#Wonder Woman probably thinks he’s a time traveler or something

[meichenxi]

languages, travel, identity, grief

Maybe some of you have heard of Xu Zhimo's Second Farewell to Cambridge (徐志摩 再別康橋 Translation: Saying Goodbye to Cambridge Again, by Xu Zhimo | East Asia Student). It's an achingly lovely poem about a Chinese scholar who studied in the UK, and how he left so gently, taking nothing with him as he went. It brought me solace over the last year.

I thought for a very long time about how I felt about having to leave China, and what it felt like to mourn for a future that was never going to mine. I cried. How am I supposed to explain why? I'm not Chinese. I've got no family there, or a childhood to look back on. I couldn't explain it even to myself.

That pain was coupled with a type of uncertainty, a discomfort at myself for feeling so strongly. This feeling was not allowed. It meant - what? Something awful, probably. I was a racist, probably. I should hate myself, probably. Fetishization is the word that gets thrown around for white people and their time spent in East Asia at one end of the spectrum - at the other end it's just seen as embarrassing and deeply, you know, cringe. It's a self-interrogation - why do I feel so sad? Why do I feel this pull so strongly anyway, to a country that's not even mine? Why should it matter so much when I leave? I didn't feel like this grief has any sort of legitimacy. But it has taken from September - eight months after leaving - for me to pick up Chinese again.

I felt, for months, hollow and unsettled and drifting from place to place. I opened my textbook, and closed it again. The memories there were too painful. I'm not going to write about why I had to leave, but it wasn't by choice. I had loved the people in the school, even if it was for a short time. When you have no internet and are training eight hours a day, the days are coloured more sharply: bright and hurtful and wonderful all at once. We had no running water. It was in an abandoned hotel. I miss the monk at the temple door opposite the school, always on time at 6am to open it for our classes. I miss the folk at the local shop who invited me to watch films on their projector; once they killed a chicken for us. I miss the woman in the woods who gave me the chestnuts she had picked. I gave the chestnuts to the cook, and we steamed them and ate them by the lake. He wanted me to marry his son; he wanted it so strongly that he brought me pork, and desserts, and gave me paper, and promised me I could have a jade bracelet, that he would buy me a house. I miss the oldest martial arts teacher, who spoke in such strong dialect I could barely understand him. When I was sad and missing home one night, he told me that I should stay after dinner. In the silence and against the cicadas, he started to play the erhu for me. Later, my friend told me that he hadn't know what to say, how to comfort me; I was a foreigner and a young woman, after all. We had very little in common. But nobody has ever played a piece of music for me like that before.

And I miss X, my best friend there and partner in snack-smuggling crime. She is 19 years old, and a janitor's daughter, and one of the wisest people I have ever met. (She also rides an excellent motorbike, and lent me her hanfu, and we sped through the city giddy with our own daring and trying not to be caught.) We got matching haircuts; she had always wanted to cut her hair like a boy, and was too scared to do it alone. When I left, I told her to stay in touch: she shook her head. She said that some people were meant to know each other for some time, and no more. I think the death of friendship by attrition, by - as Elrond said! - the slow decay of time, is one of the saddest things of all. I deleted Wechat. I don't want to read over the old messages. By having this place - her, and the chestnuts, and the cicadas - as a memory, I can tuck it away it. I can keep it close.

I wrote a poem myself on the plane. That was the last I thought about China, the last thought I let myself have, in eight months. I kept myself away from it. It felt like a wound. And against that hollowness, there was constantly the question: Why should I have any right to miss this place? Who I am there? Why does it matter? We are all different people, wherever we go, and whoever we are with; we wear different skins, large or small. In China I was [...]. She was who I was. That name, that I introduced myself to people with - she was bright and friendly and tried to translate things just so. Everybody who goes as the only foreigner to a place - or the only foreigner that speaks the language - is a little bit self-obsessed. It happens. It's unfortunate, and something to guard against. But it also gives you its own kind of identity in a way: your identity is Foreigner. Your identity is a cultural bridge. Everyone you meet, in a country as friendly and curious as China, has questions about you. You stand with your feet in both worlds, and are not really part of either of them. That identity is easy to slip into, like cool water, like trying on new clothes. It's easier that thinking: who am I outside of that? Where am I going? I don't really know. I don't think anyone really does.

And then the second thing happens. I speak Chinese well, by this point. My accent is there, but it's slight. I am short, and have dark hair, and a generally similar build to many East Asians - so the questions I have got in the last few years have changed. Sometimes people think I have been raised here. Sometimes they think I am ethnically Russian, and nationally Chinese. Sometimes I get asked if I am half Chinese. Usually they know I am a Foreigner, 100% white - but not always. There is a peculiar rush that comes from that acceptance; from feeling the relief, just for fifteen minutes, that you belong. It's not about 'passing', or race-bending, or anything twisted - it's nothing so unnerving as that. It's just the human need to belong. Everyone gets tired of being stared at, after a while. And after a while, you start to think - I wish I understood. I wish they understood. I wish this were easy.

But then the conversation keeps going. You don't know a local word, or you misunderstand. You say something in a strange way, or you make a strange gesture, and the glass shatters, and - there you are again, naked again, exhausted again, explaining yourself again. That's the other half of it. There's solace in the Foreigner identity, because that means that's all you are. You don't have to think about your parents, or whether they worry about you so far from home; of course they do. The Foreigner is good and filial and a wonderful daughter. You can craft her into any shape you like. But it also marks you out again and again, endlessly and again, as Other.

There was a paper published a while ago that showed measures of acceptance of non-natives in native-speaking communities. It highlights a strange, but familiar experience to those who have lived abroad - the people who spoke the language to a medium level felt more accepted and less lonely than those that spoke the language to a high degree. It makes sense, and mirrors what I have found with both Chinese and German. When you speak a little Chinese, you are a wonder - a curiousity! Look at the Western girl go! People are kind, and curious, and will slow down to include you in conversations. You are thrilled with what you can access - all this knowledge, that other people don't have! Look how special you are!

And then you get better. And then you realise, cut by cut, that you will never be one of them. You don't want to be Chinese, per se; but you do want to be accepted. You are happy to be British; but you miss China like a wound, an old one, festering, even when it was never yours. How do you tell your family that you are not grieving a lost romance, a beautiful girl, but a language and a life? That there are words of majesty, of playfulness, that will never be yours? You speak well enough that people no longer bother to dumb things down, or explain them; you sit with your discomfort, smile painted on, because - you know. It's not bad. You understand most of it. And on the edge of that circle, smiling uncertainly, following the vast majority of what is being said, you are not clever enough and not witty enough to keep up with the chengyu, the cultural references, the slang, and the raucous laughter around you erupts, and you don't know what you've missed, and everybody says - she's quiet, that one. Maybe all the foreigners are? And all you are doing is sitting and feeling the distance between You and Them as heavy and as stifled in your chest as an ocean of dark.

So you go back. Back to your people. But when you sit with the other foreigners, you are apart. They laugh; what are these nutters doing? The Chinese don't make any sense. The Chinese do this - they do that. You sit there, and then there is a pressure building in your chest too, a discomfort, the desire to stand up and say - well, actually.

You are responsible for everything the Chinese teachers do, and have to explain things in a way that the students understand - Confucian thought, and Buddhist philosophy, translated in pithy bite-size adages for the West. You have no qualifications for this; everything you assert, you feel unsure. Uncertain. Someone else could explain it better, more nuanced, and you need to do more reading anyway - but here you are, and here they are, and you're the only one. And you do know. Not enough, but enough that their jokes, their pains, make you uncomfortable. You feel the need to defend both parties; to be a diplomat, every second of every day. In turn, when the students come to the teachers with problems, you have to translate their grievances in a way that the Chinese teachers will be sympathetic towards. Once I got asked: why do you never join us after class? Why are you always so quiet when you're not working? As a translator, you are always working. Every time you speak, you are working; what you choose to say, and what you choose to not say, and where you choose to intervene. You are building relationships, and disappearing, and you are becoming invisible, and you're a nothing, and you're everyone and you're nobody and nobody realises you are doing anything more than translating at all.

I wanted to stay. I couldn't have stayed. I wanted to be accepted as one of them. I wanted to be accepted for who I was. That means a foreigner. I wanted to be true to myself, which means that I would always be the Foreigner, which means I would always be apart from them. It is that contrast and juxtaposition which causes the grief. And there was never an ending to it, a resolution, a chance to reconcile myself (in China) with myself (in the UK), because all at once I had to leave. The grief comes most from the second arrow - not the pain of leaving, but the bewilderment of not knowing why I was in pain at all.

It's been eight months. Slowly, as spring comes, I feel like I am on surer ground. I can look at my old books, those painstaking notes, and I could look at new ones too and I'm starting to think, because this is what I tell my students, and maybe there's some truth in it - it's okay if you're not perfect. It's okay if you didn't achieve what you wanted to, and that the language - in its wholeness, and who can ever know that? - will never, not quite, be yours. It's the struggle and the process that means that I will know and understand Chinese in a different way, in my own way, in a slanted-to-reality sort of way, that is a treasure in and of itself. There is beauty in its brokenness too.

And there is sorrow, too. The sorrow that comes with easing yourself into a different life, and it holding you gently for a while. I sat there - I spoke to them. It's not only missing a place; it's missing a person you were, a stage of your life, for a time. It's knowing that a place has reached inside your ribs and taken root there - even if you don't return, you can never fully get rid of that again. You are two people now, with feet straddling two oceans. There are parts of you that loved and suffered and hated and grew in Chinese, not English. You can't explain that. You can't even begin. Sometimes - not often - you are a stranger in your own land. The poets spoke of that. In the age of fast travel, of the weekend break, we have forgotten the ways a place can burrow itself inside you, and find its own home.

It's not the same as the grief that someone Chinese will face. But it's still grief. I have put my life into Chinese. Maybe that is all it takes to grow love.

Now, I turn back to Chinese - as a foreigner, as Melissa, as myself. It's a bittersweet thing. I know that I cannot hold all of it. It will spill out, like the sun, and there is no way I can be that without losing myself and my history and my own green woods. But I think I am ready now. I am surer, and a little steadier on my feet.

#langblr #chinese #languages #culture #china #:(((((((((((

[1800titz]

HI. This is the pornstar!AU (Tiger Harry). Enjoy :D

CONTENT/WARNINGS: face-fucking, anal play-ish, Sir kink, general manhandling, light dom-sub dynamics

WC: 8.6K

“Are you open to raw anal?” is probably not a statement Y/N had …entirely expected to hear when she’d agreed to discourse over pastries and dirty chai lattes. 

It’s a pretty good one, all things considered, and asked with complete professionalism, according to their careers and the open, apathetically businesslike expression shaping the features of her counterpart. Y/N takes a sip of her latte. It is quite a good latte. He wasn’t wrong there. 

Harry blinks. 

It’s very on brand, despite the way she’s sure one of the baristas has definitely twisted around from the dishpit, side eye discreet …but there. And in the barista’s defense, she couldn’t even blame her for eavesdropping on the sordid contents of their public discourse. Y/N isn’t going to turn around and look. 

In Harry’s, he didn’t exactly shout. 

The man across from her takes a slow sip from his latte. Good latte, very good latte. 

She can’t help but admire his varying assortment of rings as he cradles the cup, irises winding from the blocky, golden S to its chunky counterpart, the H. So many times she’d admired those hands, those ring-clad fingers traipsing over bare skin, just the tips meddling over abdomens and winding circles around navels. Those digits sunk into the hair of his partner, tangled into the roots as he manually bobs her head over his cock. Those fingers twisting over the pink tip of his shaft, lining it up before his hips pump. Those long fingers splaying over cunts, swiping a thumb to ogle in front of the camera. 

There've been so many instances where Y/N had wondered the significance of that H and that S. And it’s been really quite simple all along.

Should I call you Tiger in person, then? she’d tapped out over the LED keyboard, days prior when they’d only been discussing the prospect of a meet up. Days prior, before she’d flown out for an on-camera collaboration, to bask in the sunlight of California, to enjoy overpriced dirty chai lattes and oddly promiscuous dialogue in the corner of a cafe. 

I think I’ll just take Harry when the cameras aren’t rolling x, RideTheTiger had messaged back. 

Anyways, it’d probably be a sleazy, poorly-executed one liner (and consequently, a horrifically red flag) in possibly every other circumstance, but this isn’t a first date and RideTheTiger has, thus far, been the furthest thing from sleazy. Even paid for her dirty chai latte, practically shouldering her out of the slot at the register. Pulled her chair out for her, asked about her traveling fares prior to delving into said anal topic. It’s all been fairly gentlemanly. Very business-partner-coffee-meeting. 

“No condom,” Harry tacks on, like it’s clarification for the raw segment of raw anal, as if it actually needed some sort of clarification. 

Y/N takes another sip. Damn good latte. 

“I like it,” the young woman tells him, clearing her throat on this edge that implies she’s mindful of her volume. Somehow, even as a freelance pornstar, she still hasn’t quite managed to get over the awkward degree of shame that a public setting incites. “I like the...” 

That barista is definitely fucking peering over.

“…The mess,” she settles on, because anal creampie doesn’t feel like a term to be said with her whole chest over a guava pastelito. 

For a short moment, Harry just watches her, jade roaming and the corners of his mouth slowing seeping into a simper, like he knows brazenly discussing anal creampies in the middle of a cafe — not quite packed, but still a cafe — has her kind of squirming in her seat. He takes another drink. 

“She’s got airpods in,” the man tells her eventually, forest-y irises jolting to something behind her head — the barista that’s clattering about behind the counter. And if she’s listening in, she’s probably going to go home and find one of them online, or ultimately both, and probably subscribe. 

The tension in her shoulders melts away the longer he grins at her over the lip of his lid, dimples indented in the flesh beside the upturned edges of his mouth. It’s just what they do for a living. It’s just sex. It’s just talking about the sex they’re going to have on camera. 

There’s bells and whistles to it, too, but it beats sitting at home and answering phone calls where angry customers screech all tinny through the headset and don’t comprehend the words, “Sir, if you can’t use your inside voice and talk to me like a civilized human being, I’m not going to be able to resolve your issue.” For Y/N it is. At least she gets a couple of orgasms out of this. 

“Sorry,” she tells him, shoulders slumping, “I think I’m still not— I get …weird talking about it in public settings.”

Tiger gives her this careful look over, eyes amused. 

“S’okay, I understand. If you’d rather get into the details back at mine, I’m okay with that.” 

“No, no,” Y/N protests, motioning out with her free hand, almost like her frigidly humiliated disposition will turn him off from collaboration, “No. It’s just, like. Sex work— it’s— it’s 2024. Nothing to be ashamed of.” 

Harry blinks. He gives her another one of those slow, knowing grins with his strawberry mouth. 

“No, seriously. We can get into the …rough drafting in a more private setting.” And then he takes another casual, horribly nonchalant sip, “I get it.” 

The man splays back against the chair, the hand not clutching at his beverage laid against smooth bamboo varnish, the nails there neatly manicured and painted with a soft shade of green lacquer. Y/N wonders what that particular color would look like with a glimmering top coat after he’s sunk the digits in between her thighs. She casts her gaze back up to his face. 

“I just figured I’d ask because we exchanged tests last week.” 

Clean as a whistle, RideTheTiger, (appropriately renamed in her contacts as Harry Tiger OF collab), had messaged on a Tuesday afternoon. That text was tailed with an HDR attachment of paperwork detailing his clean-as-a-whistle results, for proof. And the polish on his nails, fingertips gripped over the edge of the sheet, had been a pretty sky blue in the picture. 

She’d wondered the same thing, then; what OPI’s Rich Girls & Po-boys would look like glazed with a sheen of her slick arousal. 

He’s just a fuckable man, Y/N thinks, sat back in his chair like discussing sex work scene scripting is a normal mid-day affair, soft dusting of stubble coating his jaw, curls swept up off his forehead. His white tee shrouds the swallows and the inky butterfly she’s seen flexing over his tummy, the laurels that seep into the deep cut of his v-line, but it does very, very little to hide the artistry that litters his arm. 

That same arm she’d seen in videos, wrapped in pumped muscle as his fingers had worked his partner to the brink of bliss at a merciless pace, plush mouth shaping over some sort of filthy croon, dimples indented. Those same hands cradling over his counterpart’s throat with a gentle squeeze, that same thumb swiping messily over his partner’s bottom lip. Those same eyebrows with a crease carved between their furrow, those same curls in sweaty, disheveled disarray from the incessant rake through of his hands as his cock got swallowed up by a pretty, swarthy-skinned brunette, or maybe a blonde. A curl that’d flopped over his forehead in those videos, hardly hiding a rivulet of sweat that’d dripped from his hairline, is neatly tucked back under designer shades, now. 

Designer shades he’s bought with his dirty porn money, because despite his spiffy, clean boy, seemingly innocuous demeanor, RideTheTiger is dirty, dirty, dirty. 

Because under his warm smiles and his twinkling jade, there’s an alter ego that lives on the internet. One she’s all too familiar with. 

It makes her chest sort of flush under her sweater. This is happening. This is going to happen. 

The chair creaks a little when he sits up, clearing his throat, “I didn’t want to assume, but. I mean— I’m sure you’ve seen, like, my tips. Is it …odd to say I’m a fan of your content?” his gaze slowly settles from his drink to her face, smooth baritone almost …bashful as plush pink splits into a beam and his words catch on a laugh, “Is that …weird?”

Y/N knows exactly what he’s referring to. They’d been two mutuals subscribed to one another, chunks of profit migrating from inbox to inbox. It’d been like a volley, electric currency bouncing through the expanse of the internet, racket to racket, account back to account, pinging notifications striking on uploads behind paywalls. Only then, Tiger was just a man behind a screen. Tiger wasn’t sitting at a table in front of her, and they weren’t discussing the crude elements of the video they were going to shoot together. 

“Not at all,” Y/N clears her throat and pairs it with a side-to-side shake of her head. 

She’ll never admit that she’d touched herself to the solo session that’d popped up in her DM’s behind a paywall only last week, an automated promotion sent out to all subscribers. The one where he’d been sat in one of those lush, swivel-y chairs in front of his computer, firm thighs splayed and ringed hand tugging over his leaky cock. The camera angle was broad enough to capture his eye contact with the lens, the way his front teeth would nip at his bottom lip, the way the column of his straining throat would go on show as he’d tipped his head back with a groan. 

She blinks, staring ahead as she remembers the way cum had painted all the way up over the panting butterfly. Harry grins from across the table. She half-expects him to brazenly admit he’s done the same to her content. So far, she’s concluded that he’s quite unashamed. 

“Makes it easier to fuck, right?” Y/N says, beating him to the punchline. 

He makes this face then, tipping his head, eyes widening and blinking playfully, mouth curling like he’s appalled by her brazen admission in said public setting. Before the young woman can get flustered by his teasing, he sits back and lets his features relax into something soft.

“Yeah. It does.” 

Harry doesn’t tell Y/N she should wear a plug on the day that they calendar in for shooting. Not while they’re in the cafe. In fact, he waits three whole hours until the very precise moment where she’s using her apple pay at a drive through for the notification banner to swipe down. 

When Y/N steps into his entryway, there’s a wilting cactus stemming from a ceramic basin next to a bowl of keys and varying knick knacks. There’s a pair of dice in there, too. 

“This is Tim,” Harry introduces, unprompted, motioning to the withering plant in passing. 

Y/N nudges with her chin like a sort of acknowledgement, tailing him through the hallway, where a neat array of three framed, abstractly artistic renditions of Kama Sutra positions line the segue. She’s half convinced that the doggy one follows her movement like one of those oddly unsettling renaissance portraits. 

“Very nice.”

It’s a Thursday, and they’ve determined today to be the day that they collaborate. She’s wearing the plug, and she tries to ignore the anticipation curdling in the pits of her tummy as she tails him to the lounge. 

“I think I overwatered him, honestly,” Harry tells her, aimed over his shoulder, “but I can’t bear to part with him.” 

He’s wearing gray sweats, and he’s definitely opted to go commando, if the imprint of his dick when he pivots to face her is anything to go off of (though, whether he’s ditched underwear for the sake of the shoot or solely for comfort, Y/N isn’t sure). All she’s really, actually sure of is that she urgently needs to unglue her eyes from the outline of his cock. 

“D’you want a drink or anything? I mean, I don’t like to do any alcohol before shoots, but if you want, I have seltzers in my fridge.” 

He’s all soft attire — the sweats and bare feet padding over tile, curls a little mussed and swept back. A white tee coats his torso with a cartoonish bee in the center. The words ENJOY HEALTH, EAT YOUR HONEY circle the little piece of outlined artwork in blue. His nails are still green. 

Y/N clears her throat. “Do you have water?” 

“F’course.” 

The kitchen is beside the lounge, and he tells her, as he makes his way over and opens a cabinet to cull a glass, “You can have a seat if you’d like. Figured we’d get the details down before we start filming.” 

His couch is an onyx leather, its form like one of those fancy ones from a 1970s inspired catalog. Y/N sinks into the cushion. She crosses her legs. Uncrosses them. Behind her, the fridge whirs in the kitchen as the water pours into the glass. She’s admiring his fireplace when he stretches the beverage out to her.

“What are we feeling today?” the man winds around to the bend of the sectional, flopping back against the cushions with a sigh as his cotton-clad thighs splay, “…Slow and romantic? Something a little more rough?” 

“Used and abused,” Y/N responds, surprised she manages to keep her cadence as even and nonchalant as she does. The second the statement escapes her, though, she takes a long sip from her glass and hides her simper behind it. 

“Used and abused,” Harry parrots, sitting up a tad as his hands seek new homage from their priorly relaxed splay over the back of the couch. His palms smooth down the fronts of his thighs, instead, and he gives her this little grin; something mischievous that lets his dimples wink alive. “I think I can work with that.”

Yes. She’s certain he can, based on his track record of deviously, deliciously rough content. Three weeks ago she watched a video where his partner was laid out on a table, duck-taped limb to limb, and Y/N had watched his hand — rings removed — roam her body with such delicacy as he drove forward into her. It was all up until the point where the same hand had snaked up around her throat, and then he’d brought it back and smacked her right across the side of her unsuspecting face. It’d sent his partner’s head snapping to the side, and a wave of heat riding through Y/N, coursing through her blood as she’d flipped the vibrator between her thighs to a higher setting. 

Yeah. He can work with that. 

“Since we’re going with that route,” Y/N blinks out from the fog of memoirs circling back to Tiger’s hands exploring and pinching and delivering blows. 

Tiger is much more subdued in this setting. 

“Let’s talk things you’re into, things you’re not so into.” 

The young woman gnaws into her cheek to bridle her grin. “Um. Anal’s a go. Obviously.”

Harry nods, mouth friendly, “Okay.” 

Y/N deliberates. She takes another sip. Harry waits patiently. His green bores into her, and the young woman rolls her lips into her mouth, pupils climbing up to the ceiling as she contemplates. She cocks her head.  

“…Face-fucking. That’s nice. I like dirty talk. I like getting my hair pulled. I like a little bit of pain. You know, like. Spanking. Face slapping, but not, like,” the edges of her mouth cave up, “MMA level—“

The joke culls a huff of soft laughter from him. He nods. 

“Just. General manhandling is good with me,” Y/N tells him. 

Harry nods, his fingers interlocked over his spread knees, and then he sits up a tad. 

“Alright. If we’re going with face fucking, I’m a fan of the trusty tap-tap-tap,” he tells her, motioning with his left palm and patting over his thigh in a series of three as he speaks, “If it ever gets to be too much and you can’t say it, just tap three times, yeah? Just like this.”

Y/N nods. She takes another sip. For a moment, Tiger still has his forearms braced over his lap, but then he sits up a little more. 

“And then when you can say, if anything’s uncomfortable, if you want me to do anything different, just let me know. Doesn’t matter if the camera’s on.” 

Y/N crosses her ankles. She uncrosses them.

“S’all about authenticity. Y’know,” his tongue peeks out to swipe over the plush of his bottom lip, “I don’t wanna be throwing you against the wall or choking you if it doesn’t feel good, even if it looks good on camera. If you’re a clit girl, we’ll play with your clit—“

Her thighs press together.

“If you’re a g-spot girl, we’ll focus on the g-spot.”

She swallows. 

“The throwing against the wall and the choking,” Y/N doesn’t bother hiding her simper as it grows, “Those are good with me, too. And— clit stuff. Yeah.” 

Tiger is hot. Fire hot, like lava coursing and bubbling over rigid stone, even in his soft attire with his soft curls and his soft smiles. He’s got these eyes that feel like they bore through her clothes, but it’s not in an uncomfortably hungry way. 

“What do you… what should I call you during the shoot?” 

His strawberry mouth curls a little. 

“I hear Tiger a lot. M’fine with whatever besides Harry on camera. …If you wanna get a little more into roles we can do Sir. But s’all up to you.” 

It feels like he’s just got this effect — this intense gaze that makes her tummy swirl. It’s not innately an odd shift, going from this entirely professional discourse to soft touches roaming up her sides once they’re in the bedroom. 

It’s the setting for their shoot, and she finds that he’s already got a camera set up on his dresser. One of those that opens up and has a little screen piece that swivels to show what’s currently recording. Harry trails over to it, toggles with the little screen, and, she assumes, begins recording. 

There’s a shag rug by the bed in cream. Y/N eyes it as Harry tugs his shirt over his head, as he makes his way over. Tiger is fire hot, but his touch skims her arm like testing the waters at first. His palms cups her face, the pads of his fingers grazing the sides of her neck, close to her nape, and then his cushiony mouth finds her own. That’s testing at first, too. It’s not a chaste, innocent first kiss by any means, but his mouth is gentle, at first. His hands aren’t hard, and his mouth slots against her own with a kind of tenderness. When her fingers tease up at his waistband, fingering at a warm line of skin between his sweats and his t-shirt, his mouth morphs hungrier. 

“Just—“ Y/N manages between searing kisses as his fingers work the seams of her shirt apart through button-work, “—-jumping right into it, huh?” It’s probably not the sexiest thing to say from the get go of the camera rolling, but she’s honestly still got bits of nerves coiling up in her. This is RideTheTiger. This is happening. She’s going to fuck RideTheTiger. 

Another short kiss, this one she can feel the cushiony pink of his mouth curving up into. 

“Sorry,” Harry amends against her mouth, lips ghosting wetly against her cupid's bow, and the word sounds sort of amused.

And then he’s manually spinning her and marching her over to the dresser, where the camera is set up, her stumbling, rushed gait steadied by the firm press of his thighs from behind as he walks her, colossal hands cupped over her arms. 

“This—” he starts, an introduction blatantly made for the lens, and her pulse stutters when his palm slides up and across and cups over her throat warmly — not quite squeezing, but just there. His other hand explores the expanse of her silhouette from the waist down, pads of his fingers roaming over her tummy, “—is the infamously naughty Birdie.” 

Her veins thrum with something, something hot when the ringed digits traipse to the button of her jeans, just looming over. 

“Can I take these off?” Harry murmurs against the shell of her ear. The tips of his curls tickle at her temple, and she knows he asks it low enough that it’s meant for her. She knows the camera will pick up on it anyways, too. 

“Yeah,” the agreement falls out meshed with an exhale, and her head tips back against his shoulder as his fingers do deft, impressively one-handed work at quick discarding. 

The other hand fondles at one of her tits, only covered with fabric for so long before he takes advantage of the opening he’d made along the line of buttons, pulling at one side for the pink polka-dotted cup of her bra to come out on display. This is all very pro-level disrobing. Y/N decides that when Harry multi-tasks, popping the button of her denim through, pinching at the zipper and tugging down, all still with his other hand caressing over padded flesh at her chest. Ultimately, though, both hands make their way to her hips, and his digits wriggle under either side of her waist band to strip her jeans off, until they rest at about an immobilizing mid-thigh, with an unceremonious yank. 

“I’m Tiger,” Harry talks again, finally, after what’d been a silent moment of apparent concentration, his chin ducked into the nook where her shoulder and her neck meet. 

The man’s fingers toy up under the hem of Y/N’s shirt, wandering over a bare sliver of skin between the top and the line of her panties before they climb the buttoned suture and make work there. 

A chill rolls down her spinal cord, stemming all the way from the nape of her neck, the back and underside of her skull, when Harry declares, almost like she’s not even there, his voice a low and heady baritone, “But, she’s going to call me Sir, and we’re gonna play a little rough with her today, because that’s what she asked for.” 

He’s mid her panting ribcage when the tone in his dialogue switches. It melts from sultry and low to something mirthy when the man sighs and huffs against her neck, like the rounded latches are a long-time nemesis, “Buttons, buttons, so many buttons.” 

Y/N can’t curb the surprised laugh that bubbles from her in response. Her hands rise from her sides (where they’d prior been pretty glued, mostly out of awe and the raw sort of submission manhandling incites), and her forearms brush against his own warm skin as the pads of her fingers shakily work over the stitch he’s on. Harry makes an amused sound into her skin as the corners of her mouth curl up. 

This is real. These are the real moments, the ones that she’s ogled so many times from the other side of the screen, caught on camera mid an otherwise entrancing, perfectly choreographed session of picture-perfect fucking. Like the one where he’d spit and it hadn’t landed where he’d wanted it to, or the one where his partner had spent so long in an angle with her hair over her face and his palm cupped over her mouth, that by the time he’d let up she was spitting out stray hair that’d sunk in past her lips, like a cat with a hairball. Soft laughter had bloomed from the both of them when recognition had dawned, and he’d fingered over her tongue to help her as they’d switched positions. It makes sense why Harry never seems to edit those moments out. 

Authenticity. 

Y/N hopes he doesn’t cut this fragment of the video out. 

“Sorry,” the young woman tells him, her voice garbled with giggles. 

His hands snake up from under her own and they’re the one to pop the final button through. A chilly ring brushes the inside of her wrist. The top separates. 

“There we go,” Harry says, tone colored with enthusiasm, and the way his fingers grip up under the cups of her bra, four for each, and tug abruptly, letting them rest under her freshly-bared tits, kind of, sort of gives her whiplash. 

“Teamwork,” his thumbs slip under either side of her underwear and slink those down until just enough is showing for the eye of the lens. 

Her gaze flits to the viewfinder, and the little icon of her denuded silhouette, pressed up against his chest, one swarthy, inked arm tucked over her ribcage and the sight of his other, ringed digits skimming lower, down her tummy, has her squirming in his grasp. Harry sponges kisses to the side of her neck, and then those ring-clad fingers slide between her legs. Every melty muscle in his arms grows wide awake and tensed like fucking stone. It’s only for a second, before he draws his index and his middle digit, splayed into a blissful V, across either side of her clit. That’s when she liquefies like putty in his hands again, humming softly. 

“…And we’re gonna play with her arse,” Harry tacks on for the camera, almost like it’s an offhand afterthought and not the entire basis of the scene they’ve etched out. 

Y/N laughs, but it melts off into something soft and whimpery when the V lingers and drags. 

“Would you like that?” Harry murmurs, nose tucked into her hair — another comment where the volume implies that it’s obviously meant to be shared between just the two of them — his mouth ghosting over her earlobe and his hand climbing up the ridges of her ribcage like a ladder, “Hm? You want me to play with you there?” 

When his palm expands to rest over the gap between the caging of bone, the space extends out on a breath and she rocks in his touch, hips rolling back subtly. “Mhm.” 

It’s not something he fails to pick up on. The pads of his fingertips expertly toggle at the clasp of her bra — honestly, she’s ludicrously impressed, not only by his keen recognition of the frontal clasp, but this seemingly innate, deft ability to discard clothing pieces with one hand. The straps relax and slip down her shoulders the second the cups fall free and apart. 

“Mhm?” Harry mimics; a low, teasing hum. Y/N thinks then, that this little, patronizing repetition thing he’s got going on could be categorized as a kink in and of itself. 

The palm that’d settled over her diaphragm slinks up to grope at one of her tits. 

It’s kind of game over from there. 

There’s something hard and solid digging into the small of her back, and the longer he spends fondling between her thighs, the longer he spends swiping his thumb over her nipple, the more heat teems to her core, like a glowing warmth that seeps and pulses. The more sure Y/N becomes that his fingertips are definitely culling that top coat she’d pictured all along, enhancing the color there with glinting excitement. 

“There’s a good girl,” Harry purrs when her legs spread a smidge more in response, despite the way they’re nearly glued together with the immobilizing squeeze of her waistband resting mid-thigh. 

The tip of his nose burrows into her hair and grazes at the skin on the side of her neck when his head ducks, fingers sneaking further until the pads press to explore where she’s gushing. His index and his thumb work in tandem to pinch at a nipple and tug. 

And then his tongue licks a practically searing stripe right beside her jugular, and his words send air over wet skin to soothe the flame, “…Getting my fingers all wet, aren’t you?” 

Gameovergameovergameovergameover.

Shelosesshelosesshelosessheloses.

Another burst of air over the wet skin, the soft creak of a chuckle — that’s what reminds her that she’s definitely not breathing. 

Fuck. Y/N sucks in air with a chest tensed like metal armor. His teeth nip over her earlobe. 

And then RideTheTiger slides his slick fingers out from between her legs, coaxing (when she sags in his grip like a marionette that’s had its strings snipped), “Why don’t you give them a little spin and show them the pretty plug you’ve been wearing for me, pet.”

Touch, touch, touch. When Y/N pivots for him, turning her backside to the camera, his mouth brushes the crest of her cheekbone. His warm pecs go flush with her own chest, his palms settle on her love handles and the insides of his rings stipple chills to combat the heat of flesh on flesh. He sponges a kiss to her throat when the young woman throws a glance back to the little screen and shakily presses her palms to the globes of her backside, pulling the flesh there apart to show off the pretty end, silicone petals cradling the shape of a rose. 

That’s when he kneels, cheek pressed to the side of her thigh, when he casts his gaze to the plug with that telltale furrow to his brow bone that she’s seen caught on camera so many times. That’s when his teeth burrow into the pillow of his bottom lip, when he brushes a nearly tentative touch over the plug with the tips of his fingers. That’s when Harry nudges at it and jade bounces from the pallid pink plastic to the shape of her jawline tensing above in response, mouth growing mirthy. 

Nothing prepares her for the way he praises, almost like he’s in awe (and nearly too low for the camera to catch), “So pretty.”

A crease works in between her own eyebrows when his index and his thumb pinch over the plug and twist. And then he lays his thumb over the base and pushes, lightly, as if it can go any further. He draws the pad of his index over the hilt of the plug almost thoughtfully, and then tap-taps in a pair of two that makes her roll her lips into her mouth

“Don’t move,” Harry instructs, after a moment, sneaky, devious fingertips withdrawing altogether. She’s holding her breath again. Y/N readjusts her grip. 

“Just like that,” comes his croon from below, undeniably heady and entirely responsible for the warmth churning between her thighs, “…Just like that, little bird. Show it off, baby.” 

Little bird hits her like a fucking freight train. 

It’s just a play on words, a moniker he’s melded from her stage name, her online personality. It’s been all of, maybe, six minutes — a generous consideration for the timeframe — and he’s already managed to morph her porno pseudonym into a pet name with his soft murmur. 

She’s so focused on the ironic way that such a delicate thing off his tongue makes something so violently carnal stir within her that the young woman doesn’t even notice that he’s been sat near her thighs for a solid second, unspeaking and untouching, besides the paste of his warm cheek beside the press of her hands. 

It’s a suspiciously mischievous sort of silence, but Tiger is no secret-keeper, not when he pats over the back of her leg, a one-tap gesture, and rises to announce, one third amused and two-thirds smug, “Thumbnail.”

The admission is so crude and unexpected that it draws a peal of sputtering laughter from her, feigned indignation meshing with mirth as he rises from the floor, all cocky with an unfairly alluring curl that’s strayed from the rest and flopped to lay over his forehead. 

“You want to use my ass as your thumbnail?” 

Muted raspberry breaks its relaxed line to curve up, obviously self-satisfied and obviously unashamed. Y/N doesn’t think she’ll ever quite keep up with the casual nature of Harry’s mannerisms, not when he hums and his grin splits further, twisting around her to daub her jaw with a kiss.

“…And not my pretty face?” Y/N blinks.

“Last I checked—'' Harry tells her, fingers raking through her roots and palm cradling at her scalp in a way that coaxes chills to bud and roam down the nape of her neck. The digits twist her hair into a bun until his palm is squeezing at her hair all bunched like a flower blooming in reverse, “—You were here to be used and abused, per your request. Not to ask questions.” 

Despite the way he cranes her neck back with the motion, the way it has her jaw unlatching and a surprised exhale full of want escaping, despite the way he drags his teeth down her neck in a line, nipping, Y/N manages to keep her voice impressively even. 

“You don’t want my pretty face painted with your cum as the thumbnail?” she baits, throat bobbing on a swallow. 

He bites. 

At first, his lashline narrows a smidge in obvious inkling that the brazen words have affected him, but then he tips his head and his smug beam morphs more sluggish, more pleased than amused. 

“You want my cum painting your pretty face?” 

“Mm,” Y/N hums in agreement when he turns her head to paste a kiss to the corner of her mouth. 

“Yeah? That’s what you want?” 

His tone is suggestive as he manhandles her over onto the fuzzy rug she’d admired before things got all murky with arousal and …cinematic. Y/N twists in his grasp until he’s nudging her onto her knees with his hands. 

And his voice is low, easy like a sigh, each note interlaced with nonchalance and seemingly effortless power, “Let’s see how good you suck cock.”

Before Harry shoves his waistband down, though, he stuffs a hand into his pocket and culls his phone. He gives her this look down from behind it, thumb tucked behind gray elastic.  It’s this wordless, expressionless sort of seeking; all good? Y/N nudges with her chin, lashes fluttering. Tiger toggles over the screen one-handed, and her eyes flit to the uneven pull at his sweats — if only for a second — that showcases bare skin and the cut of a V-line on one side. As he nudges the sweats off to rest under his balls, the phone pings. It’s the sound of a notification — he’s recording. 

His dick is pretty. Pretty in pink with a prominent vein on the underside and a soft dusting of neatly trimmed, dark pubic hair over his pelvic bone that his happy trail had foreshadowed, and his tip is a ruddy shade that matches the tint of his mouth. She’s seen his cock before, obviously, but ogling it in person rather than as a conglomeration of pixels is a different sort of experience. He’s always looked big on screen, the sheer size of him with a fist over his shaft always implying it. But he’s big. Big enough for two of her hands to cradle over his cock comfortably with the head peeking out from her grip, digits never quite meeting in the middle. Y/N spits into a palm before wrapping it over his shaft, eyes flickering up front under her lashes to meet the lens of the camera. 

“You’re so big,” the young woman admits after a moment, irises bouncing from her grip to the phone looming over, and she drags her tongue over her other palm to cup over him with two like it’s proof. 

And Harry strokes over the side of her scalp, almost like he’s wordlessly scratching a dog’s ears in praise, a soft, pleased huff escaping through his nostrils and his lips shaping over a smug sort of beam that never really unseals. 

Almost tentatively, with her eyes still bouncing from the lens to his cock and back, Y/N leans forward and drags his tip over her tongue. Harry sighs in response, fingertips still hovering at her roots. She purses her lips and lets saliva dribble from her mouth onto his head messily, swiping over the wetness with her thumb, and then she strokes down his shaft with two hands as she wraps her lips over him and draws a circle with her tongue. The subtle, although sharp, inhale she earns in response to the motion has her batting her lashes up at the camera.  

“You’re not shy at all, are you? Not in front of the camera,” Harry says after a moment. 

He’s so obviously bridling a hiss when she drags her tongue up under his leaky tip, his front teeth lodging into the pillow of his bottom lip and brows furrowing. Despite the phone cradled over her face, the young woman still has enough room to observe his. Y/N bats her lashes coyly, pupils flitting back to the camera as her mouth opens to showcase the view of her hands working in gentle twists while she drags his cockhead over her tastebuds. 

“…No, you’re not that shy, little girl that you were in the cafe at all.”

She seals her lips over his tip, hollows her cheeks, and hums. 

“…All prim and proper,” the fingertips that’d scraped over the side of her scalp trail to the back of her head, “…Didn’t even wanna say you liked cum dripping out of you. Didn’t wanna let everyone know that you’re a little anal whore.” 

The words coax her to clench over the plug. 

“…S’okay, baby,” Harry tells her after a moment, “I like that you’re a whore on camera for me,”and then the hand that’d cradled over the back of her skull encourages her own palm to slowly unwrap and fall away as he curls it over his shaft to guide it’s aim. 

Y/N pulls off, and Tiger smears the tip over her spit-slicked, swollen mouth. It parts, and Harry traces over the open seam of her lips like he’s applying lip gloss. 

“Please,” the young woman says, mouthing over his tip, almost inaudible. 

“Hm?” 

“Please,” Y/N repeats, and the drag of his tip slides over her bottom lip on the s. 

Harry inhales from above. He doesn’t immediately give her what she wants, instead opting to draw over her cupid’s bow as he tips his head, voice quiet and still somehow full of a dominant edge. “So polite. You wanna taste more of my cock?” 

The young woman nods, eyes tipped up, and he smears his cockhead over her mouth again. Harry’s teeth nudge into the plush of his bottom lip before he directs, “Stick your tongue out for me. I’ll give you a little taste.” 

And he does. He grazes her tongue with it the moment it’s on show, basking in her soft breaths puffing out against him and the sweet sight of her gaze, unwavering. 

“S’that good?” Harry asks, mouth curling at the (currently) brazenly lewd young woman at his feet, “What you wanted?” 

And she just nods up at him. Despite the way she wants more, the way she wants to close her lips around him and keep twisting her grasp to watch his seams split in ecstacy, Y/N motions lightly with her head. A little sound escapes the back of her throat when he drags the tip of his cock back over her top lip and sighs. 

“You really are such a little whore, aren’t you?” Harry says, tracing along the open seam of her lips with the tip and dragging it over her tongue again, “Give me a pretty smile. Show me just how much you like it.“ 

His words melt off into a rumbly hum when, as he draws over the border of her bottom lip and takes his cock off her tongue, her pretty teeth slowly seep shut and the corners of her mouth form something absolutely overjoyed. Her head cocks, and she grins up at him. All innocuous too, if it weren’t for the head of a cock smearing over the edges of her smile. His thumb slinks out from the hold he’s got over his dick to graze with the pad at the shiny white of her top teeth. 

“Good girl.”

Somewhere around there is when her teeth part and his thumb mingles onto her tongue. Then, the young woman wraps her lips over the digit and sucks. The tension of her cheeks hollowing over his finger in the silence is cut short with a ping — Harry turns the camera off and flings the phone somewhere in the direction of the bed. There’s no definitive thump behind her, so Y/N assumes the man makes it. She hums and pulls off of the digit with a pop and a giggle. 

Dimples pluck alive beside his smile. “Something funny?” 

“No,” the young woman clears her throat, the apples of her cheeks still emphasized and round with her apparent amusement, “Nothing. It’s just.” She blinks up at him, “…Surreal, sort of. Your dick’s just as pretty in person as it is on camera.”

Tiger cocks his head and swipes over her bottom lip with the tip of said dick. She’s quite good at stroking his ego. 

“Thanks. That’s sweet, darling.”  

A furrow works between his brows as her tongue peeks out to daub at the lingering head. “You watch a lot of my videos?” 

And the admission comes almost hungry, with no remorse, “Mm. Touch myself to them.” 

That’s when his brows crease more, when heat swells down through the trench of his tummy and teems up the underside of his balls, where they drive taut at the words. 

“Christ.”

Blown jade bouncing from her lips to the contact of her own eyes and back. Eventually, he swallows and directs, “Tongue out.” 

When she displays it for him, jaw wide, those shambles splinters of composure seemingly fuse. The Harry that emerges nearly gives her whiplash. 

“You touch yourself to my videos?” Harry coos, and the words are coated with so much condescension that Y/N is sure she’d be humiliated in any other circumstance. 

Her tongue twitches under his cockhead. The man looming over swipes that same, leaky tip over her taste buds, and his grin broadens into something like a borderline sadistic Cheshire cat. And then he’s leaning over a smidge, cock still angled over her outstretched tongue, opposite hand fondling under that, at her jaw, and squeezing at her cheeks. 

“That is so—“ emphasizing the words with the slap of his tip against her tongue, Harry grits out, “—fucking—“ another tap that has her uselessly lolled tongue jolting and a garbled little sound wresting from the back of her throat, “—cute.”

Y/N blinks up at him, one hand uncurling slowly and falling away as he nudges the back of her head to swallow more of him in past her lips. 

“Why don’t you use that hand and play with your little clit for me? The way you do when you’re watching me.” 

She makes a muffled noise around him as he sinks in further, and her hand traipses between her poorly, poorly splayed thighs. 

“That’s it,” Harry murmurs, though whether the praise is directed at the way the tips of her fingers pry between her legs or the way she blinks wetly over his cock as she takes more of him into her mouth, Y/N is unsure. “There’s a good girl. Look at me— yeah. Fuck.” 

He holds onto either side of her head, long fingers splaying over her skull, and the young woman splutters when his tip prods at the back of her throat and teases at her gag reflex. The tip of her nose grazes his happy trail, so all in all, it’s a solid effort in one go. Harry holds her there for a moment, relishing in the squeeze of her throat over him as she fights sputtering more, and a throaty groan rips from his vocal chords before his fingers tangle into her hair. That’s when he yanks her off. 

Her chest is already rolling in pants, and the way his palm collides with the fleshy area of her cheek nearly launches her lightheaded headspace into overload. The blow isn’t loud, and it doesn’t really hurt, but he does it a second time, palm grazing over the same fragment of skin. It’s the hand that doesn’t have any rings, and Y/N’s mouth curls up in borderline delirious bliss, teeth unsealed and lips swollen and saliva-daubed. Tiger coaxes a moan when he goes for it a third time. But this time, his hand snakes to palm over the column of her throat and squeeze.

“Fuck, you’re filthy,” Harry tells her, thumb cruising over an inch of skin, “Such a slut for it.”

Her pulse thunders under his grasp. It’s almost like his touch pries the nearly animalistic giggle off her lips. She’s still beaming open-mouthed, and her voice is raw when she beckons, “Yeah—“

And then there’s a ragged gasp and subdued sort of gag, coated with surprise, when Tiger nudges her face forward and unceremoniously shoves his dick back down her throat, his brows pinched.  

“Get that mouth back on my cock.” 

Her hands find his thighs, just wavering over them, curling and unflexing as her eyes squeeze shut. 

“Don’t close your eyes. Look up at me. Look up at me— there you go,” Harry cooes when, despite every instinct that coaxes every muscle in her face to clench and tense, Y/N follows his directions and blinks up at him through a watery sheen. “Shit.”

And then he’s hauling her off and she’s gasping for breath, only for a short moment before he slides back past her jaw until her chin is flush with his sac and he’s pulsing in the warm confines of her mouth. Her lashes flutter. A devious kind of laugh bubbles from him, breathy, and low, and short when the heels of her palms press into the sturdy muscle beneath his laurels. Except this time he doesn’t yank her all the way off for a third time. He holds her there for a second, swearing softly at the view, and then tugs her off until his tip’s on her tongue and pumps back in. It’s a subtle motion — testing, like he’s observing her reaction, really assessing her comfort levels with this. He does it a few more times, as gentle of a motion as it really can be until she squints her eyes shut and muzzles a cough, blinking up at him rapidly through the blur. 

Harry swipes a thumb under her eye, where a rivulet leaks, praising almost in a whisper as she practically vibrates at his feet, “That’s it.” 

Another second to gasp in air, and then he’s fucking her mouth, brushing her gag reflex with every drive forward and every pump out. Y/N sort of loses herself in it — in the fingertips burrowing into her roots, in the huffs and groans that escape him, in the warm muscle beneath her touch, in the way his dick slides down her throat. It’s quite nice. RideTheTiger is fucking her mouth, and it’s nice.

“Look at you,” Harry hums after a while, the hold on the back of her head firm, and she blinks at him all teary-eyed, gagging around him as her chin presses flush with his balls. “So sloppy. Made my nice joggers all wet.” 

Drool pools down her chin, and strings of it dangle from his balls and sully the fabric further. She bats her lashes up at him, and tears slink off from her waterline. Her fingers flex and relax over his thigh, never quite loosening the tension there fully. The man swipes the thumb on his free hand under her eye, where inky black has smudged off from her lashes, and the lewd, left corner of his mouth tips up lopsidedly. 

“You’re such a pretty girl when you’re making a mess,” and then, to nail the demeaning compliment home with the most heady, joyfully smug tone, “Yes you are, little bird.”

His sluggish grin morphs into a borderline pornographic lip-bite then, and he cranes his neck back with a throaty hum, fingers tensing and relaxing, before his digits ultimately tighten in her hair and coax the young woman off. She coughs like she hasn’t breathed in ages, 

Y/N doesn’t know how she gets up to her feet. It’s a lightheaded clamber, coaxed by Harry’s fingers tugging at her hair, his hand on her arm, his definitive, “Get up.” Somehow, though, she manages, despite the fact that her jeans are still half-on, and Harry steadies her and makes her dizzy all at once when his mouth presses hungrily to hers. One hand cradles the side of her neck and the other braces her at the hip. It’s a heated kiss, like Tiger doesn’t mind that her chin is coated with spit, or that the same spit smears over his own jaw as their mouths connect. Y/N nearly trips over her own feet as he walks her, backwards, into the general direction of the bed. The mattress meets the backs of her knees and his hand (which has, since settling on her hip, mingled up her side and cupped over one of her tits) sends her toppling back against the sheets. Harry nearly snickers at her look of indignation. Instead though, he tucks his fingers up under her half-down denim and tugs until her pants are off and she finally, finally has the ability to spread her legs. He tosses those onto the rug, and Y/N watches Harry finish disrobing, kicking the gray sweats into a rumpled pile beside her jeans. 

The camera is still rolling on the dresser, and it’ll keep rolling. It’ll keep rolling when he sinks his face between her thighs, it’ll keep rolling when he pulls the plug out and nudges his fingers in, when he slips his cock into her cunt and then, eventually, switches to her other hole. Or maybe it’ll go in an all different order. Tiger cradles her by the hips and repositions her roughly. The lens doesn’t catch the way she’s all shimmery between her legs with want from its angle, but Harry does, eyes glued there as his fingertips trail featherlight up her thigh and back down. 

A crease works in between his brows like he’s contemplating something, and then he pats the same fragment of flesh he’d been caressing and instructs, “Flip over.” 

Y/N tips over to her side and then rolls onto her tummy, but when she clambers onto her hands and knees Harry beckons, “Where are you going, little bird?” He sighs, warm palm grasping over her ankle and yanking her back towards the edge of the bed, just until Y/N is splayed and forced to shimmy her way back into a pretty arch. “Hm?” 

His hand is still gripped over the joint when the other climbs up the back of her naked thigh, skin on skin petting softly there. “Where are you going, little girl?”  

She’s going to implode. She nearly does when his colossal palms cup either cheek of her backside and spread. He hums like he’s pleased. 

“Which hole should I fuck first…” Harry ponders aloud from behind, but it all feels sort of rhetorical when he nudges over her tightest, little hole, pressing like he’s teasing a breach with the tip of his digit. 

She thinks he must be using his other hand, too, because the pad of his thumb drives a circle over her puffy, spit-slicked clit. The ring of muscle flutters. 

“…Hm?”

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[maeby-cursed]

➴ OH, STUPID CUPID ! ♡

✧ a/n: happy valentine's, dear angels ! ♡

Toji Fushiguro doesn’t believe in Valentine’s Day.

Why would he, after all? It’s merely a capitalist ploy to keep the consumerism engines turning. You can disguise greed in glittery pink polish and white chocolate bonbons but at its core, it won't change its nature.

And so, he spends St. Valentine’s like he would any other day; gets up at dawn, works until his hands are peeled and his back aches and gets home to eat whatever he has left over. 

It’s a good routine, the most stable one he’s found for himself in years. 

He can't recall a time where the fourteenth of February meant anything at all. 

(Except for that one year that it had.)

But he won't think of withered flowers or laughing kisses or other sweets that have since rotten in his memory. A woman, a child, an apartment downtown.

That is all long gone now. The apartment downtown had gotten expensive, and the child had grown older. The woman had gone long ago and there were no more flowers or kisses or laughter.

It’s all capitalism, it’s all vapid and stupid and childish.

So, Toji Fushiguro doesn’t believe in Valentine’s Day. That is until you come along, knocking on his workshop’s door.

You’re obviously lost, mumbling an inquiry about how much you could get for selling a motorbike you keep referring to as "an old piece of garbage".

He can't help but snicker at your wording, a little chuckle that grows into a full chest laugh when he sees what you’ve dragged to his shop. It’s painfully obvious that this thing isn’t yours.

You keep holding the handlebars with careful hands, sparing few disgusted glances to the vehicle, as if its mere existence wounded you.

He asks how long you’ve had it, and where you got it, and how much you’d like to get. 

You answer back curtly: two years, your ex, nothing as long as you get rid of it.

You seem annoyed just by having to be there and for some unexplainable reason this amuses him to no end. Maybe being surrounded by car engines in a small workshop with no windows is starting to affect him.

“I’ll take it.”

You raise your gaze from the dusty headlight, shocked by his offer.

“You will?”

“Sure thing. You don’t want it, I could use some new parts, I’ll just scrap it.”

You let out a sigh, relieved, and all the tension dissipates from your shoulders.

“Oh, that… well, that would be great! Thank you.”

Your smile makes him stop in his tracks. Pretty and warm and familiar – something dangerous. His head travels back.

After a second that lasts forever, he acknowledges what you've said, grunting as his only response and getting back to the store with you in tow.

“Could I leave it with you now or…?"

“Bring it back next week, I don’t really have a place to put it right now, y’know?”

You look around the place. It’s full of buckets of paint and car parts, no decor but stacks upon stacks of metallic shelves full of objects you can’t recognize. You chuckle awkwardly, seemingly in a better mood after the compromise you've arranged.

“Right, uhm… Actually, I'm not here next week, could I come back tomorrow?”

Toji turns back to stare at you, and for the first time, really sees you. You look young, probably in your mid-twenties, of bright eyes and shiny hair, and that pretty smile that keeps fluttering over your lips. 

He hasn’t done this in a long time… But maybe…

“I close at 10pm today, why don’t you come back then?” he says, closing his fists to stop them from sweating.

Your wondering eyes freeze on him then, and your lips part slightly. He just can't stop staring.  

“But it’s Valentine’s Day. Don’t you have any plans?” you ask, shyly.

“I don’t believe in that crap.”

Shit. That wasn’t supposed to come out like that.

“Oh,” you whisper. You're still grinning up at him, but your expression has lost its warmth, instead replaced by a polite awkwardness and doubtful gaze, and now he's kicking himself in his head.

“Sorry, did that bother you?” he asks, hiding his guilt with a smirk.

“No, not at all!" You laugh, playing with your hands. "I… just, I don’t mind it, I guess.

"I know it's not even a real holiday and that it's merely a product of capitalism, and that it’s all about sales and consumerism and all of that, but… I find it nice, you know? Having a day to be with the people you love…" You look around his shop once, before giving him a shy stare. "It’s sappy, I know.” You end with a shrug, your ears flushed.

Toji doesn��t say anything for a minute, he just breathes and takes it in. 

Oh, he’s grown bitter, hasn’t he? Old and sour. 

His son is out there right now buying flowers with his friends, his coworker is on a date at a fancy place, his one and only friend is buying chocolates for his wife… And he’s here at 5pm, with his hands dirty and his neck sweaty and the prettiest woman he’s seen in a long time in front of him, with no plans for tonight and a lovely smile hidden by a familiar sort of nervousness.

What is wrong with him? Is he truly that fucking stubborn? Can't he deal with a bit of pink?

He’ll admit that he's never minded the chocolates and the roses – even if they aren’t his favorite – and that he always laughs at the cherubs and the cheesy postcards. Of course, he won't talk about how he still hums old 50s songs while he works or how he indulges in a bit of dessert when February rolls around, though.

But he knows. He's always known.

So, maybe it’s not all about the money. Maybe it’s more about being accompanied for once since he was twenty three and alone. Maybe it’s more about taking a shot at getting something good back.

Maybe it's not all capitalism, not all vapid and stupid and childish.

“Yeah… I guess it’s not all that bad.”

“I do like it… sometimes,” you finish, as if completing his train of thought. This hasn't happened to him in a long time. "I’ll be back tonight then…?”

He recovers quickly, smirking briefly before turning to clean his hands with a rag.

“Sure, at 10pm," he says, over his shoulder.

You laugh, cheerful once more, and begin walking to the door.

“It’s a date!”

And, God, he really hopes it can be, if only because it’s Valentine’s Day.

© 2024, MAEBY-CURSED — do not copy/repost/edit.

#🎐 𓂃 mae’s typing ! #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #jjk imagines #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro x you #toji fushiguro fluff #toji fushiguro imagines #fushiguro toji x reader #fushiguro toji x you #fushiguro toji fluff #fushiguro toji imagines #toji x reader #toji x you #toji fluff #toji imagines #toji fushiguro #jjk

[twoidiotwriters1]

My sisters in christ I am begging you for a Luffy smut where everyone thinks he's got no clue of how sex works cause he's Luffy and he doesn't mind the teasing UNTIL he hears the reader thinks the joke is actually true and he decides to show her he's not so innocent 😮‍💨😮‍💨

I didn't know I'm so good at this until now...-Val

I'll Show you (Monkey D. Luffy x fem!reader)

Warnings: SMUT... just-... your welcome!

Words: 2,181

After another successful battle, as always, the straw hats wanted to have a big party to celebrate. Unfortunately, the Marines appeared to ruin the moment. So, they had to run back to the Sunny before it was too late. But not even that could take away the festivity out of the pirates.  

Sanji takes care of the food, Brooke and Franky the music, and Zoro the drinks. After a few hours (and many drinks), the conversation takes different turns as they keep digging. 

“I can’t believe you, Luffy,” Zoro says with incredulous laughter and shaking his head. 

“What? Why not?” Says Luffy with a frown. 

“Me neither,” says Usopp. “How come you were on an island with just women for two years and didn’t do something?” He scoffs. 

“Well, it’s the truth. Why would I lie? And what do you mean by ‘do something’?” Luffy’s confused by his friend’s question. 

“You see, Luffy,” says Sanji with a smile. “It’s quite hard to think that you left that wonderful paradise!” He chuckles with his flushed cheeks as he lights a cigarette. 

“Uh, I had to. I made a promise to you, guys,” he smiles.  

“But you didn’t have a girlfriend? Or you didn’t want to do… fun things with them?” Usopp chuckles. He doesn’t know how to talk to Luffy about this kind of thing. It always has been a mystery how his captain’s brain works. And he’s drunk too, so he can’t think straight. 

“Fun things?” Luffy thinks. “I mean, we played, and they showed me some defense techniques, I think that’s funny,” he shrugs. 

The three men laugh at his words. Sanji sighs leaning against the boat’s mast. “Oh, I would pay anything to be with the most beautiful woman in the world, Boa Hancock.” 

“Oh, she’s nice!” Luffy adds. 

“You bet,” Zoro chuckles sipping his sake. 

“I would never leave that island,” says Sanji. 

“You’d probably be dead by now, cook,” Zoro snorts. “How much blood would you lose by being there for five minutes?” 

“Shut it, Moosehead,” Sanji grunts. “It would be the best way to die.”  

“Why?” Luffy asks. He tries to understand but every time he speaks, his friends just laugh at him. So, he lets it go and eats more. 

“What are you guys talking about?” You ask arriving on deck with Robin and Nami with a drink in hand. 

Luffy looks at you with a big smile. “I don’t know, I got lost,” he informs as Sanji, Usopp, and Zoro talk now between them and in whispers. 

You shrug at them and sit on Luffy’s lap, getting comfortable and caressing his black hair. His hand travels to hold your waist and his head rests on your shoulder. 

“See!” Usopp points at Luffy and then laughs with the others. “Just look at him! He’s so oblivious. He has his girl on his lap and her tits are practically on his face and he doesn’t do anything. Do you think he did something in Amazon Lily?” 

“Uh?” Luffy’s confusion returns when he hears that. 

“Yeah, he has no clue,” says Zoro. “Even if Y/N asks him.” He chuckles. 

“Shut up,” You roll your eyes getting closer to your boyfriend.  

“C’mon, Y/N,” Usopp moves clumsily to stand before you two. “Tell me, Luffy. Did you even want to kiss Boa Hancock?” 

“Uh–no. She’s a friend, why would I want to kiss her?” 

“Good boy,” you kiss his cheek and smile proudly. 

Even though you weren’t together back then, you feel happy that Luffy didn’t fall for Hancock’s tricks.  

“God, you’re so lost,” says Nami. “Even I want to kiss her.” 

“They say that she’s the most beautiful woman in the world,” Robin informs them. “I would kiss her too,” she giggles. 

“One night stand,” Zoro informs with a firm nod.  

“Yeah,” Sanji scoffs “Like you could have a chance with someone as beautiful as her, Moosehead.” 

“Hey! If Luffy has her wanting to marry him, I think I have a better chance than you, shitty cook.” 

With that, they all start to discuss who would have a real chance with the woman.  Meanwhile, Luffy has been thinking about what his friends have been laughing about in his answers. He raises his head to look at you. “What do they really mean, Y/N?” 

“Uh–what Zoro said?” Luffy nods. “One-night stand is when you… uh, want to sleep with someone, but without a relationship or romantic feelings, and it’s just for one night,” you shrug.  

Luffy takes his time to think about that, mixed with his friend’s comments. Finally, his brain’s cells connect and understand. “Oh!” He exclaims making the others stop talking and look at him. “You’re talking about sex!” He laughs. 

“So oblivious,” says Nami shaking her head, and everybody bursts in laughter again.  

Luffy smiles proud of himself for now, understanding their conversation, but his smile stutters when he feels your body shake in laughter too. “Wait, why are you laughing?” He raises an eyebrow. 

You frown. “Oh! It’s okay, baby,” you kiss his forehead. “I know sometimes it’s hard for you to understand this… topic.” 

“Hah! Really hard, right, Y/N?” Zoro barks and laughs. You look at him with a deadly glare of warning. 

“What?” Luffy asks getting a little annoyed. 

“Shut up, Zoro!” You warn him. 

“I swear I’ve tried everything, but Luffy can’t take a hint!” says Zoro, making an awful sharp womanly voice that makes everyone laugh. 

“I’m gonna kill ya’!” You groan standing up from Luffy’s lap and attacking Zoro’s good eye. 

“Uh...” Luffy leans to Robin. “Are they still talking ‘bout sex?” 

 Robin giggles. “Yes, Captain.” 

** 

When you enter your shared room, you see a very serious Luffy sitting on the bed.  

“Luffy?” He raises his head, but his expression is the same. “Are you okay?” 

Luffy’s jaw is tense, and his hands are fisted at his sides. “No.”  

“What’s going on?” You sit next to him as you take off your shoes. 

“You want to have sex with me.” It’s not a question. 

“I-uh. I mean, y-yeah...” as Zoro revealed, you’ve tried with soft touches, lingerie, and hot make-out sessions, but there’s always something distracting him. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His tone makes you more nervous than you expected. You’ve never seen him like this with you.  

“I-I try, but...” 

“No, you don’t,” he stands and turns to you with his arms crossed. “Are you scared or something?” 

“What? No! It’s not that!” 

“Do you think you won't like it?” 

You shake your head, standing up. “No, Luffy-” 

“’Cuz I know that you’ll like it,” he smirks at you. His voice’s deep and his eyes linger on your body making you shake. 

“I-uhm...” you sigh. “Luffy, it’s just that… You can be a little… oblivious about sex and I just thought...” 

Luffy chuckles. “Yeah, maybe. But I choose to be like that. I don’t care if the others think that,” he steps closer to you. “But you are more important,” he slowly grabs your waist and pulls you up to his body.  

You put your hands against his chest. “W-what do you mean?” 

“I’ll show you,” he whispers and then crashes his lips to yours in a hungry kiss. 

You moan when you feel his tongue enter your mouth, his hands go down to grab your ass and squeeze it, wrinkling the fabric of your dress. “Luffy!” You gasp, ending the kiss.  

“I gotcha’,” he giggles as he gets behind you to unzip your dress, leaving you in just underwear. 

He picks you up confidently and you wrap your legs around his waist. He walks with you to the bed and drops you carelessly making you complain. Luffy laughs as he removes his vest, shoes, and pants at great speed. 

He crawls up your thighs without taking his intense dark eyes off you. You tremble with anticipation. “Maybe everybody thinks I’m dumb, maybe I am,” he shrugs. “But I know you, Y/N...” he starts to kiss your skin. “And I know your reactions to my touch.” 

Luffy makes you open your legs, and he doesn’t wait before he’s kissing, licking, and biting the interior of your thighs. You sigh, feeling a shock from his lips. Luffy pulls away a little and smiles proudly, having left hickeys all over you. He grabs your thighs again to put them over his shoulders and have better access to your clothed pussy. 

“Luffy!” You squeak at his proximity. 

“My favorite part...” he says, ripping off your panties. 

You want to scold him, but your scream evolves and turns into a moan from your lips when his mouth attacks straight to your core. Your back falls against the mattress and you hold the sheets. 

You’re surprised at his enthusiasm to eat you whole and even feel a little embarrassed to hear the wet sound he’s making. “Luffy!” You moan. He drowns his moans in response and his grip on your legs tightens. 

It doesn’t take you long to recognize the sweet sensation of an orgasm, but you also feel overwhelmed because you’ve never cum so fast. “Luffy… wait!” You try to breathe. “Slow down a bit!” 

He decides not to listen and continues his work by running his tongue over your clit. That alone is enough to make you moan loudly, your body trembles and your legs want to come together crushing Luffy’s head. Your hand tangles in his hair tightly to pull him closer to you. “F-Fuck, Luffy!” You groan as you try to breathe after that intense high.  

Luffy keeps licking but now lowers his speed to just get slower laps until he’s satisfied. Then he crawls higher up to be close to your face, his smile no longer shows any innocence, but pride in his good job. 

“T-That was...” you sigh. 

“I know. I told you I’d show you,” he giggles. He slowly moves to be completely between your legs, and you gasp when you feel his boner. “I ain't finished, though.” 

He leans to softly kiss your lips and his hands travel all over your skin. “Soft...” he whispers. “So pretty.” 

Now it’s your turn to touch him, feeling his sweaty and strong muscles, then you lower your hand to his still-clothed cock, and Luffy moans. “Take ‘em off,” you order, and he nods.  

You touch again his hard member and move your hand up and down. “Y/N...” he calls you in a trembling voice. 

“Y-yeah?” You don’t stop. 

“Did I–Did I do well?” He sighs. “Did I eat you well? You liked it?” He thrusts at your hand. 

“Yes,” you moan. “I liked it very much, love.” 

“Was I a good boy?” He whines. 

You understand what he wants to hear. “Yes, such a good boy, Luffy,” you praise. “My good boy...” 

“Fuck, you’re perfect,” he kisses you. “So soft, so pretty,” he smiles, “and so fucking delicious, the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” He laughs as he leans over and sucks on your nipple, firmly holding your breast. 

“Lu!” You scream, grabbing his dark locks again.  

He lets go of your nipple at holds the hand you’re using to caress him. “I-I want to be inside you, please... Can I?” He asks desperately.  

“Yeah, I need it too...” 

He smiles and moves, taking his member directly to your entrance eagerly.  

"Slow, Luffy..." You warn him. 

"I'm sorry," he laughs a bit. 

Both of you moan with his slow thrust, and Luffy buries his head on your neck when he's all the way in. You can feel the soft kisses on your throat as your body gets used to his intrusion, but you can't wait too long, so you grab his ass and pull him into you. 

"Move, baby..."  

He obeys, increasing the speed of the thrusts more and more until the sound of skin slapping skin floods the room along with the screeching of the bedframe against the wall. 

"Good boy."  

"Yeah, your good boy. Only yours..." 

After a while, you feel your body reaching a new climax and notice that Luffy's thrusts are harder and a bit sloppier. "I'm close," you moan. 

"Me too," he groans. “You first...” He raises his head to look at you. “I bet you look so pretty when you cum.” If your skin isn’t flushed by now, his words make your body feel like it’s on fire. “Cum f’me...” 

You squeal hitting your release and Luffy holds your waist like you might go away from him. “Fuck!” He grunts, and you feel him cum inside you. 

Your bodies shiver a little from the adrenaline, Luffy slowly pulls out of you, and his body falls on yours. You can't help but giggle and caress him. 

“I buv u,” he says, with his face buried on your tits.  

“I love you too.”  

After a comfortable silence, you remember the party happening on deck. “The others can’t laugh at you now, huh?” 

He giggles. “I don’t care. But maybe they heard your screams...” 

“YES, WE DID!” Someone yells upstairs. “WE GET IT!”  

You two laugh.  

#taglist of twoidiots #one piece #one piece x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #monkey d luffy #straw hat luffy #straw hat pirates #straw hat smut #one piece smut

[whereserpentswalk]

People don't realize how liminal it is to be a time traveler. How you don't ever really feel like you're in the time you are. Even when you're in your own time, everything is off, your coat was something you bought in interwar France, the book you're reading on the train is from a bookstore you had to visit in Victorian London, even your necklace was given to you by a Neolithic shaman, from a culture the rest of the world can never know. You find yourself acting strange even when in the present, much less in the past you have to work in.

You remember meeting a eunuch in 10th century China, and having him be one of the only people smart and observant enough to realize you were from a diffrent time. You could talk honestly with him, though still you couldn't reveal too much about your time. And it was still so strange hearing him talk casually about work and mention plotting assassinations. You're not allowed to but you still visit him sometimes.

You remember that the few times you were allowed to tell someone everything it was tragic. You knew a young woman who lived in Pompeii, who you had gotten close to, a few days before she would inevitably die. On your last day there you looked into her eyes, knowing soon they'd be stone and ash, that the beauty of her hair would be washed away by burning magma. And you hugged her, and told her that you wanted her to be safe, and told her she was wonderful and that you wanted her to be comfortable and happy. And you let her tongue know the joy of 21st century chocolate, and her eyes see the beauty of animation, knowing she deserved to have those joys, knowing it wouldn't matter soon. And you hugged her the last time, and told her she deserved happiness. And when you left without taking her it was like you were killing her yourself.

You want to take home everyone you're attached to. There's a college student you befriended in eighteen fifties Boston. And you can't help but see him try to solve problems you know humanity is centuries away from solving. And you just want to tell him. And it's not just that, the way he talked about the books and plays he likes, his sense of humor. There's so many people you want him to meet.

You feel the same way about a young woman you met on a viking age longship. She tells stories to her fellow warriors and traders, stories that will never fully get written down, stories that she tells so uniquely and so well. She has so many great ideas. You want so dearly to take her to somewhere she can share her stories, or where she can take classes with other writers, where she can be somewhere safe instead of being out at sea. She'll talk about wanting to be able to do something, or meet people, and you know you're so close to being able to take her, but you never can, unless she accidently finds out way too much then you can't.

You remember the longship that you met that young storyteller on. You were there before, two years ago for you, ten years later for the people on it. The young woman who told you stories wasn't there ten years later, you had been told why then but you only realize now, her uncle, who ran the ship, had been one of the first people to convert to Christianity in his nation. He killed her, either for not converting or for sleeping with women, you're not sure, but he killed her, and bragged about it when you met him ten years later.

You talk to the storyteller on the longship, ask her about the myths you're there to ask her about, the myths that she loves to tell. You look into her eyes knowing it's probably less then a year until her uncle takes her life. You ask her if you think that those who die of murder go to Valhalla. She tells you she hopes not, she doesn't see Valhalla as a gift but as a duty, she hopes for herself to go to Hel, where she wouldn't have to fight anymore. You slip and admit you're talking about her, telling her that you hope that's where she goes when she's killed. You hope to yourself you'll be forced to take her to the twenty first century, you're tempted even to make it worse, you want to have ruined her enough to be able to save her.

#196 #my thougts #worldbuilding #writing #my worldbuilding #my writing #urban fantasy #ancient history #history #short fiction #short story #original fiction #flash fiction #viking #viking age #norse mythology #ancient rome #pompeii #science fantasy #science fiction #sci fi #scifi #queer #queer history

[scaralvr]

hello! i would like to request prompt #15 with haypasia and scaras dynamic and him trying to get you jealous but you take it the wrong way + hurt/comfort, thank you!

only you — TRIAL FOR YOUR HEART EVENT scaramouche x gn!reader (possessiveness, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort)

☆ prompt(s) used : are you jealous yet?

note(s) : thank you for requesting, traveler! i really like the idea of this concept so i hope you like how i wrote it (o´▽`o)

one tiny mistake caused your lover to completely lose his trust in you. after being so careful, you just had to slip up. the fatigue was getting to you, and you know how scaramouche gets when he sees even the slightest hint of an illness. he's so careful with you, handling you like a porcelain doll and that if he isn't considerate, you'll break.

you did break, you shattered right in front of his eyes. you passed out mid-conversation and scaramouche's distress was at high. you didn't see how his hands trembled as he held you, you didn't see how his gaze flitted from the slow rising of your chest to your closed eyes. you didn't see how visibly worried he was.

scaramouche wasn't going to let anyone betray him again, even you, his (s/o). he didn't care whether he was going to have to use force to teach you a lesson. he's grown tired of your petty little lies just so he doesn't have to worry about you.

"a devout follower of yours? i see," you say with a calm tone, but scaramouche doesn't fail to notice the way your gaze slightly darkens. he continues, "yes, isn't it great? the first step to the birth of my becoming of a God begins with her." scaramouche can hardly contain an evil cackle from slipping from his lips, but he'll save that for later.

your hands are behind your back as you fidget with your thumbs, "that's good, kuni. um, listen, i was wondering if-" you stop short when you notice the way he seems to be enraptured in his deep thoughts. probably thinking of haypasia again, huh? you look to the side and almost anyone would feel bad at the way you frown, "nevermind."

scaramouche smirks and he holds onto the rim of his hat, the trinkets clinking with each step he takes towards you. "what? do you have something to tell me?" he queries with a condescending tone, taking pride in the way you appear like a poor lamb being hunted as prey.

you shake your head, "no, it's nothing. you should get going, no time to waste on that plan of yours, right?" you shrug it off with your signature chuckle that you forced to release from your throat. scaramouche's lips curl upwards, "correct." and with that, he walks away, no greet goodbye, not a single word did he utter that acknowledged you were still his lover. his only.

lately, you noticed his visits with haypasia frequently taking up more and more of his schedule. he doesn't even hesitate to cancel out on dates he had previously planned with you and instead, wastes away at the day with a woman he just met. your insecurities begin to gnaw at you with each second that passes by.

it never leaves your mind how sometimes, scaramouche wouldn't even return for days and when he comes back, he claims it doesn't have anything to do with haypasia at all. but you do see him during your daily check-in at his office to see how he's doing. though, he seems to pay less attention to it recently. then you realize, this must all be because you showed the smallest indication of an illness.

you tuck your knees up to your chest and it looks like you're spending another day alone in bed without the presence of your lover, who's busy with his own things to do. or people to meet. the moonlight that peeks through the window's translucent curtains adorns your features. suddenly, you feel a dripping from your nose.

you touch it and look at your fingerpad to find a crimson red. you panic and get out of bed to wash up in the bathroom. blood continues to pour from your nose and your head begins to feel light. when you finish up, you make a discovery. mortal. you're a mortal. scaramouche surely doesn't seek that if he wants someone to be by his side forever.

time would take you sooner or later, and right now, your body wasn't in its best condition. tears grow at the corners of your eyes as you realize that you weren't even the one he was even looking for in the first place, because you're a mortal. your presence is temporary; no wonder he's been so off as of late.

scaramouche is exhausted. despite being a puppet, he felt his knees about to give way beneath him because of how hard he's been working lately. and the past few days, he noticed you hadn't visited him at his office so it added to his sour mood. scaramouche wonders whether he should continue to dangle countless summaries of what he and haypasia did, but he supposes you've learnt your lesson by now.

a small smile is atop his lips as he puts his things aside for the day. during his walk back to the house he shares with you, he replays your amusing reactions in his head whenever he told you about haypasia. you really are pathetic aren't you? well, all is fine. you're going to come running back to him no matter what so...

scaramouche ought to apologize as well. his behaviour was uncalled for, at least he'd agree to that. he wonders how you're doing physically too. that little incident of you passing out that began this whole ordeal still hasn't passed his mind just yet. scaramouche will check in on you when he gets home.

he arrives and peers into the rooms, searching for your whereabouts. scaramouche put his hat onto the dining room table and sighs. maybe you're out getting groceries. maybe you're visiting a friend and lost track of time. though he'd prefer the first option. scaramouche wanted nothing more than to get in bed with you after a long week of working and being separated from his lover.

his plan to become a God would be set into motion soon, and he wanted you by his side by that time. he figures he'd apologize now if he were to get back to work the next day, so he waits. scaramouche sits at one of the chairs at the dining table and waits for your arrival.

as he's only four minutes into waiting, he notices an envelope on the ground that must have fell from the table after he placed his hat on it. scaramouche picks it up and examines it before peeling it open. he takes out a paper with beautiful ink words across it, which he can come to recognize is your penmanship. hesitant at first, he reads nonetheless.

dear kunikuzushi,

i hope this letter finds you well. i, however, am not myself as of late. surely, you've noticed, but i've come to realize that you're meant for bigger things, kunikuzushi. i'm just a mortal who's living in your world and when all is said and done, time will reach me as well. at the moment, i'm recovering my state in liyue at bubu pharmacy, where a close friend will tend to me, so please, don't worry and focus on what it is you truly wish to achieve rather than allowing me to burden you. i hope everything will go well with your plan, along with haypasia. farewell, kunikuzushi.

yours truly, (y/n).

scaramouche has a blank expression when he finishes reading it. his thumb smoothes over the corner and it slightly crumples. "farewell?" he mumbles, eyes darkening. scaramouche rips the letter apart without another second of waiting. pieces of the page drift to the ground and he grits his teeth. "i'm not going to let you leave me."

had scaramouche known you were hurting that bad because of his antics of teasing you, he would've dropped the act immediately. his pride got the best of him and made yet another one of his loved ones leave him. but he'll have time to dwell on that later. his top priority right now, is getting you back.

he sets a course for liyue, not caring whether it'll interfere with his current plan of becoming a God. what use would it be without his lover by his side as you always were? it was originally his plan; to have you there the whole time, and to cut you off was out of the question.

"qiqi, would you indulge in helping me pick more herbs for our friend, (y/n), here?" baizhu asks with a smile as the little zombie looks up at him. she nods, "yes, baizhu. would (y/n) like to come along?" qiqi queries as she looks at you. baizhu places a hand on her shoulder, "it's alright, qiqi. they'll be needing their rest."

you smile, "thank you for asking, qiqi." qiqi nods again and waves, "qiqi and baizhu will be back... with (y/n)'s herbs." baizhu winks at qiqi and qiqi hums. that causes you to blink for a few moments. these two...

"we'll be off. anything you need, you can find in the cabinets over there," baizhu says before leaving with qiqi in tow. as they exit, your mind can't help but linger upon scaramouche. you wonder how his plan is going with haypasia. you sigh and shake your head. it was your fault to begin with, for not noticing the signs sooner, right?

you stand up and decide to take a walk for fresh air. you feel bad for not coming along to pick herbs with the sweet girl and your friend, but you want some time alone. but as soon as you leave the pharmacy, you meet a familiar fatui harbinger.

"scaramouche!" you say in surprise, your eyes wide as you look left and right. said man suddenly grabs you by the wrist and pulls you behind the building. "don't 'scaramouche' me," he seethes, eyes narrowing with anger. scaramouche roughly pushes you against the wall and keeps you there with just his menacing glare.

you fight back the urge to look away, but you can't bring yourself to do so when tears are helplessly flowing down his face. "why would you leave? actually, no, that doesn't matter," he murmurs, looking down to refrain you from seeing the way he cries. "can you come back? i-i promise i won't do anything like that again, so..."

scaramouche slowly lets go of your wrist to wipe at his tears. you solemnly say, "kunikuzushi." in a tender motion, you hold both his hands in yours and he looks up, eyes baring more tears to release. "it's not your fault," you say with the softest voice he's ever heard.

you lift one hand to cup his cheek, "it's okay. if my presence with you is what you truly wish for... i'll do it for you." you smile and scaramouche couldn't contain himself from holding you close and pressing his lips against yours. you clutch at his shoulder and your tears mix with his.

even if it isn't forever, he has you right now. so please, don't leave, as you're the only one he has.

© scaralvr.

#(⌒▽⌒)☆ : myst's library !! #gender neutral reader #genshin impact #genshin #genshin x you #genshin x y/n #scaramouche x you #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche x reader #genshin imagines #genshin imagine #genshin fanfic #genshin fanfics #genshin fanfiction #genshin fanfictions #scaramouche #genshin fluff #scaramouche fluff #scaramouche angst #genshin angst #scaramouche fanfiction #scaramouche fanfic

[1nthedarknessofthenight]

i drink your blood and i eat your skin | part one.

pairing: vampire! hwang hyunjin x f!reader

warnings: smoking, assault, little bit gory

masterlist

playlist

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Stood up…again. That sickening and now very known feeling in the chest created another crack in your already shattered heart. You felt like a total fool. Why can’t you just get over the fact that maybe being a lover girl in this century wasn’t the right way to go. Oh, how much you wished to be more like your friend Mia. Just living in the moment, not worrying about the men and women you had in the past and only wondering who will be next.

Truth to the word is that love comes when you are least expecting it but you overthink everything! Every occurrence with someone–hell even a stupid eye contact makes you think about the future you could have with a literal stranger. However you already set the bar low enough, it hit the ground a long time ago. Looks didn’t even matter anymore, if they just showed interest and knew how to act like a normal human being was enough for you. Your overthinking can do the rest but today it surely ‘did a good job’.

You met this guy just yesterday at the grocery shop, so romantic but you weren’t asked on a date like in forever so it was quite exciting. He wasn’t even that bad looking — short dirty blond hair, broad shoulders and fairly tall…The wandering eyes of his on your chubbier figure surely could be overlooked. It wasn’t like you hated your figure but seeing someone openly checking you out like that was a first and it made you feel wanted, so you went for it.

Well…it didn’t go as well as you thought it would as now you were sitting on a small bench in the middle of the night all by yourself. You shouldn’t have talk about him to your friend Mia, seeing that when you would talk about some potential love interest they would right after suddenly change their whole behavior, only leaving you feeling disappointed and embarrassed.

Date was at 6 p.m at this small Italian restaurant and by quarter to seven with no sight of your date and no text saying that he was running late, you learned that maybe your date was cancelled. At least the food and wine was good enough to hide your disappointment for awhile but after the third glass you felt like breaking down.

A 24 year old woman and no experience. Even the kids’ siblings you babysat had more experience with dating. You knew that by having no experience isn’t something to be ashamed of but you felt like you were missing out on life…

You took another drag of your cigarette, ignoring the coldness of the bench beneath you. You could at this point get a cat and become one of those rich cool aunts that traveled all around the world but reality hits you right there. No siblings, no parents and also being a hopeless romantic couldn’t help you become someone you knew you never will be.

You actually rarely felt sad about having no one from your own blood. As long as you could remember Mia was everything you had and needed and Mia’s parents gave you everything and more. You don’t even know how you became friends, all you knew was that you two have an unbreakable bond and couldn’t wish for anyone else.

You smiled at the thought of your friend. Maybe you don’t even need anyone but there was still a feeling like a piece of missing puzzle was somewhere out there to fulfill you. You shook your head and laughed at your own thought. Atleast no one was out at this hour, basking in the silence.

Seeing that you almost finished your cigarette, you stood up and dust of your white chiffon dress. If your friend saw you she would probably shoved that cancer stick right down your throat. You didn’t even smoked that much, a one cigarette after a while (a whole pack) can’t hurt nobody.

The starry night today was awfully pretty and made your attention shift to its dazzling beauty. Walking few steps, you leaned over the brick wall of of the bridge you walked your whole live on. This small stone bridge was built in Middle Ages and from that moment it connected the two sides of the town in one. Wrapping your lips around the cigarette, holding it between your pointer and index finger you watched as the smoke mixed in with the light fog of this cold spring evening.

Thanks to the alcohol, you didn’t even felt the cold seeping under the skirt of your dress that much. Last drag and then finally putting out the cigarette on the cold stone, you watched again how the smoke from your cherry colored lips danced through the night but suddenly your vision caught something way more interesting.

A man dressed in dark clothes was leaning against a stone railing few feet below her. You didn’t even know how you could see him because he was perfectly blending in with the darkness of the night. From where you were standing, you could make out that he had longer black hair, one side tuck behind his ear which was decorated by a small earring that twinkled in the moonlight. In his hands was a notebook, scribbling down something. You quickly learned that he was drawing the waters of the quiet river he softly lift his gaze to every now and then.

You lost yourself in his smooth movements and captivating beauty. Even by being far from this man, you could confidently say that he was one of the most beautiful creatures you have ever seen. His other hand caressed the paper like it was the soft skin of a lover, fingers decorated by multiple rings. You were in a trance, watching him draw, you could even hear the light scratching of his pencil against the page and then…a sudden movement of his makes your breath get stuck in your throat. As his gaze again went to the illuminated river, he suddenly tilted his head in your direction.

You were now met with a pair of blue eyes, so blindingly pale blue that seemed to look right through you. You were right…that man was beautiful. From his piercing eyes to his nose, strong jawline and perfect full red lips. He looked like an angel but by the look in his eyes, you felt like he was something completely different . He was dangerously beautiful.

Your heartbeat quickened as his glowing eyes slightly narrowed and then slowly trace over your features, just like yours did to him. You felt analyzed not only from the outside but also on the inside, almost waiting for his approval as he once again met your eyes in a burning stare that sent shivers down your spine. The look in his eyes changed. To what? You didn’t know but it made you feel uneasy.

His head turned suddenly to look behind him. Confused, you take a look in the same direction and after just a small moment of waiting, loud voices and laughter were heard as five men come up from the corner stumbling, they were certainly drunk. As you turn to glance back at the man, you were just openly gawking at you were only met with no one. It was like he wasn’t even there in the first place and you began thinking if maybe he was just fragment of your imagination after all.

Hearing and seeing the five men going closer, you decided to head back home. Turning on your heels, you began walking across the bridge to the other side. The streets were empty and it didn’t help that you lived quite far from where you were right now. A sudden feeling like you were being watched made you quickly look over your shoulder and learning that your were right about your theory.

Those same men were just few meters behind you and if you didn’t turn around, you wouldn’t know a thing because they suddenly became quiet, whispering to themself, their bickering blending into the light wind.

Your heart immediately sank, quickening your steps. ‘’Hey, you!’’ Echoes a voice from one of the men. You ignored it almost tripping from how fast you were now going. “Come on, pretty lady-‘’

Grabbing your bag in your hands, you fumble through it. “We just want to talk! And a girl shouldn’t be walking all alone in the middle of the night ya know..” Now the voices were too close to your liking. When you felt the pepper spray at the bottom of your bag, you grasped it and decided to do better and immediately take off running.

Your breathing become heavier as you heard sound of heavy footsteps from behind you. “Get back here!~” Today definitely couldn’t got any worse for you. Your ears ranged and legs screamed from your sudden burst of energy. Maybe this is a sign to work out more as you felt the irony taste in your mouth.

A sinister laughter echoed through the night making a small amount of tears well up in your eyes. You were too far from any house. Your feet hurt like hell and exhaustion slowly started to creep up to you, the cold air making you shiver as it kissed your reddened cheeks. Behind your blurry vision, you saw an open gate to a cemetery, quickly thinking of the risks you would have to make. It was dark and there was a chance hiding in the shadows…

Making a sharp turn to the left, you almost slipped through the open gate but a hand suddenly wrapped itself around your forearm tugging you to its owner. “Gotcha~” But before the man could finish, you turn your head away from him, spraying the contents of the pepper spray in to his eyes.

Screaming in pain, he let go of you, making you grasp the open side of the gate and smashing it into him making him tumble to the ground. You didn’t even look if there was a lock somewhere, seeing that the others weren’t that far from you and turning to run through the dark cemetery .

You tripped every step. You felt like one of those stupid girls in horror movies but it was so dark, you couldn’t see much of anything. When your line of vision caught a big gravestone, you cried up, there was no time to look for better hiding spot.

Falling onto your knees and squeezing yourself behind the big stone, you tried to calm down your racing heart and rigid breathing as it got eerily quiet. Pressing your upper back on the back of the gravestone, you pulled your legs up to your chest and prayed for your literal life. Your new dress was probably torn to shreds and dirty but you didn’t seem to care as your fear filled eyes stared into the darkness before you.

“Come out, come out wherever you are!”

“She can’t be far.”

“Look over there and I will~”

A small quiet sob flew past your lips, making you cover your mouth with your hand. This couldn’t be happening right now. They should’ve lost interest by now. ‘God why me?’, you thought, pressing the palm of your hand painfully onto your lips.

You heard snapping of twigs quite far from you but you still didn’t have the courage and strength to take it as a chance to escape and run and there was still chance someone was near you as there were five of them. The moon shined from behind you, making shadows that seemed even more scarier now because of your situation. Maybe a ghost or something would be better than this.

As your gaze burned the ground below you an unexpected shadow appeared on the ground. Your heart immediately sank. “There you are, pretty girl.” Whispered the new comer, making you immediately spring to your feet into the opposite direction but you were only caught by arms of a second man.

“No!~” You screamed into the night accompanied with laughter by the others. Trashing in the arms of the man, you screamed for help more and more as your blurry vision caught the other three men making their way to you.

The grip that man had you in was bruising, making you cry out in pain. You can’t just stop fighting…so the next thing you did was stomping your foot down on to the man’s foot. You couldn’t be more happy of deciding the last minute to wear heels as his grip loosened when your heel pierced his foot. Shoving yourself away from him, you ran, dugging right under pairs of arms that tried to caught you but you still didn’t make it far.

One of them made you trip over your feet. Falling so unexpectedly, you didn’t even have time to register anything in the dark, making you fall head first on a corner of a gravestone. A small cry came from your, gripping your throbbing head in your hands as your ears rang. Feeling yourself being grabbed at made you a little bit wake up from the small unconsciousness, swinging your arms widely and trying to hit anything you could reach but they were only caught in a painful grip.

Crying loudly you tried to wiggle away as you felt yourself being laid back on to the cold ground. Two of them quickly catch your legs mid air as you tried to atleast kick one of them. “No please~” You plead, feeling so stupid for even trying as they only laughed at you.

The one left that wasn’t holding any of your limbs, loomed over you, looking like a predator looming over his helpless pray. It was the one you pepper sprayed. Watching him as he took out a switchblade knife from his pocket made you for a moment stop your loud crying. “Scream and I cut you.” He said while going to his knees right between your legs. This can’t be it…

“Fucking bitch.” He says dragging the knife up your leg lifting your skirt with the sharp point, making you trash around a little in hopes of being spared. Your head fell onto the ground. You didn’t want to look down and have chance of seeing your assaulters or even to the side and seeing his accomplices’ sickening grins. For a moment you could only feel the stars and moon looking down at you. Oh, how much you wished to be as far away as them right now, trying so hard to ignore the sound of belt unbuckling.

“What~” That unexpected question came from your side, making you look in wonder and immediately a scream gets stuck in your throat.

The first thing you saw was red. Blood so bright that even in the pitch darkness you could see it covering your dress and lower body. Your assaulter with the knife was now held by the head as their newcomer had their mouth attached to his neck, watching as warm, crimson blood flowed freely from where they were contacted. The unknown person growled that sound so animalistic that it made goosebumps rise on the back of your neck.

As the body of the man fell limply to the ground you could finally see your so called ‘hero’. Before you stood the same man you saw under the bridge. The one whose beauty struck you as a lightning but right now you felt everything but admiration towards this man. Another–new and now even more strong wave of fear run though you as you look upon him.

His beautiful icy blue eyes were now red, pulsing blue and purple veins underneath his lower eyelashes that went across his cheekbones and his lips painted from the blood of his victim, made him look nightmarish. The crimson liquid dripped from his lips down to his chin and chest, seeping into his expensive looking dress shirt. The moonshine lightened his slim silhouette and his wild look in his eyes made them all see what…who the real danger truly is.

Shaking out of your trance, you felt yourself being grabbed at not so strongly as before. One of those men that kept your legs down, spring at your savior. But as quickly as he stood up the creature of the night grabbed him harshly by his neck, pinning him down and baring his sharp teeth at him. You, seeing a way out, took it and you definitely weren’t alone as the now only three men took of running with you. You choose the left side with one of those men and the other two right and as you turn to look back at them, those same men were stopped as now they were met with someone new.

A shorter man with sandy blonde hair stood before them and you must say, he was equally as beautiful as the other one. You stood frozen in your spot as the stranger with cold, almost bored looking eyes shoved both of his hands into those two grown men’s chests like it was nothing. Loudly gasping, you shrieked as now the man held their hearts in the palms of his hands, their bodies now an empty box, falling by his feet. You didn’t know what to do other than watch, frozen in horror, so you didn’t even see coming the only one man left, pauncing at you and grabbing you swiftly from the back and pressing the cold knife to your throat.

“Don’t come near me you fucking freaks!” Yells the man in your ear, now having both of theirs attention. Even breathing made the knife cut lightly the delicate skin of your neck.

But by a blink of an eye you were free, immediately falling to the ground as your own legs gave up on you in the same moment. You heard a short scream, followed by the loud sound of bones snapping, making your skin crawl. Crawling desperately away, you stopped at a tree that now seemed like the most supporting thing in this situation as you curled yourself up next to it. You couldn’t run, you knew that would be stupid. You got yourself from a dangerous situation and now you were in even bigger one. Bringing your knees to your chest, you sobbed. Never have you felt so afraid and useless. There wasn’t even a chance…so you did the only think you could. Plead.

“Please, I won’t say anything…please~” You say not looking up.

One of them slowly walk up to you, stopping right before you. You held your breath, quieting your sobs for a moment and peeking from behind your fingers to look at the boots of the same man that ripped someone’s heart right from their chest just seconds ago. “What do you want to do with her?” Spoke the man, his voice so calm almost soothing but his question for sure didn’t made you feel more relaxed.

Breathing through your nose heavily, you squeezed your eyes shut trying to imagine yourself anywhere else. Response wasn’t heard as the man whose beauty you so admired walk up to his company.

If you would be watching you could’ve seen looks being exchange between them.

The sandy blonde haired man grabbed the other by his arm stopping him from going any further to you. “If Chan hears about this, I will make sure to throw you into the dungeons myself.” Only a small smirk was send back his way.

You felt your body go stiff as someone crunched down before you, softly bringing their hand to the side of your face. Their touch was cold as ice and if you weren’t already freezing you would surely jump away.

Their fingers softly traced your face, stopping at your chin and slowly lifting your head. The same blue eyes you saw from before were now staring right into yours, noticing the subtle ring of red around the iris. You felt yourself drowning again in his beauty and strangely your breathing calmed down. You and the man look upon each other for a moment. His cold touch felt more like burning but you didn’t have the heart to pull away as this was probably the softest touch you have ever felt. “Please…” You didn’t even know for what you were pleading anymore.

His other hand, the hand decorated with those beautiful rings went to the other side of your face, having no other choice but to look back into his alluring eyes. “You will forget everything that happened tonight.” He whispered, his voice velvety and delicious to your ears. “From the moment you saw me to this very moment and go home.”

Your tear filled eyes look into his, watching his pupils grow in size with his every word. Just as quickly as he said those words, he was gone by a blink of an eye. So was his company, even the bodies of your assaulters were nowhere left to be seen. You swallowed the lump in your throat, not wanting to spend anymore time at this creepy cemetery. You stoop up on your shaking legs, surprised seeing your bag sitting right by your feet. You forgot about even loosing it. Bending over and grabbing it, you walked the way home and recalling his words in your head again.

“Forget…” The only thing was that you didn’t, not knowing the consequences that will come because of it.

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author’s note

So this is actually my first ever fanfic on tumblr as you can see. So I hope you like it and I just wanted to say that even studying English my whole life it’s still not my mother language so I’m sorry for any errors you come across.

I used to write a lot on wattpad but I don’t make anymore stories but still if you want to, you can check them out on: @Audrey_Holland

Thank you for reading, can’t wait for you guys to read the next chapters.

#stray kids #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin #hyunjin x y/n #hyunjin x reader #straykids x reader #stray kids x chubby reader #vampire stray kids x reader #dark romance #stray kids smut #hyunjin smut #lee know x reader #bangchan x reader #han jisung x reader #changbin x reader #felix x reader #i.n x reader #seungmin x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids x you #stray kids fanfic #stray kids vampire au #hwang hyunjin x reader

[fancyfeathers]

Rain and Dirt (Yandere Rex Lapis/Zhongli x Goddesses!Reader)

Chapter Two, A Harbinger

Sequel to The Moon Will Sing and Time Alone

Chapter One

Summary: Stories are told of Rex Lapis the God of Contracts and his darling the Goddess of the Moonlight, but what people do not know is the truth of what their relationship really is. People think at Rex Lapis’s death that his wife would be the first to weep, but what if she is the first to smile.

You stood there in absolute shock for a moment, not even noticing the Millelith rushing in and taking in suspects who got to close. All you could do was stare at the body before you and wonder if you were really free after all this time. You could hear the voice of Lumine but could not process it until you felt the hand of the blond woman grab your own which made you flinch for a moment.

“We have to go, now.”

You could only nod as you almost mindlessly followed after the traveler. You two snuck around the guards, ducking behind the pathways, hiding behind pillars and plants, but you could barely process anything besides the blood roaring in your ears and the shake of your body. You were really free, you could leave, your contact was till death do us part and death did, you could leave. 

You had managed to evade much of the Millelith, Lumine peaked around a corner to make sure no one was watching before she waved you and Paimon to follow. She just did not notice the leaf beneath her foot, with one step she alerted the entire Millelith. She grabbed your hand and pulled you behind her, running and even jumping down the stairs. 

You could hear shouts of…

“They’re here!,” and, “Arrest them!” 

That shot your mind back into reality very quickly, you were a suspect for the murder of your husband. As Lumine led you to turn the corner of the stairs, you only found more Millelith coming to meet the three of you and Millelith chasing you from the other direction of where you came, you were cornered. You could try and summon your own divine magic, but it would look far too suspicious without the use of a vision, if you got out of this you would have to see to the purchase of a fake one . Now you were only in a state of panic as Lumine drew her sword, but there was no way she could fight all of them off.

“Hey girlies-hold still.”

You saw it before you could process what the voice said. You saw arrows made out of water blast down on much of the Millelith before you, knocking the weapons out of their hands. Then jumping up from behind you, seemingly from the rooftops, a man, dressed in gray, red hair, blue eyes, and a strange mask on the side of his head. Upon landing on the ground he was able to cut through the remaining Millelith, quickly and accurately with blades made up of hydro energy, it seemed only second nature to him. Before you could process anything of what just happened, the bodies of the Millelith were on the ground, but there were more coming. 

“Come with me.” He said, gesturing his head, and you and Lumine did not think twice before running after him.

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You stood nearby while Lumine and Paimon caught their breath, but something you noticed is that the red haired man did not look exhausted in the slightest like you, but you were not mortal, so who was he? 

“Paimon is exhausted.”

“Just what muscles does magical floating use exactly?” Lumine snapped back and you would have cracked a smile if it was not for your shocked state. Paimon was almost about to lose her head if it wasn't for you turning your attention to the man.

“And you are?” You questioned, trying to seem polite, but not joyful given what just happened.

“Call me Childe.” He answered, giving a polite semi bow to the three of you.

“Childe? What, so we’re supposed to dote on you?” This comment made him laugh and shake his head no.

“No, no, not at all. It’s an alias of sorts.” You watched as Childe shifted his attention to Lumine, which means he is probably here for her and not you which came as somewhat of a relief given that nowadays you were simply known as a housewife to a funeral parlor employee to the people of Liyue Harbor, your real identity remained unknown to them. “In Mondstadt, I don’t suppose you came across a “Signora” by any chance?”

Apparently this had some sort of implication that you did not understand, but clearly Lumine and Paimon did because not a moment later…

“You’re Fatui! One of the Harbingers!”

This statement from your floating friends snapped you right out of thoughts and made you go wide eyed and look up at him. By no means did you want to but you had the means of defending yourself if need be, but his response soothed that suspicion.

“Oh no. Don’t worry, I’m not looking for a fight. Signora gave you quite the bad impression, huh?” He tsked and rolled his eyes. “That woman… can’t say I’m a fan either. Right, let’s forget about her, shall we? I’m here to help you…” his eyes darted over to you for a moment, making direct eye contact. “…both of you.”

“Go. Leave.” Lumine snapped, clearly not wanting to deal with the Fatui and you could say you shared the sentiment.

“I don’t need help from the Fatui.” You said, turning up your nose and crossing your arms, trying to seem closed off. “I may not know what happened in Mondstadt, but I am quite fine on my own thank you very much.”

“I’m not a bad guy…” you raised an eyebrow to his statement, which made him pause for a moment. “Okay perhaps I’m kinda a bad guy, but I’m not here to give you any trouble. Would it be too much to ask for you to keep the sword sheathed?”

You watched as Lumine grew somewhat relaxed but not letting her guard down, so you shrugged. Might as well make sure Lumine is okay before you run off.

“I thank you for your knightly nobility, Lumine, and you ma’am for your willingness. I heard of your deeds in Mondstadt…” He then again glanced at you, a smile on his face as if nothing was wrong with what he was about to say, but he didn’t say anything to you, just looked back at Lumine. “So I couldn’t help but notice you during the proceedings back there and because I had my eye on you the whole time, I know it wasn’t either of you. Someone else was clearly behind this. Regrettably, given I’m a Fatui envoy from Snezhnaya… there’s no way I’d be trusted after something of this magnitude, the ruling Qixing of Liyue has always been overly suspicious of us.”

“Well can you honestly blame them?” Paimon said, scolding the harbinger which made you snicker along with the laughter from the harbinger.

“Guess I shouldn’t try to deny that. Okay, sure. Maintaining a distance between strangers is probably a good idea. Either way, I’m already used to it at this stage.” He glanced around before looking back at you, clearly wanting to wrap up this part of the conversation. “But right now, if you want to clear yourselves of any suspicion- you need to get yourselves to Northland Bank. Staying here isn’t an option. As the old Liyue saying goes, the walls have ears.”

Lumine glanced at you for reassurance and you could only give a mere nervous shrug. “That is actually true, I’ll see to it that you’re okay, but I can make no promises beyond that.”

You two followed the harbinger up through the buildings of Liyue, including your own home, which was locked now and all the lights were off which made you sigh. When you reached the bank, it looked like any ordinary business in Liyue, minus the Fatui agent outside, standing guard. You heard Childe and Lumine converse in the background while you stared over the city, it was all but a panic. The death of your husband and captor had all shook the city to its core, much like an earthquake. You sighed and wondered what was to become of this nation now in Rex Lapis’ death? We’re the Qixing to take over? Or perhaps the Adepti?

“This is a…”

And speaking of Adepti, out of the corner of your eye you spotted Childe handing Lumine a slip of paper and you nearly gasped.

“Where did you get that?” You demanded, cutting Paimon off, which made Lumine raise an eyebrow before looking between you and the harbinger.

“What is it?”

“All I know is that it is a sigil. A sigil to keep the “mighty and illuminated Adepti” from bringing harm to you.”

“Adepti?” Paimon questioned, also looking terribly confused like Lumine.

“If you head north from the harbor, then west from Guili Plains, you will eventually reach a stone forest known as Jueyun Karst. The people of Liyue believe it to be the abode of the Adepti.”

At Childe’s explanation you heard and saw Lumine sigh and roll her eyes. “Isn’t it just a legend?”

“I assure you it’s not, the Adepti are very real, and trust me, no one ever goes in if they value their life.” You say, interrupting the harbinger before he can speak. You know the Adepti all too well, Moon Carver, Mountain Shaper, Cloud Retainer, you even had the odd encounter with the Conqueror of Demons from time to time. You could only imagine what their reaction would be to the death of the Prime Adepti. “I could only imagine what anger they’ll be in at the death of Liyue’s Archon.” 

“I hate to admit it, but thanks to Mrs. (Name) your Fatui intel seems alright.” Paimon replied, glancing over at you for a moment to make sure you weren’t going to say anything else. “But. Why would we go looking for the Adepti anyway?”

“Because the Adepti would clear you of any suspicion.” Once again you answered before Childe could and he nodded.

“Once again, she is right. Liyue was founded by the Geo Archon and the Adepti- of course, it was built by force.” Childe’s explanation made you think. Did you really have a hand in building Liyue, or were those just the stories told as you sat at your husband's feet? You were not an Adepti but surely as a goddess of Liyue you must matter to its formation in some way besides being a pretty little songbird to sit by its Archon’s side. “Look for them. And be faster than the Qixing’s messengers, so you may give your version of the events first. If there is anyone who can help you now, it can only be the mighty and illuminated Adepti. If that fails, there is one last source we can turn to, the wife of Rex Lapis if she is still alive.”

Oh dear…

“Rex Lapis has a wife?” Paimon asked, turning between you and Childe. You both nodded but let the harbinger explain thing one, out of fear of over sharing and exposing yourself to the group in front of you, after your newly acquired freedom.

“He does, the goddess of Moonlight and Rain. There are many stories of their love, but from what I understand she is a gentle and loving goddess. If Rex Lapis is the father of Liyue, looking over it and protecting it, then his wife is the mother, nurturing and caring for her children.” Childe laughed a bit and gave a bit of a shrug. “Despite her name being practically unknown, the people hold her in the same amount of reverence as Rex Lapis despite her being far more weak than her husband.”

“I wouldn’t say all that about her, Liyue hasn’t even seen her in hundreds of years.” You said, turning away from them, going to look over the city of Liyue Harbor. Childe was right, Liyue did see you as their mother, your gentleness, your compassion, your tenderness. But these traits made you prone to your husband, you were forced into this position, you were weak. “I’m sure at this point she is nothing but a bedtime story.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, I think she matters much more to Liyue than you think.” You hear the harbinger speak as you lean over the railing, your eyes never once leaving the figures in the streets. “Perhaps more of the truth shall be revealed here in the next few days.”

“Perhaps… Perhaps…” You sighed and turned around to face the three before you. “As opposed as I am to it, you will need a guide to Jueyun Karst. Lucky enough for you I know the way.”

“You’ve been before?!” Paimon gasped and you nodded. “But didn’t you tell us no one should go? Why would you go?”

“Don’t worry about that right now, finding the Goddess that is Rex Lapis’s wife is next to impossible so the Adepti are your only hope.” You sighed and looked off to the streets of Liyue Harbor one last time. None of them know where you are, nor what has happened to you over the last few thousand years, and perhaps ignorance is bliss. Despite the mortals not knowing, the Adepti did and nor did they mind which made you shiver. “But I would be lying if meeting the Adepti did not shake me to my core.”

Chapter Three

#yandere genshin x you #yandere genshin #yandere genshin x reader #yandere genshin imagines #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere zhongli #yandere zhongli x reader #yandere rex lapis #yandere rex lapis x reader

[greekceltic]

Jacky has a haunted arm. It started as a roleplay thing that I didn't think I would make canon, but I probably will. The situations it creates are fun. Anyway, for our amusement she can use it to touch ghosts so she scared hers. (Art doesn't quite match the writing). You can read the roleplay clip under the read more or on toyhouse.

GreekCeltic-

Junior was where she left him. He glanced at her. Same face. Same bags under his eyes and blushless pallor. What did that bandit say?

  When eyes meet, the soul has made love?

Yeah he was wrong.

Junior turned back around and she wondered how far she could walk before he was compelled to join her. She felt a little bad for not asking, but the feeling had no stay power. His wants and needs took a backseat to hers and she had found a way to make herself okay with that.

He could talk. It was within his power to ask her to put him in someone else’s care any time he wanted. After being left in the woods she could understand why he wouldn't want to be parked on Vlinder's hearth- in the same forest -but there were other people in their group who would travel. All basically good people.

Picking her was self sabotage.

Idiot.

She walked all the way in and shut the door behind her. The wind feathered a few rug ends but didn't bother with him.

  Maybe he's like AI and can't defy me, she wondered. Like bullshit television. She had never made the leap that it could be worse. Jacky felt that she was babysitting and had exactly as much authority as a teenager over a nine year old. In the end, not very much at all. She kept waiting for his tantrum, wanting it because after all that had happened it would make sense, even be healthy, but it never came.

She stumbled back toward the fur mat she had grown to hate since she woke up and stared down at it, too tired to sleep. There was such a thing. Jacky swayed weakly near it and turned away.

She looked at him again and ground her bottom jaw.

  Dummy should be begging to leave.

She hated the way he idled against the wall like a toy soldier waiting for something to do. That was the kind of thing that got ice put down your shorts at sleep overs. The idea of that made her spine prickle in a bad way, but it made her think. Jacky tilted back and lidded her eyes. She reached for one of the support pillars and rested her weight on it, two feet closer to him.   I could do it. She moved her feet, taking care not to scuff them on the floor. She didn't have to worry about the boards creaking. If they didn't notice Vlinder they weren't going to notice her. There were no more pillars between them, but she thought she'd make it. She tried, and on the way thought about how many nights he'd spent right there in a different room. Waiting or staring, as engaged as a coat put away on a hanger. He didn't even breathe loudly because he didn't breathe anymore.   DO something! The last few feet ended with her wobbling behind him, alarmingly silent, but not very steady. She reflexively tried to grab his shirt to pull it back with her good hand, but it went right through. Jacky didn't stop to wonder if he'd noticed that. She stuck her *cold* hand out like a senile old woman with a fork. It went up his shirt and flattened on the part where his back sank in. It worked when she slapped him. No reason to think it wouldn't work now. Themascura--

The target of her ire had no idea.   None.   He was peacefully existing in a corner, appreciating the window. It was nice to have a different view. He liked trees. Not enough to have been okay with just their company for a few millennia, but enough to be okay staring at them for a few days.   It was pretty out there. There were squirrels. And birds! Not many of those in the city. The cats had mostly eaten them all-   Jacky was about to learn a whole lot of things in quick succession. One, she could in fact scare the shit out of a ghost. Two, despite being dead ghosts did in fact have startle responses. Three, when she was touching a ghost with her ghost hand apparently walls became interactable- because he slapped the window/wall with his belly when he jumped and it made a sound.   A beautiful hollow sound, like when you thumped a watermelon.   He left a foggy mark on the window when he hopped back. He was still hopping when he turned around, trying to shake the ice cube out of his shirt. His spine was still flickering when he got all the way turned- visible through his shirt and his front and almost as far as his shoulders. The look he gave her was universal. The sibling glance of- I WAS MINDING MY BUSINESS.   Here you are, starting some shit. He stuck a hand straight out for her face, confident it would go through, but also confident it would mess with her already wonky balance and depth perception. Time for you to take a time out on the floor. You pushed your luck to far today anyway.

GreekCeltic-- His reaction was Christmas. She wasn't sure what to make of his spine. Jacky looked at her hand and wondered if it had cannibalized him somehow. A week ago she had dumped all the extra stuff into Christoph's leg. That had been a surprise. Christoph was alive, there was no way to know it wouldn't do the opposite and suck Junior up like a straw, like it had Virgil's magic.   Oough, there was a mental image she did not enjoy. When she touched Christoph she went with a gut feeling that turned out to be right. Here too she decided to go with a gut feeling-- that it was fine. "Oh excuse me did I interrupt your vacant staring?" Jacky's hand was still up, she dropped it and raised her other one, rubbing her arm furiously like she was trying to warm it up. Cold fire appeared and walked toward her elbow. "Gonna do it again." She spread the fire to her good hand but she never got to try it. He threw his at her face- IN her face -and she spilled in stages. Mostly in slow, wobbly, backwards walking motions that ended up near the bed. She fell against the edge. She had been put to bed. OBNOXIOUS. Jacky leaned into her sprawled arm and chose to be happy he showed some life. She didn't think she could get up without crawling on all fours and that wouldn't be preferable. She was also tired. It was possible she had never been so tired in her life. She crawled over the edge and fell into the divot like a kitten into a laundry basket. She slept all of the night and most of the next day. The only time she got up was to wash. She made a point of it so history wouldn't have to repeat itself. Who knows how many rag baths she got during the week. One was too many. Two would have been life ending. Her hair was close to dry when she went back to sleep. She tried to make it longer, but felt harassed that she was not alone. Dreams had been hard to remember the first week, but they were piling up now. She didn't know if she was remembering things or adding fantasies to what she did. All she knew was she couldn't be her own witness. With each waking she was a little more confused and a little more convinced she shouldn't have gone back for the brooch. It could have waited. At the time the idea of leaving Junior out there to believe no one was coming was too much and it was too much now, but was it worth it?   The elf was back when she got up, laying beside her with his arm folded behind his head.   Him again. Jacky looked at him a minute, but decided she didn't really care. She didn't know why. It should have embarrassed her but it was like sleeping with a big white dog. She got the feeling he thought of her as a cat. She looked across the room and saw Herman on his back against the wall, also asleep. Some kind of spell had fallen over this house. She and Junior were exempt. She grabbed her poncho and went out the front door. The moonlit air was bright and icy. She wasn't wearing her shoes but she didn't expect to go far and wanted the snow to bite her feet a little. It felt good even when it stung. When she got to the gate she put her hand on it and flipped up the latch (too complicated for a dead guy, apparently), but never pushed it forward. It would have been easy, but the idea of the gate held fast. There was a bigger obstacle here than a physical one. I shouldn't, Jacky thought. More like I can't. She'd been thinking about this a lot and the conclusion she came to was damned if I do, damned if I don't.

#junior #jacky #greekrps

[ghcstao3]

that one awful tiktok where a girl unironically bashes a guy she had a date with because they were supposed to meet at 6 pm at a restaurant and she messaged him at 6:10 pm she is on her way and by the time she got there at 6:50 pm he was nowhere to be found but with ghoap where soap is the guy and ghost is a waiter at the restaurant who approaches the sad looking soap and tells him 'they don't deserve you' and steals soap for a date after his shift ends.

It takes Ghost all of ten seconds to predict how this man's night would go, after witnessing his patient smile fall away for a saddened look only moments after glancing down at his phone screen. Ghost casts a look at the clock in the kitchen, reads 6:10, then turns to take the plates of another order sat in the window out to be served.

He's seen this sort of thing happen countless times before.

At some point, it just becomes a classic scenario for any waiter—one person shows up for their date, diligently on time, then lingers alone at their table for ten minutes longer than they're meant to. They receive a text—if they're even that lucky—then they wait another twenty, then finally realize they've been properly stood up.

If a waiter pities them enough, they might get a free drink or an appetizer. Nothing will be mentioned of the fact that they are unintentionally alone at a restaurant, because that is simply not a waiter's business.

That's just life with the godawful modern day dating scene. Ghost has seen the situation play out more than enough times to decide that it probably isn't for him.

Probably.

Because he finds his gaze continually drifting back to the man alone in his booth, and a tiny, shameful part of Ghost's brain is holding onto the hope that the date never shows up.

And because, when the man is finally resigning himself to slip out of the booth as it nears seven o'clock without the slightest hint of an appearance from his promised date, Ghost finds himself travelling over to the table before the man can leave, with a very stupid proposition in his mind and primed on his tongue.

Ghost clutches the laminated menus he had collected just prior with clammy hands, even as he projects an air of casualness like his heart isn't in his throat the second he meets eyes with the man.

Whoever had stood him up would surely have to regret doing so.

The waiter clears his throat as he realizes he's been staring too long at the man caught halfway through getting out of his seat.

"Sorry, I just... wanted to say that I think you deserve better company."

A brief look of confusion passes over the man's face before he glances to the empty spot across from him, shoulders hunching in on himself as his face goes lax, if not a bit irritated. He shrugs. "Nothin' I can do. Not looking for..." He sighs, peering up at Ghost with a strange expression crossing his face. He swallows. "Not looking for pity."

"I'm not here to offer pity," Ghost amends hastily. "I see this shit happen all the time, I get it." A deep breath. He never gets nervous like this, but something about the stranger was just so striking. "I was actually looking to ask you on a date. A real one."

The man blinks. "Oh?"

"My shift's over at seven. If that's something you're interested in."

The man seems to genuinely mull the idea over. His eyes flicker to the name tag pinned to Ghost's chest before looking back up at the waiter's face. "Don't see why not," he finally says. "Simon."

Ghost decides already that he likes the way this man says his name.

A smile tugs at the corners of Ghost's lips, only a faint pull. "Alright. I'll see you in ten minutes, then...?"

"John."

Ghost nods. Echoes, "John." Then returns to the final minutes of his shift with an odd sense of giddiness in his chest.

And later, during their date, when John receives an angry text from the woman that was meant to meet him wondering where he was after they had long left the restaurant, both him and Simon are able to laugh about it with a much better night to make up for the rest.

#ask #simon ghost riley #john soap mactavish #ghost mw2 #soap mw2 #ghost x soap #soapghost #ghostsoap #ghoap #writing

[vashtijoy]

Hi! Pre-emptive sorry for the long ask- I don't know if you've answered this before but I was scrolling through your blog and in one of your posts you note that the brief bit we see of Akira's hometown has high rise buildings, which implies it's a city. I could've sworn there was in game dialogue calling him a country boy though or referencing him being from a rural area? Is there something in the Japanese text to suggest these are meant to be taken as jokes (I.E. protag is from a city, but it's not as big as Tokyo so he's playfully considered 'rural') or is this a case of the game devs simply not considering what buildings they had in the background of that scene?

Hello! First of all, I think it's insanely unlikely that the game devs just forgot Joker was meant to be from a shack on top of a mountain and accidentally put him in a city. Maybe they didn't have time to design a farm and shoved him in a random cityscape instead? Well, maybe. I would at least have pasted in a couple more trees.

So what do we know about this?

Sojiro calls Joker 田舎もん inakamon, short for 田舎者 inakamono—someone from the countryside; someone provincial. This is what's translated as "country boy", or "country bumpkin". Chihaya uses it about herself, and Chihaya I think is certainly meant to be very rural. The Adorable Woman and Rural Young Man in Shibuya Station use inaka a lot:

His name did not originally use inakamono or similar, by the way—he's the 上京してきた青年 joukyou shite kita seinen, "the young man who's moved to Tokyo". Note the moving-up kanji there, 上, lol—this is not a sideways move, it's a definite move up.

so what is the inaka?

In short, the inaka can be the remote countryside—but it can also just be your hometown, of any description. It can be legit anywhere that isn't Tokyo. Here's Tofugu:

My mouth was hanging open and I know I was being rude, but it was really hard to pull myself together. The woman I was speaking with was from one of the top Japanese Universities. She has had international relationships, traveled the world, and done work that most foreign anime fans would kill to see. Someone with her experiences, to me, should be open-minded about other cultures and lifestyles. Just the same, I can't help but to be bothered by what she said: "I feel like anything outside Tokyo's 23 wards is inaka." [...] Often, people usually just use what they read in the dictionary, but I learned fast that "countryside" in American English is much different than in Japanese English. For me, countryside means farms. Countryside is driving to see your closest neighbor, riding tractors for work and pleasure, and being able to immediately tell who's from your town just by looking at them. When I say this to Japanese people and ask them to explain inaka, the joke is always the same: "Inaka is anything outside of Tokyo." Osaka and Kyoto, for many, aren't inaka, but Sapporo, which is one of the few parts of the country where this legendary thing called "insulated housing" exists, is inaka. [...] So you might be wondering how "bad" it really is out here. Truthfully, I'm living in a city, at least by American standards. Great bus and train systems, tons of malls and movie theaters, some of the major stores people visit Tokyo to see, game centers, golfing… and a few rice paddies. Not many, but there are some. Imagine a fashionable mall, famous manga store, well-respected school with a strong baseball team, and major supermarket, all within walking distance, with maybe one field of rice. Honestly, the place is so city that I don't think I would willingly eat any rice that grew in that field. I swear, it's in front of a bus stop.

So, tl;dr: if you aren't in Tokyo, Osaka or Kyoto, you're probably in the inaka—at least to someone's mind. You can be somewhere that looks to us in every way like a city, and be in the inaka. And if you pick up sticks and move to Tokyo? Then you have a good chance of being jibed about being a "country boy".

so what is joker's inaka like?

[Joker] 田舎に帰りたい inaka ni kaeritai I miss the country... [lit. I want to go back to the inaka.] Ryuji ハハ、都会の洗礼ってか? haha, tokai no senrei tte ka? Hah. Not used to the big city yet, huh? [lit. Haha, so this is your first time in the city?]

We don't get a huge amount of detail in-game about Joker's home. Besides Sojiro's "country boy", Ryuji has a couple of comments. Here's another:

Ryuji あれ? お前ン家ってわりと田舎? are? omae n uchi tte wari to inaka? Wait a sec, your hometown isn't near the countryside, is it? [lit. isn't your place relatively countrified?] Ryuji いや、大自然でランニング練習とか気持ち良さそうだなーって。 iya, daishizen de ranningu renshuu to ka kimochi yasasou da naa tte I was just thinkin' it'd be great to run an' train somewhere out where it's all big, naturey open space. [lit. no, I thought it seemed like it'd feel great to train in the great outdoors and stuff.]

(I think something may be off here with that translation of daishizen, which seems to connote "the great outdoors", "a vast wilderness", etc, as well as just meaning "nature" (the sort you get out into) more generally". The word has been split up as if Ryuji was just saying "big nature" for some reason, like if you thought "the great outdoors" meant "the outdoors is great :D".)

But we can see from Ryuji's statement that Joker's home is wari to inaka, "relatively countrified", "kind of countrified"—it's more the country than Tokyo is, but it's probably not the ass end of nowhere, either. It's somewhere Ryuji pictures getting out into nature—but even if that's accurate and not just in Ryuji's city-boy head, that again doesn't connote "ass end of nowhere"; a lot of very built-up places are startlingly close to farmland or to nature, as with the putative rice field at the bus stop that we read about earlier.

the artbook picture

There is, of course, a picture of Joker's home in the artbook:

That doesn't scream "rural" to me—though it's also not the built-up area we see him in with Shido. It backs onto a cliff, it's very green. It's clearly a row of houses on a street, maybe in a fancy suburb on the edge of the city?

It's a nice house, at any rate. Joker moving into Sojiro's attic, with his clothes in a box, will have been a harsh step down.

Another detail from this image before we move on:

Look at this board. We can make out what it says. We can even, just possibly, make out a town name there...

日立自治会 掲示板 hitachi jichikai keijiban Hitachi Neighbourhood Association noticeboard

自治会 jichikai—neighbourhood associations. As you'd expect, they tend to be organised at the very local level—so Hitachi is likely to be a small district within a larger city, rather than (say) the city of Hitachi in Ibaraki Prefecture.

his city has a name guys i can't believe it lmao

the coup de grace

But there's one question I think really puts the nail in the coffin here: WTF was Shido doing in the middle of nowhere?

It's totally plausible that Joker came from a remote farm in the country, or a tiny village in far northern Honshu. But what is there in that to attract Shido? Like... Shido seems kind of an indoor guy, y'know?

He goes where his business is. He goes where the money is. It's difficult for me to picture him going to random rural areas with nobody to schmooze, with what I'm sure he'd consider to be poor facilities and shitty hotels.

Even if he did stoop to visit somewhere like that, by the time he was on his off hours getting pissed (in both senses) and attacking women, wouldn't he have gone back to civilisation?—back to the city?

conclusion??

This place Joker is wandering after dark doesn't look like The Country. It looks quite built up. I'd say it's the centre of a regional city or large town—with those nice houses we just looked at set off in suburbs along its edge. Look at this place:

It really does look like a less cramped version of Yongen-jaya, down to the trees. I don't think they spent too long on this area, but I also don't think it's inaccurate.

By the way, that "Hometown Neighbourhood" was originally 実家近くの住宅地 jikka chikaku no juutakuchi—"residential area near home". So this is not where Joker lived with his parents; it's an area close by. Like he says, he's on his way home late.

Where was he? We never find out. He has what looks like a school bag, well before his nasty crime days. Maybe he was visiting a friend we never hear about again. Maybe he was at cram school. But he's gone to this built-up part of town to do something there.

My guess would be that he lived in some prefectural capital or other. That's why Shido is there. I'd also guess that it's one of the Kanto prefectures, since the further you go from Tokyo, the less likely it becomes that Joker would have been sent to Tokyo for his probation, whether Sojiro was a friend of a friend or not.

As ever, all of this is for information only, and if you want to do something else superior in every way, you definitely should. At the end of the day Joker's a silent protagonist player insert, who can be from absolutely anywhere and as gay as you like. Let a thousand Jokers bloom.

revision history

Click here for the latest version.

v1.0 (2024/01/17)—first posted.

#asks #persona 5 #p5 meta #ren amamiya #akira kurusu #look at that y'all a totally goro-free post #i have ascended

[httpsserene]

i've been looking for weeks and months but can't find a single x male reader fic/au/etc... could u spare sum for the boys too😭🤲

ɪ ᴄᴀʀᴇ ᴡ/ ᴍᴠ33

📖ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: max is over at daniel’s where they're supposed to be doing whatever best buds do. but somehow, the topic of his father comes up, and it brings max to a…realization of sorts. it also causes the two of you to argue, and for several discoveries to be made in the early morning hours; some of the depressing-kind, and some of the heartwarming-and-life-changing-kind. 📖ᴄᴏɴᴛᴇɴᴛ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ:  angst and fluff (hurt/comfort). argument. jos verstappen's a+ parenting. no beta we die like alphatauri's engines. 📖ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 4k words 📖ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: max verstappen x male!reader (race not specified) 📖ɢᴇɴʀᴇ: oneshot 📖ꜱᴏᴜɴᴅᴛʀᴀᴄᴋ: ivy • frank ocean

ᴘʀᴇꜰᴀᴄᴇ:  i *usually* don’t write for male readers (as a cis woman idk i think it’s sus? idk, but maybe it’s not since i do support and love mxm ships, so maybe that’s hypocritical?)....but since it is my first request and max’s birthday (when i started writing this) i figured i could spare sum for da boys :)))) i scrolled through the tag and most of it was f1 x platonic!male!reader which is lowkey depressing, the boys deserve to simp wholeheartedly with us girlies ✊🏽  i hope “the boys” enjoy this and it makes the f1 x male!reader life a lil better! (you also didn’t specify who you wanted, so i went with max bc of his birthday) big shout out to the best kitties in the world, jimmy and sassy, for being great sports in this fic ☠️ they were wonderful setting devices!  this is not an accurate description of max’s relationship with his father. we all don’t know what’s going on there, but it did become a wonderful plot point. so, it’ll probably be the only thing jos the boss is good for besides being max’s sperm-donor 🙂.

want to be added to my taglist? or my f1 kinktober taglist? send me a message !

prompts from @forestryprompts and @dumplingsjinson

it’s 3:23 AM, and you’re brutally jarred out of your sleep by your phone ringing. you’re disoriented–still in that sleepy “where the fuck am i” stage–and don’t quite catch the first phone call. a few seconds pass by without another call, and you’re convinced you hallucinated. usually, there’s only two reasons for you to be disturbed in the middle of the night. number one, when sassy “accidentally” presses all ten pounds of her body weight into your spleen with one paw; and number two; when max returns from partying, a late flight, or streaming. glancing around, you guess sassy is the bengal curled up on max’s side of the bed, gravitating to where his scent is the strongest as max is over at daniel’s; missing her favorite parent. and you guess that jimmy’s the heat source curled against your feet under the duvet, as that’s his favorite spot to sleep and his favorite place to prey on your toes. you lay straight back, head resting on your pillow and shrug, dismissing it as a problem for the morning.

then another call starts ringing through. now, you’re awake enough to start processing the important information. you always set your phone on dnd when going to bed, and there’s only a few numbers that are set to bypass it during sleep. this ringtone in particular, identifies the caller as max, which is peculiar. max doesn’t disturb your sleep unless absolutely necessary, he already feels guilty enough for doing so when traveling. with that thought, you reach for the phone with a reaction time you’d only relate to your boyfriend’s occupation. 

you breathe out, “maxy, baby? are you okay? did something happen?”

a panicked and slightly desperate giggle slips out of the receiver, “heyyyy, it’s daniel, actually–”

“daniel?” you softly exclaim, sitting up in bed, worriedly continuing, “where’s max? did something happen? is he okay–”

“well,” daniel starts, “i wouldn’t say he’s ‘okay’, so to speak–” 

“oh my god! what does that mean, daniel? i’m coming over right now give me like, fifteen minutes–” you say rushedly, already leaping out of the bed. jimmy yowls in shock of being disturbed, panically darting out of the duvet, and sassy shoots up–airplane ears activated and all. 

daniel cuts you off, “NO! uh, no! i’m actually already on the way back to yours with him right now! he’s like- kinda drunk- tipsy i guess, one would say uh- but–”

“are you driving, daniel? if-if you’ve drank you should’ve let him sleep over, or called me to come get him if he’s being a menace!”

“no, uh-” daniel starts whispering, “we’re in an uber. ma- i mean- your boyfriend is kind of out of it, and not in a drunk way.”

“what the fuck,” you bite out, switching to hold the phone to your ear with your shoulder, as you pull on a pair of sweatpants (max’s) over your boxers, “does that mean, daniel?!”

“so, like,” daniel whispers even quieter, “hypothetically, we started talking about ma- sorry, his- wonderful childhood, and i guess me saying that seeing his father stabbing a mechanic with a fork isn't a normal thing to experience, kind of sent him into a spiral.”

“oh, fuck” you pause, while pulling one of max’s championship hoodies on. 

“yeah, that’s pretty much what i’d say,” daniel sighs, “but, then um, he tried to like rationalize it to me? like, he’d bring up different crazy memories, and i’d be like ‘no, mate, that’s not normal either,’ and everytime he’d bring up a positive interaction with his dad, he realized it correlated to how well he performed, and he kind of um-shut down.”

“oh. fuck.” you repeat. sassy, in a rare show of solidarity, winds between your legs and mews gently at you as if she’s letting you know that she’s here. “um, well,” you say, running a stressed hand through your hair, “you should be on max’s list to come up to the apartment, but i’ll call down to give them a heads up. text me when you get here, please?”

“will do,” daniel perks up, “i’m sorry by the way. i should’ve left it alone, or distracted him away from the topic. but you know how he gets, probably better than me.” 

now it’s your turn to let a depressing chuckle escape, “probably not, dan. i’ve known him for fourteen years and dated him for five of those, and he hasn’t done more than agree that his dad ‘isn’t perfect’” you wave your hand through the air, brushing the train of thought away, “anyways, i can get the spare room ready for you, so you don’t have to uber back?”

daniel nervously laughs, “forgive me for saying this, but i don’t really want to be present for whatever conversation is going to happen. or have to pretend like i’m unaware of anything. max would do his best to avoid me for as long as he can if he knew i was around, and i don’t want to risk that…after what happened when i left red bull.”

“yeah, you’re right. don’t forget to text me when you get here,” you state.

daniel’s text comes through when you’ve just gathered the ibuprofen and water bottles. you thumbs-up the message, and go to sit in the living room to wait for a knock on the door.  you plop down on the couch and your leg bounces anxiously. jimmy gracefully hops up into your lap, and he must be an emotional support cat because he sits down on that leg, and leans into your torso butting his head into your chest asking for pets. you indulge him, a shaky laugh erupting, “thanks, jimmy,” and you lean down to press a few kisses to his cheeks. silence overcomes the room, and then three knocks break the still air in the apartment, and both you and jimmy jump off the couch and race to the entryway. you push jimmy behind you with a foot as you open the door, knowing damn well he’ll sneak into the hallway if given a chance. 

max stumbles through the doorway first. his eyes are bloodshot with a cold and unseeing look glazed over them, red-rimmed and looking so distraught at tonight’s realization, that your heart aches for him. you wish you could take his pain away, or at least carry some of it for him. his hair is sticking out in different directions like he was anxiously tugging at it, but the most surprising observation is the tear tracks on his cheeks. max doesn’t cry, like at all. 

well, that’s not exactly true. he’s one of the men that says crying is “strong” and not a sign of weakness when you cry and even encourages you to cry it out on his chest. but, when it’s himself, he refuses to cry until everything gets too much. he’ll come up to you and sit or stand pressed right up against you, grabs at and plays with your hand to let you know that he needs comfort, before he looks at you and softly asks with a cracking voice if he can have a hug. you always set aside what you’re doing as quickly as you can, because you’re not going to let an opportunity of caring for max in a rare vulnerable time pass, and pull him into your chest. even though he’s broader than you, he appears to shrink himself within your arms, and presses his face into your shoulder while he cries. his tears are always silent, but his body is loud; he shakes, and his hands grab at whatever you’re wearing in fists like he’s afraid that you’d slip out of his grasp.

anyways, you’ve never known him to really cry with other people. with a soft, “max…” you reach out to him, but he brushes right past your hand and goes straight for the bedroom. jimmy trots after him, and sassy falls into step from whatever pocket she was hiding in. you freeze, shocked at his behavior while also understanding, he’s had a life-changing realization that he’s never allowed himself to address. you feel guilty that you're jealous of the fact that he had it with daniel. 

daniel clears his throat, still standing outside the doorway, “...you know he doesn’t mean to ignore you like that, right?”

you nod, “when did he start crying?”

“he held it together until we got into the uber, i think. he was turned towards the window the whole time and refused to look at me. i didn’t notice he cried until we got out.”

“are you sure you don’t want to stay the night? it’s late, dan. or at least let me get you the uber back” you offer again with a questioning look.

daniel refuses both options, “nah, don’t worry about it. i’ll make max take me to lunch one day to pay me back. i’d say good luck but that seems redundant. be gentle with him, alright?”

you sigh, “i’ll be gentle, dan. can’t say the same for him,” daniel’s face saddens more, “get home safe alright, dan? text me when you get there.”

“of, course,” daniel nods, “goodnight.”

you watch him walk into the elevator before closing the door. you turn the lock, and step forward until you can rest your forehead onto the cool wood. eventually, you push off the door and turn around to grab the water and ibuprofen from the settee and make your way to the bedroom. max is sitting at the foot of the bed, elbows on his knees and his head resting in his hands.

pausing, you place the water and meds on the nightstand first, then you sit next to him and lightly place your hand on his upper back, attempting to rub between his shoulder blades to provide comfort. max shrugs your hand off. you pause, blinking a few times trying to discover the best course of action. you decide to ignore the second blatant dismissal of the night, and pull his hand off his face and push him to sit up straight. you forcefully straddle his lap, ignoring his grumbles, and grab his face, thumbs resting on his cheeks and directing him to look straight at you. 

“max, you’ve got to communicate with me here. i was terrified, when daniel called me! you refuse to talk about your dad with me, which is fine, okay? but you have to talk to somebody. whether it’s me, daniel, a therapist, christian, or even fucking helmut marko—you need to talk to someone. you’ve repressed this shit your whole life, and when whatever film you had over your eyes when looking at your father slipped away, you shut down completely? that can’t happen again! i don’t want it to happen again…daniel sounded completely fucking terrified—like he was afraid he broke you or something. and if you’re scaring me right now with how-h-how out of it you look, i can’t imagine what it was like for him,” you finish, taking a few deep breaths. max doesn’t say anything, just stares at you blankly. 

you make a distressed groan, both hands releasing max’s face to rub at your eyes and drag down your cheeks. doing so, you continue talking, “max. you don’t even have to talk, baby, not to me at least. i don’t care if you journal, if you meditate, if you go goddamn axe throwing; but, you need to see a professional. cause, how your brain is coping, and how you’re rationalizing it isn’t good. you aren’t the problem, nothing you could’ve done differently would have made your dad change; you are not the problem, max, he is. okay? i’ve known you for fourteen years, and not once have i pressured the topic after you said that ‘you’re fine,’ but, you have to at least promise me that you’ll start doing something.”

max parts his lips, thinking about what to say, as you fully sit on his lap. you look at him with wide eyes filled with worry—with care— and you’re anxiously playing with the hairs on the nape of your neck. 

“i don’t want to talk about it.”

“that’s not an option,” you state, with a furrowed brow, “can you at least tell me what caused the breakdown?”

and, that’s what gets get’s max going. his cheeks flush, and his eyes darken, and he starts talking with a firmer voice.

“it wasn’t a breakdown, first of all. i was just overwhelmed and overreacting. it’s nothing serious, like you’re pretending it is. i don’t need this—this false worry, showing up all of sudden when you know how the relationship between my father and i has been for all of the time we’ve known each other.”

you pull away, retreating off his lap and stand in front of him with your arms crossed over your chest. 

“false worry?? that’s what you think this is,” you start with an exasperated tone, “max, ‘for all the time we’ve known each other’ all you’ve done is deflect from my questions about you two, or tell me that everything is fine when it’s clearly not! and i gave you the space you wanted, because i was afraid that you’d stop talking to me, that you’d stop trusting me. but now, as your boyfriend, i can’t let it go unaddressed anymore!”

“you already did for fourteen years! it shouldn’t be that difficult for you to keep ignoring it.”

“because you asked me to, max! you didn’t want to talk about it then, and you need to talk about it now! i don’t give a fuck if you don’t want to share it with me, but it needs to be with somebody!”

“i already told you I didn’t want to talk about it, yet you keep insisting!” 

“that’s because i fucking care about you!” 

“well, did i ask for you to care about me?”

you’re stunned silent. the room is filled with heavy breaths from the two of you. this might be the most serious argument you’ve had, in awhile, or ever. 

it’s the third blatant dismissal of the night, and you’re calling it quits, daniel did tell you to be gentle, and if you keep going like this you’re word choice will become less gentle.

“you’re right,” you exhale, relaxing your clenched jaw, “you didn’t ask for me to care. and you shouldn’t have to ask for anybody to care. and, for some ‘unbelievable’ reason, i do happen to actually care,” you finish, your words dripping with exhaustion and defeat.

you walk around to the side of the bed, grabbing a pillow off the top and point at the nightstand, “the ibuprofen and water are for you. at least, finish one bottle before you go to bed, please.” you start walking towards the closet. 

“wait,” max calls out, finally standing up with a confused look in his eyes, “why’d you grab a pillow?”

you grab a blanket out of the closet, and sigh, “i’m sleeping on the couch.”

“what? no-no you’re not,” max stutters out, disbelieving.

“uh, yes i am.”

“what, no! no, schatje, i’m sorry, please come to bed,” max utters out, looking absolutely heartbroken. 

“i’m going to sleep on the couch, max,” you repeat, “if i go to bed, i won’t be able to not talk about it, and we’re clearly going to talk in circles about it. both of us are tired, frustrated, and mad, and we’re going to end up even angrier, so i’m going to sleep on the couch.”

max, crossing the room quickly, grabs at your waist with his large hands, and pleads, “if you’ve made up your mind about it, you can at least take the bed, i’ll sleep on the couch, schat.”

you, grab his hands off your waist, having to fight him a little bit for it (you may be a man, but your man is a professional athlete, you’ll be outmatched any day) and press them into his chest, “you’re still pretty drunk, max. i’ll let you take the bed so you can be comfortable, you seem like you’re going to have a pretty bad hangover, i can smell the alcohol on you still.”

max looks upset, but eventually concedes. you press your lips to his cheek, “i’ll see you in the morning, babe. then, with clearer minds we can talk, ‘kay?”

sassy baps jimmy on the face before nuzzling in between max’s legs, while jimmy makes to follow you out as you shut the door gently.

situating yourself on the couch, you squeeze your eyes shut. usually you’d be hugging max’s arm to your chest but tonight, jimmy is benevolent enough to leave his usual spot at your feet to fill in for max. even with the comfort the bengal’s purring body provides, you know you’re only in for a fitful night of sleep.

you wake up a few hours later, your body not able to keep you under for long you guess, as the early morning sun has barely started lightening the room. you take a minute to get your bearings, not used to waking up on the couch (in the past when you have accidentally fallen asleep on the couch, you magically wake up in bed laying on top of your boyfriend, how weird), and jimmy is no longer laying with you. he’s with max, who’s sitting on his floor below you, with his back facing you.

you rub at your eyes and whisper, “max?” he startles, and turns around to face you. his eyes have fresh bags underneath, his hair is still slightly damp from a shower, and you can tell he hasn’t gotten any sleep. even though you got a couple hours of shut-eye, the matching bags under your eyes prove that your sleep was restless.

“hey,” he whispers back sheepishly, “i know you told me to go to bed, but i couldn’t fall asleep. i only came out here a few minutes ago though, and i was just going to wait until you woke up in the morning.”

you sit up straight, and pull max onto the couch with you, “max, what? you could’ve at least layed down on the other couch, and not sit on the–”

max cuts you off.

“i just…couldn’t go to bed alone tonight, okay? i still feel raw–i think is the word for it. i’m exhausted and cried out, and the only person who can make me feel better is you right now. so i was just going to sit here, and be next to you, without disturbing you like you wanted, because being in your general vicinity already makes me feel better, even if you're mad at me.”

your mouth is left gaping, and you feel guilty now, your chest aches. leaving max at a time where he was vulnerable, even if you were right down the hallway–

“and, don’t feel bad about your decision to sleep out here. you decided that space was the best course of action for you, and you are probably right, because i was ready to argue with you,” max continues rambling, “honestly, you sleeping out here made me realize that i never want you to be angry with me like that, ever again. at first, i was scared that if i opened up about my relationship with my dad you would think i’m weak, or that you'd judge me for it, or that you’d leave me. but when i was in the shower earlier, i got really…scared.”

he pauses, taking a few deep breaths and you don’t make to interrupt him.

“i got scared because i thought you left me right now. that you lied to me about sleeping on the couch, and you were actually planning to leave. and, obviously you did not, you are still here right now but, it made me realize that i do need to talk to you. and that the reason i thought you were leaving was because of how i thought i scared you away with my issues. but i realize now, that the way i’ll scare you away is by not talking about my issues,” he turns to look at you with an earnest expression.

“so, if you are okay with it, i will talk to you. about everything, even though it may take me some time to work up the courage. i am uncomfortable with talking to a…professional, but i will, if you truly think it will help me. but i do not want to risk the chance that my refusal to communicate costs me a lifetime with you,” he ends.”

you stare at him blankly, and max begins to fidget at your silence. you lean forward and pull him into a hug, tears gathering in your eyes. he nestles his head in the crook of your neck, and presses gentle kisses into your skin. 

“max, all i want is for you to talk to me about it. i want to share the burden you feel, and understand you better than the back of my hand. most of all, i hope having somebody who understands you to that depth makes you feel lighter, and validates your emotions.”

max says something, but it’s muffled by your body.

“what was that, baby?”

max pulls away to look at you with bashful eyes and pinkened cheeks, “you know i can’t imagine my life without you.”

“likewise,” you respond, just as meek.

“no, really. i've fallen in love with you,” he continues.

“max, you told me you loved me years ago,” you say laughingly.

“no, like, i’ve fallen in love with you again. everytime i think i can’t fall any deeper, you manage to prove me wrong,” he says intensely.

you pout at him, hands coming up to feel at your heated cheeks, “oh, max! stop, you’re going to make me cry. that’s the sweetest thing you’ve ever said to me. i fall in love with you again, everytime you finish a race, and come home to me. that you chose me as the man you want to see after a tiring race weekend, regardless of the outcome. 

max smiles all teeth, “there’s no other person i want to share my highs and lows with. well, hopefully more highs than lows. i have the ring for you already, but i at least need to win eight championships before i retire so you’re able to marry a record-breaking champion. i am proposing to you this year though, i cannot wait any longer.”

you stare at him unseeing for a minute, and he looks awfully confused for a man who just announced his plans to give you his last name. 

“max,” you start shakingly, “what do you mean you already have the ring?”

max’s carefree expression drops, and becomes pale, “what are you talking about? i never said anything about a ring–”

“you literally just did?! the part before you said you were proposing to me this year, and before becoming an eight-time world–”

max claps, cutting you off while standing up. he offers you his hand, “alright! we should go to bed now, right? together, yes that’s a great idea.”

taglist: @saintslewis @cherry2stems

© httpsserene 2023

#f1 #formula 1 #max verstappen #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen x black!reader #max verstappen x you #max verstappen imagine #f1 x male!reader #max verstappen x male!reader #f1 x black!reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #max verstappen fluff #red bull f1 #daniel ricciardo #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo imagine #max verstappen fanfic #formula 1 x black!reader #formula 1 x male!reader #platonic!male!reader #formula 1 x platonic male!reader #f1 x male reader #max verstappen scenario #⋆⭒˚｡⋆. series special: formula 1 #serene’s chapters. #reader's suggestions. #♡ ༘*.ﾟ love interest: mv.

[taexual]

sleepwalking ● 5 | jjk

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader

summary: due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

genre: rockstar!jungkook / exes to lovers

warnings: explicit language, suggestive themes, mutual pining, SLOW BURN

words: 6.9k

read from the beginning ○ masterlist

chapter 5 ► oh, and, my love, did i mistake you for a sign from god? or are you really here to cast me off?

Your train reached Paris at almost exactly eight o’clock in the evening and the rain was pouring. The wedding reception had started at seven, but Jungkook didn’t mind being late, even though the longer he lingered with you on the streets, the more the rain ruined your outfits, and your hair, and your make-up—but not your mood.

“I prefer being late,” he said when the two of you caught a cab from Gare du Nord to the wedding venue in the 8th arrondissement. “Less small talk if you show up when everyone’s already said hello to everyone.”

“I see your point,” you said, sliding over the backseat as Jungkook climbed in after you. “But it’s still rude to be late. Especially to a wedding. Especially when you weren’t even going to come to said wedding at all.”

He gave the driver the address and turned to you, resuming the conversation, because he had a very important point to make, “my grandma used to say that as long as I’m not late to my own wedding, I’m fine.”

You snorted at this, but your expression wasn’t mocking. You remembered his grandmother with nothing but love. Thoughtfully, you replied, “she’s a wise woman.”

“She is, yeah,” he agreed. “She always wanted to go to Paris, by the way. Remind me to call her.”

“That’s nice,” you commented, turning to the window as the streets of Paris passed outside, all in a blur of streetlights, reflected in puddles of rain on the pavement. “I think I’ve always wanted to come here as well.”

This surprised him and he paused in the middle of reaching for his phone. He’d already forgotten what he was going to check on it as he looked back at you again. When he spoke, there were minor notes of offence in his voice.

“You did?” he asked. “You never told me.”

“Yeah,” you said, not meeting his eye—you were far too captivated by the rainy streets outside the car window. They were nothing magical on their own, you supposed, but there was something about them tonight in particular. “I don’t know. It’s not my dream destination, but it’s Paris. Can you say you’ve travelled if you’ve never been here?”

Jungkook thought about it. “Well… I mean—there are other cities, too. Isn’t Paris a bit overrated?”

“Maybe.” You shrugged, still glued to the window. “Probably. I’ve still wanted to see it for myself, though.”

He could tell, as he leaned forward until he was able to see the neon lights from the signs outside reflected in your eyes. The taxi ride should have taken about twenty minutes, but now Jungkook wondered if he’d manage to ask the driver to take a longer route without you finding out.

“In that case,” he said finally, “I’m glad I brought you here.”

You turned to give him a look, but were startled by his close proximity. You nearly bumped your cheek into his when you craned your neck.

Realising—from your widening eyes—that he’d entered far into your comfort zone, he scooted back in his seat. But your heart was already giving orders for explosions to go off in various parts of your body.

You cleared your throat and looked back out the window—not because of the view this time, but because it felt safer this way.

“We would have come here eventually anyway,” you said. “You’re performing at Cabaret Sauvage in less than a month.”

Disappointed by your purposefully emotionless voice and words that took all credit away from him, Jungkook rolled his eyes.

“Sure. But,” he emphasized, “with me, you didn’t have to wait a month.”

“Okay,” you settled—partially. “Thank you for turning my whole schedule upside down.”

He smirked at the sarcasm. “Oh, anytime.”

In an attempt to conceal your own smile, you returned your attention to the billboards and bright window displays outside.

“So, if not Paris,” Jungkook started again after a minute, “what is your dream destination?”

He wasn’t expecting your reaction to his question to be so severe: you seemed to lean towards the window—away from him—clench your jaw, and focus even harder on the view outside – as if you were trying to transport yourself there, instead of staying here with him.

“Amsterdam, I think,” you replied eventually, in a voice so reluctant and quiet that he wouldn’t have heard you if he wasn’t literally right next to you.

“Really?” he asked. “I’m assuming it’s not because of weed?”

Smiling somewhat, you shook your head. And then did not elaborate more.

“Anne Frank?” he tried again.

“Maybe,” you said. “But also because of simple things. Not necessarily significant in history.”

Jungkook found himself having to push as if he was trying to find out what your deepest fear was, since you resisted fully opening up. But this was something that, honestly, seemed quite superficial to him, so he was rightfully perplexed.

Still, he asked, “such as?”

You sighed, not having expected—let alone, planned—this exchange to progress that much.  

This felt like the start of a long conversation—capital C. Getting to know each other by participating in obligatory small talk that would soon lead to deep analyses of each other’s darker sides of the subconsciousness.

And the last time you and Jungkook had had a proper conversation about something that was not related to your jobs in the slightest, was months before you broke up.

So, it wasn’t that Jungkook was being invasive with his questions right now. It’s that he was personal. And he’d stopped caring about being personal with you long before your relationship ended.

“Like riding bikes in Canal District,” you answered finally—he was glad to hear it, although he did not like the way you sighed as you spoke. As if this conversation was a hassle. Fortunately for his overthinking, you continued, “I’ve wanted to do that ever since my uncle went on a business trip to Amsterdam when I was seven. He’d brought me so many postcards, I could easily imagine myself having been there with him.”

Jungkook stayed quiet. He remembered your uncle—your mother’s brother. He was a surprisingly caring man, even if he looked like he ran the mob.

And Jungkook remembered the postcards, too—you had them pinned to the bulletin board above your desk in your dorm room back in university. He wondered, briefly, why you’d never mentioned the story behind the postcards before. He’d always assumed you just liked the pretty views on them.

Sitting next to you in the taxi, he counted something under his breath.

“We’re going to have,” he started, then calculated again just in case, “three days off in Amsterdam.”

“I know,” you said, sitting up straight in your seat as the taxi took a turn past Palais Garnier. “Believe it or not, I didn’t plan it like that.”

“Let’s say I believe you,” he teased. “Should we go bike riding in Amsterdam?”

You turned away from the window to look at him, surprise evident in your lifted eyebrows. “Us, two?”

He nodded. “Us, two.”

“On your day off?”

“On my day off.”

Not hiding your skepticism, you licked your lips and told him, “Jungkook, you spend your free days getting wasted with your friends.”

Although that was a fair statement – he had to admit that much – he still tried to defend himself, “that—that’s not something I have to do every single time.”

“It’s not?” you asked. “Then why do you do it?”

“Because I usually have nothing better to do,” he replied. His honesty was amplified by his body language: eyes cast low, hands intertwined on his lap.

He hoped you wouldn’t misunderstand—he wasn’t trying to imply that he preferred his friends to you. Or to anyone else, for that matter. Truly, if you would have called, he would have abandoned everyone else in a heartbeat. But he was more comfortable keeping that to himself.

“And riding bikes sounds better than getting drunk?” you asked instead, the question laced with persistent disbelief.

“Riding bikes in Amsterdam,” he corrected, choosing to avoid the mention of you doing it together, “sounds better.”

“Okay,” you said, still not convinced. “You talk now, but let’s see if you change your mind when we’re back on the road.”

“I won’t,” he insisted with newfound confidence. Despite his assuring tone, his gaze still scanned the mat on the floor of the taxi. “I promise I’ll take you bike-riding in Amsterdam.”

Even more surprised now, you waited until he lifted his eyes to meet yours before you repeated, “you promise?”

“Yeah,” he said with a shrug—but the nonchalance was pretend. His hands were tightly pressed into each other on his lap, because otherwise he would have been reaching for you. “Cross my heart. I’ll take you bike-riding if it kills me.”

The exaggeration finally got you to laugh. “Why would it kill you?”

Your laugh had broken the spell. He felt himself relax as though something heavy had been lifted off of him, and with you laughing next to him, he was as light as the air around you. Nothing could crush him.

“You never know with bikes,” he replied, smiling, too. “I’m just saying, I’ll make it happen for you.”

After a detour down the Champs-Elysées under the tiny compact umbrella that you’d packed (it was still so beautiful with all the lights around—even more so in the rain), you finally arrived at the wedding, which was already in full swing.

It took the newlyweds a good fifteen minutes to notice you and Jungkook, but you wouldn’t have blamed them if they didn’t approach you at all.

As soon as they did, however, you immediately tried to apologise for being late—both, tonight and in general, considering that the two of you were only added to the guest list for the wedding a few days ago. But Kihyun and Chloé cut you off, both joking that they were just glad you made it here, because they had thought you’d gotten lost in Paris.

“I sort of wish,” Jungkook replied, casting a meaningful glance your way—you pretended not to see it. “But no time to get lost when we have an important wedding to get to.”

Your friends smiled at this, accepted your congratulations, and, instead of returning to the rest of their guests, actually stayed to catch up with you—as if this wasn’t their wedding. As if you were back in university, eating ice cream on the quad benches with all of your mutual friends, and fighting off the campus pigeons.

You had to admit, seeing Kihyun and Chloé again was very nice. You’d always considered them Jungkook’s friends more than your own—all three of them had graduated from the same major, even though you had quickly become Chloé’s class-skipping partner—but they were the one pair of his friends that you’d always approved of and, eventually, befriended, too.

Seeing them newly married, however—while you could still remember that one almost tragic double-date that you’d tried to go on, where Jungkook and Kihyun nearly broke their necks, racing on Vespas—now that felt overwhelming.

“You’re right on time, by the way,” Chloé said to you while the two boys discussed Rated Riot’s upcoming tour dates, seemingly attempting to make plans to meet up again, after the pair would return from their honeymoon. “I was just about to toss the bouquet.”

“Oh, I’m not—”

“Come on,” she grabbed your wrist, pulling you away from Jungkook.

You glanced back at him for help, but he only grinned at you, like he’d done so many times before, when you’d go to parties together and he’d force you out of your comfort zone, because he knew you’d thank him for this later.

You weren’t sure if you’d be grateful for it this particular time, though, as you found yourself in a crowd of bridesmaids and very drunk guests within fifteen minutes of arriving at this wedding.

You looked around and, with a sudden start, you recalled the reason why you were here in the first place.

Bending your neck to take in the people around you, you tried to guess which person in this wedding, could have been the hypothetical ex that you still didn’t think really existed.

There was no one who could have been it.

You’ve met most of the people here before and none of them looked particularly eager to talk to Jungkook or to avoid him. Everyone was indifferent—except you, as you kept looking back at him to find him already watching you every time—and that was the final confirmation.

There really was no ex.

You had no idea why he’d brought you here.

Distracted by your thoughts, you chose to just stand in the middle of the crowd. As you tried to avoid having your feet stepped on, you brought a hand through your hair. You liked crowds at concerts. You didn’t like crowds of very determined wedding guests.

Never having caught a drumstick or a single guitar pick at any of the concerts you’d gone to in your whole life, you felt rather stupid standing there. And the significance of catching the bride’s bouquet was lost on you, too—you’d never believed in the prediction that whoever caught it would be next to walk down the aisle: your mum had told you she’d caught it three separate times, and she had barely been married once.

You heard Chloé count down backwards from three and you extended your hands above your head; more as a protective instinct than anything else—to avoid getting smacked on the head.

By some harrowing chance, almost as soon as Chloé’s countdown finished, you felt the stems of flowers against your palm and clutched at them, reflexively. You heard claps and excited cheers around you before you registered that you’d caught the bouquet.

Lowering the classic, white rose combination, tied with a neat, pale bow, you swallowed and looked around, unable to conceal your overwhelming discomfort as you listened to earnest applause around you.

This felt embarrassing more than anything else. Irrationally so, of course, but embarrassing, nonetheless: like walking into an empty restaurant and interrupting the conversation of the staff. Everyone’s eyes were suddenly on you, and there were drunken shrieks of elation somewhere in the room.

You realised as you held the flowers awkwardly—like it was a bomb meant to be defused—that this was why you preferred to work backstage.

“I’m so glad it was you!” you heard Chloé exclaim. You turned to see her clapping her hands as she made her way towards you.

A few women you’d never met hugged you as if you were going to your own wedding as soon as this one was over.

You were frozen with an uncomfortable, twitching smile on your face and only sobered up somewhat when Chloé reached you. She was laughing as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders—in her defence, she tried to fight her amusement, but you looked completely anguished, nearly grief-stricken. It was ridiculously unfitting, and, at the same time, so completely in character for you.

“I’m not entirely sure how this works,” you told her. “Are you certain I’m not supposed to toss it, too? Sort of like a relay race? I saw one of your younger cousins who looked very excited to catch the bouquet, but she had an obvious height disadvantage.”

Chloé clutched you to herself tighter in a comforting manner.

“No, love,” she said brightly. “My cousins are twelve and thirteen, they both can wait for their turn. And I’ll see you at your wedding. Hopefully sooner rather than later? It’s been too long since we’ve last chatted.”

“It has been,” you agreed, “but if we’re only meeting at weddings, then I’m afraid this might be the last time we see each other.”

Laughing again, she rubbed a soothing hand on your back and assured you, “the bouquet can mean whatever you want it to mean. I’m just glad you’re here tonight. And I’m sure Jungkook is, too.”

With another soft smile, she nudged you in his direction and walked away to join her husband. Before you could begin pondering what she’d meant by that, your eyes caught sight of Jungkook, who was still watching you—in a relentless way. Like he hadn’t looked away from you once since you left his side.

You felt almost awkward as you approached him—all of your steps leaden under his watchful eye—but as soon as you were close enough, he grinned and said, “you look like you survived an alien abduction.”

And everything was okay again. For the time being, at least.

About an hour later, you and Jungkook had settled by a cocktail table at the back of the room.

The bride’s bouquet rested between you as you sipped champagne and took everything in: all the couples dancing around you, the kids kicking the balloons, Kihyun and Chloé being unable to stop smiling at each other as he twirled her around to the gentle melody of the wedding band playing Biffy Clyro’s “Many of Horror”.

“I still believe,” rang through the venue as the song went on, “it’s you and me ‘till the end of time.”

You nodded along to the rhythm, tapping your fingers against the table. You’d stopped resisting after your first glass of champagne and allowed the familiar melody to take you back to the days when you and Jungkook passionately screamed the lyrics of this song at each other in your dorm room.

The two of you dancing with each other was a far more violent affair than Kihyun and Chloé’s smooth swaying: your twirling involved a lot more kicking, stepping on toes, and tears of laughter as you eventually admitted your absolute incompetence when it came to dancing. Jungkook, on the other hand, seemed very skilled at it—but then, when compared to you, probably even a well-trained rabbit could have danced better.

You smiled fondly at the memory, happy that the bubbles you drank and the long trip you’d taken today made you feel just dizzy enough to look back at the old days without wishing you were there now.

You were glad to be where you were.

Jungkook, meanwhile, was on his third glass. He kept glancing at the bouquet on the table with immense discomfort as he painfully remembered Sid’s words on their first night in Prague: “Your ass is so whipped, you’re going to be singing at her wedding to some random producer.”

What if Sid was right, then what would he do? Would he get up on stage and perform a fucking love song for you and your new husband? An angsty, yearning love song with a powerful guitar riff—like the ones you liked and the ones he kept writing; the lyrics dripping with all the sentiments that would mean nothing to him, while you married someone else.

I still believe it’s you and me ‘till the end of time

He couldn’t do it. He’d never do it. He’d rather—

“Jungkook,” you said suddenly, your voice catching him off-guard.

“Hmm?” he looked at you, an almost alarmed expression on his face. The descent from deep inside of his mind and back to reality was a painful one.

“I have a question,” you said.

He finished his drink and put the empty flute down on the table. “Alright.”

“There’s no ex,” you said, deciding it was finally time to clear this up, “is there?”

After almost two hours at the wedding—where he hadn’t mentioned his ex once—both of you already knew the answer to this question. But he still graced you with a formal response, because he knew he owed you an explanation.

“No,” he said. “There’s not.”

You nodded, your expression the same as before.

He was relieved. He’d expected a drink in his face.

“So, tell me then,” you continued. “Why did you need me to come with you to this wedding?”

For the first second after you asked this, he thought he could have just admitted it. There was no condition in the bet about revealing the truth to you, after all. And it’s only a bet—it’s nothing significant.

But you were standing in front of him in your dress, the leather jacket that he’d gotten you hanging on your shoulders. You were looking at him with tired, tipsy eyes. And you were smiling—but still trying very hard not to—as you sipped your champagne.

There was a sense of future in the air.

Your future, together.

And the realisation that the bet was significant, despite his efforts to convince himself otherwise, had finally kicked in—he was afraid he wouldn’t just get a drink thrown in his face if he told you. He was afraid he’d lose this future.

“I, uh… I just didn’t want to be here by myself,” he ended up saying. This was, technically, not a lie, either. “I always go to these things alone.”

“Why go at all?” you asked then. “You were pretty definitive when you RSVP’d “no” months ago. I was the one who emailed them both of our responses.”

“Well,” he said, looking around at the waiters, passing out drinks, as he tried to buy time. “I don’t know. I feel different now that I’m in Europe. So close to Paris. I guess I changed my mind.”

As you’ve learned in the past few days, that was his excuse for everything.

“Mhmm,” you nodded, taking a sip from your glass. “Humour me about something else, would you?”

Happy that the waiter was finally close enough for him to reach, Jungkook grabbed another champagne flute from his tray and then looked at you again. “What is it?”

“Why would Sid tell me you were dating someone,” you began, “and then warn me not to let you go to this wedding?”

What a perfectly logical question. Truly, he couldn’t see how the question could have been more perfect.

It was so perfect, in fact, that you could engrave it on Sid’s tombstone after Jungkook killed him.

“You know what? I actually have no idea,” he said and then threw his head back to down the champagne in one big gulp.

He kept the liquid in his mouth for a second—prolonging the time he didn’t have to speak to you, all while you watched him suspiciously—and then swallowed, finally.

“Really,” he added in response to your questioning look. “He’s an enigma.”

You snorted. “That’s one way to describe him.”

He nodded, eager to cement the point he was making. Additionally, he suggested, “maybe he was just jealous.”

You squinted your eyes at him, trying to find the causal relationship between Sid lying to you and Sid being jealous.

You tried to guess, “jealous of—of not going to Paris with you?”

“Of me going with you,” he said.

You picked up your champagne glass again—you weren’t drunk enough to have this conversation. “What?”

He shrugged. “Maybe he has a crush on you.”

Your scoff was almost reflexive, and you were very glad that you hadn’t taken a sip before he had said this. You’ve heard plenty of unexpected things in the span of these past few days; all kinds of manipulations and weak cop-outs – but this one was, by far, the most ridiculous one.

“Maybe he has a crush on you,” you countered, clearly considering this statement to be an accusation more than a compliment.

He snickered at this. “Fair enough. Maybe he does.”

Swallowing, you put your near-empty glass down on the table and gave him a long look.

“So, he just did that to spread chaos?” you asked. “No other reason?”

Jungkook shrugged again. “Nothing else I can come up with.”

“I don’t believe you,” you said calmly and watched him freeze, startled by the bluntness of your words. First, you finished your champagne, then your sentence, “but I’m willing to drop it if this is nothing more than Sid’s game. Tell him to never speak to me again, and let’s leave this at that.”

Jungkook was relieved, and, at the same time, scared to feel relieved. He felt it necessary to say, “I’m sorry Sid did that.”

“Don’t apologise for him.”

“I’m not. The apology is from me,” he said. “I should have made sure he wouldn’t bother you, let alone lie to you—”

“I don’t care why Sid lied to me,” you cut him off. “I care why you did. Why you went along with it.”

He knew he should have seen your question coming, but he chose to pretend he could talk around this topic instead—and that’s why your words knocked all breath out of him.

It was simple: he’d played along with Sid’s lie, because he thought it’d help him convince you to come to Paris with him faster; he’d lied to you to win the bet.

But he hadn’t lied to you when he said he didn’t want to come to this wedding alone. He wanted to come here with you. The bet seemed more like an excuse now—a distraction from his anxiety that he equipped as a pretence to ask you out.

He was painfully aware of this now: he’d always wanted to ask you out again; just one more time. One last first date of your lives.

He realised this, and there was no way he could pretend otherwise, not when his mouth dried up every time he looked at you.

And yet, that seemed even more difficult to admit to you.

Inhaling, he said, “I thought Sid’s lie would get you to come with me.”

That did not feel much like an explanation.

“You could have said that Sid lied and just told me that you changed your mind about going to the wedding,” you said, waving your empty flute around. “You’re allowed to go where you want to. You’re an adult.”

“Well—”

“To a certain extent,” you added, “because, of course, you have your reputation to consider. Yours and the band’s, too, actually.”

“So, you would have just let me leave the tour?” he questioned, doubtful and, honestly, disappointed. Asking for your permission to do something felt childish, but it also felt like you cared. And he really needed you to care.

You remembered his threat about bringing his friends with him if you wouldn’t go, and asked, “would you have gone to Paris alone?”

He looked down. Then, he told you the full truth, “I wouldn’t have come here at all, if you hadn’t agreed to come with me.”

“But I said no,” you said, still trying to make sense of this. “I didn’t want to go. You kept pushing.”

“I really wanted us to go together. That’s why—you know.” He swallowed. “That’s why Sid’s lie seemed so convenient.”

“Why did it matter that we went together?” you asked one more time. “The real reason.”

He didn’t reply right away, because he was too tipsy for this. It was only champagne, he could have easily recited the alphabet backwards if he was asked to. But it was getting difficult to keep up with what he was telling you.

He didn’t want to lie, not anymore, so he tried to only tell you the truth and keep quiet about the things he didn’t want you to know about: like the bet. And, of course, the fact that he had, apparently, been in love with you for ages. This particular realisation had surprised him on the train earlier, and he was the one with the feelings. He couldn’t even imagine how much it would probably shock you if he told you.

You waited, at first; assuming that he needed a moment to gather the courage to explain. But a minute later, your patience ran out.

So, you tried to answer for him—offering an option that wouldn’t be satisfactory enough, but it would be comfortable for you to believe, “just because they’re our friends?”

“Yeah. Sure,” he said, but it sounded like he was just agreeing, because he could tell that this was what you wanted him to say. “We’d known Kihyun and Chloé for so long. So it’s for, um—for old times’ sake, I guess.”

You needed a minute to arrange everything in order in your mind. Everything Jungkook had said seemed convincing enough if you closed your eyes, but it still felt like a half-truth at best.

You knew there had to be a different reason why Sid didn’t want Jungkook to go to Paris—or, perhaps, why he didn’t want you to come with Jungkook.

Not to mention, Jungkook could have convinced you to come to the wedding much faster if he’d told you the truth instead of going along with the story about his “ex”. Of course, that’s assuming that he really did only want to come here to witness your friends get married like he’d said.

But you wanted to believe that what he’d told you tonight was true, because this way, you wouldn’t have to ask any more questions or overthink. And, truthfully, a part of you was afraid to ruin this—whatever this pleasant hum that had gathered around the two of you on the train to Paris was—by interrogating Jungkook further.

Not to mention, you’d outgrown Sid’s silly games and simply wanted peace.

Even though you didn’t speak, Jungkook seemed to read the thoughts in your mind as he chewed on his bottom lip and said again, “I’m sorry.”

You blinked, registering the discomfort on his face. “What for?”

“For the lying and the—well, everything,” he said with a resigned sigh.  “I realise this was a very backwards way to convince you to come here with me.”

“It was. And thank you for owning up to it,” you said. “But next time you try to do something weird, do try to leave me out of it, would you?”

He grinned at this—he couldn’t help it. “Define weird.”

You were smiling, even though you rolled your eyes in response.

“Lying,” you said then. His smile faltered. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but don’t lie to me.”

Solemn now, he nodded. He realised that this gesture alone wasn’t convincing enough and redeemed it by clearing his throat and saying very decidedly, “I promise I’ll make sure Sid doesn’t bother you again.”

“Good,” you said. “Please do.”

“Thank you for coming here with me,” he added. “Despite everything.”

You were about to retort with a dry “you’re welcome”, but decided to take a different route and make him work a little bit. It only seemed fair.

“I don’t think a simple ‘thank you’ will suffice,” you said slyly. He cocked an eyebrow, not having expected to hear the playfulness in your voice. “This was a huge favour, after all. I could have been sleeping on the tour bus right now.”

“Don’t tell me you didn’t have fun,” he countered. “I saw the look in your eyes on the cab ride to the wedding.”

“Well, I had to adjust,” you defended. “Can’t exactly sulk the entire time, I’m not a toddler. Unlike some people.”

You turned away as you said this, smirking, while he scoffed, indignant. “Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

He was instinctively opening his mouth to respond, but only managed to squeeze out an incomprehensible syllable that turned into an impressed tsk.  

“Okay,” he decided then, tongue in cheek. “So, how can I repay this massive favour?”

“I’m not sure you ever will, to be honest,” you played. “But you could start by gifting the newlyweds a song.”

Jungkook glanced back at the platform in the corner of the room that was set up as a stage for the band. The musicians were taking a break and having drinks by the bar right now, so it was empty.

He looked back at you. “I don’t sing at weddings.”

“You used to,” you pointed out.

“Once. They made me wear a suit with a bowtie. A tight, neon yellow bowtie,” he reiterated. “It nearly made me suffocate. I would have died looking like I ran away from a low-budget circus. I’m not doing that again.”

Trying to keep your laughter in—you hadn’t actually been working with Rated Riot yet when they performed at this wedding, but Yoongi kept pictures, and he pulled them out every year on Jungkook’s birthday—you reached over the table to touch him.

“I’ll make this easier for you,” you said as you gently undid the first few buttons of his black dress shirt.

His breath got caught in his throat the second he felt your fingertips brush against the bare skin between his collarbones. It lasted for less than a second, but he was certain your touch had left a mark.

“There,” you said, pulling away. You seemed to have no clue of the revolution you’d started in his chest, which was a wonder. He was convinced his face had passed all the colours of the rainbow in the span of a minute. You continued, “nothing’s blocking your airways now. I’ll even do you one better—you don’t look like a clown tonight. You actually look good.”

Funnily enough, he had fewer problems breathing before you leaned closer to touch him. And before you told him he looked good.

Weakly, he asked, “I assume you have a song in mind, then?”

You nodded. “Chloé once told me she loved this one when she was younger. “As Long as You Love Me” by—”

“No.”

 You were grinning as you finished, “—Backstreet Boys.”

He was shaking his head with enough vehemence for you to feel a soft wind on your face.

There wasn’t anything wrong with the song of choice—other than the fact that Jungkook doubted very much that Chloé had ever mentioned it to you; he suspected you were just setting him up—but he held a personal grudge against it ever since he impulsively performed the song at your birthday party six years ago.

You had already been so drunk at that point, you could only remember glimpses of it all. Fortunately, someone had filmed Jungkook as he was using your floor lamp as a microphone stand when he performed Nick’s part at the beginning of the song. Later on, he’d gotten so immersed that he’d pulled up a chair to perform the dance routine, too.

You still had the video saved somewhere on your cloud storage.

“Your debt will be fully repaid if you include the choreography,” you added now, knowing it wouldn’t convince him. You just needed to say it to see the tips of his ears turn red at the memory.

His lips were pursed as he watched the mischievous glint in your eye. He’d missed it, he realised, even if your teasing was at his expense.

“You don’t think I’ll do it,” he observed. You shrugged—an obvious challenge—and he looked back at the platform again.

“I’m going to need a mic stand and a chair,” he said. Your eyes visibly brightened—he hadn’t seen you this excited in years. Keeping eye contact with you as he walked backwards to the platform, he pointed a finger in your direction. “This is for you.”

You cheered—caught in the moment and in the champagne you’d had tonight—while he climbed on the platform and turned the music that had been playing from the loudspeakers off. It took everyone at this wedding by surprise. They all turned to look.

The musicians seemed largely unfazed, until he picked up the guitar that they’d left leaning against the wall by the platform. They were already about to approach, but Jungkook extended a hand with so much self-assurance that they froze right away.

He said something else—you were too far to hear—and that seemed to relax them. They returned to their drinks and Jungkook, finally, climbed onto the platform.

Admittedly, until the moment he did, you really didn’t think he would actually do it.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he spoke, his voice muffled as he tapped the microphone to make sure it was working. You looked back to see the surprised looks on Kihyun and Chloé’s faces. “It’s a very special night tonight, as we know. And I have a very special gift for my friends. Congratulations on the beginning of the rest of your lives together, guys.”

The newlyweds both cheered and Jungkook chuckled lightly. The microphone caught the sound and you felt your heart respond to it in eagerness as it pounded against your ribs.

The second he played the first chords on the guitar, the room seemed to come to life. Some people recognised the melody and rushed to the designated dancing space in front of the platform, their hands in the air—and it felt, for just a moment, like a Rated Riot concert. Others still looked confused, but very entertained by the unexpected turn of events.

“Although loneliness has always been a friend of mine,” he began to sing and it immediately turned into a battle of which one of you two could last longer without cringing, “I'm leaving my life in your hands.”

You lost the battle as soon as Jungkook began the chorus and put the guitar down so he could perform the choreography with the chair—as much as he could, anyway, because the chairs at the venue didn’t fold. Your nose was scrunched, and you couldn’t help shaking your head, half in disbelief, half in amusement.

He watched you nearly the whole time—only looking away to nod encouragingly at Kihyun and Chloé, both of whom were dancing in the middle of the room—and his voice was louder, much clearer without the instrument accompanying it.

You’d watched him tear his shirt off on stage at Rated Riot shows, and you’d never had to cover your face. But your hands were on your mouth the moment he dramatically dropped to his knees for that last “as long as you love me” in the song.

His head fell in a theatrical manner as soon as he finished the song, and the room erupted in applause. He thought he could discern your laughter amidst the noise, and he was smiling when he looked up.

It took him a minute to return to you after the performance—people asked for more as he walked past, others were patting him on the back, and some guests, who turned out to have been in attendance at the previous party, gaily informed him that he did “much better than last time”.

His breathing was still heavy when he reached you, exhilarated.

Beaming even before he heard your response, he leaned against your table and lifted an eyebrow. “Well?”

“That might be the best performance that I’d ever seen,” you said. “I’m sure it’ll haunt my dreams. Thank you for that.”

There was enough genuine awe in your voice to make him laugh.

“So, you don’t regret coming here with me, then?” he asked. His eyes were glittering when he looked at you—with excitement, adrenaline, and hope.

“No,” you said. Your soft smile had rendered him completely incapable of looking away from you. “I’m actually glad I came. And not just because I got to see you sing Backstreet Boys in front of everyone.”

Heated suddenly, he said, “that stays between us.”

Even though you’d been looking forward to telling everyone on tour about this, you decided he deserved your agreement.

“Fine,” you said. “But it’s a shame the rest of the world wasn’t able to enjoy this.”

“Hmm,” he lifted his chin. “That was for your eyes only.”

“What about the rest of the guests?” you asked. There was a certain delight in your words that he noticed and quietly basked in.

“What guests?” he replied with a grin. “I said this was for you.”

You were shaking your head, but there was humour in your eyes and on your lips, and his own smile felt like it might cause his cheeks to tear.

There was nothing he wouldn’t have done for you at that moment. He was flushed, and his head was spinning. The entirety of his chest, it seemed to him, had begun to float.

He was happy.

You were still here with him, teasing and laughing. He’d seen his old friends get married, he’d seen them dance. He was about to join his band on tour, about to perform all across Europe.

Everything was going to be perfect. He just had to get this bet over with—quietly—and then figure out a way to expand the cavity of his chest, so it could contain his heart and the thousands of obnoxious, never-ceasing fluttering wings around it.

chapter title credits: sleep token, “the summoning”

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#jungkook x reader #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook slow burn #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook fanfic #jungkook rockstar au #jungkook au #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #bts reactions #bts x reader #bts au #bts rockstar au #bst angst #bts fluff #bts scenarios #jungkook reactions #jungkook imagine #bts imagines

[tinkerbelle05]

sanjiiii

How Could You?

Characters: Sanji x Fem!reader

Genre: Angst (Requested) Thanks for the req 🧑‍🍳

Summary: You understand that Sanji is a natural flirt and that’s just how he talks. You are fine with that because that’s his personality but one night he took it too far. You give him the silent treatment as you try to understand your feelings but he keeps pestering you so you snap.

Warnings: Arguments, silent treatments, bad ending, google translations, not edited

Translation: Ma Colombe = My Dove

————————————————————————

You sat in the back of the restaurant, watching Sanji move around the place as a waiter now.

Which meant he probably pissed of Zeff again. The way those two fought and carried on, one would’ve thought they would’ve killed each other by now.

While you felt bad for him because you knew how much he loved cooking and despised waitering, it gave you a good chance to admire him. A chance that often doesn't arise, so of course you didn't waste it.

His beautiful smile, the way he effortlessly slid in between tables, the way he’d make people feel comfortable. In some cases, a bit too comfortable for your liking.

There was this woman, black long hair and sharp green eyes that’s been eyeing Sanji ever since he went to her table. It made you feel a sense of pride that Sanji was so sot after but he’d always return to you at the end of the day.

No matter how much he’d sing their praises, or give out charming smiles. He would also come home to you, and he’d never cross that line.

Until he did. Right in front of you, too.

You were practically seething with anger when you saw how she trailed a finger up his forearm and how he didn’t make a move to stop her. How that same finger traveled up to rest on the back of his neck. They didn’t have to say anything to each other, just the way they looked at each other was enough to have you recoil in absolute disgust and betrayal.

Quickly and quietly you left the restaurant and went to your quarters. It was times like these that made you happy you had a separate bedroom from Sanji. Even though it was mostly used as a storage closet for you stuff, you were still able to sleep and move around comfortablely in it.

Because something told you that you’d be in here for a while after what you just saw.

For sometime, you avoided any and all contact with Sanji. Yes, you knew that it was immature but you didn’t care.

Your heart still hurts when you think about to how he looked at the woman, it was almost lustful. You wondered when was the last time Sanji looked at you like that.

There was a knock on your door, as there always were.

“Darling, please open the door,” Sanji began his daily begging. He’s been at this for a few weeks now.

Everyday after his shift ends, Sanji would rush to your door and begged with everything he had to get you to open the door. To get you to talk to him. There are times when the cracks in his voice makes your resolve falter. Makes you want to open the door and hug him tightly.

But you were still hurting. Still annoyed. Still confused. You had some understanding of how Sanji was. How he’ll use his charm and good lucks to get extra tips, to get people to come back for more. And sometimes, that was just how he was as a person.

So you understood perfectly that most of it was a weird mixture of how he normally acts and was an act in of itself to get more money. You understood perfectly.

Didn’t stop it from hurting though. You felt like someone ripped your heart out of your chest and stomped on it. You felt like you were being unfair to him. You felt like you were being unfair to yourself. You felt like—

You opened the door. He stood there with his hands in his pockets looking down. Upon hearing the door, he lifted his head.

He’d been crying.

Red, puffy eyes stared back at you. He said nothing, his expression in shock. He quickly sobered up.

“Um,” he scratched the back of his head, “Hello.”

You cleared your throat, “Hi.”

You two stood there at a moment, not saying much of anything. Just staring and waiting. Waiting for someone to say something.

“I’m sorry,” Sanji said suddenly. “I….I’m not sure what I did but—“

“Really?” You gave him an unimpressed look, “You truly don’t know what you did? Why I’m mad at you? You haven’t the slightest clue?”

He swallows nervously and avoids your face. His eyes staring into space, you don’t know what’s going on in his mind. You were about close the door, too tired of this bullshit but he blocks it with his foot.

His hands clenched on the doorframe, he’s leaning towards you, nearly towering over you. Normally, that’ll leave you a blushing mess, and maybe that’s what he’s hoping for, but you just glare up at him. Stepping back a little to create space between you two and he falters.

“Just tell me, already! What did I do? What I have done? Please, ma colombe!” He pressed on.

“How can you not know?! How obtuse do you have to be—", you started to yell but he interrupted you.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake just tell me!” He begged you, his voice cracks. From the way that he's standing, you assumed he'll fall to his knees at any moment.

“You and that woman. The one with black hair, how you were talking to her. Touching her, looking at her. It was…disgusting. You didn’t even have the audacity to be shameful about it.”

He looked confused which quickly transformed into a crude mixture of shock and angry. “Your joking, right? Please, tell me that this is some elaborate prank on me because you can’t seriously be mad at that!”

You glared harder at him, “No! It isn’t a joke. The way you acted hurt me, Sanji. I understand that you act like that, but there are certain lines that you don’t cross.”

“What lines are you—”

“You were about to kiss her! You leaned in and then you stopped yourself. Guess you suddenly remembered you had a girlfriend,” you yelled at him, and the tears were starting to spill again but you had to pull it together.

Sanji stared at you for a while, not saying anything. But the look of realization donned on him and he stepped back.

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t think…you saw that,” he fumbled over his words.

You sniffed and looked away from him, you didn't want him to see you crying like this.

“Really? That’s all you have to say?” You questioned him, backing away even more.

He attempt to get closer, you walk backwards until your back is pressed against the wall and you can’t run anymore.

“It didn’t—” he started to say but you stopped him.

“Don’t. Don’t say that you didn’t mean to or that you it was a mistake. I know, I know that you regretted the moment you went close. But….I don’t know. I….I don’t know if I can trust. To not cheat on me. Or have wandering eyes.”

“Ma colombe, I would never. You know all my flirtations are not real. I love you. It’ll always be you, no one else. I swear to you,” he continued to plead with you. He comes closer, until his body pressed against yours and he cups your face so gently. Like your precious jewel to him, he couldn’t afford to break.

But he already broke you.

You looked down instead, you didn’t want to meet his eyes. This was hurting you. This really was. And to say that there was no love between you, would be a lie. But love isn’t enough, not anymore. It can’t fix this. You saw love try to fix your parents’ marriage and that didn’t end well. And you refuse to end up like them.

Your gaze met Sanji’s and you could see the the little hope he had diminished when he saw your expression.

He understood. That is good, it would make this process less painful. He nodded to you and smiled. He kissed you on your lips gently, savoring the taste and feeling one last time. And then he was gone.

————————————————————————

Tags: @abree234, @childofhecate108, @louissolovely, @randomhoex, @marceesworld, @dragonqueenfk, @puff-hugs, @msmisasoup, @localcowboyd, @thatgothic-nerd, @0picels0. @charliepoopyfart, @rotin0, @nikolaevna-art, @cielitoot7, @tayharrper, @simpingmyassoff, @borkbarnes, @villainouspotential, @ramielll, @fuck-you-im-gae, @poketrainer2270, @dazaisfavgf, @hopester08, @don-tuna, @avatarkanemi, @dimplewonie, @fandomsunited, @synchronised-beat

Taglist & Masterlist & Reqs Info

#sanji x reader #sanji x female reader #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #x reader #reader insert #sanji angst #sanji imagine #sanji fanfiction #sanji fanfic #sanji fic #opla sanji #opla angst #opla x reader #opla x you #opla x y/n #opla fanfiction #opla fanfic #opla fic #op sanji #op angst #op fanfic #op fic #op fanfiction #vinsmoke sanji x reader #sanji vinsmoke #one piece sanji #vinsmoke sanji

[arbiterlexultionis]

Danny and the Spooks Pt2

This is a continuation of my other post Here

More specifically, this is where I’m dumping my ideas for it that involve crossovers, mostly with DC, as I know that stuff isn’t some peoples cuppa tea, and wanted to make sure it could be viewed and enjoyed by all.

So, I’ve come up with two ways for Danny and the spooks to mix with other fandoms. 1) Danny’s a known entity and (somewhat) trusted ally who is super protective/secretive about the tiny ass town he micromanages and 2) Danny and the ghost issues of Amity are more less unknowns and the hero’s of the verse show up only to be met with a (somewhat) functional crime fighting organization.

I’ll do the first version in this post and the second probably in a different post.

Phantom was one of the founding members of the league, and one of the most mysterious members at that. Although most of them had known about each other and occasionally worked together long before they came together officially 3 years ago to fend of Darkseid and found the league Phatom himself had come out of left field so to speak. Appearing with no warning in his bulky Hazmat suit and barely saying a word for most of the crisis, they didn’t really have any choice but to accept his help regardless of their (Batman’s) skepticism, and that decision to trust him payed out in the end as Phantom, despite being a complete unknown that could stay under the radar at that point, was apparently strong enough to give Supes and Wonder Woman a run for their money. They threw around a lot of theories about the guy, Superman seemed convince he was some type of alien while others thought he was a meta. Batman’s theory of choice was that he was a time traveler form the future with advanced nano technology, using cave paintings and historical records from across the globe that duplicated him as evidence. Aquaman and Dr. Fate think he’s some type of lord of order or God, with a capital G, because there was apparently some strikingly similar being who fought a Chaos deity to try and stop Atlantis from sinking.

But every attempt to actually investigate has ended “inconclusively”, as after Batman finally tracked down which town Phantom watched over he only got a few steps in before he got gently grabbed buy the cape and flew several states away like a misbehaving kitten getting grabbed by the scruff. Flash got the farthest in of anyone, sprinting in and getting about a block in before just appearing in Canada with sticky note attached to his forehead reading “Please stop stalking my grandson. :-) -CW.”

So when they were all in a meeting discussing where to keep the young justice team they were all surprised, to say the least, when Phantom offered to take them in and look after them Inside of Amity. Apparently(supposedly) the main reason he keeps everyone so far away from his town is because no one in the league has the experience and skill set necessary to properly combat his rouges, and gaining the experience and skill would probably include several mind control/body snatching/cloning/imposters/potential world endangering events and that just wouldn’t be worth the risk, especially with all of that resulting in their own rouges getting into contact with his, a recipe for one shitty weekend as he put it. But a little less than a week ago Luther used an intermediary to hire one of phantoms rouges to hunt Superman, which explains the bandage on Superman’s side. So now that the cats out of the bag Phantom want to make the kitty purr and prepare the rest of the heroics community for “the complete and utter nonsensical shenanaganery that he’s stuck dealing with” and The Team seems like a good opportunity for it.

I envision this whole meeting probably being told from Flash’s point of view, as he’s smart and goofy enough for some good humor and exposition but I guess it works for anyone. The Young Justice team wind up in mount justice while the main base of the Spooks, called the Grave or something else suitably on brand, is prepared just long enough to get bored and go rescue Superboy. Then the whole team and some of the justice league step foot into Amity for the first time, and then get a whole PowerPoint presentation explaining the town and its BS and are just Shook when they find out that Phantoms not some meta or alien or time traveling genius inventor but just some dead dude.

The team essentially gets fast tracked through the training for Spooks to make sure there up to snuff and begin patrolling and stuff. At first Superboy just can’t handle working in the R.I.P.D. and then he finds a ghost who whole shtick is “I need to punch shit”, which bridges the gap between the fighting he knows and the negotiations he doesn’t and helps him learn more about diplomacy and chill out, can’t decided if I want the ghost in question to be a boxer, sumo wrestler or really over the top westler.

As practice living a double life and going under cover they all have to get jobs and be Normal, but they all suck at being Normal. It just straight up doesn’t cross Superboy mind that normal people can’t use motorcycles to beat up convenience store robbers. At first he goes for the car, stops and goes wait a second that’s not something normal people can do and I’m Normal, so he picks up a Harley like “Yep, this is completely average amount of strength.”

Wally’s working in the kitchen of a restaurant and keeps accidentally using his super speed. Not enough to glow or spark, but more than enough for people to freak out. But he’s doing the work of 4 people which means management need 3 less people to pay so they just let him do his thing.

Robins such a gremlin that people think he’s straight up a child ghost very poorly disguising himself as a human child, using rafters and vents as short cuts with the justification “it’s not weird if they don’t see me do it” which makes it seem like he’s using invisibility, intangibility and teleportation to get around. He’s so quite when he walks that people come to the conclusion that he’s forgetting to walk and just floating places and/or trying to look like he’s walking like a Perfectly Normal Human Child but not actually making contact with the ground on accident.

All the locals see all this stuff and just go “Kids are kids, ghost, human or ecto-contaminated to hell and back.” And all make a group effort to hide them from the Fentons and GIW. The team, which is actively trying to investigate both groups, becomes convinced that the people they work for are in cahoots with the GIW and hiding their activities, but every time they switch jobs it takes like, a week for the GIW to get to them again(for them to go “oh poor children” and try and keep them safe).

It doesn’t help that the first friend they made in town is a scrawny little black haired blue eyed twink that they saw beat a mothafucka with another mothafucka in an alleyway on the first day of class, constantly pulls off what should be nearly impossible acts and disappears without a trace, further twisting their idea of what is within normal human limits. (They saw Danny fighting Skulker in human form at 3am in the Nasty burger parking lot because he was to lazy to shift forms, and they use the fact that the kid that can nonchalantly throw hands with a nine foot tall T9000 knock off as an excuse to get away with stuff. “Mr. I-fight-death-bots-with-my-bare-hands is the weakling at the bottom of the food chain, so me being able to do this it Normal. Probably.”)

Just a few ideas I had for this, will probably post more later. Drink some water and chill, peace out.

#danny fenton #danny phantom #danny phantom au #dp au #fic prompt #story prompt #writing prompt #dp x dc #dp x dc crossover #dc x dp #dpxdc #dp crossover #full hazmat au

[violetrainbow412-blog]

New look [S. R.]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

word count: 800

Summary: directly based on "The internet is forever" (5x22), when Reid's wonderful but short-lived boyband cut appears for the first time

Most of you were sitting in the conference room when JJ got ready to present the case. That particular night you had slept very little and to perform at work you thought it necessary to prepare yourself a coffee Spencer-style, who, by the way, had not yet deigned to appear at the bureau's offices.

“This is Dorris Archer, she's the third woman to go missing in Boise, Idaho, this year, along with Paula Renmar and Samantha Rush” the blonde began to say, under the attention of the entire team “They went missing roughly 2 months apart …” suddenly she cut off her words and her gaze traveled behind you. Out of inertia you turned your head and your breath caught a bit when you looked at who it was.

Of course you were glad to see your friend finally show up, but you honestly hadn't expected to see him like this. 

"Well, hello," JJ sneered, grinning in astonishment and approval at the man's new look.

Spencer took a seat in the chair next to you and all eyes fell on him, especially yours and Hotch's, albeit for very different reasons. You had gotten used to seeing his hair falling over his shoulders, even a couple of times you had come to help the man hold it with one of your scrunchies, but to be honest, the cut at that moment suited him much better than it should. It made him look cute and at the same time so… sexy? Yeah, maybe that was the word.

Although you wanted to say something, the words didn’t leave your lips and your boss was the first to speak:

"What, did you join a boy band?" he, miraculously, joked. 

"No," Reid replied, genuinely confused, and that was reason enough for all of you, without exception, to start laughing. When he heard your laughter, he looked in your direction and smiled kindly in greeting, to which you responded with a friendly squeeze on his arm.

Emily mumbled something to follow up on the case, but even against your will your mind was occupied with a completely different matter; being more specific on a certain person right next to you. You kept blatantly staring at him for a long time and when he felt that attention you saw him turn his head towards you, an obvious sparkle of concern in his eyes. Out of respect for the unit, he didn't say anything to you, but as soon as JJ finished presenting the case and you both got up from the table, he walked over to you.

"What's going on?"

"What's going on about what?”

“You were staring at me a long time ago,” he pointed out, but it wasn't like you were hiding it “Do I look that terrible?”

When you realized the confusion that had been generated, you couldn't contain a laugh and that only increased your friend's nervousness. You two were the only ones left in the conference room, so no one would be able to hear what you had to say.

“Just the opposite, Spence. I was looking at you because I think you look very handsome” you confessed, smiling kindly at him from where you were, and one moment you saw him turn red up to his ears, because he probably didn't expect that kind of response.

"Are you serious?" he asked you timidly.

"Very seriously" you approached him to extend your hands up to his head so you could run your fingers through the strands of his hair. When he understood your intentions, he crouched slightly and simply enjoyed the contact "Although I've already gotten used to your long hair, I admit that I like this one too. It looks messier, like you're more rebellious"

"I was a little undecided about the shape," he told you, making his usual hand movements "but when I started to cut it, I thought it would be the best option and at the end I was afraid I was making a mistake, because I had never had it like that before"

“Did you cut it yourself?” you half squealed, looking at him in complete disbelief, and he nodded with a small smile “Handsome, smart, kind and now you're a barber. You're quite a jack of all trades, huh, Reid?"

"Enough, don't say those things" he laughed, turning all shy and silly at your flattery.

"Looks like I'll have to keep you away from the girls" you concluded playfully, while you winked at him and took your bag to get out of there "See you there, don't be late"

Spencer just chuckled to himself and watched you go, still internally debating whether he should take your shameless flirtations as a joke or if you really meant it. Whatever the case, he was grateful to have made that impulsive decision solely for the pleasure of hearing his little (not that much, really) crush call him handsome.

taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14 @spencerslove

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía #david rossi #emily prentiss #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fluff #boyband reid #spencer reid boyband cut #5x22 criminal minds