#before you ask yes I know there's also animated characters I missed
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Infected
Miguel O'Hara X F!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info
Summary: An accident at one of Alchemax’s labs has led to Miguel being briefly contaminated with cA1m - a prototype drug that is meant to calm animals. However it seems to have a very different effect in humans.
A/N: A massive thank you to @midgardian-witch for reading the beginning of this (catching a hilarious typo), making some excellent suggestions, and reassuring me that I hadn’t just lost my mind completely (yet).
Reader doesn’t know Miguel’s spiderman.
Warnings: dubious consent - it’s basically a sex pollen fic, blood, hair pulling (can I write a fic without an Oscar Isaac character getting their hair pulled?), so much cum, hand job, oral (both m and f receiving), things get a little rough, face fucking, cum eating, biting, scratching, p in v sex, typos, please let me know if I’ve missed a warning!
Word Count: 5433
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“It’s mainly preliminary.” You said with a smile. “You weren’t in the room, but the filtration system links four of the labs.”
You check over Miguel’s notes, so far, he didn’t have any symptoms.
There had been an ‘accident’ in Lab B2, an accident that was being rapidly looked into. Lab B1, and B4 had been empty, but Miguel had been in B3.
Miguel was currently in a rapidly repurposed testing room, sitting on the bed with his shirt rolled up his forearms. His specific request for somewhere with reinforced walls, doors and windows had been… unusual. But he was a big guy, couldn’t hurt to be too careful.
“How are the others doing?” He asked with a slightly raised eyebrow.
“Okay,” you nodded. There had been eight people in Lab B2 when the container had broken. Two people, like Miguel, weren’t showing any symptoms.
The chemical compound, nicknamed cA1m, while liquid in its storage unit, turned to a gas at above zero degrees. Luckily it also denatured quickly, and there was a good chance that those who still weren’t showing symptoms were unaffected.
The chemical’s intention was for a more humane way to calm wild animals and livestock during veterinary checks. That way the animal in question didn’t need potentially dangerous anaesthetic for basic to mild level medical care.
It also wore off in 24 hours.
However, it still needed some work. And while early tests had gone well, apparently it did not have the desired effect in humans.
Four of the six infected had gone feral, absolutely crazy with rage, trying to kill and destroy everything and everyone within their reach.
Luckily no one had been severely injured before they had been tranquilised.
The other two were different, they had… other urges.
“Have you found any links as to why Doctor Guerrero and Doctor Vaughan didn’t react like the others?” Miguel asks. His voice was calm and controlled, like it always was. Politely interested, like he was listening to a presentation about your latest control data.
“Well, I have an idea. Though I haven’t fully proven it yet.”
He tilted his head to the side in a silent question. The action was endearing, it made your heart flutter and heat rise to your skin. And you hated it so, so much.
You smiled quickly and looked down, trying to cover the fact you’d been staring at him for a second too long.
“So,” you continued, drawing the word out a little to give you a pause of breathing room. “Both Guerrero and Vaughan are in relationships, both of them wanted to,” you pause for a moment, trying to find the most professional way to phrase it. “get to their partners. Unlike the others they also had a massively increased level of oxytocin.”
“Your theory is that that cA1m causes a berserk level of rage unless the subject is in love?” There was the smallest smirk on his lips.
It sounded stupid when he put it like that.
“Well… yes.” You fold your arms. “Look, Miguel,” he grinned when you said his name and you fought, and lost, the urge to smile back. “I’ve had fourteen hours and six people to base this off, plus three who are showing no symptoms. Give me a break, yeah?”
He held up his hands playfully. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You gave me a look.”
“What look?” He teased.
“I know you want to be trying to figure this out yourself, but you’re the one who insisted on not being allowed any breakable, or expensive, equipment while you’re in here.”
He smiled. “It’s true.” His gaze was heavy, crushing almost.
You shook your head and turned to the side table. “Anyway, are you gonna let me draw some blood or what?”
He nodded and held his arm out to you.
You know why you had been ‘nominated’ (begged) to be the one to see Miguel. He wasn’t the easiest CEO to work for in the sense that he was both physically and mentally intimidating, but what usually threw most people was that he was quiet, tended to watch and listen.
And he had a bit of resting bitch face.
But he was actually pretty pleasant to talk to when you got to know him.
You brushed your arm against his as you moved to get your equipment. Miguel audibly gasped.
A flash of worry pinched at your mind, you turned to look at him. “You okay?”
Miguel nodded; he was staring straight ahead at the wall. Obviously in distress.
“Miguel?” This wasn’t the same as those who had suddenly developed into a full-blown rage, but still you couldn’t help the sense of apprehension that crawled along your skin. You glanced at the sedative on the side table and shook your head.
“Miguel?” You spoke again, a little softer and moved a step closer towards him.
He shuddered at your voice, screwing his eyes up tightly. Sweat was beading on his forehead, heat rolling off him in waves.
“Miguel, I’m gonna-”
He moved faster than you could comprehend, one second he was sitting on the bed and the next he was looming over you, his hands clenched tightly around your biceps, and forcing you back.
You yelped as he pressed you into the wall, grabbing hold of his forearms.
His eyes were dark and wild, brimming with a terrifying energy.
“Miguel, wh-”
He crashed his lips into yours, swallowing down your words and slipping his tongue into your mouth frantically. It took you a fragment of a second to react, surprise freezing your limbs solid.
Miguel took your delay to his advantage, pushing his knee between your legs and pressing close. Not leaving a fraction of space between you as he devoured your mouth. Stealing your breath and igniting heat along your veins.
“Miguel,” you managed to push him back, the heels of your hands in his chest. This was the cA1m affecting him, it was the only explanation. Maybe the filtration system had diluted the chemical and caused a delayed reaction. “You need to-”
He snarled, his eyes pinpoint focused on you as he leaned forward and kissed you, hard. All tongue and sharp teeth as he wrapped his fingers around the back of your neck and gripped your thigh bruisingly tight, hitching it high on his hip.
You’d had dreams like this, fantasies, where he pinned you to the wall and kissed you until you couldn’t breathe. But you couldn’t do this, you couldn’t take advantage of him like this-
There was a sharp pinch of pain as Miguel sank his teeth into your bottom lip. You let out a small squeak of surprise, pulling away from him. And raised your hand to your mouth, your fingers coming back red.
Miguel, however, seemed unphased as he trailed kisses along your neck, smearing your blood along your skin. He ground his hips into yours, rocking back and forth and- oh god, he was big, just like the rest of him.
“Miguel, you need to,” you swallowed down a whimper as he sucked at your pulse point, just managing to resist the urge to hold him closer, to run your hands through his hair. “It’s the cA1m, you’re not thinking straight.”
He murmured something into your neck, his mouth not leaving your skin far enough for the words to be intelligible.
“Miguel-” You gasped as he nipped at your throat, not enough to break the skin this time.
Heat was burning from his skin, scorching into your body like you were too close to a flame.
You grabbed a fistful of his hair, yanking his head back a fraction too forcefully. You thought the brief pain might snap him out of it, give him a second of clarity. But as his chin tilted upwards, exposing his neck, he let out a long groan, his eyes squeezed shut.
It went straight to your core, your thighs clenching at the sound.
“Need you so bad, shit,” he rocked against you harder, pressing his length right up against your centre. “Always need you, you don’t understand,” he moaned and buried his head back into your neck, despite your grip on his hair, and sucked a love bite into your skin.
This time you couldn’t resist the urge. You sunk your fingers deeper, scratching your nails along his scalp and pulled him closer, pushing his face in your neck.
Miguel groaned appreciatively, digging his sharp nails into your shoulders. He nipped just below your ear, the keen, yet sweet little sting of pain blended with the slow and steady roll of his hips was simply tortuous. Almost enough to make you lose all common sense.
Almost.
You couldn’t do this, you couldn’t do this, you just couldn’t do this.
“Miguel-”
He whined as you said his name.
And you had to bite your lips together in order to hold onto your fading self respect.
“On the table,” you swallowed, trying to get your words out quickly, “there’s a sedative. It’ll help, it’ll-”
“You’ll help, being near you helps.” He mumbles, the words barely audible. He snakes his fingers along your ribs, just teasing the hem of your shirt.
“We just need to-oh!”
Miguel grabs hold of your shirt and pulls, ripping it open, buttons pinging off and going flying. Honestly, there’s less resistance from the material than you expected.
And then he's everywhere, his face buried in your chest, kissing the tops of your breasts as his fingers pinch at your nipples through the thin fabric of your bra.
You can't stop the moan of surprise that escapes your lips as you arch into his touch.
You had to stop this, now. Before he did something you'd very much enjoy and he'd very much regret.
"Fuck," you hiss under your breath and act quickly, trying not to overthink and get yourself caught up.
Maybe if he… had some relief you could grab the sedative in the afterglow. Hell, maybe he wouldn't even need the sedative if he came once.
Before you can lose your nerve you quickly unbuckled his trousers and managed to squeeze your hand under the material despite Miguel's frenzied mind trying to keep the physical space separating you both to a minimum.
He gasps as you touch him, letting out a choked sob that your brain was already committing to memory and filing under 'for use later'.
The velvety soft skin was rock hard and burning hot against your hand. So big that you couldn't even get your fingers fully round his girth.
"Please." He muttered, pressing his forehead against yours, his hands resting tightly on your waist.
His eyes were screwed shut, his mouth slightly open and when you moved your hand, the smallest upwards movement. He let out the sweetest sigh.
You bite your lip and wince as you catch the broken skin, but it doesn’t stop you from tracing your thumb over the tip of him, smearing precome along the head. You were trying to be quick, methodical, clinical, as you began to stroke him, setting an even pace. This was just a problem to solve. You should not be enjoying this.
But every glide of your hand, every touch, made Miguel gasp and moan as if it was the first time he’d ever experienced such sensations, made him bite his lip with his sharp (had they always been that sharp?) teeth, and it was intoxicating.
He pistoned his hips into your touch, thrusting faster and faster, and practically growling as he grew closer to his release.
You couldn’t help but watch him, enraptured, as heat pooled in your lower stomach, your own need growing. But this wasn’t about you.
Still, you couldn’t help yourself rocking back and forth against his leg ever so slightly to just take the edge off.
Miguel grunted, his eyes rolling back in his head, and there was a sharp pinch of pain as he tightened his grip on your waist, his nails digging in much harder than they surely should have been able to.
He swore under his breath as he cums, twitching under your touch, and coating your hand and stomach with his release.
There’s so much of it, far more than there should be as he cums and cums, gasping for air. Another side effect of the cA1m - perhaps you’d be annoyed as his release soaks into your ruined shirt if the sight of him reaching his peak wasn’t exhilarating.
You let go of him quickly, managing to disentangle yourself from him, despite Miguel low, exhausted whine of protest.
God, how were you going to get a new shirt without running into someone? And, you realised, probably a new pair of trousers too. Miguel’s spend had run down and soaked into the left side.
You grabbed the sedative from the side table. Your mind already racing, it wasn’t Miguel’s fault but would he remember? Would he be awkward with you now? Would your little chats and jokes stop? You swallowed down a pang of fear and turned. Now wasn’t the time for what ifs you-
Miguel grabbed your arms and you squeaked in surprise. How could he move so silently? His eyes were dark, hooded with lust, his trousers just hanging from his hips and… well, obviously so much for the idea that him cumming once would be enough.
“I need you.” He growled, his voice so low that you almost felt light headed. “I know you want me too, I can smell it.” He leaned forward scraping his teeth over your pulse point, and for a shameful moment you let yourself get caught up again, allowed yourself to revel in the sensation for the smallest second.
While he was distracted you pushed the needle into his upper arm, through his shirt, and injected the sedative.
It shouldn't take long.
He growled, pulling his mouth away from your neck to stare dangerously into your eyes.
You swallowed. A spike of fear dug into the base of your skull, some ancient urge telling you to run.
“It’s okay,” you said soothingly, unsure if you were really talking to Miguel or yourself. “It’s just the sedative.” You pulled the needle out of his arm. “You’ll be fine, let’s lay you down so-”
He kissed you hungrily, harsh and demanding as he forced his tongue into your mouth.
You allowed yourself to kiss him back the smallest amount as you waited for the sedative to work.
And waited… And waited…
Oh, no, just no, this wasn’t right, this couldn’t be right. There was more than enough in the injection to knock him out and yet he didn’t show any signs of slowing down.
Okay, so, this definitely wasn’t how it went with the others.
You side step, trying to twist past him and break his hold all in one movement. Maybe you could get to the door, maybe you could do… something. Your mind raced, there had to be a way to fix this, to help him, to be useful.
The side step didn’t work, Miguel’s grip was too tight, and you stumbled, skidding around and to your knees. The edge of the bed thumped into your back.
You gasp, gulp and stare up at him. That spike of fear dragging itself down your spine.
He growls and moves closer, his length bobbing and perfectly at your eye level. His gaze is dark and desperate, his bottom lip pinched between his teeth. You could see his pulse thundering in his neck, echoing along the length of his dick.
Rapid heartbeat was one of the side effects all the others had experienced, the sedative being the only thing that had managed to return it to a normaler level.
Maybe there was only one way you could be useful.
Miguel shifts his weight, preparing to move, but you lean forward first and run your tongue along the length of him.
A deep moan rumbles in his chest as you touch him, a gasp of breath. The sound floods heat to your core.
You wrap your lips around the tip, grabbing hold of his hips to pull him closer as you swallow as much of him as you can. You bob your head, encouraging him to move with you and there is a moment where you can feel the tension in his muscles, the strain in his thighs as he tries to hold back, to keep himself in check.
It doesn’t last long.
He snarls and thrusts forward, snapping his hips and nearly choking you. You splutter, trying to breathe through your nose but Miguel doesn’t give you a second to recover. He pushes forward, the back of your head slamming against the edge of the bed as he plunges deeper and deeper into your mouth, hitting the back of your throat with ease and still not even half way in.
Your grip on his hips tightens and you don’t know if you’re trying to pull him away or urging him on.
It burns, the size of him makes your jaw ache, tears roll down the sides of your cheeks from the force of his relentless thrusts.
His hands dig into the mattress by the side of you head, tearing into the fabric as he pounds into you, fucking your mouth with everything he’s got.
He groans, “yes, baby, yes,” his voice low and barely distinguishable as words.
You do your best to just hold on, to breathe and take as much as you can. The sounds of his moans filling your ears and mind, and god, how you wished you didn’t have a gag reflex and could take him deeper.
He keeps ramming into your mouth, snapping his hips against you with a frenzied energy and you push against his lower back, silently begging him to keep going.
Your neck throbs from discomfort, bruising forming where the skin is repeatedly hitting against the hard outline of the bed frame. Your knees burn from where they continuously rub against the floor with every buck and thrust.
Miguel lets out a short, animalistic cry as he cums down your throat suddenly. You moan against him, trying to swallow all of it but there’s just so, so much. It spills out of the side of your mouth and down your chin despite your best efforts.
He leans forward, breathing hard, his cock still in your mouth. And for a second you think this is it, the sedative will take hold or maybe this mindless lust has come to an end.
But he’s still hard when he pulls himself out of your mouth, his eyes still glazed over with the same madness when he looks down at you. He runs his hand over your chin, the pads of his fingers slightly sharp, and collects some of his spend that hasn’t trickled down your neck and onto your torn shirt and bra. Another item of clothing you’d need to change.
He smears his cum along your cheek, the movement possessive, like he was marking his territory.
There’s a pause, the lull in the eye of the storm before he pulls you up from the ground with a shocking display of strength, moving as if you were no heavier than a glass of water he was eager to drink down.
You can’t help the little yelp of surprise that escapes you as he practically throws you onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress and momentarily knocking the air out of your lungs.
But then he’s on top of you, pressing himself firmly between your legs as he growls and snaps his teeth close to your neck. He bites at your throat, hard enough to break the skin and you cry out as the pain quickly disappears into pleasure.
Your mewls only make his actions more frenzied as he tears your clothes completely off you with a speed that makes your head spin, before removing his own. The material rips so easily, as if he used a blade.
He runs his tongue along your chest, messily cleaning up the cum he’d spilt along you just moments before.
“Miguel-” You try to start, but then his mouth is back on yours, tasting like salt and iron as he drinks down your words to leave you breathless.
You gasp as he breaks away, trailing sloppy kisses down your body, his fingers running over your skin and leaving scratches. He bites your hip partially deeply and you keen, arching up into him as he moans.
“Your so fucking sweet.” He mutters before kissing lower and lower and, oh god. You nearly scream as his lips wrap around your clit and he sucks hard. Pleasure coils tight in your belly as a new wave of wetness leaks out and soaks into the torn up sheets beneath you.
His fingers dig into your thighs as he pushes his face into you, only breaking away so that he can lick through your folds hungrily, devouring you like a starving animal.
“Miguel!” You whine, letting out a series of high pitch moans that sound alien even to your own ears.
He sucks your clit once more, his teeth just grazing across it before he snarls and pulls away, pushing the back of your thighs and pressing them against your chest with a crushing strength.
You struggle to take a breath, barely filling your lungs before he’s thrusting into you with a guttural groan and a sharp snap of his hips.
The size of him hurts, it’s too much, too fast and you gasp in pain. You clench your jaw, your eyes screwing up as your hands fly to his shoulders, trying to push him back even though you know it’s no use against his strength.
But he stops instantly, stilling his movements.
You stare up at him in surprise. His eyes are still dark but there’s something else there, something pushing through that lust haze.
“Pain?” He whispers, sounding the most like his old self that he has since this ordeal began.
You swallow and nod, tears building at the corners of your eyes.
He slowly loosens his grip around your thighs, letting go shakily as if it is taking a lot of self control to do so. And while he doesn’t pull out, he doesn’t thrust in deeper either.
Carefully, he manoeuvres your legs down onto the bed either side of him, watching your face for any sign of increased discomfort. It’s only then that he looks down to where you’re joined, completely split open with only a quarter of his length inside.
He groans lows and you brace yourself for a brutal thrust that never comes. Instead he keeps his hips still as he slowly trails his sharp nails down your stomach, teasing the very edge of your clit before pressing his thumb against it fully.
A small moan escapes you and you clench down instinctively. Miguel hums in approval and starts to slowly circle the bundle of nerves, the touch light and soft as he just borders on the edge of losing control.
The pain starts to dissipate quickly, replaced with a steady continuous build of that deep need from before. You start to squirm. The pressure of his thumb isn’t enough and you rock your hips ever so slightly, your breathing hitching in your throat.
"More?" He whispers.
You nod your head rapidly.
“Thank god.” Miguel sighs, the words mumbled like a prayer almost too quietly for you to hear, and lets some of his weakening control slip.
Slowly he pushes further in, the tension shaking in his thighs as he fights with every instinct to pound you into the mattress and turn you into a crying mess beneath him.
He keeps circling your clit, groaning as feels a fresh wave of wetness leaking out of you.
You moan, grabbing hold of his shoulders. But this time you pull him towards you, urging him deeper. God, he’s big. Already it’s like you can feel him in your throat.
The stretch burns, but it’s good, it feels right. Like he is going to reach a whole new devastating part of you. Make you cum so hard that he’ll ruin any other sexual partner for good.
You hook your left leg on his hip and squeeze your calf over his lower back, encouraging him closer, deeper. While you plant your right foot firmly against the bed to rock up against him.
Miguel groans, his eyes closed. His movements on your clit falter as he slides further in.
There’s a sharp pain in your hip where his left hand holds you tight, his nails (it had to be his nails) dug in so deep that they broke your skin.
You let out a soft whine, clenching around his girth as he presses up against you perfectly and still pushes further in. The pleasure in your stomach tightening and starting to completely overwhelm all other thoughts, urging you to just chase your release.
Tears prick again at the corners of your eyes, a soft emotion beating hard in your chest. And you can’t help yourself, you grab hold of the back of Miguel’s neck, pulling him down towards you and arching up at the same time to kiss him hungrily.
He moans into your mouth, pushing back against you and forcing you into the mattress. His hips snap forward, finally sheathing himself completely in your tight, wet heat.
For a moment it’s like you can’t breathe, so completely full that not even air can enter.
Miguel stills, giving you a moment to adjust as he licks into your mouth and groans as your walls squeeze around his length. His pubis bone presses firmly against your clit, and you can feel the echo of his racing heart beat along his skin.
He breaks the kiss to breathe hard, his eyes closed and forehead pressed against yours. “I can’t… I need to…”
“Please,” you answer desperately, kissing him softly as you start to rock your hips ever so slightly.
Miguel lets out a whine, his eyebrows pinched together in bliss and the expression alone is nearly enough to make you cum on the spot.
“Can’t stop,” he mutters and you're not even sure if he’s aware of what he’s saying anymore as he grabs your wrists in either of his hands and pins them to the bed. “Feels so…” He ruts into you, pulling out so that just the tip of his cock stays inside before slamming back into you. “Fuck. So. Fucking. Tight.”
You wail under him as pleasure runs up your spine and down your legs as he punctuates every thrust with an upwards rock of his hips, continuously rubbing against your clit and pressing the head of his length to that perfect spot inside.
“So. Fucking. Wet.” He growls. His nails are slicing into your wrists, but you don’t care. Can’t care, you’ve lost all ability to feel anything but the glide of his cock and the heady build of your orgasm.
“So. Mine.” He growls and bites down hard on your neck. You cry out, the brutal pace of his hips only increasing, bringing you closer and closer and-
You gasp, his name catching in your throat as you finally cum. Every muscle shaking as it crashes over you in waves.
Miguel tears his mouth away from your neck, blood shining on his lips as he watches you come undone. He moans, his thrusts not faltering for a second.
“That’s it, cum all over me,” he glances down for a moment watching himself disappearing into you, amazed at how well you’re taking him, how tightly your walls are griping him, trying to milk him for all he’s worth. “Squeezing me so tight, oh shit-”
He cums loudly, still pistoning in and out of you as he fills you up with his release. There’s still so much of it, some leaks out, spilling out of your abused hole and sticking to your thighs.
You breathe deeply, your mind foggy from how hard you came. Your legs ache from being stretched so wide, your pussy throbs from overstimulation.
Miguel doesn’t stop, still rock hard and trusting. Pushing his cum deeper into you.
“Miguel,” you whine, your throat raw.
“I can’t-” he bites his lip, “I can’t stop, I need to, fuck, please, I need to-”
You kiss his neck, biting harder than you normally would at his jugular. He whines, the sound going straight to your core. Heat starts to build again.
“Keep going,” you mutter against his skin. “Keep going as long as you need to.”
.
You wake up sore and sticky. Aching and in pain. Even the slightest movement brings out an array of discomfort. Every muscle throbs, like you had done a year's worth of exercise in one day, and all the bites and scratches sting as you shift, the scrapes making you feel like someone had tossed you naked into a bush of brambles and thorns.
It takes you a moment to remember where you are, the tiredness in your bones trying to coax you back to sleep.
“I’m sorry.”
Miguel’s voice makes you jump. He’s still close to you, laying on his side with his chest pressed up against your back. One arm around your waist. There’s tension there, you know he wants to move away but is scared to move at the same time.
His cock is pressed against your backside, soft and sated.
You turn to look at him, too tired to worry about your nakedness. Besides, he had seen plenty of it anyway.
“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.”
He scoffs. His mouth pressed into a thin line as he looks down.
It’s only then as you turn around completely to look at him that you see tears in his eyes. “Miguel?”
You softly touch his cheek but he flinches away from you. The action spikes through your heart. He can’t even look at you now.
“I’ve got everything to be sorry for, I, I took advantage of you, I rap-”
“No, no, no, no,” you can’t help but touch him again, putting your hand back on his cheek and rubbing your thumb soothingly across his skin.
This time he leans into it, letting out the smallest, shaky breath.
“You were infected, Miguel, you couldn’t control yourself. I don’t know how much you remember but the sedative didn’t work, and your heart rate was just, I mean, it was crazy high. And, if anything, I was the one that took advantage of you and-”
His eyes snap open. “You? You took advantage of me?” He says disbelievingly. “Look at you.” He touches the bite marks on your neck gently.
You give him a little smile. “I don’t mind.”
He breathes out another shaky breath, but there’s a hint of a smile. “You don’t mind?”
You shake your head. “Happy to help.”
He chuckles a little at that and nods as he runs a hand through his hair.
There’s a pause, a silence that you can’t stand.
“I guess I was wrong.”
Miguel frowns a little, confused.
“My theory, about people having that reaction if they’re in love, I mean.”
There’s a pause, the only sound a little gulp as Miguel swallows. Something passes over his face for a second, a faint trace of heat rising to his skin.
Oh. Maybe you weren’t wrong.
“Miguel?”
He breathes deeply, looking down. “I-”
You don’t give him a chance to finish, letting your adrenaline overwhelm you as you quickly lean forward and press your lips to his. Hoping against hope that you weren’t misreading the situation.
He’s caught by surprise for a moment, but moans happily and softly kisses you back as his arm wraps around you and pulls you close.
The kiss is slow and gentle, languid and sweet. It makes your stomach drop like you were falling from a great height. His embrace the only thing keeping you safe.
He runs his tongue over your bottom lip lightly, careful of the cuts, but licks into your mouth hungrily the second you part your lips. It’s not the same lustful need from before, this is deeper, sharper and desperate in a different way. As if after devouring your body he now needed to devour your soul.
He kisses you again, lightly before you both pull back for a second. He grins at you, a little shyly and you smile as you stroke his cheek.
“You weren’t wrong.” He muttered.
You frown and shake your head, confused.
He chuckles and kisses you again. “Your theory about love.”
____________________________________
Thank you for reading!
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#miguel o'hara#miguel o’hara#spiderman across the spiderverse#miguel o’hara x reader#x reader#miguel o’hara x you#x you#miguel o’hara x female reader#x female reader#miguel o’hara x f!reader#x f!reader#miguel o’hara x fem!reader#x fem!reader#my writing#fanfic#oscar isaac#oscar isaac characters#miguel o'hara x reader#miguel o'hara x you#miguel o'hara x female reader#miguel o'hara x f!reader#miguel o'hara x afab!reader
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Twisted Zoo: Chapter One
This is based on the stories of a keeper reader with the octotrio by @ashensgrotto and @merakiui .
Also @twistedcece @ursinaw @thisisafish123 and @cenatour wanted to be tagged! Let me know if anyone else wants to be tagged for future chapters. If you no longer want to be tagged, please tell me!
Summary: You’re a brand new zookeeper at The Halfling Zoo- a place where half-animals live in captivity. Your job is simple- feed them and study them. Your main worry is that one of the more dangerous halflings might kill you.
Unfortunately, that may become the least of your worries.
WARNINGS: none for now
Note: All characters are aged up, since there will be mature themes in future parts.
Also, I can’t promise I’ll finish this. I suck at finishing stories.
Thank you for everyone on Tumblr and Quotev for guessing! A lot of you have gotten ones right but there no one's gotten all of Heartslaybul (which makes me worry I did badly there)
Now, onto the Hyenas, Lions, and Wolves!
Prologue here
Next chapter here
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Since the wolves were right across from the lions and hyenas, you would be expected to divide your time equally between the two for your first official day at The Halfling Zoo. That was a pain, since all three of those species were more active at night.
“You’ll be doing today’s morning feedings, right?” a woman in the zoo’s uniform asked you.
“Yes, for the lions, hyenas, and wolves,” you replied cheerfully.
The woman gave a sigh of relief, “Thank goodness- the lions always look like they’re about to kill you if you make the wrong move. Good luck!”
You stared blankly at her retreating figure. You really wish she hadn’t said that, because now you were absolutely terrified to step foot in that enclosure. Mr. Crowley had said to you yesterday, among all the other welcoming ramblings, that you had to go into each exhibit and give the food directly to the halflings, as opposed to leaving the food near the door and waiting for them to come and grab it.
After the zoo keeper’s “encouraging” words, you decided to give food to the hyenas first.
The hyena halflings were easy to spot- the group of seven or so male halflings sat in a group, talking and laughing loudly. There was one boy in the center of the crowd, waving his hands emphatically as he conversed with his peers.
As soon as you approached the hyena halflings, the mood immediately shifted. The halflings took several steps back, the conversation ceasing at once, all of them staring at you through weary, distrustful eyes.
That’s right- male hyenas are submissive toward females since they are usually aggressive and stronger.
“It’s alright!” you tried to speak as soothingly as possible, putting down the bucket of steaks so you could raise your palms in a non-threatening manner. They watched you carefully, still distrustful.
Finally, the boy from the center of the crowd put his hands behind his head and strolled up nonchalantly, grabbing a steak from the bucket. Although he acted like it was no big deal, you didn’t miss the way he eyed you with a fearful gaze and skirted around you as though you might explode at any moment.
The other hyena halflings caught on and, walking around you with extreme caution, they managed to fish their meals out of the bucket. The hyena from before came back for a second steak and, not long after, for a third.
“What’s your name?” you asked him as he fished around for the best steak left in the bucket.
He stopped searching and turned his gaze on you once more. He seemed to size you up for a moment before saying something softly. “What was that?” you asked.
“Ruggie,” he said softly, his ears turning inwards and an annoyed pout making its way to his face.
“I like that name!” you said cheerily. Ruggie eyed you dubiously and finally pulled a steak from the bucket, racing back to the other hyenas. On his way, he looked over his shoulder at you, his gaze uncertain.
You felt like you had made progress.
Now it was time to feed the lions, and the thought made your feet feel like lead. You were not looking forward to a lion halfling murdering you over a steak.
A part of you wondered if some of the halflings really did prefer this life- or at least, the food. You had learned in class that halflings preferred to eat human food, although they could stomach their animal counterpart’s diet. Halflings, no doubt, preferred these still-warm cooked steaks over raw meat.
You picked up the bucket of steaks and began your journey across the faux savannah. It really was hot in the exhibit and the heavy bucket seemed to weigh you down considerably. Sweat beaded on your forehead and you found it even harder to push yourself across the distance to the lions.
When you finally arrived in front of them, you could feel yourself trembling in fear. In a shaky voice, you called out, “Who wants steaks?”
All of the lions’ eyes turned immediately to the lion halfling lounging across the rock above them. Ah, I get it. They won’t eat until he eats.
Slowly you approached him. You weren’t sure if he was awake until one green eye cracked open and lazily regarded you. You gulped and reached into the bucket, closing your hands around a steak and holding it out to him. He remained lying there, but his eye closed once more.
You began to set the steak next to him when blinding pain shot up your arm, causing you to promptly drop it on the rock. You looked down and saw that the back of your hand was bleeding from four long streaks. The king of the lions was now sitting up, glaring at you, blood dripping from the claws of his right hand.
“How dare you approach me so casually?” he snarled.
You weren’t sure what to do, so you sank into a bow, and murmured, “I’m so sorry.”
The lion gazed down at you, a mixture of surprise and amusement in his eyes. He laid back down, closing his eyes, “Whatever. The rest of you can eat.”
Lions rushed forward, clamoring around the bucket to get the best steaks. The lion on the rock did not reach for his own steak, choosing instead to go back to sleep. You were sorry you disturbed him, and not only because you were now nursing a heavily bleeding hand. The wound was surprisingly deep and you hoped that they had a first aid kit in the office.
A very small lion cub halfling with red hair bounced up to you. Your heart instantly melted at the sight of such an adorable little thing grabbing a steak and smiling up at you. So cute!
“Uncle Leona! Uncle Leona! Are you going to eat your steak or can I have it?” the little halfling asked the lion on the rock.
The lion- Leona, you guessed- glared down at the cub and snatched the steak out of the his reach with a warning growl. While the guttural sound was enough to make you shake in your boots, the cub merely giggled and took a bite of his own steak.
The bucket was empty by the time every lion had taken one. They were big steaks, but you weren’t sure it would be enough to keep them full. You headed back to the keeper’s door with sweat rolling down your cheeks. The heat and dryness may be perfect for the lions and hyenas, but you could barely stand it.
As soon as you were back in the keeper area, you made a beeline for the water cooler. You poured yourself a cup and downed it in a couple seconds. Panting, you filled your cup a second time. You sipped the water a little slower this time, feeling its cooling effects soothe you.
You headed for the nearest first aid kit, conveniently hanging on the wall near the exhibit’s exit. You had a feeling you weren’t the first to need it. You took some bandages from the case and wrapped them around your hand, hissing a little at the pain the pressure caused.
You were ready to face the wolves now. And, as you made your way into their enclosure, you noted with relief that the warm was crisp and cool- the exact opposite of the previous enclosure.
Goosebumps rose on your skin, but you knew that, by the time you had made the trip with the heavy steaks, you’d probably be sweating again. Sure enough, the labor took its toll on your body, your arm aching as you switched the bucket to your other hand.
Deep in the forest now, you could sense eyes on you. Relieved that you had finally found the wolves, you collapsed to the ground. Unprofessional, maybe, but greatly needed. You sat on the soft grass as the wolf halflings began to approach you.
A few had their lips drawn up in a snarl, and one of them called out, “Who are you? You’re not our regular keeper.”
Another wolf was quick to say, “But she’s brought food. Isn’t that all that matters?”
You raised your hands in a peaceful gesture, “I’m a researcher and I’m the one dropping off your food for this morning.”
That seemed to satisfy the wolves. Some of them still glared at you, but they all took their steaks. You looked around at the pack and was surprised to see, among all the gray hair, a head of pure white.
The wolf wasn’t glaring at you, but his expression didn’t give away how he felt at all. He seemed to be eyeing you warily, much like the hyenas. You fished out a steak and held it out to him. His eyes widened a little and he approached you.
“Thank you,” he said in a gruff voice, taking the steak from you. Before you could ask him his name, he disappeared into the crowd of wolves. You weren’t sure why your mind had picked him out from the others, except that his hair was a different color. A little embarrassed by your reaction to him, you held out a steak to another passing wolf, who growled at you in response.
As soon as the enclosure door shut behind you, you sank to the ground, exhausted. That was only the morning feeding- you had a full day (and part of the night) of studying and documenting behavior ahead of you.
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The Punk-Factor of Punkpunk Genre
So, when I posted my history of Solarpunk, someone (probably not in good faith) asked: “So, what about the punk in all the other punk genres?!” towards my request to put the punk back into Solarpunk. And given that my autistic brain obviously cannot just let that stand… You know what? Let me talk about the other punk genre and in how far they are “punk”. I tried to be as exhaustive as possible, though there is a good chance, that I might have missed some of the punkpunk genre. So feel free to add.
Trying to judge the punkiness I do not assume punk as simple counter culture, but a specific ideology. Quote from Wikipedia:
[Punk ideology] is primarily concerned with concepts such as mutual aid, against selling out, hierarchy, white supremacy, authoritarianism, anti-consumerism, anti-corporatism, anti-war, imperialism, conservatism, anti-globalization, gentrification, anti-racism, anti-sexism, class and classism, gender equality, racial equality, eugenics, animal rights, free-thought and non-conformity
Most of the artwork here has been taken from concept art of either of the examples listed.
Sorted from most futuristic to pre(historic). Yes, the list is long.
Cyberpunk
We start with the OG punk genre, the one after which all other punk genre were named. Yes, you could argue that in fact the two genre following are more futuristic – but Cyberpunk kinda just had to start the list.
As a genre: Given that Cyberpunk had its start completely in literature it is the best defined in this regard. Taking place in a late stage capitalist dystopian world in which most is owned by megacorps who don’t follow anyone’s laws but their own, the protagonists usually are social outcasts fighting against their own oppression, trying to keep themselves alive in a world hostile to them. With cybernetics always being a core of the genre, it also tends to deal with the question of humanity in a “ship of Theseus” sort of way. How much can the human body be altered, before the human vanishes?
As an aesthetic: Cyberpunk is the most punk in terms of aesthetics, really. There is a lot of punk and grunge going on in terms of character design. Neon hair colors, fishnets and thorn up jeans jackets can be found here. As well as of course cybernetics on the characters. The world usually is a megacity with a stark divide between rich and poor, tons of neon signs, a slight Japanese influence, flying cars and somehow a constant downpour of rain.
Punk-Factor: Cyberpunk is the one punk genre, where the “punk” was chosen very knowingly as a name. Usually the protagonists are “punks” fighting for their place in the world against a suppressive capitalist system. (Also, they usually fit the punk aesthetic, if they don’t wear leather dusters.) It should be noted however, that especially in newer western Cyberpunk often the punkiness vanishes more and more – for the same reason we have so little Solarpunk: media that outright confronts the problems of capitalism is just less supported.
Examples: Neuromancer (1984), Mirrorshades: The Cyberpunk Anthology (1986), Snow Crash (1992), The Matrix (1999), Dredd (2012)
Biopunk
As a genre: As a genre biopunk is still fairly ill defined, as it mostly shows up as a subsection of Cyberpunk. Rather than the characters having cybernetic implants (or additionally to it) they are augmented on a genetic level. This can be all sorts of augmentations, changing anything from appearance to giving characters higher strength and agility, giving them claws or night vision, or in some cases even “magic” powers. Usually the genre tends to be set in worlds similar to Cyberpunk. In fact it might well be set in a cyberpunk world, only that characters with bioaugmentations exist parallel to those with cybernetics. Additionally, though, there is a subsection of this genre, that concerns reproductive rights.
As an aesthetic: Ironically biopunk is even less defined as an aesthetic. There is not a lot of biopunk art out there and most that exists can go in different directions. As such it often mixes elements from other punk aesthetics – like Cyberpunk, Steampunk or Dieselpunk – with an assortment of bodyhorror elements.
Punk-Factor: It is hard to define the “punkiness” of a genre, that barely exists for the most part. Usually, when it is set against a Cyberpunk backdrop, it might be very punky, but in other settings those punk elements vanish.
Examples: Ribofunk (1995), Altered Carbon (2002), Bioshock (2007), The Windup Girl (2009)
Nanopunk
As a genre: Like Biopunk Nanopunk mostly exists as a subsubgenre to Cyberpunk, often being set in a mostly Cyberpunk world, only that instead of or additionally to Cybernetics, the technology used to alter the human body is nanites. These serve the same function as the genetic manipulation in Biopunk, giving the human in question more strength and agility and at times more or less magical abilities. There is one common plot that comes up again and again, with an AI or megacorp turning the nanites against the people they inhabit or trying to control them.
As an aesthetic: Aesthetically Nanopunk does not have much in terms of its own identity. Most artworks relating to Nanopunk feature a similar aesthetic to Cyberpunk, with megacities and lots of neon.
Punk-Factor: This genre is so small, that it is kinda hard to judge the exact punkiness.
Examples: The Diamond Age (1995), Prey (2002)
Solarpunk
As a genre: Being another genre, that started as such, Solarpunk is a bit better defined. Solarpunk usually takes place in a world post-strive. It is post-capitalist and decolonial in its settings, usually featuring a world that has either formed against the backdrop of preventing climate collapse or in the aftermath of it. A lot of it features people rebuilding – or alternatively building communities. It always features elements about living in harmony with nature or trying to do so. So far, the genre is mostly defined by short stories, partly because there is still disagreements within the movement, how far a conflict can be taken to still qualify as Solarpunk.
As an aesthetic: Solarpunk has a very strong aesthetic definition, mostly featuring all sorts of cities and urban areas, that incorporate natural elements into the urbanity, with greenery growing on roofs and concrete car-centric streets being replaced with more natural, walkable areas. The character design aesthetic is not quite as clearly defined, but usually features natural materials and patterns usually seen within indigenous art.
Punk-Factor: Contrary to what many say, Solarpunk is fairly punk, as it very much embraces the entire anti-hierarchical, anti-capitalist mentality. With the big difference, that the punk mentality is no longer counter culture, but the mainstream culture.
Examples: The Dispossessed (1974), Nausicaä (1984), Laputa – Castle in the Sky (1986), Princess Mononoke (1997), The Summer Prince (2013)
Lunarpunk
As a genre: Lunarpunk is pretty much a subsubgenre of Solarpunk, just as Nanopunk and Biopunk are sprung off from Cyberpunk. It is so far ill-defined as a genre, but the general consensus is, that it is set in solarpunk-esque worlds, but with a heavier focus on mysticism or spiritualism, at times outright including magic. It also tends to feature a lot darker places, being set in underwater or underground settings – or alternatively at night.
As an aesthetic: Lunarpunk is far more of an aesthetic than a genre so far. It features dark places, often with bioluminescent elements in it. Often featuring a mixture of black and dark blue with lighter blue, violet or light green elements shining in the middle of it. Mushrooms – especially glowing mushrooms – feature repeatedly in artwork.
Punk-Factor: Given that Lunarpunk is barely defined as a genre it is hard to estimate the punkiness in it. If it gets more stories, will those still feature the anti-capitalist and anti-hierarchical messaging we see in Solarpunk? This should be the defining factor. Some of the artworks use little aesthetics from the punk scene, but nothing much more.
Examples: Bioluminescent: A Lunarpunk Anthology (2023)
Hopepunk
Honestly, I had no idea where to put this one, given that it might technically be set at any time and place.
As a genre: Hopepunk is very much a genre, not an aesthetic. It has been defined as the opposite of grimdark by its “inventor/name-giver” Alexandra Rowland. The basic idea is to create fiction that instead of taking a dystopian, defeatist and violent approach, takes one defined by hope and to some degree pacifism. As such the genre can be set in any setting, real or fantastic. It mostly is defined by the protagonists taking opposition to cruelty and violence, fighting for a better world and, crucially, also partly archiving it. Other than in usual Cyberpunk, where the best possible ending, tends to be, that the protagonists get to live a somewhat better life themselves, Hopepunk aims to better the life at least for groups of people.
As an aesthetic: Being fully a genre, Hopepunk has no aesthetic associated with it.
Punk-Factor: Hopepunk is punk less in the sense of the protagonists or things happening within the story, which might or might not be punk, but was named such rather because it is considered counter cultural towards the gross of media at the moment, that often strives for a “realistic, gritty, grimdark” outlook on the world. Basically it is saying: “Hope is punk.” I will not make any judgement on whether or not this is true.
Examples: The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet (2014), Mad Max: Fury Road (2015), The Good Place (2016)
Mythpunk
As a genre: Another one, that does not really fit into a temporal sorting system, because once again it can be set anywhere between the stone age and the far future. The basic idea is, that the story interweaves postmodern storytelling with elements from mythology or folklore. This can mean mythological, genre-traversing retellings, but it can also mean, that mythology seeps into any given story bit by bit. As such the genre with probably the most media in the subgenre is Urban Fantasy, which often borrows from mythology and incorporates these elements.
As an aesthetic: Mythpunk as an aesthetic is a bit strange. There is definitely a mythpunk aesthetic that exists, often mixing familiar elements with elements from mythology and folklore (at times also including quasi-folkloric works of literature, such as Alice in Wonderland and the Wizard of Oz). Often just a bit dark and twisted.
Punk-Factor: To be perfectly frank, for the most part, there is not a lot of punk to be found in this genre. While there have been definitely punky stories told within the genre, this is more a story decision than something inherent to the genre.
Examples: Pan’s Labyrinth (2006), Over the Garden Wall (2014), Inscryption (2016)
Dustpunk / Rustpunk / Desertpunk
As a genre: Kinda grouping those above all together, because people argue about what they might entail and in some interpretations they kinda are similar: Post-apocalyptic stories set in a world of sand and rust. Often featuring a loner character, having to go up against everyone to ensure his own survival – and at times being forced to learn, that the lonerness might not win him (and most often it is a him) anything.
As an aesthetic: Aesthetically this tends to be very much post-apocalyptic, maybe in some cases with some more classical punk elements added to characters and surroundings.
Punk-Factor: Given that there is neither a system to rage against – nor a new, less hierarchical system – usually there is not that much punk outside of some aesthetic choices. Neither tend those stories go into constructing worlds of mutual aid or working against oppression.
Examples: Anything Mad Max should count for this.
Atompunk
As a genre: Atompunk usually deals with themes connected to the cold war – in some cases directly, in some indirectly. Often it overplays the American ideals that were pushed for during the cold war era and portrays scenarios in which American Exceptionalism slowly reveals itself as the dystopia most punks already know it to be. Outside of this vague idea for the setting, the genre is less described, as there is less of a clear script an Atompunk story might follow. So, little description of who might be the protagonist and what their role is.
As an aesthetic: The aesthetic of Atompunk borrows heavily from the Raygun Gothic aesthetic. So, futurism, as it was imagined in the 1950s and 1960s, with heavy influences from late pulp age science fiction art.
Punk-Factor: The aesthetic in this is definitely not punk. The stories often have some vague punk ideas of recognizing how fucked up the world has become, but given the genre is fairly wide in terms of stories, it is hard to give a definite answer to how “punk” it is. One can definitely tell punk stories within this genre, though.
Examples: Hitchhiker's Guide To The Galaxy (1978), Fallout (1997), Futurama (1999)
Dieselpunk
As a genre: Dieselpunk is once again an example of “strong aesthetic, but no clear genre identity”. Generally, Dieselpunk is concerned with the interwar period, but might cover either of the world wars. In some cases the genre features alternate timelines, in which one war happened and not the other, or in which another faction won, with the technological development being influenced by this as well. But as a genre it is not much defined. A lot of stories building on Lovecraft’s legacy feature Dieselpunk in some regards. And there is definitely a subsection of Dieselpunk stories centered around “what if Nazis won” or “what if Nazis somehow went underground and did their own technological development after the war”. Also, there are a lot of stories about pilots of war planes in this genre.
As an aesthetic: As an aesthetic Dieselpunk is more clearly defined. A lot of bare metal and the sorts of technology you would expect from this era, often with retro-futurist and art noveau elements in between. A lot of the fashion within the genre is defined by pilot and military clothing of the times, but at times also dipping into “roaring 20s” fashion styles.
Punk-Factor: In this genre I would generally say: “If the story involves punching Nazis, you might get a couple punk points – but otherwise this is not really punk.”
Examples: The Iron Dream (1972), Brazil (1985), Dark City (1998), Iron Sky (2012), Bitter Seeds (2010)
Teslapunk
As a genre: Yet another one of these, that exists mostly as a vague idea, with no clear definition. The basic idea is a world, that works on Tesla’s inventions. And as those of you, who watched Doctor Who, might know, Tesla sorta, kinda already invented the internet or had an idea of what it could be and how it could work. So a Teslapunk world is based in an alternate timeline, but might in fact go into light futurism. There is not much in this genre though with a unique thematic identity, as stories that use Teslapunk as a backdrop rarely have coherent themes.
As an aesthetic: The aesthetic of Teslapunk is basically “Steampunk, but with Tesla-coils and electricity”. Which is not a big surprise given that Tesla came from the same era that would also be the inspiration for Steampunk. So, we have a lot of Victorian fashion, maybe some light augmentation, airships, and – again – all the tesla coils you can muster.
Punk-Factor: As, again, I think punk is more about themes than aesthetic, this is once more not really possible to judge, because there do not seem coherent themes within the genre so far.
Examples: The Prestige (2006), Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (2011), Bioshock Infinite (2013)
Arcanepunk
Another one of those that do not neatly fit into the timeline…
As a genre: Arcanepunk takes place in a world, where both magic and technology have developed. In some cases both developed side by side, in others, we might have a technological world, that suddenly discovers magic by some happenstance. The fact is, though, that both exist parallel to each other or might at times be intertwined, with technology being powered by magic. This can exist at different technological stages, usually featuring settings inspired by the late 19th or early 20th century. But usually futuristic stuff that includes magic might be considered Arcanepunk, just as might stories that mix 18th century technology with magic. While also a vague genre, there is a repeating theme of magic being hoarded by those in powers and the poor and downtrodden finding ways to still use it in their own advantage.
As an aesthetic: Given that Arcanepunk’s setting is defined by the co-existence of magic and technology, rather than a specific technology, Arcanepunk has less of a defined aesthetic. Never the less, we have a part of punk aesthetics that often come up, as a surprising amount of Arcanepunk features characters with neon colored hair.
Punk-Factor: Another genre that is rather thin, yet, there is a surprising amount of stories featuring some punk ideas of fighting against an oppressive system and being counter culture to a main culture build around suppression.
Examples: Too Many Magicians (1966), Shadowrun (1989), Bartimaeus (2003), Arcane (2021) duh
Steampunk
Steampunk was the second genre to pick up the “punk” suffix and hence is as much responsible for the punk-punk as Cyberpunk as the originator.
As a genre: Being named as early as it has been, Steampunk kinda suffers the same issue as Cyberpunk itself. There is a lot of ideas there, but some are only vaguely defined. In general, though Steampunk always takes place in a world where the steam engine became the defining technology and was never replaced with the combustion engine. As such cultural aspects from the steam era, especially Victorian England and the Belle Epoche, still carry over for longer, than they did. So often we will see noble households based around similar values as the puritan Victorian English families, while the very poor are made to work in workhouses. At times we might also see themes of colonialism here. In some cases magic might exist in these worlds, as might electricity for some aspects. There is often a heavy inspiration from Jules Verne and H.G. Wells. Though it is still hard to define the “stereotypical steampunk story”, given that Steampunk offers a wide variety of stories, from adventure stories and romances, over to stories where people rise up against the Victorian-esque society.
As an aesthetic: Steampunk as an aesthetic is very much influenced by Victorian aesthetics and the time period of the late 19th century, mostly in the USA, Great Britain and France. But as all other punk genres it knows very well: “If it is worth doing, it is worth overdoing,” so steam-related elements are added to everything. Could
Punk-Factor: In the original idea for Steampunk was a lot of punk. “What if we took Cyberpunks ‘rage against the unjust system’ and made it 19th century” they asked. But given that the genre branched out so much, it is not necessarily there in all the stories. There is a ton of stories where people rage against that steam powered Victorian machine – but also a ton in which the Victorian world gets idealized and romanticized.
Examples: Thief (1998), The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (1999), Wild Wild West (1999), Clockwork Century (2008) – also half of all Sherlock Holmes adaption made after 2000 in any medium usually use Steampunk elements
Silkpunk
As a genre: Silkpunk is hard to define, despite there being a clear definition. The reason for this is, that the person who coined the term – Ken Liu – had a very specific idea in mind. He explains that the idea is of a world that has technology as language. In which form is as important as function, is made to speak a language all of its own. Inspired by ideas from W. Brian Arthur and Chinese philosophy. However, what the wider Science Fiction and Fantasy community made from it was “Steampunk but East Asian!” But given he coined the term (and also the alternative feels vaguely racist) I am going to go with Ken Liu for this. While Silkpunk will usually be set in an East Asian inspired world, the central idea is about the duality of technology, which will also be addressed within the stories.
As an aesthetic: As said above, the idea Liu had for it was a world that features some technology, but technology that is as much about form and communication through it, as it is about function. So the technology here has strong visual ideas. At least that was, how Liu intended it. Once again, the wider community made “Steampunk, but East Asian” out of it.
Punk-Factor: There is not a lot of stuff in this genre for now – however so far I do not manage to see a lot of punk ideas in it, even though some of Liu’s stories definitely feature the concept of challenging a higher power.
Examples: Dandelion Dynasty (2015), The Black Tides of Heaven (2018), The Tea Master and the Detective (2019)
Clockpunk
As a genre: Once again storytelling in this genre is not really defined, but the worlds diverge a bit before the wide adaption of steam, instead featuring mechanical devices powered by coils and springs and somehow kept alive, often at least implied through some form of arcane magic that gives “live” to these mechanical inventions. Most examples of Clockpunk, however, tend to show up as settings for parts of fantasy stories. Any fantasy world might have this “Clockpunk” area, where protagonists might travel. Especially games tend to feature this. While there is definitely a trope of the “mad inventor” often going along with this, few other tropes stand out.
As an aesthetic: The aesthetic of Clockpunk tends to take some inspiration from the early 19th century, but tends to add a lot of gears to everything, with even city wide gear constructions keeping things working. We often will find mechatronic characters, such as wind up soldiers or wind up dancers.
Punk-Factor: Once more, there are so few stories told, that it is kinda hard to speak about how punk this is. Most stories told so far, however, do not feature punk elements.
Examples: The Great Mouse Detective (1986), Hugo (2011), Clockwork Planet (2017)
Whalepunk
Please note: This is one of those genre, I would love to see more in, though so far it is barely explored.
As a genre: And you might ask: “Why do you even name those genre, that exist mostly in theory?”, to which I might answer: “Because I am a nerd.” As all these retrofuturists genre, Whalepunk imagines mostly an alternate historical timeline, where the technology that became defining was based around whale oil. This means that in Whalepunk often whalers or harbors play a big role, though as the genre is again very thinly spread, it is hard to say what “THE whalepunk” formular is. It seems there is a tendency, to mix some mysticism or magic into the genre, though, as the idea of hunting sea monsters often plays into it as well. Good chance that it could at some point merge with Cthulupunk (which I did not name separately, because most of it is either covered in Whalepunk or Dieselpunk).
As an aesthetic: The aesthetic of Whalepunk is basically “Steampunk, but with more sailors, ships and sea monsters”. There is definitely a bit of Oceanpunk mixed into it as well, with some aesthetics being somewhere between Steampunk and Dieselpunk. (Which is kinda ironic, because whale oil was mostly used in the early 19th century.)
Punk-Factor: And again. There so far is not a lot of connective thematic tissue within that genre, so exploring themes is kinda hard.
Examples: Dishonored (2012), Dredge (2023)
Oceanpunk / Piratepunk
As a genre: It really is hard to divide the Piratepunk out of the Oceanpunk, though some might call it different. The idea here is that this genre features stories mostly set on the ocean and often more heavily leaning into fantasy, than science fiction. While the worlds might feature technological elements, they will almost certainly feature magical elements of some sort. The characters will usually be seafaring one way or another and stories might involve any sort of adventure. There might be a storyline, though, about one company or nation trying to control the seas – often times through magical means – with the characters often unwillingly being made to oppose them. This genre might also take place in a post-apocalyptic setting with a flooded planet.
As an aesthetic: While the aesthetic is not clearly defined, there is a good chance that it borrows heavily from the late 17th and early 18th century and the golden age of piracy, when it comes to both ships and fashion sensibilities.
Punk-Factor: Pirates, at least as far as modern media imagines them, tend to be very punk, as they tend to inherently oppose any sort of government and what not. While the punk is not there in all of the stories, a lot of the most popular stories from the genre will feature at least lightly punky elements.
Examples: One Piece (1997), Pirates of the Caribbean (2003), Assassin's Creed IV: Black Flag (2013)
Dungeonpunk
As a genre: So, the idea of the genre is basically “What if Cyberpunk, but Dungeons & Dragons?” Usually set in a vaguely medieval world, this world still shows the same corporate corruption as your usual Cyberpunk world. Adventurers are just another resource to be exploited by the system, their day job involving going on yet another dungeon crawl. For this there might be some technology entirely powered by magic, with those magic items taking over the same functions technology might have in a Cyberpunk world. And yes, indeed some brave dwarf, elf or halfling might rise up and challenge the corporate dungeon syndicate. (As you might sense: Yes, this genre tends to be at least partly a bit of a parody of the punkpunk idea. Though it also can be played straight as “Cyberpunk conflicts, just that all technology is somehow magic.”)
As an aesthetic: This is once again one of the examples, where there is a clear idea behind it – but absolutely no clear aesthetic, as this genre might cover anything from medieval settings to a lot more modern stuff.
Punk-Factor: The base idea, being heavily inspired by the base idea of Cyberpunk, just from a very different perspective. But too many people read the genre as “Magic Technology, yay”, in which case, no, it is not punk.
Examples: Dungeons & Dragons can be played this way, also Final Fantasy VI – XIII definitely counts.
Sandalpunk
As a genre: I mostly include this for the sake of it, because this genre tends to boil down to “fantasy set in ancient Greece or Rome, but with vaguely anachronistic elements”. It might also include alternate history stories (even going so far as Science Fiction) based on the idea “What if Ancient Rome/Ancient Greece never fell?” There is no real overarching themes, even though I could imagine some interesting way one could build those up. So far, though, it is mostly a vague gesture towards: “SciFi Fantasy, but with more ancient civilizations.”
As an aesthetic: The aesthetic is usually just Ancient Rome or Ancient Greece, but with more magic or anachronistic elements.
Punk-Factor: Given the super vague nature of the genre and the fact that it seems more like a genre of hindsight (with most media being declared this having been released even before 2000)… Nobody wrote those stories to be punk. The one punk thing I can see about several of these stories is people challenging Gods, but… That’s about it.Examples: Hercules: Legendary Journeys (1995), Xena: Warrior Princess (1995), God of War (2005)
Stonepunk
As a genre: The basic idea of Stonepunk is, that it is set in a stone age world, but with the technology being pressed towards a very anachronistic end, which is often played for laughs. Basically it gives stone age people a modern seeming world, though not really. Often enough this is used to make a point about the modern world and parody it in some regard. An argument can be made for stories, that feature stone age technology people being somehow subjected to modern technology (for example through time travel or space travel) also possibly falling into this genre.
As an aesthetic: Usually the aesthetic of Stonepunk is one of an overplayed stone age setting. The clothing characters might wear are not what we know is historically more accurate but really just “everyone wears a pelt around their shoulders”. Meanwhile stone age tools get spun to be used as all sorts of modern technologies.
Punk-Factor: The genre does usually not feature punk themes. However, the nature of parodying and challenging the modern world tends to be punk in its own merit, I assume?
Examples: The Flintstones (1960), The Croods (2013), Horizon: Zero Dawn (2017)
That's it. That's the list.
Feel free to add to it.
#long ass post#punkpunk#punk genre#definition#cyberpunk#steampunk#biopunk#nanopunk#solarpunk#lunarpunk#hopepunk#mythpunk#dustpunk#desert punk#atompunk#dieselpunk#teslapunk#arcanepunk#silkpunk#clockpunk#whalepunk#oceanpunk#dungeonpunk#sandalpunk#stonepunk
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Safe Keeping | 4
Part 1 2 3 4 5
"What say you, lady? Don't you think the Hound would make a fine husband? He would protect you, yes, and you would bear him many babes." I curtsy again but this time, my voice falters when I speak, "I- I think he would," I turn to my left, "Lord Sandor would make a fine husband... a fine father."
Sandor Clegane x Reader | 8k+ | cw: fem!reader, DEATH of characters/animals/monsters, POV shifts, mentions/depictions of violence, forced marriage, enemies to lovers, slow burn, angst, emotional unavailability, emotional constipation, miscommunication, The Hound being abrasive, canon typical casual misogyny/violence, themes/mentions of menstruation/pregnancy/miscarriage, baby fever, angst, typos, etc.
A/N: ❗❗please proceed this chapter with caution. i killed a bunch of characters/animals (well and monsters but i think deserve lmao)!!! ALSO POV SHIFTSS!!!!
originally posted on ao3 but felt like posting it on here. also fyi i post this story on ao3 first
Tagging: @otteropera @poisonsage808 @glitterandgoldfinds @the-queen-of-sorrows @j3nn-1
The Hound found himself wrong about the thieving, wrong about the missing livestock. He was so wrong it nearly cost him lives, including his own.
He was so sure about himself when he went into the woods, so sure that he was going to find at least two men, at most five, luring sheep there. It was the men he was prepared for. Fuck the livestock, the farmers can get them back after he killed the fucks stealing them.
Ah, the farmers, barging into his wife's estate... into their house, into house Clegane.
Fuck 'em, fuck the lot of them, complaining again, complaining about their sheep and their cows. He had enough of their yapping, now was the time to act.
Fuck 'em twice for being shocked when he said he'd go into the forest to kill the fucker causing all of them trouble.
The superstitious peasants warned him. The Hound heard; he even humored them by letting a few spring chickens, boy-soldiers in the making, 'aid' him as he went to the forest.
Between the young farmer's lad, Andrew, and the man-boy, Carter, who he had been training be a soldier, it was actually the Hound who was the one most frightened by that thing that stared back at them.
It looked as though it was twice his damn size. It was darker than tar, and stinkier than shit. It made an unholy sound before attacking them.
He doesn't remember what happened after that in all honesty. His instincts kicked in and he can't recall what he had done. All he knew was, in the end, the two boys were cheering and dragging a black corpse all the way back out of the woods.
The villagers looked at him. They walked towards him and shouted. It was not an unfamiliar greeting-- being pursued by villagers, and yet, it shakes him; it takes him off-guard. They come upon him and begin to weep at his feet. They thank him. They thank them as they hug each other. The thank him as they wave at him. They thank him as they touch his armor like a devout would touch an idol.
The Hound is perturbed.
"Thank you, milord! You killed the beast!"
"You saved our sheep!"
"You saved our families!"
"You saved our lives!"
The Hound was never one to back down, but Sandor found himself taking steps back when a group of children ran up to him and began to ask him how he killed it. Their little hands and big eyes demanded answers from him. His insides rise up to his mouth.
The children begin to talk about how they can go to the woods now.
"Oi!" Carter calls to the ones in front the Sandor, "you do know there's more than one woodland monsters, aye?!"
"But now milord Cligay killed one! He'll teach us how to kill the o'vers."
"It's Clegane. Lord Clegane! And even then, you buggers can't just play in the forest. The brown bears still live here."
"I haven't seen a brown bear!" a little girl cries out. She looks to the Hound, walking up to him, grabbing his hand, "there aren't any brown bears in the woods, right, milord?"
Sandor looks at the small thing. His hand burns at her touch. Her hand was not even hot, not even big enough to grasp half his palm and yet he feels lightheaded. He feels like he's going to pass out.
The Hound finds their sentiment to be all too much at one point. He grumbles he's going home; he's got much work to do. The villagers thank him as he leaves.
When he gets home, just as he gets near the gate, he beholds Lady Clegane, the people's champion, his poor bride. She is outside, speaking to some peasants; it was all she did as of late.
A breeze blows and her dress dances with the wind. Her hair follows as well, and along goes the air from his lungs.
She is the sun. He is a mountain trying to reach her.
Sandor, who hadn't realized that he stopped in his place to gawk, is shaken out of his trance when the stable boy opened the gates for him. The small child named Polly, about as old as his wife when she fled this place, nods at him and motions, "pardon, milord," he says nervously, "I didn't know you were waiting for me to open the gates."
The Hound looks at the boy as he walks in, "I wasn't," he gruffs, eyeing him as he passed, "don't worry about it, laddie."
Lord Clegane looks away from the stable boy when he hears the shrill cry of a babe. He spots the maester walking over to his wife with a wailing child in his arms.
He thinks about the letter he had to write to the Citadel, requesting a maester come to Brown Wood.
Lady Clegane thinks her husband's initiative for it stems from his sense of duty as a Lord, but she'll never know he did it for her, for her to know if she really did have a late blood cycle, or if she lost a baby. Maester Yannick told him it was, regretfully, the latter.
The Hound waited for his lady wife to tell him about it, to ask him to hold a mourning ceremony for the unborn child. She never did.
Sandor watches Lady Clegane willingly embraces the woman who thanked her up and down, over and under, for saving her baby. She tells the weeping woman that it was not her work but maester Yannick that saved the babe. Maester Yannick says it was not his work but the gods.
Sandor tastes something putrid in his mouth when his wife coos at the child, who immediately calmed when the maester reunited the small thing to mama. His insides tingle at the sound of his lady's laugh.
He curses under his breath when she turns to him. He realizes then he had stopped in his tracks again.
The Hound begins his march.
Lady Clegane greets him, but he is not strong enough to reply with a greeting himself. He doesn't know why he stops to tell her that he killed a woodland monsters though. She looked very shocked after hearing that.
He wonders if she was disappointed. He wonders if she wanted him dead.
She touches him and questions if he was injured. Sandor flinches and steps back. She recoils her hand quickly and wipes it on her skirt-- disgusted.
The Hound says she shouldn't worry her pretty squirrel head, then walks away.
His footsteps are heavy as he heads to his office. He didn't want to go through the fucking endless piles of paperwork, but the apprentice he had couldn't grasp basic mathematics quite yet, so, there he went, to go through paperwork in a musty office.
He wonders if doing this shit made a difference to her, or if she'd always see him for what he was: a groom, forced upon her as a joke from a stupid blonde boy; a beast with ill features and temper; a Hound.
He is almost tempted to look over his shoulder at the loud sound of baby's laughter. He doesn't, cause he wouldn't see anything but a wall of he did anyway.
He wonders when she'd ask him again, when she'd ask for a child from him.
He promises he'd be gentler this time, gentler.
He doesn't mean to be so rabid with her.
She just had such an ablaze spirit, she was so fierce, and so vivid that he found himself wanting to devour her whole-- a true predator.
He wishes he could be more than that. He could be more than that to her, but it's so hard to fill in to be someone you're not. The Hound was not a proper lord, he was not that pretty boy Alistair. He can only do so much.
Sandor would do much and more for her than that scrawny, faerie pretty-boy ever could.
She might not like it, but he'll do his best to give her what she wants, to give her a family in stead of the one she lost. She will never love him, but he knows she'll love all the children he could give her, and that was more than enough, more than he could ever hope for or deserve.
I carefully walk up to the office, clutching my hands together as I prepare myself to knock on the door.
I clear my throat and retell myself what I mean to tell my husband. My palms begin to gush like geyser. I dread the fight I know will be had because of this topic.
I let out a soft gasp when someone calls me from behind.
It was the stable boy, Polly. He had run up to bow and greet me good morning. I smile at him and reach out to him. I brush his hair back, "good morrow, Polly, dear."
The boy grins and bows again, "I'll be learning how to ride a horse soon, milady!"
I link my hands together as I chuckle, "my! Will you now? How awfully courageous of you."
The boy pushes his shoulders back, "it's no'ffin, milady. Just what a man ought to do. I would go to war for you, milady, I would!"
"My boy," shake my head, "I pray you never need to do such a thing. I hope you enjoy riding though. I find that I do not."
"Do you find riding scary? I wouldn't! I'll let you ride with me once I know how, promise," the boy nods as he places a hand on his chest.
"You are very kind," I smile, "I thank you for it, Polly."
The boy puffs his chest out and bows, "I'll be goin' then, milady!"
I chuckle as I watch Polly run off as quick as a rabbit.
My soul nearly leaves me when I turn around and see the Hound looming over me.
I gasp and step back. He reaches out to me and grabs my arm. He keeps me upright and leans down, "you better stop calling the boy dear." He releases me and begins to walk off, "he's already in love with you as is."
I blink rapidly at his words. I turn to him and watch him march away before scurrying after, "he's a child."
"Aye," says Sandor, "all the children adore you."
My stomach curdles at his words; I am unsure why. I rub my hands together, not sure what to make of myself, or what to reply.
"What were you doing outside my office?" he asks.
I run up in front of him and grab his arm, "there is something I needed to discuss with you."
Sandor stops. He looks at my hand on his arm, "can't it wait?"
I pull my hand away and shake my head, "I understand that you are very busy, my lord, but I-"
"Fine," he mutters, "I'll lay with you tonight."
My eyes widen and I topple back at his words, "what?"
The Hound steps forward, keeping me upright again, "that's why you're here, aren't you?" He releases me, "your bloods have waned."
I feel my face burn. I gulp and force a smile, "I-" I chuckle nervously and straighten up, "y-yes. My bloods have waned."
Sandor watches me closely.
I rub my neck and blink rapidly, "I thank you for your thoughtfulness," I dig my thumb nail into my pointer finger. I turn from my feet then to Sandor, "but that is not what I wished to speak about."
His face falls. It's not anything noticeable but I have become quite good at it, reading his face. He purses his lips then says, "be done with it then, I've got work to do, pretty squirrel."
I feel my face burn even more at his horrible nickname.
A group of women had been complimenting my dress when the Hound passed. I knew they did not know he would react that way, but it did not help the embarrassment I felt when the women asked my husband if he thought my dress suited me and he replied 'pretty for a squirrel'.
"I wanted to tell you that I... I still very much wish to be the one to speak to the people about their concerns," I am unable to look at him when I say this, "it is not because I think you are unfit for the task, my lord, but I have seen the way you act around them."
"Like a dog?"
I knit my brows deeply and look to him, "Daisy is a dog. And I love her very much."
"That makes one of us."
We stare at each other for a long, blistering moment. My throat constricts at his words, "... Sandor."
His face contorts. He scoffs and averts his gaze, "don't say my name like that."
My heart begins to race, it twists and clenches. I step forward and reach out to him, "I see how you try to listen, how you try to help, but it scares you-"
I gasp when he rips his arm away before I can even touch him. He grabs me instead though, ripping me close as he leans down, "I'm not scared of peasants."
My eyes water. It's not even because his grip hurt, but because it was as painfully clear as it could get that this man did not like me at all, no matter what I did.
The Hound mutters softly, "do what you wish," he releases my arm, "you want to do my work so badly then? Fine. I didn't want ya to do anything you're not meant to, but have it your way."
I scratch my eyes before my tears could fall. I try to look at him as I speak, but the tears threaten to fall when I do. Instead, I fix my eyes on the floor, "I do not do this to upset you, Hound. I do this because I mean to help you. I swear it."
He is deeply disturbed by the softness in which these words are spoken. Hearing himself be called Hound was unreasonably heart piercing.
"I do not like it when you are angry," I whisper, "it would have been fine if it was only directed at me, but you spur everyone around you."
I flinch when he calls my name.
I shake my head, "if it pleases you, lord, I will do as you said the other day. I will no longer speak to you. I will not bother you. I will not stand in your way." I step back and pick at my fingernails.
Sandor holds back from stepping forward.
"Maester Yannick has been giving me herbs to help with conception, but he said that I should be in good spirits when... consummating... I do not think we should do anything tonight--" I look to him through my wet lashes, "unless you want to--"
"No, I do not," he says coldly.
I gulp. Tears begin to stream down my face. My lips quiver. I shudder. Of course he doesn't want me.
I curtsy and walk off. I break into a sprint after a few steps, as I am no longer able to hold in my sobs.
Sandor watches this. He furrows his brows, unnerved by the interaction, gutted by the fact it ended in tears yet again. He replays the conversation. Was his touch truly that hard? He looks at his hand. He curses loudly and storms off to fuck all.
Sandor wakes before the sky does. He opens his heavy lids and sighs. He turns to his right on instinct; he watches his wife stretch out her arms in the expanse of nothingness between them. He likes to think that she is reaching out to him. He likes to think that if he reaches back, it'll make everything fine between them.
But then again, it had never been fine between them in the first place.
He makes sure not to touch or move her. Last time he did, she woke up. She truly was a light sleeper.
He slowly gets up. He quickly gets dressed. The moment he gets out of the room, he heads to his office.
He's finished his work by the time he hears a dog barking. He looks to the window, the sun looks back at him. He stands, stretches, and walks over to the sill, pushing the curtains open. He sees her, Lady Clegane, cuddling the mutt she named Daisy. Fucking Daisy. Polly, the stable boy was waving a stick, but the bitch could not care less about it, too preoccupied by her master.
He watches Daisy lick her neck. He watches how she scolds the dog for it but giggles anyway. Sandor sniffles. His mind wanders to the one time he had his face pressed on her neck like that. Fucking dog.
He watches the pair go inside. The Hound heads to the dining room promptly after.
He mutters to himself, trying to decide how to start, "I don't meant to make you cry-- I keep making you cry-- Fuck-- .... I know you don't like me," he stops in his tracks before he can get to his destination. He mutters to himself some more.
Fuck it.
He hears the telltale patter of Daisy's paws. It makes his fingers tingle.
When he gets to the dining room, he furrows his brows at the emptiness.
Lucy gasps at the sight of him. She topples back then regains her composure. She puts the plate of food she was holding down on the table with a bang. She looks at him and curtsies, "your food, milord."
"Where is she?"
Lucy's glare darkens, "she is dining with the servants."
He chuckles drily. He feels disappointment. He feels hurt. He immediately plays it off, "pretty squirrel's finally had enough of me."
"WILL YOU STOP CALLING 'ER THAT!" Lucy bursts, taking the Hound off-guard.
They both stare at each other, as if equally as shocked by the outburst.
Lucy fumes. Sandor freezes. The former decides she's already spoken, so she might as well continue, "she is a lady! You took her for this," she motions vaguely. "You need her," she speaks firmly, "just as much as she needs you."
The Hound scoffs. His insides burn and curdle at the idea of the little girl needing a beast to keep her safe. He snaps, "well, go ahead and tell her I will gladly be her hound and breed her little monsters as thanks for her nice, warm castle!"
Lucy makes no attempt to hide the revulsion she feels at the sound of the hound's words.
"You know what," he snarls, "why don't I breed her right now as a thank you?"
Lucy's face drops. She runs up to the Hound when he begins to storm off. She crumples like paper when he shoves her away. He doesn't do it hard enough that she shoots off to the table, but it's enough for her to get the message: he was deadly strong.
Lucy does her best to stop him. She cries and begs and screams. She digs her heels into floor and yanks him back but it doesn't do much, it doesn't do anything.
The Hound only stops when he finally sees her.
Lady Clegane is laughing with the servants as they watch Daisy roll on her belly for food. She feeds the dog just as Lucy runs up in front of him, severely distraught and tear stained. Lucy pushes her hands on his chest and begs him to punish her instead.
The Hound is sickened when Daisy runs up to him and whines. He recoils his hand when the bitch licks it.
"Lucy?"
Sandor flinches at the sound of his wife's voice and turns the other way.
I was in the middle of playing fetch with Daisy when she caught wind of something and ran off to the gate. Usually, this meant Sandor was home. Lo and behold, this moment was not any different.
I turn away immediately when we lock gazes.
The Hound had a large cut of meat on his shoulder. He grunts as Daisy barks and runs up to him, "fuck off, bitch."
He does his best to avoid the dog, nudging her away firmly with his leg as he walks up to a wagon and plops the hind of a cow on there. He hisses at Daisy when she gets on her two back legs and rests one good leg and bad one on his hips.
"Daisy!" I call.
She ignores me.
Sandor looks over his shoulder, "your mam's calling you, dog. Go on!"
Daisy clearly doesn't understand, or doesn't care, and barks at Sandor when he shoves her away.
"Daisy!" I call and jog up to her when she follows Sandor out of the estate. I run up to the gate and watch as she is chased by the Hound. She runs as fast as her three paws will allow, clearly enjoying what she thought to be a game.
"Come here, you stupid bitch!" the Hound screams.
I turn to one of the men near me. I call Arron over and tell him to tell the Hound not to chase after her. He does just that, "milord! She will stop running if you stop chasing!"
I make a face as Lord Clegane curses and does his final attempt at catching the dog.
"Shall I bait Daisy with some meat, milady?" Arron asks.
I am about to respond but then there is a loud shriek from afar. It makes my blood go still.
The Hound immediately stops, straightens up, and looks at the distance.
I turn to Arron in a panic and tell him to get bait for Daisy. He quickly does that and calls for the dog to come back.
A bunch of peasants run and scream towards the estate; they scream milord.
Sandor goes to them.
When he reaches the panicked townspeople, he tells them all to shut the fuck up and explain what's happening. The old one clamours out that her daughter's been taken, says she was herding the cows then she was suddenly screaming, and he tried to reach her but it was too late. He says his son went to the woods to try and save her sister.
The Hound nods. He easily decides to go into the woods. The man's other son to leads the way.
In truth, the boy didn't have to go with him, he could just head to where the animals were fleeing, but he allowed it because he recognized the boy to be one of the ones in training. He has no idea what his name was though.
He was glad to hear the screams when he did, at least the ones that sounded human.
The Hound sees a lad and a lass running up to him, "RUN WHILE IT'S DISTRACTED!"
The boy by his side screams back, "the Hound is here! He's going to kill it!"
Well, Sandor was only meant to save the girl, and now that the girl was about to run past him, he didn't have to do anything, really. For some reason, he felt compelled to press on. Maybe it was the lack of his sense of self-preservation as of late, or no, don't call it that; it was his need for a distraction, his need prove something.
He sees it, the monster and its fresh kill. It must have been one of the girl's cows, or at least what was left of it. Gods, the abomination was a messy eater. He was glad, at least, it seemed to be starved and solely focused on eating.
His boots stomp into a puddle of blood when he charges at the thing and cuts its head off. That's was quick... and simple...
He's shocked when he hears a hellish scream behind him and gets knocked into a tree.
The Hound is dazed. He hears the battle cry of two voices. He watches the brothers do their best to stab at the thing that towers and claws at them. He promptly gets on his feet and charges at the disgusting fuck, managing to chop off its arm before it chops off the boy's head.
Just as he thinks he's about to get the upper hand, another vile beast pops up from the shadows. He fixes his footing and slashes his sword for his life.
One of the boys get injured. The boy's scream attract the monsters towards him, allowing the Hound to stab through one of them when it's attention is averted.
By the time one of the two vile cretins drop to the ground, the two boys are running for their lives with one monster on their tail. The Hound is forced to chase after them and curses the boys for running. He's not as quick as he was before.
He screams and grabs a rock, chucking it at the slimy tar creature. He throws and shouts some more until the monster is turned back and running towards him.
He slashes the stupid fuck with his sword when its close enough. It still picks a fight though.
He's losing his breath.
The next thing he knows, there's another monster screaming from behind him. The Hound prepares for the one behind him, but it doesn't reach him because its busy ripping something off it with a growl. It chucks something to the side. There is a separate whine that hisses with the wind.
The Hound finally kills the first monster that attacked him. It doesn't take much for him to kill the other as its belly was already gushing with viscous blood.
Once he's the only thing alive and standing, catches his breath and curses. He looks upon the fallen black creatures before him and reckons he ought to get out there before more come out.
But then he hears a rustle to his side. He immediately goes on the defensive and readies for another fight.
He follows the sound of heavy breathing.
His face drops when he hears the way the dog whines when he's spotted.
The Hound sheathes his sword and drops to his knees. He looks at Daisy, her one front paw bent, the other one not. Her hind legs were twisted unnaturally, her side was clawed. She was soaking in red, both hers and otherwise. She was panting and quickly losing blood.
Sandor reaches out to her. Her eyes were wide and teary. She leans into Sandor's touch and licks her nose in a panic.
He begins to feel a rage burn in him. He begins to feel loathe. He whisper-yells, "you stupid dog. You should have stayed home."
Daisy's breath quickens. He realizes see that she is trying not to whine. Gods, the pain she must be in.
He is about to tell her she was stupid for doing that, he is about to tell her she didn't need her help, he is about to tell her she was so fearless for no reason, but then Daisy whines. It was the most horrible thing he's ever heard.
Sandor huffs like he had been stabbed. He grips his hilt tightly, "thank you for saving me, Daisy."
Sandor screws his eyes shut and decides on what he has to do.
He draws his sword. Daisy does not flinch when he presses the sword onto her neck. He thinks about the day they'd first met.
Fearless.
He strokes her face with his hand once. He screws his eyes shut when he feels her shiver.
So afraid.
"You're a good dog."
His next stroke pulls Daisy's final breath.
The Hound stands. He looks upon his dog.
He screams.
He screams.
He screams, hell-bent on summoning more monsters. He kills three more stupid fuck, particularly enjoying how he butchered killing a young one.
He takes Daisy's body after. She is rigid against his chest when he reaches the village. He barks out an order to the villagers: burn those fucking monsters he killed. They were more than happy to oblige.
He passes the family he had helped. They are about to come up to thank him but they don't when they see what was in his arms.
He is swarmed with dread with what he is faced with when he reaches the estate. It was very clearly as search party for Daisy.
"SANDOR!" I cry out when I spot him from the distance. "DID YOU SEE DAISY WHEN-" I stop myself when I realize he is covered in blood. Suddenly, I feel awful for not asking him if he was injured before anything else.
His form becomes clearer as I jog up to him and call, "ARE YOU AL-"
I stop in my tracks when I see him adjust something in his arms. I knit my brows and continue walking towards him. Was it a head of a monster? Why was it brownish and not black?
The Hound gives me a solemn look as he inches closer. I furrow my brows at his expression.
It takes a second then suddenly, it clicks.
I let out a horrified cry.
The Hound buries Daisy in the garden himself. Everyone in Brown Wood watches. I force a glance at my poor dog, even though I wanted to do nothing but turn away. Her injuries chill me to the bone. Lucy stands beside me, clutching my arm as she weeps, but does not look at Daisy once.
Maester Yannick speaks some words for her, as per my request, before Sandor covers the grave.
Once it was done, maester Yannick comes to me and says he will plant daisies at her grave come morrow. I cannot find solace, I cannot find myself to care.
"Did you have to slit her throat?!" I demand lowly, voice aching and angry. I eye the Hound with hot contempt and cynicism, "was there REALLY no saving her?!"
"My lady," the maester holds me back, "I saw her body. Lord Clegane showed her mercy."
"Did you enjoy executing your mercy?!" I wail, ripping my arms away from Lucy and Yannick. My gaze does not trail to them at all, as I am intent on getting answers from my dog's executioner.
The Hound's face is blank, it enrages me.
I snarl through tears, "gods, I hope you did! I hope you savored finally being free of your bitch!"
Lucy calls after me as when I storm away. She means to run after me but shoots a glare at the Hound before doing so. She is momentarily stunned when he sees how distraught he looks at the moment.
Sandor marches out of the estate.
I jolt awake when I hear the front door opening. I wipe my face and quickly stand from the chair in the middle of the living space. The fireplace near me had already burned out.
After the sound of locks disappear in the darkness, I take the unlit candle on the table beside me and walk up to the burning candelabra to light it.
I hear heavy footsteps draw closer.
Boots skid, "fuck."
I look up after lighting my candle. The Hound looks back at me.
"What are you doing?"
I purse my lips and turn to my feet. I clutch my candle, finding it hard to speak.
"Lucy kick you out of her bed?" he mutters then begins to walk off.
I look up and follow after him. I finally muster out, "you arrive later and later."
He scoffs.
"It's been five days. I fear you'll not return by the tenth."
I pull my head back and stop in my tracks just as the Hound turns and chuckles, "don't worry, little girl. I like the wages of a Lord. Your hound isn't running."
"I know you're not running!" I snap, "I wonder why you think so poorly of yourself!"
"I think poorly of myself?" he hisses and points to his chest.
"Yes!" I bark and push myself up on my tiptoes to prove a point, "and since you are so keen to put words in my mouth, I hope you shove all the fucking pie the unwitting peasants gave you down your blasted throat!"
The Hound is shocked by my profanity. His face slips into confusion.
I heave and pull back, intent on walking away. And I do. I should have never waited for him.
"What fucking pie?"
I snap and turn back at him, "the one you could have eaten fresh had you spared a moment this morning before leaving for a monster hunt!"
Sandor is wholeheartedly confused.
I am aggravated by his expression. I wave my hands, unintentionally putting out the flame of my candle, "they love you, Hound! They're thankful and grateful!"
Though it was darker now, I see his face pinch in to a sort of disgusted disbelief. The sight infuriates me, it squeezes my heart, it pricks me frustration. I wipe my face and repeat the words that were spoken to me, "tell Lord Clegane that without him my children would be dead. Tell Lord Clegane that he has saved me family from hunger. Tell Lord Clegane that me, and my sons, and my sheep are happy to-"
"I didn't do it for them," Sandor cuts me off with a hand raise.
I purse my lips and slowly pull my head back at his words.
He lowers his hand and eyes me for a moment. I see how his gaze drinks my figure. He clenches his jaw and looks away, "you should be asleep."
My jaw slacks.
I wait for him to look at me. I wait for him to ask if I was going to sleep with Lucy again. I wait for him to apologize for keeping me up worrying. I wait for him to bring up Daisy. I wait him to do something, but he doesn't.
My eyes water, "my lo-"
"Good night," he dismisses and turns around to walk away.
"Aren't you-" my voice cracks, "-going to ask me to go to bed with you?"
He stops in his tracks. He does not look back, "do you want me to?"
I furrow my brows deeply. I feel like I was drowning. I let out a shaky breath and wrap my arms around myself. I shake my head and turn away. I chuckle dryly, "forgive me for even asking."
Sandor turns back, jaw hanging, hands clenched. He does nothing but watch.
"Do you know what's going to happen now, little girl?"
"Yes."
"What's going to happen?"
"You're going to fuck me."
Sandor laughs lowly, placing his hands on my cheeks. He swipes his thumb on my lips, "filthy mouth."
He kisses me deeply.
"Tell me honest," he mutters through kisses, "have you ever done this before?" he speaks as his hands paw at my sides, "I would not judge you if you did."
I squeak when he touches me between my thighs.
He draws out a deep breath, "no, of course you haven't; you're a good girl."
I gasp at the sound of thunder. I jolt up from my bed-- I turn to my side, seeing a sleeping Lucy's form-- or I mean, Lucy's bed. I look for Daisy in the room as I slowly push the blankets off me. I still when I realize she wasn't here.
I huff and wipe my face. I try to push away the thoughts of Daisy out of my head. I try not to think of her so much because I end up melancholy and furious. I, instead, find myself drifting to the dream I just had-- been having.
The mind can be so treacherous. I nibble my lower lip and rub my belly.
I tried, you know. I went to the Hound the morning after we fought about his coming home late. I tried to make peace with him. I tried to persuade him. I tried to kiss him.
I gasp again when another crack of thunder echoes through the room.
He wasn't having it though. He pushed me away and told me it was wrong, that we shouldn't be doing that. He left the estate shortly after. He hasn't been home since.
I get out of bed and light a candle for myself. I walk to my bedroom and light any of the candles that went off on my way. I wrap my arms around myself and rub my skin. I open the door to room as softly as possible, though it didn't really matter in the end because it was pouring outside and the noise wouldn't be loud.
With a barely audible creak, the door opens.
And it was also empty.
I sigh at the made bed. I walk towards it and smoothen out the already smooth sheets. I decide to get dressed for the day.
I head to the office, which as empty as the bedroom. I light the candles there.
I sit down on the desk and go through the papers, the letters of requests, the list of complaints, the finances, the works. I rub my eyes, willing my sleep away. I look out my window, seeing barely any hint of sun through the dark clouds.
I don't know how exactly how much time passed between then and when Arron burst in, but it must have been a while, considering how nice it felt to stand after hearing him shout, "HE'S HOME, MILADY!"
I immediately blow out the candles as Arron tells me the Hound was in the living area. I thank him for telling me, gather my skirts, and jog out of the room.
I cannot hear the click of my heels over the sound of the persisting rain-- the persisting storm.
I stop in my tracks when I see a trail of water in the corridor that led to my bedroom.
A crack of lightning bolts through the sky when I walk in and ask "where have you been?!"
The Hound is dripping in rain water. He has his back turned to me. He is undoing his armor.
I clench my fists and storm up to him. I circle in front of him the same time he walks towards the closet. He stops there, still undoing his armor, back turned to me again.
I scowl, "Hound! I'm speaking to you!"
He looks over his shoulder, the one he was trying to undo, "what? I can't hear you over the rain."
I burn hot with anger and march up to him, "I asked where you've been!"
The Hound looks down at me. He releases the grip on his shoulder, "does it matter where I've been?"
"Yes!" I snap, "you haven't come home in 7 days."
He scoffs, "thrilling to know you've been counting," he points to the window, "well, as you can see, it's fucking storming."
"It wasn't storming the day you left," I hiss.
"Well, it was when I decided to come to my beautiful wife," he leans down and jeers.
I knit my brows at him and pull back when I smell the alcohol in his breath.
He takes my chin between his fingers, "come on give us a smile."
I pull away from him, heart racing, chin burning, even though his touch got my skin damp with rain water.
The Hound straightens up and undoes his armor again.
I step away from him, "Job said he saw you in the next town over."
"Who the fuck is Job?" he asks, not bothering to look at me.
"Polly's father."
"The stable boy?" he turns to me.
"Yes," I hiss and I feel anger build up in me.
He says nothing.
I nearly choke when I say the next words, "he said he saw you coming out of brothel."
The Hound stills. He drops his hands to the side.
Both of us just stand there for a moment. The rain seems to intensify, and so does the tension between us.
"Tell me the truth," I mutter, "do you-"
"It was the town with the fucking unavailable inn," he shifts in his spot to turn to me, "I went to the brothel instead and paid for lodging there."
I purse my lips at his words. That was not what I was going to ask him. I battle with myself, trying to find the words I want to say. I revise my words over and over again in my head. There were so many things I wanted to say, yet so little ways to make it easy to speak out.
I shake my head, "am I very hard to want?"
Sandor feels rain water drip from his fingers.
I don't know how I feel about the bewildered and perplexed expression that spreads across his face. I do know one thing at least, I feel too exhausted to cry.
I sigh and shrug, "I am no fool, Hound. I learned through the gossip of my maids and my aunts growing up that men are simply like... this. It is their nature to stray. Of course, I hoped different for myself, but we cannot have it all, can we?"
"But I didn't do anything," he snaps. He deflates, "I swear by the gods, old and new."
I press my lips into a tight smile. I slowly walk up to him. He watches me intently. I hear his breath hitch when I begin to undo his armor for him. I half expect him to make me stop. He doesn't.
Sandor steps forward. There's barely any space between us anymore. His heart is racing. His hands itch to touch. He releases a breath when his hand comes to my side.
My stomach swirls at the feel of his palm but I do nothing. Neither do I look at him when I mutter, "maybe you should."
Sandor watches me remove his armor. He furrow his brows and whispers, "what?"
I drop the steel plate to the ground with a clank. It is loud even with the sound of pouring rain.
He doesn't like it when he receives no reply. He takes my wrist. I stop my task. His hand is warm albeit the dampness, and so very gentle.
I finally look up at him.
He leans closer and speaks louder. He shakes his head and furrows his brows, "what did you say, pretty squirrel?"
I raise my brows, "maybe you should."
"Should what?"
"Do something in the brothels."
His face falls. We stare at each other for a moment. He is clearly in disbelief.
I pull my hand out of his grip. He almost doesn't let me.
"It's not a trick, I swear it."
"What are you saying?" he shakes his head faster and finds himself playing on the offensive, "you want me to be with someone else?!"
"I want a baby," I mutter.
Sandor's face falls again, but then it twists. It is unbearable to look at.
"Find a woman you desire," I turn away from him, "and give her your seed. You may keep her here if you like, and I will let her take care of the babe, but the babe will be mine."
His lips part.
"You're right. I don't want the memory of my family to be tainted by monstrosity-"
He shakes his head once more.
"-and I am the last of my line. My line lives on with House Clegane. People remember names, not blood."
He takes my hand, "I desire you."
I cannot help it. I begin to cry because of that. I break into both tears and laughter, "you needn't shield my heart, Sandor."
Sandor's stomach drops, both at the fact his own words have been used against him and with how his name was spoken.
I place a hand on his cheek.
His knees go weak.
"We've both hurt enough," I smile, "I know you think otherwise, but I'm not a little girl. I know sometimes winning means admitting defeat when the loss is great."
He grabs both my wrists when I try to pull away. I gasp when he does so. He holds me for a second then releases my wrists to capture my cheeks instead. He wipes my tears with his thumbs. He swipes my lips, "I love you."
I screw my eyes shut and cling onto his forearm. I let out another laugh, "I don't think you hurt people that you love, my lord."
The Hound is pierced through his armor.
He doesn't put up a fight when I pull his hands off me.
I continue to undo his armor. He doesn't move an inch.
"Will you sleep with me tonight?" he whispers. The sound of the rain is too loud that only him and the gods heard it.
Sandor had been out of it ever since his pretty squirrel ate his insides. He was thick faced, literally and figuratively; he's learned to take pride in it, to find solace in the fact all the years of flesh ripping torture-- figuratively and literally, had made him indifferent to what people think, made him apathetic, numb.
And yet her smile that day was worse than a sword through the spleen. Her disbelief in his words-- because she was right, you don't hurt people you love-- was heart wrenching, blood draining.
What do you say to that? How do you fix that?
You don't.
He knows you don't. You can't fix something like that.
And since this truth has dawned on him, since this truth has slit his throat, he's been a headless, mindless fucker. He was a dead man walking, and one more unwitting monster attack away from making it real.
"MILORD!" Carter cries, raising his sword to hack at the monster who managed to swipe his lately-been-aloof Lord Clegane.
The boy is fired up; his blood is pumping enough to enable him to cut the black demon's arm off and sequentially pierce it through its heart. Carter does it with a scream and regrets it a moment later; after all, they were in the middle of the woods.
They have to get out of here.
Sandor makes a pained noise. He feels heat surge down his arm and cold shiver up his spine.
"YOU'RE BLEEDING!" Carter gasps, mortified that his lord's armor was scraped off his back. The boy realizes suddenly that his Lord, the fearsome Hound, was not invincible. This newfound truth rips into his ribs the way, he thinks, the monsters would.
The boy immediately takes the Hound in his arms, though it wasn't like he could actually carry him if he wanted. Sandor steadies himself on the boy; Carter struggles even with that task.
Still, the smaller manages to support his Lord out of the woods.
The next thing Sandor knows, he's screaming and thrashing. He vaguely hears the sound of footsteps skidding away from him.
"What's happening, Maester Yannick?!"
A deep sigh, "he probably feels the pain now."
Sandor realizes he's sat down on a stool, leaned against a table, or at least he was before he started flailing his arms around. He lets out a guttural cry as he pushes himself up. He realizes he's in the ward, being attended by the maester, and his wife was present and very troubled.
"My lord!" Yannick exclaims, raising his hands in both surrender and an attempt to soothe, "it's alright. I have stitched your wounds closed. Do not tear them open "
Sandor huffs through his nostrils. He turns to his side when he hears the soft way his name was spoken. Lady Clegane walks closer, hand wanting to reach out to him. He almost reaches back but then she digs her nails into her palms.
He sinks into the stool and watches her look at him. Her eyes are glassy. Why are they always glassy?
"My lord," Yannick walks towards him, "I'm going to wrap your wounds now."
Sandor huffs in agreement, or more accurately, acknowledgement. His eyes are still fixed on her though. He watches her hover around him, evidently unsure about approaching him.
He wants to reach out to her. He wants to touch her, to soothe her so, so badly.
He's shocked when she decides to take his hand and whispers, "shall I get you milk of the poppy?"
Sandor looks up at her. Her voice was shaky and he hates how worried it sounded, how desperate. He hates how her eyes were constantly red. He knits his brows, "no."
She hisses, "are you certain? Your gashes are deep. No one in the world would fault you for wanting something to relieve the pain."
"I want to feel it," he mutters, "I want to feel."
She looks between the two of them in a panic, "but you've lost so much blood--"
"Perhaps," Yannick interrupts firmly. He starts binding his wounds, "he wants to feel precisely because he's light headed after losing blood."
Sandor straightens up slowly as he is instructed to. His attention is solely focused on the sensation on his hand though, on how the jittery squirrel was rubbing her soft fingers on his calloused skin.
She persists with this action until his chest and back is bound, she persists until Maester Yannick leaves the room, she persists until, next moment, she drops on her knees beside him. The Hound reacts in an instant.
He gets on the floor beside her, uncaring how it hurt his back, and clutches her face. He calls her name in horror.
"Are you punishing me?" she whispers as water in her eyes threaten to spill.
Sandor knits his brows deeply. He can't speak. He's too afraid to. Everything he's said up until that point has done nothing but rip them both apart. He was a hound after all.
"Are you trying to kill yourself to get back at me?" she mutters, distressed, pained, and defeated.
His face contorts even more. He hesitates but then shakes his head, "no."
"The boy said you've been acting differently as of late!" she grabs his wrists, "ever since I told you what I wanted from you."
His lips twitch. He looks away.
She tightens her grip, "please."
He is suddenly so acutely aware of his injuries. The pain throbs all the way through his heart.
"Please," she begs softly, "just tell me what you want from me-"
"Everything."
The way he responded was quick, as if it was practiced, as if it was reflex.
He avoids her gaze. He takes a deep breath. He waits for a response he somehow knows will never come.
When he turns to her, he notices how her face dropped. Gods, Sandor. Get it together.
"I want-" he starts but cannot continue because of how guilty he feels over the sight of her wobbling lip.
Sandor's hands loosen. They melt from her cheeks, down her shoulders. He grips the area, as if she was water about to slip through his fingers. He releases a breath, and with it, it seems, his thoughts escape. He mutters somethings that mean nothing. She doesn't understand anything.
She whimpers, "I have nothing left to give; you already have it all."
The Hound freezes when his cheek is touched, when his scar is touched. It's like it's being burned all over again.
"Is there something I can give you now?" she huffs uneasily.
He sighs. He feels the wounds throbbing; he feels his head pounding, "no."
"Then will you let me go now?"
No. No, no, no, no-
"Or, please, at least loosen your grip."
Immediately, Sandor releases her shoulders. She sequentially lets out a breath and rubs the area. There is an imprint on the area of her exposed skin.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck-
"Do you want me to stay?"
Yes. "Do you want to stay?"
"I had planned to finish some errands before going to bed."
Sandor averts his gaze then slowly crawls back to his stool, "then leave."
It almost hurts as much as his cuts how quickly she stands. She looks down at him, "I will leave you to your solidarity."
Please don't go.
"I will tell Maester Yannick to come back to attend to you, Hound."
Hound. It sounds like shattering glass.
Sandor listens to the click of her heels as she leaves him.
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indelicate | liu yangyang
pairing: yangyang x fem!reader
synopsis: missing the last train out of new shanghai was not on the to-do list. however, your project partner liu yangyang promises fun, dazzling lights, and the warmth of a human connection for this festive weekend. perhaps even in the era of diamond and steel, the human touch means something after all.
genre: oriental cyberpunk, f2l, fluff
warning(s): swearing & several innuendos. also out-of-date jokes sorry guys i wrote this in 2021
words: 11.9k
a/n: this is just a rework of an old fic i posted here with another character! if you find any inconsistencies, it's probably because of that LOL also this is not a wincore revival but i did miss everyone on here !!
i. city plaza
Some idiot, somewhere along in history, decided to renovate a city into something so dazzling that the population shoots up to a hundred and fifty percent of what was before, and the rest of the damage comes along with the people. Promises are made and broken to build this city of extravagance. You have the belief that the more people there are in one place, the more difficult it gets to live there. This dazzling hellscape means colliding into too many people on the streets, too many bright lights outside your dorm room when you’re trying to sleep and the god awful sound of deafening firecrackers at every new year celebration.
Another idiot somehow roped you into his ‘midnight adventure: traditional version’ once he heard you missed the last train ticket out of the city. Liu Yangyang has a terrible way with words—but he has a way.
You were, by some unfortunate gamble of the gods, partners for a project that accounted for sixty percent of the grade. While that affair is over, you still haven't rid yourself of the predicament that is Yangyang. Gorgeous, yes, but too overwhelming. You smack your head against the car window only for him to jump in his seat beside you, hand gently driving over your forehead to check for damage. The neon city lays around you, and festive light projections float across the sky in intricate shapes of the ox and written messages. This is going nowhere. You came to this city sacrificing everything and yet suddenly, everything’s hanging on a string again.
The city lights of New Shanghai are cruel. Everything in this place is cruel.
Which is exactly why you’re in Yangyang’s car, parked by the middle level city plaza on New Year’s Eve. It is, in fact, illegal to hover by the city plaza on New Year’s Eve but Yangyang seems to either not care or simply doesn’t know. You forget the law doesn’t exist for rich kids. Out of all man-made wonders, rules are the most interesting.
“Shall we go?” he asks, voice bubbly as ever. Every morning, he chirps like the alarm birds outside your window. Yes, it has made you want to sleep forever at times.
“It’s just one night. And I’ll be with you, so you don’t have to be afraid.”
“I’m not afraid,” you snap.
“Not afraid of the dark either?”
You pull your jacket closer to you. Here, the cold streets of the techno-jungle make you shiver more often than not. If you dare go out without friends, a city so grand will inevitably drain the life out of you. Your body alone cannot withstand the dazzle. And—you can’t be afraid of the dark after you’ve complained about the lights.
You look at Yangyang and back to the cityscape outside—large conglomerative blocks of buildings, some hosting advertisements with the faces of inhumanly beautiful models and some with the ‘Happy New Year!’ text animation floating about in increasingly complex patterns. You see the revolving top of one of the grandest skyscrapers, a Dior hotel, not the tallest but certainly the most pleasing to look at. It gleams from red to orange like the pulsating heart of a giant metropolitan beast. There are more funky buildings to look at, some not even the shape of austere corporate skyscrapers.
“Do you wanna go there?” Yangyang asks all of a sudden. “I heard the lounge is closed off from eleven. I can call some friends and we can book a room though—”
“No. No way. I’m not going to spend new year’s eve in a Dior suite.”
He grins. “Thank god. It’s so boring there. Only models and businessmen and whatever freak shit they do.”
You sigh. Liu Yangyang is a whole story in itself. He’s rich and popular—a dream of many—but so few are as welcoming as he is. When you’re in that position, you’re bound to have a little metal seep into your heart. Some hidden part of you, however, tells you to loosen up when you’re with him; just let it go and have a good time. There’s no reason why you shouldn't. The economy is on a steep incline, the people are happy and no other city compares to this place. You could learn a thing or two from Yangyang.
He looks at you questioningly, eyes waiting and the curve of his lips still. You notice his platinum blond hair is more styled than usual, you can almost smell the gel on it, and for a moment, you wish you looked as good as he does. A dark leather jacket accentuates his shoulders, the plain T-shirt underneath not of the flashy type. He looks like he’s ready for club-hopping and you, anything but. If you knew earlier that you’d be by the Strip around midnight on New Year’s, you'd have dressed better.
“If you stay any longer in my car, people are going to assume we’re…y’know,” he states, quirking his eyebrow. “I’m pretty sure it’s illegal, though. Like, who thought fu—”
You were wrong. There is absolutely nothing to learn from Liu Yangyang.
“I would get out of this car immediately and fall to my death before I let that happen,” you retort, crossing your arms.
“No, hey. What an inauspicious sentence. Besides, and I’m not bragging but you should know I’m really good at using my assets—”
“Don’t say a word.”
The heat of embarrassment flows into your cheeks at his implication. You look out the window, weighing out the pros and cons. The scenery is so bright that sometimes it hurts to look outside. It’s not midnight yet but the main streets are already getting crowded for the processions; the sound of laughter and conversation ring in the air. It makes you somewhat sad to not be home for this. But as they say, living in a big city can only be done if you sell your soul to it.
You’re directly above the level one city plaza, the people below looking unsettling in the way they’re so small and far away—they don’t even seem human at this distance. You wonder if you look like that to the people above this, to the level three elites who sit on top of the whole city..
You look back to your companion, who’s transfixed on the bakery across the road—either that, or just really, really zoned out. Knowing Yangyang, it could be either. When you tilt your head, waiting, you find that he has pretty features—a shaped nose and round, curious eyes, all in perfect alignment with plump, pink lips. His metallic ring earrings shine when the light hits them right. No wonder you get girls asking how close the two of you are often. Even in a world pushing manufactured love, boys like him make others daydream. You wonder why you’re the one he loves to drag in with him.
Yangyang flinches when he finds you staring at him. You clear your throat, looking away and hoping you can sweep this under the rug.
“Are you- are you by any chance mad at me?” he asks, a nervous smile awkwardly tugging at his lips.
“I- what? No. I’m not mad at you.”
“You look like my mother when I don’t clean my room. Or Ten's cats when I try to kiss them.”
A tiny laugh escapes you before you get back your poised demeanor. “I’m- I’m not mad at you.”
He smiles at you wordlessly and you feel a little conscious. You glance outside when the plaza music starts to get loud and look back at him, debating whether you should just give in.
“So… you’ll let me brighten your life now?” he asks in his regular baritone, grinning wider. “The semester’s over and it’s festival time! I bring good luck, I promise.”
Liu Yangyang is not a happy serendipity. He simply cannot be. However, he does make you laugh more often than you’d admit.
“Whatever. Go ahead. I just don’t want to be hungover on a Friday.”
“You don’t- you don’t have to drink to have a good time.” He laughs. “I would know. I’m sort of a lightweight. I don’t know why I told you that. I’m supposed to be cool.”
You giggle, taking a moment to think.
“Fine then. Show me your magical access key to our beloved Mobius Strip, the mightiest, grandest structure in all of New Shanghai.”
“Well, if you put it that way… I am pretty cool, huh?”
His smile is too harmless for you to roll your eyes. He’s too gentle, you realize all of sudden, to be as awful as all the uni frat boys you’ve had the misfortune of talking to. You watch him as he drives; his arm moves with ease and he tries to make conversation but you can only hum and respond in singular words. The closer you are to the Strip the more nervous you get. It’s like visiting all those dark places that your mother explicitly warned you not to visit as a teenager—but you’re an adult now. No one owns you. No one should be able to own you. The determination builds up slowly over neon lights and hazy street shops.
Nights here are the fun part. Everyone says that. Other than the fact that you can barely make out the colour of the sky under the vivid city lights, there’s something very enticing about the streets, the upper streets that wind around the city.
Yangyang drives the car to a level three street, the behemoth structure of the Strip now so close that all you can see beyond your window are its placid, white walls stretching out to infinity. You can see little gardens and shops, peeking out from between each strip and one of the shopkeepers wave at you the moment you pass. Yangyang says something along the lines of “thanks for the free noodles” to the woman, before gliding higher.
“Grandma makes the best glass noodles here,” he says, excitedly. “I’ll take you sometime. If you like.”
You hum, noting the joy he expresses at the idea of something so simple.
Level three streets are already thousand and a half feet above the ground. You try not to look down; heights aren’t something you’re very fond of even if you love the sky. You note construction work for street levels four and five, shivering at the idea. The winds of change are fucking cold.
Yangyang swerves the car off-road at one point and you clutch his arm by reflex.
“What the fuck? Don’t do that without warning me,” you say, breathing quicker. You do not do well with: sudden movement, jumpscares and boys with pretty smiles.
“Sorry,” he says, looking at you with concern. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”
You let go of his arm, more embarrassed at yourself than mad at him. Driving the car closer to the Strip, he brakes carefully by the parking lot. The walls are covered in red wallpaper, a few lanterns attached to drones, floating along the path inside. It looks like a rooftop parking lot, though the mysterious dim lighting makes you walk closer to Yangyang.
“I heard this is gonna be a really cool event—they’ve got the latest AI tech hosting and crap but let me tell you the best part.”
He pauses for dramatic effect.
“The food!” He says, spreading his arms and grinning. “The food at private events is the best thing you’ll ever taste.”
You open your mouth but close it again in part horror, part confusion. “You’re… taking me to a private event?”
“Ah, don’t look like that. It’s really fun, promise.”
“I’m not even dressed for it,” you blurt, embarrassed.
Yangyang shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. It’s for rich kids, you know? If I’m being honest, none of them know how to dress.”
His confident statement gets a giggle out of you and you relax a little. You walk with him, further into the square platform and away from the cars. The sky disappears behind the dark roof and for a moment, you feel like you’ve entered a different dimension. It’s like the architecture models that your professors had on display for the Shanghai History class in your freshman year. Old stuff, that is. Before this place even had the first skyscraper.
You turn to your side and narrow your eyes at Yangyang, suddenly wondering how he finagled his way into bringing you here. Your iron-clad will is not so much iron after all. It’s not even steel, you think, once you catch yourself staring at Yangyang a bit too long.
You step forward to find the entrance to the club; it’s a little lonely to look at in the beginning. Then it clicks that it’s probably the back door. The red pillars encase a black door between them, the overhang of the gateway just a little above Yangyang’s head. You can see the hip-and-gable style roof of the larger building behind, looking like a skyscraper instead of the usual historical buildings you’ve seen on the internet. In glowing red letters, it displays a blinking ‘Club 2’ near the top of the door.
The moment you step on the stairs, a bunch of advertisements pop up on the door, bright bubblegum colours hurting your eyes. Yangyang taps at the little x at the corner of the display till it disappears and finally the door is a regular door. The colour is jet black like any other screening platform.
“I thought the rich were exempted from ads,” you say.
“They’re… more likely to buy things though.”
You make an ‘ah’ sound in contemplation when a whirring makes you jump into him. A little spherical drone flies its way out of an opening in the wall and stops right in front of the two of you.
“Sicheng-ge!” Yangyang says, waving frantically at the camera.
The little drone circles around Yangyang’s head before stopping right in front of his face. It runs a scan before turning sharply and beeping at you.
“My plus one!” Yangyang declares, pulling you by the waist. “Or whatever it’s called.”
Your ears feel warm but you don’t push him off. The camera focuses on your face, likely scanning to identify your age and occupation. When it’s done, a beep resounds and the door slides open to reveal a dimly lit pathway. The main entrance is much brighter, Yangyang promises, but for now it’s just the warm glow of the lanterns, Yangyang’s neon red striped jacket and the mechanical whirring of some sort of device in the darkness.
“What’s that sound?” you whisper and Yangyang stops.
He pauses to think. “Oh, they’re Sicheng-ge’s drones. He’s got like a million of them. I'll introduce you—he’s hosting this club event, by the way.”
He smiles at you reassuringly. If Yangyang’s not bothered by it, you’ll follow his lead. Though, you do take more nimble steps and stay close to him like he’s your lighthouse. (In a way, he is, with all that neon shining on his jacket.)
You’re surprised to find a garden, but then it gets stranger when you see brighter lanterns in the middle area. You see figures and before you can react, Yangyang takes your hand and into the central platform.
ii. orchid club square
Yangyang was right. None of them know how to dress.
The two of you stand in the middle of a crowd, who are in fact dressed either for: a) an impromptu pool party or b) a Sunday morning lecture. You blend in somewhat well given the variety though Yangyang’s painted looks have attracted the attention of quite a few giggling, murmuring onlookers.
You clench your jaw in mild annoyance.
“This is a tour,” Yangyang whispers to you. “I thought… you’d like to know what everything’s about.”
You feel grateful to him for once. Having some sort of knowledge about what you’re getting into makes you feel better about any situation. A set of mechanical clicking fills the air.
A woman—no, an AI bot is the first to greet you. She has pale white metallic skin and her dark strands of hair are in a traditional updo. Her lips are imperial red, shaped in a way that makes her seem as though she’s smiling but also not at the very same time. She holds an extravagant fan by her face at the perfect right angle, the patterns on it painted to imitate an ancient cherry blossom tree.
“Good evening, everyone,” she says, her voice pitched up and enthusiastic. It’s a little funny to imagine metal so lively.
You smell oranges and lavender as soon as she flicks her fan once and precise.
“Welcome to the New Shanghai nightlife!” The bot continues jovially. “The oldest surviving city on planet earth, the birthplace of the human race.”
“You are in virtual space,” she informs. “It might look like a courtyard stretching to infinity but it is only an illusion. However, the club is five hundred and sixty one metres wide and six hundred and twelve metres long. It is large enough to hold twenty-one blue whales in a line. That is, if they still existed of course.”
She giggles algorithmically.
“Where you stand right now,” she says, turning her head in a swift mechanical motion to you and you flinch. “This place is called the orchid club square. As you know, only VIP access lets you in.”
You glance at Yangyang worriedly and he shrugs. There’s no way she could know, right? That was oddly specific. But then she moves her head left to right to address the whole crowd in perfect grace. When her movement starts to get a little too eerie to watch any longer, you fix your eyes on the garden instead. You have no way of telling part real flowers from virtual ones and even so—all of them are beautiful. Maybe reality doesn’t make things any prettier.
However, when you look at Yangyang, the thought gets tossed out. You shake your head, in an attempt to get rid of the image of his face. It’s a little too late to be feeling this way. Either that, or the night is taking its toll on you already. The day was exhausting, considering it was the end of the semester.
The AI guide’s chatter fades into something quieter when you move the club square. It’s a rather empty space, fitting for a rave or just housing large crowds. The decorations are for the new year celebrations, banners of the ox in auspicious colours and a few drones projecting the rest. There’s a garden of evermore orchids lining the area in a perfect square and it’s so precise that it’s pleasing to look at. There’s a door at one edge, similar to the one you encountered before entering the club square.
The music that wafts through the air is so gentle, you almost forget there’s a celebration. The beat makes it livelier and even so, the rhythm of your heartbeat matches it in a soothing sort of way. Turning around, you spot the musical ensemble. It’s another AI, peering over a guqin with trained habit.
She looks the same, except she wears an electronic mask over the lower half of her face. It displays a blue musical note made up of noticeable pixels. She has no fan—instead, her fingers strum the guqin rhythmically, programmed with precision and grace. The sound is accompanied by the woodwind notes of a flute, though you’re not sure where that sound emanates from. There’s also a soft drumbeat which seems to come from the guqin bot herself.
You gasp when a few painted goldfish float through the air, almost real to look at if it weren’t for the glitch effect of holograms. One of them swims closer to you, opening and closing its mouth in rhythm and you giggle at its face.
Yangyang laughs, long finger pointing at the critter in amusement. “That’s adorable.”
He looks like a little kid and you giggle at his expression, with wide, delighted eyes and mouth open in focused mirth. He pokes at the goldfish and it makes a bubbling sound, gears shifting in ticking time before suddenly biting at his index finger. Yangyang lets out a low yelp, retracting his hand before clearing his throat in embarrassment.
“You’re like a cartoon,” you tell him, in between laughs. “No way are you real.”
He grins, in that same way he always looks at you and you look away, feeling hot in the face. It’s too enamored a way to look at someone. But of course, that couldn’t be true—he’s Liu Yangyang and you’re you. Parallel lines do not meet, even if they’re headed in the same direction.
“I think you’re unreal,” he mumbles.
iii. club 2
The doors open to a rather spacious arrangement, with several tables one one side and a sort of dance arena on the other where people are trying to out-dance each other. The intensity makes you move further away from it. It seems a little too festive and you can feel the energy slinking away from you. The music is more upbeat but you suppose the DJ tried to make it sound more eastern; the result is pleasing. He wears a smooth black helmet with a neon red beat visualizer on it, with written SFX appearing from time to time. Two pulsing golden horns glow at the sides of his head. You stare at it for longer than you’d like before composing yourself. You’re very impressionable when it comes to parties.
There are two floors to the club, above the bottom floor itself. The other two floors mostly seem to consist of private booths, however, covered with gossamer silk that glow iridescent. A few floating lanterns sway by the upper floors. The ceiling is open to a midnight blue sky and the stars look much larger than you’ve ever seen them—you suspect it’s an AR mesh over the ceiling. A few light shows project little dancing dragons and coins over the sky and you find them too cute to not stare at.
“Wow,” Yangyang says, right after walking in. “Why is Dejun on the table?”
You look where his eyes are focused on, though it’s difficult through the crowd of people, and find Dejun and Kunhang in some sort of old anime transformation pose atop one of the tables. It’s surprising that they’re not the weirdest pair here.
“Now, bear with me, it’s going to be boring as hell till the countdown and the fireworks,” he explains, waving his hands around. “But it’s a good place to have fun and make friends. You know?”
“Friends?” you ask, a little nervous. You’re not very proficient at making friends and it makes you anxious.
“Yeah! Don’t worry. ” He makes a strange gesture, bordering between posing for a beer ad campaign and looking like a motivational speaker for the army, before furrowing his eyebrows. “You just have to be confident! I’m learning too!”
He lets out a sweet laugh and it makes you laugh in turn, hand covering your mouth so you don’t embarrass yourself too much. You don’t believe the words much, but the glow over his cheeks makes you reconsider.
“You look really nice when you laugh,” he comments, a bright glint in his eyes.
“Whatever,” you reply, punching his shoulder lightly.
Just then, you feel a gentle tap on your shoulder to find Lana from your ethical AI class, smiling at you warmly. She looks a little tired, of people more than the time. Like you, she is also a scholarship student—and not a day has gone when she hasn’t soothed your anxiety about your classes. In stark contrast with Yangyang, you would trust her over him for most tasks. Even if you weren’t partners, you’re okay with the outcome. You glance at Yangyang.
“(name)! Oh my god, I didn’t know you were coming here,” she says. “Did Yangyang kidnap you?”
“I mean, sort of.”
“Hey.” Yangyang looks at you with betrayal.
“And how did you even manage to do that cool ass project with him as your partner?” she continues, squinting at him.
“Honestly, I don’t know either. He can be surprisingly helpful though.”
Yangyang looks from Lana to you in exasperation. “I’m literally right here,” he grumbles.
Lana laughs at his expression, patting his shoulder sympathetically.
“I just can’t believe you let him kidnap you and not me,” she says in mock indignance. “I’m a much better chauffeur, you know?”
“Do you even have a driving license?” Yangyang asks, laughing.
“I got mine before you, rat. Anyway, (name), I’m playing the guzheng. Do you wanna come see?”
“No,” Yangyang interrupts, suddenly grabbing your hand. “I… I mean you guys can go, of course. It's just the countdown’s close, so we have to go to the viewpoint.”
“That’s exactly where—ah. I see.”
"We'll join you another time, Lana," he says quietly, a cute grin on his face like a little boy would make to an older sister for more shares of chocolate.
"No, no. I actually remembered I left my friends in the corner. See you!"
She leaves her epiphany unsaid, offering you a smile and taking her leave abruptly.
“I thought you told me to socialize,” you complain to Yangyang.
“Yes, I’m so proud of you for that.”
“Yangyang, I swear if you treat me like a kid—”
“I’m not, I’m not. Sorry,” he says, scratching the back of his head. “I just need to borrow you for tonight. After all, I promised you, didn’t I?”
You sigh. “Fine then, what’s this viewpoint you’re talking about?”
“Oh, we’ll get there.”
Someone’s watching you. You turn around a full three-sixty but find only the same crowd of college-age kids. No one sticks out much, apart from Dejun, Kunhang and Ten, who are at this point performing some sort of strange ritual unbeknownst to any new year tradition, with a hell load of yelling.
“Oh my god, you’re dancing too?” Yangyang says, grinning ear to ear. “I didn’t know I’d have that much of a positive influence. Wow.”
“I’m- I’m not- never mind.”
Yangyang furrows his eyebrows. “What did I tell you? More confidence! See—”
He takes your hands in his, pulling you further onto the dance floor. You feel a rising panic but swallow it. There’s a beat of silence in which the two of you look at each other. Yangyang proceeds to perform the stupidest sequence of movements you have ever seen, certainly too awkward for his body to accept as natural but it doesn’t seem like he cares. He’s having fun.
You find yourself laughing. Taking timid steps, you try to loosen up although the inevitable embarrassment arrives in flushes of heat across your face. There are stars in Yangyang’s eyes when you join him—not the artificial jewels in observatories but the real kind that you used to see in your hometown.
You take a wobbly step back. It’s starting to get disorienting. If it were the real sky above you, you might even have felt better. Perhaps the purpose is to get dizzy.
“I’m a little thirsty,” Yangyang says, motioning to the table with food and drinks at a corner. “I’ll head over and be back.”
Unsure what to do, you follow him like a lost lamb and though it would be embarrassing at any other time, any other place, now and here are not part of that.
The red and golden lights of the neon patterning the walls don’t seem as harsh anymore and you let your eyes rest on the boyish figure of Yangyang. You haven’t figured him out yet. Something tells you he’s more than a shallow image of the party-loving rich kids of Shanghai. In fact, in quiet, personal moments, he looks more out of place than you do—despite all that bright neon. You open your mouth to ask something when you’re interrupted by a dizzy Yangyang spinning into you.
“Sorry, (name),” he says, rubbing the base of his palm against his forehead. “I genuinely thought I was going to win that game.”
You shake your head, letting him get back to whatever spinning game they were at. He smells like wine and something tells you he’s poor at holding his liquor. The stakes must be high for that game, you figure, because you see Yangyang set aside his beloved shoe on the floor. To be the only scholarship student here suddenly feels scary and awkward.
Yangyang once again tugs at your arm, the touch reassuring as though he understands how you feel. But it isn’t true. There’s no way someone like him can understand someone like you.
“Yangyang,” you call. “Do you come here every year?”
“No, no. I do come for drinks though. I’m only here right now because a friend is hosting this.”
You shrug.
“And you,” he adds and you feel a hot flush rise to your face. “New years are the only time this place is PG-13.”
“I’m not a child,” you snap.
“My mom says childish people say that.”
“Then it's very rich coming from you, Liu Yangyang.”
He laughs heartily, leaning away. A creeping thought grows in your head that you missed out on a lot. But then again, you’ll always miss out on things if you’re not rich enough for them.
Yangyang flinches suddenly, almost knocking a plate off the table. He moves quickly, turning so that his side leans against the wall and the other arm cages you between him and the wall. His frame covers your view from whatever, or whoever arrived at the entrance that made him react so obnoxiously.
However, his lips hovering just a little over yours makes your breath hitch in your throat. This is the worst possible position you could've gotten into. The smell of mint interrupts your thoughts and you look at him with as annoyed an expression as you can muster over the heat of your face.
"Yangyang, what the fuck do you think you're doing?"
“I am… admiring the wall. Ooh, it’s got velvet over it, did you notice?”
“You’re going to have your head in it too if you don’t tell me what’s going on.”
"Just… sorry. Let’s stay like this for a few moments."
He flashes you an apologetic smile, his face close enough to make yours grow even hotter. A nervous chuckle erupts from his lips.
"Oh my god, get off. People are going to think we’re making out."
"We could do it for real."
"I'm going to scratch your eyes out."
"Sorry, sorry."
“Who are you even hiding from?”
“I’m not hiding… okay, forget that. Bodyguard-watcher-dude. It’s kind of hard to explain.”
“You have a bodyguard?”
“More like a babysitter.”
You try not to laugh, considering the proximity between your faces. “How come you have a babysitter? Actually, wait, I think I know.”
He huffs over your face and you restrain yourself from landing a swift uppercut to his jaw. Now you know the minty smell comes from mouth freshener.
“He’s a prosecutor. It’s weird that he stalks me in his free time. Even- even if… my parents are paying him.”
“They think you’re doing something illegal?”
“No. I don’t think I am.”
You rest your head back against the wall, rolling your eyes. “Really? That’s your answer? God, your brain cells rotted somewhere along the way, didn’t they? It’s all those parties.”
“I’m starting to feel like my mom hired you too.”
He looks back, and noting the absence of his so-called babysitter, he pulls back from you. You didn’t realize you were holding your breath and you let it out in a shallow effort.
“Your babysitter’s gone?”
“Not a babysit—I regret saying that. Look, I really don’t think they appointed him because they think I’m doing something illegal. I have never done anything illegal. Except that one street race but that’s because Lucas told me it was perfectly legal.”
“The what?”
“Anyway, the point is, let’s look forward to good fortune for this year, hm? Leave all the burdens to last year.”
“Fortune doesn’t favour fools.”
“I’m not stupid,” he complains, spreading his arms to express it further. “Mostly.”
You laugh, turning your attention to the food table.
“Ooh, pineapple tarts,” he exclaims, hand reaching out to grab one when you smack it.
“You’ve had, like, fifteen already.”
“Mhm,” he says, with a few more stuffed in his mouth.
There’s a pause.
“It’s me, isn't it?” you ask quietly. “I’m not supposed to be here.”
He gulps, lips parting and closing. “I brought you here. So you don’t worry about it.”
Rich people suck. You believe that strongly. But sometimes, just sometimes, when you have everything you can ever want, you start to want the same for everyone around you. Some people are special. You find Yangyang genuinely fascinating for being someone who makes friends when he’s supposed to be making more connections. You find him fascinating.
It makes sense for someone like him to be the way he is.
iv. fireworks viewpoint
“That’s the old Shanghai Tower,” Yangyang points to a building in the distance. “It used to be the tallest building once but… well, it looks like the little guy now.”
Lunar New Year’s celebrations are a big, big deal in New Shanghai. It means a break from university, work and every other affair to have as many priorities sorted in anticipation of the new year. And the impact is evident from this height, when you can see the city in its golden glory. It looks warm out there for once—although you’re not very sure if it’s because of the warmth that comes from right beside you. The little wooden boats float by on the river a little far off, various images blooming as holograms above them. You giggle at the large animated fishes swimming above the river with blank expressions and painted button eyes.
The golden clock shines bright in the sky, its holographic hands ticking down to midnight. It looks like something out of a fantasy movie, scattering golden pixels everywhere with each minute passing. The size of it alone reminds you of the scale of this city.
This is an empire. It's owned by the kings and queens who built it over the bones left from sacrifices. It's going to be owned by heirs and heiresses. You feel a looming sense of dread come over you. It's so beautiful and it can never belong to itself. It must always belong to someone. It’s the terms and conditions of human creation.
"Hey." Yangyang taps you on the shoulder and you try not to flinch. "What are you thinking?"
You hum. "Stuff."
"This place is pretty cool, huh?"
That, you can agree with. "It is. It's so amazing that I can't believe I'm here sometimes."
Yangyang laughs slowly. "I hope more people can live here. Not in level one. You know. No one should live in desperation."
You hold back a scoff, though you end up frowning. What does a rich kid know of desperation? He might as well be prince, and princes do not know how to beg. It must be something of a saviour complex. You shrink away from him. The new year music is starting to ring a little too loud in your ears.
"That would be difficult," you mutter.
"Not if you lower the cost of living conditions—ah. Sorry." He pauses and you feel a flicker of surprise in you. “It’s not appropriate to discuss. Or so my parents tell me…”
The expression comes from empathy. You’re sure of it. There’s some sort of passion and not the kind of coloured fire that flames up in parties, but a different one. The kind that says, if you can’t bear the heat then you can’t learn how to forge. You scoff. Which prince has possibly known heat?
“I- I get angry too,” you say quietly. “I think it’s something to be angry about.”
He smiles at you, leaning against the balcony railing.
You’re interrupted by a man in the attire of a waiter and it causes the two of you to jump away from each other. It’s not like you were very close in the first place but the proximity of shared words can play tricks on people. The man offers the two of you a screen and Yangyang’s face lights up almost immediately.
“We can order food with this,” he says. “Or book a table. The top strips are all reserved for members of the club. That’s the big daddy restaurants.”
“That’s… pretty cool,” you say, leaning in to glance over the browsing menu. “But don’t say that phrase to me again.”
“I can. And I will.”
“Ugh. Move on.”
“Okay, so we should drop by the convenience store for some ramen. I heard they taste better in the middle of the night,” Yangyang suggests all of a sudden, leaning in further.
It gets difficult sometimes to not be bothered by him, especially when there is a lack of distance. You look at him, pause and then sigh. “Sure. I guess. Are those free too?”
He opens his mouth in sudden realization and grins sheepishly at you. You roll your eyes.
“Do you have money then?”
“Uh.”
“How do you not have money? It’s the New Year!”
“I… uh—”
“Okay, you don’t have to answer that. But I’m not paying for you,” you complain. “You could always ask your parents for some money. What’s the point of being a party kid?”
‘Party kids’—it makes you laugh in amusement—is the colloquial term given to the children of businesspeople who had a direct hand in the economic progress of New Shanghai. You would sell your kidneys to be one and it still wouldn’t be enough.
His smile wavers at your statement but he shakes his head. “If I call my mom, she’ll start scolding me again about how my apartment room needs to be cleaner. Blah, blah, blah. You know.”
“She’s right- wait, you don’t clean your room?”
“Don’t take her side, (name).”
You bite down a smile and he offers you his biggest one.
“Oh, that place looks new,” Yangyang exclaims, a long index finger pointing to the preview of a sushi restaurant. You glare at him, his face nearer to yours than you would prefer but his eyes are fixed like a child ogling halloween candy.
“Let’s go,” he urges, looking directly at you.
You furrow your eyebrows, shaking your head vehemently. “We don’t have money. Or bit-credits.”
He sighs, deflating as though you just snatched the candy right from his hands. “But… I haven’t been there before.”
“So?” You exhale, pinching the bridge of your nose. “You don’t have to try every food place in the city.”
“I need to eat,” he says as though it’s a very reasonable response. “I’m still growing!”
“Not mentally.”
He drops his smile, looking at you blankly. “You don’t have to get so smart with me, let me tell you.”
You snicker at the ‘offended’ expression on his face.
In the next moment, your attention shifts to the sudden crowd of people rushing to the balcony. Yangyang pulls you closer to avoid getting pushed by them, and you look around confused. It all makes sense when they start chanting the numbers, counting down from ten. You can only stare in awe at the clock and the otherworldly glee in the rhythmic chants. It’s like they don’t feel anything but joy at this moment. You let yourself smile.
The clock strikes twelve. The sound of the bell resounds throughout the city and the firecrackers burst into a thousand shades of red and gold across the sky. There’s moving images of animals, floating text and other animations which make the night sky seem like a screen. The sparks of the fireworks look like golden snow, or even happy little pixels.
You point your finger to the sky excitedly but when you turn, Yangyang’s eyes aren’t on the sky but on your hand outstretched towards it. He faces you, rather hesitantly as though caught red-handed.
“You’re- you’re… so pretty,” he says, softly and shrugging as if answering a question.
You wish he wouldn’t look at you like that. It’s the lonely speaking, right? The euphoria of human connection in this time and age—it can make you believe anything. There’s a myriad of colours blooming in the sky behind you, a city dazzling with diamond and ruby lights, people with much more stories to tell than you do. This city, this city, this city. This city will break your heart.
“It’s kind of crappy,” you mutter, to which Yangyang quirks an ear.
“Wh-what is?”
“This city. It’s got bright lights and fun and all those promises of success. But all I see are people desperately trying to survive. All I see are the same faces at the top and—I’m sorry. I’m getting carried away.”
“No, no.” He makes a vague gesture. “I’m listening.”
“We’re at their mercy,” you whisper. “My life is not my own. That’s crappy.”
Yangyang hums in response. “You're right. What’s the point of living a life that’s not your own?”
Looking at him again, you see the entire figure of his being against the fireworks and all the beautiful creations of the human race. His almost silver hair falls perfectly by his forehead, the contact lenses looking like glazed frost over his eyes. Just as vibrant and excessive as the city itself, Yangyang belongs here. This is his kingdom.
No, that’s not quite right perhaps. Yangyang belongs anywhere because he brings warmth. You're suddenly grateful he's with you because no one you know would possibly go out of their way to make you feel comfortable like this. You know Yangyang loves people and crowds. No one would do that for you at the expense of their own enjoyment. You smile at the prospect of solving the blinding mystery that he is.
"We… should leave," Yangyang says, all of a sudden. He eyes a man at the corner of the balcony, dressed in a business suit and looking blank. He sticks out like a sore thumb. You're not sure why he's in that getup.
"Okay," you say, not sure why you're so agreeable tonight.
Maybe it's the night. Sometimes all you can do is drag your feet over the asphalt and hope it'll be sunnier tomorrow.
v. two-four-seven convenience store
College boys are the most god-awful creatures on earth.
“Hey, do you always reach class on time?” Yangyang asks, eyes curious. He keeps asking a question every five minutes or so, trying to keep up conversation. You've already told him he doesn't have to. However, it makes you strangely comfortable to hear the sound of his voice periodically. You won't tell him that.
You nod, returning your gaze to the window, though the advertisements block your view. You can always try skipping the ad every five goddamn seconds.
It's your first time riding the train that travels through the Mobius Strip, and certainly the first time in a luxury cabin. Since it’s free for members of the new year club, you can heave a sigh of relief. You will never in your life, even if it’s genetically elongated, ever be able to afford a luxury cabin.
"Oh, that looks so good," Yangyang says, large hand smacking against the window to get rid of the colourful advertisements.
"It's a convenience store, Yangyang," you say. "It's got everyday ramen."
"No, look. It's a different brand. And they're giving a burger for free with two ramen cups!"
You furrow your eyebrows at him. "Well, I guess it's cheaper too."
"Oh, we can go to one of the upper restaurants too. They're free, remember?"
"I like convenience stores," you mumble. There's something about the lack of even lighting and crowds that made them a comfort spot for you.
“Quick,” he says, pulling you off the seat when the train stops.
“Yangyang!” you warn. He's so easily excitable that you find it hard to believe he's real sometimes.
However, when he turns around with his big puppy-dog eyes, you curse at yourself before you curse at him. Sighing, you follow him down the steps, his hand tenderly holding yours. Sometimes, you wonder if the human touch means anything at all in this diamond and steel era. Yangyang’s palm is warm against yours.
The ramen tastes awfully delicious on stolen time, and you would complain more if it weren’t for Yangyang looking at you with so serene a look. It annoys you and you try to grab his attention by waving your chopsticks in front of him. When it doesn’t work, you resort to swearing. You’ve never seen anyone respond with a smiling hum after being told to “eat shit”.
“Oh, this tastes so good,” he states, cheeks puffed with food. “I think I’m going to cry.”
“I- I think you’re crying because it’s spicy.”
“Oh.”
As usual, Yangyang pokes and prods at you with questions about your daily life, like you’re the most interesting thing in a city full of blinding lights, world-class robots and cyber-enhanced technology. You don’t understand how he doesn’t just grow tired of asking every single detail about you.
Apart from the fact that Liu Yangyang is most certainly an environmental hazard, some part of you cannot believe that he's truly terrible. There's something innocent about him, but all at once, something quiet and mysterious.
“Why are you always so curious, Yangyang?” you ask finally. “Why are you always running off to different places?”
“Because experiences never come twice,” he answers after some thinking. It seems to be a little difficult for him to articulate, deep contemplation over his features when he continues. “This city… all the lights and clubs and arenas, all of it will be gone someday. Like we don’t have telephones or those big computers anymore.”
You rest your chin on your palm, leaning in.
“This moment, right here with you… I’ll never experience it again,” he tells you. “We can have more midnight convenience store ramen sometime later but… each time will be different. I’d rather live now.”
You smile softly. “That’s a funny thought to live by.”
“Yours isn’t any better,” he says, patting your head. “Also, I’m like hot and young and popular and not a cyborg—how can I miss parties?”
You shake your head, laughing. He’s ridiculous. He’s completely ridiculous. In that moment, when you look at him, Yangyang seems to be smiling in a daze, eyes on your face.
“You look nice when you smile,” he says quietly.
"Thanks," you respond. "I should keep it a secret then, huh?"
"Not from me," he says, smiling.
Somehow, the extra minutes you have at the convenience store turn to a few multiplayer games and then, ditching technology, to an arm wrestling match.
"I feel like this game is kind of unfair," you say after losing almost immediately. He's clearly got stronger muscles. Does he work out? Probably against his will, you bet.
“My right arm’s a lot stronger than my left arm,” he says, before looking a little horrified. “That wasn’t a masturbation joke, by the way. I am so sorry.”
You roll your eyes. "Give me your left hand then- wait. You're right-handed?"
"That's not the- uh." He thinks for a moment, trying to gather words. “That’s not the reason.”
“I, uh, I heavily damaged this arm when I was a kid—don’t look like that, there’s a fun part to this. It’s made of titanium! And some other things. The names are too complicated.”
You drive your fingers over the arm, so warm and real and flushed red, anything but metal and code. You find curiosity blooming in you more than ever before.
“You know why I’m not with family,” you say, straightening. “But why aren’t you celebrating with your family?”
He gets quiet, thinking to himself for a few more moments. You almost regret asking when he answers, a hesitant sound leaving him first.
“None of us, uh… none of our parents can spare more than three hours. They’ll come in the afternoon tomorr—today.”
You can’t exactly respond to that very well.
“So all of us go hang out at the New Year’s Club.”
You frown. "But it's not a celebration without family!"
"We have new year lunches. And… it's the future. Traditions die. Very few grieve them for fear of being stuck in the past."
You feel partly horrified and partly dismal. "I… You could come with me next year, if you like."
You're not sure where the offer comes from but Yangyang lights up at the idea.
"I can? Oh, we'll have so much fun!"
"Slow down. There's a year to go."
Yangyang laughs. It's surprising the way he turned out. He must have gotten tired of waiting by the door. And now you know all the things about him that his parents don’t.
You smile at him, warming up to the idea of you and him as friends before scoffing at it again.
Right in the next moment, Yangyang dips suddenly to the ground, crouching below the table. You look around in surprise and fall to your knees with a yelp at the tug on our wrist from Yangyang.
“What the hell?” you hiss. “You’re starting to act really weird.”
“I- Sorry. It’s an emergency,” he says, but there’s no sign of distress in his voice. He simply smiles at you. Perhaps he’s never heard of the emotion as of yet.
“Your babysitter?”
“I say that once and on accident—yes, it’s my babysitter.”
You chuckle. He’s simply too cute at times.
“We have to be discreet now, okay? It’s like—what’s the movie called? Oh, Mission Impossible.”
“I’ve never seen that.”
“What? How can you not? It’s a classic! It’s got so many cool—ah, I’ll show you another time.”
You hum, staring at Yangyang’s facial features tense up and relax again as he scans the vicinity outside the window of the convenience store. It’s full of people, even at this hour so you can’t possibly know who’s looking at you from there.
Yangyang turns back to you. “Have you ever been to blue moon station?”
“The one with the pretty walls? No. No, I’ve never even gone beyond Strip Two.”
Yangyang smiles at you and right then, you feel like you’re about to resent whatever’s going to happen next. It’s in the ebb and flow of tonight’s itinerary, however, and you relax your shoulders just as he does a roll across the floor, looking back at you with a grin for executing it flawlessly.
“You’re so silly,” you mutter.
“I heard that,” he whisper-shouts back.
You’re not as afraid as before, you realize. The lights are absolutely mesmerizing.
vi. blue moon station
It drops a few degrees in temperature once you step foot onto the platform. You can see a bunch of scattered tourists, cameras hanging around their neck and a look of awe over their faces.
Yangyang takes off his jacket, shivering immediately but offering it to you nonetheless. When you refuse, he places it gingerly over your shoulders.
"Is that a…?"
"A tourist bot, yes."
"Oh my god, it's so cute," you say, crouching by the little red robot, a teal-colored smiley face popping up on its monitor.
"A lot of tourists in this station," you note.
"Yeah. It's very… visually pleasing."
That's true. The walls are screens with three dimensional graphics, immersive enough to catch one's eye. A single tree grows through the middle of the station, evergreen and alive with holographic flora and fauna. The sun shines eternally over the tree. It's so beautiful that you had trouble taking your eyes off it at first.
The walls next to you are currently displaying a walk through a fantasy forest, crafted by a visionary artist, no doubt. A blue butterfly flies past you and you stare at it before zoning out.
Sometimes, the lights are too disorienting. You start to feel dizzy, massaging your forehead when Yangyang brushes the tips of his fingers against your shoulder.
“You good?”
Yangyang crouches beside you with watchful eyes.
You nod, turning your attention to the tourist bot. It displays a plethora of information about the architecture of this place which you're sure no tourist will bother to read beyond the first two lines.
“You can make it do cool tricks too,” Yangyang says. “Watch.”
Yangyang pokes at it with his index finger, drawing a pattern over the screen. The bot proceeds to do an old internet dance, waving about its arms and hips. You laugh at it and Yangyang looks at you with the pride of a third grader with first place on their science project.
The colours on the walls change and you see the animation of a man and a fox, furrowing your eyebrows as you try to recall that image. They seem to be broadcasting fables through the holograms. You can’t deny that they’re pretty—glowing with auspicious colours and as animated as the real world itself. As if by compulsion, you hold Yangyang’s hand. It’s nice to feel the human touch real once in a while, especially in the overwhelming loneliness of city nights.
Yangyang looks at you brightly and right then, you feel less inclined to leave him.
“You know, I could teach you better ways to flirt than just grab my hand,” he says, grinning like an idiot.
“What?”
You move your hand. “I’m not flirting.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean that,” he responds quickly. “Can I please have your hand back?”
You shake your head, laughing. He worries you. Some part of you says you shouldn’t be worried. It’s not like you’re close friends. (Friends, maybe. Close, not yet.)
The night has a different opinion.
—
“Found you,” a voice declares, and the two of you jump into each other with a scream.
The man in the suit looks at you with a fatigued look in his eyes, hair somehow still neat though he breathes like his lungs are on fire.
“Care to tell me why you’ve been skipping my calls?” he asks after catching his breath. “It’s not like I wanted to follow you—you just needed to tell me.”
“I… I was busy?” Yangyang flashes a smile. “Kun-ge, I honestly had no idea you called. I don’t even have my phone.”
The man shakes his head. “Fine. Just head over to Jasmine for the night. And you can bring your date too.”
He gestures at you and you want to deny it as quick as you can. You do not, however. It’s almost like you’ve warmed up to the idea of it rather well.
“Okay,” Yangyang answers quietly.
vii. jasmine private lounge
You enter a lounge with the capacity of around a hundred people. Despite that, there are hardly five present. The walls are black with neon jasmines pulsating from blue to red. A grand piano lies still in all its elegance in the middle of the lounge, played by a plain white AI. It feels like an expensive place to be, and more so, it feels like someplace you’re not supposed to step foot into. There's a bar table at one side, opposite to the entrance which glows a hypnotizing purple. A flat lettering on the wall declares the time to be 3 A.M.
You and Yangyang sit a little too close on the artificially warmed couch, waiting for Kun to return. Yangyang reassures you that you haven't done anything wrong but the illicit outing of yours certainly says otherwise. You contemplate tasting the cocktail Yangyang ordered before finally giving in and find it pleasantly warm to taste. You take another sip.
“It’s a little strong,” Yangyang warns. “Don’t have all of—you had all of it.”
You shrug. Your throat certainly feels better now. This lounge is fucking cold.
"You know, Yangyang," you say with the warmth of confidence on your face. "You're a really nice guy."
He smiles incredulously. "Thanks. You're really nice too."
"And you're pretty decent-looking—"
"I know that."
"—and also popular. So why are you always hanging around me?"
"Uh, that's your question?"
You nod. Placing your cheek against your palm, you try not to sink into the couch.
"Because you're really cool!" He answers before clearing his throat. "I mean. I think you're fun to be around. You make me see things clearer."
"And what exactly are you wanting to see clearer?'
"You."
You blink aside your astoundment, straightening. "What?"
Your question is left unanswered because a man enters and sits across the two of you, a loud huff of annoyance leaving his mouth. It's not just his disposition but the architecture of his face that grabs your attention. He looks like an AI robot so perfectly crafted with coloured lips and flawless skin that you end up staring till Yangyang elbows you.
“He’s not an AI,” Yangyang whispers.
You furrow your brows and notice it is, in fact, true that he's not an AI. There are no ridges over the joints or hollowness in the eyes. He wears the same frost-patterned smart lenses as Yangyang does. However, it doesn't change the fact that the man is beautiful to look at.
“I’m never hosting a new year party again,” he mutters, sinking into the couch.
“It actually sounds kind of fun,” Yangyang interjects. “I can’t wait for my turn.”
“I’m sorry. Good luck standing at Longhua temple for three hours till midnight just to make sure nothing goes wrong. Without dinner.”
Yangyang makes a face at that.
"That's Sicheng-ge," he says, turning to you.
"Ah," you say in response, remembering the name vaguely.
"He let us into Club 2," Yangyang says, noticing your lost expression.
"I think Kun's looking for you," Sicheng says, eyes trained at the back.
His hands fidget with the dim blue buttons at the edge of the table, till a small compartment reveals itself under the glass. An old world-style cigarette is slowly pushed up and Sicheng picks it up. He offers the next one to Yangyang, who accepts it hesitantly. No one smokes tobacco anymore when nicotine is so readily available. Alas, human nature is to want things deadly and out of reach.
“So how’s Cat?” Yangyang asks, fumbling with the plasma lighter he picked from a compartment on the side.
Sicheng smiles a little, the smoke from his cigarette snaking around him as he raises a hand to dissipate it.
“She’s doing fine. Running everything as usual.”
“Of course. Boss lady.” Yangyang does an awkward salute.
“Oh, a new hair color too. As pretty as flower fields in the spring of ‘22.”
Sicheng’s lovesick rambling is interrupted by Yangyang hacking his lungs out. You turn to him and he avoids your gaze, reaching for a crystal blue glass of water one of the helper bots offer. So, he’s not even a smoker? Why did he think you would care?
“Anyway, Kun is glaring daggers at me now. You better get out of here.” Sicheng grimaces.
You turn around to see Kun by the bar table, gesturing towards Yangyang to come. You're not sure why but either of those men make you nervous.
"I'll be right back," Yangyang says, scrambling up and leaving you in a long awkward silence with Sicheng.
“So, uh, I’m assuming you’re oblivious to that lovestruck puppy following you around?” Sicheng asks, raising an eyebrow. “Or is this some game you guys are into? I’m not judging you for that.”
Your face heats up and you fidget with your collar. “The- A what? Game? Uh? I- huh?”
Sicheng tries to press down his smile but it’s evident enough for you to see. Did you say something funny? Did Yangyang say something funny about you? Oh, you’re going to kill him.
“For all that he talks, he’s kind of terrible at pulling together his own love life.”
“I- I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
It still unnerves you to look at him. He certainly looks more android than human when he’s not making any particular expression.
“Don’t mind me,” he says, offering you a reassuring smile. “You should find Yangyang before he lands the two of you in trouble.”
You turn to look at Yangyang through the glass and turn back nodding. Sicheng offers you a parting smile and you hesitantly make your way to the bar table.
"This isn't in my job description," Kun tells Yangyang just before you arrive. "I didn't know being a lawyer included babysitting."
The tips of Yangyang's ears heat up when he notices you.
"It's not babysitting," he murmurs. “Also, you’re not my mom.”
"You, Ten, Kunhang, all of you give me such a hard time," he continues but pauses right when he notices you.
"Oh, hello. (Name), isn't it?" He says, smiling politely. He's quite young and handsome for a lawyer. "Yangyang talks about you a lot."
"Oh," you respond. "Really?"
Yangyang glares at the older man. "You don't have to say everything, Kun-ge."
"You interested in law?" Kun asks, offering you a seat between him and Yangyang.
You make a face. The law is a tool for the rich and powerful. But then again, what isn’t? The world is in your hands when you have billions to spare. However, you still can’t imagine being a rich man's guard dog your whole life.
Kun chuckles. "You kids are interested in tech more, aren't you?"
Yangyang interrupts, "You talk like you're fifty years old."
Kun grimaces, resting his face against his hand. Shooting a glare at Yangyang, he finishes the rest of his wine.
You're not exactly interested in tech or engineering or the big kid jobs either. You just want a way to survive this man-made food chain. Rich eats the world till there’s nothing left on the plate. Then again, you'd rather be a pet than get eaten.
"Anyway," Kun turns to Yangyang. "If you see Ten, give me a call."
Yangyang signals with a thumbs up gesture, watching as Kun’s figure slowly makes its way out of the gate. It’s the two of you again and suddenly, you feel a strange sort of feeling overcome you. Leaning your throbbing forehead against Yangyang’s shoulder, you take some soft breaths and skip the part where you question your actions. It’s pleasant, at the very least. He shifts his chair closer, extending his arm around you so that your head rests against his shoulder more comfortably.
“You must be tired,” he mutters.
“You didn’t answer me,” you say. “Answer in a way I understood, at least.”
“Hm?”
“Why do you hang around me?”
“Do you not… want me to?”
“No. I like your company, actually. I can’t believe I said that out loud.”
Yangyang laughs. “You’re… you’re really perfect. As a person. At least to me, you seem that way.”
You scoff. “You’re a long way off there.”
“No. No, you felt like clockwork,” he continues. “When I first met you. I couldn’t believe you were real.”
You do work like a delirious robot on clockwork steroids. But you’re not very proud of it. You don’t think overworking is a good personality trait to have—even if it’s for survival. However, the faraway look in Yangyang’s eyes suggests that’s not what he means.
“I felt like I understood you,” he continues after a short pause.
You find it unbelievable. That’s the one sentence you could never imagine coming from him to you, much less agree with. But right then, as his warmth seeps into you, you want to agree desperately.
Yangyang feels an unexpected trickle of doubt down his throat. No matter how many times he’s practised in front of the mirror, the words don’t come out right when you’re with him. With everything you do, he feels more drawn in. There’s something familiar and something honest. And if he’s honest himself, he just likes you. What sort of a hypocrite should he be categorized as, to tell his friends to ‘just confess’ to their crushes when he’s a complete idiot when it comes to you? It can’t be that little voice from his childhood that tells him to stay in order.
Yangyang understands that there are rules to this world but he doesn’t get what those have got to do with him. He sighs, the sound somewhat grim when it comes from him.
"I've seen it before," he says, "People come from all over the country with hopes and dreams, and they get their hearts broken by capitalism."
You frown.
"I don't want you to go anywhere," he mumbles. "I hope you'll stay… even if- even if you feel like that, you know? If you're feeling lonely, I could—"
"Yangyang." You smile. "I’m quite comfortable here."
When you bury your nose into the crook of his neck, Yangyang thinks this is it. This is how he ends the sorry excuse of flirting he’s been trying with you and says something he regrets. It was never this difficult with the other crushes he’s had. He’s always left opening his mouth and then promptly closing it like a goldfish out of water every single time he wants to bring up dating with you. He’s always honest. So, what’s the big deal this time? This is so horrendously not cool of him.
You straighten. “We should get back home.”
“Can you- Can you not move so far from me, please?” Yangyang murmurs, hands gripping yours.
You smile, to yourself more to him but that’s one he likes the most.
“You’re a really interesting person, Yangyang.”
“I am?” He clears his throat and repeats the question.
“How are you so nice to people?”
“I think people are nice.”
“Why do you like parties?”
“They’re fun.”
“When the party’s over, who do you go to?” you ask, words mushing into each other.
“Home,” he answers, gulping down what seems like more words. “Like always.”
A hush falls between the two of you. You’re asking quite the questions.
“I’m sweaty,” you mutter. “I hate being sweaty.”
“You look wonderful though,” Yangyang mumbles, more to himself than to you. “Not that being sweaty makes you wonderful. You’re just nice.”
There’s another hush, the notes of the piano playing a faraway, romantic tune. He turns away and looks back at you again, but right in that moment, you lean forward to press your lips against his. It’s so sudden that he almost falls over backwards, his feet planted firmly on the ground the only thing preventing that from happening. The next thing he thinks is that your lips are on fire and it’s the most comfortable feeling he’s ever experienced.
The two of you fit into each other like clockwork, Yangyang thinks. It’s the one thing in his life that feels whole. Not that he isn’t whole by himself—he just loves your warmth. For a moment he feels like he’s on cloud nine and the next, his heart plummets when he feels you go limp in his arms.
It breaks his heart a little but he doesn’t—can’t bring himself to say much. He’s not this bad when he’s drunk, is he? Pulling you up by the waist, he texts Kunhang to bring his car down to the lounge.
This is going to be a long night.
viii. home
You wake up to the sun in your eyes and immediately know you're someplace you shouldn't be. This isn't your bed. The sun doesn't reach your bed in the morning. This isn’t the dormitory. You see a cubical alarm clock, a pixelated smiley face on it as it displays 10 A.M.
You get up and immediately shriek. You’re not wearing any clothes. Pulling the blanket up to your chin, you look around the room. It’s huge; the walls are multicolored with a little section opposite the bed reserved for photographs. There’s a lot of junk all over the floor that you don’t pay mind to when you notice Yangyang.
“Yangyang?!”
He rouses blinking slowly, hair going every which way and his eyes still unfocused. He looks like he’s had a difficult night.
“Why are you on the floor?” you ask, shrinking further into the ridiculously soft bed when he gets up. Massaging the back of his neck, he looks like he's looking at a mirage instead of a real live person. Unfortunately, he’s not wearing a shirt and you look away after a prolonged minute of staring. This is getting ridiculous. What are you doing here?
“Yangyang!”
“Huh? Oh!”
He seems to be finally awake. You should pop the question before it eats you alive.
"Did- Did we…?"
Yangyang blinks at you in confusion before a loud "oh" erupts from his mouth.
"No!" He says in between laughter. "No, we didn't. Oh my god, you’re so funny. You took off your clothes saying it's too hot and smacked me with them. I didn’t look, by the way.”
Your jaw drops. You can’t even form words through the pulsing headache.
“Your clothes are on the chair. And I didn’t touch your underwear. Out of respect."
You avoid eye contact in embarrassment.
“And… well, you did kiss me once. Twice.”
You look up alarmed and he raises his arms in defense.
“You- you were drunk so I had to push you off. You cried a little after that. Sorry.”
“Oh god.” You cover your face with your hands, sitting down on the bed. That has to be the most embarrassing thing you could have done.
“You- Don’t worry about that. You’re a good kisser. I was kind of surprised,” he offers in an attempt to make you feel better but you only grow hotter in the face.
“And- And I liked it,” he adds in a panic. “Wait, I don’t mean it in a creepy way.”
“I’m glad it wasn’t anyone else.”
“What?”
“You. It’s okay if it’s you.”
You give him a weak smile, still not over the embarrassment.
Yangyang laughs. “I… I think I should’ve said this before but… can I take you out on a date?”
“What were we doing last night then?”
“Well, that was- ah. You’re teasing me. Motherfucker.”
You giggle into your palm. When he takes a seat on the bed, you make a distressed sound and he jumps up immediately.
“My clothes,” you hiss. “Get out of the room so I can wear them.”
“Right,” he says, pointing an index finger at you.
He turns around right then. "By the way…"
You shriek, pulling the cover up all the way to your nose.
"Sorry," he says, averting his eyes immediately. "If- if that was a date, did you like it? Do you wanna go on another one?"
You can see him practically sweat bullets and you laugh at the innocuous questions. He’s too cute. You can’t believe you made yourself shake off the thought every time it crossed you. However indelicate his touch is, you welcome it nonetheless.
"Yes. Yes, I'll go on a date with you. You annoying, stupid, bratty idiot."
“Okay, that was mean.”
Watching his figure leave through the door, you relax your shoulders. In the end, people will always be people. No matter what shiny new toy you give them to play with, people will always search for happiness, and they will laugh and cry and fall in love with people and places and things over and over again. It's lovely to be human in an era of diamond and steel.
#yangyang x reader#nct x reader#wayv x reader#yangyang scenarios#nct scenarios#wayv scenarios#yangyang fluff#nct fluff#wayv fluff#yangyang fanfic#nct fanfic#yangyang fic#moonwrites#dawg idk what im doing imma be honest here
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hold you close to my heart
◇ characters ◇ zhongli, childe, xiao, al haitham, thoma, scaramouche
◇ tags ◇ modern!au, gn!reader, fluff, headcanon format
◇ a/n ◇ zhongli is ngl acting like an asian mom in this and i am not sorry. i need him in my life bc i hate fishbone (the number of times i've had a fishbone stuck in my throat- you don't want to know. let's just say pressing down my gag reflex is one of my talents now) and peeling shrimps.
𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡
tries to be as quiet as possible as he shuffles around the house while you’re asleep.
peels fruits for you.
will care for your hair for you (brushes / applies oil / braids)
debones any sort of meat-with-bone/shell dishes, including fishes and crustaceans for you (this might be the ultimate expression of zhongli’s love considering how much he hates the smell of seafood).
will not hesitate to spoonfeed you when your hands are occupied or if you’re forgetting to eat.
“zhongli do you know where did i put my shawl-” “second drawer, right side.” “and my dragon-printed socks-” “-is in the sock box on the third drawer, you probably missed it.”
will threaten people who wronged you with a sandal in his hands “i will have order!”
headpat machine - you want headpats? you’re getting headpats. you don’t want headpats? you’re getting a kiss on top of your head…… and a headpat <3
will fall into the habit of carrying tissues and hair ties and the everyday essential items which you often use.
slips his credit card into your wallet before you go out.
keeps your fridge stocked with groceries and pantry full of your favorite snacks (either by doing the shopping himself or getting them delivered to your doorstep when he can’t be around)
lets you pet the dogs you encounter on your walks first. also alerts you when there’s a cute dog in sight.
owns a special phone with the best camera in the market, just for the sake of taking your selfies.
headpat machine 2.0 - you don't want headpats? too bad you’re getting one! you want headpats? beg for it first, darling <3
buys you matching accessories. wears them everywhere and every time he’s out.
always walks on the side closer to the road. also holds your hand when crossing the street (and pretends he 'forgot' to release it afterward)
always lingers around you in social settings. not just because of his social anxiety, but also just in case you need something, he wants to be there to help.
lets you pat his head (and enjoys it immensely), but will murder-glare any other person who tries to do so (read: venti, heizou).
is only able to fall asleep in either of these conditions: 1) he is completely alone, or 2) he’s not alone but you’re with him.
piles up pillows and blankets and plushies on your (or his) bed as a silent invitation to cuddle. you tease him by saying “are you inviting me to your nest, little bird?” and he blushes every single time. it’s very adorable. please give this boy his cuddles.
corrects the typos in your papers for you. crosschecks your citations and adds comments detailing how you should add or remove certain things. he accepts payments in kisses. or super spicy curry. he’s not picky, really.
will dust your bookshelves for you (is it because he loves you or because he loves books? ….. don’t ask).
will wordlessly lift you up to cross a big puddle on the road. you only get to be bridal-carried if you're lucky. otherwise, you're getting the sack of potatoes' treatment because he's a bastard.
tells you that you have x minutes left to do certain tasks. yes, he has your schedules memorized. yes, he will flick your forehead if you keep whining and procrastinating.
will gently pull your head to settle on his shoulder when you fall asleep on the bus.
“did you cut your hair? it’s five centimeters shorter.” “you trimmed your eyebrows?” “your lips look pale today. have you eaten lunch?”
cooks and cleans for you. his payment? your awed smile. if you tip him with kisses he’ll be over the moon.
sends you daily cute animal videos. mostly dogs. or cats. or him being silly with his adorable doggie taroumaru.
will mess up on purpose just to make you laugh on your bad days.
buys everything in twos because he always, always wants to share it with you.
squishes his cheek onto yours and nuzzles you to show affection. you think you see dog ears and dog tails whenever he does this, but it's just a trick of the light... right??
refrains from drinking at parties just so that when you do, he can take care of you properly and get you back home safely.
denies your kisses in public but pulls you for a kiss every five minutes behind closed doors.
links his pinky with you when walking together (but on his bad days, he would really appreciate it when you link your arms with him).
looks so scandalized when you flinch from his touch - because somehow he’s a superconductor and most of the time you feel zapped just from touching him. just tough it out and hug him if you don’t want to deal with sulky!mouchie.
will not hesitate to try and claw people’s eyes out when they made you upset.
fills up your water bottle for you.
uses the same laundry detergent / perfume as yours. claims that he does it so you “won’t complain about how your clothes smell weird” when you stay over. he just wants his clothes to smell more like you so he can pretend you’re hugging him when he misses you.
© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!
◇ taglist ◇ @thestarsofenkanomiya | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon | @yuutasbabe | @percyval-archives | @carbs-need-more-love | @rebeccka | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @niverine | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @herdrops | @clovcly | @marina-and-the-memes | @angryhope | @mixed-kester | @shuangxo | @fiannee | @lordbugs
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Yandere Male Monster Musume: Feeding The Beasts Pt. III
Last Part
“Good Morning, (Y/n). Are you ready to spend the day together?”
As you expected, Centoreo was so much easier. Waking up in a timely matter with a warm cup of tea or coffee. It was relaxing, being able to rely on someone else. Able to serve little biscuits and cucumber slices without burning the house down. It wasn’t too often that you got such a quiet morning for yourself.
“Thanks, Centoreo, I appreciate it.”
“No problem, (Y/n)! As my Master, it’s a given that on my day; we’ll get to relax together.”
Sitting across from each other on the newly installed tatami mats. The morning’s light shining through the window gently warmed your face. It was quiet between you two. A tad too quiet.
Centoreo was still smiling at you.
Constantly smiling as you began to get nervous.
“Uh so?”
“So what, my Master?”
“....I don’t know…what’ve you been up to?”
He sighed, “Only counting down the hours until my day was here.”
A mirth smile spread across your face as you imagined the sight of Centoreo waiting anxiously by a clock. You took another sip of your drink admiring his stylized room. Coming to realize there’s no clock within the room you turned back to the centaur.
“You don’t have a clock in here.”
“I do not. Back home we centaurs are taught to dictate the time by the sun or better yet to count the hours in a day.”
“Wow, I didn’t know that. That’s pretty hardcore.”
“Thank you, Master!”
“Do you guys also get trained with the sword?”
You missed the way his eyes widened and the way his hands twitched. He tilted his head when he asked his question.
“Excuse me?”
“Like don’t centaurs get swords? I’m sure you couldn’t bring a real one with you but still.”
Centoreo hesitated, “Some do but aren’t swords considered archaic in today's age?”
Shoot.
You mentally kicked yourself. In the anime, Cerea was very upfront about her sword replica. Having it on her waist or drawing it the second she felt necessary. It was a big part of her character. But now that you thought about it Centoreo had no such thing, even with the way you both met; chasing criminals and using the sword just wasn’t a part of it. Supposedly that had happened before you even met up with him. So without your prior knowledge, this line of questioning seemed completely out of left field. Your best chance now was to do damage control.
“Uhm yes, but I thought Centaurs preferred a more traditional type of learning and lifestyle. Like the way you chose a master.”
Centoreo seemed to nod as he accepted your lie coverup. Clapping his hands in confirmation.
“I see, how you might have thought that! But you’re not wrong, we do get a myriad of training with different weapons and I do have one.”
“A replica? Neat!”
Centorea dwelled in your excitement,” Would you like to see my sword?”
At that moment the door to Centoreo’s room slams open and in a flurry of blue feathers and a scaly tail, the two other monster transfer students barged in. Both are standing guard in front of you blocking your sight from the centaur.
“No! There will be no showing any ‘swords’ of yours! Not before mine!”
“Yeah! I want to show my sword too! We’re not going to let you get away with it.”
You could hear his polite chuckles from behind his hand, “Oh so you don’t want (Y/n) to protect themselves?”
“Yes! I mean, wait–”
“Of course not! That’s my job!”
“No you bird brain! He’s talking about some weapon he brought overseas with him.”
“Oh…I already thought your rear-end was enough of a weapon.”
“Pypi!”
The harpy had a nonchalant expression as you scolded him while coughing to hide the snicker that threatened to spread on your face. The lamia immediately began to coil around himself in laughter, making it easy for the red-in-the-face centaur to push most of him out the door.
With a huff, Centoreo shut his door and locked it. When he turned to you he had an angry blush at the smile you were failing to cover.
“I’m sorry, Centoreo…but if you’re still willing to show me I’d love to see.”
A small smile spread on his face as he turned back to you. Guiding you to stand over a specific floorboard he revealed a hidden case that robotically raised out of the ground and showed a myriad of weapons…some of which were not all that traditional.
“And this is my 177 Caliber BB Gun Air Pistol…it’s not incredibly new but it’s close enough to what I’m comfortable with.”
“Oh wow….”
“What’s with that face?”
“It’s just that I didn’t think guns counted as traditional weaponry.”
He laughed, “It’s alright, that’s what we’re here for. To learn about each other.”
“Yeah, I guess so.”
That was a really good point. The anime made a point to use the laws and societal changes to move the plot. It was mostly about how the girls were fitting into the human world, with their love interest somehow being all-knowing about their idiosyncrasies. Granted there were some exceptions but it wasn’t a major theme to learn in-depth about their cultures.
You thought that was cool.
“If you’d like I can teach you how to shoot it.”
“Really?"
"Of course.”
Sooner than you realized it you found yourself in the position of every male protagonist during a pool game. Trying to hyper-focus on the gun you were holding instead of the muscular chest on the back of your head as well as the hands supporting your back. While you could only see the target board you could feel the warmth of his breath as he gave his advice.
“Don’t close your eye, and use the sight to aim. That’s it. You’re doing perfectly my Master.”
This was a lot more than you were expecting.
Crttt Crttt Crttt Crttt
A grating sound broke the moment, thankfully. Bringing both of you to look at the curiously opened door, With only a crack wide enough for furiously yellow-slitted eyes and a fanged set of teeth gritting against each other. Centoreo let out an uncharacteristically long groan before excusing himself out of his room.
“My Master I’ll return shortly, after I speak with…them.”
“But it’s okay I can talk to him–”
“No no dear it’s fine. Just keep practicing, I’ll be just a moment.”
The Japanese-style door slides shut and you can’t help but expect to hear screaming and sounds of a fight. But there was nothing. After a few minutes had passed you began to feel bored with just shooting the air-gun. Finally putting it down you left his room, poking your head out into the hall and finding no one. Searching around you found the monster boys in the living room with 2 of them sleeping peacefully on the couch. Centoreo was standing over them pulling a blanket over their forms, before turning to you.
“I’m sorry to keep you waiting, my master.”
“Ah, it’s okay. I’m surprised they’d fall asleep so easily.”
Centoreo shrugged before perking up with an idea.
“(Y/n). I wanted to ask if maybe we could meal prep together. I was hoping we could be…adventurous with the vegetables this time since we usually cater to them.”
“Sure I don’t mind, though I don’t think they’d be too interested in what we make.”
“I have a feeling they’ll sleep through dinner, I convinced them to eat something hearty before they slept.”
You decided not to question the weird timing.
“Then let’s have fun, shall we?”
“Perfect!”
______________________________________________________________
You both most certainly did. Able to even light a candle or two while you enjoyed the roasted and sauteed veggies you’d both made. As Centoreo predicted they did sleep through dinner, letting you both enjoy a quiet and peaceful evening together. It was hard to be cautious when he was just so sweet. It might have made you soften up a bit when it came to him.
“Centoreo you don’t have to call me master all the time.”
“Then what should call you then?”
“My name or some other nickname. I don’t really care. Milo’s got like a thousand for me.”
“I want you to pick what I’ll call you. Otherwise, I’ll just stick to master. Or your name, both are really important to me.”
“You’re so stubborn.”
“It’s a quality of a good knight. Cheers.”
Even as the night began to close you were almost certain he’d abashedly ask you to snuggle in his bed with him. But he politely offered to let you relax offering to watch your phone and clothes while you headed to the bath. It’s become a bit of an issue with Milo and Pypi taking advantage of your unattended clothes. Even though they were asleep you were hesitant to let him. Cerea was still a prominent member of the harem; it wouldn’t be unheard of that he was as dangerously interested in you as Milo and Pypi. But you might have wanted to take advantage of the unattended bath…without the possible intrusion…an opportunity so hard to pass up.
“Okay but don’t do anything weird. I’ll be out in a bit.”
He smiled graciously as though a halo was meant to appear. “Of course, I’m here to help. Enjoy your bath.”
A refreshing bath later and a final cup of tea. You bid Centoreo goodnight as you shut your metal door.
The schedule worked. The strengthening of your bonds was important to hopefully disassembling and keeping a reign on the alternate versions of the monster girls. This could work if you kept this up, not to mention the later events of the anime. Maybe pushing past their insecurities would be the way to go.
Things were looking up.
___________________________________________________________
Blonde strands of hair cascaded over Centoreo’s face as he glared at the messages from the agent. Looking down at the contact he scrolled through the text history, with scrunched brows. He felt disgusted as he glared at the mail he’d intercepted.
It was an opt-out form.
The letter of allowance is meant to let the host peacefully transfer their guardianship to another.
He was already burning the added note from the agent jovially informing him of his new promotion. There were other disturbing litigations in cursive but Centoreo deemed it all unworthy of thought. Taking only the main points to heart.
“Did you really think you have a chance? While I’m here? Please.”
It was a minor concern, that another tenant was going to arrive. This would be returned to the mailbox. The others could be burned.
“It’s only a matter of time. Bide your time Centoreo. It will all be worth it then.”
#yandere x reader#yandere x you#lovelyyandereaddictionpoint#yanderexrea#yandere#yanderes#yandere harem#yandere male monster musume#yandere monster musume#yandere centaur#yandere monsters#yandere monster x reader#yandere monster musume x reader#yandere male monster musume x reader#yandere males#yanderes x reader#yandere lamia#yandere monster harem
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Little Hen
Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Wife!Reader
A/N: I'm obsessed...there's nothing left to say. I don't own any of these wonderful characters except (y/n). Enjoy!
Summary: Rooster takes his little hen to The Hard Deck to make memories like he did with his father
Warnings: tooth-rotting fluff, like your teeth are gone...
(y/n) - your name
(y/n/n) - your nickname
(y/h/c) - your hair color
(Y/n) sighed through the phone, stuck at work for another hour. "Bradley, are you sure it's a good idea to take her there? It is a bar after all."
"Yes, babe. Some of my favorite memories with my father were made at a bar."
She knew this meant a lot to him, especially how he lost his own father not long after those memories were made. He'd told her about his fear that he'd be killed before their daughter, Carole, even remembered him. She was now 4 and was just like he was as a kid.
She was adventurous, competitive, and most of all, a complete daddy's girl. The 4-year-old had Rooster Bradshaw wrapped around her tiny little finger. If she wanted a stuffed animal, he got it, and when she asked for a Hawaiian shirt to match him, (y/n) could've sworn she'd never seen him order something so fast.
Bradley had also formed the habit of calling Carole, "Little Hen" after her mom, whose callsign was Hen.
"Okay little hen," Rooster said getting her out of her car seat, "do you want to meet some of daddy's friends?"
She threw her little arms around his neck as he held her. "What about mommy? She's your friend."
He chuckled, swinging her around in a circle. "Mommy is my best friend, but I have other friends too."
"Whoa, Daddy. I'm dizzy." She announced, leaning far back away from him.
"Don't worry, hen, Daddy's got ya." With a content sigh and a bright smile, he kissed her cheek and opened the doors of The Hard Deck.
The room erupted into cheers when the pair walked in the doors. Jake, AKA Hangman, was the first to come over to the pair.
"Hangie!" She yelled, leaning towards him, her little arms extended.
Rooster handed her to Jake with a smile. "Hey, kid! Have you been listening to your mom and dad?"
She shook her head, glancing over at her dad, who was just watching the interaction. "Nope."
Jake burst into laughter, tickling her as she joined in with her own giggles. Rooster's heart was about to explode with love at the sight of his beautiful daughter. The only person missing from this moment was (y/n). She got caught up at work and couldn't join them for the movie night they had planned, so they decided to have a Rooster and Little hen night. He's brought out of his thoughts by Carole calling him.
"Daddy! Jake wants you to play!" she said, full of excitement.
With a sigh, he took off his aviators and gently placed them on her face as he walked towards the piano. The glasses were way too big on her, so they were slanted to one side, and they looked so cute. Bradley took her from Hangman and placed her on top of the piano. He stretched his hands slightly before playing.
"You shake my nerves and you rattle my brain." he sang, looking goofily at Carole. "Too much love drives a man insane. You broke my will, oh what a thrill."
Carole somewhat knew this part, so she sang along with everyone else.
"Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!"
Her laughter echoed across the bar, lifting everyone's spirits even more than her dad's playing did.
"I laughed at love cause I thought it was funny, you came along and you moved me, honey. I changed my mind, looking fine."
"Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!"
Little did Rooster or his Little Hen know that (y/n) was leaning against the doorway, listening with tears in her eyes. They were the two most important people to her, and hearing them both so happy made her happy.
In the middle of the piano solo, she pushed off the wall and made her way over to the piano.
"Kiss me, baby." He sang
She came from behind him and planted a kiss right on his unsuspecting lips. Eyes widening in surprise, he turned and smiled when he saw who it was, continuing to sing.
"Woooo-ooooo...that feels good." He pulled her onto his lap haphazardly, making Carole laugh. "Hold me, baby."
By this point, he had completely turned away from the piano and towards his wife, muscle memory kicking in as he kissed her. "I wanna love you like a lover should. You're fine, so kind. Imma tell the world that you're mine, mine, mine, mine-ine!"
With her mom's help, Carole jumped down off the piano and took a seat on Bradley's leg that (y/n) was not occupying. Smiling down at her, he continued to play.
"I chew my nails and I twiddle my thumbs. I get nervous but it sure is fun." He turned to (y/n), singing against her lips,
Come on, baby, you're driving me crazy," then turned to Carole for the grand finale.
"Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!!" The group yelled in unison.
Bradley leaned down and dramatically kissed her on the cheek before kissing (y/n) lovingly. Carole jumped off his lap and ran in front of them.
"Daddy! That was awesome! Can we do it again?"
As Bradley sat with his wife in his arms and her head on his shoulder, watching their daughter have a moment of her own, he couldn't help but think of his dad. All his life, he just wanted to be like him, and his life looked very similar to how his did at Rooster's age. Knowing from experience that everything can change in a split second, he vows to take in every moment he has with his family.
Saying goodbye to their friends, Rooster looks over, noticing that his Little Hen is finally asleep in (y/n)'s arms. He looked over to Jake, smiling.
"Thanks for wearing her out, man. It sure saves Hen and me the trouble of finding a way to get her down."
"I'm just doing my wingman duties, sir." He mock salutes, giving Bradley a hug.
(Y/n) waves bye to everyone, careful not to wake up Carole, and walks out to Rooster's car. He's not too far behind them. Approaching the car, he hugs (y/n) from behind, nuzzling his head into her neck once their Little Hen is in her car seat.
"I love you," he murmured into her neck.
She placed her hands on his that rested on her waist. "I love you too, Roost, but where is this coming from?"
"You're such an amazing mom, (y/n/n)."
"And you're an even better dad. Your dad would be so proud of you, Bradley."
Turning around in his arms, she engulfed him in a hug that he gratefully returned as a tear slipped down his cheek. When they pulled away, (y/n) wiped the tear away, giving him a sloppy kiss. She leaned into the car and kissed Carole on the forehead.
"I'll see you at home, Rooster," she yelled, walking to her car.
Leaning out his truck's window, he saluted her. "Roger that, Lieutenant Hen. I love you."
"Love ya, Cap."
Bradley rolled up the window and looked back at his daughter sleeping peacefully. "Daddy loves you, Little Hen."
#bradley bradshaw x wife!reader#bradley bradshaw x pilot!reader#rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x reader#bradley rooster bradshaw#bradley bradshaw x you#rooster x reader#top gun x reader#rooster imagine#rooster x wife!reader#top gun imagine#top gun maverick#top gun fic#top gun movie#top gun sequel#top gun rooster#top gun 2#tg2 spoilers#miles teller#rooster top gun#rooster#bradley top gun#tooth rotting fluff#dad!bradley Bradshaw x reader
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❝you are so engrossed in your work that you ignore him without meaning to❞
« characters - mammon, leviathan, satan, asmodeus, beelzebub, belphegor »
« gender neutral reader »
« headcanons »
MAMMON
He’s legit offended. His entry wasn’t quiet, you know? On top of that, he raced to your room before Asmo could come and blabber about how Mammon has a huge crush on you. The moment Mammon makes his appearance, he begins saying how he doesn’t like you, and that you must be too full of yourself to believe that the Great Mammon will ever fall for his servant, aka you. How can you not be concerned about that?! Now, he is worried that you don’t care enough about him to notice his words.
Wait! Are you actually angry at him…?
Letting go of his tsundere nature, he grabs your shoulders, gives you a good shake, and cries about how he truly and deeply loves you. Don’t ignore your first man, human!
LEVIATHAN
You always look and feel so moe! Playing a game beside you is the best! He manages to win a few levels before the silence bothers him, and he begins talking about the latest anime convention he’s excited about. When you tell him to shush without even looking at him, he feels pain equivalent to what an otaku feels at the loss of their most precious figurine. Completely hollow with no will to continue living. What did he do to deserve your mistreatment? Did you not read the manual, ‘The way to act around Leviathan 404’ that he specially wrote and printed for you? Point 100 clearly mentions that the Grand Admiral of Hell’s Navy is fragile and needs to be treated with care, especially when the person concerned is his Henry. You’re still his Henry, right? If yes, forfeit all mortal possessions and love him before he summons Lotan.
SATAN
He’s quick to notice that you’re engrossed in your work, and decides to wait for you to finish before mentioning his business. Being a busy demon himself, he respects that you have your own life outside offering therapy sessions to the brothers. It is only when he sees you grinning at your D.D.D even after a while has passed that he starts hearing a tick in his ears. Surely Satan isn’t so invisible that you can completely ignore his presence even though he’s standing mere feet away from you.
Were you… texting Lucifer? Of course not. That will be bizarre! He tries to calm down and decides to be diplomatic. If his coughs don’t get your attention, hopefully a table-shaped hole in your wall will.
ASMODEUS
He’s followed by a trail of your favourite fragrance.
“Oh [Name], look at me! I look more radiant than I did this morning. Don’t you just want to kiss me? If I could, I would never stop cuddling myself!”
When no answer comes, he pouts and takes a seat beside you. Eyeing what you’re working on, he inches closer to you, wraps an arm around you and whispers in your ear.
“[N-A-M-E] honey, why don’t you look at me for now? I am more attractive than your homework.”
“Not now, Asmo. A failing grade will be less attractive than you too so I must prevent that!”
“But your Asmo-chan needs you!”
“And I need to pass,” you say and push him away.
Asmo is hell bent on starting a line of lipstick that comes with homework notes engraved on the side of the tube. That way, you can admire the product, and more importantly him while also revising for your test.
BEELZEBUB
He drops by your room because he misses being close to you. He’s content being there, munching on snacks that he brought for the two of you. The silence is comfortable and he's happy to see you working hard. It's only when he has consumed his share that he looks at you with sad puppy dog eyes. [Name], complete your work fast or nothing will be left! He doesn’t really want to disturb you because you have a serious look on your face but he can’t control his hunger any longer, so he ventures to ask.
“[Name], here, I brought some food for you. Why don't you take a break and eat first?”
“Beel, did you say something? Sorry bubs, but I am busy. Can we talk later?”
He gulps once before eating all the food. Once you finish your work, you better give him head pats and console him, saying how you don’t think that he’s just a glutton and that you’re not mad that he ate everything. He tried this time. He really did.
BELPHEGOR
He enters your room with a flourish, closing the door shut more noisily than is needed. Look up and invite him to lie on your lap, like you usually do. When you don’t move and continue with your task, Belphie sulks and lies down beside you on the bed. He steals a glance at what you are doing because he’s extremely jealous of whoever or whatever is taking up your time. Time that should have been used to pamper him. Let it be! Sooner or later, you are bound to get tired, and then you will see him and offer to run your warm hands through his hair. When that moment never arrives, he gets up moodily, and tries to lie on your lap by force.
“Belphie, what are you doing?! I am busy right now.”
“And I am tired,” he says and somehow manages to get his head on your lap. Good luck getting your work done with him restraining you to that spot.
#obey me#gender neutral reader#obey me x reader#gender neutral mc#obey me x mc#obey me!#shion script#obey me headcanons#obey me mammon#obey me leviathan#obey me satan#obey me asmodeus#obey me beelzebub#obey me belphegor#x mc#x reader
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I Miss The Case Study of Vanitas Because Sex
Okay, please forgive me for the clickbait-y title, but I just had to take it. The whiplash is too fun to me. Anyways, yes, I miss The Case Study of Vanitas (both as an anime and manga, since we've not gotten vol 10 in English yet) because of sex. Not the act in and of itself, but the appeal, the tension, the experience. Animanga isn't nearly as sexless as North American media, but it presents its own unique challenges and issues. So, if you don't mind, please humor my little foray into an attempt to explain the decoupling of fan service and sex appeal, with The Case Study of Vanitas as a medium.
⚠️Warning: I've done my best to keep it spoiler free, but by nature there is mild spoilers in regards to characters and certain interactions.⚠️
Is The Case Study of Vanitas about sex? Well, obviously not, no, it's about vampires. But as much as it's about vampires, it's also about despair, hope, penance and revenge, and the intricacies of the human condition. It just happens to feature vampires as the selling point. And I believe therein lies the best explanation of Vanitas: it's not about sex, but rather contains those aspects as a part of the people that exist in its world.
Fanservice has become a rather perverted term. Rather than appealing to a broad range of applications, fanservice tends to exclusively apply to displays that are sexual in nature (most typically in regards to catering to male audiences). In that way it's not particularly awful in how the term itself has shifted, but the use of fanservice is borderline pathetic in most series. A gaudy display of body parts, it hangs on excessive scale and movement to catch the eyes of touch starved individuals. I don't need a ballooned bosom besetting my vision before bobbing about in a baroque display for all too long. That's not the point.
But what is the point? Well, I've prattled on long enough so here's an example.
A look in the eyes, the right lighting. Even simple posing. Sex appeal is not limited to explicit displays of sexuality, but is rather the personification of both the character's intent as well as their external perception.
There are so many moments in this series that are in no way explicitly sexual, but can easily be perceived to have sex appeal or sexual tension.
But then, how would that appeal not feel weakened? It's a good question, honestly, and an important one to ask. When you display the chest of an underaged girl enough times, it won't elate the audience enough to be perceived as "good". It's a universal issue with storytelling, so how does Vanitas get around it?
My answer (and perhaps not the only answer) is how this appeal and tension is derived. I had sort of said it earlier, but didn't really explain. Its source is the very nature of the characters and world. It is not an external force exposing these facets, but the machinations of the plot and its pieces themselves.
Have a look at this example here. Vampires are hot, right? Their power, broody nature, and the concept of the unknown have played into their eroticism and appeal since time immemorial (seriously, look up Carmilla). Vanitas pounces on that concept and immediately plays into it. We don't get blood sucking every episode and every second, no. But we get it enough to provide variation, it appears at the right time to provide another layer to the nature of the story and characters.
Anyways, the example. Lord Ruthven and Noe. Two vampires, engaging in something strictly non-sexual. He is simply biting Noe. But the posing, the nature of the layout. It presents tension. It presents Ruthven's ownership and commanding nature of Noe in this moment. Domination and subjugation.
Even more is this sequence. The commanding nature that presents a clear power dynamic. The phrasing. It absolutely exudes sexual tension. But nothing of the sort is apparent in the actual interaction.
So what's the deal here. I know I had spoken on how characters themselves can convey tension and appeal without explicit intent to do so, but how can circumstance and interaction play into it as well?
Another lovely question. What comprises the act of sex? What are the pieces that elate, entice, and encourage someone? Well, aside from the answer that it's down to the individual, there's a few core pieces. The "top and bottom" dynamic is certainly the one that appears the most when dealing with pairs. Another, while a bit unseemly and slightly (?) taboo is the concept of fear and violence. Of course, I don't mean in any serious context, but the concept is how those things make you feel, and that they stem from that similar power dynamic. Perhaps that's the best word to describe it with: power dynamic. It's all about how two characters interact with each other, where they stand in relation to one another. The above image is the perfect example of that, and the following is how to build on it.
Vanitas and Jeanne, an incredible combination born not out of a mutual desire for the other, but the sheer interest of one and the needs of another. It's a one sided love spurred on by the actions of one that encourages the other to let loose. It creates the interesting dynamic of a power bottom that remains refreshing alongside the other relationships that exist in the story.
So here's a clip of that dynamic.
The way the camera and characters hang on each moment, the way the layouts aim to both obstruct but also apply razor focus. The voice acting. All of it, every single moments provides for that tension and appeal, and it extends past the act of sucking blood and into the souls of the characters themselves. A terrible plead that spills from blood stained lips, a promise that comes from the origin of that crimson.
This "sex appeal" and "sexual tension" is not something manufactured, but the absolute core of these characters. The act of domination, the incredible an undesired need of a substance, the mental fractures eroding at the ego of a person. All of these moments stem from the very souls of the characters and bubble up to the surface in these forms of expression. Where words will not do, actions speak in their place.
Also, Vanitas moaning. Yes please. The greatest benefit to this series is the fact that it's willing to lean into the men as well. This is not "just" for the guys (and lesbians), no. This is for everyone, but especially those that enjoy a side of insanity and toxicity to their romance.
So that brings us to the end. Vanitas is not "about" sex, Vanitas is sex and is the purest way to deliver on fan service while providing sexual tension and appeal. It's subtle, subdued, infrequent and benign. It does not bend to the desires of the viewer, but rather stems from those of the characters. And so many series need to take note. "Lucky Lecher" and perversely excessive displays have no home in my heart when there are far more artistic and desirable sequences that can be produced.
#vanitas no carte#the case study of vanitas#vanitas of the blue moon#les memoires de vanitas#vanitas jeanne#vnc vanitas#jeanne the hellfire witch#dominique de sade#vanoe#noe archiviste#august ruthven#lord ruthven#vnc jeanne#vanijeanne#vnc#anime and manga#anime#manga#anime recommendation#anime review#manga reccs#manga recommendation#manga review
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Hii!
Wonu’s hair in Mingyu’s recent live looked so soft and fluffy 🥺
Can I request fluff of reader running her fingers through his hair? Just some soft fluff 🥹
Thank you so much in advance!! 🫶
AHH yes yes! you must have seen how i literally cannot stop talking about him. he’s literally rotting my brain so bad.
i also love love love writing cute stuff too so i was excited to write this 💞 i just love our wonwoo 💘💘 this was short & sweet, but v cute :3
also daisy is my fave animal crossing character i miss her…
pairing: domesticbf!wonwoo x gf!reader
genre: established relationship, fluff
summary: you’re obsessed with playing with your boyfriend’s fluffy long hair <3
click here to join my taglist!
playing with your boyfriend’s hair has become your favorite hobby, especially since it has gotten so much longer recently.
you’re always touching wonwoo in some way, whether it be holding his hand, locking arms with him, putting your hands in his pockets when you’re cold, or, your favorite, playing with his hair.
it doesn’t even matter what you’re doing or who you’re with, you’re fingers always subconsciously end up running through the strands of his long, soft fluffy hair.
tonight was no different, you were spending the night over at his, enjoying each other’s company like you usually would as he games on his computer and you read your favorite book. wonwoo enjoyed it because he liked to listen to you update him about things happening in your book, even though he didn’t know the plot. he just liked to listen.
“here, i brought you some water,” you set down a glass of water on his desk, careful to put it somewhere he won’t knock it over. “you’re not streaming are you?”
wonwoo smiles at your graciousness, illuminated by the light of the animal crossing game on his computer. “no, no, not today.”
you stand behind him, your book under your arm as you watch him.
you watch the screen as his character talks to your favorite character, daisy. “aw, i love her, she’s so cute. i used to have her in my island but she eventually left…” you say, your free hand coming up to run your fingers through wonwoo’s hair.
you brush his hair back to watch it fall back onto his forehead, and you do it multiple times before he says something.
“what are you doing?” wonwoo asks, smiling as you’re just mindlessly playing with his hair.
“oh, sorry, i’ll stop if i’m being annoying.” you joke, fixing his hair as best as you can after you ruffled it up.
“no, no keep doing it,” wonwoo laughs. “i didn’t say i didn’t like it.”
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I've been in the dsaf fandom for a year or two by now lol. but like I've only been lurking and...some fans take dsaf TOO seriously. Like, no hate. none at all. but,, I wish people acknowledged more often that Dayshift at freddy's at it's core, is silly. like, all three games are full of jokes (some less than others) and that's the original premise. Yeah, there's the serious lore bits and all.. but what about the SILLY bits? Can we have the silly bits appreciated? Jack can piss for 15 minutes straight, Dave ate an entire ashtray of lit cigarette butts and lost his sense of taste after, ALL the phone guys were programmed to say "darn" and "heckin'!" as a substitute for swearing, and Dee is a tickler (not ticklish, a TICKLER she tickled Dave til his springlocks went off in the premature ending, and she can tickle Jack when in the suit to set it off if you don't wind the box). Henry is the reason why they have cameras in the fazbender's bathrooms.
I love seeing the serious bits too, but I wish people spent as much time with the silly bits as the serious ones. Even when it comes to making your own silly bits!!! Like, yess!!!! Go write that Undertale!DSAF AU. Go write about Dave and Jack as kitchen appliances. Go write about what you headcannon Dee's favorite songs and movies are. Go write about Jack having magical princess half wolf demon powers. EVEN WITH THE PAINTINGS!!! I saw a drawing of Dave and Jack in sailor moon get up and they killed it. absolutely. I know the dsaf artists out here are killing it with their art, it's all amazing and I have lovingly gazed at all of them before. and yes!!!!! Go RP as Peter Kennedy having a deep carnal desire for bird watching, go RP as Harry Fitzergald enjoying himself at an aquarium, go RP as Dave Miller spending hours trying to figure out how air fryers work so he can give it a shot at building one at home.
Please do anything your heart desires!!!!! You can look out the car window with your headphones in and listen to music while imagining sad sfms of the characters and keep it to yourself. But if you wish to share, just now that there's people out there that have been wishing someone would create what they've been imagining too!!! Make your funky spotify character playlists!! Even your youtube music ones!! Because there will be someone out there who thinks the same as you and enjoys them the same as you !!
I live for the serious ones too. Please, go write that heartfelt fic about Dave yearning for his soulless friend's presence in the afterlife. Please, go write about Jack despairing that he doesn't just stop existing after death, and is stuck in a void. Please, go write about Dee speaking to the gang in afterlife about how she wishes she had a longer childhood, and how she is sad that the very few things that made her childhood a childhood is gone and that she can never truly have it back( jack, and all the friends and lovely gifts and animals and all the joy). Please, go write about DaveTrap surviving the fire in the good ending and being miserable because no matter how much he was angry and hateful, he missed Jack, he missed having a quarrel with him, he missed asking just one more time, if Jack wanted to kill kiddins' with him, and then him having to visit Jack's grave and despairing that Jack had never lied when he told him his name. And then DaveTrap sees the other graves, all the other ones, of the kids that died at fazbender's because of fazbender's. And he also sees a grave bearing his own name. His real name. And it was right next to four other graves, of people who's names rang bells in his ears, of people with a last name he recognized, of people he remembered betting on whether or not they'll die with Henry.
AHHH I think this might be too long. i just love ranting about my ideas because as much as i have a love for writing, i can never execute the ideas. they are cursed to forever be just an idea i can share to my friends who don't like dsaf but like hearing my rambles.
So, whoever is reading this, please go enjoy the games as much as you wish!! enjoy the silly AND the serious side !!!!!
.
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My neighbour Rúben | Chapter 8
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This year everyone had outdone themselves with the Christmas market, making it look like something from those cheesy movies, and Julia was loving it.
She had already bought an ugly jumper to wear on Christmas day, a few ornaments for our tree, and now we were looking for one especially for me.
"You are living with us now, which means that you deserve to have your own ornament to put on the tree" Lucy said. "It must be something that represents you."
"What was yours?" Rúben asked her. He was looking so cosy and handsome with his nice coat, his hat and his scarf... It was impossible not to stare.
"A shark."
"A shark?" I chuckled.
"That's what one of my teachers told me when I finished my career, that I was a shark. So I took it as my animal” she shrugged. “What's yours?"
"A cat" Rúben and I said at the same time.
"Oh, twins!" Julia giggled.
"Twins indeed" her mum said. "Though Rúben, I think you are more of a tiger. Because of your size, I mean."
"It's not the first time someone tells me that" he grinned before both he and Lucy turned to look at me.
"Let's see if we can find twin cats for you!" Julia said, grabbing me with one hand and Rúben with the other. Now she was the one being my guardian angel.
But after checking most stands and not finding anything, she finally gave up.
"Mami, can we go ice skating? I'm bored."
"Sure. But I'm afraid that’s something Rúben isn't allowed to do, right?"
"I'm afraid not. But don't worry, Julia. We'll keep searching for those cats while you and your mum have fun" he smiled.
"Oh, perfect. We'll meet later where they have all the stands with food so we can have that hot chocolate. See you, guys" Lucy said before disappearing with Julia.
"Should we continue?" Rúben asked.
"Ok" I smiled. Or tried to. I was alone with Rúben. At a Christmas market. Looking for ornaments for my tree. Why did this look like a date the two main characters of a romantic movie would have?
"You know, if we can't find a cat, maybe we can find a piano" he said. "I know it is something kind of bittersweet, but you wouldn't be here if it wasn't because of it."
"I guess" I said, checking one of the stands and seeing a familiar face. "Is that..."
"Uh?"
"Come" I said, grabbing his arm and walking towards the stand. "That's your friend John, isn't it?"
"That is him, yes" he chuckled, checking the ornament. This stand had personalized ones with both City and United's players, and they actually looked pretty cool. "Do you think they'll have mine?"
"Hello, can I help you?" the owner of the stand said.
"We were wondering if you had..."
"Oh, you!" the man said with a big smile. "I know who you are! Looking for yourself?"
"I actually am, yes" Rúben replied.
"I think there are none of yours there, let me check down here" he said, opening a box behind him. "Yours sell really well, especially among women. Wonder why” he chuckled. “Here you are."
"Oh, my God" I said, looking at the ornament the man was showing us. "Do you make them yourself?"
"I do, miss. Do you think I make him justice?" he laughed.
"This tiny version of him is much better" I smirked, looking at Rúben through the corner of my eye. He was rolling his eyes but also smiling.
"The good thing about this one is that he will fit under your tree. The real version is too big and there would be no space for other presents” Rúben said.
"Who says I'm asking to have you under my tree?"
"Who says you aren't?" he replied with that smirk. "We'll take it."
"Oh, wonderful" the man said. "But it is a gift."
"No, no, I can't accept that. We are paying for it."
"But you are... You!" the man said, trying to not catch people's attention. "I can't make you pay for this!"
"You spent your time and money making it. It's the least I can do" he replied, his wallet already in his hand.
"Ok, then" the man said, putting the ornament on a small package. "My son won't believe me when I tell him I sold one of these to the man himself."
"Why don't you take a photo together?" I said. "That way you'll have some proof to show to your son."
"Oh, no, there is no need. I don't want to bother you anymore, have people recognise him, and ruin your date."
"We aren't..." I began.
"It'll be fine, don't worry" Rúben smiled. "Can I ask you something?" he said after I took a few photos of him with the man.
"Of course” he replied.
"Do you know about any stand that sells cat ornaments? We are looking for a couple."
"I don't know if I've seen any, but there is one that sells like cat miniatures with fur and everything. Kids love them, they aren't creepy” he laughed.
"We'll check it. Thank you very much, sir" I said.
"Thank you both" he replied. "And Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas" Rúben smiled.
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"I'll take over now" Lucy said, picking Julia from Rúben's arms. After meeting with them again and finally having that hot chocolate, she started to get tired and didn't want to walk anymore, so he carried her all the way back home until she fell asleep. "Thank you very much, Rúben."
"No problem.”
"You can keep the welcome party going, tho. There is no rush to come home" Lucy winked before closing our apartment's door. Well, technically it was hers, but...
"Do you want to come in?" Rúben asked. "We've been walking for a while, you may want to rest your feet."
"Sitting down and resting my feet sounds like a wonderful idea, yes" I said, following into this apartment. Despite being the same as Lucy's, Ruben's looked very different. And not only because there were no toys laying around.
"What do you think?"
"It looks... It looks like you."
"What?" he chuckled.
"I didn't imagine you with a house full of stuff and furniture of different colours."
"Oh, you mean that I have a boring house because I'm boring."
"That's not what I meant and you know it" I said, sitting down on his couch. His very comfy and soft couch. "Oh my God."
"Comfortable?"
"You can't even imagine. Can I lay down?"
"Make yourself at home" he chuckled.
"This is the best, Rúben. Who cares if it's boring?" I said, closing my eyes.
"Don't fall asleep."
"Too late. This is it. See you in a week."
And maybe I didn't see him for a week, but half an hour...
"Good morning, sunshine" he said when I opened my eyes. He was sitting next to me, my feet on his lap.
"What... what happened?"
"You fell asleep."
"I did?"
"Yup."
"I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to. But I guess I was way more tired than I thought. What time is it?"
"Almost dinner time. Do you want to stay? I can order something."
"Ok."
"Just don't fall asleep again" he smiled, putting my feet to the side and getting up.
"I'll try not to” I smiled back.
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"Don't forget this" Rúben said, giving me the package with his ornament.
"I thought this one was for you?"
"I'm not putting my face on my tree” he laughed. “Besides, we agreed you were the one putting it because the real me was too big."
"That's what you said."
"Does that mean that you will be asking Father Christmas to find me under your tree?" he smirked.
"If you come with that sofa, maybe" I said, matching his smile. And then we just stared at each other in silence while smiling, no awkwardness between us. At least until his phone rang.
"I better go pick that up" he sighed.
"I... Yes, you should."
"Good night, neighbour" Rúben said, opening the door with a little bow like Roger always does.
"Good night” I replied, trying really hard to not start smiling like an idiot and miserably failing.
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Okay! After watching Once Upon A Studio the 100th time, I'm just gonna say it!
Disney! CAN WE PLEASE HAVE THIS SHORT BE A SHOW OR A SHORT SERIES!
Like you have all of these characters both 3D and 2D, and I know darn well that you guys know that this short is a huge success, jump on that train!
You know what! I'm just gonna put down how this show would be, and my exceptions and nots
(Exception 1 - The only other characters that would appear outside of WDAS would be characters from DisneyToon Studios, so like characters from the sequels, A Goofy Movie, Ducktales! Treasure of the lost lamp, and the Tinkerbell characters. I still would not include Pixar, Marvel, Muppets, Star Wars, and etc, that would be more if Disney wants to do a full on House Of Mouse sequel, but if it's a spiritual successor, then this would be at the studio
(Exception 2 - However, some characters from those said IP's can be mentioned as like a cameo or name mention, just because they don't appear, doesn't mean they can't be mentioned)
Okay, now for how the show/short series plays out
(The show/short series would take place at the Walt Disney Animation Studio in Burbank, since I think that's where the short took place.)
(When everyone leaves, that's when the characters come out, and thus, whatever plot takes place, that's when the episode/short begins)
(Characters can appear on the sidelines, making sure that it adds character and life into this, rather it be them just talking and walking, grabbing some food, or just causing mischief)
Now for some ideas for episodes
(A New Rabbit - Oswald notices that he is the odd one out in the huge group, so with the help of Mickey and his pals, they try to give the Lucky Rabbit a makeover only both Walt and the fans would love. This would be the Epic Mickey design that we all love, and Frank Welker would return to voice the rabbit once more!)
(A Royal Night Out - Tiana plans a huge night for all of the Disney Princesses and Princes, and Asha feels worried that she might stick out in the group, since she is the newest princess in the studio lot. But over the course of the short/episode, we not only see her get comfortable around the princesses and princes (They would be such gentlemen to her), but also stuff that maybe the voice performers can ad-lib in, to make them feel more natural!)
(Father/Son Meeting - Goofy realizes how many Disney parents and children have either a father/son and or father/daughter dynamics, and so he plans out a huge evening where the pairs would get to know each other, and discuss the situations they were put through, Max would make his first appearance in nearly 20 years in this, helping his father, and also getting to know the rest of the other kids that also go through what Max dealt with in his films)
(These ideas are from @shellyswirlz I was given permission to share and give some disney touches to these!
(Puppy-Sitting) - Kristoff, Ryder, and Honeymaren are asked upon by Roger and Anita if they could take care of the puppies while they take Pongo and Perdita on their evening walk, to which the three say yes to (Because I feel like Kristoff would be a dog person for sure!) Cruella sees this as her opportunity to try and get the dogs again, but this time from different people. Over the course of the episode/short, the puppies get into some trouble, from either running around the animation building, to hiding in some of the shelves. This causes problems for both Kristoff, Ryder, Honeymaren, and even Cruella, who misses her chance every time. In the end, it's Anna, Elsa, and even Olaf who would help wrangle the puppies back together again, and just in time before Roger and Anita get back. Cruella would be upset that she didn't manage to snag any of the puppies, but her anger would instantly disappear when she sees the other animals, and soon begins hatching plans for that
(Tinkering About) - Some of the Disney kids are drawing some of their favorite characters from their favorite shows and films, and Tinker Bell watches from afar, thinking of a fun, yet mischievous plan. Once the children leave to play outside, Tinker Bell uses her magic to make the drawings come to life, and soon, they begin to cause mischief around the building and even the studio. For the doodles, this would be the only time characters outside of WDAS would make their cameo appearances (Such as Sulley, Kermit and Gonzo, Grogu, and etc). Mickey and Oswald notice the weird drawing creations, and soon begin to place them back into the paper they came from. They soon figure out that Tinker Bell is behind the tinkering, and soon, Peter Pan manages to stop her before she could make anything else pop out. She realizes her mistakes, and apologizes, Peter Pan, being the only one that can understand her, accepts it, but he tells her not to do it again, or else she wouldn't be allowed to be with him.
(A Caballero Reunion!) - Donald is overjoyed once more to see his pals Jose and Panchito again! Jose comes up with the idea of performing for the whole group, like they did back in the beginning when they first performed. Donald and Panchito agree, and soon throughout the episode, we see them getting ready, reminiscing on the days they first interacted, and even recalling some of their favorite moments from their film. Towards the end, they would have a huge performance, but soon realize that some of their instruments have become worn out from years of not being used. But soon some of the other Disney characters would join in to help, and soon, the Three Caballeros would sing their iconic song, alongside the rest of the Disney crew!
Those are what I have so far, but please, if anyone has any ideas/scenarios/and HC's for this, either tag this post, repost and add your share, and or comment down below!
(Cricket In A Lamp) - Jiminy Cricket rushes to Pinocchio's side, once again after accidentally oversleeping once more, but just as he's about to get to his side, he falls into Genie's lamp. Pinocchio is beside Aladdin, learning about what he, Jasmine, and the others went through in their film, and tells him that he's lucky to have The Genie by his side. The Genie soon appears, and decides to get some rest, but when he tries to get into his lamp, he isn't able to. Aladdin thinks this is a joke, but soon, they hear Jiminy's voice coming from the lamp! The three soon try to figure out how to get him out, considering it's a magic lamp, and messing with it can cause trouble. After a few different tactics and even some characters making their honorary cameos, it seems like it's hopeless, until some of the smaller characters decide to help out, and ask if they can be lowered in, so they can grab Jiminy out (I'm thinking it might be Bernard, Bianca, and the rest of the other small Disney characters). After some time, they managed to get Jiminy out, and of course Pinocchio was overjoyed to see him safe and sound. Genie apologizes for the lamp trouble, to which Jiminy cuts in, saying he fell in on accident, and that he should be more careful in where he's running to.
(I'm Late! I'm Late! For A Very Important Dinner Party!) - Mickey and Minnie decide to plan a big dinner party for the newcomer Asha, and soon get the help from some of the Disney Characters to deliver the invitations to the party. Once night falls, everyone arrives on time, except for one! The White Rabbit! He notices that the time on his watch is all wrong, and he quickly hurries to the dinner party. This episode would mostly be shenanigans and even ad-libbed stuff from characters old and new, and of course The White Rabbit dealing with his troubles as well! In the end, he makes it towards the end of the party, and enjoys the last few minutes with those that care about him
(This Is Dedicated To The Toon I Love!) - For the first time in nearly 25 years, Sylvia makes her return appearance in this episode/short. Goofy and Horace write love letters to Sylvia and Clarabelle. But when Horace accidentally leaves his name out of his letter, Clarabelle thinks that it's from Horace, wanting to see if they can rekindle their relationship. At first she is ecstatic, but then realizes that he couldn't possibly be in love with someone like her, and soon, she dismisses the first idea, and thinks who would have a crush on her. Shenanigans would pursue, with her going around the studio lot, basically seeing who is catching her eye. After hours on end, Clarabelle breaks down, seeing that there wasn't any signs that someone loved her on the lot, and she would never find out who wrote her the letter, Horace, Goofy, and Sylvia find her, and Horace bashfully admits that he wrote the letter to her, but he forgot to place his name down. Clarabelle becomes overjoyed, and the two share a kiss. Goofy is happy to see his long-time friends get together once more, and decides to have a double date with him and Sylvia, and Clarabelle and Horace!
@rikareena @silliesbillies @imaginationinstitutes
#once upon a studio#show idea#what if once upon a studio had a show/short series#disney#disney100#spirtual successor#house of mouse but modern disney
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Loving You
Characters: Lo’ak x fem!metikayina!reader
Genre: Slight hurt, fluff
Warnings: somewhat pinning, awkwardness
Summary: Mending Lo’ak’s wounds after his fight with your friend Ao’nung. Surprisingly he keeps coming back to your pod for “treatment”. Would sparks fly between the two of you? Or would they die?
“You should really stop picking fights,” you scold the boy. You were gently cleaning up the blood from his wounds. This was the 3rd time this week the Omaticaya boy came into your pod with purple and red bruises all over his face.
“It’s not my fault that Fish Lips has such a punchable face,” he responded without missing a beat. You get a weird sense of deja vu because this is the exact conversation you had the other two times he came in before. Instead of shaking your head and rolling your eyes like usual, you decide to give Lo’ak, that was the boy’s name, some words of wisdom.
“Listen,” you grabbed his chin and turned it to face yours. Despite the scowl, he was giving you and the purple bruises, he wasn’t that bad looking. “Ao’nung is a piece of work, and everyone here knows it. But sometimes you gotta bite your tongue and pick your battles.”
“You sound like my Dad,” he rebuts.
“Well maybe you should listen to him then,” you started dabbing some salve on his eye and he only hummed in response.
After you were done, instead of saying thanks and leaving like others, Lo’ak decided to hang around the place. You thought it was odd the first time he’s done that, and you still do, but you found yourself enjoying his company.
You started noticing that he’ll come to your hut every few days, complaining of a headache or “getting too much Sun” as if that was such a thing.
“Please, I need something for my headache. It’s been killing me all day long,” he complains, and even rubbed his head for extra measure.
And he was complaining about leg pain the other day, and rubbed red paint on his leg for the “deep cut I got from a rock” a week ago.
You had the suspicion that he was faking all of these ailments or he’s just really, really unlucky. but allowed him to stay, as long as he wasn’t in your way.
“Really? Back again, are we Lo’ak?” You asked him with a blank stare.
He lies, without any shame but you stop him right there.
“Listen, I know that you are lying. I suppose it’s because…you want to be friends?” You asked.
To be honest, you wanted to say girlfriend rather than friend but you did not want to get too ahead of yourself. Why mess up a potential good thing?
“Oh! Um, yea I wanna be friends with you which is why i was doing all of that. .” He looks to the ground, his skin turning purple. “But like..your friends with Ao’nung soo.” He trails off, still not looking at you.
You give him a little chuckle, he’s pretty cute when he’s shy like that. “Me being friends with Ao’nung will not stop me from being friends with you, Lo’ak. Come in.” And the rest was history.
As you went along the day, doing your duties, Lo’ak would make a few terrible jokes and some absolutely horrible one-liners. But they never fail to make you laugh until your stomach hurts though.
One of his most memorable ones was,” Are you my ikran, because I’m want to be with you forever?”
You nearly spit out your water and couldn’t look at him for the rest of the day without bursting into a fit of giggles. If you remember correctly, he would avoid your eye contact with you too but it was probably because he was embarrassed.
You didn’t want to get your hopes up. He’ll also tell you all things about the forest and the animals that lived there.
“You know those animals my family and I arrived on?” he asked.
“Yes,” you say instantly. How could you forget them? You never saw something like that before in your life. They were a bit scary but you wanted to get closer anyway. Maybe touch their heads.
“Well,” he leans against the wall next to you, “they are called ikrans. You claim one when you become of age and want to be a hunter.” He went on to explain the details of how you claim an ikran that left you speechless.
“What happens if you were to die?” You questioned.
“Oh well,” and he stops to think about it.
“You're telling me no one has died trying to claim a beast that wants to kill them?” You asked, looking at him in shock.
He gives you a little shrug and looks equally confused and stunned. And just as you were interested in his life, he was interested in yours.
“Wait, so you're telling me that they are animals that you spiritually connect with?”
You stifled a laugh at his excitement, “Yes, and they are called Tulkans.” You started to explain the whole process to Lo’ak, and you watch as he hangs on to every word that you say.
“Wow, that-that’s sounds so cool. Can you introduce me to your spirit sister?”
“Of course I will, when they come back I’ll come get you.” Peak out the window to see it has gotten dark out. “But the eclipse is coming soon and your parents might be waiting for you,” you reminded him.
“Oh c’mon, it’s not a rule, it’s a mere suggestion. Now tell me more.” He looked up at you with enthusiastic eyes.
You avoided them the best you could, someone had to have a good head on their shoulder in this friendship. You shake your head and push him out the door.
“No, no Lo’ak. You are going home now, go.” With one final push he’s out the pod and you stand there blocking the entrance.
For a while, he just stands there looking at you. He seemed lost in thought so you jab in the shoulder.
“Hey! Pandora to Lo’ak.” You come closer to him and lightly tap on his forehead. “Anyone home?”
You didn't realize how close you were until he looked into your eyes and you saw his widened slightly. You didn't know what to do. Everything in you wanted to move in closer, to kiss him.
But does he want that? Would he reject you? Hate you forever because of it? You certainly did not want that to happen. He was a good friend and if that’s all he wanted then that would be enough for you.
He clears his throat and the blush travels all the way down to his neck, “Um, so there’s know way to say this but like, I kinda wanna kiss you. Um, so can I…?”
You brought his face to yours and kissed him in response.
You didn’t know what you were doing, and you had a feeling that he didn’t either, but you were excited for what the future could hold either way.
Taglist: @iwaslikeblah, @dontknowwhatmynameshouldbe2, @nyababymao, @teyamsbitch, @adrunkskeletonsduck, @athenajh, @cupcaykes
Bye, see ya in the next one 👋🏿
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My Heart's Home (m) | pjm | sixteen
🐴Chapter summary: You help Yoongi rescuing some neglected and mistreated horses and then, a stranger drops by with some wild information that will alter the course of Jimin and Jungkook’s life.
🐴Chapter title: The Stranger
🐴Pairings: jimin x reader (main), jungkook x reader (only happens once in the first chapter), jungkook x OC (jessi), namjoon x OC (jessi), yoongi x hoseok, namjoon x oc, seokjin x oc, taehyung x oc
🐴Characters: female reader (isn’t mentioned by name and no “y/n”), Jimin, Jungkook, Namjoon, Yoongi, Hoseok, Seokjin, Taehyung and four female original characters.
🐴Genre/AU: ranch!au, slice of life!au, soulmate!au, cowboy!au + smut, humor, fluff, romance, slow burn and angst
🐴Rating: mature/explicit/R18 – this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact!
🐴Disclaimer: I do not own BTS or know them personally and this work of fiction is purely fictional and for entertainment purposes only. The actions and personalities described in the story do not reflect those of BTS— it’s just fiction. Also, if you would kindly read the tags/warnings before reading, that would be lovely: and if you don’t like whatever is described in the tags, just hit return and find something else to read. Thank you 🌸
🐴Chapter warnings: drama, mention of mistreated horses/animal cruelty, period pain (Jimin tries to ease MC’s pain 🥹), body massage, brief breast play, spanking, a lot of kissing again, Jimin is just being sweet (he’s making up for all the time he was a douche, okay 😭)
🐴Status: completed (the epilogue is in the works!)
🐴Word count: 14.1k
🐴Taglist: @kookswifesblog, @kiki-zb, @babejinnie, @ownthesunshine, @allie-is-a-panda, @glllhjh, @bergandysam, @13-manggaetteok, @jeonsbabygirlsworld, @antisocial-mochi267,
*tumblr isn’t letting me tag you! There could be a lot of reasons for that, check out this lovely post about it.
🐴Now playing 💿 “The Stranger” by Rebecca Lavelle. [Wanna listen to the serie’s playlist?]
🐴Author’s note: some parts of this chapter was very hard to write, but I hope it’s still okay! This chapter is very much a transition chapter lol, yes, important stuff happens, but yeah, you’ll see. Also, thank you guys so much for reading this story, for sticking with it 😭 It means a lot to me, and also every time you guys comment (some of you who have commented in the beginning, but stopped— are you okay? I’ve seen you like the rest of the chapters, but damn, I really get into my head, thinking you hate it now, and that’s why you stopped commenting, lol. But I also know that some of you are busy with life, work and studying, which is good), or leave me asks, like talking about the story in general or the characters, it’s been so much fun ❣️ Again, I want to say sorry, because I have mixed feelings about this chapter. It might seem slightly rushed (which it is), and it might shock you to know that this was always planned. But I hope it turned out okay in the end! I promise that next chapter is one that YOU DON’T WANT TO MISS 😭
🐴Author’s note— extra: I’m a done with writing the story 🥳 I just finished it and I’m feeling very emotional, like the ending 😭😭😭 (it’s happy tears). So that means that I’ll drop the remaining chapters as I see fit and earlier than scheduled (probably with 24 hours between them). I hope that you’ll still comment, reblog, like, give kudos and generally just interact, because I’m afraid that you won’t when I post the chapters closer together. But I also know some people are waiting to read until the whole series is done. Anyway, I want to thank you for joining me on the very emotional roller coaster ride 💖
You can send in your questions for the characters or me here → Ask away 💜*
*for people on AO3 you can also participate if you want to, just leave a comment (guest/anon or not), and I’ll reply to that and I’ll add your question in the Epilogue💜
It’s been cross posted to AO3 if you prefer to read there.Wanna see the book cover?
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“Yes that strangerBrings mystery into your life”
‘The Stranger’ by Rebecca Lavelle
Amidst the lingering warmth of a delightful dinner shared among friends, you, Yoongi, Jimin, and Soo-ah gather around the kitchen sink, the clatter of dishes and laughter filling the air as you work together to tidy up and stow away the remnants of the evening’s feast.
Jimin shuttles tirelessly between the bustling kitchen and the dining room, bearing an array of steaming pots and pans brimming with savory delights, while Soo-ah efficiently transfers the culinary treasures into containers destined for the fridge or freezer. The kitchen hums with activity as Jimin and Jungkook’s culinary prowess shines through once again, ensuring an ample supply of delicious fare for all present.
At the sink’s edge stands you and Yoongi, a dynamic duo in the post-dinner cleanup brigade. Your hands deftly wield suds and scrubbers, coaxing remnants of culinary delight from plates and utensils, while Yoongi’s skilled hands swoop in to dry or load the dishwasher with practiced precision. Together, you orchestrate a symphony of cleanliness, ensuring that each piece finds its place in the grand choreography of post-meal tidying.
Amidst the clatter of dishes and the rhythm of your shared tasks, a lively exchange of banter ensues between you and Yoongi, punctuated by shared laughter and good-natured chuckles.
At times, Jimin saunters over to your side, his fingers tracing a tantalizing path down your back and lingering provocatively on your curves, eliciting a delicious shiver that dances along your spine. With a mischievous grin, he retreats as swiftly as he arrived, returning to his culinary duties alongside Soo-ah, leaving you to catch your breath amidst the lingering sensation of his teasing touch.
As Yoongi leans in closer, a flicker of curiosity dances in your eyes, prompting you to meet his gaze with a quizzical expression. With a subtle tilt of your head, you offer a small smile, your hands deftly maneuvering a plate beneath the cascading water as you await his next move with intrigued anticipation.
“I’ve been meaning to tell you,” Yoongi starts, leaning closer into your side with a conspiratorial air, his voice dropping to a low murmur meant for your ears only. A playful glint dances in his eyes as a smirk tugs at the corners of his lips. “But you’ve got a little something in your hair,” he reveals, gesturing subtly to the stray wisps of hay that have nestled themselves into your locks, punctuating his observation with light-hearted amusement.
A rush of fear and embarrassment floods your wide eyes, igniting a fiery blush that paints your cheeks and neck in a kaleidoscope of pink hues, accentuated by the lingering traces of purple marks adorning your skin.
Yoongi’s hand ascends to your hair, deftly plucking out a few stray strands of hay, and a wave of mortification washes over you at the sight of the offending debris caught in his grasp. Across the kitchen, Jimin catches a glimpse of the scene, his chuckle floating through the air like a whispered secret before he disappears from view, leaving you to contend with the embarrassment in the aftermath.
“Did you have a good roll in the hay?” Yoongi’s voice rings with playful amusement, his eyes sparkling mischievously as he teases you, a giggle bubbling forth at the sight of your bemused expression.
As the water ceases its flow, you stand there, arms crossed beneath your chest, a sudden realization dawning upon you. The memory of your not-so-silent escapade in the stables floods your mind, causing a flush to rise to your cheeks and a hint of embarrassment to flicker in your eyes.
He continues to pluck away the stubborn remnants of hay from your hair, and a shared laughter bubbles forth between you, mingling with the lingering traces of embarrassment. Despite the slight blush staining your cheeks, the infectious joy in Yoongi's laughter draws out your own.
“You’re welcome by the way,” he quips, flashing you a playful wink as he grabs a bowl to dry with the towel, his gesture laced with a hint of mischief.
The weight of gratitude settles upon you as you fully grasp his unspoken act of rescue, sparing you and Jimin from a potentially embarrassing discovery. Meeting his gaze, you convey your heartfelt appreciation. “Thank you,” you whisper, the words carrying the weight of unspoken understanding and relief.
His smile widens, punctuated by a playful swat with the towel against your arm. “No biggie,” he reassures with a casual shrug, his easy going demeanor underscoring the depth of his friendship and the simplicity of his gesture.
Soo-ah pivots, her gaze locking onto you with a mix of curiosity and intrigue. “What are you talking about?” she inquires, her voice tinged with a hint of anticipation, as if sensing that the conversation holds secrets yet to be revealed.
With the food safely stowed away in the fridge and freezer, Soo-ah strides over to Yoongi’s side, her eagerness to lend a hand evident as she joins him in the task of drying the dishes you’ve diligently cleaned.
You shake your head, a silent plea to Yoongi not to reveal the details, preferring to keep the incident in the hay room of the stables under wraps. “We’re talking about the hay room in the stables,” yet, Yoongi’s words cut through the silence, laying bare the topic of conversation before Soo-ah.
Your eyes widen in a silent plea, urging Yoongi to respect your wish for discretion, but when he divulges the topic anyway, you react instinctively. With a stern hit to his arm, he recoils with an audible “ouch,” a testament to the force of your reproach and the gravity of the situation at hand.
“What about it?” Soo-ah’s question hangs in the air, her eyes alight with curiosity, a spark of intrigue dancing within their depths as she awaits your response, poised on the edge of anticipation.
“It’s a popular spot,” Yoongi remarks, a mischievous glint dancing in his eyes as his eyebrows wiggle suggestively, “for hooking up.”
A rosy blush spreads across her cheeks as she turns to you, her laughter bubbling forth like an irrepressible fountain. “Is that why you have hay in your hair?” she quips, the realization dawning on her with a delightful twinkle in her eyes.
You grumble and huff, unable to hide your exasperation. “Has everyone noticed?” you grouse, feeling a mixture of embarrassment and frustration creeping over you.
Jimin returns to the kitchen at precisely this moment, his keen eyes catching sight of your discontented demeanor. Without hesitation, he crosses the room to your side, his hand gently finding its place on your hips as he leans in, pressing a tender kiss against your neck, his comforting presence a soothing balm to your unsettled emotions.
You pivot to meet your boyfriend's gaze, a mix of curiosity and amusement playing across your features. “Did you know I had hay in my hair?” you inquire, a hint of playful accusation lacing your words as you await his response.
His eyes flicker to your hair, and a burst of laughter escapes his lips, mirroring the reaction of Soo-ah and Yoongi. With a gentle pat on your head, his hand traces a tender path down your face, delicately caressing your cheeks before coming to rest on your bottom lip. “I had no idea,” he confesses softly, his tone tinged with regret.
“But you still look stunning, even with a little hay in your hair,” he murmurs, drawing you close as he presses his lips to yours. In that moment, all traces of anger and embarrassment melt away, replaced by the warmth and reassurance of his affectionate embrace. The kiss is deep and unhurried, like he has all the time in the world.
Beside you, Yoongi’s suppressed snickers fill the air.
“If you two scoot over a bit, I can take care of the rest,” Yoongi suggests, his chuckle carrying a hint of amusement as you and Jimin gladly make room for him in front of the sink.
You gaze up at Jimin’s face, noticing the adorable scatter of moles across his features, adding to his irresistible charm. “Would you like to join me for a bath?” you propose, a playful twinkle in your eye as you extend the invitation.
He hums softly, his gaze locking with yours, his eyes sparkling with a mixture of affection and desire. In that moment, you can feel the depth of his love radiating from him, intertwined with a hint of excitement at your proposal. “Absolutely,” he responds, his voice filled with warmth and sincerity. “I’d love nothing more than to pamper you, scrub your skin and wash your hair.”
A grateful smile graces your lips as you reflect on the depth of your appreciation for him and all the ways he shows his care. The thought of him eagerly offering to wash your hair and tend to your body fills you with a profound sense of gratitude, a feeling you’ve never experienced with any previous partner.
Soo-ah’s gasp beside Yoongi prompts a swift turn of her head towards you and Jimin, her eyes widening in disbelief. “He washes your hair for you?” She exclaims, her voice tinged with both surprise and admiration. The sight of her puppy-dog eyes and genuine happiness paints a poignant picture, her wistful longing palpable as she expresses her heartfelt sentiment. “That’s absolutely sweet,” she continues, her words laced with a hint of envy. “I wish I had a boyfriend like that, or even just a boyfriend at all.”
You offer Soo-ah a compassionate smile, your heart swelling with gratitude for Jimin and the abundance of love he showers upon you. His arms envelop you in a tender embrace, his words a soothing melody that resonates deep within your soul. “Anything for my love,” he murmurs, his voice infused with sincerity and devotion, reaffirming the depth of his affection for you.
You tenderly press your lips to his, intertwining your fingers with his as you lead him away from the kitchen and into the bathroom. Cupping his cheeks in your hands, you lock eyes with him, pouring your heart out in a soft declaration of love. “I love you so much, Jimin,” you whisper, sealing your words with another lingering kiss. With playful excitement, you gently guide him into the bathroom, a chorus of smiles and giggles filling the air as you close the door behind you, cocooned in the warmth of your love for each other.
Rumors have been swirling around town lately, particularly at the local bar, alleging mistreatment of horses at a neighboring farm—an unsettling notion that strikes a chord deep within Yoongi. Compounding his concern is the fact that some of these horses are the very ones you’ve spent countless hours training. Feeling a sense of responsibility and urgency, he grapples with the realization that action must be taken, though the path forward remains unclear.
Deep in contemplation, Yoongi grips his beer tightly, the weight of his thoughts pressing heavily upon him. With a determined resolve, he sets his drink down on the bar and strides purposefully out of the building, his steps carrying him through the winding streets and straight to the doors of the police station. There, he hopes to find allies in his quest to liberate the mistreated horses from the clutches of their neglectful owner.
Stepping into the dimly lit confines of the police station, Yoongi's determination radiates from every fiber of his being as he seeks out an officer, his plea for assistance delivered with earnest conviction. Yet, his hopes are dashed when he learns that without concrete evidence against the horse's abuser, the hands of the law are tied. Disheartened but undeterred, he offers a begrudging nod of gratitude to the officers before turning on his heels and trudging out of the building, the weight of his disappointment heavy upon his shoulders as he makes his way back to his truck.
As darkness cloaks the landscape, casting shadows that dance across his determined features, Yoongi’s mind churns with purpose. The officer’s words echo in his mind—a relentless reminder of the need for concrete evidence to bring justice to the abuser of these innocent animals. With a determined resolve, he inserts the key into the ignition, igniting the engine with a determined hum as he steers his car back towards Bell Ranch. But just as he nears the familiar route, he makes a split-second decision, veering off the path towards the ranch of the despicable man he's heard so much about. If only he had been aware when he sold some of your horses to him—had he known, he would never have allowed it to happen. Now, knowing that Holly, one of those horses, is among the mistreated, his heart weighs heavy with regret and anger. Unable to stand idly by while these animals suffer, Yoongi’s sense of duty propels him forward, his resolve unyielding in the face of injustice.
With a keen sense of caution, Yoongi refrains from driving directly to the ranch—after all, he’s no fool. Instead, he parks his car discreetly further down the road, determined not to arouse any suspicion. With his camera firmly gripped in his hand, he embarks on the remaining journey to the ranch on foot, each step a calculated move towards uncovering the truth hidden within its confines.
Indeed, this clandestine excursion had been meticulously plotted long before his visit to the police station—a testament to Yoongi’s unwavering determination to seek justice for the mistreated animals. With a resigned acceptance of the limitations of official channels, he had braced himself for the realization that the burden of action rested squarely upon his own shoulders.
As Yoongi stealthily approaches, his gaze locks onto the scene before him—a chilling image of cruelty unfolding right before his eyes. There stands the man, lazily lounging one of the horses, its fur matted and cut short along its legs, bearing silent witness to its mistreatment. His blood boils at the sight, a surge of empathy coursing through him for the suffering animal. In the man’s hand, a cruel whip glints in the dim light, its menacing presence a stark reminder of the pain and coercion inflicted upon the helpless creature to force it to perform.
Despite the rising nausea in his gut, Yoongi steels himself and raises his camera, capturing the harrowing scene before him in a series of haunting images. Every click of the shutter serves as a painful reminder of the injustice unfolding before his eyes. His heart aches with the urge to intervene, to rescue the suffering horse from its tormentor’s grasp. The crack of the whip and the horse’s pained whine fuel his righteous indignation, threatening to shatter his resolve as he fights the urge to rush forward and confront the evil man.
Yet, as much as he longs to intervene, a nagging sense of caution restrains him—instinctively aware of the potential repercussions should he act impulsively. With a heavy heart, he resigns himself to the agonizing reality that capturing evidence through his camera lens is the safer course of action, despite the torment it inflicts upon his soul. Each click of the shutter serves as a solemn vow to seek justice for the abused horse, even as it tears at the very fabric of his being.
With a heavy heart, he ventures deeper into the heart of the ranch, his steps echoing in the dimly lit stables. Each stall he passes reveals a new horror—every horse bearing the cruel scars of neglect, their once majestic forms now reduced to emaciated shadows of their former selves. Anguish courses through him as he stands witness to their suffering, his fists clenching in futile rage.
As he continues down the aisle, his gaze falls upon Holly—a wave of devastation washing over him at the sight of his old friend. She stands before him, a mere shell of her former self, her once graceful frame now reduced to a skeletal silhouette. Her hooves are overgrown, her coat matted and unkempt, a testament to the neglect she has endured. His hand trembles as he reaches out to comfort her, but she flinches away from his touch, a painful reminder of the betrayal she has suffered. A single tear escapes his eye, tracing a path down his cheek as he stands helplessly before her, consumed by a sense of despair.
His heart plummets like a stone to the floor, shattered by the heartbreaking realization that Holly no longer seems to recognize him. Her gaze is distant, devoid of the spark of recognition that once lit up her eyes, and the pain cuts deep into his chest like a knife. With a heavy heart, he raises his camera, each snapshot a painful reminder of the profound loss he feels inside. Despite the searing ache that grips his soul, he is determined to capture every detail of her suffering, a silent vow to stand witness to the injustices inflicted upon her.
With a heavy heart and a mind fraught with determination, he concludes that the harrowing scenes he's documented are evidence enough to expose the horrors endured by these innocent creatures. However, his mission is far from over—he must now navigate the treacherous path back to his car without drawing the attention of the ranch's owner or his cronies. Every step he takes is laden with tension, every rustle of leaves a potential threat, as he maneuvers through the shadows, his heart pounding with the urgency of his mission.
With his camera clutched tightly in his hand, Yoongi sprints back to his truck, the adrenaline coursing through his veins like wildfire, his heartbeat thundering in his ears. Each breath comes in ragged gasps as he propels himself forward, his palms slick with sweat, the weight of his mission bearing down upon him like a crushing weight.
Finally reaching his truck, he flings open the door and slides inside, the engine roaring to life beneath him as he tears away from the ranch in a whirlwind of desperation. As the miles blur past, his mind reels with the stark reality of what he has witnessed—the sheer magnitude of suffering far surpassing anything he had ever imagined.
The image of Holly, once vibrant and full of life, now reduced to a mere shadow of herself, haunts him relentlessly. Anguish gnaws at his soul as he grapples with the knowledge that he cannot stand idly by while such atrocities continue to unfold.
Determined to be the voice for those who cannot speak for themselves, Yoongi vows to take action—to put an end to the cycle of cruelty and neglect that plagues these innocent creatures.
As he pulls into the yard, Yoongi’s gaze scans the surroundings, his heart skipping a beat when he catches sight of you—your figure moving gracefully across the yard, a beacon of warmth and familiarity amidst the darkness of his thoughts. With a sense of urgency, he calls out to you, his voice cutting through the stillness of the night, and watches as you turn towards him, your steps quickening as you close the distance between you.
“What are you doing out so late, Yoon?” you inquire, a radiant smile gracing your lips, your eyes alight with a joy that Yoongi finds utterly captivating. In that moment, he can’t help but marvel at the sheer happiness radiating from you—more vibrant and infectious than he's seen in a long while. It dawns on him that maybe Jimin’s presence in your life has brought about this newfound joy, and despite any personal struggles he may have, he's genuinely thrilled to see you flourishing in the embrace of love.
His gaze snaps up to meet yours, a flicker of intensity dancing in his eyes. “Just taking some pictures,” he replies, his voice tinged with a hint of urgency as he raises his camera, its presence a tangible reminder of the weighty mission he's undertaken. Intrigued, you follow his gesture, your eyes locking onto the camera in his hand, curiosity sparking within you as you ponder the significance behind his late-night photography session.
You reach out for it, your hand extending eagerly as you inquire, “Can I see?” But in your eagerness, you bypass the customary waiting for his response, instead seizing the camera from his grasp with an impulsive determination. With practiced ease, you power it on, your fingers deftly navigating through the digital gallery of images, each click of the button revealing another glimpse into the horrorful world he’s captured through his lens.
He watches intently as your eyes widen in shock and a deep furrow creases your brow, your reaction a visceral testament to the gravity of the images before you. Each flicker of discomfort that crosses your features is like a dagger to his heart, a painful reminder of the suffering he’s witnessed and the burden he now shares with you. Despite his desire to shield you from such distressing sights, he remains steadfast.
“What’s this?” you inquire, your voice quivering with a mix of disbelief and unease as you return the camera to his outstretched hand. The tremor in your voice doesn’t escape his notice, a stark indication of the emotional toll wrought by the distressing images you've just been confronted with. In that moment, he’s acutely aware of the weight of his actions, grappling with the realization that his quest for justice has inadvertently exposed you to a world of suffering that he would have shielded you from if he could.
“I heard about this guy mistreating his horses, so I went to take a look for myself,” he explains, his voice tinged with a potent mix of frustration and righteous indignation. Each word carries the weight of his emotions, his tone a reflection of the deep-seated anger and despair that churn within him. “It’s horrible,” he concludes, his voice heavy with the weight of the injustices he's witnessed, his resolve hardened by the stark reality of the situation.
“We have to do something about it!” you declare, your voice ringing with a resolute determination that commands attention. As you speak, a fierce resolve animates your features, your eyes ablaze with an unwavering commitment to righting the wrongs you've just borne witness to. The subtle set of your lips into a firm line only serves to underscore the steely resolve that propels your words forward, a silent vow to take action in the face of injustice.
He scuffs, the sound underscored by a palpable frustration that permeates the air. “That’s why I gathered evidence,” he admits, his words carrying the weight of his determination and the gravity of the situation they find themselves in.
“No, Yoongi. We can’t wait any longer. We have to save the horses, now,” you implore, your voice laced with urgency and a hint of desperation. With every word, you convey a sense of urgency that underscores the dire need for immediate action. Your plea carries the weight of compassion and empathy, a heartfelt call to arms in defense of the innocent creatures suffering at the hands of cruelty.
He gapes at you in disbelief, grappling with the gravity of your suggestion. The intensity of your conviction leaves him momentarily stunned—of course he wants to save the horses, but what you’re proposing borders on the edge of legality. The weight of the potential consequences looms heavy in his mind, a sobering reminder of the risks they would be undertaking.
“I don’t care about the potential repercussions. Those poor horses need us,” you declare with unwavering determination, your voice resonating with an urgency that brooks no argument. With each word, you convey a sense of righteous indignation and compassion, compelling him to action with the sheer force of your conviction. Your plea reverberates in the air, a rallying cry that demands immediate attention and action.
“Holly is one of the horses,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with defeat, a tinge of sorrow coloring his words. With a resigned gesture, he kicks at the stones scattered across the dirt, the sound echoing the weight of his disappointment and anguish. In that simple statement lies a world of pain and regret, as he grapples with the harsh reality of seeing his beloved horse subjected to such cruelty.
“What the fuck are we waiting for?” You exclaim, your frustration palpable as you confront him with a fierce intensity. It’s clear that you've reached your limit with his indecision, and with a swift motion, you deftly snatch the keys from his hand. Without hesitation, you move past him, swinging open the driver’s door and sliding behind the wheel, the engine roaring to life under your command. “Get in, Yoongi,” you command, your tone leaving no room for argument as you signal your unwavering determination to take action.
You sound furious, and maybe rightfully so—he feels the same anger coursing through his veins. Damn it, he wants to save them too. With a heavy heart, he slides into the passenger seat, yielding to your determination as you take control of the wheel. As you speed back towards the ranch, his directions guide your path, a silent acknowledgment of the shared resolve burning within both of you to make a difference.
The drive is brief, but each passing moment feels weighted with anticipation and purpose. He directs you to park in the very same spot where he had stopped earlier, a silent reminder of the urgency and gravity of the mission ahead. As you bring the vehicle to a halt, the air crackles with tension.
You both leap out of the truck, propelled by a shared sense of urgency and purpose, and advance towards the ranch shrouded in darkness. Despite the obscurity that surrounds you, you navigate effortlessly towards the stables, your determination cutting through the night like a beacon. With a heavy heart, he leads you to Holly’s stall, where he reveals the heartbreaking sight of her current condition. As you lay eyes on her, a deep furrow forms on your brow, your expression mirroring the anguish and sorrow that grips your soul at the sight of her suffering.
With a determined resolve, Yoongi cautiously swings open the stall door, his movements deliberate as he beckons Holly to approach him in the enveloping darkness. The dimness cloaks your actions, a deliberate choice to avoid drawing unwanted attention to your clandestine mission. In the shadows, you both stand poised, silently willing Holly to trust you amidst the palpable tension that hangs thick in the air.
“Come on, girl,” Yoongi murmurs in a soothing tone, his voice a gentle melody cutting through the stillness of the night as he endeavors to coax Holly out of her stall. Despite his best efforts, however, the bond between them appears strained, the connection faltering in the face of Holly's evident apprehension. Each whispered plea hangs in the air, an earnest plea for trust and understanding in the midst of uncertainty.
Suddenly, the harsh glare of light floods the stable, casting stark shadows that betray your presence in the otherwise darkened space. In that moment, a shared realization dawns upon both of you—an unspoken acknowledgment that your covert mission has been compromised. The abrupt illumination serves as an ominous harbinger of trouble, a stark reminder that your clandestine efforts to rescue Holly have been uncovered, plunging you both into a perilous predicament.
You move closer to Yoongi, seeking solace and solidarity in the face of impending danger. Side by side, you stand united in front of Holly, a silent bastion of strength amidst the encroaching threat. As the man draws nearer, the air crackles with tension, but you refuse to falter, bolstered by the unspoken determination to protect each other and the helpless creature before you.
“Who’s there?” his voice cuts through the tense silence, laden with an ominous weight that sends shivers down your spine. Each heavy footstep reverberates ominously, signaling his approach with a menacing cadence. As he draws closer to Holly's stall, the air hangs heavy with anticipation, the imminent confrontation looming like a shadowy specter. With bated breath, you brace yourselves for the inevitable encounter.
“What are you two doing here?” He demands, his voice a sharp echo slicing through the tension-laden air. His gaze pierces through you with a mixture of confusion and displeasure, each furrowed brow and narrowed eye conveying his suspicion and disdain. In that moment, you feel the weight of his scrutiny bearing down upon you, as if every syllable is a challenge that demands an answer—a challenge you must navigate with caution and cunning.
You seize Yoongi’s hand with a fierce intensity, your grip conveying a tidal wave of pent-up anger that courses through your palm like a surge of electricity, pulsating with raw emotion. In that charged moment, he can feel the seething rage reverberating within you, mirroring the tumultuous turmoil that churns within his own being. It’s as if the palpable fury radiating from your touch connects you both in a shared symphony of indignation, binding you together in defiance against the injustice unfolding before you.
“This is cruelty!” Your voice rings out, sharp and resolute, carrying the weight of your indignation like a battle cry echoing through the stillness of the night. With a pointed gesture, you direct the man’s attention towards Holly, your anger etched in every line of your face.
The man scoffs, a bitter chuckle escaping his lips like a venomous taunt that pierces through the solemn air, leaving a bitter taste in its wake. Your reaction is visceral, a wince born of both frustration and disgust, as you recoil from the callousness of his response.
“We are taking the horses,” Yoongi declares, his voice cutting through the tension like a clarion call, his stance resolute as he steps protectively in front of you. In that defiant gesture, he embodies a steadfast determination to stand against injustice, his words echoing with unwavering resolve amidst the turmoil of the moment. Beside him, you feel a surge of solidarity, your spirits bolstered by his unwavering courage in the face of adversity.
“You’re stealing them?” The man’s voice crackles with incredulity, his tone laced with a volatile mix of irritation and anger that threatens to erupt like a smoldering volcano. His accusatory gaze pierces through the darkness, locking onto Yoongi with a searing intensity that demands an explanation.
“No. We’re saving them,” you declare with unwavering conviction, your voice ringing out with a resolute clarity that cuts through the darkness like a beacon of righteousness. With your chest thrust forward and your head held high, you exude a palpable aura of strength and determination, commanding respect in the face of adversity. In that defiant stance, he finds himself admiring your unwavering resolve, your steadfast commitment to standing tall in defense of what you believe is right, no matter the cost.
“That sounds like stealing to me,” he scoffs, his laughter bitter and laden with contempt, a stark contrast to the gravity of the situation. With a cynical twist of his lips, he retrieves his phone, his intentions clear as he prepares to summon the authorities. Yoongi can sense the impending threat, the urgency of the moment weighing heavily upon him as he bristles with anticipation, poised for whatever comes next.
You both watch in dismay as he dials the police, the harsh reality sinking in as he locks the stall door, trapping you both inside with no means of escape. The metallic clang of the lock reverberates through the stillness of the night, a chilling reminder of your precarious situation. In that confined space, tension hangs thick in the air, your hearts pounding in unison with the weight of impending consequences bearing down upon you.
“The police are on their way now,” he chuckles with a menacing edge, his voice dripping with satisfaction at having cornered you in this precarious predicament.
Aware of the imminent danger looming over both of you, Yoongi’s mind races with desperate determination. Amidst the chaos, a flicker of hope ignites within him as he recalls the evidence stored safely in his truck—undeniable proof of the atrocities witnessed tonight. If only he could reach it in time, if only he could present it to the authorities when they arrive. With every fiber of his being, he clings to this glimmer of optimism, his resolve steeling him against the encroaching darkness as he plots his next move, knowing that redemption lies just beyond his grasp.
He watches intently as you swiftly retrieve your phone, fingers dancing across the screen with purposeful urgency. In that moment, a wave of apprehension washes over him, a silent understanding dawning as he realizes you're likely reaching out to Jimin for help.
As the tense minutes stretch on, Yoongi’s heart aches with a profound sense of helplessness. With Holly cowering in the corner, her fear palpable in the dimly lit stall, a surge of indignation courses through him. The sight of her trembling form ignites a fierce determination within him to protect her at all costs. Yet, the sinister presence of the man blocking your escape serves as a stark reminder of the perilous predicament you find yourselves in. Trapped within the confines of the stall, Yoongi’s mind races with fervent desperation, seeking a glimmer of hope amidst the suffocating darkness. Every passing second feels like an eternity, each beat of his heart a silent plea for deliverance from this harrowing ordeal.
As the heavy wooden doors of the stables swing open, revealing the ominous silhouette of two officers, a surge of mixed emotions washes over Yoongi. Among them stands the familiar face of the officer he had spoken to earlier in the night, recognition flickering in his gaze as it falls upon Yoongi. Caught off guard by the unexpected reunion, Yoongi's lips curve into a lopsided smile, a nervous habit betraying his attempt at nonchalance as he absently scratches his head.
“What seems to be the problem?” The other officer, his voice cutting through the tense silence like a blade, directs his inquiry at the man standing before them.
“These two here are trying to steal my horses,” the man’s accusation slices through the tension like a blade, his voice dripping with venom as he points an accusatory finger at Yoongi and you.
Yoongi’s gaze remains fixed on the officers, observing their scrutiny as they shift their attention between you and the hurt horses. The weight of their words hangs heavy in the air, a stark reminder of the gravity of the situation.
“You’re aware that theft is a punishable offense, aren’t you?” Their inquiry is not just a question but a warning, echoing with the imminent threat of consequences.
“We’re obliged to bring you in,” the other officer asserts, his tone brooking no argument as he delivers the unwelcome verdict.
In a sudden, welcomed twist, Jimin strides into the stable with a confident swagger, a smile lighting up his face as he carries Yoongi’s camera in his hand, carrying the hope and evidence that you need.
“Officers, hold on a moment,” Jimin interjects, his voice carrying a firm but composed tone as he approaches them. The man’s gaze shifts from Jimin to you, his expression sour and unsettling, a silent testament to his apprehension. Yoongi senses the tension escalating, his concern growing with each passing second.
“You need to see this. It’s undeniable proof of what’s happening here,” Jimin urges, extending the camera to the police officers. With a sense of urgency, they take the camera and begin to review the images, their expressions shifting as the gravity of the situation sinks in.
Returning the camera to Jimin, Yoongi observes as Jimin casts a tender glance your way, his smile a silent reassurance. The officers then redirect their attention to the man, their expressions stern. “This constitutes animal cruelty, which is a serious offense,” they assert firmly.
“Please come with us,” one of the officers requests firmly, reaching for the man, who begins to resist, his actions reflecting his desperation to evade justice.
“What about them? They were trying to steal my horses!” He bellows in panic, his voice echoing in the dimly lit barn as the officers firmly escort him out, his frantic protests fading into the night.
“They haven’t stolen anything yet,” one of the officers declares, his voice cutting through the tense air like a beacon of reason, a reassuring nod directed at Yoongi, Jimin, and you.
Relief washes over Yoongi like a cool breeze on a scorching day. His hand instinctively finds its way through his hair, fingers threading through strands as if to anchor himself in the moment. A wave of adrenaline slowly recedes, leaving behind a sense of calm amidst the storm. That was too close for comfort.
He observes as you cast a tender glance at Jimin, a silent exchange of understanding passing between you. With purposeful steps, Jimin approaches, swinging open the stall door to free you both. Without hesitation, you leap into the waiting arms of your boyfriend, seeking solace and security in his embrace.
“Did you bring the trailer?” You inquire of Jimin, a grin lighting up your features as you lean in for a swift yet affectionate kiss.
“Of course,” Jimin chuckles, his hands settling on your hips reassuringly.
Yoongi gazes at both of you, a hint of confusion knitting his brows together.
“What’s going on?” Yoongi’s voice carries a tone of bewilderment as he directs his gaze between you and Jimin, his curiosity piqued.
“She asked me to bring the horse trailer so we could take the horses home with us,” Jimin’s words sink in, and Yoongi’s eyes widen with understanding, a glimmer of admiration flickering within them. As he turns to you, a silent gratitude fills the air, acknowledging your quick wit and resourcefulness.
“Let’s bring Holly home,” you declare with determination, your smile radiant as you clasp Jimin’s hand in gratitude for his timely assistance. As you envelop your boyfriend in a warm embrace, Yoongi redirects his attention to Holly, patiently coaxing her out of the stall. Though it requires effort, his perseverance prevails, and soon Holly steps out into the dim light of the stable, her eyes reflecting a newfound hope.
He’s overjoyed by the favorable outcome, relieved that you and Jimin intervened to rescue him and the poor horses. And, goodness, you should be elated that the police officers didn’t haul your asses away for trespassing.
Every damn thing is agony. You’ve exhausted every remedy in your arsenal. You attempted riding, hoping movement might ease the ache.
No dice.
Ice and heat packs offered fleeting relief at best. But the pain? Unyielding.
It’s a relentless torment, and you’re at your wits’ end.
Thus, you’ve sought solace in Jimin’s bedroom—or is it yours by now? After spending countless nights here, the lines blur, leaving you uncertain of where one space ends and the other begins.
You push open the door, your weary frame yearning for the comfort of the bed. Collapsing onto the mattress, your body meets it with a resounding thud, a symphony of exhaustion echoing through the room as you bury your face into the softness of the sheets, emitting a muffled groan of discomfort.
The sheets envelop you in their soft embrace, a familiar comfort that whispers tales of shared moments with Jimin – cuddles, tender kisses trailing along your neck. Infused with his signature musky scent, now mingled with your own, they offer solace to your weary mind, lulling your senses into a state of tranquility as you surrender to their gentle caress.
You draw your knees up to your chest, cocooning yourself in a protective embrace, silently pleading for the relentless pain to subside – a relentless companion that has plagued your entire day. In moments like these, you question how you manage to accomplish anything amidst this unyielding torment. Yet, surrendering to it is not an option; you refuse to grant the pain dominion over your spirit. Sickness is an unwelcome adversary, casting you into a disheartening abyss of vulnerability, a place you rarely visit.
You shut your eyes tightly, yearning for the solace of sleep to envelop you, if only to grant respite from the relentless ache gnawing at your stomach. The unwelcome arrival of your period compounds your discomfort, adding insult to injury. Oh, how you despise this monthly intrusion, an unwelcome visitor overstaying its welcome.
The door whispers open, and even before the hinges complete their eerie symphony, you sense his presence—Jimin, your ever-watchful guardian, silently slipping into the room. His quiet footsteps echo with a tenderness that speaks volumes, a familiar comfort that wraps around you like a warm embrace.
As the mattress yields to his weight, a gentle hand finds its place atop your hip bone, a soothing anchor in the storm of your discomfort. His voice, a soft melody of concern, washes over you like a gentle wave, carrying with it a warmth that beckons you to surrender to its embrace, “What’s wrong, love?”
“It’s just my period,” you murmur, the words heavy with discomfort, as you wrap your arms around yourself in a silent attempt to ease the ache.
His hand glides up your body, a comforting warmth that sends delicate shivers down your spine. “Let me help,” he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm to your troubled soul.
You whimper softly at his touch, feeling the tension in your body begin to ease as his hand settles gently on your stomach. Drawing you closer, he envelops you in his strong, reassuring embrace, his warmth seeping into your bones. The scent of his skin fills your senses, intoxicating and familiar, as he nestles his head against your neck, his warm breath caressing your earlobe, sending delicious shivers down your spine. With tender care, his hand applies a gentle pressure to your stomach, offering comfort in the midst of your discomfort.
“Is this alright?” He murmurs softly, drawing himself nearer, his presence enveloping you completely. You sense every contour of his form, the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back, the rhythmic thud of his heart, his warmth seeping into your skin. Your senses are heightened, acutely aware of his closeness, from the gentle pressure of his body to the tantalizing proximity of his hips against yours, with his dick pressing on your ass. With every inch of him pressed against you, you feel a surge of electricity coursing through your veins, igniting a deep-seated longing within you. His powerful thighs brush against yours, his feet intertwining with yours in a tender embrace, as if seeking solace in your hold.
“Yes, Jimin. You’re incredible,” you whisper with a sigh, feeling the tension slowly ebbing away from your body. Finally, a sense of tranquility washes over you, as if his touch has the power to soothe all your worries and pains.
The sensation of his hand on your lower stomach is nothing short of heavenly, each gentle caress a balm to your aching body. His mere presence, his unwavering support, threatens to bring tears to your eyes, overwhelmed by the depth of his kindness. In this moment, with him by your side, you feel as if your heart could burst with an abundance of love and gratitude.
His lips trace a path of warmth along your neck, each kiss igniting a delightful shiver down your spine. A soft chuckle escapes you, but as his lips continue their tantalizing journey, you find yourself squirming in his firm embrace. A playful movement causes your backside to brush against his crotch, and in that instant, you’re acutely aware of his growing erection.
“Jimin,” you chuckle, but his lips continue their delicious assault on your neck, seemingly oblivious to your protest. With each tender kiss, you feel yourself melting further into his embrace. Finally, unable to resist any longer, you turn to face him, your eyes locking in a silent dance of desire.
“You’re hard,” you state, your voice a delicate whisper tinged with both softness and a hint of lust. Your gaze locks with his, a silent invitation hanging in the air, accentuated by the subtle nip of your lower lip.
“Yeah,” he rasps, his voice a husky melody that sends shivers down your spine. His laughter, like music to your ears, fills the room with a warmth that envelops you both. His hand, now back on your hips, moves with a gentle rhythm, tracing soothing circles that melt away the tension, leaving only the sweet anticipation of what’s to come.
You release a soft, involuntary moan as his touch ignites a fire within you. With each knead of your hip, his fingers trace a path of desire, sliding down to the curve of your ass with deliberate, tantalizing slowness.
As he skillfully works the muscles of your ass, your hand ventures downward, drawn to the undeniable bulge in his devilish black sweatpants. The outline of his dick is unmistakable, beckoning you with its tantalizing presence. With eager anticipation, you seize his cock through the fabric, eliciting a low, guttural groan of pleasure from his lips.
“I want to touch you, to make you come,” you implore, your gaze pleading as you offer him a glimpse of your longing. Despite the innocence in your eyes, he remains resolute, unmoved by your entreaty.
“No,” he insists firmly, gently removing your hand from his dick. “This is about you. Let me ease your discomfort,” he adds, his voice tender as he redirects your focus to your own needs. “Trust me, it’s fine,” he murmurs reassuringly, his touch promising solace and relief.
He rises from the bed, his silhouette carved by the soft glow of the bedside lamp, and sits up while you remain reclined. “Take off your clothes,” he instructs, his voice a husky murmur that stirs a tingle of anticipation. “But keep your panties on,” he adds with a hint of restraint, his hand threading through his tousled hair. Even in the dim light, you can discern the subtle tension in his body, the silent yearning echoed in the strain of his form-fitting sweatpants, showcasing his cock wonderfully.
While laying down, he assists you in shedding your garments with gentle precision. His fingers deftly navigate the buttons and zippers of your pants, easing them over your hips and down your legs until they are scattered at the floor. With a tender touch, he removes your socks, his fingertips grazing your skin in a playful dance that elicits a fleeting giggle from you.
His gaze lingers on your panties, a simple yet alluring black lace, and a soft admiration gleams in his eyes. “You’re stunning,” he murmurs, his voice filled with genuine appreciation for the sight before him.
His touch ignites a tingling sensation across your skin as his fingers dance over your body, coaxing your shirt off with gentle insistence. With a skilled touch, he guides you to sit up, his hands tracing a tantalizing path up your torso until they find the clasp of your bra. Effortlessly, he releases it, setting your breasts free, and his warm palms cup them delicately. “So soft and beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice a velvet caress against your skin, as he revels in the intimacy of the moment.
Your breath catches in your throat as a soft moan escapes your lips, your body responding eagerly to his caress. With each lingering touch, a wave of arousal washes over you, igniting a fire within that yearns for more of his intoxicating embrace.
“Now lay down on your stomach first,” he instructs, his gaze tracing the curves of your body with hunger, his tongue darting out as if you’re a delectable feast waiting to be savored.
You sink into the bed, enveloped in his familiar musky aroma, a comforting embrace for your senses. His hands start at your neck and shoulders, his presence pressing gently over you, as he straddles your ass, his weight a reassuring anchor. With skilled precision, he works your muscles like a master baker kneading dough, each movement easing the knots of tension from your body. The touch is firm yet tender, and with each stroke, you feel the weight of the day lifting from your skin, leaving you adrift in a sea of relaxation.
His hands, like skilled artists, glide down your back, tracing the curves of your shoulder blades with delicate precision. The sensation is exquisite, sending tingles cascading down your spine. His touch is a symphony of pleasure, each stroke orchestrating a chorus of sighs and gasps from your lips. And beneath it all, you feel the subtle rhythm of his dick pulsating against your ass, a silent melody of passion that dances in harmony with your own.
His hands continue their journey, traversing the landscape of your back with a tender firmness that speaks volumes of his skill. Each movement is deliberate, mapping out a path of relief along your ribcage and tracing the contours of your spine with an expert touch. It’s a paradox of strength and gentleness, his fingers like whispers against your skin, soothing away the knots of tension with practiced ease.
He positions himself lower, settling onto your thighs with a deliberate intent, his hands now gliding over the expanse of your lower back. The sensation is exquisite, each touch sending ripples of pleasure through your body, evoking a deep, primal response. A needy moan escapes your lips, punctuating the air with a symphony of desire, and you can feel the immediate response of his cock against your skin.
With a gentle tug, he eases the edge of your panties down slightly, allowing him better access to massage the curves of your ass. A deep, guttural groan of pleasure escapes you as his skilled hands work wonders on your body, each motion a symphony of blissful sensations. It’s an exquisite dance of touch and response, leaving you utterly captivated by the sheer intensity of his ministrations.
Fuck it feels so good.
“Do you like it?” He inquires, his voice laced with a playful edge that sends a shiver down your spine. It’s as if you can feel the warmth of his smile in his words, his teasing tone igniting a spark of anticipation within you.
“Fuck, yes,” you moan, feeling as though you’re melting into the sheets beneath you, every nerve ending alive with pleasure. A bead of sweat forms on your brow, mingling with the dampness of anticipation, as if your body can't contain the overwhelming sensations coursing through you.
You think you’re drooling too, maybe from more than one place.
“Good,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine, as he pulls your panties back up and shifts to sit beside you. His hands firmly grasp the curves of your ass, kneading with a skill that leaves you breathless. Every touch ignites a fire within you, a fierce longing that consumes your senses, driving you to the edge of desire with each caress.
His hands glide downward, tracing the contours of your thighs, down to your calves, and finally reaching your feet. With a gentle touch, he massages each toe, sending a delightful tingle through your body that elicits a soft, involuntary giggle from your lips.
“Turn around, love,” he murmurs, his voice laced with a playful tone, punctuated by a gentle spank on your ass.
You twist your body to face him, your nipples erect and inviting, a sight that elicits a tender smile from him. “You really like it, huh?” He chuckles, his eyes dancing with affection as you settle onto your back, eager for his touch once more.
He begins with your feet, cradling one in his hands and working his fingers expertly into the arch, easing away the day’s tension. Then, with the same care and attention, he turns to the other foot, his touch gentle yet firm, coaxing relaxation from every muscle.
With a feather-light touch, he glides his hands up your legs, his fingertips tracing delicate patterns on your skin as if each stroke is a whispered promise of comfort and solace.
As his hands start to massage your hip with the gentlest of touches, eliciting a soft moan from your lips, you’re overwhelmed by the sheer bliss coursing through your body. Every caress feels like a blissful release, easing away the tension and leaving you floating in a sea of pleasure.
His hands ascend to your stomach, and a cascade of shivers dances across your skin, ignited by his tender touch. Each stroke feels imbued with love and affection, as if he’s painting delicate strokes of adoration upon your flesh. Despite the sensations, a soft giggle bubbles from within you, tickled by the intimacy and warmth enveloping you.
Anticipation tingles through every fiber of your being as you await the touch you yearn for, expecting his hands to caress your breasts next. Yet, to your surprise, they bypass that destination entirely, gliding over your arms instead. Confusion flickers across your face as you lock eyes with him, seeking answers in his mischievous smirk, which only deepens the mystery of his intentions.
His hands glide over your arms with expert precision, tracing the contours of your biceps and kneading your skin with a delicate touch, as if each stroke is an ode to the strength and grace you possess.
With a teasing glint in his eyes, he finally descends to the part where your desires lie most fervently – your breasts.
His touch is both tender and assertive as he cups your breasts, his fingers skillfully exploring every curve and contour, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.
His voice is a husky whisper against your skin as he murmurs, “Love these,” before lavishing attention on your right breast with soft, tantalizing kisses, igniting a fire of desire within you.
You arch your back, a soft moan escaping your lips, as you instinctively press your body closer to his tantalizing touch, craving more of his affectionate caresses.
As he straddles you, his weight presses against you, a tantalizing pressure that sends a shiver down your spine. Beneath him, you feel the unmistakable warmth of his dick against your crotch, a delicious friction that ignites your senses. Despite his weight, he feels weightless in your embrace, each touch and movement a delicate dance of desire that leaves you yearning for more.
His hands, strong yet tender, caress your breasts with an intensity that leaves you breathless. With expert precision, his fingers trace tantalizing patterns over your sensitive nipples, coaxing them to stiff peaks that ache with desire. Each stroke sends a jolt of pleasure coursing through your body, heightening every sensation until you’re consumed by a whirlwind of ecstasy.
As he pinches them gently, he observes with a hungered gaze as your expression twists in the throes of pleasure, your lips parting in a silent gasp as waves of sensation ripple through you.
“Jimin,” you murmur his name, a plea hanging in the air, laden with uncertainty and desire. In the turmoil of conflicting emotions, you’re unsure of your own wishes. The idea of sex during your period feels messy and uncertain, yet an undeniable need throbs within you, pulling you in conflicting directions.
“What do you want, love?” His voice, a whisper of warmth against your skin, carries the weight of anticipation, lingering on the edge of a kiss yet to come.
His breath, a tantalizing tease, caresses your skin, igniting a longing for his lips to meet yours in a fierce embrace. Frustration mounts as he hesitates, but you refuse to wait any longer. With a desperate pull, you seize his face, drawing him into a kiss overflowing with the depth of your affection.
He breaks away from your lips, his gaze fixated on your face, where a flicker of discomfort dances in your eyes, mingled with a hint of bewilderment.
“I’m torn, Jimin,” you confess, breaths coming in ragged pants, frustration lacing your tone. “I’m so turned on right now, but the thought of sex during my period... it just feels so messy.”
“Of course, my love,” Jimin responds with gentle understanding, his eyes reflecting his sincerity. “I completely understand, and I never intended to pressure you. All I want is to soothe your pain and make you feel comfortable.”
With a soft smile, you draw him closer, savoring the warmth of his embrace. Your lips meet in a tender kiss, a silent exchange of affection and understanding. As you break away, you meet his gaze, your heart swelling with love. “Can you just hold me?” you whisper, your voice a gentle plea, seeking solace in his comforting arms.
His touch traces the contours of your face, a gentle caress that ignites a flutter in your chest. From the bridge of your nose to the curve of your cheeks, his fingertips dance with a tender grace, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. Finally, they come to rest at your lips.
“Of course,” he murmurs, his voice a soft caress against your ear as he settles behind you. With a gentle sweep, he tucks the duvet around your mostly bare form, cocooning you both in its warmth. Drawing you close, he molds his body to yours, fitting together like pieces of a perfect puzzle. His lips brush against the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving a trail of featherlight kisses that send tingles down your spine.
You’re acutely aware of the fact that you’re both turned on right now, the magnetic pull drawing you closer with each breath. Despite the electric tension, there’s something undeniably comforting about the way he envelops you, his embrace a sanctuary from the outside world. As his warmth seeps into your skin, mingling with yours, you find yourself entertaining the idea of drifting off in his arms, the allure of intimacy lulling you into a tranquil embrace.
“Do you want to come with me for my wedding dress fitting appointment?” Your sister’s eyes sparkle with excitement as she delicately lifts her glass of water to her lips, anticipation dancing in the air between you both.
“Yeah, when is it?” You reply, a soft smile mirroring the excitement in her eyes. You can’t help but wonder why she hadn’t brought it up sooner, but you're thrilled she finally did.
“Right this moment, actually,” she chuckles, a playful glint in her eyes as she runs her fingers through her tousled brown curls.
You chuckle at her predictable spontaneity. It’s classic her, always deciding things at the eleventh hour. But you don’t mind, setting down your glass of water on the table. “Well, what are we waiting for? Let’s hit the road.”
Jessi sets her glass down, and together you stride out of the house toward the purple truck. You climb in, and Jessi takes the wheel, navigating you both into town. Along the way, she fills you in, explaining how she’s arranged an appointment with the local seamstress, boasting about her expertise. You nod, smiling at her enthusiasm, eager to witness your sister transformed in a wedding gown. Knowing Jessi’s usual aversion to dresses, you're curious to discover the style she’ll embrace for this momentous occasion.
After the familiar two-hour drive, Jessi expertly maneuvers the truck into a spot in front of the boutique. The quaint storefront beckons with its modest size, yet inside, a vibrant display of mannequins showcases an array of dresses. Among them, you spot wedding gowns, bridesmaid dresses, and elegant gala attire, each one whispering tales of dreams and celebrations.
As you step into the store, a delightful aroma envelops you, filling the air with its sweet fragrance. The atmosphere exudes warmth and comfort, instantly making you feel at home. A friendly lady approaches, her smile radiant as she offers her assistance.
“I have an appointment to try on wedding dresses,” announcing her appointment with a hint of excitement, your sister catches the store lady’s attention. With a nod of understanding, the lady graciously guides you both deeper into the boutique’s heart, where plush couches await, adorned in a regal hue of deep royal red, accented with elegant gold details. The ambiance is further elevated by the cream-white walls, instilling a sense of tranquility and serenity throughout the space.
“Please take a seat, and have some champagne,” the lady invites with a gentle gesture towards the inviting couches and the sparkling champagne flutes that beckon.
“I’m Hyorin and I’ll help you find the perfect dress for your wedding.” Her warm smile assures you of a journey filled with personalized attention and expert guidance in your quest for the gown of your dreams.
You both sink into the embrace of the lush couch, the rich fabric cradling you like a cloud of opulence. With glasses of champagne in hand, poured with Hyorin’s effortless grace, you take a drink of the champagne, its effervescence mirroring the excitement in the air.
“What kind of dress are you looking for?” Hyorin’s gaze beams with anticipation as she directs her question to your sister, her eyes aglow with genuine interest. Their golden hue, reminiscent of warm honey, adds a radiant charm to her already captivating presence. Her brown locks cascade gracefully over her shoulders, framing her face like a portrait, while her chic curtain bangs lend a touch of modern allure to her appearance.
“I would like something simple and elegant, but not too tight or princessy,” your sister’s voice carries a tone of understated sophistication as she articulates her desires for the perfect gown. Her words resonate with a refined taste, seeking simplicity intertwined with an effortless elegance. You find yourself nodding in agreement, not at all surprised by her choice, and a spontaneous chuckle escapes you, nearly causing you to choke on your champagne.
Jessi turns to you, her lips curved into a playful smile, teasingly prompting, “What’s got you chuckling over there?”
“I’m just not surprised,” you muse with a grin, raising the champagne glass to your lips for another sip.
Hyorin smiles warmly. “I’ll be right back with a few suggestions for you to try on. You can get ready in the dressing room,” she says, her voice filled with excitement for the dress-finding journey ahead.
As Hyorin strides towards the racks adorned with elegant wedding dresses, Jessi rises gracefully, disappearing into one of the changing rooms. Left alone, you sink deeper into the plush cushions of the couch, anticipation tingling in the air like champagne bubbles.
Hyorin returns, a vision of grace carrying three dresses like treasures from a bridal chest. Each gown, pristine white with delicate lace accents, exudes an aura of simplicity, elegance, and sheer beauty.
“I’ve curated a selection for you to consider,” Hyorin announces, presenting the trio of dresses to your sister as though unveiling treasures from a sacred bridal trove.
“Thank you,” Jessi responds graciously, snatching the dresses and whisking them into her dressing chamber, eager to unveil their potential allure.
With a flourish, she parts the curtain, revealing the first gown: a sweeping masterpiece. Its neckline plunges daringly, yet tastefully, inviting a glimpse of allure. Sleeveless, it caresses her curves with a perfect fit, offering both elegance and freedom of movement.
Your sister beams at you, her eyes alight with anticipation, as she gracefully lifts the skirt, revealing its fluid movement. “Well?” she prompts, her excitement palpable in the air.
“I think you look absolutely stunning,” you remark with a smile, admiring her from every angle. “But I’m curious to see how the other dresses compare,” you add, eager to explore the options further.
As she emerges from the dressing room, a new silhouette adorns her figure, this one an elegant a-line rather than the previous mermaid style. Yet, it’s adorned with subtle sparkles that catch the light, casting a magical glow around her. Observing her in the dress, you can’t help but wonder if the shimmer aligns with Jessi’s taste. She turns gracefully, the long sleeves adding a touch of sophistication to the ensemble.
Hyorin interjects, her voice tinged with anticipation, “How about this one? Does it speak to you?”
Jessi gazes at her reflection, her eyes lingering on the gown's shimmering embellishments. “The sparkles aren’t my thing,” she muses, “but I adore how the skirt flows—it’s not overly poufy, but just the right amount of volume for movement.”
Hyorin nods in understanding as Jessi retreats into the fitting room to slip into the third gown. The fabric is adorned with delicate lace, and as Jessi emerges, you notice the skirt’s voluminous size doesn’t quite match her liking.
“I’m not sold on the skirt of this one, but the top is lovely. Plus, I don’t mind flaunting a bit of cleavage,” she remarks, gracefully twirling in the dress.
Hyorin nods understandingly, collecting the three dresses from Jessi before gliding across the store to hunt for the next contender.
You rise from the plush couch, a glint of determination in your eyes. “I’ll scout out another option for you to try, sounds good?”
Jessi shoots you a thumbs-up from the dressing rooms, and you set off on your exploration of the boutique. Rows of stunning dresses greet you, each whispering its own tale of elegance and romance. Lost in the sea of bridal dreams, you ponder what you might choose for your own wedding someday, if fate allows. Amidst the glitter and sparkle, something catches your eye, beckoning you like a hidden treasure waiting to be discovered.
You delicately pluck the dress from the rack, and instantly, you’re captivated. An ivory masterpiece unfolds before you, its allure undeniable. The neckline plunges daringly, yet a sheer nude fabric veils it with a touch of modesty. Long, lace-adorned sleeves promise both grace and breathability, while the bodice, adorned with intricate lace, exudes charm. With its lace-up back, the dress offers a timeless elegance, reminiscent of fairy tales and romance. The A-line silhouette, though not voluminous, carries a subtle flow, enhanced by the delicate lace fabric of the skirt. As you hold it, you can’t shake the feeling that this is the one—the dress that encapsulates your sister’s dreams and desires.
You cradle the dress in your arms, feeling its weight as if holding a treasure. With each step, anticipation swells within you, a silent prayer that this gown may be the key to your sister’s bridal bliss. Approaching Jessi, you extend the dress to her with a gentle urgency, a silent plea echoing in your eyes. “Try this on, Jess,” you urge, your voice a whisper filled with hope and excitement.
Hyorin glides over to you, her hands cradling two delicate dresses like precious secrets. With a graceful flourish, she presents them to Jessi, a silent invitation to discover the magic within. As Jessi disappears behind the dressing room curtain, anticipation hangs thick in the air, each passing moment pregnant with possibility. You exchange a glance with Hyorin, sharing in the silent anticipation of witnessing Jessi’s transformation.
As Jessi parts the curtain, her radiant smile bursts forth like sunshine breaking through clouds. In the shimmering gown you discovered, she spins with effortless grace, a vision of confidence and joy.
“What do you think?” She beams, her eyes sparkling with anticipation, awaiting your verdict on her newfound elegance.
“Absolutely stunning! Jungkook won’t know what hit him,” you exclaim, your voice brimming with excitement and admiration. The dress envelops Jessi like a dream, affirming your belief that it’s the perfect choice for her special day.
“I feel incredible in it, but I doubt he’ll be able to keep his hands off me, he’ll probably just want to rip the dress off my body,” she chuckles, her laughter infectious as it fills the room. You can’t help but join in, the joy of the moment contagious, even Hyorin finds herself laughing along with you both.
“I don’t care what he does, that dress was made for you,” you affirm with conviction, your admiration for your sister evident in your voice. Damn, she looks stunning.
“This is the one,” Jessi declares with a radiant smile, her joy palpable as she moves gracefully in the dress, completely at ease.
As the morning light pours in, casting a golden glow over everything, it feels like the perfect day. The air is crisp, the sun’s warmth wraps around her like a comforting embrace, and the sweet melodies of birdsong serenade her every step. Each footfall is buoyant, as if she’s walking on air, filled with anticipation for the days ahead. Her heart beats with excitement, knowing that her big day is drawing near, and she can hardly contain her joy.
She revels in the comfort of Jungkook’s presence, cherishing every moment spent in his company. Witnessing her sister’s radiant happiness with Jimin fills her with a profound warmth. Never before has she seen Jimin so utterly content in a relationship, and it melts her heart to witness their love blossoming. Everywhere she looks, love seems to weave its enchanting tapestry, wrapping her in its gentle embrace. In this moment, surrounded by love and joy, she feels an overwhelming gratitude for having everything she’s ever wished for and more.
Jessi dances through the halls of Jungkook’s home, her joy infectious and her spirit light. As she twirls amidst the familiar surroundings, she can’t help but entertain the thought that maybe Jimin might summon the courage to take the next step and propose to her sister. The idea has been floating around her mind for some time now, especially knowing that Jimin has been holding onto an engagement ring, patiently waiting for the perfect moment to pop the question.
Since you accompanied her to her dress fitting, Jessi couldn’t help but notice the unmistakable look of devotion in your eyes, a silent declaration of your readiness and unwavering commitment to Jimin. But now, she finds herself pondering a question that weighs heavily on her mind: how can she nudge Jimin towards proposing to you, or maybe even inspire you to take the leap and propose to him? Tradition and conventions hold little sway over her; all she desires is to witness the radiant joy of her beloved family as they step into a future filled with happiness and love.
With an infectious energy pulsating through her veins, she sways to an imaginary melody in the kitchen, her movements a symphony of anticipation. Suddenly, the distant hum of tires against gravel draws her attention, and she rushes to the window, her curiosity piqued. Through the glass, she spots an unfamiliar vehicle winding its way up the driveway, sparking her intrigue even further.
Eager to welcome the visitor, she strides outside, her smile radiant with warmth. But as her gaze falls upon the sleek, crimson sports car, a sudden chill washes over her, like a shadow eclipsing the sun. With a sharp intake of breath, she senses a storm of emotions brewing within, a tempest of memories stirring to life. That scarlet vehicle triggers a cascade of recollections, each fragment dancing on the periphery of her mind, teasing her with familiarity. Where had she seen it before?
Despite the heavy weight pressing upon her, both in her heart and on her shoulders, she continues to move forward, each step an arduous journey. Every footfall feels like an uphill battle, as if gravity itself conspires against her progress. Yet, propelled by a mix of curiosity and apprehension, she persists, determined to confront whatever awaits her at the end of this daunting path.
With each inch the car draws nearer, her memories awaken like a dormant beast, stirring from its slumber. Images of the past flood her mind, each one a jagged piece of a puzzle she never wanted to solve. The car’s color triggers a cascade of recollections, transporting her back to the day of the accident, a day etched in pain and regret. As the truth dawns on her, fury simmers within her veins, boiling over like a tempest unleashed. Her fists ball up, knuckles whitening, while her teeth grind together in a symphony of anger and anguish, a bitter melody echoing the depths of her soul.
Vividly etched in her memory is the sight of that crimson car careening onto the wrong side of the road, a reckless intruder in her world of order. She recalls the split-second decision, the desperate swerve to avoid a collision, the sensation of losing control as her vehicle skidded off course, hurtling towards an unforgiving embrace with destiny—a collision with a tree that shattered her sense of safety and left her broken, physically and emotionally.
The car grinds to a halt, and her muscles tense with a mixture of apprehension and frustration, her arms folding protectively across her chest, a silent barrier against whatever or whoever emerges from that ominous vehicle. With each passing second, impatience brews within her, a fervent desire for the intrusive presence to vanish, to leave her to the serenity of her solitude. She fixates on the car’s door, her gaze an unyielding challenge, daring the unknown occupant to unveil themselves and confront the consequences of their intrusion.
The silence stretches taut as the stranger emerges, his movements deliberate, almost calculated, as if he’s orchestrating a grand entrance. With a polished precision, he plants his first foot onto the ground, clad in sleek, designer shoes that exude opulence—a stark contrast to her indifference, maybe even disdain, for such material extravagance. She suppresses a scoff, her lip curling with distaste, a silent protest against the superficiality that seems to accompany him.
As the man steps fully out of the car, his gaze sweeps the surroundings before settling on Jessi. Her expression remains stern, a subtle furrow forming between her brows, her lips pressed into a thin line betraying her impatience. One foot taps rhythmically against the earth, a silent declaration of her readiness for the stranger to break the silence enveloping them.
As the stranger remains silent, Jessi takes a moment to size him up. True to her initial assessment, is a city slicker; his brown hair meticulously styled with gel, giving him a sophisticated yet laid-back appearance. His heart-shaped face boasts a pointed nose and sharp eyes that seem to miss nothing. Clad in a loose silk shirt tucked into sleek black dress pants, he stands out amidst the rustic surroundings with an air of effortless elegance. Feeling the weight of his silence, Jessi clears her throat, a subtle signal to draw his attention.
“Some balls you have,” she begins, her voice laced with the simmering anger that clouds her thoughts and judgment.
His expression twists into confusion, but she can feel the heat rising within her, pushing her to raise her voice at him.
“Get out of here!” Her voice reverberates, echoing the anger pulsating through her, each word a thunderclap demanding his departure.
As footsteps and doors creak open behind her, you, Jungkook, and Jimin approach her, enveloping her in a protective circle. Your arms wrap around her, seeking answers to her distress, but Jessi’s vision blurs with rage, seeing nothing but crimson swirling before her eyes.
“He’s the one who caused my accident,” Jessi’s voice cuts through the tension, still charged with anger as she jabs her finger accusingly at the stranger.
You turn to gaze between your sister and the stranger, a surge of disbelief coursing through you. Suddenly, everything clicks into place, and you realize why your sister trembles in your embrace, her fury palpable.
Jungkook and Jimin move protectively in front of you, their gaze fixed firmly on the stranger standing before you. Jungkook takes the lead, his voice firm with an undercurrent of caution. “Who are you?”
The stranger clears his throat, his demeanor cautious yet oddly composed. “My name is Taehyung, and I’m—”
His words come out in a low, rumbling growl, cutting off Taehyung’s attempt to speak further. “Are you the one responsible for her accident?”
Taehyung’s gaze drops to the ground, his expression clouded with a hint of remorse, his hands retreating into his pockets.
“I’m sorry. Yeah, I am,” he murmurs, his voice heavy with regret, his eyes flitting nervously among all of you, unable to meet any one gaze.
Your sister hisses, her fists clenching again, and you can feel the tension vibrating through her, a palpable desire to break free from your hold and maybe slap some sense into the man, but you cling to her tightly, refusing to let her go.
Jimin’s voice cuts through the tension, his gaze assessing Taehyung from head to toe. “What are you doing here?”
Taehyung shifts uncomfortably, his laughter tinged with nervousness as he kicks at the dirt, his hand absently smoothing his sleek hair, disrupting its neatly styled appearance.
“I came to speak to my family,” he murmurs, his gaze sharpening once more, a flicker of resolve crossing his features as he braces himself for your response.
“Then you came to the wrong place, mate,” Jungkook utters through clenched teeth, his voice laced with simmering anger, though beneath the surface, you sense his effort to maintain composure.
You don’t know what Taehyung means by speaking to his family; none of you know him, and he’s certainly not part of your family.
“I’m your brother,” Taehyung says, his voice carrying an unexpected calmness that sends a ripple of disbelief through the air. Your eyes widen in shock. How can he remain so composed amidst such a damning accusation? You turn your head to glimpse your sister’s reaction; her eyes mirror your incredulity. Glancing at the others, you notice Jungkook and Jimin standing frozen, their expressions a mixture of confusion and surprise.
As the weight of Taehyung’s revelation settles in, you release your grip on your sister and stride towards Jimin, while Jessi gravitates towards Jungkook, seeking solace in his embrace. Together, the four of you stand, an image of disbelief and confusion. What is the meaning of this?
Taehyung’s gaze shifts between Jimin and Jungkook, his expression a blend of hurt and confusion, his eyes reflecting a deep-seated disappointment or maybe sadness. “You didn’t know?” he ventures, his voice tinged with an undertone of caution, as if unsure of how his revelation will be received.
You sense Jimin’s body tensing within your embrace, his muscles coiling like tightly wound springs as he grapples with the sudden influx of information. His fists clench, knuckles whitening with the intensity of his emotions, a silent storm raging within him.
“I don’t believe you,” Jungkook hisses back, his voice tight with tension, his fists clenched at his sides like coiled springs ready to release. “Our parents never told us anything of the sorts.”
Taehyung simply nods, his expression pained yet resolute. “Well, my mom recently told me about you and my father—our shared father.”
Both Jimin and Jungkook scoff, disbelief etched on their faces, their eyes narrowing with suspicion.
“Dad would have told us,” Jimin’s voice is strained, his attempt at composure evident in the way he clenches his jaw. You reach out, soothingly tracing your hand up and down his arm, feeling the tension coiled within his muscles. With your other hand, you firmly grasp his hand, anchoring him in the moment.
“Are you sure? Seems like the guy got around a lot,” he remarks casually, shrugging his shoulders. Beside you, you notice both Jungkook and Jimin flinching at his words, their expressions betraying a mix of disbelief and discomfort.
“You,” Jungkook seethes, his voice edged with barely contained fury. From the corner of your eye, you see him attempting to break free from your sister’s grasp, but she holds onto him firmly, refusing to let him go.
“I can prove that I’m your sibling with a DNA test,” he states casually, his demeanor unsettlingly composed. You can’t fathom how he can maintain such calmness amidst this chaos. Doubt creeps into your mind, questioning his intentions. What does he seek from the guys? Money, maybe?
You can feel Jimin’s heartbeat against your chest, a rhythmic drumbeat echoing his uncertainty. He clears his throat, his voice edged with skepticism, “Then come back with proof. Because we don’t believe you.”
Taehyung nods, his demeanor nonchalant, “I just need some DNA from you and I’ll be on my merry way.”
It feels like a scene ripped straight from a surreal drama as Taehyung produces a small plastic bag, and both Jimin and Jungkook pluck out a hair from their heads, handing it to Taehyung with a mix of reluctance and defiance. Their expressions betray a cocktail of emotions, but it’s clear they’re doing it more out of defiance than genuine cooperation. Taehyung calmly plucks a piece of hair from his own head.
“Thank you,” he says with a pleased smile, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes as he waves before disappearing into the sleek red car. With a smooth maneuver, he gets behind the wheel and drives off, leaving behind a cloud of uncertainty and a lingering sense of unease in the air.
You all hold your breath, a tense silence enveloping the group as his car disappears into the distance, leaving nothing but a swirling cloud of dust in its wake.
“What a douche,” Jungkook’s voice seethes with a mix of anger and exhaustion, his words heavy with disbelief and frustration. “I really hope he isn’t our brother.”
Jimin turns towards you, his expression a blend of confusion and desperation as he seeks reassurance in your eyes, silently pleading for answers you’re not sure you can provide at this moment. Nevertheless, you envelop him in a tight hug, hoping your embrace can convey the support and comfort he needs.
You offer a soothing rub to his back, your touch a reassuring anchor amidst the swirling uncertainty. “That was so weird. I can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this. What could he possibly want?”
Jimin’s warm breath against your neck sends a shiver down your spine, and you hold him tighter for a moment, finding solace in each other’s presence. As he pulls away, uncertainty lingers in his voice. “Yeah. I don’t know if I like this.”
You intertwine your fingers with his, offering a reassuring squeeze. “I’m here for you, Jimin. Whatever comes our way, we’ll face it together.”
You find yourselves immersed in a search through old papers and documents together, scouring for any hint of a connection from the guys to Taehyung. The disbelief hangs heavy in the air, and you empathize with their skepticism. It’s like watching their world tilt on its axis, leaving them grappling with uncertainty and confusion.
Despite days spent sifting through mountains of old documents, the evidence of Jimin and Jungkook having a brother remains elusive. The mystery hangs heavy in the air, fueling speculation and unease. You engage in discussions, contemplating the possibility that Taehyung may be orchestrating some sort of scheme.
As anticipated, Taehyung fulfills his promise, returning a few days later, his sleek red car gliding into the driveway. With a mixture of curiosity and apprehension, you and the others step outside to confront him once again.
Taehyung emerges from his car, exuding the same impeccable style as before, his attire as refined as his demeanor. A confident smile graces his lips as he approaches, clutching a piece of paper in his hand, his eyes glinting with a sense of purpose.
He strides purposefully toward Jimin, extending the paper with a determined yet enigmatic air. “Proof,” he states simply, his gaze locked onto Jimin’s, a hint of anticipation in his eyes.
You position yourself behind your boyfriend, stretching on tiptoe to catch a glimpse over his shoulder, eager to discern the contents of the document. As your eyes sweep across the page, there it is— the undeniable confirmation, the positive result staring back at you, setting your heart racing with a mix of astonishment and disbelief.
You position yourself behind your boyfriend, stretching on tiptoe to catch a glimpse over his shoulder, eager to discern the contents of the document. As your eyes sweep across the page, there it is— the undeniable confirmation, the positive result staring back at you, setting your heart racing with a mix of astonishment and disbelief.
Frustration and disbelief surge through you. You can hardly fathom it. Without a word, Jimin passes the paper to his brother, his silence a testament to the tumult raging within him as he grapples with the sudden upheaval of his reality. In a bid to anchor him amidst the storm, you envelop him in a reassuring embrace, feeling the weight of his uncertainty and turmoil pressing against you.
Jungkook’s gaze flicks over the document, his features contorted in a mixture of skepticism and disdain. “You may share our blood,” he begins, his voice edged with a steely resolve, “but you’re no brother of mine.”
Author’s note(2): Thank you so much for reading! 🌸 I would very much appreciate it if you reblogged the chapter, if you liked it ✨ A small review or a comment would also mean a lot to me, and even a like. But please, don’t be afraid to let me know what you think; your kind words makes me extremely happy 💜
Remember the Q&A that is coming in the Epilogue— if you want to send in some questions for the characters, you can do it now (and later too) → Ask the characters (or me), anything ❣️
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