his cabin to grab a travel-sized bottle of vodka. "But don't you worry, little lady. Us small folks will manage while you two live it up."

   There's animosity in his tone that you equal in your own slapback. "I'm surprised you still have your license, alky."

   He is disgusting, both perverse and repulsive. This sentiment is shared between both you and the stewardess. When you take a step away from the man, she follows. He grins, licking his lips while looking you up and down. His eyes linger on your curves and you once more are filled with the desire to lash out.

   But you don't.

   "Babe, come on," Yifan calls, his steps rattling against the metal stairs as he starts to come back up.

   "Well"—you clear your throat before smiling at the attendant and mirroring her own exaggerated expression of enthusiasm—"that's boring. I would simply not stay if I were you."

   "Duly noted." The pilot hiccups. He already reeks of alcohol and his cheeks are tinted pink. Reaching for another bottle, he downs the first and drops it onto the ground.

   "Not you. If anyone has to stay on the plane, shouldn't it be y-"

   "What are you doing? Do you need something?" Yifan asks from behind you. He wraps his arm around your waist. Tilting your chin up, his eyes scour your face, searching for any sign of unease. Between the island's eerie silence and the pilot's obvious alcoholism, you're filled with worry but you hide it well. It's meant to be a vacation and you don't want to dwell on those not worthy of your time.

   "Yifan, tell her she doesn't have to stay on the plane."

   "I don't care what she does. All I care about is you. So do you want to stay here until I find someone to grab the luggage?"

   "Has no one arrived to greet us yet?"

   You aren't one to get scared easily but something feels wrong about this whole thing. While you yourself didn't understand how someone in construction could afford such a lavish lifestyle, it didn't change the fact that Yifan had cash to blow. If you were running the resort, you'd prioritise high-spenders. Money talks, after all.

   He hums, releasing his hold on you in order to lean out of the jet. "Not yet. We did arrive ahead of schedule though."

   "I guess…"

   Doubt gnaws at you. It may not be an official airport but surely they would know when a plane arrives. If not by sensors, by sheer visual - a jet is hard to miss.

   "I'll be right back, okay?"

   "No!" The concern embedded in his words is overshadowed by your adamant exclamation. "I'll go with you."

   He opens his mouth to argue but closes it just as fast and you know he just doesn't want an additional issue to deal with before the current one is handled. "Alright, let's go."

   There's a crunch underfoot as you disembark. Granules of sand and dirt grind under your shoes. You're glad you chose one of your more casual outfits. When Yifan had told you about this little weekend getaway, you hadn't realised the magnitude of it. Dressed in a hoodie and sweats, you had assumed a long flight in coach awaited you. That assumption bumped up to a long flight in first class when Yifan picked you up in his Porsche while decked out in designer from head to toe.

   At least your few sets of designer clothes (mostly gifts from Yifan) are safe in your suitcase. A few more smudges on your tattered sneakers wouldn't hurt and you'd rather your heels be spared the harsh island breeze. Even now salt is accumulating on your face like a second layer of skin. You can taste it whenever you lick your lips. They're dry but not yet as dry as the wind ruffling through your hair.

   Trailing behind your steady boyfriend of eight months, you struggle to keep pace with his large, determined strides. After a few minutes, your obvious panting seems to catch his attention and he takes pity on you. He halts, back turned to the sun and casting a shadow you soon stand within. Without saying anything, he gestures toward a back entrance to what looks like the main building and nudges you forward.

   Once you're in charge of the pace, the trip is a lot easier. On occasion you point to some of the other buildings, admiring the sleek and modern design. In the distance is a set of "traditional" huts with their own pools and docks. When you point them out, he just nods and tells you that he rented one.

   "I thought you said we'd be in the main building?"

   "We will be. I didn't know which you'd prefer so I rented both. We can spend a day in each. The staff already confirmed they'd be willing to accomodate."

   You scoff. "Seems a bit redundant. Did you also buy the island for the weekend? This place is dead."

   "No, but it is kind of nice. Maybe next time."

   "Not even you can afford that. There's no way your business is going that well. When I googled it, no new projects came up. Unless you're doing secret, private projects but then you'd have to be doing so many to get any seri-"

   "Look." He cuts you off, yanking you backward into his chest. With a huff, you look at your feet and the surrounding area but see nothing. You look ahead, puzzled, only to find more nothing. His arm tightens around your stomach as he inches you backward, putting his body ahead of yours. "The door is open."

   While this back door is technically an entrance, it remains locked and secured at all times, requiring an escort and their key card hence why a team is meant to have met you upon landing. There's a doorbell and screen to summon assistance in cases like your own where a guest is locked out. The door is closed just like it should be and even from here you can see the angry red 'no access' warning on the door's fob system. Confusion furrows your brow.

   "The employee door, babe."

   Following his line of sight, you have to squint to see what he is talking about. Several feet down and almost hidden behind bushes is a second door. It isn't as high-tech or welcoming as the main back door but it is ajar.

   "Should we check it out?" You ask, starting to shift your direction.

   "Curiosity killed the cat," he chides, realigning your trajectory.

   You pout but allow him to lead. Once you reach the back door, he presses the button and you both wait. Shade envelopes you, providing a reprieve from the overactive sun. According to your phone it's nearing 6:30pm. Even so, summer is in full effect and you doubt night will fall for another two hours.

   Sweat dampens your forehead. Your hair sticks to your neck. Moisture is welling between your breasts. Trickling down the curve of your spine, you can feel the salty liquid. It's uncomfortable, disgusting. Your trip to the bar will have to be delayed - a long soak, whether in a tub or shower, is your new priority.

   Yifan had started to tap his foot after the first minute. By the third, he was pacing. At the exact five minute mark, he starts to push the button every other second. His knuckles rap against the door. When that fails, he yanks on the door and presses on the electronic screen. It indents wherever he touches but it doesn't utilise smart technology, remaining dark and useless.

   "I'm not fuc-" He stops, taking a deep breath to calm himself. "I'm not waiting until seven. They should realise we're here."

   Your lips twist with mischief as you rock back and forth on the balls of your feet, eyes shifting toward the employee door. "Well there is another way inside."

   The wind starts to pick up. Sand swirls within the sudden gust, cutting off the path back to the jet in a miniature tornado of dust. It wouldn't be hard to get through it but you didn't want to deal with the plethora of particles that would taint your hair and clothes and you know Yifan wouldn't either. With a resigned sigh, he nods.

   "I guess. Easier than going to the front."

   "They shouldn't have left it open if they didn't want people using it," you say, a sing-song lilt in your tone, excited at the prospect of breaking the rules.

   "They should've sent someone to greet us," he grumbles while waving the two guards over. They jog through the dust, desperate not to cough and choke on it. Your disgusted frown is replicated on Yifan's face. By the time they arrive, they're not faring well, sputtering while they ask what he needs.

   "I want one of you to grab our carry-ons and bring it up to our room. The other is to stay with the plane. Make sure it gets into that hangar."

   They salute him and your frown deepens. With an overenthusiastic 'yes, boss!', they take off back toward the jet. Without waiting for them to reach it, Yifan turns his back on them and starts to walk toward the open door. Intrigue bubbles within you. There is something mysterious about seeing a side not meant for the general public's eyes. Would it be just as majestic or was the grandeur just for show, a front to cover a dark underbelly?

   "Keep up babe, I don't want you getting lost in there."

   "Okay!" you say, skipping up behind him and grabbing the back of his suit jacket. Leaning out toward the side of his protective figure, you count each step until you reach the door.

   An ominous vibe rolls outward from the darkness within. Not a single light is on. In fact, there's so little light inside that you cannot make out the shape of the interior room. Is it a hall? A locker room? A break area? There aren't any sounds emanating from within that offer any clues.

   All there is is darkness.

   "Maybe we shouldn't go in there."

   "But you were so eager a second ago." He glances at you, a smirk playing on his lips. "Are you scared, princess?"

   "Shut up. We should just go to the front."

   "Don't worry. Daddy will protect you."

   You stare at him in disbelief before groaning at the self-appointed title. "I'll manage on my own, thanks."

   Pushing him aside and opening the creaking door just wide enough to shine light inside, you hold back a gag at the putrid stench that rushes out. It's pungent and rotten, like roadkill that has marinated in the sun for a few too many days.

   "Oh my God, what is that?"

   Sunlight touches the edge of a counter and its metallic, shiny sink. The darkness is much too thick. Like a blanket, it stops any further illumination beyond its veil. Squinting, you take a step inside, both intrigued and nauseated by the overwhelming odour.

   "Smells like something died in here," Yifan supplements and you nod, taking another step, nearing the impenetrable curtain of darkness. "Be careful."

   Using the hood of your sweater as leverage, he pulls you back into the small circle of light. Gulping, you look back at him. He quirks his brow but is otherwise stoic, cracking his neck before pulling out a face mask from his pocket. After handing it to you, he takes a tentative step beyond the light.

   "Wear that. It'll help with the smell. Could you turn your flashlight on?"

   It takes you a minute to realise he means the one on your phone. You fumble for it, your pockets somehow much deeper than you remember them being. It's cold to the touch, contrasting your clammy hands. Once you have it free of your sweats, you turn the light on and gasp. The room, now bright under the battery-sucking beam, displays a disturbing sight.

   "My God," you whisper, squirming under Yifan's arm until it rests atop your shoulders. "Did they close down or something?"

   Remnants of meals litter the sinks and stoves of the kitchen area you've walked into. Cutting boards filled with moldy vegetables and bloody, maggot-infested chunks of steak line the counter tops. Cutlery is strewn across the floor. Bottles of oil lay broken on the ground; their shards reflect your torch's light. Near them are dark puddles where the liquid has congregated.

   And inside those thick, gooey puddles are what you can only imagine was once considered meat.

   "Without cancelling our reservation first?"

   Snapping out of your reverie, you shake off the unease crawling across your skin in the form of bumps and raised hair. "Have you checked your voicemail lately? Or is that just an excuse you give when you don't want to grab milk on your way over?"

   He huffs, a tinge of amusement underlying the overall indifference of his demeanour. "They haven't called. Let's just find someone or maybe a flyer or notice. People don't just up and disappear mid-meal prep. There has to be an explanation."

   "Yeah, let's."

   It's a mistake to go in any further. This you know. Deep in the recesses of your racing mind, you know that something is wrong. You can't stop yourself from clinging to Yifan, handing him your phone so you can instead hold his jacket in both hands. Sinister silence echoes around you, devouring your footfalls and your shallow breathing until the only sound left is the unnatural lack thereof.

   Yifan doesn't act affected. His breathing is steady, comforting even. He moves at a snail's pace, giving you ample time to look around and explore the deep, pitch-black crevices in the corners of the room. When you stop, he shines the light toward the direction you're staring in. It slows the process down but it's soothing to know that nothing is lurking, waiting to pounce.

   By the time you reach the next door, your legs are shaking. While you don't consider yourself a coward, the unknown hosts an array of possibilities. Fear grips your heart and you have to fight back the urge to upheave the in-flight meal you had a few hours prior. The arm around your shoulder tightens, reassuring you before Yifan pulls the handle.

   Compared to the Hell you just passed through, the overabundance of light you are greeted with is a welcome sight. It floods the wide, open-mouthed hallway. To your left and quite far down is the reception area where you should have entered from. It's a large room that swings around and connects to the front entrance of the resort. To your right are a few more doors, an elevator, and a set of double-doors with a tacky sign that reads, 'Beach Entrance'. Next to the door closest to the powered down metal box is an emergency red plaque with the words 'Stair Access' in bold font and 'Basement Access' in a much smaller size.

   Pocketing your phone, Yifan tilts his head toward the main desk. "Shall we?"

   "Can't wait."

   You manage a single step before you stop dead in your tracks. There's some sort of thudding sound coming from one of the storage rooms. After a brief pause you look at Yifan but he just shakes his head, brushing it off. He takes off down the hall, dragging you with him, but your attention remains on the doors to the right. Every few seconds the sound repeats, as if someone is walking into a door or hitting their head against the wall.

   Then you see it.

   "Yifan!" You hiss, slipping away from him. "Look!"

   He groans, both impatient and growing tired. "What?"

   "There's something in that room."

   "Good. That means it isn't abandoned. Let's hit up the front desk and get our key cards."

   "No, there's something wrong with them. They aren't moving right… like they're… I don't know, on a loop or something."

   Humouring you (but not without first sighing, impatience chipping away at his manners), he watches the doors. His gaze lingers here and there, checking under a new threshold after a few repetitions of the grating sound. Synchronised with the noise is a shadow. It follows the same pattern. When the thud occurs, the shadow moves close to the door. Then it steps away.

   "See it?"

   "It's a resort. Can't blame 'em for drinking early."

   "That should be me," you mutter, your scotch craving returning in full force, increasing tenfold alongside your nerves.

   "Lush."

   "What?"

   He shrugs off the venom in your question. "Drunkard."

   "I barely even drin-"

   A metallic clang quiets you. It resonates, bouncing from wall to wall within the stairwell. When the sound settles in the bowels of the hotel, you walk forward. After several long seconds of waiting for the sound to continue like the one behind the door had, Yifan steps in front of you, shielding you behind his lanky frame.

   "I'll lead."

   You throw your hands up in mock resignation. Despite the small distance, it takes a lifetime to reach the stairwell. Paranoia claws at your gut. Every few feet you look behind you. Keeping your back to the endless hall and the atrium it houses is a tactical disadvantage. Given the absolute lack of life within the hotel's walls, you would hear someone approach… but you can't shake the feeling that it wouldn't be enough, that a single second's notice could be the difference between escape and certain death.

   Somewhere deep in the back of your mind you hope the stairwell is locked.

   You've never been very lucky though.

   Yifan's slender fingers wrap around the handle, pushing it open just enough to peer inside. Your own view is blocked. Seconds pass by while he just stares. There's a growl from high above. It rolls down the stairs in pursuit of the sudden influx of fresh air. The door creaks open further. You shiver.

   "What's happening?"

   "There's something a few floors up."

   "Do you think it's a staff member or guest?"

   "An animal."

   "Is it hurt?"

   He pauses before he answers, weighing his options. "No."

   "Liar."

   "Stay behind me. It sounds big."

   "How big?"

   He shrugs before ushering you into the pitch black stairwell. When he hears you patting yourself down, he returns your phone and you're quick to turn the torch on. First you flash it onto him, bathing him in artificial light. It's comforting. His visage, as smooth and suave as ever, offers a sort of normalcy in an otherwise odd situation. Then you check the lower floor.

   You see nothing.

   So you check the upper levels.

   An endless spire towers overhead.

   "How many floors does this place have?"

   "A lot."

   The trek upward starts strong but soon your pace slackens, forcing Yifan to follow suit. Once more an uncomfortable layer of sweat accumulates in the well of your back. After the fourth floor an odour starts to waft around you. You're self-conscious about it, going as far as sniffing your hoodie. By the sixth you're both scrunching your noses, revulsion twisting your features. A gag clutches at your throat and you dry heave.

   "Fuck, that's awful."

   "It's the same as the kitchen." He coughs, trying to eject the acrid scent from his mouth. "Wear the mask again."

   It's when you're fumbling through your pockets for the thin patch of fabric that you hear it: an ear-splitting scream. While you're no expert, the dainty, high pitch resembles that of a child. Shivers tear down your spine. Your mind is telling you to run, to protect, and yet you're frozen to the spot.

   Yifan is quicker to respond, climbing the remaining stairs between the sixth and seventh floors in a few leaps. Upon reaching the door, however, he doesn't enter. Instead he presses his ear to it and listens.

   With your heart beating a million miles an hour and damn near thudding out of your chest, you raise your flashlight off his cautious stature and toward the guttural moaning floating down to you from much higher in the spire.

   You're transfixed.

   Squinting against the straining dark for a single glimpse of what could make such a noise, your breath catches in your throat. It seems almost surreal, no, it's absurd really. Impossible. Your eyes must be playing tricks on you. That's all it was. That's all it could be. An illusion or a hallucination brought on by dehydration.

   And yet the way it hangs above you seems so real.

   And the way its eyes watch you seem so life-like.

   "Babe." You scream in shock at his unexpected shout. Whipping around to face Yifan, you place your hand on your chest all while panting. His eyes shine under the light's influence and he looks up into the darkness before cautiously asking if you're alright.

   "Yeah, I just-"

   Another scream, this time not your own but rather the child's.

   "Come on," Yifan commands, dismissing the panic in your voice as nothing more than childish, like one's fear of boogeyman.

   In your state of trepidation, you didn't realise the door was propped open. Yifan holds it ajar with his foot while beckoning you, urging you back to his side. Strangled sobs pour through the empty space, no longer hindered by the solid metal barrier.

   Within a few short steps you're peering through the gap. There's luggage sprawled across the floor and just beyond a mountain of suitcases is a child. All you can see is their leg; it's red. Scarlet blood paints their skin in a dark hue and stains the carpet around them.

   "Oh God," you murmur, falling into step behind Yifan as he runs toward the child.

   "Hey, are you okay?"

   He kicks a luggage cart out of his way. It rattles down the hall and with it gone, he stands over the child. You hear her soft sobs before you can get a good look at her as his long limbs pull her to her feet. Scooping the small girl into his arms, Yifan cradles her against his chest.

   Her pink outfit is tarnished with grime. When she pulls her head away from the comfort of his shoulder, her cheeks are stained by a layer of dirt. The tears that rush free from an endless faucet leave a visible trail in their wake.

   "What happened to you? Did someone hurt you?" Yifan asks, intent to pry a response out of the trembling girl.

   No matter how he phrases his questions, she doesn't budge. All she does is stare at you. No, beyond you. It's as if she's looking right through you. With her glassy, unwavering blue eyes, she watches the other end of the hall.

   In your rush to check on the girl, neither you nor Kris had checked the other side.

   Your neck creaks as you turn.

   The girl's breath staggers.

   Yifan checks her for injuries.

   Hungry growls waft toward you.

   Their lifeless eyes watch you.

   "-bitten?"

   His voice is like a tether.

   You don't dare to look away from what lurks down the hall.

   "They're dead."

   "What?"

   Yifan's attention pulls away from the girl, looking toward the small crowd forming a hundred feet away. Most are in summer wear ranging from bikinis and boardshorts to sarongs and flowery t-shirts. Much like the girl, their bodies are covered in varying contaminants with the most notable being blood. The darkest spots are accompanied by open wounds. Their skin is torn and serrated, often oozing thick clots. Where the flesh is loose and hanging by the thread is a glimmer of white.

   Right down to the bone, they've been-

   Bitten.

   Just like the weeping girl in Yifan's arms.

   Except she isn't crying anymore.

   She's dead silent.

[Part Two]

  – ♡ –  If you enjoyed this, please consider liking, commenting, reblogging, and/or following! Thank you!

[xblakebloom]

Grávida? Eu?

Capa e banner para Spirit. Pedido para SM Town Project.

Abra para ver com qualidade.

[hsunshine]

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• 03.01.21

[sehunmyeon]

Fugindo do jogo | xiukris

[audriel]

let's start thinkin' bout it

Qiao Yifan suddenly finds himself several years in the past. And somehow, so does Fang Rui.

Inspired by just stop thinkin' bout it by Syncogon

Special thanks to Syncogon who gives me permission to write a continuation for their wonderfully intriguing time-travel story with my favorite characters: Fang Rui and Qiao Yifan. Special mention to everyone in TKA Discord who gives me encouragement to write and publish more, and who also looks forward for more in this universe. I hope I do not disappoint. Happy Chinese New Year!

After parting ways with Qiao Yifan, Fang Rui rushes back to where Wind Howl is seated in the stadium, barely restraining himself from running straight to Lin Jingyan and drawing everyone’s attention. He can barely think of the further implications of them both back in the past, or whether they are really in their past. All he can think of is his old captain, his teacher, his friend, and the turning point with this Rookie Challenge.

Fang Rui is never one to hold a grudge. However, Tang Hao comes close. He acknowledges his strength, and has noticed him early on. How he cannot, when the younger man is also Brawler like the captain and core player of his team. He also knows better than anyone else of Lin Jingyan’s declining performance. However, he cannot really forgive Tang Hao for bringing attention to it in the Rookie Challenge and all the while dismissing Lin Jingyan’s achievements. In the case of the latter, even old Sun Xiang is better, though probably Su Mucheng will disagree. His only female captain is never one to be trifled with, she definitely can hold a grudge or two.

Fang Rui arrives right when Lin Jingyan’s name comes out from Tang Hao on the stage, and he feels the vice grip around his heart tightens.

He’s too late.

“...the junior will succeed the senior.”

The stadium is in uproar. Wind Howl is in uproar, but Fang Rui has only eyes for Lin Jingyan.

“Well, how about that? You, and now, me. It seems we’re pretty popular with the rookies.” Lin Jingyan chuckles lightly, remaining calm in front of the disrespect shown by Tang Hao. He stands up, prepared to go down, only for his wrist to be caught firmly by his vice captain.

“Fang Rui?”

Fang Rui draws a blank. Now it has come to this, and he still cannot find the words. What to say? This time, he really, really looks at his captain. This Lin Jingyan’s face is open, unguarded, without the glasses worn with his red and black Tyranny uniform. He still has hope, fleeting as it is, of the future. Fang Rui has failed as his partner to keep it alive in his last year in Wind Howl. He only regained them in Tyranny.

“...a Brawler is not a Striker,” is the first sentence that first comes to mind. Lin Jingyan blinks in surprise at the serious tone. “There’s more to Glory than speed and mechanics. Glory is not that simple.”

“Gotta play dirty huh?” Somehow his partner manages to recall the supposed reminder to himself.

“Last time I checked we’re Wind Howl, not Tyranny.” In a complete change of attitude, Fang Rui shows his disdain as he releases Lin Jingyan’s wrist.

That actually gets a laugh out of Lin Jingyan. He waves his hand, there’s lightness in his gesture, “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Fang Rui watches him leave before returning to his seat. Only Ruan Yongbin dares to lean into him.

“What do you think? Can Tang Hao win?”

“Anything can happen.” Fang Rui can sense Ruan Yongbin’s surprise. He’s surprised with his own calmness. He already does what he can. It’s all up to Lin Jingyan now.

There’s still half a season left. Even if Lin Jingyan loses again, it’s not the end. Fang Rui can still make the best of it. With his skill and experience, he can and will do better, if only to give his old captain a better ending in Wind Howl.

Fang Rui has faced off against worse odds and come up victorious. This won’t be any different.  

When he turns his attention to the game, Fang Rui is greeted with a pleasant surprise: Lin Jingyan doesn’t rush forward. The older man takes his time to explore the map. Tang Hao doesn’t choose an arena, so the environment is not completely bare, which is actually advantageous to Lin Jingyan, but one he didn’t previously make full use of, thinking that he had to meet the other head-on.

This alone already sets things apart from the past he remembers. He finds himself leaning forward in interest. It might not be much, but if Tang Hao expects a quick, easy match, he’s going to be proven wrong. After all, Lin Jingyan is the half of the Criminal Partners, and dirty playing requires cunning.

Tang Hao’s Delilo fights like a Striker, reminiscent of the King of Fighters, easily making the crowd pumped up and cheering for him. However, ultimately a Brawler is not a Striker. Its strength lies in its ability to control its opponent. No one utilizes it better than the Number 1 Brawler. Lin Jingyan masterfully keeps his distance and maintains the rhythm. When he takes hits, he makes sure to leave himself a way out. When he lands his skills, he makes sure to achieve the maximum effect. His retreats are as timely as his attacks.

Lin Jingyan is not losing to Tang Hao.  

For the ordinary players, it seems that Tang Hao has the upper hand, but for professional players, bold, fierce Tang Hao is struggling against calm, patient Lin Jingyan. However, in the end all it takes is for one mistake, a slight opening from Lin Jingyan, for Tang Hao to rush in and overwhelm the older Brawler player with his superior speed and mechanics. 

Demon Subduer falls. Delilo is left with 9% health remaining. 

Fang Rui leans back on his seat with a smile on his face, in contrast to the dismayed faces of the other Wind Howl members. Lin Jingyan loses, but this time around, with a close match instead of the overwhelming loss. It might not mean much, but it does show that Lin Jingyan fought the match with a different mindset this time around.

Lin Jingyan is the first to come down from the platform. He doesn’t lose his gentle and pleasant demeanor. Meanwhile, Tang Hao takes his time, even when finally does, he hasn’t quite managed to hide his emotions. He’s not satisfied. It’s definitely not the kind of match or victory he expected. They meet in the middle and shake hands.

“You played well…” Lin Jingyan smiles, hiding his true emotions, but surprisingly he continues, “But it’s not easy, isn’t it?”

“The junior will succeed the senior.” The change of wording reflects the change in Tang Hao’s confidence without losing the belief and persistence that is inherent in top professional players that Lin Jingyan cannot help but admire. Before the master of ceremonies could say anything, the two finish shaking hands, wave towards the audience and leave the stage. Fang Rui’s eyes never leave the figure of the Wind Howl captain, so does the smile on his face until the man returns to Wind Howl area. Fang Rui likes what he sees.

“How is it?” Fang Rui asks, not paying attention to the silent teammates around him.

“Like seeing my past self.” There’s a hint of nostalgia under the observation, but the statement is matter of fact. Lin Jingyan used to fight like Tang Hao, but he didn’t regret changing his playstyle. He believes that dirty playstyle is the reason why he can stand on the professional stage as long as he is when many of his peers didn’t, even when he’s nothing special.

“I’m pretty sure you’re much more polite and better behaved,” Fang Rui disagrees, drawing choked off sounds of surprise and amusement from their team. “And more handsome too.”

Lin Jingyan laughs. “You only said that because you’re my vice captain and partner.”

“And that he had a crush on you.” Ruan Yongbin adds, that traitor. “Oooh, Captain Lin is so handsome. He’s so close to me today. Did I impress him with the move?”

“Oh, shut up.” Fang Rui brings his yearmate and former roommate into a chokehold. He doesn’t hide the grin when he hears the snickering from the teammates. This is much better than the previous awkward silence. It’ll take more to regain their confidence in their captain. Action is louder than words after all. But it’s a challenge he’s ready to tackle.

Before that, he’ll need to sit down and talk with his little captain.

***

Qiao Yifan walks down the familiar dark passageways in a daze. He has immediately excused himself after his Rookie Challenge, not quite ready for the questioning from the former-now-current Tiny Herb captain and team members. He isn’t quite sure where he’s going, all he knows that he needs a quiet space to gather his thoughts. He has pinched himself numerous times, but he’s still not convinced everything is real. He has really returned to his younger self. He tries to recall what he did before he was back in the past, but nothing really stands out except… 

Qiao Yifan finally managed to extricate himself from the teary-eyed and snot-nosed bunch with the help of Luo Ji, who was restraining his laughter. His own calm and rational vice captain and recently appointed Happy’s new captain was surprisingly not helpful, his glassy, watery eyes actually made it harder. Boss Chen was worse. If it wasn’t for Senior Wei, and Sister Mu, he was certain she would have bawled her eyes out as the last remaining members of the original Team Happy finally retired. 

He remembered reminiscing with Luo Ji as they walked towards their rooms and parting with smiles when they entered their respective places. Many voices from the outside and even inside of the team said that his retirement was regrettable, especially considering what Happy has achieved under his leadership. They thought being a support, not unlike Yu Wenzhou, he could have stayed longer on the professional stage, and had his career with a more satisfying ending.

He disagreed wholeheartedly. He couldn’t ask for a better ending for himself, and… his gaze fell upon the picture of Happy in the early years. He was already 28 years old, the same age when Senior Ye retired for the second and final time… and older than the age when Sister Mu and Brother Rui retired.

He has learned from his seniors not to regret anything and to keep moving forward, to learn from the past but never let it shape the future, that the future is theirs to create. He really had no regrets, really. 

But in the dark and silent room, with only himself as company, the retired Captain Qiao Yifan of Team Happy, allowed himself a rare moment of weakness… and wished.

Could it be…?

Qiao Yifan’s steps stumble into a halt, his breath catches in his throat.

However, before the thought can form, a familiar voice rings out.

“Interesting choice of challenging the master of playing dirty.”

Qiao Yifan is blinking back tears when he recognizes the figure slowly stepping out from the darkness. After his final retirement, Ye Xiu didn’t completely disappear from their lives, he always made sure to be there when they needed him the most, but he purposefully maintained his distance. He knew how much he meant for Happy. While he had made the preparations, including letting them play without him in the team competitions in the tenth season, Ye Xiu had always been a steady, reassuring presence for Happy. He was there leading them in strategy meetings, he was guiding them in their practice matches, he was there on the sidelines during games. All they needed was to turn their heads, and there he was.

All the Chinese Glory team members have gained invaluable experience from the World Invitationals. Against the strongest players around the world, they kept challenging their limits, improving themselves, until they won the ultimate Glory for the country. Their fans hoped that their favorite players would bring their team into greater heights once they returned to the domestic league. However, it was easier said than done. 

The reason why they could perform their absolute best on the world stage was because they had the best teammates, tacticians and leaders to bring out their potential. It was not always the case with their original teams. In the new season, Happy was becoming not the only team that was going through a running-in period, even though they were still the worst off since they lost their core and ace player. With one exception: 

Tyranny.

Tyranny became a terrifying, indomitable presence in the new season. Han Wenqing, who chose to focus on the team, has laid the groundwork and strengthened the foundation for when Zhang Xinjie and Zhang Jiale returned abroad, the adjustment was relatively smooth and seamless, all the while the veterans were still doing rotation. 

And Qiao Yifan was entrusted as the commander in the team competition in their first match in the regular season against Tyranny. 

It wasn’t his first time commanding in a team competition. However, in the new team arrangement, the commander was still most often either Su Mucheng or Fang Rui. The latter was actually a surprise to many. He protested vehemently, but neither the captain nor vice captain budged with their decision. Qiao Yifan felt the pressure keenly.

To no one’s surprise, Happy suffered a crushing defeat at the team competition. It could even barely be called a fight. Their only saving grace was they got points off from individual competition and group arena. It didn’t stop the reporters from descending upon them like vultures. Qiao Yifan insisted on coming to the post-match press conference, and if it hadn’t been for Fang Rui and Su Mucheng, he would’ve caved under the pressure.

They were hit hard with the loss. It has been a while since they felt so powerless. Qiao Yifan found himself looking at the places where Ye Xiu used to be, and he realized that he was not the only one. He had even been staring at Ye Xiu’s number on his phone, opening and closing the chat box. He couldn’t help thinking and wishing badly for his senior’s reassuring presence and words.

Only for the wishful thinking to be crushed immediately by their new captain and vice captain in the strategic meeting. From the beginning, it was intended as a harsh wake up call from Su Mucheng and Fang Rui, to lose their dependence on Ye Xiu. 

Before, Ye Xiu has taken care of everything for them, so they didn’t need to worry about anything and only focused on themselves. It was time for them to return the favor, for them to take care of everything so he could focus on himself.

Qiao Yifan felt so ashamed and embarrassed of himself at the reminder that he really wished he could dig a deep hole and hide inside it forever, his body hunching over as if he could do so. A warm, affectionate hand messed up his hair before settling on his shoulder.

“Bad news, we’re hitting rock bottom. Good news, the only way to go is up.” Cheerful, lively voice broke through the gloom. This voice and the owner of the voice later became among the reliable constants in Happy.

He’s very clever and very adaptable. And he’s a very strong team player. There’s a lot that I would like to learn from him.

There is no single untruth in his words. Fang Rui was and is all of that and more for Qiao Yifan and for Happy. 

Su Mucheng is really the captain, the leader they need after Ye Xiu, it was only a matter of time until Happy saw her no differently than Ye Xiu and proudly claimed her as their captain. 

But Fang Rui… Fang Rui has been everything that they asked of him. His adaptability is not limited onstage, but also offstage. For Qiao Yifan, he is his senior, his vice captain, his teacher, his friend… and his brother. 

And so, even in front of his most admired, respected and beloved captain, to whom he owed his life twice over, and the least likely to think badly of Fang Rui, Qiao Yifan will readily and staunchly defend his brother.

“Senior Fang is more than just the master of dirty playing.” The words slip out easily from his lips. Qiao Yifan cannot recall how many times he has defended Happy’s best vice captain and he will not stop doing so. “He’s the master at understanding people’s psychology and utilizing them to make opportunities. And as a Ghostblade, especially a Phantom Demon whose skills need casting, he’s the best I can learn from.” 

Ye Xiu shows a surprised, but pleased smile. Dirty playing is looked down on by most, particularly by the younger generation. And yet one of them actually sees the value in the playstyle and is willing to learn and use them for themselves. It makes him look forward to the future of this young man. He already had a good impression of Qiao Yifan with his courage to switch classes and his willingness to learn, and now he also displays wisdom and maturity rarely seen in younger players. 

Most of them are unable to understand the reason why such a disdainful playstyle can be so difficult, so oppressive. It’s only possible due to Fang Rui’s masterful grasp of his opponent’s psychology. Simple, straightforward rookies are the easiest for him. For Qiao Yifan to be able to see the value of Fang Rui’s dirty playing and go toe-to-toe with him in the Rookie Challenge sets him apart from other rookies.

“Indeed. Excellent choice.” Qiao Yifan couldn’t help the pleased flush at the acknowledgement for himself and Fang Rui. Ye Xiu continues, “It’s impressive how you’re able to deal with Fang Rui’s dirty playing tactics. Rookies tend to have difficulty going against him.”

Except Happy rookies, that is. Qiao Yifan silently adds. They are fortunate not to have experienced Fang Rui as an opponent onstage. By the time they got to know Fang Rui, it was as the senior pro player in the middle of the pains of changing classes. They even had their turn in beating up his Qi Master. Then once after he reclaimed his title as god, he was their vice captain and teammate first. He will not treat them as an opponent and neither will they, not like Zhao Yuzhe.

“Ah, I suppose I’ve been watching his videos as much as Senior Li.” That’s not exactly a lie, at least not in his previous life.

“Too bad Fang Rui never faced Li Xuan. It’ll be an interesting study for me and you both.”

“I’ve thought so too.” Qiao Yifan agrees wholeheartedly. Wu Yuce is the Ghostblade that most often ends up as Fang Rui’s opponent, especially as a Thief. Though after transforming into Qi Master and becoming Happy’s defending general, Fang Rui has encountered all the core players at least once, including Li Xuan. It has been such an eye-opening match for Qiao Yifan in particular, who looks up to them both. It inspired his breakthrough.

Then Qiao Yifan realizes he shouldn’t have recognized the reclusive god and chatted so casually like this. “Um, Senior… Do I know you? Your voice sounds familiar…”

“What do you think, Little Qiao?”

“God Ye Qiu!” Qiao Yifan nearly bites his tongue, barely avoiding the mistake of calling the Glory legend by his real name. “Why is Senior here?”

“Sightseeing. Getting a feel of being an audience.” Ye Xiu shrugs nonchalantly. Qiao Yifan has to push down the amusement at such Ye Xiu-like answer, but at the same time is at loss what else he can say to his senior. While the rest of his memories around this time are hazy, the memory of his first face-to-face meeting with Ye Xiu is one of the most clear and vivid, and he’s not sure how to bring it up when they barely know each other. Qiao Yifan’s grown a lot since he met Ye Xiu and he has become a captain and a god-level player in his own right, but in front of his most respected and admired seniors, he always feels like he was back as the young, inexperienced junior.

“What is it, Little Qiao?” Ye Xiu breaks his conundrum with ease, noticing the little Phantom Demon player struggling with something.

“...Is it really okay?” Qiao Yifan blurts out what first comes to mind. He clarifies at the confused blink from Ye Xiu, “Being an audience.”

Nothing changes in his expression, but somehow Qiao Yifan feels like Ye Xiu is truly, truly looking at him, like an all-seeing god looking from above. Instinctively he draws himself up, not wanting to be found lacking. When Ye Xiu smiles, Qiao Yifan finds himself released from the pressure.

“Of course not. Even though I’m a bit old, I’m not done yet!”

“You’re going to come back?” Qiao Yifan barely keeps his excitement in check.

“All I need is an opportunity. Just like you’re looking for yours. Keep up the good work, Little Qiao.” Ye Xiu says as he turns around. He waves his hands at Qiao Yifan and slips away into the darkness.

“...Yes, Senior!”

Once Ye Xiu leaves, Qiao Yifan unconsciously stands tall, his eyes bright and determined in the darkness. It is no longer young, inexperienced Qiao Yifan standing there, instead it is Captain Qiao Yifan of Team Happy.

“I’ll create that opportunity for you, Captain.”

It’s a promise.

Fang Rui walks out from the hotel room he’s staying in with Lin Jingyan with an easy heart. In the previous life, in the future-past, in the past-future, or whatever, the silence was oppressive, the conversation was awkward and stilted between them. For once, words eluded Fang Rui. He could never hate himself as much as he did back then. 

***

This time around Fang Rui doesn’t really need to say anything, Lin Jingyan takes all the words that can be said from his own mouth. He has been the one to bring up his own declining condition and his determination to bring Wind Howl to the playoffs. All Fang Rui needs to do is give his whole support and help in whatever way he can. He might need to brush up his skills again and get used to high-intensity matches after such a peaceful retirement life, but he’s confident with his much younger body it’s only a matter of time. Unconsciously he raises and flexes his left hand. 

However, what he can offer now is the invaluable experience from high-level matches, both domestic and abroad. He’s no master tactician, but spending much of his time around the master tacticians of old and new, two of whom are his captains, Fang Rui learns more than a thing or two. Though it’ll be harder to explain, especially to Lin Jingyan who knows him so well. Well, that’s a worry for another day. Let’s just take one step at a time.

Fang Rui puts on a beanie over his short hair and non-prescription glasses as he goes to the milk tea shop that Happy often frequents during their visits to Shanghai as their meeting place. It doesn’t take him long to find Qiao Yifan in the relatively deserted shop. Being the transparent Tiny Herb player, he doesn’t really need any disguises. Though honestly, Fang Rui would recognize him anywhere, disguise or no disguise.

Seeing his serious expression, Fang Rui silences his steps as he approaches the younger man who is busy writing on the table. Sneakily, not unlike Doubtful Demon and Boundless Sea in his hands, he stands behind the oblivious Qiao Yifan.

“Boo!” Fang Rui whispers close to his ear.

“Ah!” Qiao Yifan jumps in surprise, the pen slips from his fingers. Fang Rui, expecting the reaction, quickly catches it from the air. “Brother Rui!” His little captain scolds him, but Fang Rui cannot maintain a straight face, he bursts into laughter instead.

It’s been a while he’s seen his little captain so young and chubby-cheeked. He cannot resist pinching those cheeks. Being too preoccupied with his time travel or whatever this is, only now he notices how adorable young Qiao Yifan is. 

“Can you stop pinching my cheeks?” It might be because he returns into his younger body, Qiao Yifan’s protests are more like a petulant teenager’s, and thanks to professional hand speed, this time it is the hair that’s gotten ruffled.

“Your fault for being so cute and adorable.” Fang Rui being Fang Rui, he’s not apologetic. If anything, he’s very satisfied having pinched those soft cheeks and ruffled the still-relatively-long and boyish haircut. Fang Rui plops down on the empty seat across Qiao Yifan, picking up the drink placed on the table, unsurprised that it is exactly as he likes it.

“So, what you’ve got so far in that notebook of yours, Little Captain?” Fang Rui asks as he chews the boba with a sense of nostalgia. Chinese milk tea is sure different, he mulls absently as he glances at the notebook, a habit Qiao Yifan picks up from Yu Wenzhou.

“I think… It’s my fault?”

“How do you come to that conclusion?” Fang Rui gives him an incredulous look, “Last time I checked you didn’t have supernatural power to send us back to the past.”

“Um.” Qiao Yifan rubs his nose, an all too familiar gesture of discomfort and vulnerability. He’s grown out of that habit slowly as he took over captaincy, but it has the tendency to show up under tremendous stress or complete unpreparedness, which this time travel situation certainly counts as both.

“Start from the beginning.” Those familiar words ground Qiao Yifan, he finds himself calming down easily when he has actually been stressing himself out while waiting for Fang Rui. Those words and the person have helped him many times when he overthinks things, getting him out of the spiral he’s fallen into and finding the right words and action. He breathes in, and starts with a question.

“What did you remember last?” Before jumping to conclusion, Qiao Yifan needs to make sure of a few things first. Fang Rui tries to recall what he was doing. He really hasn’t thought about it.

“Hmm… I was at the airport, texting Old Ye on the phone.” Qiao Yifan blinks in surprise at the unexpected answer. “Our Yifan is retiring. Of course we’ll be coming to celebrate in person.”

Qiao Yifan gets choked up. Several times he tries to speak only to stop.

“We’ve been so busy that we barely visited or kept in touch. Old Ye is even worse, considering he’s based on China. So I just decided to hell with it when I saw your press conference to go back and force that irresponsible guy to pick me up and visit the team together. You know how bad he is at taking initiative. I also managed to get Little Tang on it.”

“Sister Rou too?” Qiao Yifan laughs in disbelief.

“She’s not as bad as us, but it’s been a while for her too. And she’s in Beijing, so she’s the best person in case Old Ye needs to be strong armed.”

“Oh.” Qiao Yifan’s heart feels so full that he’s at a loss of words. 

Fang Rui can only feel sad and regretful to see how happy and bright the younger man’s expression is. Qiao Yifan has always been a kind and considerate child. He might have wanted to see them more, but he wouldn’t say anything and be understanding when the older members of Team Happy cannot keep in touch regularly. He might have thought that his retirement is not important enough for him to ask for them to come and visit. Somehow, Fang Rui has a feeling that their current situation is not unrelated.

“We had a small party after the press conference back in Forest Park. It was late after I returned to the room. I…” Qiao Yifan pauses, glancing at Fang Rui. Encouraged by the quiet and patient understanding, he continues. 

“Everyone keeps asking why I am retiring when I could have played longer, that I’d come to regret it… I don’t, I’m really sure I won’t.” Qiao Yifan speaks animatedly, as if he’s trying to convince Fang Rui, when the older man is the last person he needs to convince. “I just think it’s time, the team can and will do well without me.”

“...but?” Fang Rui gently nudges Qiao Yifan.

“I do have one regret, one wish,” Qiao Yifan finally speaks out. His voice trembled, betraying his nervousness. 

“I wish I had more time.” As if losing his courage, Qiao Yifan ducks his head down. 

Fang Rui looks at the bowed head, his eyes soften in understanding. Qiao Yifan doesn’t need to say more, he understands very well. Quite possibly what he feels is the shared feelings among the early members of Team Happy, many of them either started late or only had a few years left in the professional stage.

Being the youngest, Qiao Yifan is among the last of the original members of Happy to remain in the team. Having been there himself, he remembers how it felt like being left behind, abandoned even when it was simply a natural course of life. That feeling was gone as soon as it appeared, reason quickly kicking in. Although the feeling would come at his weakest moments, he’s learned to deal with it.

However, it must be harder for Qiao Yifan, knowing his circumstances. For him, Happy is the only home he has. Having them leave one by one must not be easy. That was why he chose to stay for another year when Qiao Yifan made the plea before he was about to announce his retirement after the finals in the Golden Season, or what Season 13 was known as with many of the Golden Generation giving their best, most dazzling performance, like a burning star at the end of its life. 

Fang Rui was no different, having changed classes and reclaimed his old class alongside his new one, led Happy through the most difficult time in the wake of Ye Xiu’s retirement and competed in domestic and international league year after year, he was burned out, like Su Mucheng and Ye Xiu before him.

By then, Happy’s rookies were no longer rookies, they were gods in the making, if not already, he would be only a hindrance for them. He didn’t need another championship. He wanted more, of course he did, he would never lose his desire and pursuit of victory, but his definition of victory is and has never been limited to all the trophies and awards. What he also considers as a victory is when the team he has come to love and cherish, to grow and flourish, to surpass their predecessors and stand in their own glory. 

Team Happy lost in the finals, but Fang Rui had seen a glimpse of the future, a shining, glorious future… and he didn’t see himself in that future. He was actually happy at the realization, barely suppressing his smile when he saw the frustrated faces on his team. He already made up his mind back then, only for one sentence from one person to change it.

“Can you not go?”

The words didn’t come from the youngest member of the team. They didn’t come from the successor he intended to take over Boundless Sea. They didn’t come from their soft-hearted boss. Instead it came from the strong, reliable captain of Happy.

Fang Rui’s heart broke for this young man. At that moment, he looked like a lost child.

“Okay.” He made the concession. He had only eyes for his little captain, but he didn’t fail to notice how everyone in the room perked up, including their lady boss. “However, I will mainly stay on the bench. You’re going to carry me to the finals. I’m expecting another Championship for my retirement.”

And he did. 

Happy did it.

Happy matched the old Excellent Era’s record. Fang Rui and the remaining members of the original team are the first to have three championship rings in the domestic league, second only to Ye Xiu who have four of them, beating Zhou Zekai of his generation and the Golden Generation. Happy also made their own record being the only team that have won both domestic and international league.

Team Happy had converged around him when they won the finals of Season 14. His bold, daring little Captain dared to put their oldest senior who didn’t play as frequently as before in the all important match of the finals and of course, Fang Rui didn’t fail to live up to his captain’s expectation. He had made sure to do so since Ye Xiu picked him of all people to be Happy’s Qi Master. It was a beautiful sendoff, a perfect ending that he could ask for. He wasn’t oblivious to realize that Happy had managed to send away every single of their senior members of the original team with a championship. He was, is and always will be proud of them, the team that they are, and the captain that Qiao Yifan is.

Fang Rui places his hand on Qiao Yifan’s head gently.

“Then we will have more time.”

“That’s it?” So surprised with his response, Qiao Yifan dislodges Fang Rui’s hand at the speed he cranes his neck.

“Eh. We can try to sleep tonight and if we go back to our timeline, then have a good laugh and celebrate your retirement with all Team Happy members. Or…

“We don’t, and make sure we’ll have more time this time around.” Fang Rui states simply.

“It can’t be that simple.” Qiao Yifan frowns.

“It can.”

“It can’t.”

“Why not?”

“W-Well, there might be conditions?” Qiao Yifan offers. “Of going back, I mean.”

“So? How will we discover that unless we keep going? Or changing things up?”

“Should we even change things?” Qiao Yifan asks. He isn’t sure what he’s feeling, one side he’s afraid, terrified even. But on the other side, he’s excited, eager to change the future. 

“Eh,” Fang Rui merely shrugs. Qiao Yifan can only laugh at the nonchalance. It’s so Fang Rui. It’s so like his senior to make light of the absurd situation, which to be fair, Happy is a team that often encounters absurd situations, their own existence is one. The reminder actually brings a smile to Qiao Yifan’s face. His cautious nature can be detrimental at times if it goes unchecked. He’s learned to let go and take risks in the years in Happy, but in this current situation, when his actions could have changed things, could have made him lose everything precious to him, he was unwilling to do so.

“We’ll just keep things simple. We set a goal for ourselves, and deal with others as they come.”

“Happy.” They say it at the same time, which brings a huge relief to Qiao Yifan. He knows how important Lin Jingyan and Wind Howl are for Fang Rui, and considering what happened to them, he has wondered if Fang Rui wishes to do more for them and stay until his contract expires instead of transferring. Reading his mind, Fang Rui chuckles.

“Happy is home.” And Fang Rui meant it. 

He’s met many people, have been in different teams and workplaces, but Happy is the only place that feels like home besides his own. It doesn’t occur to him not to join Happy. If anything, he’d love to join earlier, and take part in the creation of the team.

“Wait… has Team Happy been created?” The thought only occurs to him.

“Oh. Not yet. It should be tomorrow.” Qiao Yifan looks at the rough timeline he has written in the notebook. Fang Rui leans forward to take a peek.

“...the Dragon Raises its Head?” Fang Rui can only recall that incident from this year’s All Stars.

“Because of that, Boss Chen figured out Senior’s true identity and decided to create the team to support him.” Qiao Yifan himself only knows their beloved boss’ retelling.

“That really sounds like Boss Chen, alright.” Fang Rui smiles fondly at their lady boss and big sister. “So the team only had Old Ye and Little Tang?”

“Senior didn’t ask me to join until I told him my contract with Tiny Herb expired.”

“Hmm, by then Steamed Bun and Old Wei have already joined.”

“Brother An, Luo Ji and Mo Fan joined around the registration period.”

“Old Ye really worked hard…” Fang Rui has heard the stories. Something else nags on him, though. “...Yifan, you wished for more time right?”

“Yes?”

“Did you think of anything specific when you wished for that? Because, usually in typical time-travel/regressor/reincarnation/isekai stories, it’s usually only the protagonist who comes back in time. Why am I too? Am I even the only one?”

“No, Senior Ye didn’t come back.” Recalling their earlier exchange, Qiao Yifan is sure of it. “I did think of you first when I suddenly found myself back in All Stars Season 8 Rookie Challenge, in the middle of the stadium floor, microphone in hand.”

“That must be nerve wracking.” Fang Rui raises his eyebrows in surprise. “But really? Of all people, me? Not Mucheng? Or Wenzhou?” He merely teases Qiao Yifan. He isn’t really surprised that in Qiao Yifan’s panic and confusion, he picked the one he’s spent the most time with, his old vice captain. He doesn’t really expect a response. However, looking at his expression, there might be another reason. It is brief, but Fang Rui has always been good at catching the slightest change and he thinks he can make a guess.

Fang Rui lays down his left arm on the table, turning his hand palm up.

“I’ve suspected that you knew.” Fang Rui smiles kindly, but it only makes Qiao Yifan upset. Knowing it is one thing, acknowledging it is another. Right now there’s only smooth skin, but in their past-future, there was a faint scar, a thin line across Fang Rui’s wrist, which was often covered with bracelets and wristbands. 

Qiao Yifan was only aware of it when Mo Fan came to him. He has noticed and wondered about the change of Fang Rui’s playstyle. It was not really obvious, even for those who were familiar with him. Only when Qiao Yifan paid attention to his hand speed and rhythm, he realized that Fang Rui had slowed down. Everyone hardly noticed because of the nature of the dirty playstyle, and later on, because of the rising skill level of Happy individual members. 

Regardless, Fang Rui remained an indispensable member of Happy and the national team. His flexible playstyle and high adaptability, not to mention his casual and playful nature, made him compatible with many players and strategies that he was more often than not master tacticians’ first choice. Qiao Yifan was not so naive to think that it wouldn’t impact Fang Rui’s condition, so he didn’t think much in the beginning. He was actually relieved that his vice captain took the steps to prolong his career lifespan. While his speed might decline, his performance did not. It didn’t cross his mind that Fang Rui’s condition had reached the point that he needed surgery.

Qiao Yifan was hit hard with the discovery. He had been angry at Fang Rui, at Mo Fan, but most of all, at himself for failing to notice that his vice captain had been injured so badly. He understood very well why Fang Rui did it, so he swallowed all the hurt and anger and channeled them into winning the championship, fearing the season would be his senior’s last. He wanted to prove that Happy was worth all the painstaking effort Fang Rui put in. Only to have his hopes shattered when Happy lost to Blue Rain in the finals, and Fang Rui announced his retirement to the team before the press conference.

He hadn’t wanted to be selfish. He really couldn’t ask Fang Rui to stay when he has given everything and more to Happy. He shouldn’t have asked him to stay.

But he asked anyway. 

He was prepared for the refusal, he could even imagine the gentle and kind words. He didn’t expect the concession. Fang Rui only agreed for another year, but it meant the world for Qiao Yifan.

Looking at the person in front of him, Qiao Yifan knows very well why it was Fang Rui of all people who was brought back to the past with him. But he cannot find the words.

“Well, I’m definitely not turning down the chance to do everything again. Even though it’s going to be a hassle to adapt to what… Level 70 skills?” The stinky face Fang Rui made elicits laughter from Qiao Yifan. 

Fang Rui never fails to find a way to lighten up the atmosphere. It’s also his subtle reminder that he has their back, that he understands even when there are no words between them.

“Damn. It looks like I’ve got a lot of work to do. It’s no different than having a new team, a new account, and a new class.” Fang Rui is already having a headache at the mere thought. He does miss the Glory competitive days, but he can do without the daily training.

“...I’m sorry.” Qiao Yifan winces, he hasn’t thought that far. He might be just a “water dispenser” in Tiny Herb but Fang Rui definitely isn’t. He has tried to take account of everything but the memories are hazy the further to the past they are, and he was limited to his own knowledge of the events. Qiao Yifan was only recently retired so he would have less difficulty in getting back into the competition mindset. Fang Rui waves his hand, knowing it cannot be helped.

“I’ve got a week until the next match. I’m going to need help to get into shape and find a somewhat believable explanation for the sudden changes in playstyle. Old Lin is sure to notice. You also need to be careful. Wang Jiexi might not realize any changes in you, but Old Ye certainly will.”

“Um… I think it’s a bit too late.” Qiao Yifan speaks out, showing the message Gao Yingjie sent to him earlier, telling him that the captain wanted to see him when he returned to the hotel. 

“Well, shit.” That pretty much summed up their current situation.

“Okay, change of plans. Let’s start with how you’re going to deal with good ol’ Wang, then we do the rest.”

“I should not call him Captain Wang then.” Qiao Yifan mulls over.

“Definitely not.” Why would a member of their own team call their own captain by their last name? “Don’t let slip and start calling him Big-Eyed Wang, either.”

“I’ve never-” Qiao Yifan coughs and splutters.

“Really?” Fang Rui raises an eyebrow.

Cunning and resourceful.

Those two words describe Happy best. They can be said to be the words Happy team members live by. They lay down the foundation of Happy’s individual and team playstyle. 

While Qiao Yifan remains polite and respectful as he comes to be Happy’s captain, which makes him a favorite among Happy team members of old and new, particularly for the reporters, he is still Happy’s captain who has received guidance and learned from Ye Xiu, Wei Chen and Fang Rui. He doesn’t often resort to dirty play enough to be considered a dirty player and doesn't often engage in trash talk to provoke others that people often forget. So at the most unexpected times, Qiao Yifan will pull an incredibly dirty play or a provocative sentence that is so unlike the calm and stable captain that opponents never fail to fall for it.  

Qiao Yifan definitely has called Wang Jiexi “Big-Eyed Wang” at least once. It doesn’t even matter if he never did it to his face.

“Careful. Don’t show your black heart yet, Little Captain.” Fang Rui teases Qiao Yifan, his eyes twinkling with mirth. This time Qiao Yifan genuinely and freely laughs.

“Says the person who taught us how to pull unexpected plays.” Being the longest-serving senior in the team, Fang Rui left his mark the most on Happy team members. His dirty playstyle shows up even in the aggressive Tang Rou, upright An Wenyi, and even textbook Luo Ji.

“That means I’m a good teacher, no?” Fang Rui considers that as his greatest achievement. Qiao Yifan doesn’t disagree, giggling at his senior’s proud face.

There’s so much work to do. There are so many familiar people, accounts, teams that they need to get to know again. There are their own younger bodies with their older selves; faster speed and reflexes but in discordance with their experienced minds. There are so many things to unlearn and relearn. There are events that cannot, should not be changed, and they do not know which events they are and which actions they are allowed to take.

When he was standing on the stage, as his mind kept thinking of all the ripple effects he might be causing, Qiao Yifan was absolutely frightened, and felt very lonely. However, right here right now, with his most reliable vice captain and senior…

Qiao Yifan no longer feels afraid.

Aaand.... That's a wrap! Well, not quite so. This can be taken as a one-shot, but is also open for more time-travel shenanigans. I have some ideas of the changes in the new timeline. Some ideas are easier to flesh out, while others require some research. If you have any comments or suggestions, please do so! It might help with the writing of future chapters. Thank you for reading!

[allyreactions]

EXO Headcanon : Kris Wu x Shy!Reader

~ A/N : This one didn’t take too long to write, and it’s definitely not my best work, but I really hope you guys like it! 

                 ~ Admin Ally 

ps. : hey anon! I responded to an nsfw ask a while ago that has a Kris Wu x Shy!Reader pairing. here’s the link if you wanna read it! and here’s the link to the regular idol kink post with Kris! 

- masterlist (updated) - idol kink masterlist (updated) requests CLOSED idol kink requests : OPEN

_______________________________

￫ kris is pretty quiet himself 

￫ loves that the two of you are so similar 

￫ but loves you no matter what 

￫ thinks your shyness is cute 

￫ loves when you blush

￫ would sometimes tease you about it 

￫ but he doesn’t mean any harm by it

￫ understanding if you don’t want to attend a party 

￫ understanding if you want to leave a party early 

￫ always pays attention to you 

￫ makes sure that you’re comfortable 

￫ knows your limits 

￫ no matter the situation 

￫ is super soft with you 

￫ treats you like an angel 

￫ you have him wrapped around your finger 

￫ loves spending quiet nights with you 

￫ but would encourage you to go out on date night 

￫ basically just a soft baby around you 

￫ you bring out the sweetest side in him

[elegantenthusiastphantom]

Forbidden Blood - Chapter 2 - Pmjanke - Multifandom [Archive of Our Own]

The prologue is out!!!!!! Hope you all enjoy!!

Don't forget to comment and subscribe to receive the updates!! Next chapter the end of next week!

[kpoptrashlord-007]

Extended Stay;; WYF [pt.2]

Check out Part One here~

Word Count;; 10.4k total, 5.2k for pt.2

Genre;; Zombie AU [Horror], Mafia AU [Violence], Smut

Pairing;; Kris Wu x Fem!Reader

Summary;;

    There comes a point in every relationship where things start to get serious. For you and Kris, that point comes in the form of a weekend getaway at a paradise resort. While you have your doubts about the many secrets he holds, there's a part of you that wants the relationship to thrive, to grow into something greater.     All great things, however, must be strong enough to withstand a storm and the quickest way to learn of a person's true character is under unfathomable odds.     Luckily for you, an island gone dark promises many hardships.

Collab Info;;

The Undead - an EXO12 Collab hosted by @biaswreckingfics​ ♡

Check out the Masterlist for more great EXO Zombie AU fics!

Warnings;;

Zombies!! + Mafia AU so

Graphic depictions of violence, gore, horror in general, guns Explicit Language!! Explicit Smut!! Thigh riding and fingering, daddy kink

My Networks;; @supermwritersnet​

Main Masterlist || EXO Masterlist

   When you turn to him, she's watching you. No, not you. She's watching the way your muscles slide beneath your skin, the way your sweat marinates you in a seasoning of salt. Saliva gathers in the corners of her mouth. Her jaw falls open as she reaches for you. As if a sudden sickness overcame her, the healthy hue of her skin turns pallid and wretched.

   You watch as the final ember in her eyes dies.

   All you can do is gasp in abject horror as she bares her teeth.

   Her nails claw at Yifan's suit.

   Snarls ring out loud and clear.

   There's a thunder of footsteps.

   His neck is exposed to her.

   You choke on the words you want to scream.

   God, fuck, Yifan, she's dead too. They're all dead and you will be too. She's going to bite you and you'll be d-

   "What the fuck," he snaps, his fingers wrapping around the girl's throat. Her mouth is mere inches from his face, teeth clattering and chomping. There's something feral in her eyes. Even as Yifan holds her at bay, she insists, pushing against his hand and scratching his clothes. "You little bit-"

   Deep down you've always known that Yifan isn't the man he pretends to be. He has secrets. Everyone does. Sure, the skeletons in most people's closets are mundane and petty, but everyone has them. It's because of his secrets that sometimes your jealous side thinks the worst, thinks that you're just one of many, that you're just a plaything to him. Watching him now, though, the pieces of the puzzle fall into place.

   Yifan is a made man.

   The girl slams into the wall like a ragdoll. She slinks to the floor with nary a spark in her eyes. You think perhaps that may be it, that she hit her head hard enough to pass out, so you redirect your focus to the stampede rushing toward you. Your heart thuds up and into your throat, constricting your air. There's more than there were before and they all have that wild, hungry look etched into their rotting faces.

   From your peripheral you see her twitch. The girl - she's moving. Her head lolls around as she scrambles back to her feet. She doesn't sound human any longer. None of them do. With an unnatural crack of her neck, her arms reach toward you, her fingers bending in a multitude of degrees.

   Her starved roar is cut short by a resounding bang.

   Blackened blood erupts from the newly formed crater in her skull. Once more her body slumps to the floor but this time it's definite; she's dead. Again. Yet somehow she seems less dead than she had seconds prior. Now she seems innocent and youthful, an unfortunate victim of something unspeakable.

   Without missing a beat, Yifan grabs your arm and starts to drag you away from her… and them. Their footfalls make the ground shudder. You can't see where the crowd ends. Amongst their endless numbers are tourists, children, and staff alike.

   And they all have their eyes on you.

   Yifan never shows them his back. His legs move faster than yours do and you stumble alongside him. With the gun in one hand and your bruising arm in the other, he's unable to check the doors you're passing. There's an explosion of light with each shot. Every few seconds he fires a bullet into the oncoming horde.

   Bullseye.

   He aims between the eyes and he never misses.

   A rush of excitement floods your system.

   This is a new side of him.

   His grip tightens around your bicep.

   "Hey!" He's using his stern voice. It anchors you back to the shitstorm raging around you. Tearing your gaze away from the approaching carnage, you tune into what he's been trying to tell you since the girl's second death. "Get to the stairwell."

   "But the-"

   "The other one."

   He nods behind you, toward the end of the hallway. The hotel is large; of course there's more than one stairwell. Peeling free of his hold, you wince. Shades of blue and purple litter your skin. You make a mental note to survive long to give him a piece of your mind about it before sprinting down the hall.

   Gunshots continue to ring in your ears at a steady interval until they cease altogether. Thinking he ran out of bullets, you quicken your pace. No matter how fast you run, the sound of the horde is just as loud. They never falter, they never stop.

   When you reach the stairwell access, you risk a glance at Yifan. He's much closer than you thought he would be. In his hand is the gun, its clip out and a fresh handful of bullets shining in his palm.

   You scoff. He's reloading. Of course he came prepared with bullets to spare. He's a fucking mafioso, after all.

   Firing off a few more shots and killing the undead closest to you, he wraps his arm around your waist and yanks you backward, shielding your body as he flings the door open. Checking his corners, he clears the landing before whisking you inside. As soon as the door closes, you're plunged into silence and darkness.

   "Should I turn the flash-"

   He hushes you with a sharp exhale. "Listen."

   The steel door is holding strong against the swarm on the other side. It muffles most of the sound but you can still hear them pressing against it, snarling and hissing, desperate to pursue their escaped meal. Doing your best to ignore it and quell the fear pounding inside your mind, you steady your breath. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, exhale. Inhale, ex-

   Much further down you can hear shuffling. Someone is dragging their feet against the concrete. It isn't the only thing you hear, however. There is a raspy groan emanating from the pit far below, as well as a constant drip of liquid and the squelch of moist organs grinding against one another, trying to spill free of their rib cage imprisonment.

   With a bravada you didn't know you could muster, you tiptoe to the guardrail and peer down. Miraculously the bottom floor is well-lit. The door must be open. It provides just enough light to illuminate the bottom segment of the tower. To your dismay, the entirety of the first floor landing is swarming with the undead.

   "There are more on the lower levels," you whisper, backing away from the railing.

   "How many?"

   "Too many."

   "How many people were in this shithole?"

   You roll your eyes. "What are we going to do?"

   "I don't know."

   "What do you mean you don't know?"

   "Keep your voice down."

   "Yifan," you whisper-shout, poking him in the chest. "Figure something out!"

   His reflexes are much faster than your own. Grabbing your wrist, he twists your body into his own, your back flush against his chest. Warm air caresses your ear as he rests his face near yours, his words a whisper only for you to hear. "I told you to stay quiet."

   "Yifan," you whine, pushing back against his chest.

   He doesn't answer. Instead the hand that once held your wrist trails upward along your arm. The other is running circles on your stomach, travelling a bit lower with each repetition. By the time his fingers crawl under your waistband, he's littering your neck in teasing kisses in an attempt to distract you.

   You shudder. There's a fire building in your gut. His touch is addictive and your mind falls into a haze of longing. It isn't until one of the undead several floors below roars and the crowd floods out of the small square space that you snap back to reality. Yifan's hands don't waver, intent to feel every inch of your skin.

   "They're hunting," you whisper. He hums in acknowledgement before nibbling on your ear. Biting back a moan, you yank his hand out of your panties. "Now isn't the time, Yifan!"

   "Why not? They left."

   "There are literally hundreds of them right outside this door! They might-" His teeth sink into your shoulder and you hiss, pushing him back a step with all your strength. "Asshole! They might break through!"

   The door rattles on its hinges as if to empathise your point. It creaks and bends under the pressure of the endless force behind it. Yet it holds strong. There's a soft rustle in front of you and you can imagine Yifan shrugging, maybe even rolling his eyes. Your clenched fist hits him square in the chest. He doesn't react.

   "Besides, we have a lot to talk about, don't we?"

   "Come on, baby, let's live a little."

   "I think I want to live a little too much to do something that stupid. If you're not going to take this seriously, I'll leave without you."

   "Where?" Yifan snorts but when your feet clank against the metal stairs, he sighs. "Babe. Wait for me. Don't run off."

   "Oh don't worry, I have no intention of straying far from you and your goddamn gun!"

   He's hot on your heels. Even though he's larger than you in many aspects, he's quieter, almost indiscernible aside from his aura. It hangs around him wherever he goes - intense, powerful, authoritative. Palpable, you can feel it shrouding you.

   When you reach the fifth floor landing you stop. There's a bit more light here. The closer you get to the bottom, the more that filters through. You can also hear a gentle lapping, like waves hitting the side of a pool. Peering over the edge, you recognise that the shards of refracted light beaming into the harsh darkness are the sun's fast-fading rays bouncing off an uncalm surface.

   "Is that a pool?" Craning your neck to get a better view, you huff when Yifan leans further over the edge than you can manage. He's all limbs. "There was no pool when we came in."

   "There was. It was through the door on the right. The whole bottom floor beneath the right wing is an indoor beach."

   "An indoor beach… at a beach resort?"

   He shrugs. "We can't go all the way down. We need to get back to the center stairwell or we'll get lost and swarmed."

   He pushes off the railing. Giving him space, you shift to the side so he can listen to the fifth floor through its large, foreboding door. After just a few seconds he sighs, shaking his head while using his hand to slice an imaginary line along his neck. It's dark but you understand the intent all the same: death.

   This time you tiptoe down the stairs. While you're louder than Yifan, you're still much quieter than you had been before. Aside from the occasional splashing from the pool, the stairwell remains silent. There's no signs of movement, living or otherwise.

   When the fourth floor is also a bust, you consider going back up. Too much further down and you'll have trouble if a horde appears. If they strongarm their way through a door, you won't be able to go down without running into the mass of corpses awaiting their next meal on the ground level. Yifan, however, insists on trying the third floor.

   "It's better to keep moving towards the bottom than making our way back up. That's horror movie 101."

   "But if we so much as hiccup they're going to be on us in seconds," you whisper into his ear. He's bent over, his head tilted in your direction so you don't need to raise your voice.

   "I'll protect you."

   "Right. Because Mr. Construction over here just happens to be a marksman. Not weird at all."

   He laughs, breathless and airy against your cheek as he straightens his posture. "Just trust me."

   Muttering an irritated 'fine', you cross your arms and pout every step of the way down to the third floor landing. You're still sour when he starts to open the door. A bitter frown contorts your lips when Yifan gives you a thumbs up. He opens it further, performing a visual check before grasping your arm and pulling you through. To your surprise, the hallway is empty.

   There is, however, plenty of carnage to remind you of the hell you've found yourself ensnared in.

   Stepping over travel bags and jumping over puddles of blood, you're dutiful in your pursuit of Yifan's tall frame. His steps are larger than yours and he crosses the distance faster. If your pace decreases too much, he waits for you to catch your breath, scouring the hall with its millions of doors for anything out of place in the meanwhile. Every now and then he closes one of the doors as a preventative measure.

   Halfway to the centre stairwell he comes into view - one of the blundering idiots Yifan hired as security. Facing the direction opposite you, he's a few metres away from your destination, just beyond the stairwell entrance. It doesn't take a genius to figure out he's become one of them.

   Blood trickles down his back from the gushing wound on his shoulder. Huge gashes paint his skin in a myriad of dark reds. When he stumbles forward, he damn well near tumbles, unsteady due to the massive lacerations severing the tendons in his legs.

   You try to skid to a halt but Yifan tightens his grip on your arm and keeps going. All he offers is a quick finger against his lips, urging you to remain quiet. Your heartbeat picks up. If they have any form of heightened senses, you're as good as caught. The stench of exertion and fear clings to you. Sweat leaks down your face as your adrenaline peaks, overwhelming your system with the desire to run.

   Unlike you, Yifan is a cool cucumber.

   He doesn't bat an eye. This whole situation has had no visual effect on him. In a way you despise him for it. You know you'd be dead without him but there's no tremble in his hand, no sway in his feet. He has nerves of steel. It doesn't surprise you, it just makes you feel weak. Grateful, of course, but so, so small and vulnerable.

   Every time the idiot sniffs the air or tilts his head, Yifan's hand hovers over his gun. He's fast on the draw and his brow furrows in concentration, fighting back the urge to go through the motion, to kill. His hand caresses the dark metal like it's an old friend, comfortable and reliable, but he never unholsters it. It's a last resort; if he uses it, more will come.

   By some miracle you reach the stairwell with no issue. Even as you open the door and slip inside, he doesn't turn. Just as he was in life, the guards a fucking moron who can't detect or secure shit. Some things never change.

   The door clicks closed and you sigh in relief. "We did i-"

   "Help… me…"

   Knowing you well, Yifan clamps his hand over your mouth before the scream has a chance to escape. With frantic and terrified kicks, you leap backwards from the fingers wrapping around your ankle. In an elegant twirl you could never muster on your own, you're whisked away from the threat and its pathetic sobbing. Yifan's back barricades you against the wall and you hear the soft click of his gun's hammer.

   "Sir, it's me," the voice mumbles, raspy and strained. "Your pilot."

   "Pilot?"

   Both you and Yifan spit out the word, though his tone is much more venomous than yours. Shimmying your phone out from your pocket, you shine the flashlight toward the voice. It is indeed a man that bears some resemblance to the alcoholic you had the displeasure of meeting earlier. Yifan confirms the man's identity with a bitter chuckle.

   "Great. Our pilot is as good as dead. So much for getting back to the plane."

   "What do we do now?"

   "I can get us out of here if you get me back to the plane," he speaks with more enthusiasm now, a glimmer of hope in his glassy eyes. Forcing himself to stand, a foul smell emanates from his body as he limps closer to you both. Your nose scrunches in distaste.

   "Back off," Yifan warns, raising the gun.

   The pilot throws his hands up in defense before backing up. He calls Yifan an arsehole under his breath. The word echoes in the small space. You're unsure if he's aware of this or if he thinks he's being sly. Either way you sidle out from behind Yifan and start to slink down the stairs. You make it down four steps before the man growls.

   With an audible thump, he knocks Yifan back against the wall. Metal clanks against stone as the gun falls. To your relief, it doesn't hit the steel of the stairs; it's still within reach. As you turn to flash some light on the tussle, you're thrown backward. Grimy, moist nails claw at your neck during the whole descent. On the first rotation, your head and back slam against the concrete. On the second, it's your knees and feet.

   By the time you're flat on the mid-floor landing, there's a hundred too many pounds crushing your chest. Every inch of you aches from the fall but it's nothing compared to the scorching fire exploding inside your throat. Snapping your eyes open, you see the pilot. He's pinning you down and choking you.

   Glancing upward to where Yifan once stood, you pray he'll rescue you. Seconds are worth a lifetime when each could be your last. Speckles of darkness pollute your vision, somehow even darker than what you've been plunged into now that your phone is lost. It's probably shattered given the extent of your tumble.

   His hold on you tightens, his fingers digging into your pulse points. Searching for something you can use, anything at all, your nails rake across the ground. There's nothing in reach. You force out a gasp, desperate to suck in some air, and Yifan stirs. His boots slam against the stairs two at a time but he's dizzy, or at least uncertain, and his footfalls are hesitant.

   And then it moans.

   Your old friend hanging high in the spire moans.

   You had been too afraid to acknowledge it then, to admit that it was no hallucination but a very real, very undead monster lurking in the dark.

   Yet now it's moans serve not to lure you upward to certain doom; they're a reminder of the inevitable future coursing through the pilot's veins.

   It's a brief distraction but one nonetheless and you don't plan on dying like a dog under this madman's grasp. Lurching into a sitting position, you headbutt him. It's enough to throw him off balance. He's well on the track to becoming one of them and his mind is deteriorating fast, but if he wants to play mad, you'll just play madder.

   Gripping his hair and ignoring how it tears out in clumps, you trip over him, kneeing him in the stomach during the descent. On legs that scream in defiance, you lift yourself to your feet. He follows, your hold on him shifting to his ears and neck, and he whimpers. It's a pathetic sound. It makes you want to hurl. Instead you stand tall and focus, breathing deep to reinvigorate your tired muscles. Even if you wanted to, you know you can't make quick work of it.

   "This is going to hurt," you whisper, a chill settling deep in your spine as you pull his head closer to you. "You should've stayed on the plane."

   Like a bow drawn taut, you release the pressure in your arms in one sudden punch. It isn't your typical hit, however. Instead of using your fists, you use the man's face to pummel the wall. Over and over you cock the pistol that is your body before shooting more of his face all over the cold, hard concrete.

   Even as your hold on his sloughing skin becomes slippery from the excess blood, you keep going.

   "He's dead," Yifan murmurs.

   You jolt when he immobilises you. With his arms around your waist, he uses this newfound leverage to levitate you up and away from the bloodbath of your creation. Unfurling your fingers, you relax, allowing your jittery body to calm.

   "You did well. He's dead."

   In the safety of his embrace, you succumb to the exhaustion pulling you deep into a restless slumber.

   It isn't Yifan shaking you or calling your name that awakens you but the cold night air. There are crickets chirping somewhere beyond the jungle's treeline. Upon opening your bleary eyes, you see little orbs of light floating on the soft ocean breeze as it rolls in across the tarmac. One of the lights dive toward you and you flinch.

   It's a firefly.

   Small, fragile and beautiful.

   It rests on your shoulder for a brief moment before taking back off into the sky.

   "Babe, are you awake?"

   You hum in response, nodding while struggling to keep your heavy eyelids from closing.

   "The jet should be in the hangar. Can you walk?"

   Humming again, you stand. It takes great effort to stay upright. Your legs are like lead beneath you. Each step is harder than the last and your feet drag, leaving a trail on the sand-covered runway. It would be easier to walk in cement shoes, you think, and it makes you chuckle. Cement shoes. Yifan would surely appreciate the mobster reference.

   He scoffs in front of you, looking over his shoulder to observe your condition.

   Had you said that out loud? Did he at least find it as amusing as you did?

   "You need to rest but it isn't safe out in the open. Push yourself a little more, okay?"

   It's a genuine, sincere request so you do it. Despite how your body screams for rest, you hold onto his belt and soldier on. You even look around as you tiptoe behind him, your head in a constant state of swivelling in order to report any undead sightings. A strike of good fortune finds you both entering the hangar without issue. Another lucky break has your jet inside, door open and ready for you both to embark.

   Whoever said good things happen in threes, however, is a liar.

   The second bodyguard falls face first out of the plane.

   His fingers are stumps, worn down to the bone.

   Sniffing the air, his rotting eyes snap to you.

   "I'll distract it while you get on the plane."

   "What? No w-"

   The guard croaks before he charges. You pray that nothing else heard it, that nothing else will come. Yifan pushes you aside while kicking the guard square in the stomach. Blood explodes out of his mouth as he stumbles backward, stunned. His attention shifts to Yifan.

   "Get on the plane!"

   "But-"

   "Here." He tosses a set of keys to you: the pilot's, and therefore the plane's. "Now go."

   Turning your back on him feels like a betrayal. There's another thud and grunt as Yifan lands a kick on the guard and then the clunking of metal. Squelching permeates your ears and you want to vomit. It's what flesh sounds like as it slides off the bone as if it's shredded beef.

   You don't stop to look back.

   You have faith in Yifan's abilities - in him.

   The steps rattle with each plod of your feet until you're standing in the plane's cabin. Your chest heaves. It burns to breathe. Between exertion and exhaustion, every inhalation is a fight to stay conscious. There's a thundering boom in your ears that won't cease, adrenaline pounding against your skull.

   Knowing your senses are impeded, you turn to view the carnage. Worry clenches your heart when you're unable to spot either the guard or Yifan. Resisting the urge to go back and help him, your hand hovers over the stair's lift button. At the first sign of trouble you'll press it.

   You'll press it and wait in this flimsy tin can for God knows how long.

   Perhaps until you run out of food.

   Perhaps even until you die.

   There's a scuffle beyond your view and then several hits reminiscent of flesh smashing against stone. You know this noise well now. It's a sound you'll never forget courtesy of the pilot.

   Who's going to fly the plane?

   Another clang resonates from nearby as metal strikes something hard, not stone but… bone.

   Over and over again.

   Clang.

   Clang.

   Clang.

   Seconds pass in relative silence. No matter the outcome, the fight has come to an end. One will emerge the victor and you'll either die alone or die with Yifan. Operating a plane, after all, requires finesse and training. It's not something you just decide to do on a whim.

   It's either by his side or by his hand. Or, you suppose, his teeth. You laugh at the grimness of the situation. This is your reality. It's a joke - a fucking nightmare, sure, but a real fucking cosmic zinger too.

   A real ride or die then ride some more kind of couple.

   "Babe," Yifan huffs, limping into your view. "I'm opening the bay doors."

   Relief surges through you. It's an emotional overload. Sobbing, you fall to your knees, abandoning your post by the button. He's hurt but he's alive and so are you. You're alive. Against the odds, you both survived.

   The hangar door shutters open. He doesn't wait for the machinery to finish before jogging onto the plane. Smashing the button after himself, you watch as the stairs retreat back into the plane's side. The hydraulics hiss as they settle. Yifan stands beside you, shoulders slumped and head hung. His once immaculate suit is drenched in blood and sweat.

   "You alright?" he asks, aware of your eyes on him.

   "Are you bitten?"

   "It's not my blood."

   "Are you bitten?"

   "No, but you shouldn't trust my word on it. I have a penchant for lying, after all."

   "Yeah," you scoff. Grabbing his hand, you use him as support to pull yourself up. "You really do. Construction, huh?"

   He laughs and the easy nature behind it soothes you, a bright spark erasing the somber atmosphere until you're laughing too. "I was planning on telling you event-"

   The pilot's cabin door flings open. In the same breath Yifan draws his gun, aiming it at the young woman standing on the threshold. It takes her a moment to catch onto what is happening. When she does, she screams, throwing her hands up in defense before cowering. It's the flight attendant.

   "I'm normal! I'm not one of them!"

   After a visual check for wounds, he holsters his gun. "What were you doing in there?"

   "What do you think?" you mutter under your breath, ignoring how his hand creeps up to hold the back of your neck, squeezing in warning.

   "Hiding. From… from the guard. He went crazy. He's been trying to get in for the past hour." Closing the door slightly, she points at the tarnished metal. The metal is scratched and coloured red from his attempts. "I thought maybe the pilot left the keys…"

   She trails off and you gasp, a lightbulb going off in your head. "You can fly the plane!"

   "Yes… not that I intended to leave you here! I just assumed-"

   "We have the keys. Get us out of here."

   Upon hearing Yifan's approval, you toss the keys to her. She trembles as she speaks, anxious to escape the madness infecting the island, "Yes, sir!"

   When the plane rumbles to life, you remember how to breathe. You don't think twice about what Yifan is planning as he leads you toward the bathroom. There's a part of you that wants to let loose and forget everything. He pushes you inside, rough and dominant like always. You slide your irreparable hoodie off and toss it into the corner.

   When he doesn't enter behind you, you face him, equal parts confused and eager. "Are you coming?"

   "Do you need help washing up?" He smirks before gesturing toward the small shower cubicle. "Go on."

   "But I need to check you for bite marks."

   "Well who am I to say no to a good time?"

   "I'm being serious here, Yifan."

   "So am I, baby."

   His suit jacket is on the ground before he even steps foot inside. Scrambling to keep up with how fast he's peeling his clothes off, you shimmy out your sweats and panties in one fell swoop. The clothes are beyond ruined so he takes a shortcut, popping the buttons of his dress shirt as he tears it off. After his shoes are kicked off and his pants abandoned, he drinks in your body as you continue to undress. There's a myriad of bruises scattered along your skin.

   "Look what all that manhandling did to my arm."

   Chuckling as his fingers trace the marks, he smirks. It's a signature look of his, one that excites you. When you pull away from him to step inside the shower and turn the water on, he pins you against the wall. With your arms raised overhead, he places gentle kisses along the bruises, avoiding the speckles of blood on your body all while grinding his hips against yours.

   You moan in unrestrained need. It entices him. His cock brushes against your throbbing cunt and you buck, chasing his hardening length but he doesn't give you what you want. No, that would be too easy. Instead he continues to tease, holding your wrists in one hand while using the other to grab a bar of soap. Rubbing it along every inch of your skin in painstaking detail, he cleans off all the grime and blood before doing the same to himself. All you can do is watch, unable to touch, unable to help.

   Once satisfied, he sighs in relief, tossing his head back and allowing the hot water to drizzle through his hair. You squirm under his hold, whining for attention and shuddering whenever his body so much as touches yours. He peeks at you with one eye.

   "Is my baby needy?"

   You nod, grinding against his thigh as he rests it between your legs. Starting slow and tentative, your movements are exploratory but when his muscles tense and flex, you gasp. He doesn't bother to move beyond that, forcing you to put in the work all while wearing a cocky grin. Sliding up and down his bare leg, you ride him, yearning for release.

   It builds up slowly, starting as small sparks that soon blossom into a raging fire as you fuck his thigh in earnest. When you're close to climax, Yifan lends a hand. Gripping your hips, he pulls you close, sliding your soaked pussy along his leg like it were a water slide. He dips two long fingers deep in your cunt, using his palm to massage your clit until you're clenching around him, screaming his name in absolute ecstasy as you cum.

   "How desperate," he scoffs before your high has a chance to subside. "But don't you worry. Daddy's going to fuck you so hard you forget the last few hours ever happened."

  – ♡ –  If you enjoyed this, please consider liking, commenting, reblogging, and/or following! Thank you!

[ohhmydyosfics]

(Layris) fire and kisses

Yixing had seen a lot of things as a veterinarian, but Kris Wu and his new baby dragon still manage to take him by surprise

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21271802

[laninysstuff]

fanfic Teoria do amor-perfeito | por baekieismyqueen