#my brother always asks me who I prefer bc he claims I have to pick ONE favorite I can’t just have a vague top 5

[comradekatara]

sokka loves katara so much. he thinks she is unreasonable, overzealous, and naive. he would die for her at the drop of a hat. he endures her screaming at him every day. he would tear anyone who hurt her to shreds. relaxing elevator music plays in his head as he tunes out her daily tirade. when she shows him kindness he cries out of gratitude. when he’s pissed at her he makes fun of her hair, because he knows exactly how to cut her deep without ever actually going too far. she never listens to his measured, rational advice, and he’s okay with that. she is his first priority at all times. she annoys him every day. he values her life over his own to the point where it’s not even a contest. sokka loves katara so much.

#😭😭😭 #being the eldest sibling rly is just Like That huh #you would sacrifice everything for them and they do not care!!!! #sokka #katara #katara&sokka #can u tell who my favorite characters are..... what my favorite dynamic is....... I bet it’s rly subtle #my brother always asks me who I prefer bc he claims I have to pick ONE favorite I can’t just have a vague top 5 #but how could I ever choose between sokka and katara??? #they are both perfect!!!!! #it’s literally impossible!!!!!!!!

[luvteez]

bassists do it deeper

pairing: yunho x genderneutral!reader genre + tags: smut, band au | kink discovery, exhibitionism, a brief segment of semi-public sex, hand kink, size kink, yunho monster cock bc this deserves a tag, power play, switch dynamics (i think??), dom!yunho pulls through in the end, unprotected sex wc: 6.3k

note: big thanks to my fav babie @lustjoong​ for motivating me to combine the two ideas i had for the prompt into one and motivating me to finish this!! here’s my take on the unspoken obligatory yunho size kink fic every ateez smut writer should have written once but make him a bassist. also, the band au to this pwp is literally just there as an excuse to make yeosang the lead singer of the band bc if kq won’t give yeosang lines, i will 

A lot can happen throughout a single weekend, as your English professor suddenly quitting her job, your brother Yeosang almost burning down the kitchen from deep frying an egg, an influx of voicemails in your inbox all sent from Wooyoung, as well as Yeosang’s punk rock band losing a member. It’s a lot to process when all you’ve done is stay the night at Yuqi’s, even harder so when Wooyoung keeps repeating every five seconds that Seonghwa quit the band. (”Why did it have to be Seonghwa who left Stereowave? He was the hottest one!”)

That being said, you expected to come home to a beyond grumpy Yeosang who was trying to find a replacement asap. A band without a bassist sounds empty, and while Stereowave has garnered a big enough fanbase over the years that wouldn’t mind the band continuing as a trio, it just feels wrong. Besides, branding a group consisting of Yeosang the frontman, San the guitarist, Mingi the drummer, and nobody covering the bassist position a band doesn’t sit right.

You were prepared for the worst; a messy kitchen, Yeosang walking around in clothes he wore for five days straight, possibly the outbreak of World War III depending on how shitty he’s feeling. But instead, you find the kitchen exceptionally clean and Yeosang acting as if nothing ever happened.

“Can you help set up the camera? The guys and I wanna film a new song.”

“Uh, sure,” you answer irritatedly. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about finding a replacement for Seonghwa though?”

“Oh, we already have a new bassist,” he waves off casually, “What are you gaping at? Shut that jaw of yours before flies fly into your nasty mouth.”

“First of all, rude.” Yeosang rolls his eyes at that comment. For a split second, you’re contemplating letting him figure out on his own how to use the camera because he’s the walking embodiment of a technology illiterate, but your curiosity about the new band member is bigger. “But how did you manage to find a new replacement so fast? It’s been like, what, a day since Seonghwa left?”

Yeosang sighs. “He’s been thinking of quitting for weeks now, so I had enough time to look for a new bassist. It’s not that big of a deal anyway.”

And this is exactly why you should never get dicked down by your bandmate several times in a month, you think to yourself. Seonghwa and Yeosang thought they were slick, but everyone figured they were more than friends. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time until the strain of their relationship wreaked havoc within the band.

“So,” you say as you two walk to the makeshift studio in the basement, “Is the new guy good? What’s his name?”

The change of topic makes Yeosang relax visibly. There’s a sheepish smile on his face and he replies, “You’ll see.”

You arch a brow. For some reason, that doesn’t settle comfortably in your gut. Then there’s the fact that Yeosang is slightly skipping, and that makes you more concerned than relieved. Because Yeosang barely skips, only when he’s being petty and is planning on pranking somebody. (Most of the time, it’s San.)

The faint vibrations of drums and guitars ring in your ears before you step a foot into the basement. Mingi is the first to acknowledge your presence, immediately dampening the cymbals before waving at you. That causes the other two guys to stop playing their instruments and turn their heads around. You greet San like you normally do, and when your eyes flit to the new addition, all brightness drops from your face.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Yunho cocks his head to the side almost tauntingly, eyes challenging. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards, though more with the intention of saying hah you thought you’d never see me again. “Hello to you too, honey. Looks like fate brought us together once more, eh?”

You blink multiple times to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. To your dismay, they sure aren’t. It really is Yunho standing right next to an utterly confused San, and the bass in his hands just confirms it furthermore.

“Since when do you play an instrument?” you gawk. There’s no fucking way he could’ve had time to pick up music, not when his schedule was already jammed with basketball training and student council activities. Then again, that was his schedule in middle school.

“Since I was fifteen,” he drawls, unaffected by your outburst. “Any other questions, honey? Preferably something along the lines of how have you been? I expected a warmer welcome from you, not gonna lie.”

“What does Yeosang even see in you?” you splutter instead, disgust prevalent in your voice.

“Talent. Believe it or not.”

“Guys, no fighting,” Yeosang warns, but you’re too busy sending Yunho daggers and every pg rated curse under the sun your brain can wrack up.

Meanwhile, San shifts his weight on one leg awkwardly and asks in the background as your verbal dispute continues, “Are they exes or something?”

“Nah, just childhood enemies,” Mingi mumbles, clearly used to your interactions to the point where he’s becoming bored of it. He’s heard all the profanities too many times coming out from the same mouth, hence why he isn’t as disturbed as San is.

“Listen up, you piec—“ 

“(y/n), the camera. Help your older brother out, will ya?” Yeosang cuts you off urgently, the warning tone in his words hard to miss.

“Yeah, help your brother out, shorty,” Yunho snickers. Appalled by his blatant shamelessness, you scowl.

“I’m not that short—!”

“Still shorter than I am, shorty. Or do you prefer honey?”

World War III would’ve broken out right then and there if it weren’t for Yeosang’s death glare — you know, the look he has etched on his face whenever he means business and is willing to go so far and expose all of the nasty mishaps you’ve done in middle school, which is definitely something that should never see the light of day.

“I prefer neither,” you mutter after weighing the gravity of Yeosang’s wrath, avoiding any eyes before you set up the camera. Luckily, nobody further comments on that and eventually, everybody resumes practicing their parts of the songs.

Just in time as Mingi takes another short break to chug his water down, you stumble across a problem. “Uh, Yeosang? You should buy a new camera. This is still usable, but you might have to reset every ten minutes or so.”

A groan leaves him, followed by a shrill guitar riff, and you can see that he’d prefer death over spending money for a new one. “Can’t you just stay here during practice and reset it? You also get to hear some new tracks of the upcoming EP!” That fucker, he’s just too lazy to run forward and press a button every few minutes.

“I have to be on standby for the Block B ticket sale,” you lie. Technically, it’s not really a lie because you do plan on going to the Block B concert with Wooyoung, but 1) the ticket sale isn’t even today and 2) it’s always Wooyoung who buys the tickets. Yeosang doesn’t need to know that though. Any excuse is better than having to sit through practice and see if Yunho is as good as he claims.

Seems like Yeosang desperately doesn’t want to keep running back and forth to reset the camera as he suddenly says, “You can do it here too.” You would argue that the garage has its separate WiFi and only the band members have access to it, but then: “You can use my laptop instead.”

And letting you use his laptop is something he never does. You failed to submit an assignment in time because your own laptop broke down and he didn’t let you borrow his computer for even that.

“Fine,” you sigh in defeat. Yeosang thanks you with a smile so obnoxiously sweet it makes you gag. When all he gets in return from you is the middle finger, his demeanor drops and he mutters something inaudible under his breath, pointing to the small table at the side where all their phones and laptops are lying before he goes back to the others.

Once all four of them are in position and ready to play, you press the record button before flipping yourself onto the old patchwork couch Yeosang bought at a garage sale for only thirty quid a few years back. To your surprise, Yeosang’s MacBook is already unlocked, the default wallpaper of mountains and northern lights quite jarring to your eyes.

When given the rare chance to have unlimited access to your sibling’s devices, it’s self-explanatory what to do. You either a) go through all of their accounts and find as much dirt as possible about them that serves as good material for future blackmail purposes or b) sign them up to as many online subscriptions as possible that will make them go crazy. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work on Yeosang because 1) he doesn’t mind online subscriptions, and 2) he never checks his email account, hence why his inbox is filled with over 2000 mails, a third of them most likely unopened. On top of that, his MacBook is strictly meant for work, so if you really wanted to find out his most embarrassing secrets, your only shot is his phone.

That being said, you’re left with option c) which is checking out Block B’s concert merch since that’s the only sensible thing you can do right now. Forget productivity; that isn’t doable when Yeosang’s deep timbre is blaring in your ears along with the instruments. To be honest, you really enjoy Stereowave’s music and that’s on their music, not because your brother is the lead singer. You’ve enjoyed each of their performances and perhaps you’ve been indulging in the privilege of hearing their new songs first.

But now that Yunho’s involved, suddenly the prospect of having a new favorite band sounds tempting. What was Yuqi’s favorite band again? Day6? You should take a closer look at their discography.

As much as you want to mute the sound, from San’s riffs to Mingi’s drum solo, you fail to do so. One moment you’re opening the search browser, and in the next, your eyes are set on the group. They’re practicing like they usually do; fun etched on their faces as they lose themselves in the music. Yeosang is singing as if he was performing in front of a million viewers while San improvises a solo on a whim. Mingi messes up the beat for a split second after failing to catch his stick and somehow, your eyes have zoomed in on Yunho. It doesn’t take you five seconds to realize:

Yunho is good.

While he might not seem as fired up as the other three, he’s visibly relaxed. Just like Seonghwa, he plays smoothly and isn’t overpowered by the others, but he seems to have an easier time gliding his fingers across the fingerboard. The bassline is easy to filter out, not the generic pattern you can find in every second pop song, yet still compliments the other instruments.

He can play, fair game. However, that’s the least of your worries. You’re more attentive to the ratio of his hands to the bass. His hands are larger than Seonghwa’s by far, no doubt. That makes sense given his height, maybe an inch taller than Mingi. But Mingi doesn’t have that big hands. Doesn’t that mean that Yunho’s body is disproportional?

Before you know it, you drag your gaze from his shoes up to his legs and stop at his hands briefly, only to proceed upwards until you see the cocky smirk and amused eyes directed at you. All clogs in your brain come to a stillstand and despite that, that’s when you realize you’ve been 1) enjoying his music, 2) checking him out, and 3) checking him out and caught red-handed.

It feels as if you were living on the sun instead of on Earth as you burn up in embarrassment. Knowing there’s no way you can deflect what you just did, you quickly turn back to the laptop, the Google search bar staring back at you.

You’re about to type in something when the search history pops up, catching your eyes. A gasp leaves you but it goes under the music, everyone too immersed in their own thing to notice the prevalent horror settling on your face.

exhibitionism

getting off in public

best crowded places to have sex and get away with it

You blink, thinking that your sleep deprivation got the worst out of you and that you’ve finally reached the stage where you start hallucinating. Except, you know you’re not hallucinating. After going through the words again and again, you know that you’re really not fucking hallucinating and that your nonexistent sleep cycle isn’t as bad as Yuqi makes it out to be.

When you said you wanted to dig up dirt on your brother, you didn’t mean it in the form of his kinks. Money can’t buy everything, but how you wish it could so you could unsee that shocking discovery.

Since this is Yeosang’s work computer and he’s signed into his Google account, he must make use of the drive to save a copy of his ideas. It probably won’t amount to anything since he’s the walking embodiment of staying unbothered, but writing him a note on his docs about how he’s made your life worse by not clearing his search history is better than staying silent.

You click on the little icon on the top right corner, expecting to see Yeosang’s name right above the email address. But then you see Yunho’s name instead, and suddenly everything makes much more sense.

This was never Yeosang’s laptop to begin with.

To say you’re at a loss of words is an understatement. There’s no way someone could have as little self-awareness and leave their laptop unlocked, let alone Yunho out of all people. Then again, the last thing you expected from him was to play the bass and blend well with the rest of the band as if he’s always been the bassist of Stereowave and not the newly found replacement.

This is absolutely bonkers. But:

You could have fun with it. Maybe it’s for the better that money can’t buy everything.

Besides dozens of articles about semi-public sex and even a blogpost titled Shagging in Broad Daylight for Dummies, his search history of the last 24 hours consists of many forum links discussing the morality of exhibitionism, conspiracy theories, and hand care guides. You wheeze when you see the private playlist he saved on his YouTube account; a collection of videos about filing your nails properly and the best hand cream brands for dry skin.

Yeosang calls in for a break, and everyone’s grateful for it. San lets out a relieved noise as he places his guitar on the stand before catching the water bottle Mingi chucks at him.

“My arms are beat,” Mingi complains.

San sends him an incredulous look and snorts, “All you do is bang! crash! ppang! while my throat is fucked! And so are my legs!”

“Not my fault if you keep doing your high pitched oows! while jumping around like a— like a cricket!”

“A cricket? Are you serious?”

“I’m tired, okay!”

“Then that means we should call it a day and go home and rest, right?”

“Choi San, I think you’re onto something.”

“Absolutely not,” Yeosang deadpans, causing the bickering duo to pout in sync. “We have lots to do especially since Yunho’s now part of the band.” When all he’s met with is an attempt of cute puppy eyes that rather looks like a bad rendition of any horror movie featuring creepy dolls, Yeosang sighs, “I ordered chicken for dinner and yes, it’s on me.”

In an instant, Mingi and San’s faces brighten up and they’re celebrating as if they won a free cruise to the Bahamas. They don’t hesitate to envelop Yeosang in a bear hug, crushing the life out of him. A chuckle escapes you at the sight of your brother wringing for his sanity. Sometimes you wonder how on Earth those three guys are the same three guys who perform in abandoned warehouses, jamming out their punk rock songs while looking all edgy (in a cool way that has at least half of their fans thirsting after them).

Meanwhile, Yunho drops himself on the other end of the couch. Propping his right leg on the coffee table in front, he digs around in his pockets before pulling something out.

“Since when do you file your nails?” You pointedly raise a brow at him. Although your extensive research on his browser history already answered that question, you ask him just for the sake of it.

“Hand care is important, shorty,” Yunho replies, keeping his eyes trained on his fingers as he works the file around a nail. “If Kageyama Tobio files his nails, I can too. But enough with the small talk, what do you want?”

“I didn’t peg you as an exhibitionist.”

His hand stops moving. Yunho looks up at you, irritation written all over his features. “Because I file my nails...? A bold assumption, honey.”

There’s a reason why Yunho has always gotten away with pretty much everything. He’s a good actor who’s able to feign innocence at any time. His posture is relaxed, voice genuinely sounding flabbergasted that not even your shit-eating grin can throw him off guard.

You can’t, but your proof will do the job.

“I never said it’s because of your hand fixation.” You turn the laptop screen his way and once his eyes flicker on it and decipher the words, his face falls. Gone is the faux-confusion; as all color drains from him, his eyes look like they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “Is it really a bold assumption now, honey?”

Yunho inhales sharply when you scoot closer to him and put a firm hand on his left leg, his laptop now closed and long forgotten. Your fingers are placed too high for it to be friendly, skimming lightly on the inside of his thigh. Yeosang and the others are busy minding their own business but the chance of getting caught in the act is still there. The simple realization has adrenaline running a hundred miles an hour in your veins, and with the way Yunho clenches his jaw — a desperate attempt to fight the groan that’s threatening in the back of his throat — you’re not the only one who’s aroused by the setup.

Slowly, your hand inches closer to his growing bulge. Before you can dare yet another experimental squeeze, Yunho’s hand surges forward and holds your wrist in a vice grip.

“Don’t,” he snarls through gritted teeth, but it sounds sadder than it is intimidating when he’s sporting a boner right in front of your eyes.

You cock your head to the side, almost in a mocking demeanor. “You sure? Think about it, it’s a win-win situation. You get to live out your exhibitionist right here in front of your new bandmates, and I get the confirmation that you’re into it. But if you really don’t want to…” you try to retreat your hand but Yunho doesn’t let you budge, hand still enclosed around yours. That won’t do as an answer.

“Which one is it? Say it, Yunho,” you assert, narrowing your eyes. Yunho looks distraught, feverishly biting his lip while he’s internally fighting with himself, but he eventually chokes out a response.

“As long as nobody notices—”

“You either say you want me to touch you or not. I don’t want any roundabout stories.”

“Touch me,” he whispers defeatedly and the grip on your hand disappears completely. “But I swear to God if anyone realizes what you’re doing— hhnh—!” he cuts himself off with a low moan when you cup him over the material of his jeans.

“Yes yes, I get it. I don’t need Yeosang to know about this,” you dismiss. “And oh wow, you’re getting hard fast when I’m just touching you over your pants.”

“Just get to it.”

The snappish attitude causes you to stop dead in your tracks. “You think you’re in the position to tell me what to do? I can be mean too, y’know,” you start nonchalantly, a stark contrast to the way your heart is shaking in your ribcage. The power you suddenly hold is exhilarating. “I could just leave you like this, and then you’d have to try to cover your situation down there while practice goes on. How would the others react if they only knew your dick is hard? Probably won’t take them too long to find out since standing for a long time can be tiring, hm?”

Yunho’s head lolls back in response as he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. His breathing is uneven and the resulting moan that follows suit makes you smirk. You lightly smack the inside of his thigh, causing another wave of arousal to rupture in him. He chokes out a hushed ‘f-fuck’ and at this point, the constriction around his cock must be bordering painful.

“Who would’ve thought that the big bad Jeong Yunho is actually a submissive bitch who’s hungry for attention?” you ask gleefully, delivering another slap before stroking the area. “Who would’ve fucking thought you were a sub?”

“I-I’m not— shit, s-stop that, hngh— a fucking sub.”

“Yeah yeah, say that to yourself.” You rip your gaze away from Yunho’s flushed face to check if the coast is clear before targeting his fisted hands. He stiffens when you pry his hand open and bring three digits to your lips, sticking your tongue out to give kitten licks to his fingertips before pushing them into your mouth. You hum, suck, swirl your tongue around his fingers, giggling when all he does is stare at you wordlessly, unable to form any coherent thoughts. “See? Not even once have you put up a fight.”

That seems to snap him out of his daze. In an instant, his eyes darken and his jaw clenches.

“Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.”

You snicker, seeing through his bluff. “Wow, I’m so scared. What do you wanna do? Leave practice right now? Drag me to my room and pound me into the mattress?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You could never, sub.”

Whatever strands of self-control were still residing in Yunho have turned to dust by now. One moment he’s towering over you in full height, looking down on your sitting form in bitter distaste, and in the next, he’s dragging you out of the basement, unaffected by the sudden silence and Yeosang, Mingi and San’s confused expressions.

Once you’re in the living room, Yunho wastes no time crowding you against the wall and crashing his lips against yours. The kiss is a messy clash of teeth and tongues, but it leaves you hot and lightheaded and aching for more. Yunho knows no limits and snakes one arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, the other hand fisting your hair. He tugs harshly and the sharp sting sends all your nerves into a frenzy.

“Bedroom. Now.” The sudden huskiness in his tone catches you off guard and you wonder when his voice has ever sounded so rough. You moan into the kiss, fisting his shirt as you stumble your way to your bedroom.

Yunho pins you against the door once you’re in your bedroom. His lips are addictive, just like the groans he slips in kisses and his hands roaming your body. He gets rid of your clothes until you’re left in your underwear, then forces a knee between your legs to keep them from closing. Your eyes roll back at the friction, growing needier and hotter when he presses his thigh against you harder. 

When you finally pull away, his eyes are hooded and his lips are red and swollen. There’s no trace of inhibitions left in him as he watches you like a predator. With horror, you realize that the tables have turned, and when he easily locks both of your wrists above your head with one hand only, that’s when you know you’re undisputedly powerless against him.

“Who’s the sub now?” he pants, eyes sparkling with glee.

“Still y-you.” The response sounds pathetic to your own ears, but you have too big of an ego to admit it out loud. Yunho doesn’t buy it either if his quirked brow wasn’t telling enough.

“Still in denial, honey? I see. Guess I’ll have to do more then.” His free hand reaches down to tug on the waistband of your underwear, only to let it snap against your skin. The slight sting is enough to render your knees into mush and set fog into your vision. He does it again, and then he actually tugs the fabric down and you finally grab his motives.

“You’re bluffing— y-you wouldn’t put y-your fingers,” you ramble, hyperaware about how dangerously close his fingers are. Just when you think he’s about to shove a digit in, he pulls away completely.

“You know, you keep talking about my hands. It’s always my hands this, my hands that,” Yunho says casually, giving his nails a quick glance before meeting your eyes. “Rather than me having a hand fixation, it’s you who has a thing for hands. My hands specifically.”

You don’t like how every word is true. You don’t want to acknowledge that he’s correct. Verbally, because your body is moving on its own and has betrayed you long ago.

Yunho taps on your bottom lip and you comply reluctantly, letting him shove the same three fingers you sucked before. Mumbling unintelligible words under his breath, he watches intently as you hum around him, eyes fluttering shut when he slowly moves them in and out of your mouth. A whine escapes you when he pulls them out for good, soaked wet with your spit.

“Tell me.” Yunho grins, “Tell me what you like about them. Or else I’ll leave you hanging.” He’s not lying and you know it. The look he sends you is enough proof that he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you high and dry.

You don’t like how he’s stringing you on like a rag doll. You don’t like how he’s stripping you off your dignity step by step. Strangely enough, you feel yourself leaking and wanting nothing but his pretty long fingers inside of you.

“I like how they, agh I— I l-like how—” you stutter, losing all levels of rationality when he suddenly circles around your entrance. Yunho urges you to continue and it takes up all of your brainpower to pick up where you left off, “—they’re so long and big and pretty—”

“So you have a size kink.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Now that, that’s something he shouldn’t have deduced. “W-wha— I don’t!”

“Seems to me that you have one though. You kept stressing how big and bad and tall I was after all.” You stiffen. Did you? Did you really? You don’t recall saying it that many times but it's hard to think straight when Yunho still has your wrists above your head and is looking down at you in a downright patronizing way. It leaves you trembling pitifully, feeling called out and feeling so, so small.

He really wants you to hit your lowest peak because he doesn’t stop there. “Who’s the real sub here? Is it really me? Or is it you who likes feeling so short, small, tiny.” His smirk widens when your breath hitches ever so slightly. “I fucking knew it.”

“You don’t know shit,” you bark back, but to no avail. Your credibility has diminished the moment he caught up to your kinks.

“Say whatever you want but that won’t change the fact that you’re tiny baby,” he pauses, takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he’s giving you a thorough once-over and then enunciates the next syllables with such clarity that forces time to stop, “My tiny, helpless baby.”

The pet name breaks you. It’s the final trigger that takes all your inhibitions away and the pathetic size of an ego that was left in your stubborn head.

“Please,” your voice cracks but that’s the least of your worries. You can’t move, can’t talk back, and won’t get anything in return. Yunho is right in front of you, finding satisfaction in your internal destruction and yet, after all of the things he’s slaughtered you to, he won’t give you anything in return.

“Just a little bit more, baby. I’ll give you what you want if you repeat after me; I’m your—”

“I’m your tiny, helpless baby who desperately wants you to fuck me.” Yunho is mildly taken aback that you were still able to think and get it right before he even finished his sentence. “Now get on to it, Yunho. Please.”

You’re sniffling at this point, begging for any kind of stimulation that shoots you to the stars. You’re fucking sniffling, and that’s all it takes for Yunho to manhandle you on the bed. A gasp escapes you, not expecting this turn of events at all. It all happens in a flash and the next thing you know, you’re on all fours, face buried in the pillow.

“Yunho, I t-thought y-you’d fuck me,” you complain, glancing behind to see what’s taking him so long. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Patience, baby,” he says as he’s unbuckling his belt, taking his sweet time. You rub your legs together to ease the tension, but you can’t really say you’re not enjoying the show. Yunho’s lean, slightly defined, and once he’s only left in his underwear, you swallow heavily. There’s a large, dark patch on the fabric and the bulge seems more prominent than before.

If your mouth was only watering, you’re drooling by now. Yunho takes off his boxers, revealing his painfully hard cock, tip red and oozing precum. Just like the rest of him, he’s abnormally huge.

You have two thoughts. One: Fuck, you want him. Now. Two:

“That’s never going to fit inside of me.”

“Oh it will,” he says with such confidence it gives you shivers. “I’ll pound you into the mattress and you’ll take it all.”

He grabs you by your thighs to pull you closer to him before positioning himself right behind you. “W-wait!” you cry, heart suddenly feeling heavy in your chest, “D-don’t just put it in without prep— o-oh, hnngh—” your body feels like jelly when Yunho presses two spit-coated fingers past your entrance, stretching you out with finesse.

“I’m not that heartless,” he chuckles amusedly, right at the same time he curls his digits right against your sweet spot, sending you headfirst into bliss. “You’re so small you wouldn’t be able to take an inch without prep.”

You only whine into the pillow, arching your back as he continues his ministrations. Once Yunho deems you stretched out enough, he retreats his fingers and replaces them immediately with his cock.

The difference is like night and day. It’s like his fingers didn’t amount to anything compared to this. The high-pitched cry that escapes you is loud as you grasp onto the pillow for dear life.

“How can you be so big?” you pant. There’s no way he’s past four inches deep inside of you. You’re far from being filled, but your walls are already clenching hard around him.

“Bassists do it deeper for a reason.” The innuendo is tacky but in your current headspace, it sounds like the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. Yunho stills his hips, letting you get used to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Guh—” he chuckles at your inability to form coherent words, let alone thoughts. “So big.”

“You’ll get used to it, honey.” He leans forward to pet your hair. “Tell me when I can move,” he adds gently, and you swear you could melt right then.

It takes you a moment to get your breathing steady, and then he pushes more of his length inside. Whimpering, you writhe beneath him, feeling as if you’re being torn apart. Meanwhile, he’s breathing hard through his nose, trying his damn hardest to go as slow as possible. At a certain point, Yunho stops pressing for more and pulls out ever so slightly before rocking his hips back forward. It starts out slowly, but he gradually picks up the pace and you lose yourself into him.

“Faster,” you moan, bending your back for an even deeper angle. “Hnngh, so full. Want m-more.”

“You were right, you can’t take me to the hilt.” Yunho readjusts his grip on his hips and you know that bruises are going to last until the end of the week. “God, you’re so fucking small that you can’t take me to the fucking hilt.”

Your vision turns foggy once the meaning gets through you. Now that he’s saying it, how much of his cock is inside of you? Half of it? A third? He’s stretching you out so well, filling you up so impossibly deep and that wasn’t even his everything?

“That’s not— want more of you, all of you,” you stammer, not realizing what you’re even saying. “Baby wants all of you.” God, you’re so drunk and desperate for his cock that you can’t refer yourself in the first person anymore.

Yunho reacts just as perplexed, eyes widening. His hips still once more, and though you’d want to shout at him to keep on moving, you don’t find the energy to move your head, or even lift a finger.

“So fucking greedy,” he growls, pulling out of you completely. Not even a second later, he flips you around on your back so that you’re facing him dead in the eye, and then he pushes back in. The new position has you gurgling on broken words as your arms flail around for dear life.

Yunho throws a leg over his shoulder, creating a deeper angle. You don’t know if he’s actually giving you more if he’s managed to force more of him into you. All you register is the messy squelch of liquids and your moans bouncing off the walls. You can’t even see properly, everything a blur and a mix of different colors.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, sensing your demise nearing closer and closer.

“Then cum,” Yunho orders in between groans, then adds in a louder voice, “You hear that baby? Cum and make a mess out of yourself.”

Your orgasm crashes onto you in a big singular wave as you tremble under his frame, walls clenching around him tightly. His name leaves your mouth like a mantra as you continue to convulse. Yunho pulls out moments later, just to spurt white on your abdomen. His face is flushed and beads of sweat are forming on his forehead while he jerks himself dry.

It’s a miracle that Yunho hasn’t toppled on you once he slowly comes down from his high. The fog in your vision clears up gradually, but your limbs are as good as worthless. You won’t be able to move freely for a good day or two.

As you continue to blink at the ceiling, only finding the energy to breathe, Yunho grabs the box of tissues from your nightstand and wipes himself off before doing the same to you. His touch is gentle unlike before, and you’d thank him if your vocal cords were still functioning.

You’re about to drift to sleep until he suddenly leans down and pecks your lips. In an instant, you narrow your eyes at him and ask, “What was that for?”

“You had some cum on your lip. I wanted to taste too.” Yunho smiles cheekily and runs his tongue against his bottom lip, then grimaces. “It tastes... yikes.”

He cleans you up in silence before plopping onto the bed right next to you. No words are exchanged up until you say, “Yeosang is going to kill you.”

“He can’t afford to kill me. He needs me for the band,” he muses.

“He’ll still kill you.”

“I appreciate the concern, honey.”

“Just scram back to practice.”

“Don’t you want to go to the bathroom first?”

“I can do it myself.”

“Oh really?”

“... Yunho, help me on my legs and then scram back to practice.”

Meanwhile, back in the basement, the guys are waiting for their bandmate to come back so they can finally finish practice and then eat chicken.

“You sure (y/n) and Yunho are only childhood enemies? They’ve been going at it like rabbits if he isn’t back here yet!” San exclaims, throwing his arms up for dramatic effect.

Mingi can’t counter that because San has a point, so he whips his head to Yeosang. “Dude, you sure they’re not in a relationship? They have to be at least fuckbuddies! Or fuckrivals? Fuckenemies? Or…”

“I do not know and I do not care,” Yeosang says blankly, looking like he’s about to bang his head against the wall because he sure won’t walk into your room and curse his eyes for the rest of his life. Damnit, all he wants is to practice and get the band together; their next gig is only a few weeks away. “In fact, I want to unsee what I just saw and unhear what you just said.”

#blame 5*os for the creation of the band au idea #ateez smut #yunho smut #jeong yunho smut #ateez hard hours #atz smut #luvsmut #the ending is rushed oopsie but i never know how to end smut scenes ahahaha

[robininthelabyrinth]

So if you want can you write a continuation of that AU where NHS dies and NMJ loses it? Anything concerning that AU Bc on one hand I’m curious af about what would happen when NHS is brought back and how everyone is so happy that he’s back bc know NMJ would maybe calm down a little but on the other I really want to know LXC thoughts about this whole disaster?

part 1 here

Lan Xichen waited outside the Cloud Recesses, Shuoyue placed on his lap.

His home was in an uproar: the stories of what had happened in Lanling had come first, chilling the bone, and while they were still trying to decide if they believed it, news came that the Nie army, now swollen with cultivators desperate to use martial valor to escape destruction, was headed in the direction of Gusu. Lan Xichen had asked his uncle and brother to arrange the evacuation of both people and books, as many as possible – they at least had some practice after what had happened with the Wen sect, and sadly, for all of Lan Wangji’s strenuous effort, there were also fewer books to think of.

As for himself, he went to the small clearing down the mountain where visitors always arrived, especially those from Qinghe, and there he sat and waited.

Lan Xichen’s cultivation was extremely high; he did not flatter himself in thinking that in the cultivation world, the number of people who could rival him could be counted on one hand.

Nie Mingjue was the same.

If Nie Mingjue came – no. Lan Xichen should not cloud his mind with illusions. The Nie sect’s army was on its way; the question was not if Nie Mingjue was coming, it was when – and what would happen once he arrived.

If they would fight, and if they did, who would win, and what would happen next.

Lan Xichen still found the entire thing hard to believe. That Nie Mingjue would do such a terrible thing, that he would kill so many people without warning or declaration, without giving them a fair chance to fight back…it went against everything he knew of the man.

Nie Mingjue was not only his sworn brother, but his friend of many years – for the entire time he had known him, Nie Mingjue had always been well-meaning and well-intentioned, upright and righteous, even sometimes too strict with it, unwilling to give allowances for weakness. He’d always wanted to do the right thing. Even when they’d met as children, brought along to observe the sect leaders’ talks during the Discussion Conferences and bonding over the boredom of it, he had always thought first of what he should do, of what was right. Both for himself, and for his younger brother.

They’d bonded over that, too: Lan Xichen had Wangji, and Nie Mingjue had Huaisang.

He didn’t have Huaisang any longer.

That didn’t seem real, either.

Little Huaisang, with his fans and his laziness, his curving eyes as he smiled and the coquettish way he whined about the burden of having to practice his saber – gone, now. Gone forever.

Lan Xichen might have understood it if he’d died during the war. But to have it happen now, now, when they were meant to be at peace…

He still had the first letter he’d received informing him of the tragedy. It was in Jin Guangyao’s handwriting, each line thick with devastation: an accident, he’d said. Nie Huaisang had gotten lost on a night-hunt, ended up somewhere dangerous, an area that unexpectedly contained fearsome creatures that no one had expected to be there, and with his low cultivation…Jin Guangyao had blamed himself for not keeping a closer watch on him, for having allowed him to come along, for all of it, even though it seemed quite clear from the letter that he could not truly be held accountable.

You must tell me how I can break this news to da-ge, Jin Guangyao had written. You do not know how it pains me to think of what this will do to him. He will blame me, as I blame myself – I would not mind it even if he beat me; it would help assuage the pain I feel at what has come to pass on my watch. But you know that da-ge has always been suspicious of me beyond all reason, and there are those who ascribe malice to all of my actions: how can I convince him that this result was not something I desired?

Lan Xichen’s first instinct had been to volunteer to break the news to Nie Mingjue himself. It would be painful, seeing his friend’s heart break – he’d seen so many hearts break during the war, his own not least of all at hearing of his father’s death; there were widows and widowers, children losing their parents before their time and white-haired parents burying their black-haired children, brothers and sisters all…this would have been the worst of the lot. But surely it would be better coming from him than any other?

Surely he would be able to calm Nie Mingjue and offer comfort to his grief; yes, better it be him than yet another pointless fight between his two sworn brothers.

There was a draft letter on his desk, half-written, that told Jin Guangyao to wait for him, that he would come, that he would stand by his side so that he wouldn’t have to explain it alone –

He’d never had a chance to finish it.

Who knew how he’d found out, but Nie Mingjue had come to Lanling to collect his brother’s body the very next day. He hadn’t said anything, ignoring greetings and condolences alike, disregarding all offers for him to rest or eat something to recover his strength; he merely picked up Nie Huaisang’s corpse from the coffin it had been tentatively laid to rest in and walked right back out again.

One report claimed that he hadn’t said a word the whole time.

Perhaps there had been another letter, half-written just like his own, on Jin Guangyao’s desk: laying out his worry at Nie Mingjue’s unusual silence, expressing concern for Nie Mingjue’s health – especially given his temperament, which had lately been worsening – and asking for advice…

Lan Xichen would never know, now. Jin Guangyao’s desk at Lanling was very likely ashes, along with any letter that it might have contained – Jin Guangyao himself, too, was likely…

There was a disturbance in the air, and Lan Xichen raised his head.

A single figure approached, the familiar shape unmistakable.

Alone.

Lan Xichen’s fingers tightened for a moment, and then released.

Lan Xichen waited until Nie Mingjue had jumped down from his saber, Baxia obediently returning to his back – his back, not his hand, which he supposed was a good sign, just as coming without his army was a good sign. It meant that there was still room to talk.

Nie Mingjue didn’t do anything after that, though: he did not greet Lan Xichen at all, a minor breach of etiquette that Lan Xichen would have been amused by if he hadn’t heard of far worse breaches by Nie Mingjue lately, not merely of etiquette but even of basic morality, of righteousness itself, of the laws of war that Nie Mingjue had once valued so highly…

Eventually, the silence became too much, and so Lan Xichen spoke first. “You took longer to come here than I expected.”

The stories said that anyone who could have had anything to do with Nie Huaisang’s death was being hunted – anyone who benefited, anyone who stood by and did nothing, anyone related in any way at all. Most certainly anyone who was involved in setting it up.

By that standard, Nie Mingjue should have come here much faster.

After all, it had been Lan Xichen who had urged Nie Huaisang to visit Lanling, knowing that Jin Guangyao wanted to see him, knowing, too, that his sworn brother hoped to use his kindness towards the little brother as a means of appeasing the elder; it was he who had convinced Nie Mingjue to allow the visit, he who paved the path that had led to Nie Huaisang’s dead end –

If Nie Huaisang had truly been murdered, and Jin Guangyao in fact the culprit, the way the stories said – the stories that must be wrong – then the very next one to blame would be Lan Xichen himself.

“We were friends,” Nie Mingjue said, and Lan Xichen winced involuntarily at the inclusion of the word that meant that it was something that had been in the past, and was no longer.

Nie Mingjue wasn’t angry in the way Lan Xichen would have found familiar: rage that consumed him, yelling and harsh gestures, even breaking things around him. His voice was heavy as stone and just as indifferent, and looking into his eyes – if Lan Xichen couldn’t sense his friend’s overwhelming yang energy, same as it ever was, he might have thought that it was Nie Mingjue who had died instead of Nie Huaisang.

“How sure are you?” Lan Xichen asked, rather than deal with that – with what that meant. With the suggestion that Nie Mingjue would have preferred to spare him, for their past friendship, but that in the end he had decided that he couldn’t.

With the suggestion that it was, in fact, still Nie Mingjue underneath there: the old familiar one, who argued long and loud that principle should be the most important thing – more than friendship, more than mercy, more than anything, except maybe the overriding principles of filial duty and familial responsibility.

It wasn’t some demon who had grown out of a broken heart, some possession or afflicted temperament; it wasn’t even a qi deviation that twisted a good man’s character into something else.

It was Nie Mingjue, who had once been his friend.

“How sure are you that it was him that caused it?” he asked again. It was pointless to argue in Jin Guangyao’s defense one final time, futile, his friend was dead, as dead as Nie Huaisang was, but perhaps it could help him rescue this friend from his madness – or rescue Lan Xichen and his sect from the man’s blade. Nie Mingjue’s paranoia had been worsening recently, along with his temperament, but Lan Xichen had never dreamed it would end up like this. “That it was – that it was intentional, malicious? They say you never asked for an explanation, so how can you be certain that –”

“I am sure,” Nie Mingjue said. “There can be no doubt. Men lie. Sabers don’t.”

Lan Xichen frowned. “I don’t understand.”

“Huaisang had his saber with him when died,” Nie Mingjue said - explaining, patient, the way he was in the best of times. He didn’t seem like the insane killer that had destroyed an entire sect, and it certainly didn’t seem as though he were about to try to stab him with Baxia.

Lan Xichen might have preferred that. He didn’t know what to do with a Nie Mingjue as indifferent as the dead.

“I told you long ago that the Nie sect buries sabers, not people, and I told you why,” Nie Mingjue continued. “I told you about the saber spirits, how they long to destroy evil…Huaisang was a terrible cultivator, but he’s still a Nie, he still has a golden core, and his saber has a spirit, however weak, that is capable of desiring vengeance. Why would I bother asking a nest of snakes to lie to me? His saber knew what his final moments were like.”

Lan Xichen shuddered, realizing what that meant. “You – saw them?”

“I did.”

“You saw Huaisang die,” Lan Xichen repeated, the horror of it afresh: bad enough that Nie Mingjue’s brother had died – the thought of losing Lan Wangji causing an automatic burst of empathetic pain – but to think that Nie Mingjue had watched, had seen it the way he’d seen his father’s final moments…no wonder the man had lost his mind and morals. “And…A-Yao…you saw him…?”

“We three swore an oath not to betray each other, or to give aid to anyone who did,” Nie Mingjue said. “All of us, the three of us – do you remember? Whoever did so would face a thousand accusing fingers, be torn from limb to limb…do you remember?”

“I remember,” Lan Xichen said.

“I am here,” Nie Mingjue said, and his tone was still indifferent, still like stone, “in fulfillment of that oath.”

Lan Xichen’s fingers tightened around Shuoyue. “You blame me.”

Nie Mingjue did not respond, but then, he didn’t need to. It was Lan Xichen who insisted, time and time again, that Jin Guangyao be trusted – it was he who had arranged the entire outing. It had been his idea…at Jin Guangyao’s suggestion, yes, but he had accepted the idea and presented it as his own.

He had done it because he’d known Nie Mingjue would have refused if it had come from Jin Guangyao directly.

Jin Guangyao had known that, too. Had he – on purpose –

No. Surely not. The A-Yao he’d known would never have done that.

But – this wasn’t merely paranoia or dislike, the way he thought it would be based on Jin Guangyao’s fears in his letter. No: Nie Mingjue claimed to have seen it. And whatever he had seen, it had given him the certainty he required to take his saber to the entire Jin sect, man and woman alike, in a night attack of the sort he’d refused to wage even against the Wens, who he hated. A vicious attack, like a dog that had lost all reason.

Lan Xichen didn’t know what to believe.

“I understand your grief,” Lan Xichen said, and he did. If it had been Wangji… “Did you have to kill them all?”

“Kill the chicken to warn the monkey,” Nie Mingjue said simply. “No sect will ever style themselves as the inheritor of the Wens, whether in power or in willingness to – to sacrifice those they see as unnecessary, as a matter of politics.”

“And my sect? Let us say that I would acknowledge my guilt, and set down my sword – must they share my fate?”

“If I had not trusted in the reputation of the Lan sect, would I have believed you and let my enemy through the gates? Would Huaisang be dead now, if not for the renowned truthfulness of the Lan sect?”

Lan Xichen closed his eyes. “If you will not spare my sect, I cannot set down my sword.”

“I’m sorry, Xichen. You had to learn one day that there are things for which an apology is not enough.”

Nie Mingjue genuinely looked saddened by it all; that was the worst of it. It would hurt him to fight Lan Xichen, to kill him; it would stain his soul to kill his sect, who he’d loved almost like a second home.

Still, it was not a surprise. Lan Xichen knew his friend too well: from the moment Nie Mingjue had decided to cast off his righteousness, to lift his saber in revenge, he would never have spared himself the consequences of that decision – that one of the men he’d have to kill would be his own friend, that he would be the one who burned down the Cloud Recesses this time.

The massacre at the Jin sect was an atrocity, but one that could be understood. The rest of it…even Nie Mingjue would never forgive himself for what he was about to do here. He would do it regardless, because he believed it had to be done, and when the work was done, Nie Huaisang avenged in a world filled with blood, Baxia’s last victim would very likely be Nie Mingjue himself.

Lan Xichen didn’t want to see that.

He didn’t know how to stop it, either.

He exhaled, hard, and stood up, unsheathing Shuoyue. “Then we fight.”

“Yes,” Nie Mingjue said, and Baxia came to his hand; the steel seemed to glow red as if anticipating the blood it would soon draw. Baxia only did that in the presence of evil – it seemed Nie Mingjue’s saber agreed with the man’s assessment of the situation; Lan Xichen had been judged guilty, and sentenced accordingly. “We fight.”

part 3 here

#mdzs #lan xichen #nie mingjue #jin guangyao #nie huaisang #my fic #my fics #yes there will be more of this don't worry #Anonymous #blackened nmj

[scxrlettwxtches]

wounded hearts | bang chan

Genre: angst/fluff, royal au

Warnings: mentions of violence

Word Count: ~2.3k

Description: When Chan saw caught you sneaking back into battle after he had specifically told you not to, he was less than pleased. Why couldn’t you just understand that he wanted nothing more than for you to be safe? 

A/N: bcs im a sucker for prince/knight dynamics :) :) as always, my ask box and my messages are open to anyone who wants to talk!! i’m always here, even when i’m not updating. love y’all! <3

The door swung open with a furious bang, alerting the maids in the room of the man’s presence. 

“Your Highness!” They stammered hasty greetings and bows, overwhelmed by the prince who had just walked in, still clad in full armor. His dark curls were soaked in sweat, and the expression on his face was murderous. 

“Everyone, get out,” his voice was low, deep, borderline threatening. 

The healer shifted uncomfortably, “Sire, the lady isn't completely-”

“It's fine, Yeri,” a feminine, yet strong, voice sounded from the back of the room, causing the prince to look up quickly. You were sprawled on a long sofa, seemingly relaxed, but Chan could tell that you were as wired as you would’ve been in battle. Your chestplate and shirt were both removed, leaving you in nothing but a tightly wound bandage around your upper body and some loose trousers. 

“But-”

“It's fine,” you repeated firmly before looking up at the prince with a piercing gaze. It was quiet and controlled, but there was no doubt of your fury, “He has a lot of explaining to do.” The healer hesitated for a second more before bowing her head and ushering the rest of the servants out, leaving the two of you alone. 

The silence between the two felt louder than the screams of pain that could be heard in the fighting below. Chan’s gaze was hard and steely, but yours was just as cold. 

“What the hell, Chan.”

“Y/N, I know you’re upset--”

“Upset?” you hissed disbelievingly as your temper flared, “Upset can’t even begin to cover it. You locked me in my room,” 

“It’s only until you’re heal-” 

“I'm fine!” you snarled, but you didn’t fling herself at him like she normally did. You didn’t get up in his face, yelling at him and making your point crystal clear until he understood your perspective. You stayed on the couch, a defeat that showed just how much you wound was bothering you, especially so after you had snuck out and aggravated it even further. 

“I'm okay. I should be out there,” you spat bitterly, pointing towards the window, where a war between powers was raging outside, “I should be there with you, watching your back and supporting your claim like any vice commander should.”

Chan’s battle hardened stare wavered, his resolve weakening every moment he lay eyes on your broken state. And, since you know him better than he knows himself, your eyes narrowed as you picked up on his hesitation.  

“What's wrong?”

The prince sighed, “What if Jaebum’s right? What if this was a pointless battle?”

You gaped at him, and your blank stare hurt more than any of your heated words could. Chan knew you believed in him more than anyone else in the world. He knew you had followed him into war when he raised the banner of revolution not because you cared about his claim to the throne, but because you cared about him. 

“Why would you say that?” You asked, your voice even softer than a whisper. 

“I don't know, maybe I think I should've never started this war in the first place.” Chan didn’t--couldn’t--meet your gaze as he continue, “All it has done is set the kingdom into civil war, and people are suffering because of this.”

“You must be joking. You’ve never bat an eye when we’ve lost battles before. Why is this time any different?” 

Chan squeezed his eyes shut at his best friend's accusing tone, but the hesitation was growing, festering beneath his skin as his brain replied that particular moment over and over, “I’m serious.”

“Have you forgotten what we promised to each other? Why we started a war with your goddamn family?”

“But maybe he's right. Jaebum-hyung was always-”

“Jaebum changed!” You snarled in frustration, about to sit up in anger, but a look of pain flashed across your face as the wound on your abdomen pulsed. Chan instinctively reached towards you at the sign of your agonized expression, and not even your glare could stop him this time.

He placed a hand near your wound and the other on the back of your neck in order to gently lower you back into a comfortable position. It was so difficult to look you in the eye, especially since he knew exactly what sort of face you would be making.

“I can't believe after everything, you take his side.”

Chan grit his teeth, still looking at the bandages around your stomach, “This isn't about sides.”

“We're in a war, Chan! Everything is about sides!” You pushed yourself up again, this time successfully. Chan looked up in surprise, words of concern on the tip of his tongue as you spoke, “I can't believe you. You lock me in my room like a misbehaving child, then I find out that you're abandoning what we've been fighting for-”

“You could've died!” Chan shouted, his voice echoing in the chamber. Your eyes widened in shock as your best friend cupped your face in his hands, the scene replaying in his head as he looked into your eyes. Your cry of pain as a spear punctured your side, his brother’s emotionless expression as you fell to the ground.

He buried his head in your bare shoulder, “You could've died,” Chan repeated softly, his voice breaking, “I almost lost you. If you hadn't moved, Jaebum would've-he would’ve killed you.”

“But he didn’t,” you shifted your arms to put one hand on his arm and the other through his damp hair, “You think you could get rid of me that easily?”

Chan’s heart did a painful lurch as he gripped your shoulders, “Don’t make jokes like that, please. I-i would never want to get rid of you. I can’t do this--I can’t lose you.” he pleaded, looking into your eyes to convey the brunt of how much he desperately needed you to be safe. Needed you by his side. 

“Channie, you won’t lose me,” you spoke softly, patting his cheek lightly, but the prince wasn’t reassured.

“You can’t make promises like that and then sneak back into battle with a hole in your stomach,” Chan argued, still remembering the way his heart had dropped to the floor when he saw you cutting down soldiers as if you weren’t ordered to be out of commission for at least two weeks. 

“I’m sorry, I won’t do that again,” you appeased his concern gently, “I was just worried about you. You’re always my utmost priority.”

“And you are mine,” Chan replied immediately, “so please look after yourself, if not for you then for my sanity.”

You didn’t reply for a long moment, but you eventually averted your eyes and nodded. Chan was far from convinced, but he knew this was the most he’d get from you. As his hands continued to rub gentle circles on your bare shoulders, you let your head fall back into the couch pillows, exhaling with effort.

Chan felt the panic rising again, “Are you alright? Is anything hurting?” he asked urgently. 

“Well, of course everything hurts,” you chuckled, although the light sheen of sweat on your face did nothing to calm the prince down, “But it’s nothing out of the ordinary. I’m just a little tired, that’s all.”

He gave you a quick look over, assessing the state of your wounds, “It can’t be comfortable on the couch.”

You did your best to shrug, “It’s not uncomfortable, but I prefer my bed.” 

Without another question, Chan slipped his hands around your waist and your legs, carrying you bridal style towards a luxurious bed on the other side of the room, ignoring the indignant sputters and death threats (“Put me down before-so help me God- I’ll shove my rapier up your ass!”). He placed you down with extreme gentleness, even going as far as to tuck you in, comfortably swathing you in thick blankets.

You sent him a suspicious look and puffed your cheeks out, “You’re being sort of weird.”

Chan froze at the side of his bed where he was in the process of pouring you some water, “What do you mean?”

“You‘re super nice today, even though I disobeyed your orders.”

“I just don’t feel like yelling at you today,” Chan replied tiredly, setting down the cup of water beside the bed, “I’ll take my leave and let you rest—”

“Ah, wait!” you scrambled clumsily, trapped by the covers, reaching out to grab his hand. Your fingers managed to snag his sleeve, but you had momentarily forgotten that you were supposed to exercise minimal movement, and a groan of pain left your lips.

Chan made a noise of annoyance, “Do you want to open your wounds again?” he snapped, immediately fussing around you to make sure you were comfortable. 

You raised both your arms towards him, “Stay with me, please?” you asked hopefully, looking up at him with eager eyes. Chan gulped. You were not playing fair. Puppy eyes were off limits. You’ve discussed this before. 

A short staring contest ensued before the prince gave a hopeless sigh, and walked away from the bed. You let out an offended noise of disbelief before realizing that he was unbuckling the straps of his armor. With a grunt, he pulled the heavy metal over his head and onto a nearby table, leaving him in a flowy, white shirt and black pants.

“What? I’m not lying down wearing that bulky crap,” Chan muttered grumpily, stomping back to the bedside with a slight blush across his face, and nudged you with a gentle force, “Scoot over a bit.” you smiled triumphantly, letting him maneuver you closer to the center of the bed.

Chan slipped under the covers beside you, pulling you towards him. You hummed contentedly as you lay your head on his shoulder, his arm snaking around you protectively. The two of you basked in the short peace you always found with each other, forgetting everything the screaming and the pain just for a little while.

“That night, I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you.”

Chan felt you tense immediately, “Channie...” you began hesitatingly, “you know we can’t.”

He recoiled slightly, the pain of your rejection like a dagger being slowly pushed into his heart, “Do you not feel the same?”

You bit your lip, eyes wavering, “You know it’s not that.”

“Then why?” he pressed, his hold on you tightening slightly, “What’s stopping us?”

“You’re a prince!” You exclaimed disbelievingly, “I’m your servant, Chan. I can be your confidante, your best friend, but never your lover.”

“We don’t have to live by the rules society has placed upon us,” Chan pleaded with you, but understanding your hesitation. You had served him ever since the two of you were mere children. It had been ingrained in your very being that you lived to serve him and only to serve him.

“I don’t care. I don’t care what people say. I don’t care what they think. To hell with all of it,” Chan whispered into your hair, “Nothing in the world can convince me that you’re not worthy of me, especially since I already know you’re more than anything I could ever ask for.” 

He gazed down at your smaller figure, brushing some stray hairs away from your face, “If we win—when we win—I want you to be there by my side. Not behind me as my servant, but beside me as my queen.” 

“Chan, you can’t be-”

“I am, Y/N,” he laughed, hand still gently caressing your cheek, “I am completely serious.”

You flushed in embarrassment, and swatted the prince’s chest, “You’re not!” you whined, “Stop laughing! This isn’t funny!” 

Chan chuckled at your despair, pinching your red cheeks before sobering, “Alright, alright. I am serious though,” he looked at you lovingly, the arm still around your shoulders pulling you closer, “When this is all over, marry me.”

You gaped at him in shock, “You’re just going to propose to me? Like this?”

“I’ve known you all my life, do you really need anything fancier?”

“Well—no, of course I don’t care about that stuff,” you agreed, and Chan couldn’t help but giggle. You had never caught on to the flamboyant proposals of the higher class, and he had been on the receiving end of your angry rants for years. By this point, he knew exactly what you liked, what you wanted from the person you loved.

You looked up at Chan, still struggling to comprehend what he had just said, “You mean this right?”

“I mean it now, and I’ll mean it for the rest of my life.”

“Can I at least have a ring?” you asked jokingly, but Chan was prepared.

He shifted in the bed to sit up, “It’s in my room,” he replied, hands ready to pull the covers away from him, “If you want it, I can grab it now. I’ve actually had the ring for years, but there was just never a right time and-“

“Oh, Channie,” you laughed, reaching up to pull him towards you, giving him a gentle kiss on the lips and sending Chan’s brain into overdrive. Your eyes sparkled as you gazed at him, “I was only kidding, I don’t need that to give you an answer.” 

“Sure,” Chan stared at her blankly, dazed from the unexpected kiss that lingered on his lips, causing you to grin. As you tugged as his shirt to pull him closer to you, Chan complied easily as your hands went to his face and his lips pressed against yours. Your fingers were calloused and bruised from endless fighting, but Chan never knew a more comforting feeling than when your fingers brushed his jawline delicately. 

He wrapped his arm around your waist, adjusting their position as to hold you as close as possible without aggravating your injuries. You ran your hands into his messy locks, smiling with a tenderness he’d rarely seen gracing your face as you said adoringly. 

“Of course I’ll marry you, Channie.” 

#stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #stray kids reactions #stray kids #bang chan imagines #my fics

[ainsleymorgan]

『MARILYN LIMA ❙ DEMIGIRL』 ⟿ looks like AINSLEY MORGAN is here for HER SOPHOMORE year as a COMPUTER SCIENCE student. SHE is 20 years old & known to be ORGANIZED, BENEVOLENT, INDECISIVE & OBSTINATE. They’re living in NOLAND, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ lexi. 23. pst. she/hers. 

we’re back at it again folks! this gal has been bopping around my head for a good long while now - i apologize if this is an incoherent mess. give this a little like and i’ll slide into ur dm’s to plot smth ok ily

stats

— background. (death tw, grief tw, cancer tw)

The Morgans have a long, complicated history. Margaret and Callum meet near the end of college (she’s studying English, he lives in town) and fall rapidly in love. The only problem? Margaret’s engaged to her high school sweetheart. When Margaret ends up pregnant, she pretends like it’s her fiancee’s and has a shotgun wedding. Callum goes off to join the army and pretend like his heart wasn’t just shattered in two.

Years pass - Margaret gets her PhD in English and has another kid (this time with her actual husband). Callum leaves the army, gets married too (and widowed a few years later), has some kids of his own. But then they run into each other at a bar in a city far away from the last one they were in together, and it’s like nothing ever changed.

The two get married almost immediately after the divorce papers are signed, and have two more kids almost immediately after that. Margaret becomes an English professor, and Callum’s content with taking care of the gaggle of children their blended family has produced. 

Five years after the last set of kids, Ainsley and her brother Tristan are born. They’re just as unplanned as their eldest sister was, but no less loved. 

They quickly become the apple of the entire family’s eye, doted upon by their army of older siblings. The twins are late to walking, so they get taken to the pediatrician, who says that they’re so used to being carried everywhere by their family that they haven’t felt the need to walk yet. They’re set down more often, and quickly catch up to be able to run after their brothers and sisters.

Ainsley and Tristan are attached at the hip. Despite the attention from the rest of their family, the two maintain that specific bond only twins can. They make up a language that only they can understand, and throw tantrums whenever they’re out of eyesight of each other. 

They’re happy kids, bright and bubbly. And loud. The house is always filled with screams and laughter. It’s an idealistic life, a perfect family.

DEATH TW // There’s an accident when the twins are nearly five. Nobody knows what happened - they swear they were watching the kids splashing in the lake - but suddenly, Tristan’s gone. His body is found in the water later that day. // END TW

GRIEF TW // Ainsley’s too young to understand what’s going on when they bury him. She gets quiet and shy, a once bubbly little girl drawing in on herself. All she knows is that her best friend is gone, and now there’s nobody to actually talk to.

They move soon after, to a town called Lovell, when Margaret gets a job at the local university. It’s something the family needs, after Tristan, and they hope that the change will help Ainsley open back up again.

She doesn’t, not for a while. She’s thrust into kindergarten, in a new town without her twin there to keep her grounded. Her teachers worry about her social skills - she seems to prefer painting or doodling to playing on the playground with her classmates. But slowly, surely, she starts opening up again as Lovell becomes home. // END TW

The Morgans decide that they like Lovell, and that they’re going to stay. They buy a nice house in a quiet neighborhood, with big trees for the kids to climb on. Ainsley breaks her leg falling out of one when she’s seven (she still has the scar on her knee from where a branch snagged). 

As the kids get older and start moving out of the house, Callum decides he needs a project. He’s always loved cooking and restaurants. So he decides to buy one. Calls it the Main Street Diner (not very creative, but it tells you right where it is!), and starts really integrating himself into the Lovell community.

Ainsley spends nearly every afternoon there, sitting at the corner of the counter after school. Her siblings are old enough to babysit, but they’ve hit their moody teenage phase, and Ainsley wants nothing to do with it. Her mom’s either teaching or grading papers or reading, and that’s boring to a nine-year-old. So diner it is.

She spends most of her time at the counter drawing or painting. Each one is proudly displayed on the wall, marking her progress over time. 

Sometimes she helps with little tasks, like sorting silverware or wiping down tables. Eventually, when she hits high school, she graduates to waiting tables to make some money of her own.

When it comes time to think about college, Ainsley decides she wants to go as far away from Lovell as possible. She knows everything and everyone in town - even some of the Radcliffe students who frequent the diner. Ainsley wants something new and interesting. 

She looks at schools in California, eventually gets accepted to UCLA. Ainsley packs her bags and flies across the country. She learns to miss the comforts of home, but enjoys the independence being on the other side of the continent gives her.

CANCER TW // Halfway through her first year at UCLA, Ainsley gets a call from her mom. Dad’s sick, she says. Cancer. 

Ainsley drops everything and moves back home. She takes a semester off of school to help take care of her dad while her mom continues teaching. He gets better, goes into remission, but there’s still the lingering fear that it’ll come back, that it’ll be worse, that she’ll lose him too. // CANCER TW

So she decides to transfer to Radcliffe. It’s local, in case anything happens, but she can still live in the dorms to keep some semblance of independence. And she gets to go for essentially free. She starts working at the diner again, to keep an eye on her dad, though she claims it’s just to make money. It’s a good set-up, for now.

— personality.

Ainsley is super artistic. Literally constantly drawing or writing or doing something creative. There’s usually paint somewhere on her clothes, regardless of how new the clothing is.

Also has this Thing against making her hobby her career, which is why she’s a computer sciences major rather than an arts major. She grew up watching her mom and dad turn their passions into their jobs, which seemed stressful and like it took some of the fun out of it. So she said no thanks.

She still really enjoys computers and coding - mainly web design. Hopes to become a full-time web designer after college, while throwing in some of the graphic design portions of web designing to sprinkle some of the artsy aspects of her personality.

Despite being a computer sciences major and pretty good with technology, she definitely prefers going analog in most of her life. Writes everything down rather than typing it into her phone or laptop, and goes through a million journals (also owns a million more blank ones).

This bitch definitely bullet journals.

Is a fairly organized person, but her room? An absolute mess. Ainsley says it’s an aesthetic mess (it’s not).

The only part she takes care of is the collection of plants on her windowsill. One of her notebooks is dedicated to their care schedule, and notes on how they’re doing.

Her bag is basically Mary Poppins’ tote, but make it a beat-up Fjallraven she bought during a 50% off sale three years ago. Has literally anything you could ever need in it. Paper, pens, snacks, water, first aid kit, you name it. Need some superglue or a needle and thread? Ask Ainsley.

Is simultaneously super indecisive and super stubborn. Will take a thousand years to decide on something, but once she’s picked it, she’s stuck on it. 

Will die on any hill she feels remotely attached to.

That being said, she’s not a super aggressive person. Is actually pretty calm, still quieter than she was before Tristan. The human equivalent of a warm blanket.

Also super gay. So so gay. 

(But she’s never been with a girl bc she’s got issues w feeling worthy of romantic attention!! Or any attention!!)

This bitch needs to go to therapy.

— wanted connections.

aka the part im so bad at

Where my Lovell locals at?

Friends - pls give this cinnamon roll ppl to fawn over she loves her friends !!

Enemies - idk if she’d think of them as an enemy but let ppl be mean to her so she can be kind of mean back

Crushes - either on her or ppl for her to crush on !! she will pine until the day she dies !!

idk what else im bad at this just love me and love Ainsley

#radintro #// god this is long and probably incoherent im so sorry #death tw #grief tw #cancer tw

[untruthsteller]

Oh Shit it's P5 headcanon time

#Persona 5 #akira kusuru #ann takamaki #yusuke kitagawa #ryuji sakamoto #Morgana #p5 #headcanons #i'll have more for the other babes when i get further #i only just met goro and i hardly know nijima #and sae can fight me out behind the arby's #and i feel bad for the coffee man but he's very face value for me

[blaerbear]

So there was this Mass Effect Andromeda 30 day countdown thing going around that I never bothered to start because I was lazy but now that the hype is hitting me full force, I’ve decided to be self indulgent and catch up with it for the final days. I’ll put it under the cut bc it’s long lol

30 Days: Will you play SisRyder or BroRyder first? Why? How does your Ryder define their gender?

Definitely SisRyder because I always play as a girl if the option is given to me. She identifies as a cis female. 

29 Days: What is your Ryder’s name? Why did you pick this name - is there a meaning or origin story behind it? Do they go by any nicknames? What would you name their sibling, father and mother if you were able to choose?

Tobin Ryder! She is named after my favorite soccer player. If I could name her brother, his name would be Christian. Her father’s name stays Alec, and her mother was Elizabeth. Tobin doesn’t go by any nicknames. 

28 Days: Are you going to use the default appearance or create a custom Ryder? If custom, describe your Ryder’s physical appearance (hair color, eye color, skin color, height, weight, facial features, any scars or tattoos, racial origin, etc). If you have art and/or a face-claim, feel free to add them here.

I���m gonna create a custom character, but she will look relatively similar. The ponytail style works for Tobin because she used to play sports and got used to tying it up. She has brown eyes and light freckles on her face. Honestly her face claim is prolly just gonna be Tobin Heath, who she is named after, with some slight differences ofc.

27 Days: Are you going to use the default appearance for Ryder’s sibling or customize them? Describe your ideas for their sibling’s and father’s physical appearance.

I will prolly keep her brother as the default since I think he looks fine. But if Tobin ends up looking a lot different than I pictured, I might tinker with his look a bit. 

26 Days: Do you have a specific class profile or mix of class profiles in mind for Ryder?

Def Vanguard. She picks up some infiltrator abilities due to her desire to learn how to fire a sniper rifle. She’s not used to hanging back and timing her shots, so it’s sort of a goal for her.

25 Days: Describe Ryder’s favorite combat style. Bioware call Peebee a “gunslinger” and describe Liam as a “close-range fighter” - how would you describe Ryder’s combat role/strengths? What are some of their favorite biotic/tech/other abilities?

She could definitely be considered like a bulldozer. She loves getting in people’s faces and taking them head on. She’s very impatient on the battlefield, so she really likes using abilities like biotic charge that allow her to zoom up to her enemy real quick.

24 Days: Which squadmates do you think will best compliment Ryder’s combat style? Alternatively, who do you plan to take out most in the field?

Companions like Vetra or Cora would prolly compliment her style well since they seem much more tactical. 

23 Days: Which weapons or category of weapons will Ryder prefer? Describe their favorite loadout.

She is absolutely in love with shotguns and never leaves the ship without one. It’s short-ranged and powerful and she couldn’t ask for anything better. She also really takes to melee weapons like the asari swords. 

22 Days: Will Ryder craft? What are you most excited about crafting? Do you have any names in mind already for weapons?

Tobin takes really good care of her weapons, so she’ll definitely be adding modifications to them rather quickly. She also unironically likes really edgy names, so she carries around a shotgun she named “Krogan’s Fury.” 

21 Days: What are Ryder’s personality traits? Describe 5 strengths and 5 flaws.

She’s very outgoing and friendly, but she’s also laid back in a sense that she doesn’t get shaken or worried very easily (unless it involves her brother). She’s a great friend, and will listen to anyone when they need her. But she also has no filter and often says things without thinking them through. She also has trouble focusing, which ended up affecting her performance in school. Despite that, she can come across as a bit too cocky.

20 Days: What first impressions does Ryder tend to give people? Do they have any ‘odd’ or specific mannerisms, habits or other quirks? How do they present and carry themselves?

She gives off a jock vibe. Some people have it in their heads that she’s not too bright since she values sports and is generally pretty loud. She also walks with her head up high, which puts some people off. But once people get to know her, she’s almost universally liked because she’s an easy person to be yourself around.

19 Days: Where would Ryder fall in the classic Paragon/Renegade morality system? What would their D&D alignment be? If you know their personality type in any personality typing systems (such as MBTI and Enneagram - you can find various type descriptions and tests using Google), feel free to add and discuss them here.

Tobin would fall closer to Paragon because she truly wants to help humanity and all those in need. When a situation involves her friends, she occasionally makes rash decisions when things could have been solved peacefully. I would consider her to be Neutral Good. 

18 Days: What qualities does Ryder like and dislike in other people? Are there any things they particularly appreciate or can’t stand?

She doesn’t take too well to people who think they’re above everyone else and assert their opinions when no one asked. She tends to make the closet bonds to those quieter than her. When she was younger, she grew up with sports teams full off outgoing girls like her, so she learned to appreciate those who are more lowkey. But she still gets along with others like her since they tend to share her same enthusiasm. 

17 Days: List some of Ryder’s favorite things - colors, food, music, etc. Is there anything of this nature that they hate? Do they have any hobbies or skills outside of combat?

She loves music and she’s quite gifted musically.  Along with her brother, she has a naturally good voice, and they often sing with each other to lift their friends moods and overall have a good time. Tobin is also particularly attached to soccer and will practice shooting whenever she can. When she’s aboard the Nexus, it’s the one thing she misses most. 

16 Days: How would Ryder define their sexuality?

She’s gay and has known it all her life. Her brother is bisexual, but he came out at a much older age.

15 Days: Delve into the Ryder family background - how is/was their relationship with their father, sibling and mother? Do they get along, hero worship, close twin connection, sibling rivalry, was it strained, was it distant, etc.

Both Tobin and Christian have never gotten along with their father. They always found him too uptight, and he never seemed to have time to devote to them. When their mother died, Tobin used her sports as an excuse to say away from home as much as possible so she wouldn’t have to be stuck around her father. She is, however, extremely close with her brother. They were each other’s best friends after their mother died, and their bond grows stronger with each passing day. 

14 Days: Describe some important or formative events in Ryder’s history. How did these impact and shape them?

Honestly, the death of their mother shaped them the most. After she was gone, they had no one they could hide behind. They were forced to grow up because they knew their father wouldn’t bother making an effort to care for them. They elevated each other into who they are today.

13 Days: Why did Ryder join the Alliance military? Later on, what were Ryder’s reasons for signing up to the Andromeda Initiative? Were they seeking adventure (or glory, or a challenge), wanting a new start, running from something, following their family, trying to secure a future for humanity, did they simply feel railroaded into it, etc.

She wanted to get away. After a while, it felt as though there was no more room to grow while stuck on the Citadel. She wanted to test herself, prove that she had the potential to be great. At first, she wasn’t too happy her father was chosen to be the Pathfinder, but she soon realized that she would be able to prove her worth to him through this journey. She signed up as fast as she could.

12 Days: How will Ryder feel upon waking up from cryo? Relieved, excited, scared, impatient to get going, lost, etc.

She’s disoriented but excited. She’s ready to explore their new world, make a name for herself. However, that excitement turns to uncertainty once she realizes her brother hasn’t awakened. Tobin believes in herself deep down, but this is a big new thing and for all the major hurdles in her life, she has had Christian by her side. It takes adjustments for sure.

11 Days: Once in Andromeda, what are Ryder’s goals? What drives them?

Proving to herself that she can be what humanity needs to find a new world. The closer she becomes to her squadmates, the more she strives for success because she wants a bright future for them as well.

10 Days: Will Ryder ever miss the Milky Way? What things and places will they miss most?

A part of her will always miss the Milky Way. It was her home, and her fondest memories (her mother) will remain in the galaxy forever. She also misses the old soccer field she played on with her friends. But at the end of the day, she doesn’t regret her decision to join the Andromeda Initiative, and she elects to make new memories that are just a good.

#blaer talks