#oriental lounge | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

darkworkcourier · 1 year

Note

Could you write Ghost x fem!reader where she finds him attractive but is too shy to actually tell him but also can't hide the way she's feeling, so Ghost notices her interest and eventually they end up in bed (*cough* you know what I mean)? Also Ghost being gentle and protective towards her, plz

Ps. I love your writing!

Word Count: 8314

i’m incapable of short prompt fills, apparently! o, but i am filled with grief!

anywho, reader’s codename is ‘ladybird’ (hc that soap gave it to her because she’s lucky) but is otherwise nameless.

contains masturbation, oral sex, lots of feelings, wee bit of slow burn, ghost being like weirdly emotional and soft, and soap’s gratuitous and unfortunate use of emojis. 💀/🐞4ever

---

The first time it really hits you, you're in a helicopter about two miles above the ground—honestly a terrible place to face your feelings. It's a velvet-dark night, strategically chosen for the new moon, the countryside below nearly invisible. You're almost in a doze, caught up in the Chinook's blades' low, thunderous pulse and the sporadic rocking as it hits little glades of turbulence. Your eyes lose focus on some of the running lights, until they turn hazy, and its only when the man across from you moves his boot do you snap back to attention.

Ghost. Right. You learned his name a few weeks ago during your orientation, but he was deployed on a recon mission only a day later. Price summoned him back for this mission, but aside from a few gruff comments at the all-hands meeting, you haven't heard him say much.

For a moment, you think he might have dozed off, too. He’s leaning back in his seat, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed. And that’s fair, you think; Soap told you he didn’t think Ghost ever slept.

You silently study him, the way his head rocks a little with the turbulence, how much taller he is than everyone else in his row, the peculiar illusion that the eye sockets of his mask are empty—

And suddenly they aren’t.

He’s looking back at you, dark eyes regarding you passively, even though the mask makes every look significantly more intimidating. For moment that goes on way too long, you don’t look away, your gazes locked. Your heart takes the tracheal elevator to your throat, beating loud enough to drown out the Chinook’s roar.

You look away first, and you swear you hear him snort.

The rest of the journey to the drop-off zone, you deliberately don’t look at him; but when you close your eyes, there he is.

All you can think is ohhhh, shit.

---

Military crushes aren’t abnormal. Put enough people at the peak of physical excellence in a room, throw around some form-fitting uniforms, and mix in a few adrenaline rushes—it’s a goddamn potent mixture. You’ve had your share of mess hall dreamy-eyed gazing sessions, and a few ‘I hate to see you leave, but I love to watch you go’ moments in gyms and fitness centers. That’s fine; that’s normal.

What you start feeling for Ghost isn’t that.

Nevermind that he’s rarely out of tactical dress, and if he is, he usually defaults to a hoodie or something that doesn’t exactly entice the imagination. And he’s never out of some variation of his mask, so you can’t think woah, pal, do you cut glass with that jawline because as far as you can tell, he doesn’t have one. No mooning over cheekbones, admiring the curve of lips. He has nice eyes, but ever since the night in the Chinook, you haven’t been able to meet them for more than a second before your heart does that terrible little samba again.

Per your mental checklist, aside from being tall and muscular, he doesn’t check all your normal boxes. By all those counts, Gaz or Soap are way better fits. Hell, Soap likes to hang around in his silkies like they’re pajamas, showing off plenty to keep your fantasy fodder trough filled. And you’ve caught Gaz doing push-ups in the lounge, his tight shirt doing wonders for his shoulders.

But it’s Ghost who makes you feel like a hormonal teenager. It’s Ghost that gets you antsy and fidgety when he enters a room. And it’s Ghost that you think about during your rare alone time in the shower, when your hands start drifting south and the tile walls are your only support.

You’ve got it bad for him, and you have no idea what to do about it.

---

You’re doing recon in Berlin when Soap notices.

The mission details are simple: a drug lord known as Keiler using a night club as a go-between for his suppliers and dealers—all further complicated by the fact that he has plenty of friends in the arms trade, and by Laswell’s reports, he’s very generous to those friends. The club is a front, a money laundering wonderland. Through your observation, drugs and alcohol are doled out in equal volume, all to the backdrop of skull-splitting bass and sharp scalpels of strobe lights.

The biggest obstacle is that Keiler likes to use a private room overlooking the club as his perch, and your intelligence says that at any given time, he has a small army defending him. Getting to him requires an incredible degree of finesse. Naturally, Ghost is the one to do it.

You, Soap, and Gaz are scattered around the main floor of the club. Gaz is out on the dance floor, Soap’s taken up a spot near the bar, and you’re in the lounge. It’s the first time you’ve done something like this (and in an outfit with so little fabric), and you’re really not used to being ogled and pawed by a bunch of drunk, drugged, or horny Berliners.

Soap must see your discomfort from his position, as you hear a dry, amused, “Feelin’ a little tense, Ladybird?”

You swallow hard and chase it with a sip of your drink, which definitely needs to be watered down. “I’m fine,” you say.

“You look like you just drank petrol.”

“You’re the one who ordered it for me.”

Gaz cuts in with a weary, “Do we have eyes on Ghost, yet? I’m starting to get tired of people grabbing my—”

“I’m here,” Ghost’s voice scrapes over the comms, causing you to sit up straight and look around. You catch sight of Soap who has his hand curled in front of his mouth, clearly snickering like a heathen.

“Think you scared the shit out of Ladybird, LT,” he says.

He’s lucky he’s on the other side of the room, otherwise you’d pretend to be extremely clumsy and find an excuse to spill your drink on his (very, very tight) shirt. You mouth ‘shut up’ at him, and he reaches up with his pointer finger to draw an invisible halo over his head.

Ghost ignores him. “I’m near the east stairwell, headed to second deck. Got one guard at the far end. Gaz, you seein’ anything I should know about?”

A pause, then, “Negative, Ghost. I’ve got what you’ve got.”

“Copy. Going to second deck now.”

Out of habit, your eyes go to the east stairwell, peering through the haze pierced with multicolored lights to see a single dark shape ascending. He disappears behind a catwalk, then reappears to the right, mingling with the crowd near the second floor bar. Once he’s there, he seems to fade into the throng of people, most in dark clothing, some in masks. Just like that, he’s invisible.

It’s hard to focus on looking calm and happy to be there, but you keep sipping your drink, watching the dancers and feeling the bassline of yet another techno song thrumming in your chest. You’re glad you’re not out on the dance floor, or being called to give come-hither glances to bouncers and guards.

Then, “Coming back down to first deck,” Ghost says, clearly agitated. “Too many guards and too many people. We need another way up.”

Soap grins. “Violence isn’t the answer, LT?”

“Negative. Start looking for another route.”

On cue, you stand up and cross the room to the bar, sliding in beside Soap. He’s fishing for another couple Euro from his wallet, pushing it across to the bartender with two fingers. The bartender gives him a brief nod and refills his glass, while Soap turns his attention to you.

“Any bright ideas?”

You frown and adjust the straps on your top again. It’s a stupid piece of clothing, always feeling like it’s going to fall off. “Only the emergency stairs by the front doors, but I can’t imagine Keiler leaves those undefended.”

Soap looks thoughtful and scratches at his stubble. “Yeah, but probably no civilians, either. And if the door’s alarmed, Ghost can take care of that.”

As if summoned, you feel Ghost appear before you see him, a huge presence over your shoulder that makes you jump. “Jesus!” you hiss.

And Soap, the traitor, laughs to the point of wheezing as Ghost takes up the bar stool on his other side. “I think you’re giving our Ladybird here a complex,” Soap says through his laughter.

Ghost rolls his eyes. From this angle, you can see Ghost in more than just the dim light you’ve been working with most of the night. He’s not dressed too far outside his usual fashion wheelhouse—heavy boots, black trousers, and a loose black hoodie. His hood’s pulled up over a black beanie and a skull-painted gaiter, and he’s foregone his usual thick coating of greasepaint for black-ringed eyes (is that eyeliner?) and a streak of smoke-colored paint that just manages to obscure the color of his brows. The downside (for you, at least) is that the combo manages to draw his eyes into sharper contrast, making them that much more intense.

Suddenly, your heart’s doing the thing again.

Ghost doesn’t seem to notice any change in you, but you think Soap’s actually looking for it. He watches you, brows lifted, mouth curled like a flirtation of a smirk. Briefly, he glances between you and Ghost, and then the smirk appears in full force, enlightenment dawning.

Before he can insinuate a thing, you’re shoving your half-empty glass across the bar top with a too-high, “Bitte.” The bartender only gives you a brief, unamused look before taking your glass and remaking whatever godforsaken cocktail Soap ordered.

It’s not a good distraction, and the damage is already done. Soap knows, damnit. His smile is too easygoing, but he turns to Ghost and starts talking about the emergency stairwell, which is a relief. Ghost looks over his shoulder toward the stairwell in question, and as he does, Soap looks at you and makes the gesture of zipping his own mouth shut, throwing away the proverbial key with a wink.

As he does, Gaz pipes back up with, “Ghost, you copy?”

“Yeah, Gaz?”

“You, uh, know anything about a big guy with a tattoo of a boar on the back of his head?”

Ghost looks toward the dance floor, brows furrowing. “Yeah, that’d be Bauer, Keiler’s right hand man.”

“Great. Glad you know him, because he’s here.”

Shit. He wasn’t supposed to be. If Bauer’s here, then either Keiler’s doing something more than his usual partying upstairs, or Keiler knows someone’s here looking for him. Either way, the mission just got significantly harder, and your night got that much longer.

With a grunt, Ghost pushes off the bar and starts making his way to the emergency stairwell. “I’ll take care of it,” he says. “Keep your eyes open. Out here.”

Once he’s gone, there’s a pause—a very heavy pause. Then, Soap looks at you with an expression that is just a hair too pleased. “Ghost, huh?”

Your face heats up, right as the bartender hands you your drink. You reach for your wallet, only for the bartender to put a hand up and shake his head. “Nein, für das schöne Mädchen,” he says.

For the pretty girl.

“Bet Ghost thinks so, too,” Soap says, and you resolve to definitely spill your free drink on his too-tight pants.

---

Weeks after Keiler’s nice and cozy in a maximum-security prison and the 141 is back at base, you have another miniature existential crisis.

It’s all an accident—just a tempest of bad timing and bad luck. Ever since you came back from Germany, you’ve had a tough time getting a full night’s sleep. It’s easy to blame the natural stress of your work, the long hours, the high-adrenaline action you see more than you ever did before this job. And, well, part of it has to come from Ghost. He’s occupied your thoughts more than ever since the night club.

Your solution is to hit the gym late at night, pushing yourself until you can’t keep your eyes open and no amount of insomnia can overcome it. The first few nights of this effort work fine—you end up in bed around one or two in the morning, and sleep until your alarm goes off. No one bothers you; no one hogs the machines. It’s kind of nice.

However, you don’t account for all the night owls that share the base with you.

You head to the gym late on a Friday night, towel around your neck, water bottle at the ready, podcasts preloaded. If you ever hit the gym during the day, you usually do so in a t-shirt and sweatpants. At night, you’ve started opting for PT shorts and a tank top, happy for the lack of eyes around the room.

Except for tonight.

You open the door into the gym, only to hear the mechanical drone of a treadmill and someone sprinting damn fast on it. For a second, you freeze, hiding behind the corner. Then, slowly, you peer around it, clutching your phone and water bottle close to your chest.

Jesus Christ. It’s Ghost.

Ghost, in a t-shirt. In sweatpants. Running on a treadmill set to the highest incline. Panting.

Ghost, with bare arms, showing a detailed tattoo on his left arm, and prominent veins running over his chiseled muscles. He looks like a fucking Greek statue, and that’s just what you can see.

“Ohhh, my God,” you whisper to yourself, immediately working on an exit strategy that doesn’t involve catching his attention.

Which obviously doesn’t come to pass. It’s something you probably should have learned on the helo ride—Ghost knows when he’s being watched. He turns his head, dark eyes fixing on you immediately. Briefly, he looks back at the treadmill, then down at his watch, and back to the treadmill’s controls. He slows it down, dropping the incline, until he finally steps off and starts walking toward you.

Abort, abort.

You think about fleeing, running back to your room or rolling under a table or hiding behind a counter like he’s a goddamn velociraptor in the kitchen. You do none of those things, because despite your training, you freeze up. No one could blame you, you think. It’s hard to do much else when a six-foot-something skull-faced wall of muscle walks up to you. And you must look stellar, holed up in a corner by the door, your water bottle and phone held up like a shield.

Ghost takes in the sight of you, eyes flicking up, down, up. Heat rises to your face, and down to—to nowhere, because it’s better not to think about it. You suddenly feel too vulnerable in your choice of outfit, naked under his gaze.

“Ladybird,” he says. Your nickname becomes a hot scratch of sound, losing its whimsy in favor of a tone you can’t define. “You need somethin’?”

There’s a patch of sweat by his collar. You stare at it, then at the floor.

“No, I just— I was, um, just about to leave, and... Yeah, I’m gonna go.”

He’s silent until you finally look up at him, meeting his eyes for the first time in what what feels like an eon. He looks amused, but there’s a quirk in his brow like he can’t quite get a good read on you. “You look like you were about to use the gym.”

You look down at your bottle, phone, and towel like you’re just now noticing them. When you bring your attention back to him, you feel like you need to just kick the door open and escape, dignity be damned. “I... was,” you say slowly. Then, you rally yourself, trying to look upbeat and resolved. “Y’know what? You can keep using it. I’ll come back later.”

He shrugs, but you see it. Some secondary expression slinking around in his eyes like it’s working through the perpetually-moving cogs in his head. He gives you another one of those assessing glances, and for a second, you think he’s going to step into your space. His body language looks primed to do so, and you hold your breath in anticipation for it, unsure of what he’s going to do.

Then he takes a step back, and another.

“Suit yourself,” he says. “I wouldn’t mind it, though.”

Before you can process his words, he’s back on the treadmill, tweaking the settings and raising the incline again. The belt starts moving, and he’s back to looking like power personified, a vision in motion.

You have got it so bad.

It’s a hasty retreat to your room, and once the door’s shut behind you, you’re panting like you had run on the treadmill and lifted weights.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you hiss, discarding your things on the table beside your bed, kicking off your running shoes, then laying down and staring at the ceiling. He knows. He has to. Ghost’s whole job depends on him being observant, and he looked at you like he was reading a fucking book.

You groan and press your palms into your eyes until phosphenes appear, dancing around and shimmering like fireworks behind your eyelids. You’re going to have to leave the 141 out of pure mortification. You’ll have to go into some kind of witness protection, change your name, and move to the other side of the earth. Or if you stay, you’ll have to pretend Ghost doesn’t exist. You’ll hide behind walls, slinking through the building’s HVAC just to avoid him like you’re working on a heist. Maybe you can convince Soap or Gaz to accompany you everywhere so you can hide behind their bulk.

But then, your horrible brain reminds you of what you’ll miss out on. It runs through a greatest hits reel of your crush so far—Ghost’s eyes, his presence stretching long over you like a shadow, his massive frame, his arms. The tattoo, detailed enough to tell from a distance, and then the thought of running your fingers over it, tracing all the fine points and lines. And are those his only tattoos, or are there more?

And his voice. Jesus, you replay the few words you’ve heard him say over and over, savoring each syllable, each quirk of his accent. Even the last thing he said—

I wouldn’t mind it, though.

That makes you open your eyes again, widening them as you take in the pocks and scrapes on the ceiling. He wouldn’t mind what? Having company in the gym? Having you, specifically, as his company? You don’t know what to make of it, or what he meant by it. Honestly, you feel like you don’t know anything right now.

Except that you want him. That’s the only thing you’re sure of. You want to know how his hands feel on you, how they would run over your bare skin, what the callouses on his fingers would feel like on the most delicate and sensitive parts of your body. Your imagination leaps ahead of you, guiding your own hand down into your shorts and under the band of your panties. You tease yourself, just dipping your fingers into the wet heat, trailing them over your clit like a hint to yourself, coaxing your arousal out of your panic.

His hands would feel different. When you rub your index finger over your clit, you imagine his finger instead, pressing gently against you, building up friction slowly, making you ache. You wonder if he’d savor your reactions, watching you get worked up, grinding against his hand to seek any kind of relief.

“Easy, Ladybird,” you imagine him saying, the nickname now a tease. And he’d know your real name, the one hidden away in your file. He’d whisper it into your ear, breath hot on your neck, his whole body eclipsing yours.

Your pace quickens, fingers running urgently between your clit and opening, causing your core to tighten and your breath to come in short gasps and barely-concealed moans. Ghost would tell you to let them out, let the whole damn base hear how aroused he makes you, how badly you’ve wanted him.

You breathe his name into the small space of your room, a whisper in the still air broken only by the low hum of the forced air in the vents. When you finally plunge your fingers in, it takes every bit of self-control not to outright moan and let everyone nearby know what you’re doing. Normally, you can stay quiet when you get yourself off, but you’re damn near frantic with this, whatever it is Ghost has done to you.

His fingers in you, fucking you in long, languid strokes, drawing himself out and pushing back in—all the while, watching your reactions. When you rock your hips to the pace of your hand, you imagine his voice again, “That’s right. Fuck yourself on my hand. Let me see you.”

You’d show him. Hell, you’d soak his hand, and it would remind him that it’s his fault you’re like this.

The wet sounds of your hand on your cunt is lewd and loud. It’s almost too much, enough to make you stop at the apex of your pleasure, to hide yourself under the blankets in shame and pretend that none of this happened.

But the vision of Ghost keeps you going, keeps your fingers moving in and out, crooking them inside and forcing out a gasp as a white-hot shock of pleasure lances up your spine and settles warm in your belly. The pad of your thumb presses against your clit, and you multitask on yourself, building up that friction, bringing yourself to the precipice.

He’d take you there. He might even pull you back from the edge over and over, teasing you with the fall.

“Do you want it? How bad? Show me.”

God, you would. Any way he wanted, you would show him. You’d beg and plead if that’s what got him to finally make you come.

So you whisper, “Please,” into the night, to a man who is never going to be in your bed, never going to touch you like this, never going to see your pleasure through to the end. The Ghost in your imagination has to stay there, behind locked doors and bulkheads, secured and contained for good.

But until then, you chase your orgasm with him, hitting that divine height and going into a freefall. Blood rushes in your ears, muscles twitching, heart racing. Your head comes off the pillow, back arching, toes digging into the mattress, mouth open on a moan that you refuse to let loose. You come way harder than you ever have using your own hand, enough that when you finally lower yourself back onto the bed, you grimace at the feeling of a wet patch on the sheets.

“Fuck,” you say, very emphatically. To yourself, to Ghost, to the whole damn situation.

Groaning, you reach over and grab the towel, wiping your hand and tucking it under your ass before rolling onto your back again and wondering what the hell you’re going to do.

---

You’re going to hide from Ghost, that’s what.

Captain Price gives the team a few days off to rest up for the next mission, and you decide right then and there that you’re going to spend every second off base, as far away from the barracks as you can get. You’ll get a hotel, order a ridiculously expensive amount of room service, and marinate in your feelings for a couple days until it’s all out of your system. Maybe you’ll go to a bar or coffee shop and chat up some nice person who isn’t a tall, broad, terrifying British soldier. And maybe you’ll have a night of incredible passion and twisted sheets, and it’ll be so cathartic that when you come back to base, you’ll be a whole new person.

That plan holds until your phone goes off while you’re packing up.

It’s a text from Soap: ‘wyd?’

‘Going off radar for a couple days. Why?’

He sends a sad emoji, then two beer glasses clinking together, a soccer ball, and then a big red question mark. Apparently, Soap only knows how to speak in hieroglyphs.

You smile, and type back, ‘Sorry, need to go clear my head.’

Skull emoji. Question mark.

‘None of your beeswax,’ you send, followed by the soap emoji.

‘that sucks,’ he types back. There’s a short pause, and then he types again. ‘cause he was looking for u earlier’

Your heart damn near comes to a stop, and you very hesitantly respond, ‘Why?’

‘idk. think he wanted to ask u smth’

Nope. You’re not taking the bait. If Ghost wants to talk to you, he can come right up and—and you can walk off in the opposite direction and act like there’s something incredibly interesting that you need to see right that second.

You type a few variations of ‘Then he can come and talk to me himself,’ but none of them sound particularly nice. Ghost hasn’t done anything wrong, so there’s no reason for you to act like he has. And for that matter, you’re supposed to be hiding from Ghost, not encouraging him to find you. Instead, you send back a clipped, ‘Okay.’

Nothing.

For one hopeful second, you think Soap’s mercifully let the conversation go, allowing you to go in peace to your nice hotel and your overpriced room service food.

Instead, you get the sunglasses emoji, a wink face, and, ‘k i told him to come see u’.

‘WHAT’

The only response is the skull and the little running cloud dash emoji, suggesting that Ghost is making a beeline right to your room. Panic seizes you and you fling your phone on your bed like somehow it’s going to help. It bounces harmlessly, then lands screen up, emojis taunting you.

Quickly, you start shoving the rest of your clothes and toiletries in your bag without a care as to where everything goes, eager to book it out of there as fast as your legs can take you. Once your bag is zipped up and thrown over your shoulder, you think you might be in the clear. Mission nearly accomplished.

Nearly.

Two solid knocks on your door almost make you hit the ceiling. You hold still, using that Jurassic Park wisdom again: if you don’t move, he can’t see you.

That applies to fictional dinosaurs, not trained killers, and certainly not Ghost. He knocks again, then follows it up with, “Ladybird, it’s me.”

Yeah, you know. That’s the problem.

Briefly, you consider going out the window, shimmying out and potentially getting caught on a base security camera for someone to laugh at later. That doesn’t make the problem go away, though.

You can just tell him you’re in a hurry, that your ride is at the gate right now and you don’t want to keep them waiting. Whatever conversation he wants to have, it’ll have to wait until you get back. It’s a good response. Solid. Foolproof.

And it dissolves the second you open the door.

He’s there, not vanished in the disappearing act you were hoping for, and all that want flares up again the moment you see him. He’s in casual dress like what he wore to the club—boots, jeans, t-shirt, hoodie, balaclava. His posture’s more relaxed, one hand in his hoodie pocket, the other hanging at his side. You meet his eyes, and your regret mixes with desire welling up inside you.

It’s that intense gaze from the helo, the brief but incendiary look from Berlin, the thoughtful gaze from the gym. You’re drawn up in it immediately, and this time, there’s no possibility of looking away. Ghost has you locked in.

He takes in the sight of you, dressed in your civvies, backpack on your shoulders, and raises his brows. “Going somewhere?”

Your mouth is cotton-dry, and you’re proud of yourself for putting a little syntax together. “Yeah,” you say. “I’m headed out.”

Right now, you should say. I’m going out right this second and I cannot be stopped. Do not engage.

But you don’t say that. You leave the words as they are, hanging between the two of you. In that moment, you’re two opposing fronts of contradictions—you want him to go, stay, talk, stay silent, touch you, leave you alone.

Ghost seems to sense this, that you’re not making any move to either speak to him or push him away. He doesn’t get into your space, staying right where he is while looking at you with his head slightly tilted. “Can I come in a sec?”

No. “Yes.” Please.

You take a step back, allowing him to walk into your room. His presence seems to fill it, like there’s too much of him and too little space to contain it. He closes the door behind himself, then finds a spot against the wall (the rare section that isn’t covered by posters or mementos) and leans against it. Still, still giving you your space.

You’re all nerves, waiting for him to speak, yet feeling like you should say something—to get all your feelings out in the open, exposed and waiting for him to pick over and do with what he will. But your anxiety and silence wins out, and instead you fidget, trying to find a point in the room to fix your gaze. Ghost takes all your attention though, holding it in a firm, invisible grip that can’t be broken no matter what you do. You get now, more than ever, why people are so scared of him when they end up at the wrong end of his skill set—he immobilizes them, rendering them completely unable to do a damn thing.

He watches you for an agonizingly long moment, then sighs. “Look, I didn’t want to bother you if you were busy, but Soap said you were around,” he says. Ghost doesn’t trail off or leave a space in his words for you to fill in the blanks. It’s a good thing—no place for you to misinterpret him—but it suddenly leaves you terrified at the possibility of what he’s going to say.

“Just for a little bit,” you hear yourself say, voice subdued and small.

He nods. “Then I’ll just get it out now before you go. More or less a question.”

Fuck. You feel a strange, uncomfortably cold sensation curl up tight and tense in your stomach. The feeling of standing at the edge of a long drop, knowing you have no choice but to let go.

His eyes are locked on yours, unrelenting, pinning. And then he says, “Do you have feelings for me?”

Right. No way to misinterpret.

You suck in a breath—a gasp, jerking at the question even though you knew it was coming.

You could lie. It’d be easy to do, just a few movements of tongue, jaw, and lips. No, I don’t. Three easy words. You could say you appreciate him as a teammate, as a professional, as someone you can trust in tough situations. He has your back; you have his. Anything beyond that is too much, to far outside of the commanding officer-subordinate hierarchy.

But you can’t lie to him. He’ll know. He’s trained in looking for tells, for the slightest quirk to denote that you’re holding back the truth. That, and you don’t want to lie to him.

Instead, quietly, you say, “Yes,” and inwardly brace for impact. Any kind of dressing-down from your C.O. and reminder of responsibilities and duties; or on a personal level, that Ghost doesn’t do relationships. You’re tensed up, waiting for its inevitable blow and all the shrapnel that’s definitely going to land right in your heart.

“Oh,” he says.

Oh.

Just one syllable, said deceptively, uncharacteristically soft. It belies so many things—possibilities, dangers. This man is fucking complicated.

And then he takes a step toward you. Just one. Just enough to close the gap that many inches. You don’t back up, but you’re too afraid to walk to him, unsure of what’s coming next.

He’s looking down at you, gaze passive, calm, and strangely open. You’ve learned new and interesting ways to read his eyes since you fell for him, but this one has an unknown definition, a kinesic oddity that you can’t translate.

And for a moment, you let yourself hope.

Then, he says your name. Not Ladybird. Not your rank. Your name. The sound of it is a rush in your ears, in your whole head, through every artery, vein, and capillary. He takes another step, slower than the first, drawing in closer before he says, “Do you want this?”

You nod. There’s nothing else you can do. You take a step toward him, looking up into his eyes and trying to read everything there. “Do you?” you ask. You’re still waiting for the rejection, as though Ghost is the type of person to lure you in only to shut you down.

Rejection doesn’t come. Instead, he steps forward to close the gap, one of his hands finding your waist.

“Yeah,” he says. “I do.”

Holy shit.

You stare at him in surprise, and the look on your face must be ridiculously easy to read. His other hand goes up under your chin, tilting your face toward him. The touch of his fingers is exactly like you imagined, the callouses on his thumb brushing over the soft skin underneath your jaw, causing you to shiver.

Ghost leans in close to your left side, skull’s grin close to your ear, and whispers, “Thought you hated me. Every time I looked at you, you’d look away.”

A near-hysterical laugh bubbles up in your throat, and comes out as a compressed, breathless giggle. All that time, you were so hopelessly in love with him, you couldn’t look at him without feeling like your heart was about to give out; and he interpreted that as dislike.

“God, no,” you say. “Total opposite.”

He laughs in your ear, and the sound chases out the remainder of that cold tension, replacing it with a newfound heat that feels good. “Wish I’d known sooner,” he says, and one of his hands goes up to push a strap of your backpack off your shoulder.

You ease out of it, dropping it to the floor, before reaching out and tentatively touching his waist in return. Through the fabric of his hoodie, you can feel how solid he is underneath, and you run your hand along his side in silent wonder.

Ghost moves back suddenly, and you only have a second to question why before the light goes out, leaving you in muted darkness permeated only by the bare sliver of sunlight filtering through your curtain. One hand finds your waist again, pulling you close, walking you toward your bed.

All you can think is no fucking way over and over, even as the back of your legs hit the side of the bed, and Ghost is lowering you down. Your back touches the mattress, head on the pillow, and Ghost is over the top of you, his hands bracketing your head. He looks down at you, mostly in shadow, only the bright white of the skull motif visible in the darkness. Then, his eyes flicker to his left, and he abruptly snorts.

You furrow your brow. “What?”

Wordlessly, his hand moves to the right of your head, and he picks up your phone.

Your phone which is still on, showing the emoji-heavy conversation with Soap. Ghost flips the phone to show you the last text he sent.

Skull emoji, kiss, black heart, red heart, ladybug, eggplant, peach, confetti ball, birthday cake.

“What the fuck, Soap?” you say under your breath, grabbing the phone from Ghost. You quickly turn it off and shove it onto your bedside table, groaning in embarrassment.

Ghost shakes his head, and unlike Soap, he doesn’t remark on it. Instead, he brings the situation right back on the rails with one hand going up under your shirt. Then, he says, “Close your eyes a second.”

You do, without question. You hear a faint rustle of fabric, and then his lips press against yours.

You gasp against his mouth, and that thrill you felt at hearing your name seems to rush back through you twofold at the thought that he took his mask off for you. He kisses you firmly, a guarantee that this is what he wants. You reach up with one hand, combing your fingers through his hair, nails scraping along his scalp and drawing out a quiet groan. He smells like standard-issue soap and laundry detergent, and the faint spice of cologne only just clinging to his skin. The feeling of kissing him is dizzying, entrancing, and the sound of it just hammers home that this is happening to you, in your room, with him.

He pulls back just a little, kissing a trail from the corner of your mouth down to your chin, then your jaw, and up to your ear. The sensation makes you shiver again, arching up into him involuntarily. You hear and feel an amused huff of breath, before he says, “What do you want?”

Good god, what don’t you want?

“I don’t know,” you say honestly. “Anything. Whatever you want.”

He nods against your neck, then tilts his head up to press a kiss to your temple. “Tell me if it’s too much, or if there’s something you don’t like. Communicate.”

You grin, mostly at the sotto voce version of his command voice. “Yes, sir.”

He huffs a laugh and continues kissing down your neck, down to the hemline of your shirt. Undressing comes as an easy next step, shoes off first (and they were on the bed, ugh), and then Ghost pulls your shirt up; you lift yourself enough to help him pull it over your head. In the darkness, he does the same, and you watch his silhouette remove his hoodie, then pull his shirt over his head and drop it off the side of the bed. You can’t see his face, but the faint beam of sunlight touches his hair and brings out a hint of pale gold. It feels like a secret shared between you, adding to that warmth building up inside.

He leans back down, kissing down your sternum to the upper hem of your sports bra. He starts to go lower, and you decide then that you’d like to take at least a little initiative.

“Wait,” you whisper. “Come back up here.”

He does, like he’s accustomed to obeying your orders rather than the other way around. You reach up and touch his chest, eager to feel this part of him, the one he typically buries under layers of clothing and gear. He sighs at your touch, head dropping down to rest on the pillow beside you.

He’s firm and toned with well-honed muscle earned through endless missions and exercise. At the same time, the skin of his chest is surprisingly soft—even the scattered network of scars and keloids that mark his body. You feel old and new wounds, some still raised as they heal, some concave with age. They’re long, short, thick, thin, orderly, and jagged. Starbursts of bullet wounds, hard lines of cuts, spatters of shrapnel, textured lines of old stitches. His whole torso tells a long, tragic story from cover to cover, chest to back.

But he leans into this read of him, letting you feel every scar, every painful moment. His breathing is steady in your ear, giving way to the occasional sigh as your fingers trail over his skin.

In turn, he touches you. You don’t have even a fraction of his scars, but you have a few he can note. You know when he touches them, by the way his touch lingers, learning each one. It feels reverential, or communal—the two of you engaging in a silent trust exercise. He doesn’t ask about them, and neither do you. All of that is for another time.

Ghost presses a kiss to your shoulder, then pushes up until he’s over top of you again. His free hand goes down to the waistline of your jeans, finger tracing teasingly over the zipper. “Can I?”

“Yeah,” you say, breathless. As if you’d say anything else.

He undoes the button, then the zipper, slowly pulling your jeans to your hips, then removing them entirely. He sits up on the edge of the bed for a moment, removing his boots, then his jeans. You lay there, watching him move, feeling your arousal start to grow and burn like a low flame.

When he touches you again, you silently agree that you wish you’d said or done something sooner. It’s bliss. He’s gentle with you, mindful even, in a way you’ve never experienced or anticipated from someone like him. He helps you out of your bra, letting you pull it all the way off before his hands palm your breasts in slow, deliberate movements. It’s an extension of his exploratory touches, learning your body inch by inch.

Your breathing quickens, and Ghost looks up at you in what you guess is concern. “Doing alright?” he asks.

Your face grows hot, and you nod, turning your head to kiss his cheek. “I’m fine,” you reply. “I just don’t know what to do.”

It’s not like you haven’t had sex before, but sex with him feels completely different, like it doesn’t belong in the same category. You’ve never wanted someone this badly, or had someone respond to you like this. It’s almost overwhelming, but Ghost reaches up and combs some of your hair away from your face before pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Lie back a bit,” he instructs. “And tell me if you need me to stop.”

You do as he says, leaning up against the pillows as he moves down your body, leaving a trail of kisses down your torso to your hips. He’s a shadow moving over you, long and languid, and every touch just adds to the mounting heat. When his fingers touch the hem of your underwear, you shiver in anticipation, then arch your hips to give him a little leverage in removing them. In one motion, you’re exposed to him, even in the dark. Yet after touching him, and him touching you, you don’t feel as vulnerable. If anything, this feels safe. This feels right.

His hands go to your hips, then run slowly along the outer sides of your thighs. You think he might fulfill that fantasy from earlier, fingering you until you’re a mess, drawing out every last ounce of pleasure with his skilled hands.

Which is why it surprises the hell out of you when he goes lower, until his head is between your thighs, sunlight leaving gold stripes along his back.

“Ghost,” you gasp.

He looks up at you, and now more than ever, you wish you could see his face. You only see the faint shine of his eyes, but at that moment, it’s enough.

Then he spreads you, and licks a stripe from your opening to your clit.

If you were entertaining any thoughts before, any fantasies carefully curated in those rare hours of alone time, they flee in that single movement. Even the Ghost of your imagination never did this, tasting and savoring you in long, slow laps that make your whole brain short out like a blown fuse. The sound is goddamn obscene, especially as he leans in close and starts to lap at your clit. It’s a shock of sound in the silence, louder than even your own noises when you got yourself off.

Your right hand finds his head, fingers running through his hair as he licks you. He alternates between short laps and long strokes, tongue circling around your clit, teasing you, making you shudder and moan. It’s frustrating and fucking heavenly, the sensation of ebb and flow, receding and rushing waves of heat building up then flowing back.

Right when you think you can’t take the teasing anymore, he switches tactics. The teasing abruptly ends, and Ghost gets relentless.

You moan way too loud when he sucks at your clit, tongue swirling around it, the sound of his mouth on you loud as a gunshot. You swear they have to hear it down the hallway, or anywhere on base. At this point, though, you really don’t care who hears you, because they don’t have Ghost between their legs, getting them off in ways no deity ever intended.

Then his fingers join his mouth, index tracing circles around your entrance, dipping in slowly, tauntingly.

“Fuck.” The word is sharp in the air, as you arch at the sensation.

It’s too much; it’s not enough.

He tilts his head up a little, but when he speaks, you feel his warm breath ghost over your sex. “Let me hear you,” he says, words drawn straight out of your fantasies. Every door containing that imaginary version of Ghost is unlocked, every bulkhead breached—that Ghost and this one are one in the same.

And when he pushes that first finger into you, you follow his order to the letter.

It comes out as a broken wail, cut off when he starts thrusting and licking you in alternate strokes. His pace quickens, merciless, sharp eyes watching you from the shadows as your head rolls back on the pillow, chest heaving to catch a single solid breath. Your hands drop to your sides, fisting the sheets just to have something to hang onto, any kind of anchor as Ghost guides you through a tempest.

You moan his name, last consonant catching on a sob of pleasure when he starts to add a second finger. Only then does he pause, and the absence of his mouth is stark.

Then he says your name, temporarily drawing you out of the cumulonimbus of arousal you’re flying through, briefly bringing you back to earth.

You look down at him, the silhouette of his head, small locks of hair sticking up from where your fingers combed through. You see him tilt his head to rest his cheek against your inner thigh, and his voice rolls out like a dull roar of thunder in your ears. “It’s Simon,” he says. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Somehow, hearing his real name in the midst of all this is almost too much. Like the last little vestige of a play on stage falling away and revealing the inner workings of the backstage, all the ropes and pullies holding the show together. He’s more exposed now, more raw, more human.

You reach down, trembling hand brushing over his cheek, over stubble and scar tissue, and the soft skin of a very real face.

“Simon,” you whisper. It sounds like a confession.

He doesn’t reply, but you feel him smile against your hand, briefly turning his head to press a kiss against your palm. Then he’s lowering himself down again, coaxing you out of the eye of the storm and back into the maelstrom. Two fingers thrust and curl, filling you, leaving you empty, touching places that send bolts of pleasure through you.

Your pulse becomes the thunder of the helo’s blades, your body trembling with midair turbulence. Simon fucks you on his fingers, tongue lathing over your clit, mouth fucking worshiping you. He takes you to that precipice, the long fall, the drop through cloud cover to a faintly-marked point on the earth.

The step off the edge feels like perfect, natural progression.

Your orgasm sweeps through you from toe to tip, a roll of white-out pleasure shaking you, wringing a cry out of your mouth that makes Simon fuck you harder. His fingers don’t let up, working you through the tidal wave, taking you to shore on the other side.

You’re boneless at the end, slumping back on the pillow and panting, shivering, taking stock of your limbs and extremities as they each come back online after the outage. You only vaguely register the feeling of Simon moving on the bed, coming up to lay beside you.

He murmurs your name, then kisses you, and you can smell and taste yourself on him. Your hand goes up to run along his jawline, one rogue thought telling you, yeah, you can cut glass with it.

How everything gets so gentle afterwards is beyond you. Simon’s hand is on your face, thumb brushing the soft skin under your right eye. You can feel his erection against your leg, and somewhere in the back of your mind—still tingling with pleasure, shimmering bright and brilliant—you know how you’re going to take initiative.

You break the kiss just for a moment, delighting in the soft sigh of protest you hear and feel against your cheek. Then you lean in close, pitching your voice low like his, hoping it has the same effect on him.

“Hope you don’t have any plans this weekend,” you say, brushing your hand over his shoulder.

You feel him smile against your skin, and he shakes his head.

“Thought you were heading out,” he says.

“Only if you’re going with me.”

One arm goes around your waist, pulling you close as he nuzzles against your neck. “We have some time, though, right?” his voice slides over you, suggestion clear and presented like a gift.

God, yeah you do.

---

Somewhere in between rounds, your phone goes off on your bedside stand.

Once.

Twice.

You don’t hear it, and the short buzz is drowned out by moans and the soft slap of skin on skin. When Simon makes a move like he’s going to check on it, you hook him back in place with your leg around his waist, pulling him in close, then kissing him silent. He falls into it, all too happy to oblige.

So you miss the skull and ladybug emojis, then the volume symbol.

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley x you #em dash and italics party is here to staaaay #can you believe this was going to be longer #am i super happy with it? not totally but it was p fun

3K notes · View notes

kaiijo · 11 months

Text

FIRST DATES — [HONKAI: STAR RAIL]

characters: welt, gepard, sampo, jing yuan, tingyun, kafka content: gn! reader, food/eating in jing yuan’s and kafka’s, mentions of drinking (tea!) in tingyun’s

welt yang ✶

you love the way the lights of the stars reflect in welt’s eyes as the astral express rockets through the galaxy. he points out a line of stars, telling you, “that’s lan the reignbow’s constellation.”

the observatory car on the astral express is surprisingly underutilized. You figure it’s because you can see the universe through every window of the train. but the observatory car is special; the windows stretch from the ceiling to the floor and the seating is oriented to face outwards. there’s a robotic guide that you can ask questions to, but you turned it off when welt and you settled into the car. he’s better than any automated infobot.

you blink at the thousands of stars that dot the sky and squint. “i don’t see it.”

welt chuckles and stands, holding his hand out. you take it and he leads you to the window, using your intertwined hands to trace the outline of the constellation. “see?” he asks, as patient and affectionate as ever. “there’s his arm and his bow stretched to the sky. it’s quite an extraordinary sight.”

you know it’s a damn cliché, but you’re only focused on the calm on welt’s face and the glimmer in his eye as you reply, “yeah, it is.”

when you turn to face the constellation, you don’t realize that welt does the exact same thing.

gepard landau ✶

this is actually your third attempt at a first date with gepard. the first two were, unsurprisingly, interrupted by an urgent matter he had to attend to with the silvermane guards and pela calling because she needed help getting a drunk serval home safely. (serval felt so bad about stealing her brother away that she sent you a pretty bouquet of flowers the next day.)

you figure out that paying for movie tickets and making reservations is pointless, given the unpredictability of when gepard will be needed again so you decide instead to just take a walk around belabog.

your walk quickly turns into a game of ‘stay away from the silvermane guards because you know gepard will rush to fix any problems they have and you’ll be damned if he’s taken away from you again.’

“i’ve never actually read these before,” gepard admits to you as you stand in front of the wall plastered with posters of famous belobogian plays and movies. you stand close together, arms brushing, as he pauses to read the captions.

out of the corner of your eye, you see the familiar glint of silver and blue armor and you quickly slip your hand into gepard’s. “let’s go make a wish in the fountain.” you drag him along, praying that he doesn’t see dunn on patrol. that guy always has something to say and it’s usually asking about serval.

when you glance back, your pleasantly surprised to see dunn nowhere in sight and a pink tint to gepard’s face.

sampo koski ✶

leave it to sampo to take you to the fight club on your first date. “got us premium, front row tickets to the hottest fight in town,” sampo says as he leads you with a hand on the small of your back into the fight club.

“can’t anyone just walk in?” you ask him.

he wags his finger at you, smile broad and blindingly white. “not this one!”

you find yourself smiling at his enthusiasm. “alright, well, thank you for bringing me then.”

sampo replies, “anything for my favorite person.”

when he walks in, dr. dig rushes up to him. “where’ve you been, man? you’re ten minutes late!”

“sorry, sorry,” sampo says, though he doesn’t sound apologetic in the least. he nudges you towards dr. dig. “take care of this one while i’m occupied.”

you raise an eyebrow. “and where are you off to?”

sampo’s smile only widens. “didn’t i tell you? i’m fighting in this tournament.” your eyes widen and sampo continues, “and if i win all my rounds, you’ll go out with me again, right? please say yes or else you’ll break my fragile little heart.”

jing yuan ✶

jing yuan’s already lounging on the picnic blanket when his secretary shows you to the gardens. his eyes lift and a slow smile spreads across his face. “a sight for sore eyes,” he says as you sit down with him. there’s an array of xianzhou delicacies like berrypheasant skewers, songlotus cakes, and tuskpir wraps.

you’re a little shy under jing yuan’s gaze, carefully lifting a cake to your mouth and taking a bite, the cake making its signature laughing sound as you do. as you chew, jing yuan reaches over and tilts your chin up with his fingers, thumb coming to graze the corner of your mouth.

your face explodes into flames as he says, “just some crumbs,” in that low drawl. it sends pleasant shivers down your spine.

as you finish your cake, jing yuan stretches up with a groan and looks at you with half-lidded eyes. “would you mind if i rested? i’m quite tired from the day.”

“not at all,” you reply but you don’t expect him to lay his head in your lap. your face feels even hotter but you choose to rub your fingers through his hair, massaging his scalp. you swear you hear jing yuan purr.

“tell me about your day,” he says. “i like hearing your voice.”

tingyun ✶

tingyun’s fluffy tail brushes against your leg as mengming leads you to a table. “do you come here often?” you ask her.

she giggles, “i think you need a better pick up line.”

you pout a little. “it was a genuine question, tingyun.”

“i know, i’m just teasing,” she says. “yes, i come here when i need a break, which doesn’t really happen often but mengming has the best tea.”

“what do you like here?”

she hums and says, “i like their immortal tea. it’s a good amount of sweetness and a great price too. it’s definitely a favorite.”

you nod, glancing at the menu. then, you look back at her sitting across from you and say, “did you do something new to your ears? they look extra soft today.”

“oh! you noticed! yes, it’s a new shampoo,” she says. with a wink, she tells you, “keep talking like that and you’ll be a favorite of mine too!”

kafka ✶

you narrowly dodge an attack from one of the citadel’s soldiers, instead dropping down and using your momentum to kick out the soldier’s leg instead. they drop instantly and it allows you to dive off the side of the municipal building, opening up a portal.

you land besides kafka, who’s already inside the building’s main ballroom. all the entrances and exits are sealed off due to the lockdown protocol, and you have no doubt that kafka incapacitated all the soldiers who had the misfortune of running into her.

you look around the grand room, then at her and say, “this is an odd place for a stellaron.” even odder, there’s a table in the middle of the room with lit candles, glasses of red wine, and plates of rich pastas. the gramophone in the corner plays a languid, elegant violin concerto.

kafka says, “that’s because there isn’t one here.”

you tilt your head. “come again?”

she chuckles and pats your cheek. “you’re so cute. i made the whole thing up. apologies but i wanted to surprise you for our first date.”

you blink owlishly at her as she sits down at the table, placing the napkin delicately on her lap. she looks at you expectantly and you snap out of your surprise, a small laugh leaving your own lips. you slide into your own seat. “you certainly have a flair for the dramatics, kafka.”

she smirks. “had to make an impression.” she lifts her wine glass and you do the same, clinking them together. as always, kafka achieved her goal. you don’t think you’ll ever forget this first date.

#honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai: star rail x reader #welt yang x reader #welt x reader #gepard landau x reader #gepard x reader #sampo koski x reader #sampo x reader #jing yuan x reader #tingyun x reader #kafka x reader #honkai star rail imagines #honkai star rail scenarios

1K notes · View notes

ghostlykeyes · 6 months

Note

Can you do some relationship headcannons for heartsteel kayn? thank u!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

HEARTSTEEL KAYN: RELATIONSHIP HEADCANONS ♡ Gender Neutral ♡ SFW ♡ No TWs

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

KAYN

'Attention whore' doesn't even begin to cover how much Kayn craves your affection. When he wants you to pay attention to him he wants it now and he'll do whatever he needs to get it. If you're gaming, he'll drape himself over your shoulders, chin on your head, and backseat-game until you acknowledge him. If you're doing chores, he'll help you (will wonders never cease?) so you can finish faster and then hang out with him. If he thinks you're spending too much time on you're phone he'll straight-up call you, no matter what you're in the middle of. He pokes and prods and bugs you until you love on him!

Kayn is extremely touch-oriented. If he's with you, regardless of where you two are, he's probably touching you—a hand wedged in your back pocket while waiting in line to order food, a strong grip around your thigh when he's driving, a protective arm slung around your shoulders during a late-night walk. He's especially handsy when the two of you are lounging around. If you're cuddling, sleeping, watching a movie—anything that requires sitting still, essentially—Kayn's always drumming his fingers against your legs, or absentmindedly playing with your hair.

Kayn loves PDA. Doesn't matter when, doesn't matter where. He'll bite your lip or smack your ass in front of any of the Heartsteel members, with no shame. He'll full-on make out with you in public, even if there's fans or paparazzi watching—especially if there's paparazzi watching. What better way to tell all the drooling fans to 'fuck off, he's already taken'?

Protect your favorite jewelry fiercely, because Kayn will "borrow" anything that he thinks is cool. Of course he gives it back when he's done with it, but be warned—he might start wearing it so often, you'll never get the chance to. (He says he just thinks you have good taste—which is true, you're with him, after all—but there's a sentimental part of him that just likes wearing your things, a constant metallic reminder that he's yours and you're his.)

Kayn doesn't let you see his songs until they're completely finished. Yes, of course he knows you'll love whatever he writes, even if it's half-done and in desperate need of editing, but he never wants you to see anything other than his best work.

Being so reckless means that Kayn gets scraped up from time to time. He loves when you sit him down and fuss over his wounds, even if he swears every time you come at him with the rubbing alcohol. You kiss every scratch and scrape after plastering a band-aid on it, 'kissing it better', of course, and Kayn looks down at you with such softness that for a moment he seems like a completely different person. "Be more careful", you chide, but he just laughs. "Aw, come on," he says, "but you love nursing me back to health."

When Kayn says, "Can't handle me? That's your problem," he really means it, but deep down he knows he can be a pain in the ass to be with sometimes. He will never express that with words, of course, but he's surprisingly understanding whenever the two of you argue. Whenever a little tiff arises, he takes some time to cool off. He knows he can be impulsive and rash, and he doesn't want to lash out at you. After calming down he'll try to talk about whatever's upset you. He comes off a little bratty and stubborn, but that's just his way. He really is trying his best to communicate with you. Plus, you're just about the only person he'll ever say sorry to, which should tell you how hard he's trying to make things between you work.

Kayn has absolutely spray-painted your initials inside of a heart on the side of an overpass. Multiple overpasses, in fact. Also, a few abandoned buildings, a handful of boxcars, and, one particularly wild night, the side of a police station.

You're the only person Kayn lets himself nerd out in front of. You know that he's got VCR copies of all his favorite old slasher films in a box underneath his bed, you know he keeps the ticket stubs from his first-ever Pentakill concert in an envelope at the bottom of his desk drawer, and yes, you even know about the Ezreal poster still tape-stuck to the wall of his childhood bedroom—though he swears he'll never forgive you if you ever bring up that last one.

Kayn's camera roll is absolutely full of grunge-aesthetic selfies the two of you have taken. His favorite is a slightly-blurry mirror shot of you gently wrapping your hand around his throat and kissing his temple. There's loads of photos like that.

Kayn is the absolute best gift-giver. He is, after all, completely fucking obsessed with you. Of course he knows your favorite flower, your favorite sweet, and the random things that have been on your Christmas list since early July, and of course he spoils you with them, often. Just don't expect him to wrap your gifts. To him, a roll of wrapping paper might as well be rocket science.

Even though he completely adores you, Kayn sometimes struggles to say "I love you" out loud. Softness has always made him uncomfortable. But he never wants you to question that he really does love you, so he often sneaks you a sticky note scribbled with "LUV U" and about a hundred messy X's and O's. You find these little messages everywhere—crumpled into your coat pocket, folded up underneath your phone case, slipped in your wallet.

If you let Kayn pick out a tattoo for you, he considers letting you pick his next tattoo, too. Don't worry, though, he'll come up with a totally kick-ass design for you. He'll suggest something spooky but unexpectedly charming, like a cat draped in a ghost-sheet or a skull with heart eyes. As for his, just pick something small that he can cover up during photoshoots or performances. He could definitely be convinced to get matching tattoos with you, if you give him your best puppy eyes!

Whenever you're out of the room, Kayn sneakily spritzes his cologne on your clothes. He wants everyone to smell him on you and know that you're fucking his.

Your profile picture is always at the very top of Kayn's discord DM's. Unless he's busy working on a song, he messages you constantly. If you don't mute notifications for him, expect to hear the discord ping several times a day.

#kayn #heartsteel kayn #heartsteel headcanons #heartsteel #sheida kayn #kayn/reader #kayn x reader #heartsteel /reader #heartsteel x reader #when I tell you there were like ten more points when I was drafting this....#I'm obsessed #but I was not about to post a seven-page word doc of silly thoughts about this boy.....TOO LENGTHY !!!

539 notes · View notes

amsznn · 1 month

Text

COOK OUT - c. sturniolo

chris x black !fem reader

in which chris is invited to the reader’s yearly family cook out

warnings: none, just fluff

“okay, how do i look?” your focus shifted from your phone, to your boyfriend standing in front of you. he did a little spin to show off his outfit which made you laugh.

“babe you look fine, i told you this like five times now.” you sighed before getting up from the couch, while adjusting your dress.

“i know…i just,” chris sighed before continuing. “i just want everyone to like me.”

you frowned as you saw how anxious your boyfriend seemed. you cupped his face with both of your hands before smushing them together, eliciting a smile from the brunette.

“they’ll love you babe, now lets go.”

as you chris drew nearer to the entrance to the backyard, the music got louder, and chris’ nerves seemed to increase as well.

you took his hand in yours and intertwined your fingers. “we can always go home, i’ll say you’re sick or something.” you say worried your boyfriend will be uncomfortable but chris quickly shook his head to the idea.

“no baby, i want to meet everyone, and i want to see you around the people that make you happy.” you softly smiled, before leaning up to give chris a big ol smooch on the cheek. he knew how family oriented you could be, and how these barbecues were a chance to bring everyone you loved together.

you two made your way through the gate of your parents house. you began to introduce chris to a lot of your aunties and uncles that were scattered across the lawn. each of them were dying to see the boy you brought back home.

after all the introductions, you made your way inside to the kitchen, where your parents were cooking up some more delicious food.

chris had already met your parents, from various holidays and vacations, so to say the least they were more than comfortable with each other.

“my y/n, chris!” your mom exclaimed as she put a spoon down before making her way to the both of you. giving you both hugs and a few pecks on your faces.

your dad was next to greet you two as he embraced you both in a tight hug. “oh, chris, come help me flip these burgers while you’re here!” your dad said while passing chris a spatula and some paper plates.

you roll your eyes playfully. “dad, we just got here!” you laugh as your dad began to lead chris out the kitchen.

your dad simply shoo’d you off before reassuring you. “oh he’ll be fine, cmon boy.”

you gave chris an apologetic smile and he could only laugh before giving you a kiss goodbye. he followed your dad outback to help him prepare more food to serve to the guests. truthfully, he loved this. he felt like this was the best way to bond with everyone around him.

you could already see from the kitchen window the amount of uncles surrounding him at the grill. probably asking him a bunch of questions, and popping a few jokes here and there.

you also made your way outback but instead, you went to go rest at the lounge chairs where your cousins were hanging out.

you all caught up and a few of them even asked about chris here and there. complimenting him and his burger making skills which you were amused to hear.

after a while, you excused yourself to get a burger for yourself to eat. you made your way over to chris with a paper plate in hand. chris seemed to be having a conversation with one of your guy cousins but he excused himself when he saw you making your way towards him.

“you okay, baby?” he asks while adding more stuff to the grill.

“yeah, i just wanted to try a burger ‘cus everyone is talking about them.” you say while smiling and holding your plate out.

“like good talk, or bad talk?” chris asks playfully while placing a burger on your plate, before grabbing two buns to assemble your burger with.

“if it was bad talk you wouldn’t even be here anymore.” you laugh while taking back your plate.

“well i’ll be done in a few, i’ll come join you over there okay?” you nodded before turning around to make your way back to your seat.

about 2 hours went by with you and chris at the party. your dad finally let the poor boy go from the grill and you could finally spend sometime with each other.

chris was amazing from talking to the elderly, to even bonding with the little kids. even the grumpy teenagers were intrigued by him.

you yawned as you rose from your seat. “well, i think its time for us to go guys.” your little cousins groaned at this, not ready to say goodbye to their newfound best friend, chris.

after they bid their goodbyes, you two made way to say goodbye to everyone else. you got a lot of aunties telling you that you made a good choice with chris and hopefully he’s here to say to which you respond with a chuckle and a ‘definitely.” while chris got a lot of uncles dapping him up and bringing him into a hug as well.

your parents walked you two to your car and gave you both a goodbye hug.

“he’s coming next year right?” your dad asks almost immediately the hug ended. you and chris could only laugh and nod.

your parents waved goodbye as they watched your car drive off.

you couldn’t stop yourself from smiling in the passenger seat (yes chris can drive in this), which chris notices.

he takes one hand off the steering wheel and rests it on your thigh. you looked at him as you held his hand in yours. chris could feel your eyes lingering for a second more than usual.

“what?” he questions, not being able to hide the smile that was tugging at his lips.

“oh nothing..i just really love you.”

A/N: no foolish update todayyy sorry, possibly tmr tho! this was inspired by their one video where chris was flipping burgers. super cute 🫶🏽

tags:

@junnniiieee07 @tillies33ssss @whore4matt @stellarsturns @summerl986 @inveigledvex @beccaluvschris @stingerayyy2 @bunnysturns @braindead4l @vickyzloserz @sturnzsblog

#chris sturniolo #chris sturniolo headcanon #chris sturniolo x black reader #chris sturniolo fluff #chris sturniolo x you #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader

199 notes · View notes

wincore · 3 months

Text

indelicate | liu yangyang

pairing: yangyang x fem!reader

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

genre: oriental cyberpunk, f2l, fluff

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

words: 11.9k

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

i. city plaza

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not afraid,” you snap.

“Not afraid of the dark either?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Don’t say a word.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I- what? No. I’m not mad at you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You giggle, taking a moment to think.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He pauses for dramatic effect.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

ii. orchid club square

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

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

You clench your jaw in mild annoyance.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

She giggles algorithmically.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think you’re unreal,” he mumbles.

iii. club 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I mean, sort of.”

“Hey.” Yangyang looks at you with betrayal.

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

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

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

Lana laughs at his expression, patting his shoulder sympathetically.

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

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

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

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

“That’s exactly where—ah. I see.”

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I’m so proud of you for that.”

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

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

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

“Oh, we’ll get there.”

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

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

“I’m- I’m not- never mind.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug.

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

“I’m not a child,” you snap.

“My mom says childish people say that.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"We could do it for real."

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

"Sorry, sorry."

“Who are you even hiding from?”

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

“You have a bodyguard?”

“More like a babysitter.”

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

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

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

“They think you’re doing something illegal?”

“No. I don’t think I am.”

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

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

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

“Your babysitter’s gone?”

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

“The what?”

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

“Fortune doesn’t favour fools.”

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

You laugh, turning your attention to the food table.

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

“You’ve had, like, fifteen already.”

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

There’s a pause.

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

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

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

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

iv. fireworks viewpoint

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

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

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

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

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

You hum. "Stuff."

"This place is pretty cool, huh?"

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

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

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

"That would be difficult," you mutter.

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

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

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

He smiles at you, leaning against the balcony railing.

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

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

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

“I can. And I will.”

“Ugh. Move on.”

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

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

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

“Do you have money then?”

“Uh.”

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

“I… uh—”

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

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

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

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

“Don’t take her side, (name).”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Not mentally.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wh-what is?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

v. two-four-seven convenience store

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

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

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

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

You rest your chin on your palm, leaning in.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Not from me," he says, smiling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You can’t exactly respond to that very well.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Your babysitter?”

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

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

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

“I’ve never seen that.”

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so silly,” you mutter.

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

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

vi. blue moon station

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

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

"Is that a…?"

"A tourist bot, yes."

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

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

"Yeah. It's very… visually pleasing."

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

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

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

“You good?”

Yangyang crouches beside you with watchful eyes.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

The night has a different opinion.

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay,” Yangyang answers quietly.

vii. jasmine private lounge

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

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

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

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

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

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

"And you're pretty decent-looking—"

"I know that."

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

"Uh, that's your question?"

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

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

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

"You."

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

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

“He’s not an AI,” Yangyang whispers.

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

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

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

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

Yangyang makes a face at that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh," you respond. "Really?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You must be tired,” he mutters.

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

“Hm?”

“Why do you hang around me?”

“Do you not… want me to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You frown.

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

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

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

You straighten. “We should get back home.”

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

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

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

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

“How are you so nice to people?”

“I think people are nice.”

“Why do you like parties?”

“They’re fun.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This is going to be a long night.

viii. home

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

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

“Yangyang?!”

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

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

“Yangyang!”

“Huh? Oh!”

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

"Did- Did we…?"

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

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

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

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

You avoid eye contact in embarrassment.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m glad it wasn’t anyone else.”

“What?”

“You. It’s okay if it’s you.”

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

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

“What were we doing last night then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Okay, that was mean.”

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

#yangyang x reader #nct x reader #wayv x reader #yangyang scenarios #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #yangyang fluff #nct fluff #wayv fluff #yangyang fanfic #nct fanfic #yangyang fic #moonwrites #dawg idk what im doing imma be honest here

256 notes · View notes

elliesbelle · 8 months

Text

nobody compares to you

chapter 11

pairing: ellie x reader

synopsis: you're in your junior year of college and at a party, you run into the girl who broke your heart: ellie williams. despite the time it took to reset your life, will you risk a broken heart again for her?

content warnings: modern college au, cursing, angst, descriptions of alcohol and underage drinking, mentions of homophobic slurs, descriptions of marijuana use, men being creepy in general, drama between exes, descriptions of an anxiety attack, mentions of nausea and vomiting, minors do not interact

word count: 10.2k

chapters: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen

series masterlist

my masterlist

i have a ko-if if you like my work so much that you feel compelled to tip me ♡︎

the "nobody compares to you" spotify playlist

Freshman Year, Fall

You’d never been to a college party, much less a frat party. The extent of your knowledge was taught by cheesy and likely inaccurate movies where all the characters were all played by 30-year-olds pushing 40. But after the shit show that was your senior year of high school, you were looking forward to celebrating your newfound freedom through underage drinking and close-quartered gyrating.

Your roommate's name was Tara Maclay, a honey-blonde tomboy who wore baggy clothing and had a foul but amusing mouth. Your first few days involved polite conversation and awkward apologies when you’d accidentally invade the other’s personal space. However, after a late night of deep conversation, you’d discovered that you were both lesbians and felt a friendship click almost immediately.

During yet another freshman orientation, this time for your dorm held by your RAs in one of the lounges, you’d both befriended a few other girls who also resided in your building, Wilson Valley. The first you’d met was a girl named Astrid. She was tall, skinny, and had long black & blonde braids that swayed gracefully every time she moved. You couldn’t help but notice the way Tara eyed her, nudging her playfully to break her out of her slack-jawed loser lesbian stupor.

Astrid had greeted you both sweetly and introduced you to a couple more girls she’d already met: Sidney and Rebecca, who happened to live right in the same hall as you and Tara. Astrid mentioned she had a roommate as well, who couldn’t come to the meeting. You vaguely recalled she said her name was Dina.

After your RAs ended the meeting and dismissed the rest of the residents, your newfound group lingered in the lounge. You continued to chat lightly about nonsensical topics like new classes and room assignments and the campus until Rebecca mentioned a party being thrown the next night.

“My roommate Kristen mentioned that this frat is having a ‘Start of the Year’ party or something tomorrow!” She said, settling into one of the ratty couches. “Not sure if you guys would be interested in that, but I thought that would be cool to go to, even just for the experience.”

Tara grimaced before saying, “An excuse for asshole, predatory frat guys to prey on freshman girls?”

“Could maybe still be fun, though,” Astrid mused. “Nice excuse to get fucked up and all.”

“Well, I guess the free booze isn’t so bad.” Tara quickly said, changing her tune instantly. You chuckled quietly at her.

“What’s the frat?” You asked.

“Uhh,” Rebecca pondered for a moment. “I think… Sigma… something? I honestly don’t remember. I’ll ask Kristen later.”

“All of them just sound the same anyway,” Sidney shrugged, sitting criss-cross applesauce on the carpeted floor next to the couch. “I’m totally up for it if you guys go, though. Good way to be social. I don’t really have friends around here just yet.”

You turned towards her.

“We’re all your friends, so you do now.” You said, smiling at her.

Sidney returned your smile with a wide one of her own.

You’d already set out your desired outfit on your bed for the Sigma Eta party when you sat by your desk, applying your makeup. Behind you, Tara was clumsily rummaging through her clothes, cursing under her breath as she kept changing her mind about her party attire.

“What the fuck do you even wear to frat parties, dude?” She said, throwing yet another unfolded, creased shirt into her dresser.

“Honestly, I don’t really know. I’ve mostly gone to high school theatre cast parties, and I don’t think those really count as real parties.” You replied, lightly brushing a small spoolie through one of your eyebrows.

“Am I supposed to look fucking nice, or—?”

“Just be yourself!” You jokingly said.

Through your makeup mirror, you saw Tara give you an annoyed grimace in the reflection. You laughed.

“That’s stupid ass advice.” She groaned in frustration.

“Sorry!” You apologized in jest. “I mean, you’re not really there to attract guys. Don’t have to be all dressed up and all if you don’t want to be.”

“You’re getting all dressed the fuck up.” Tara pointed out, motioning towards your outfit on the bed.

“I just like looking nice,” You shrugged. “Just for myself, not really for anyone else. Like I said, you don’t have to get all dressed up if you don’t want to. Unless there’s someone you’re trying to impress.”

“I mean, I didn’t say that…” She grumbled, almost indiscernible underneath her breath.

“Oh?” You said, momentarily pausing your makeup routine to turn towards her with an eyebrow raised. “Why? Is there a certain someone you wanna look good for?” You inquired.

Tara refused to meet your inquisitive eyes as she fidgeted with another shirt’s buttons between her hands.

“I knew it!” You laughed, pointing the makeup brush you held in your hand towards her. “You like Astrid!”

“No, I fucking do not!” Tara responded defensively.

“You have a crush on Astrid,” You said in a sing-song voice. “You have a crush on Astrid!”

“Shut the fuck up, dude!”

“You think she’s pretty, you want her to have your babies!” You continued to sing, cackling as you turned back to your desk to resume your eye makeup.

“I will physically fight you, you dick!” Tara warned noncommittally.

“Save all those kinky threats for your new girlfriend.” You chuckled as you effortlessly blended two shades of eyeshadow with one another.

“Ugh,” She groaned as she flopped down on her bed. “She’s so fucking straight though. Like, painfully fucking straight. Like, not just heterosexual. Barbie heterosexual.”

“First of all,” You said as you set down the makeup brush in your hand to grab your setting spray. “Barbie is so gay, so that point is useless.”

“Barbie is not fucking gay, man.” Tara argued.

“Barbie is a lesbian with comphet and Ken is her lavender marriage boyfriend,” You disagree, fanning your freshly sprayed face. “Secondly, Astrid is one hundred percent a dyke too.”

“Did you fucking see her, dude?”

“Yes, I did. I have eyes, Tara.”

“Yes, I do too.”

“But not a good enough gaydar though, it looks like.”

“What the fuck!”

“Trust me, Tara,” You said, turning towards her once more to look her straight in the eyes. “There is not a single straight bone in that girl’s body, I guarantee it. If you weren’t so busy checking her out before, you would have noticed it too. Might have even noticed that she was also checking you out.”

“Wait. Hold the fuck up, seriously?” Tara said, perking up for a second before suddenly looking nervous.

“Dude, this is no time to be a fucking pussy! She’s really pretty and seems to like you back. Just get to know her tonight!”

“You think she’s pretty?” She asked.

“I mean, yeah, of course. She is gorgeous.” You admit. “But you’re okay, I’m not competition. She’s not my type, trust me.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, kind of discovered after my last relationship that I’m more into like, masc and butch lesbians.”

“Oh?” Tara said intriguingly, abandoning her search for appropriate clothing to take a seat on her bed. “How do you mean exactly?”

“Well,” You said, twirling your eyeliner pen in between your fingers as you turned in your chair to face her again. “My ex-girlfriend was a little bit more feminine than masculine. And I mean, I guess I was attracted to her in different kinds of ways, but I think that I was drawn more to her personality than her looks.”

You sighed before continuing.

“Which, obviously, I think is very important, but I also believe that you’ve gotta be physically attracted to who you’re with too, you know? Not in a shallow way or anything. But I don’t think I really ever felt that click with her, even at the start. It was just another unrealistic expectation I had of her that ultimately cemented the end of our relationship.”

Tara hummed in understanding.

“So why masculine lesbians, then? I’m just curious as someone who presents more as masculine but who tends to like more feminine girls.” She asked.

You pondered her question for a few moments, considering your response.

“There’s just… I don’t know, there’s just something so bold and alluring about a woman who completely rejects femininity in every possible way. We’re all expected to fill that role of being gentle and ladylike, and I think it’s just so attractive when a girl openly says ‘fuck you’ to that and presents the way she actually wants to, not the way the rest of the world expects of her. I love it when women are exclusively masculine, almost like they’re showing men how it’s supposed to be done. I think it’s just so hot and charming and sexy.”

“Ooh, so you think I’m sexy and shit?” Tara teases, wiggling her eyebrows at you as you conclude your mini-speech.

“No, you’re way too much of a loser lesbian who can’t even tell the difference between a straight girl and a femme lesbian.”

“Hey, not too fucking much now!” Tara said indignantly.

You laughed loudly before going back to applying your winged eyeliner.

A few moments later, you heard a knock followed by Astrid, Rebecca, and her roommate Kristen after you shouted that your door was unlocked. Kristen, a short and perky girl with her dirty blonde hair up in two long pigtails, introduced herself and said that her friend Mina was also tagging along later on, in addition to two other people she didn’t mention.

It was incredibly amusing to you how red and flustered Tara became as a result of Astrid’s sudden appearance. You even felt a little bit giddy yourself when Astrid graciously offered to help pick out an outfit for Tara to wear for tonight’s party.

It wasn’t long after the three girls arrived that Sidney joined the rest of your group, having done herself up a bit as well in a short, pink dress and pieces of curly hair styled to fall from her space buns. You all enthusiastically complimented her and hyped her up, to which she blushed.

You were the last one to finish getting ready, the rest of your new friends every now and again watching you finish your makeup routine as they all chatted animatedly. They all gawked in awe at the way you’d artistically dolled up your face, Kristen commenting that Michaelangelo couldn’t have painted colours the way you did your eyeshadow (to which you humourously and geekily remark that he was more of a sculptor than a painter). The girls all loudly squealed at how expertly you applied your fake eyelashes within mere seconds, you chuckling to yourself at how easily amused they seemed to be.

As all the girls began to pre-game with a bottle of Bacardi spiced rum Kristen had brought, you threw on the rest of your outfit: a long-sleeved, lacy and see-through white top with a black bra underneath, a black mini-skirt with side pockets, and your favourite knee-high black boots. You joined in the drinking festivities before Astrid checked the time and her messages then suggested you all head out to meet Kristen’s friend Mina and head towards the Sigma Eta party.

You all squeezed into a rickety, old elevator located in the middle of the hallway and headed down to the first floor of your building. As the elevator doors opened up to the lobby, Kristen broke off from the rest of the group when she spotted another girl waiting with two guys by the front doors. Kristen squealed happily and gave her a tight hug before introducing her friend to the rest of you.

Mina was a girl with short kinky blonde hair that reached just above her shoulders. She wore a white halter top with dark blue jeans accompanied by black pumps. To her left was a short, brown-haired guy with a plain, blue button-down and a pair of salmon-coloured shorts; to her right was a tall, dark-haired boy wearing an orange Hawaiian shirt and a pair of dark blue jeans.

“Good evening, fellow freshman cuties,” Mina said before gesturing to her hand to her own company, introducing them respectively. “This is Fred, and this is Jesse.”

The two boys smiled and nodded in greeting.

“Mina’s brother actually used to be in the fraternity that’s throwing the party we’re going to tonight before he graduated last year.” Kristen explained to your group.

“Yeah, Fred here is a friend of my brother’s. He was the one who told me about the party.” Mina added.

“Oh, that was really nice of you.” Astrid said, giving Fred a polite smile. He smiled back, not before eyeing her keenly up and down.

“Thought I’d introduce Mina to college life the proper way.” Fred replied cockily, patting Mina hard on the back in a brotherly fashion. Mina rolled her eyes.

“Let’s head out, chicas!” Kristen announced, beckoning your large group towards and out the front doors.

The trip to the Sigma Eta frat house wasn’t very long, but it felt like it to you at the beginning. Tara had broken off from your side when she was able to garner enough courage and nervously converse with Astrid, who was chatting back animatedly while ignoring Fred’s futile attempts to flirt with her. Kristen and Mina were enthusiastically catching up with each other, and Rebecca, who noticed Sidney’s shy and reserved demeanour, began kindly engaging her in a conversation to help her open up and get to know her. This left you to yourself for a while.

You were excited to be branching out socially and making friends, but it was difficult not to feel like you were out of your league in this rather abundant group of acquaintances. Being accustomed to smaller circles of friends and having gone through a recent ordeal with former friends, you weren’t quite sure how to politely insert yourself without seeming like a burden or nuisance.

The other guy Mina had brought along, Jesse, seemed to notice your silent predicament. He was a tall, muscular Asian man who had jet-black hair and kind eyes. You and your friends were approaching a nearby bus stop when he first spoke to you.

“So, this is your first real party, huh?”

You almost jumped, surprised that someone was speaking to you.

“Oh! Umm, yeah,” You responded sheepishly. “Is it really that obvious?”

“A little, but it’s alright,” He chuckled. “I’m Jesse, by the way. What was your name again?”

You smiled meekly as you introduced yourself.

“I’ll be sure to remember that.” He said with a friendly, assuring grin.

You weren’t sure what it was about this guy Jesse, what it was about him that made you like him instinctively. Men generally made you feel uncomfortable, and you almost never had any guy friends. But something in your gut was telling you that he was genuine, someone you could trust.

“So do you go to these kinds of frat parties a lot?” You asked in an attempt to be social.

“Sometimes,” Jesse replied. “Don’t really like this specific frat we’re going to, but I’m supposed to be helping this friend of mine link up with some guy who’ll be there. Do you smoke pot?”

“Why do you ask? Are you a cop?” You joked.

“Oh, absolutely. That is precisely why I am tagging along with a bunch of underage freshmen to a booze-filled shitty, frat party as someone who is also currently underage.” He chuckled.

You smiled at him.

“Yeah, I smoke,” You eventually replied. “I don’t really have a solid plug out here just yet though.”

“Well, my friend is a dealer and the guy we’re meeting up with tonight actually grows nearby, so we’re gonna see if my friend can work with him. She needs to procure some more fresh ‘merchandise’ or whatever.” He said, making air quotes upon saying the word ‘merchandise.’ “If you’re looking for a regular plug, I can introduce you to her later.”

“That’d be perfect, honestly,” You replied. “Don’t know how I’ll be able to get through freshman year of college without the influence of drugs.”

“Trust me, I get it,” Jesse said. “I had to make do with second-rate dealers as a freshman last year ‘cause my old dealer back home is obviously far away. Everyone around here either charges way too much or their shit is completely dry and weak.”

“Damn,” You replied. “But you think your friend’s got better connections?”

“Well, we’re going to see. But she’s real great about finding good strains and shit. Hopefully, things work out tonight.”

“I hope so too. I don’t wanna try and find another dealer out here, and then it turns out they’re creepy or something. And I trust you and your faith in your friend.”

“Yeah?” Jesse said curiously. “That’s very nice of you.”

You shrugged and gave him a warm smile.

The rest of the trip to the Sigma Eta house was much more enjoyable now that you seemed to find a friend in Jesse. You clicked instantly with him: discussing where you were both from, what your majors were, what there was to do around and outside of the campus. He even gave you tips on how to navigate college as a freshman, having gone through it himself already the previous year. It comforted you that this person you’d just met already seemed adamant about looking out for you in a friendly, platonic manner.

As your group walked down the sidewalk that led to multiple houses where other college students resided, you spotted bright, strobing lights coming from a house towards the end of the street. The sounds of loud party music and boisterous chatter grew louder the further down you ventured. You finally came up to a house where several cars were haphazardly and crookedly parked out front and an assortment of other college kids loitered around the porch, most holding red solo cups filled to the brim.

Before you all stepped foot onto the front porch of the house, Astrid suddenly stopped and turned around to face the whole group.

“Hey, can we take a quick pic of all of us attending our first-ever college party? I wanna capture the memory of getting fucked up with my new dorm besties!” She gushed excitedly.

“You know, this actually isn’t my first college party.” Kristen chuckled, but Mina nudged her in the ribs.

“You know what she means, you killjoy. Come on, let’s all take a selfie!”

All the girls gathered together and began to link arms or embrace each other around the waist or drape their arms over each other’s shoulders. You turned towards Jesse, who was texting rapidly on his phone.

“So, selfie time?” You asked him.

“Nah, you guys go ahead. I think I’m gonna go find my friend inside ‘cause I’m pretty sure she’s here already. Plus I don’t wanna get in the way of you and your friends.”

“You’re my friend too,” You asserted boldly. “Come here and get in the picture with us, new friend.”

Jesse flashed you a warm smile and relented without any further argument.

Astrid held up her phone at a 45-degree angle towards the starry, night sky, angling it so she could get the whole group in the frame (except for Fred, whom she made very little effort to include in the picture, him standing at the edge of the group and desperately trying to have his face captured as well). You and Jesse stood right next to each other, and you allowed yourself to put a hand behind his back in an almost half-hug. You let out a partly genuine smile as Astrid said “Cheese!” and snapped a few photos of your group. After she sent the pictures to you and the rest of the girls in a mass group text (which she then promptly named “Wilson Crew ❤️‍🔥” after the dorm you were all living in), you and your new friends finally ventured into the Sigma Eta frat house.

The deafening noise of terrible EDM and the smell of sweat that filled the thick air was almost enough to make you regret coming out. But the rest of your group tittered in anticipation, so you feigned excitement as you all ventured further into the house.

You entered the dining room where a long, wooden table had been turned into a small, makeshift beer-pong court. There were several people gathered around it, whether as spectators or players. You watched as a girl in a ponytail whooped after she effortlessly bounced a ping-pong ball onto the table and into a red solo cup on her opponent’s side. Several bystanders cheered in response as a frat guy on the other side of the table cursed in jest and promptly chugged from the cup.

“Dina!” Astrid mused excitedly, approaching the girl. She gave her a tight hug, which the girl named Dina affectionately returned.

Dina was an incredibly pretty girl with tan skin and black, wavy hair. Beneath thick, dark eyebrows were a pair of beautiful brown eyes that looked extremely warm and welcoming. Being Astrid’s roommate, it’d have been an obvious guess that she was a freshman too like the rest of you. But she exuded this air of boldness and spunk that made it seem like she was a vetted college student. You noticed that several onlookers, mostly men, had been eyeing her shiftily and curiously.

“I thought you said you weren’t coming!” Astrid scolded her playfully.

“Well, I honestly wasn’t, but a friend of mine had been trying to persuade me to come and—” Dina began before breaking off suddenly.

Her eyes had wandered towards your group of friends and fell on Jesse who was standing right next to you. The wide smile on her face faltered as her animated expression turned into one of shocked recognition. You turned towards Jesse who had suddenly gone rigid and stone-faced. You looked back at the girl Dina who blinked back to reality and began to stutter.

“I-I’m g-gonna catch up with you later, okay?” She said to Astrid before making her way towards the back of the house.

“Ah, shit,” You heard Jesse mutter under his breath. “Goddamn it.”

“You know her?” You questioned him.

“That… was my ex-girlfriend Dina. Childhood and high school sweetheart.” He explained.

“Oh, shit.” You uttered.

“Hey, I’m… I’m gonna be right back, okay?” He said to you before quickly heading towards the direction that Dina had gone in.

You watched as he left you behind with your friends who began to gossip amongst themselves curiously about the exchange that had just occurred.

You’d been standing in the kitchen by yourself for the past five minutes, attempting to finish a drink in your hand that you’d reluctantly poured from an orange cooler on the counter. After they’d downed a couple of shots, the rest of the girls had tried to convince you to come to the basement where the dancing was primarily taking place. You declined and said that you needed a minute or two, promising you’d find them later. Though it was still relatively early in the evening, you were already feeling overwhelmed and overstimulated. You’d been faking plenty of smiles and forcing tight-lipped laughter all night; it was getting more tiring to feign excitement, especially now that the new friend you’d made tonight had not made a reappearance since quickly running after his ex-girlfriend.

Sighing, you refilled your red solo cup with the same unknown alcoholic contents from the cooler. You weren’t particularly enjoying the drink, completely confused as to what it was in the first place, but it was at least giving you something to do. As you continued to sip from your cup, you decided to venture towards the backyard where you figured Jesse had walked off.

Squinting past the darkness illuminated by the moonlight and the strobing lights peeking through the house’s windows, you scanned the numerous figures occupying the grassy lawn. You eventually spotted Jesse’s tall, dark silhouette after a minute or two, seeing that he was in a seemingly heated discussion with the pretty girl Dina. Deciding that this was a lover’s quarrel that you probably shouldn’t get in between, you find your tired, aching feet take you back inside the house.

You felt the temperature change back from brisk chilliness to throbbing heat from the pheromones in the musky air. Unsure of where to go, you walked back to the kitchen where you found a couple pressed up against each other in the spot you previously occupied. You grimaced at their pre-coital positioning and how they seemed to be swallowing each other’s faces before retreating from the room. Having no interest in watching the new round of beer-pong that several people had started again in the dining room, you settled for finding sanctuary elsewhere.

Finding an empty spot on a wall in the living room, you leaned up against it and took a generous sip from your cup. Though you didn’t have high expectations beforehand, the night was still going quite poorly. You cursed yourself silently for not having a sufficient social battery to socialize with your friends at the party nor enough courage to endure your overwhelming surroundings. You were contemplating whether you should rejoin the group after all in their close-quartered gyrating in the basement when you suddenly felt an invisible pull from across the room that called to you and compelled your head to instinctively turn in its direction.

Your eyes simultaneously met a pair of ocean green ones. The sounds of terrible music and overlapping chitchat immediately vanished when you saw her. You watched as her eyes scanned your face just as you scanned hers. The handsome stranger began to look you up and down before the left corner of her lips turned up in a crooked smile. Your cheeks burned in bashfulness and you tore your eyes away from her to stare at the ground and take another sip from your drink.

You felt your throat close up, your breathing hitch, and your entire body going up in flames. It felt as if someone had shot you through the chest with an arrow, aiming for and perfectly hitting where your heart was located. You felt utterly bare and naked in front of all these strangers, suddenly prey to a strange emotion that felt completely foreign to you. It was intoxicating, like you were completely wonderstruck within seconds of being in this stranger’s presence.

When you eventually felt her eyes wander elsewhere, you dared glance at her once more. She was incredibly handsome: her auburn hair partly tied up in a bun, cheeks adorned with freckles as if an angel had hand-painted them itself, broad shoulders that suggested a muscular frame underneath an old, brown motorcycle jacket she was wearing. She was sitting on this ratty old couch, manspreading in the middle as she noncommittally nodded at the people standing beside her. Her slender, long fingers were expertly wrapping a few rolling papers on the table in front of her. As she brought a joint up to her lips to lick it closed, her eyes flicked up once again to look at you. Embarrassed that you were caught shamelessly staring, you quickly focused your gaze in a different direction. From the corner of your eyes, you could see her chuckling.

The girl muttered something to her nearby companions before making her way across the room to you. Your drumming heartbeat echoed each of her steps, getting louder and louder in your chest the closer she got. You didn’t allow yourself to look her way again until she was right in front of you.

“Hey.” She said, voice rough and husky.

“Hi.” You responded, trying not to sound too flustered over this extremely attractive stranger approaching you to engage in conversation.

“You all alone tonight?” She asked.

“Not exactly,” You responded truthfully. “My friends are around here somewhere.”

“Oh?” She said, cocking her head slightly to the side as she crossed her arms.

“Yeah. I think downstairs, humping and gyrating with everyone else.” You joked.

She chuckled.

“Not your type of thing?”

“Not really,” You said. “I wasn’t in the mood tonight to get felt up by some horny frat guy trying to shove his limp-dick boner up against my ass.”

The girl let out a genuine laugh accompanied by a toothy grin.

“You’re funny.” She commented. You returned her smile with one of your own.

“Wanna come sit on the couch?” She asked. “You honestly look like you’re about to collapse at any second.”

“Yeah, it wasn’t really the best idea to wear a really nice pair of high heels to some crappy fraternity party.”

“Well, hey, they look good on you, so not a total loss.”

“Yeah?” You questioned, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yeah,” She smirked. “Anyway, come sit with me on this ugly ass couch. I promise I won’t try to shove my dick up your ass or anything.”

“Aww, you’re not? I was going to say yes, but if you’re not gonna shove your dick up my ass...” You teased boldly.

Even under the dim lights of the party, you thought you saw traces of pink appear underneath her freckles as she smiled. You felt your own cheeks burning.

“Come on, pretty girl.” She chuckled, leading you towards the sofa.

She sat back down in the middle but didn’t manspread this time to make room for you to sit comfortably next to her. Her body faced towards your direction, indicating to her companions that she was disinterested in any further conversation with them. Both your hands gripped onto your red solo cup tightly like it was your life-saving anchor. Your body tensed up from being so close to this handsome stranger whose name you didn’t even know yet.

Almost as if she read your mind, she introduced herself.

“I’m Ellie.”

You smiled nervously as you gave her your name.

“So,” She began. “You a freshman too, huh?”

“Yeah,” You hummed. “First ever college party.”

“Oh?” She said, reaching for one of her joints on the table.

“Mhmm,” You respond. “Not really as exciting as people have been making it out to be.”

“What, you’re not impressed by the repulsive smell of jungle juice and shitty trap music and the giant, sweaty orgy going on in the basement?”

“Eww,” You giggled, scrunching up your nose in disgust. “No, I wouldn’t really say that I’m impressed, exactly.”

Ellie chuckled before offering you the joint she was holding.

“You smoke?”

“Yeah, I do. But are you sure? I don’t wanna waste your weed.”

“I never mind smoking out pretty girls for free every now and again.” Ellie shrugged.

You ignored the way your heart fluttered as you placed your cup down and took the joint from her. You ignored the sudden, electric spark when you felt her skin brush against yours. You ignored how her own breathing seemed to hitch at that same moment before she pulled away from you to grab her lighter from a front pocket of her motorcycle jacket.

You placed the joint in between your lips, trying not to think about the fact that Ellie’d just sealed it a minute or two ago with her tongue. Ellie cupped her left hand around the tip while her right hand flicked on the lighter. Your eyes wandered from the budding flame to her eyes, which were already watching you. Her stare caught you off-guard that you almost forgot to inhale. You leaned away from her, both to blow the smoke in a different direction and to nervously catch your breath from how intimately close she was to you.

“So?” She inquired, reclining back and throwing her arm behind you on the back of the couch.

“Mm?” You hummed in question as you took another puff of the joint.

“How do you like the j?”

“Hmm,” You say after releasing another breath of smoke. “It’s… fine.”

“Just fine?” She asked, looking playfully offended.

“What!” You said, giggling and handing her back the joint. “It’s just a regular, old j! What else would you like me to say?”

“What, do you smoke some fancy ass weed with gold and diamonds and shit where you’re from?” Ellie chuckled.

“Sorry! I guess I’m just used to something very particular.”

“Oh, yeah?” She asked, cocking up an eyebrow, the one that you’d noticed had a slit right through it. “What do you mean by that exactly?”

“I usually lace my own js with lavender buds,” You explained. “Makes it taste better, in my opinion, and it helps me relax.”

“Really? Lavender, huh? I’ve never heard of someone doing that before.”

“A little trick I learned from an ex-girlfriend.” You clarified, pretending that you didn’t throw in that last word on purpose.

“That so?” She replied. You could have sworn that she had moved slightly closer the moment you mentioned having an ex-girlfriend.

“Mhmm. Lavender’s my favourite, but I’ve tried lacing them with other herbs and plants too.”

“Yeah? Like what?”

“I’ve done rose petals and passionflowers before. Gives them a much better flavour. Sage is good too if you wanna destress and all. And apparently, hibiscus and jasmine are, well…” Your sentence is cut short by a slightly drunken giggle emerging from your lips.

“Are what?” Ellie prompted you.

“Umm, they’re good too.”

“Good for what, exactly?”

You handed the joint back to her before responding.

“I heard that they’re supposedly good aphrodisiacs.” You nearly whispered.

Ellie smiled slyly, taking the joint back without breaking eye contact.

“Interesting” is all she says before taking a huge puff.

Whether it was the mysterious alcohol finally kicking in or the sudden presence of marijuana in your system, you felt a surge of sudden confidence flood your senses. You wanted to impress this strange girl, you wanted her to like you. And yet somehow, it feels almost as if you’d already met before.

“By the way,” Ellie began. “I really love your eye makeup. You did it yourself?”

“Thanks,” You smiled. “Yeah, I did.”

“That’s seriously fucking impressive. I’ve never been into makeup and girly shit like that, but I know it must take a fuck ton of talent to do it.”

“Nah,” You waved off before picking up your red solo cup from the table and drinking from it. “It’s really not that hard to learn. I taught myself how to do it for the most part.”

“That’s even more fucking impressive.” She stated simply. You gave her a sheepish smile before uttering another quiet thanks.

Before either of you could speak again, the guy leaning against the arm of the couch next to Ellie turned towards her.

“Yo, Williams, Chang here yet?” He asked.

“Really don’t know, man. He said he would be.”

“Damn. Call him or something.”

“Call him yourself. I’m not his mother.”

The guy tsked in irritation before returning to a conversation with his companions.

“Nice friends you got there.” You said out loud without thinking.

“We just got a mutual friend in common, that’s all,” Ellie replied, shrugging and taking another puff. “My best friend knows like, half the people who go to this school.”

You nodded in acknowledgement as she continued.

“Most people are usually disappointed that I’m not as nice as him.”

“You’re not?”

“Nah, apparently I’m ‘antagonistic’ and ‘mean’ and just really fucking rude.” She chuckled.

“Doesn’t seem like that to me.” You commented.

“Well, we just met,” She smirked. “Just wait a little while.”

“What, are you planning on being really mean to me in the future, Ellie?” You quipped.

She shrugged and you chuckled.

Both immensely absorbed in your engaging and private conversation, you weren’t quite sure exactly how long you and Ellie were sitting in that dirty living room on that ratty, old couch. You talked about the classes and professors you had in common, bonded over your shared love of music and the instruments you both played, laughed at all of the dumb and silly jokes she made.

At one point in the night, Tara emerged from the basement, all buzzed and sweaty. She scanned the living room, having been worried that she nor none of the rest of your friends had seen you since you’d all first arrived at the house. Upon spotting you sitting so intimately to Ellie, her whispering something in your ear and you boisterously laughing, Tara smiled and retreated back to the basement.

Ellie was beginning to tell you about her hometown when your conversation was suddenly interrupted by a familiar voice.

“Hey, yo, El!” You heard Jesse say from behind you.

You turned around to see a jovial expression on his face that didn’t quite meet his serious eyes. He was smiling in greeting, but it seemed like whatever occurred in the private conversation he had with the girl Dina rattled him in some way.

“Yo, Jess,” Ellie said, waving him over. “Been wondering where the fuck your ass has been this whole time, man.”

“Ahh, well, I kind of… got detained by D…” He admitted as he approached the couch before spotting you sitting next to Ellie. “Oh, shit! You guys know each other?”

“What, you don’t know that we’re lifelong best friends?” Ellie said, winking at you. You turned away as you bit your lip, attempting to hide the smile on your face and the heat rising to your cheeks.

“Now, hang on, I thought we were lifelong best friends?” Jesse gasped playfully, putting one hand on his hip and gesturing between you and him mockingly.

“Sorry dude, I claimed her already.” Ellie said, smirking.

You tried to ignore Jesse’s mumble of “greedy whore” towards Ellie in between loud, fake coughs.

“Anyway, you saw D? Are you okay?” Ellie said, her tone more serious now.

“I mean, I guess,” Jesse sighed. “Thought she wasn’t tagging along tonight, but I guess she did.”

“Sorry, man, I really thought you knew.”

“It’s cool. I was gonna end up seeing her at some point. Might wanna check up on her, though.”

“She okay?”

“I think so, but you know how she can be.”

“Where’d she run off to know?”

“I think she said that she was gonna go hang out with her roommate or something for the rest of the night.”

“I’ll text her, see where she is.”

“Oh, umm,” You said, awkwardly speaking up. “My friend Astrid is her roommate, so I think your friend Dina went downstairs to the basement.”

Both Ellie and Jesse looked slightly taken aback at your short degree of separation.

“Sorry,” You apologized as you looked down at your hands in embarrassment. “I didn’t mean to insert myself.”

“Hey,” Ellie assured, nudging your shoulder with hers. “Didn’t I just say that we’re lifelong best friends?”

You looked up at her and smiled with appreciation at her thoughtfulness.

Ellie, realizing they’d been leaving you out of their conversation, quickly filled in the blanks.

“Our other lifelong best friend Dina got dumped by this asshole joker right here a little while back. It was a bit of a messy break-up.”

“I haven’t always been the smooth and suave man that you see before you today.” Jesse quipped.

“Never have been, dumbass.” Ellie added. Jesse gave her a scowl, which she mockingly returned.

“Anyway,” She continued. “Now I’ve been stuck being the middle man for the past year or so ‘cause these two clowns don’t know how to talk about their motherfucking feelings.”

You chuckled at Ellie’s choice of words.

“I’m sure she’s okay if she’s with your friend, though. This Astrid girl nice?” Ellie inquired.

“Oh, she’s the absolute sweetest.” You affirmed.

“Well, I trust your judgment. I’ll give her some time and check up on her after.” Ellie concluded, giving you a half-smile.

It was so curious how these people you’d known only for a few hours seemed to somehow trust you so intimately and almost blindly. Besides your cousin Rafael who’s known you since birth, you’d never clicked so well with anyone else in your life. You felt a quiet warmth in your chest, feeling as if you had been soulmates with these people in a past life.

“Might as well,” Jesse said, looking down at his buzzing phone. “Eugene’s contact said he’s here. He’s out back if you still wanna talk to him.”

You suddenly felt naive, not realizing sooner that Ellie was the dealer friend Jesse had been talking to you about earlier in the evening. Her previous rolling of papers and multiple joints should have been a dead giveaway, but you were far too mesmerized by Ellie and her charm and her ocean green eyes to give much notice to your current surroundings.

“Ah, shit, I totally forgot,” Ellie cursed.

She looked at you.

“Umm, do you wanna come with? It’ll probably be boring as shit, but—”

“No, no, it’s okay,” You said, waving her off. “It sounds pretty important. Jesse was telling me earlier that you needed to meet up with him.”

Ellie turned towards him, an annoyed look on her face.

“Now, why are you going around telling my business to everyone?” She asked him.

“It’s fun.” Jesse joked. Ellie rolled her eyes.

“If, uh, you wanna stick around, this probably won’t take long. I’ll see you after?” She said guiltily. You gave her a soft smile.

“Ellie, please go ahead. I’m a big girl; I can be left alone for two seconds.”

She chuckled at your words as she stood up from her seat next to you, not before brushing her hand and her knee against yours. You wondered silently if she did so by accident.

“See you in a bit, pretty girl.” Ellie said, winking at you.

You watched as she and Jesse walked off towards the backyard of the house. Once they were out of sight, you sighed quietly.

You realized that you were all alone tonight once again, this time through no fault of your own. Not knowing what else to do, you leaned back into the sagging sofa and pulled out your phone from a pocket of your skirt. As you waited for your companions to return, you scrolled mindlessly through different social media outlets for a while until your entertainment was exhausted and eventually settled on Instagram. After a couple of minutes of looking through your friends’ stories and posts, sending likes and comments every now and again, you see something that suddenly makes your stomach drop.

Still not fully over the results of the disastrous break-up with your high school ex-girlfriend, you hadn’t unfollowed or blocked her on social media just yet. You realized in the moment what a grave mistake that was when you came across a post with several photos of her and all your former friends at some party with a couple of unknown people included. Hot tears formed in your eyes when, while swiping through the many images, you encountered one picture with your ex-girlfriend’s arms wrapped around a strange girl you didn’t recognize. Their physical intimacy and stances suggested something more than just friendship.

You suddenly felt the urge to throw up and you immediately rose from your seat in search of a nearby bathroom. Eventually, you came across a small one towards the front of the house and wrenched it open, feeling lucky that it was presently unoccupied. Leaning over the grimy sink, the feeling of nausea subdued from what you figured was a result of separating yourself from the overstimulation of the party. Still, your hands and neck felt clammy. You felt as if you couldn’t breathe, no matter how hard you inhaled and exhaled.

You raised your head up to look at yourself in the murky mirror. Thick tears threatened to fall from the corners of your eyes. Pieces of hair stuck to your forehead with nervous sweat. Lips were trembling and shakingly releasing laboured breaths.

Leaving your past behind was not as simple as you believed it could be. The past several months had been a personal hell for you, having been abandoned to be lonely and companionless by people you loved. After a messy break-up with someone who suddenly broke your heart, a result of two young, dumb kids attempting to be much more mature than they actually were, your entire friend group ended up choosing her in the aftermath. It left you completely grief-stricken and betrayed, not expecting the people you believed cared for you to cast you aside so quickly and easily.

You’d spent the entire summer after graduating high school healing and recovering from such a loss, and you’d genuinely believed that you came to your new school fully mended. But as you stood in front of a fogged-up mirror in a dingy frat house bathroom, it seemed as if you hadn’t fully overcome your emotional wounds like you thought.

You were dabbing the soggy sweat off your moist forehead when someone suddenly knocked on the bathroom door, causing you to jump.

“Oh, umm, someone’s in here!” You quickly exclaimed. The sound of the same voice you’d been listening to all evening calling out your name from behind the door had you grip the edges of the sink and freeze in place.

“Y-yeah?” You asked falteringly.

“Hey, uhh, i-it’s Ellie.”

“Oh!” You said in surprise. “Hi! Umm, I-I’ll be out in a minute!”

“Hey, uhh, are you okay?” Ellie said after a beat or two.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine!” You cried out unconvincingly.

“Can… can I come in?” She asked hesitantly.

“Oh! Umm—”

“It’s okay if you don’t want me to! If you need space—”

“No, no!” You interrupted.

You took a deep breath, threw out the damp tissue you still held in your hand, and carefully opened the door to reveal Ellie with a concerned look on her face.

“It’s a bit of a tight fit, but, uhh…” You said, stepping aside to let her in.

You backed up to make space for her and sat on the edge of the shabby-looking tub as Ellie closed the bathroom door behind her before leaning her back against it.

“How’d you know where to find me?” You inquired.

“Someone saw you come in here.” She explained.

“Oh” was all you could say in return.

There were several moments of complete silence, neither of you knowing how to start or what to say. It was you who eventually broke it out of nervousness.

“So, umm, how did it go with that guy you were talking to?” You asked awkwardly.

“Oh, uhh, good. At least, I think so. Gave me a pretty good deal and all.” Ellie replied.

You nodded in response.

“So, hey, uhh, if you need a new plug out here…” She pointed a pair of finger guns at you, to which you half-heartedly chuckled.

“Sorry,” She apologized. “I’m not really as smooth as I would like to think.”

“Don’t worry, I still think you’re plenty charming. Dorky, but charming.” You gave her a soft, affectionate smile that she returned as you saw her turn slightly pink underneath her numerous freckles.

“So, uhh, are you okay? I don’t mean to pry or anything, and you don’t need to say anything if you don’t want to—” She began to ramble.

“Ellie,” You said, chuckling. “It’s alright. I don’t mind, and you’re not prying.”

She let out a quiet sigh of relief.

“Just a bunch of bullshit in regards to my ex,” You explained. “Thought I was past it all, but…”

Ellie nodded in understanding.

“Still not over her?”

“Oh, god, no, no, I’m completely over her,” You clarified quickly. “But dealing with the outcome of it all… isn’t necessarily fun.”

“Yeah,” Ellie agreed. “I completely get it.”

You looked up at her with an expression of gratitude.

“Man, this lesbian shit is real fucking messy and complicated, huh?” She quipped in an attempt to lighten the mood. You couldn’t help but giggle at her joke.

“How’d you know that I wasn’t okay?” You asked her after a beat or two.

“The people I was with earlier said that the pretty girl I was talking to suddenly looked stressed and ran to the bathroom.” Ellie explained, shrugging. You attempted to hide your bashful smile as you felt your cheeks go hot again.

“Wanna get out of this disgusting bathroom and go smoke some more?” She asked.

You and Ellie were passing another joint back and forth again several feet away from the Sigma Eta frat house. You’d both taken shelter underneath a nearby tree, listening to the muffled bass drops of yet another bad EDM song currently playing from the frat house. The weed was calming your nerves down slightly, but you had a gut feeling that it was Ellie’s presence that was the actual cause of your peace of mind.

“Damn, I really wanna try your lavender-laced trick now.” Ellie said after taking a hit of the joint.

“I mean, it’s not really my trick. It was my ex’s idea.” You chuckled dryly as you watched her blow the smoke up towards the night sky.

“Oh, fuck that shit. I don’t know her and I know you, so it’s your recipe.” She disagreed. You laughed graciously at her argument.

“Can I ask what happened?” Ellie began, handing the joint to you. “Like, did the bitch suddenly call or text you, or…”

“Nah,” You said after a puff. “She posted something on Instagram and, I don’t know, I guess seeing evidence of her existence triggered something in me.”

“Wait, you don’t have her blocked?”

“No…” You admitted sheepishly. “I still follow her and everything…”

“What!!” Ellie exclaimed. “Why?!”

“I don’t know!” You laughed at her immediate indignation. “I just could never get myself to actually do it!”

“Alright, no more free weed for you!” Ellie proclaimed, swiftly snatching the joint out of your fingertips.

“Noooo!” You whined.

“You’re on a time-out for still keeping your stupid ex-girlfriend in your life in some kind of way!”

“Look, I like to lurk sometimes! I can’t do that if I have her blocked!” You protested, attempting to take the joint back from her.

“Oh, now you’re definitely not getting any more free weed!” Ellie said, holding the joint up and away from your reach.

“How else am I supposed to be a miserable, pathetic lesbian who needs to be sad and tragic if you don’t let me!!” You said, giving up and crossing your arms over your chest in a huff.

“Pretty girls like you should be spending their freshman year in college in their drunken whore eras, not in an ‘I’m gonna sulk over my worthless ex the whole time’ era!”

“Ugh. Yeah, I know, I know,” You sighed. “But that all sounds like so much work!”

“Alright, give me your phone.” Ellie said suddenly.

“What?” You asked, surprised. “Why?”

“Just give me!” She insisted, holding her free hand out.

You pulled out your phone from one of your skirt’s pockets and handed it over to her, eyeing her suspiciously.

“What are you up to, Ellie?” You inquired of her.

“Just hold this!” She replied, handing you the joint. “But no smoking!”

“Yes, sir!” You said with a salute before taking a quick puff.

Ellie rolled her eyes, chuckled, and had you unlock your phone before taking it back to open up your Instagram.

“Okay, what’s your ex’s name?”

“... why?” You asked skeptically.

“Just trust me!”

You squinted your eyes at her before reluctantly giving her your ex’s name and Instagram handle. As you took a generous hit of the joint, you leaned over and watched as Ellie went to your ex’s profile and blocked her.

“Ellie!!” You protested.

“This is for your own good!” She exclaimed.

“Oh god,” You laughed. “Yeah, yeah, maybe.”

“Definitely.” She asserted before typing another handle into your Instagram search bar.

“What are you doing now?” You asked dubiously.

“Replacing your ex with a hotter, much cooler person.” She explained simply before handing your phone back and taking the joint out of your hand.

You looked at your screen to see Ellie’s Instagram profile and realized she’d followed herself through your account.

“Wow. Dinosaur nerd, huh?” You said, noticing one of her posts was of her posing geekily next to a dinosaur skeleton display in some museum.

“Shut up.” She chuckled before hitting the joint.

“Well, are you gonna follow me back?” You asked.

“I don’t know, I don’t really know you that well.” Ellie shrugged.

“You dick!” You scoffed, to which she laughed. “What happened to us being lifelong best friends?”

“Calm down, calm down,” She chuckled, holding the joint between her teeth and already pulling out her phone. “Bossy.”

You felt your phone buzz with a new notification from Instagram.

“There you go,” She said, putting her phone back in her pocket. “Now we’re official lifelong besties.”

You laughed. Your affection for this incredibly handsome and charming girl that you had just met tonight was growing more and more by the second. Every time she laughed at a joke you’d make or stared at your lips a little too long or brushed her skin against yours, you wondered if you were imagining it or if she had been feeling the same spark too.

“Hey, umm,” You began. “Thank you for that.”

“Don’t have to thank me. I’m sure you would have done it eventually. At least, I hope so.” She chuckled at the last part.

“Oh, I don’t know. I honestly hold on to shit like that forever. I would have probably stayed following her ‘til I was I was fifty.”

Ellie laughed.

For the next few minutes, you told her all about the sorry tale of the break-up between you and your ex. As you and Ellie went through and finished yet another joint, she listened to you intently while she leaned against the tree you’d been standing next to. She didn’t interrupt you, aside from an occasional supportive comment or two, intent on letting you rant your pent-up frustrations out.

You hadn’t opened up to anyone else about this, apart from your cousin Rafael. It felt like you had nobody else left to trust your heart with. And yet, there was something so different and familiar about Ellie that made you feel so at home, so comfortable confiding such intimate thoughts and experiences. She happily entertained you as you confessed to her the way you’d never done before with anyone else, her face looking so sympathetic and gentle as she watched you ramble.

“Oh my fucking god,” You eventually said after a while. “I can’t believe I’ve been babbling nonstop about my bullshit, I am so sorry, I—”

You buried your face in your hands in embarrassment.

“Hey, no, no,” Ellie interrupted, pulling your hands away from your face. “None of that. Don’t apologize, please. It’s shit that you obviously have needed to get off your chest for a long time now. I don’t mind listening at all.”

“Okay, but I’m a total stranger who just trauma dumped on you like a dumbass—”

“Alright, no, you are not a dumbass,” Ellie insisted. “And lifelong best friends, remember?”

She gave you a soft smile and began to rub her thumbs against your palms, her warm touch making you tremble.

“Oh, hey, you’re shivering, here.” Ellie said, taking off her motorcycle jacket and placing it around your shoulders.

“Oh,” You said, “T-thanks, Ellie.”

“Looks really good on you.” She commented, smiling. You felt your cheeks go hot again.

“It-it’s very nice.” You said.

“Yeah, it’s my dad’s old jacket. He gave it to me when I was around 14. He used to be a delinquent and was part of some gang or something when he was younger. Rode motorcycles a lot or some shit like that. I’ll tell you more about it one of these days.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Ellie seemed to realize how close she was to your face and how intimately she was holding you. A little sheepish, she walked back a few steps to lean against the tree. She crossed her arms against her chest and, her arms now uncovered, you noticed a large tattoo covering her right forearm.

“I like your tattoo,” You commented. “What is it?”

“Oh,” She said, glancing down at her arm. “It’s a moth with some ferns around it.”

“It’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“Thanks. My ex-girlfriend did the tattoo itself, but I created the design.”

“Woah, really?”

“Yeah.” Ellie said, chuckling at your admiration.

“I know you were telling me earlier that you like to draw, but that really is something.”

“It is?” Ellie replied. You could see her blushing even under the dim glow of the moonlight.

“You’re really talented, Ellie.”

“Nah. I mean, my ex-girlfriend Cat, she did a lot of work making it look better and shit.”

“Still, it’s very impressive.” You insisted. “Do you think— Can I…?”

You extended a hesitant hand out towards her tattooed arm. She smiled warmly as she offered it to you.

“Yeah, go ahead.”

You lifted your outreached hand to trace your fingertips across the multiple leaves decorating her skin. You stared at the intricate design of the Death’s-head hawkmoth that was perched atop the ferns.

“It really suits you.” You said.

“You think so?”

“I do.”

As you continued to stroke Ellie’s tattoo, you felt electricity once again run between you two. You looked up at her to see her ocean green eyes staring at you. You’d never seen anyone look at you that way, not even your ex-girlfriend. You tried to decipher her expression when the moment was suddenly interrupted by your name being called coming from the direction of the frat house.

“There you are!” Tara exclaimed, half-jogging towards you.

“Oh, hey, Tara.” You greeted her, pulling your hands away from Ellie.

“Been looking for you everywhere.” Tara said.

“Sorry, the party was getting a little too much for me. Needed a breather.” You apologized before gesturing towards your companion. “This is Ellie, by the way. She’s Jesse’s roommate.”

“Oh, hey, nice to meet you, man.” Tara said, nodding towards her in greeting. Ellie replied with a nod of her own.

“This is Tara, my roommate.” You gestured to Tara this time.

“Nice to meet you too, dude.” Ellie repeated back to her.

“So, uhh,” Tara began. “Half the group is completely wasted, and Astrid really wants to get rid of that guy Fred who has not stopped trying to grope her all night.”

“Oh, gross. Is she alright?”

“Yeah, she’s okay. But we’re gonna order an Uber and we’re about to head home in a sec. Did you wanna come with or…”

“Oh, umm…” You turned towards Ellie.

“Go on,” Ellie replied, smiling. “I think I’m gonna go find my friend Dina.”

“I’m gonna go gather up the girls.” Tara said, pointing a thumb towards the house. “Nice to meet you again!”

“You too, man.” Ellie said as you both watched Tara walk off.

“Go ahead,” Ellie said, head motioning after Tara. “Go help your friends.”

“Are-are you sure?” You said hesitantly.

“Here, give me your phone again.” She said, holding her hand out. This time, you didn’t hesitate and unlocked it before handing it to her.

You watched as Ellie quickly typed for a few moments before placing it back in your hand. Glancing at the screen, you saw that she’d texted a new contact she’d named “Ellie 😛” with the message “hey sexy” accompanied by a winking emoji.

“Oh my god, you’re annoying.” You said, laughing.

“What, you don’t think I’m sexy?” She replied, grinning.

“Goodbye, Ellie.” You chuckled, walking away a couple of steps before suddenly stopping in your tracks.

“Oh, wait, your jacket—” You said, beginning to shrug off her old motorcycle jacket.

“No, go ahead and keep it.” She interrupted, securing it back onto your shoulders.

“Are you sure?” You asked.

“Gives you a good excuse to see my sexy ass later.” She smirked.

“Shut up,” You said, unable to hide a smile. “You are so annoying.”

“You love it.” She said, smirking once more.

As she adjusted the jacket onto you, you realized just how close she was again. You stared at her and she stared right back. There was a moment or two when you gazed into each other’s eyes, neither saying anything. You felt heat increasingly rising to your face when she suddenly brushed a piece of hair from your forehead.

You found yourself completely unwilling to leave this bubble that enclosed only you and Ellie. It was extraordinary how intimately absorbed you felt in this person you’d only seen for the first time today, how enchanted you felt by merely being in her presence. In just a few hours, she filled your mind completely with thoughts of her and only her. You prayed that this wasn’t a chance meeting but the beginning of something life-changing.

The moment was once again interrupted, this time by Jesse.

“Dude, I was—” Jesse began, but upon seeing what he’d walked in on, his sentence faltered. “Oh, shit, sorry—”

“It’s okay, Jesse,” You assured. “I gotta go, anyway.”

You turned back towards Ellie.

“I’ll, umm, see you soon?” You asked nervously.

“I hope so.” She replied, smiling softly.

You began to walk back towards the house, giving a quick goodbye to Jesse. Once you reached the front porch and before you walked through the door, you turned back to where Ellie and Jesse were standing beneath the tree.

You lifted your hand and waved at Ellie, which she returned with her own soft wave. The look on her face looked completely dazed and awestruck. You bit your lip in nervous anticipation, looking into her ocean green eyes one more time before walking into the house.

After a beat or two, Jesse finally spoke.

“Is she wearing Joel’s old jacket?”

“Shut the fuck up, Jesse.”

author's notes:

i can’t believe this is finally out!! sorry for taking so long to update this, but hopefully how long this is will make up for the time ♡︎

the "barbie heterosexual" line is a reference to a line from the iconique movie "imagine me and you" :)

reader's little spiel to tara about her dating preference is just another little love letter of mine towards masc/butch/stud lesbians. just love y'all so much, you deserve the world.

fred is named after another jackson resident in the actual game (as i've probably mentioned before, all the character names in this fic are purposeful: either named after actual characters or named after people irl). i thought it was a silly little reference for him to go after astrid cause in the games, he's barely mentioned except at one point when it's seen he was paired up with astrid for patrol at one point. i enjoy my little easter eggs :)

the descriptions of most of reader’s friends are slightly based on the physical appearances of some of my irl friends :)

i’ve discovered that i really love making these flashback chapters hehe

like i said, i’m so sorry for taking forever to update this!! my life has been an absolute shit show lately (if you’ve been keeping up with my personal ramblings on here, you know by now lol). but the next few chapters have been basically mapped out already, so hopefully it won’t take me that long to update this with the next chapter ♡︎

taglist: @lonelyfooryouonly, @elliesinterlude, @sawaagyapong, @peppesgirl, @iconsoft, @maybeidohaveadhd, @ellieswifee, @valiantllamapersonpony-blog, @nil-eena, @echostinn, @uraesthete, @softbunlvr, @cherriesxinthespring, @amitycat, @thefishymissy, @yevheniiaaaa, @machetegirl109, @bertandfearnie, @ximtiredx, @efam, @elliesnumber1gf, @digit4lslut, @tayyyystan,

@emothurman, @livvy-2000, @abigaillovestoread, @gold-dustwomxn, @liabadoobee, @yuckyfucky, @qtefolleunpez, @libr4sonsa, @venusluv3, @robinismywifee, @villainousbear, @ashlynnnnnnnn15, @scarlettadore, @vianna99, @g0n3girls, @totheblood, @embermdk, @awyunh, @kenz-ee, @marvelwomen-simp, @eleactric, @simpforellie, @omgidksblog,

@anxiouso, @nyrastar, @lillysbigwilly, @hopeless-y, @elliesbabygirl, @alexpritch, @thestarsanctuary, @aethelwyneleigh27, @cass00x, @mulan-but-gay, @carmellie, @destielcore, @tfuuka, @elliewilliamsmissingfingerss, @sagestuffing, @ewwitsbella,

@igoferalforelliewilliams, @miaelliesgfxoxo, @kissesforells, @elysiagyaru, @asteroidzzzn, @gay4jinx, @97cityy, @joliettes, @p1llowthoughtss, @ellieslegalwife, @aouiaa, @lez-zuha, @ineffablefics, @peepshake, @lil-elliesgf, @wex--12, @ccinnamongrl, @siriusblackrunmeover17, @whenlostinthedarkness, @elsbouquet

#nobody compares to you series #ellie williams #dealer!ellie #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie x y/n #the last of us #tlou #the last of us part 2 #tlou2 #ellie fanfiction #belle speaks #belle writes

579 notes · View notes

hells-wasabii · 3 months

Note

hi hello I come bearing a vox request

I don’t have any super specific requests but I would vv much appreciate it if you could write drabble/list a few headcanons for a vox x reader situation where both people are workaholics. (also preferably a nb reader)

sorry if any of this is confusing this is my first time requesting anything on tumblr 😭thanks in advance!

A/N: Hi there! not confusing at all! I would've fulfilled this request sooner, but i got a little busy today plus i had to watch the new episodes! Any who, hope you enjoy! I did do a half and half type of format, i couldn't really decide which to do so i went with both

Character: Vox

Type: Headcanons + Drabble (Workaholic!Vox x non-binary Workaholic!reader)

Listen. There's no way you can't convince me that Vox, video demon, founder and CEO of VoxTech, the demon that practically RUNS television, isn't a workaholic. He more than likely produces a vast majority of shows too.

He can't always help it though. Sometimes he just gets so caught up in what he's working on.

And the fact that you too are as work-orientated as he is doesn't help. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing. Some of his best works have been made with you by his side. On the downside, this also means that with you both being workaholics, it's a common occurrence for the both of you to forget to slow down and relax every once in a while

But don't be mistaken, the two of you still go on dates. You're still his plus one to any event he's invited to. It's just that both of you prefer to work on passion projects through the night, accompanied by a couple cups of coffee or tea.

There's really no one he'd rather work beside. You were his partner. In crime, in business, in romance. No one else could really keep up with his visions like you could. It deepens his trust in you and in turn his affections.

But of course, even the two of you can't keep chugging on forever. Even locomotives have to stop sometimes. A nice night in is sometimes the best way to charge that battery... if you two don't crash first that is.

Three days.

Valentino and Velvette hadn't seen either you or Vox in three days. Sure, they'd received emails and calls, but neither one of them had had any visual confirmation that you were both still kicking. So imagine their surprise to see you and the video star passed out on the couch in the trio's lounge, limbs entangled.

No doubt the two of you had just crashed after a rather productive working binge and just picked the closest soft piece of furniture to collapse on.

Valentino had to suppress a snicker, instead turning to the youngest of the Vee's. Velvette, of course, had been quick to pull out her phone to snap pictures of the spectacle. 'Blackmail' she mouthed to the moth demon when he raised an eyebrow in question.

They would surely give you two hell later, but for now, Val and Vel would let you be. After all, they had to admit that ever since you came along productivity at Vee Tower had skyrocketed... as had Vox's happiness.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #vox x reader #hazbin hotel vox #vox headcanons #hazbin vox #hazbin headcanons #hazbin imagine #drabble #fluff

257 notes · View notes

riddles-fiddles · 9 months

Text

Octavinelle boys with a pregnant S/O

Synopsis: I'm dealing with terrible baby ferver so I need to get this out of my system. Headcanons to how the boys react to your pregnancy all thorough the months (part 2) Characters: Azul Ashengrotto, Floyd Leech, Jade Leech Tags: SFW, fluff, domestic fluff Notes: AFAB gender neutral reader, cw pregnancy and birth

•·.·''·.·•ˏˋ°••·.·''·.·•ˏˋ°••·.·''·.·•ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

⁀➷ Azul Ashengrotto — make sure to give him the good news while the man is safely sitting down, or else you'll see him go weak on his knees. Azul prides himself on his collected demeanor and carefully woven expressions - vital skills for his business-oriented persona - but then he is inevitably crumbling down, staring at the positive pregnancy test wide-eyed, struggling to find something clever to say. His mind is racing wild but no rational thoughts are able to fall from his lips, so all he can muster is a very low, shaky "I am… going to be a father?"

Give him some time to digest the news and you'll be met by a very gentle, tender hug from the octomer. Azul is both thrilled and terrified of this new chapter of your shared life; he longed to achieve the same kind of love his mother and step-father shared with each other, to be cared for and desired in such a selfless and devotional way, inspired by the way their love reflected upon his own upbringing. On the other hand, however, his insecuriities threatened to surface once again, doubts and ghosts from the past whispering wicked lies about his worth as a future parent. He doesn't want to fail on you and the child, as a partner or a father, and though he's equally worried about the emotional aspect of parenthood, he sticks to the importance of material goods - they're more on his comfort lane and he does it flawless to ensure your growing family can have everything of need.

(Please leash him while shopping for nursery furniture or else he'll make the baby's room a monochrome nightmare)

Azul showers you with gifts almost everyday: jewels, clothes, accessories… anything he knows you like or make any minimal comments about, being his way of showing how much he loves and cares for you, and as you progress through the stages, he takes more leaves from Mostro Lounge. He loves his work, but you are the lighthouse of his life, the one he cherishes and clings to on stormy or bright days, and the pregnancy only fueled his sense of loyalty and sincerity to you. His cafe actually comes in handy when the cravings start, and Azul isn't even an ounce ashamed to take advantage of the students working under his contracts to request them to make whatever you hunger for, though it was a surprise at first to discover about that particular characteristic of human pregnancy; he was amused nonetheless, but then he will be more careful when handing your requests. He's a very attentive partner, though it could be hard for him to express all the emotions that bubbles within his chest, sometimes too worried about being 'too emotional', scared to say something and make himself a complete fool. He kneads the stress away from your body with careful fingers and helps you out on regular tasks - shampoo your hair, put your shoes on, change clothes.

When the big day finally comes, Azul is already set and ready to go. Fret not, for the darling octo-mer has picked only the best, comfiest and quietest room for the delivery with only the best nurses on the hospital and has already set a very special menu for you to indulge in after all your hard work. But suddenly he is panicking, the danger of human birth finally sinking in as he watches the way you writhe and sob on the bed, but he can't do much but hold your hands tightly and hope for the best as the nurses help you around. When his baby is finally placed over his arms and Azul gazes upon the serene features of the tiny bean, all his terrors and doubts melt away, exhaling out a sigh of relieve and renewed joy - Azul realizes he's madly in love with you and the frail life that lays withing his grasp. He understands that there's no need for him to be perfect, either.

⁀➷ Floyd Leech — very excited from the idea of having a mini Floyd running around the house, a pocket-sized partner in crime, but to expect he would be an exceptional partner is, unfortunately, wrong. Floyd is very complex and his emotions are hard to keep controlled, and now that you are pregnant, he becomes somewhat more intense because of your own hormones and the anxiety of parenthood gripping on his neck. He does tries his best to get his moods in check, though - he doesn't want you to be stressing over him, knowing how dangerous it could be, so whenever he feels like his mood is about to change drastically, he walks away to take a breath. Things can turn into quite a ruckus if you end up experiencing those annoying changes at the same time though, as Floyd struggles to understand why you're snapping at him all of a sudden when he was just asking you something. Jade helps him understand that you're extremely hormonal and how it affects your humor and helps you keep his brother's own on check.

He's a lot more possessive and protective of you now, if not clingier. Floyd will be wrapping his arms around your figure any chance he gets, and when in public he'll always be intertwining your fingers together or holding you by the waist, getting annoyed every time someone comes asking to touch your bump - "I'm the only one who should be allowed to touch my Shrimpy's belly! Strangers have no bussiness being so close to you." Going to the doctor is always amusing because that's the moment Floyd looks the most concentrated than you can ever remember. Human pregnancy is something so new and weird for him, he's totally enthralled; what do you mean you don't lay eggs? Oh, you're just like a whale! How fun! Though he is entertained from all the information he's learning, Floyd is lowkey terrified of the birthing process (he's flabbergasted to know human babies can come out the size of a small watermelon), but he does his best to calm you down, and if you'd prefer to get a c-section, then he'll totally support you! During the preparations for the baby's room, Floyd will prefer to decorate it with ocean-themed stuff, having a blast with the assorted toys you two have bought and you're worried he might be more excited with them than your child. You know that one meme of the dad stealing the kid's tricycle? Yeah, that's him.

The delivering day comes, and Floyd is a whirlwind. He's more scared than you and it shows, no more jokes or smart remarks to try and hide his desperation, only panic, and you need to calm him down, even though he's not the one dealing with hellish contractions. Also, for the love of all Sevens, do not allow him to drive. Once you two get in the hospital, Floyd makes use of scary eel privilege to swiftly arrange a delivery room for you and suddenly almost all the nurse staff is mobilized to take care of you. Floyd can't bear the idea of leaving you alone not for even a minute, so despite the recommendations, he'll sit through hours by your side even if he's tense and stiff, holding your hand tightly. Bless the nurses who'll be helping you, because they'll have to deal with Floyd going through all the emotions known to man. Don't worry though, once he knows his shrimpy and little fry are safe and healthy, he'll turn back to the usual easy-going happy Floyd.

⁀➷ Jade Leech — Jade is surprised to receive the news. Similar to Azul, he does have a bit of knowledge about human's particularities and biology, but he wasn't expecting for you two to be compatible, especially since he's a much more 'feral' kind of merman. Nonetheless, he's happy with the prospect of growing a loving family with you... though by the progression of months, he grows the most worried. He's relieved to see the way you glow, how you seem healthy, but intrusive thoughts sometimes creep on the back of his mind. What if something happens? What if your body rejects the child because of his eel-merman genes? What if— but then you come to him squealing about how you felt the baby's first kick, and suddenly he's relaxing, his heart washed from any lingering fears. He pulls you closer and lays his head on your bump, humming quietly as he feels the baby slowly settling down.

Jade does his own research just to be sure he's doing everything right and what to expect from the significant changes you two are inevitably experiencing, insisting on working out a routine of exams and appointments, always so attentive to every little detail and medical advice. The bad thing is, he strictly follows them, which means you won't be able to snatch something unhealthy for all of your pregnancy; even if you're trying to tiptoe your way to the fridge, Jade somehow knows, he's right there to remind you about 'doctor's orders'. He's got the best of intentions, though he may look too strict. But don't fret! As soon as mama Leech gets word about your pregnancy she's coming to help! Jade actually listens to her tips, recognizing her very valuable experience on the matter and trusting mama knows best. At least you get to eat some cheat food here and there - Jade's shocked and extremely entertained to be taught that humans believe that a baby could be born looking like a certain kind of food if the mother doesn't eat whatever she's craving, and so he indulges you into whatever you ask him to cook. Similar to Floyd, Jade grows more possessive of you, especially when out in public. He dislikes the attention your bump attracts, cautious of ill-intentioned people, so when your belly has grown to it's full glory, Jade gives curious passerbys a piercing cold look while you're not aware, and then carries on to grocery shopping, whispering sweet praises to your ear like the entire mall isn't turning heels as fast as possible the moment they land their eyes on you both.

When the baby's due date comes, Jade is the ever collected and relying gentleman you need. Since he's such a good observer and has kept track of every little thing during your pregnancy - mood swings, body changes, smell and heat - he already has a suspicion you're about to go into labour, so he has prepared everything you might need even before you can shout about your water breaking. It's so endearing how he already looks like a dad - diligently guiding you through the hospital halls, big maternity bags hanging on his shoulders as he coos quietly about how everything is going to be ok, how you're going to be a great parent and how much he loves you. If you ask him to stay with you on the delivery room, he'll gladly let you squeeze his hand into oblivion and look unaffected, watching as you work for hours on end with a ressuring smile and the most sincere devotion on his eyes, totally enthralled by your resilience.

713 notes · View notes

iznsfw · 11 months

Text

The Devil's Telephone

IVE's An Yujin x Male Reader Smut

6969 words

Categories | model!Yujin x photojournalist!you, rough sex

Barely edited. Who cares, I did great.

"Is it true? What they say about you?"

You're nervous, fidgeting in the king-sized bed with your arm leaning against the mattress. It feels odd to be in a rich and attractive girl's place without being naked. Not that it's something you've experienced before anyway, but it's like breaking an unspoken law everyone but you was oriented to. But you have your manners, and so does she. Supposedly.

She's still beside you, her expensive clothes hiding not her shapely form. And to think it looks beautiful without the need for oil painting all around it or nakedness. That pretty smile, that also intimidates you a little, is the cherry on top of the cake that is An Yujin.

Speaking of, there's one right now between her lips. She's toying with its strand of a twig, tracing the cherry she got from the bowl beside her bed along the pink hills of her luscious mouth.

"After everything I did," Yujin says, "what do you think?"

"I don't really…" Struggle to find your words. "I, I don't really dwell on—"

"If I'm a slut or not?" Yujin finishes for you, smiling teasingly.

This conversation's a mistake, now that she's using words about a subject you tried to tread on lightly. "Look, I'm not trying to be rude or anything, I'm sorry."

"No offense taken. I get it."

Yujin lifts herself off her comfortable lounge position on her bed and instead sits on the backsides of her legs. Her hands are on your lap rather than her own. Should've been a sign for you that this is going nowhere but in a downward spiral.

"You want to know if the rumors are true? If nepo model An Yujin's really a slut, like they all say?"

"Uh… sure?"

Yujin gestures her chin to your crotch. "Whip out your dick. Then you'll see."

"You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"I'm not," says Gaeul. "Say that one more time and your career's over. No going back."

The small smile that's an everyday accessory to her features is gone. That tells you that what she says is what there is to her statement. What you hear is what you get. There's no underlying tone to it; she's completely serious, and besides, when has Gaeul ever lied?

Wring the looped lace of your camera over your head and place it and the device that can make or break your career on her desk. "Nope," you say. "I'm not doing it."

"You will," Gaeul says. "Nobody else will do it."

"Can't you get Jiwon to show up there?" It's worth a try, right?

"Like I said, no chance. Rei's with her on vacation. And Yunjin is out of the question."

"God fucking dammit."

Looks like this day can actually get worse. First, you miss the taxi going to the studio, ending up being about an hour late to your meeting. And then the nervous intern almost spilled coffee all over your camera. Luckily, the scalding liquid only ended up mostly on your pressed shirt. It's like the day is toying with your feelings, trying to see how far you can get without breaking down.

Your eye twitches. The day might see your breaking point after all.

"Gaeul," you say, "I'm a photojournalist, not a fucking Seattle professional."

"And so are a quarter of the people who go to the fashion week," she counters. Gaeul exhales through her nostrils, then leans forward on her desk, hands folded. "All you have to do is stand in for Chaewon and take the photos for each model. Don't worry about the caption."

"How'll I know what they're wearing?"

"I can do that for you. I'm quite the fashion enthusiast, if I do say so myself."

You don't see the sense in it, like, at all. "Then why don't you go take the photos?"

"Because I don't want to, newbie," replies Gaeul simply. She swings her legs over the table and places her palms behind her neck. "You can sit here all day whining about I'm-a-photojourn-this and I-can't-do-it-that, but you're still going to go through."

Gaeul's a rather straightforward girl, yet she can still make her blunt words sound frightening. You have to show that you can hold your own, too, and that you're not going to back up. Ever.

"And why do you think I'll give in so easily?" you challenge.

She smiles. "Because An Yujin's going to be there, and unless you live under a fucking rock, you'd know she's the main attraction."

You aren't dumb. Of course you know her. It’s impossible not to know of her when the magazines all scream her name and the camera flashes crave her presence. It’s hard to navigate life without at least seeing a Yujin standee for one of the brands she sponsors or her face on soju labels. She’s become a household name that, even if you somehow wished it to be the other way, she's become an inescapable force in every Korean’s life. That’s just how it works. It’s been like that for as long as you remember.

She rose up in the industry at a young age. Being her age, you can remember the buzz she creates among your classmates, from head-over-heels, hopeless romantic boys and adoring girls (and a few girls who'd die to be able to touch her, too.) She's on their phone wallpapers, in another cutesie pose, and on the photocards in the back of clear cases. She's here, she's there, she's everything everywhere.

You're familiar with her, but nothing about her except the usual: she's a model, she's an idol, she's a—

Ah, how should it go?

The girl beside you at the event, who's rather tall and if circumstances were different should be on the runway herself, tells you it goes like this: "She's an international free-use backstabbing slut."

Well, you didn't expect Kazuha to say that so easily (she told you her name earlier just so you had something to call her during the mandatory small talk), but you know what she's talking about. However, you have no right to say Yujin's a slut when you're dressed… well, dressed like this. Your whole outfit is an embarrassing array of rainbow colors. Even your tie's pulled into passiveness by the colorful dress code. If this is what those high fashion enthusiasts call "fashion," you're glad you're not a part of them. You'll be glad to keep shopping at your local thrift store.

Hence, "I wouldn't put it that way," you say.

Kazuha smirks. "How would you say it?" she asks.

Why is she so interested in what you think about her? You suspect Kazuha's one of those girls who's rather jealous of the stick-figure models strutting the runway but would deny it with all her soul. Maybe that's it. She's jealous that she sits there in the audience while perfection after perfection makes themselves known to the public.

"She's…" You snap a pic of another eighty-pound model walking down the runway. "Uh, promiscuous. That's all."

Kazuha grins. She purses her lips and writes down on her notepad, probably intending to use your statement as a headline pun. "Maybe we should switch jobs," she says. "You can be the devil's advocate journalist, and I can be the white knight photographer."

Exhale loudly. For fuck's sake, you want to tell her, I'm only here to do the job I didn't want in the first place. Why has she chosen you to play with to fulfill her boredom? Whatever game she's set, you're not joining.

"Look, what is it about Yujin that you hate?" you ask.

"She fucked Jang Wonyoung, those MCs she used to partner up with, that actress from the period drama who was on Produce, too… everybody."

"Okay." You look at her pointedly. "Source?"

Kazuha gestures a rude index to the runway. "Look at her. Look at her and tell me she isn't a slut. I dare you."

You look up from the lens of your camera for once, and as much as you'd like to come to Yujin’s defense, seeing as there’s no evidence to all those allegations and being a public figure with all the criticism must be the deepest ring of hell, you see what Kazuha means.

You hate to say it, and you’d love to pass no judgment, but the prodding journalist is right. Yujin isn't skin and bones like the other models, nor does she wear light makeup. However, her confident gaze that not once settles on the floor immediately makes you think, wow, now that is a model. She only looks forward, stepping onto the smooth floor in heels that make her much taller than she already is. Her eyes are lined with this sharp, blaring dark that makes her brown contacts stand out and makes her look like a black cat. So much for Jiwon’s nickname.

But that isn’t all. It’s far from done, because it’s not Yujin’s arrogant smile that drips of sultriness that confirms Kazuha's allegations for you, nor is it her makeup. It’s what she’s wearing. Her chest nearly spills out of the oddly-cut neckline of her blouse, and it’s see-through, meaning that even if her busty figure is in some way contained by the clothing, you can still see everything. For example, her tummy lined with her abs and a small tattoo (barely noticeable, but enough to cause a few tabloids to freak out); her wide hips, and of course; the bare flesh of her breasts. The fabric tape does nothing to hide them when her brown nipples beg to be seen through the fabric. Each bounce coerced by her confident strut is out there for all to see, and so are the jiggles of her full thighs.

Which part of everything do you have to immortalize in a photograph? You don’t know. You just keep taking pictures. There’s plenty enough to create a video of her walk without actually having to record one.

Seeing your dropped jaw, Kazuha grins satisfactorily. “Told you,” she says.

You aren’t done looking, though. As the press and audience scream her name, (they all know her name—she’s bagged so many brand deals, shot more than enough magazine covers, and performed songs you couldn’t count on two hands just so that any type of audience can recognize her), Yujin steps up to the end of the catwalk. She smiles at all the attention, setting a hand on her waist before blowing several kisses to the audience.

And, of course, she finishes off her umpteenth walk with another scandal:

Shredding her blouse into pieces. Yujin rips it clean from the seams, letting the lost dangle of fabric finally reveal the whole of her chest. Her skimpy shorts are the only thing remaining complete on herself.

The viewers gasp, and you do, too. But you're hypocrites, the lot of you, for you remain interested in scanning every bit of her enviable body. Secretly, you all know that some part of you were looking there even before her blouse ripped.

You haven’t seen a model do that before, but then again, she’s not just a model. She’s plenty of things: a singer, an idol, an ambassador—

A slut. A full-on, shameless, lives-up-to-her-name slut.

“So.”

“So,” you say, resentfully. Your camera’s in your bag, and Gaeul is on the phone with you. You’re proceeding out of the vicinity like everybody else. It's eight p.m.; someone’s bound to be hungry at this hour, and that someone is you.

You can hear the giggle in her voice as she asks you, “What do you think?”

“What do I think?” you say, flabbergasted. Zip up your satchel bag and walk through the rain. “Gaeul, the girl just ripped her shirt off in front of everyone! This isn’t what I signed up for!”

What should you get tonight? Minute Burger? Maybe McDonald’s or some sushi? You’d take anything—you’re pretty hungry after the long show. If this is how hunger hits after shows, you’re glad you don’t have to go through the whole fashion week. By Saturday, you’d be as dead as everyone was after the stunt Yujin pulled.

“I thought you knew about her, newbie,” replies Gaeul. She’s clearly poking fun at your reaction. What’s also clear is the obvious fact that she picked you out for this job just to see how you’d handle it. Would you go crazy? Treat Yujin as a Victorian man who’d just seen a lady’s ankles would? Oh, she’d love to find out.

“I didn’t know she was…"

"Yeah?"

"B-bold.”

“Oh, please be normal about it. You’re a photojournalist. You handled the dead guy who was stabbed alright, but a woman showing her tits is where you cross the line?”

“It’s not that,” you say tiredly. Your stomach is really growling now. “I guess… I think…”

"Hey."

Your phone drops to the wet cement road. Like a haunting phantom, Yujin appears out of nowhere. It's like she suddenly materialized from the fog of the storm.

You don't know where to look. Yujin's still dressed, (somewhat), in her ruined blouse. The thing is even more transparent as the rain beats down on it. Still, she looks perfect. She is perfect. You know that without having to be a fan of her.

The light from a camera hidden in a beaten bush makes you flinch. If the crouched man in black taking photos of Yujin isn't there, you'd have accepted your fate to get struck by lightning. Yujin raises her eyebrows questioningly, and you're forced to compose yourself once more.

"Uh, hi," you stammer. Bend down to pick your sodden phone up. Darn it, it's dead. How will you contact Gaeul now?

"You're one of the photographers, right?" asks Yujin. Unlike you, she doesn't care that your phone has met its end, or mind that her boobs are out in the open.

You mutter something of agreement, but you're still tinkering with your phone. The battery's probably broken, which's a pity when your late mother gifted it to you on the last birthday you had together.

"Damn, must be nice to snap photos of a half-naked chick, huh? You liked seeing me up there?"

That makes you stop fiddling with your destroyed gadget. "I," you say, cornered into confession but still trying to gather a burst of energy to escape, "I'm not—"

"An Yujin," she says, as if the whole world doesn't scream her name. As if she were just another girl out there who's a little too friendly. She doesn't offer her hand; she grasps yours and shakes it firmly.

You have no other choice but to be acquainted with her there and then. You tell her your name, albeit nervously, as you slip your phone into your pocket. What is she planning? Why is she out here with you?

Yujin grins. "Nice to meet you. Want to come to a party at my house? Starts when we get there."

Now you understand what she's planning. What else would you expect from her?

First things first, though: where should you look? Her chest is a dangerous option. To look or not to look? That is the question—you choose the second option. Note the dim stars in the foggy sky. Look down at the road blotted with raindrops. Remark inwardly about the state of your shoes and how they're too expensive to be dragged through a weather like this.

Second, should you go? Gaeul would be looking for you. She'd want the pics immediately so she could put them in the magazine and on your company blog site. But you haven't had fun in years, and for a girl with the wealth and status of Yujin, it might be a new beginning.

Work, however, comes first.

"I'm sorry," you tell her. You really are. Yujin seems like a fun girl outside of her wildness. "I don't think I—"

"Great! Come on, I'll drive you!"

That's how you end up in a limousine for the first time in your life and learn that An Yujin doesn't take no for an answer.

The seats are dark and soft, and there's two long aisles of it for thirty pax max to occupy. However, despite the spaciousness, Yujin still chooses to sit snugly beside you. Should you feel flattered? Intimidated? You struggle to choose for this question.

You wonder where you're headed. The infamous Jang Hills where celebrities like singer Son Seungwan and model and humanitarian Jang Wonyoung, who owns the place, reside? The rain is too strong for you to be able to see where the vehicle's headed, but you suspect that's the destination. There's no other.

"So," says Yujin. She's still sitting comfortably beside you. Her smile dimples her cheeks, and it just doesn't match the boldness of her ripped blouse. When she wears that smile, she looks like a girl who's too cheerful and innocent to be… the way she is. "Would I have to pay you to see my photos?"

"For god's sake, Miss An, put on some clothes before you scare the guy," chuckles the driver, shaking his head. He's a tall, dark man with the typical shades and a rosary on his rearview mirror. You wonder if he prays for Yujin sometimes.

"But that's no fun," she says, the pout on her face growing wider when her driver tosses her a black fur coat (that still reminds you of her when you note how the chest part is gone) and sleeveless innerwear. Seems like he keeps clothes in his car for situations like these. "Clothes are so big and boring, you know. Totally outdated.

"Anyway, about the photos…?"

"Oh, you don't have to pay," you tell her. But you know that money isn't a problem with Yujin—she can buy you and your whole life if she chose to.

"Gimme then." She makes grabby hands, and your camera eventually ends up in them. Her eyes sparkle with narcissistic adoration. "Oh damn, I look hot. Delete this, though. Bad angle."

"I– okay."

"My tits look amazing, don't you think? Come on, say my tits look fantastic."

"Ms. An," says the driver firmly, albeit his tone holds some of the amusement in it still. "Put on some clothes."

Yujin rolls her eyes, but she does. And you watch as she strips, painfully slow. She pulls the soaked blouse above her wet body, showing her bare, beautiful arms and pits. Even her soft midriff is perfect. And, try as you may (must), you can't stop looking. Several snaps and pinches would be too weak to pull you back into reality, because there's the goddess that she is to look at. You figure out now why your former classmates were and still are obsessed with her. She may be a wild little thing, but she's got an amazing body, an amazing fashion sense. Everything about her, even her boldness, is enviable. Desirable. Unreachable.

The clothes mold to her beautiful shape. The damp, slightly messy hair only adds to her beauty. You can feel yourself getting warm.

"We're here," says Yujin cheerfully, oblivious to the way your eyes are raking down her perfect body. "Here's your camera. Wouldn't want it to break like your phone. Pity."

Getting up to open the car door isn't part of a wealthy girl's everyday life. Yujin isn’t an exception—she has her driver to do that plus assist her out of the limo, and when he does, you're welcomed into a whole new world.

The rain has halted. Signs of its earlier presence, however, can be seen on the drops on the maze of bushes. There's statues of Eros, gray and mighty with his strong arms and arrows, perched on pedestals to the entrance of the mansion. Through the gate, you catch sight of a large pool, where heiresses and friends of Yujin laugh and swim. It's no land for lowlives. You are the exception, somehow.

"This… this is your house?"

"Yep!” She nods positively. “Daddy gave it to me after he died from a heart attack."

"My condolences," you say. As the guards open the gate to Yujin's mansion, you admire the place. It looks like a temple for cupids. Perhaps it’s Yujin they’re worshiping. "Did he have heart conditions before that?"

"No." She shakes her head then waves happily to one of her friends at the pool. "He just saw me wearing a bra over my crop top, and he dropped dead."

You snort. Yujin looks at you weirdly. That's how you realize she isn't kidding.

"You're serious?"

She opens her mouth to say something, but forgets it. It's a long story that doesn't need more sequels.

Just the second drink of the night and you’ve met more celebrities than an average person would see personally in their whole life. As the dazzling disco ball shimmers rainbow colors all over the place, you catch sight of more than plenty of pretty and handsome faces. Over there is Jang Wonyoung, one of the models who walked earlier, and Miyawaki Sakura, a famous CEO of more beauty lines than you can count on ten fingers. Whether their beauties are handcrafted or God-given, they all have something in common: they’re all A-listers—they’re relevant, popular, used to this wild lifestyle. Camera flashes have trained them not to flinch at the gliding lights. This is an everyday routine in their book.

However, you’re used to being behind the camera, not in front of it. You’re overstimulated by the sea of laughing, moving bodies and the loud music. While Yujin happily screams and downs several shots, you stand idly beside her, dizzy and tired.

“I don’t think I can handle more.”

“Past your bedtime?” asks Yujin, grinning. She waves at Wonyoung and points at you, mouthing something to her, to which the model winks in response. You wonder what kind of exchange the two models had that granted an unusually smug look on Wonyoung’s face. You’re certain it’s about you, but you don’t know what it’s about. You’re not even sure if you want to discover it.

“It’s not that,” you say embarrassedly. “I’m… I’m not a party person. I get lightheaded easily.”

“Wanna take a break? Go to my room?”

Now that’s a red flag. It doesn't even try to hide its true color; it waves proudly in front of you. You’re the bull who went straight for it.

Yujin’s bedroom is the size of your living room, with a large bed to match. Curtained pillars stand on each end while posters hang off the walls. You suppose that the people on them are the ones Yujin looks up to: IU, known as Lee Jieun whenever she ventures out of singing and into acting; Marilyn Monroe (no explanation needed), and a few other nameless models and actresses. A lot are old posters of seventies’ pornographic films. Lights frame the mirror on the dresser table.

“You’re a privileged girl, miss An,” you say. It’s the only way you can respectfully say that she’s kind of a spoiled brat. But maybe that’s your jealousy talking.

“I know, right?” replies Yujin, twirling around. “And please, call me Yujin. You can sit on the bed if you want to.”

Your mind toys with the idea of the posters on her wall debating if you’re the hundredth person to have come over or the thousandth. Nevertheless, you want to stay neutral; it’s none of your business anyway. So you take a seat on the edge of the softest mattress you’ve ever felt while Yujin does so, too. She kicks her boots off on the carpeted floor.

“Hey,” says Yujin, “want to play a game before you doze off?”

Just how many red flags does this girl have? “Er, sure.” You shrug. Maybe it’s just a game, nothing more, like she said.

“Since we barely know each other, let’s take turns asking each other questions. Dibs on the first question.

“I haven’t seen you in shows before. How did you end up there?”

A safe start. “One of my coworkers was sick,” you explain. “I had to fill in for her. My turn.”

“Hit me.”

“Did you take modeling classes?”

Yujin laughs as if it was the funniest thing she’s ever heard. “God, no,” she says. “Classes and workshops are scams. All I had to do was ask my daddy to ask for a spot for me.”

“Must be nice.”

“Right? Did you take classes for photography?”

“I took one of the scams, yeah,” you say, earning a giggle from Yujin. “I’m a journalist first. It’s all I know.”

Meaningful silence fills the air. You remain hooked on your sentence, realizing how true it is. Photojournalism is the only thing you’re good at. It’s sheltered you and brought you so many opportunities at the same time. You don’t know how to find other hobbies to make your forte when you’re stuck in its bubble, and its bubble only. Without your camera, you’re nothing. Without people like Yujin to take photos of, you’re nothing, too.

You suppose you should break the heavy silence. But you’re unsure if your question should be asked; it might trigger a violent response from her, although she’s been nothing but laid-back with you. And you don’t particularly want a rich girl to ruin your career. You’ve gone so far that the only direction to look at is forward.

But you must learn to take risks.

"Is it true? What they say about you?"

Speaking of, there's one right now between her lips. She's toying with its strand of a twig, tracing the cherry she got from the bowl beside her bed along the pink hills of her luscious mouth.

"After everything I did," Yujin says, "what do you think?"

"I don't really…" Struggle to find your words. "I, I don't really dwell on—"

"If I'm a slut or not?" Yujin finishes for you, smiling teasingly.

This conversation's a mistake, now that she's using words about a subject you tried to tread on lightly. "Look, I'm not trying to be rude or anything, I'm sorry."

"No offense taken. I get it."

"You want to know if the rumors are true? If nepo model An Yujin's really a slut, like they all say?"

"Uh… sure?"

Yujin gestures her chin to your crotch. "Whip out your dick. Then you'll see."

You’re flustered. Did Yujin—this tall, alluring model that’s got her whole life ahead of her yet nothing to lose, this irritatingly attractive Yujin—really say that to you? Or was it something lost in the swarms of shouts and music from outside of the room? Maybe you’ve misheard. Maybe you’ll keep playing safe tonight.

But those are just mere maybes with no connection at all to what’s about to happen.

“Can’t do it yourself, pretty boy? Let me help you.”

Yujin lifts your satchel bag from your shoulders. You find yourself raising your arms to help her. It’s like the what and tension in the air have infected you and made you into this heated, lustful character far from the real you, because if this were truly your own self, you’d say you had a career. You’d say this shouldn’t be happening. You’d leave the room instead of helping her unbuckle your belt. You’d do anything but this.

Perhaps she’s changed you.

Yujin slips a tongue along the path of her luscious lips at the sight of your bare thighs and cock. “Our friend here,” she says, “needs a little help from me, no?”

“Yujin…” you moan, and it’s humiliating, especially when barely anything sexual has happened yet. At least, anything sexually physical.

Luckily for you, she curls her fist around your dick and gives justification to your breathy sounds. Maybe the rumors about how she likes to get around are true; Yujin knows how to work her way with a cock. Her warm fingers jerk your flesh at just the right timing, letting the hardness build up before doing that too with the pace. She’s looking at you with this wild desire in her eyes that grows bigger when your erection does, too. Oh, and that smile—if looks could kill, An Yujin would already be arrested for your murder.

“Now that’s not so bad, is it?” she remarks. She spits on your cock. Her wet saliva coats your length with just enough to let her smooth palm slide along itself pleasurably. “You like this? Just wait until you feel my pussy. Or maybe my lips would do first? The higher ones, I mean.”

Yujin’s lips descend onto your shaft, welcoming it into an impossibly soft and wet heaven. Yujin’s little tongue flicks at your base gently, even daring to lick at a little part of your balls before working their way up. It deliciously slides upwards at your veins.

“Fuck, Yujin. Your mouth—fuck, it feels so good.”

“Mmm.” Yujin engages in an open-mouthed, sloppy kiss with your tip. “I know. I’d fuck me, too, if I could, but I have you to do that.”

“Right,” you say breathily, because she is. If she’s sucking your cock this well and her cheek’s painfully stimulating as your cockhead brushes it, how much better would her pussy be? You’re definitely fucking her, even if your experience in this is zero. Yes, that’s also right: you’re a virgin. Zero experience, no bitches.

But, if it means anything, it’s the other way around. It’s Yujin making you her bitch. She may be serving you with the lips and kisses of a good girl, but her eyes tell you that there’s more to it than you think. You’re hers, see, for this night, and that’s all you ever will be. You’re no photojournalist anymore—you’re Yujin’s one night stand, and that’s the only achievement people will ever remember to your name.

“These’re so fucking full,” murmurs Yujin as she admires your heavy balls. Sucking on them lightly before smiling up at you, she adds, “Make sure to blow all of it in my face, ‘kay? Promise me.”

“Think you can handle it, Yujin?” you ask, and it’s another embarrassing moment you’ll relive forever, for your cockiness will never get on the level she has. Your voice shakes too hard and your cock drips too much—it’s clear who owns who at this point.

“I’m a big girl.” Unfazed, she smiles. “I can handle myself.”

“Y-you sure?”

“Oh, don’t play hard to get it, baby,” Yujin coos. She pleases you with one hand and glides her fingers on your thigh with the other. It’s deadly. She’s deadly. “Let your guard down. It’s just me.”

“And you’ve said that to how many people?” you shoot back.

“More than you’re worth,” she quips. She winks at you. “Now cum for me.”

Ouch, but it doesn’t matter when her lips provide a great suction to cool the burn. It’s making your cock feel the heat instead, forming the tightness in your stomach more. Her hands massaging your thighs causes your sensitivity to reach an all-time high. Yujin’s covered your shaft in such an amountful that just one lick sends your toes curling. She licks, she sucks, she laps at your weak spots and delights in the upward push of your hips, but her hands keep your legs down. Can’t have her meal escaping. She wants all of your cum, and when Yujin wants (no, needs) something, she gets it. It’s how she’s navigated life, having everything her heart could ever want brought to her by whim. But if she has to work for your cum, then so be it. Either-which-way, she’s not giving up until she gets it.

She kisses your cock deeply, almost making your lips jealous. She sucks on each sensitive side and your dripping tip. What takes the cake, though, is how she downs the whole thing so suddenly, slipping itself inside her tight throat and letting you fuck it. Gasps can’t be contained by your pursed lips, and their cycle of repetition continues because of her. Because of Yujin, Yujin and her stupidly desirable mouth.

“Fuck,” you whine. When she hears that, she pulls away. Like rain, drops of semen make slick landings on her face. You keep expelling several shots of the thing she so desperately wants, and you realize that, even with your own pleasure being fulfilled, you’re still serving Yujin. You’re still giving her what she wants: your cum on her face. The fact that she’s playing with you remains stoic.

“Ah, this is the best.” Yujin licks her cumstained lips. “I could have swallowed it all like I did with these cherries here, but I can’t let it spoil the main course.”

“W-which is?” you inquire, still panting. Can you handle more?

You find out through Yujin taking off her black vest. Then, she slips out of her jean skirt. It hugs her lower figure so nicely that it nearly makes you mourn their departure, but you find a better thing to gawk at, and it’s Yujin’s ass and thighs. She may have dressed earlier, but the panties were off. She cares not for modesty, even outside of the modeling industry. It’s just not who she is.

For that, you’re glad. If Yujin were modest, you wouldn’t have had the chance to see her fat ass and shaven pussy up close. You wouldn’t get to see her sway her hips side to side, letting you see from behind how her ass ripples and bounces, or let you peer at her dripping thighs.

"You're weaker than all the others," Yujin notes. "I like it."

Should you be offended? Probably, but you aren't, because there's her approval. There's her saying that she likes how easily you break. There's her on the bed with her pussy spread by her fingers, revealing her tiny hole and needy clit.

There's a lot to look at is what you're saying, and a lot to take in consideration. For example—

"Ohhhh, fuck," moans Yujin. She rubs her core and gets a feel of how wet she is. "I'm so wet, see? I'm so, fuck, wet from blowing you."

Yujin leans against one of the pillars of her bed. What makes the sight of her masturbating hotter is that she's still covered in the face with cum that soon drips down her neck and onto her collarbone. She looks like she's been used incessantly, to the point where no amount of cock or finger can help her reach a good enough high. Although you're still sensitive, you begin to jack yourself off to her.

"Shit. Ohhh." Her head tosses backwards and she shuts her eyes. "This feels so good. Make me feel even better. Use your mouth."

It's all about what she wants, but you find out that you also want to put your mouth on her. Stop jerking off to kneel on the floor and place your hands on her thick thighs. You have no idea how to do this except from porn, but she moans loudly when you flick your tongue upwards, so you must be doing well.

Yujin's so wet that she dribbles on her expensive sheets. The feminine scent of her drives you crazy. Due to that, you pick up the pace of eating Yujin out. She's delicious. Better than any expensive meal you got going out.

"Oh, fuck," mewls Yujin. She grinds her clit down on the flat of your tongue. "That's it. Eat me out like that."

Next, guide your tongue to her slit, catching the juices she has. Push it inside, make her thighs suddenly clamp around your head. Painful, but worth it, because as useful as her makeshift earmuffs are, you can still make out her heavy moans.

“G-good, god, so good. Don’t you stop, don’t you fucking stop.”

“I won’t.”

The force of your mouth holds nothing back as it holds Yujin’s nub captive. She pulses in your mouth, and you can sense that she’s close because she’s screaming. She's squirming, she's writhing, she's—

“Stop.”

“But I, I thought you said—” You were having such a good time, too. Why did she have to ruin it?

Yujin giggles. “I wanted to cum on your cock,” she confesses. Sweat rolls down the sides of her face. “Let me?”

She’s subtly assertive like that, asking you first before making you do it anyway. She’s so used to getting her way, so used to letting people bend reality into the form she wants. And you’re becoming one of those people, as you lie down on the bed and let her mount you. You don’t suppose anyone would refuse either—her splayed lips rubbing your tip seems like a good thing to have in exchange for being under her ownership.

“Fuck,” you curse. Maybe this is better, in hindsight. Her hole grasps for you, but she teases it by only letting her clit glide along your cock. “Miss An, ah, Yujin, you’re so—”

“Pretty? Successful? Tight?” She sinks down on your dick with a smirk that differs from your weakened look of bliss. “Yeah, I’ve heard that before.”

They’re all perfect adjectives to describe her, but you weigh in the most on the last. Her soaked slit swallows you without time to properly take it in. She just keeps bouncing on you, a millisecond going unspared, as if she’d die if your cock weren’t ramming in her all times of the day. By her desperate moans, you think you’re right. They’re heavy, hanging onto your mind for too long that it just makes you throb harder inside.

You reach up to grab her tits. The bra-like innerwear she dons blocks you from experiencing the whole of it, and Yujin takes that into consideration, through which she pulls it up her arms and off herself. Her bust now moves up and down freely, looped in your mind like a constant reminder of how lucky you are to have Yujin fuck you. She may get around a lot, but whoever she fucks is like her: a hell of a catch.

You lift yourself up to suck on their brown nipples. She moans ferally. Her pushing your head deeper into her tits is how you realize you’ve wanted to do this, to suck and play and slap her chest, ever since you saw them be set free on the runway. It’s funny how two mounds of flesh can hypnotize you just like that. You’re trying to defeat the impulse actions they convince you to do, as if they were spiritual entities on your shoulder each to twist your decisions. But both are devils—even from their source, it’s clear that An Yujin is no angel.

“Yes, so good!” she screams. Her eyes are shut as she rides you with an impulse and speed that surely can’t be human. The pleasure she unleashes onto your cock as her pussy clings and gropes it must be the embodiment of the deadly sin of lust itself. It was written before in holy books, preached as a warning in churches. There’s no explanation for how angrily she impales herself with your cock. “Your cock’s too fucking big, I’m going to cum all over it!”

You spank her ass, and the plentiful skin wiggles right back into your hand. Seeing her face twist up into this pained yet blissful reaction inspires you to continue. That and your cock entering and exiting her hole, plus your kisses following the path of her neck makes Yujin go crazy.

“Fuck me!” She’s fully unhinged when she cums. Her short yet sharp, alliterate downward thrusts of her core leaves red on your thighs. She’s kissing you with this hunger that’s been fulfilled, in a way, but with which comes gluttony. She can’t have enough. She can’t have enough of your dick. It starts to scare you how she’s like the girls your pastor warned you about in Sunday school—she’s a gluttonous nymphomaniac greedy for things that aren’t good for her. Aren’t good for you.

Having sex with An Yujin makes you debate if you should go back to your religious roots and pray again. You’ve heard about the devil hiding behind human faces, and she completely fits the criteria: charming, deceiving, gorgeous beyond human comprehension. However, her divine body also can be something holy. It’s something that’s more than worth worshiping.

Which is which: evil or good? Angel or demon? A goddess who descended to earth or something far, far more dangerous?

Whichever, you just busted a load inside exactly that.

“So.”

“Hm?”

“Come on, tell me,” you say. Yujin’s teasing banter piques your curiosity to higher levels. “Did you really fuck all those people, or is it just,” shrug, as if you couldn’t care less when you do, “you know, hearsay?”

Yujin strokes your chest thoughtfully. The aftermath of the rough sex has left her almost invalid, but after a shower, she’s good to go. You followed suit after.

“The devil’s telephone,” she whispers.

“Huh?”

“Here. You know where to call me.”

#kpop smut #izone smut #ive smut #an yujin smut #ahn yujin smut #izone yujin smut #ive yujin smut #yujin smut #male reader #x reader #reader insert #pov smut

1K notes · View notes