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fanfic writers directors cut: in the pines , not sure I'm doing this correctly lol 🫣 can you talk about what you envision to happen next? If I remember correctly, there was a large chapter you broke up. I love this fic so much and reread it ever so often. I'd love to hear all your brain worms about it !! ty for reading and enjoy your day off 🩵🤍
"there was a larger chapter you broke up" would you believe I forgot that this was true. Anyway, Pines is very special to me, and may never actually get its final chapter for slightly hilarious reasons. But hey, you reminded me that there was a spare 10k of Pines hanging around! So like, I read through it last night and I have done one (1) entire editing pass. But I figured, you know! Why not!
Anyway, here's the next chapter of Pines (anyone curious what I'm talking about can read the first two chapters on ao3). I hope it brings you joy <3 Thank you for loving this fic
(nsfw below cut)
The next evening, Jiang Yanli drops off Jin Zixuan, who is dressed in comfortable pink sweatpants and a button-down white shirt and looks a little dazed.
“Are you alright?” Lan Zhan asks, letting him into the house through the garage. Maybe they should just watch baseball.
“Yeah,” says Zixuan. “It is. Loud. Over there right now.”
Lan Zhan has met Jiang Yanli’s brother once; he did not seem especially loud. He did not realize until this week that Zixuan lives part time at Jiang Yanli’s, but it makes sense. He remembers the big house, Zixuan’s choice of a small guest room. “Hm,” he says, and gets Jin Zixuan a glass of water. “Drink that.”
Jin Zixuan sits at the little square two-person dining table in the family room — the cozy room open to the kitchen, with the sliding glass doors to the yard, the birds flitting by the fountain that will need to be scrubbed out this week — and drinks his water. A warm silence falls. Lan Zhan feels good, leaning over the railing that separates the kitchen from the step down to the family room, watching Zixuan with focus. Outside, someone is using their fucking leafblower again. It buzzes through the open windows.
Zixuan finishes his glass. Lan Zhan and Jin Zixuan look at each other across the parquet floor of Lan Zhan’s family room, Lan Zhan from a step up and arms crossed on the railing.
“Be gentle with me, bro,” Zixuan says, stretching his socked feet into the patch of sunlight coming in from the door.
“No,” Lan Zhan says.
Zixuan stares at him, wide-eyed — then laughs and gets on his knees in the sun.
They have both, Lan Zhan figures, had something of a very long week.
*
Wei Ying has a migraine on Thursday, he says. He wants to go straight home from work and sleep — he’s very sorry. Lan Zhan wonders, mouth tight— but then Wei Ying asks if maybe Lan Zhan is free on Fridays at the same time? He doesn’t want to assume, but Wei Ying has every other Friday off, and usually he’ll feel better by the next afternoon, and—
Lan Zhan has every day off. Lan Zhan is not working right now. Not this year.
He says he is free on Friday at three.
Wei Ying doesn’t know to come through the garage like Yanli knew to bring Zixuan. He rings the doorbell, the same way Lan Zhan’s piano students do, but when Lan Zhan opens the door it’s him, there in Lan Zhan’s shady front walk, taking a few polite — or shy — steps back from the door along the path that leads from the corner around the garage, through the rock garden and the knee-high [blue flowers] that have been there for decades, now past blooming and thick with seed pods.
“Hi!” Wei Ying says. Then he lurches to a stop, and starts forward again. Lan Zhan nearly lurches forward out of the doorway himself, trying to keep the momentum of the approach. “Oh shit, I didn’t bring anything,” Wei Ying says, suddenly freezing and staring at Lan Zhan as if Lan Zhan can fix this. It’s funny. It’s funny. Lan Zhan feels something like wanting to laugh in his chest, tight and warm and yellow. “I can double back and get coffee. Fruit. A tiny orchid. Popcorn chicken. Do you like popcorn chicken? There’s a place I walked past, next to the Kumon tutoring—”
“No, thank you,” says Lan Zhan, a shade too softly to be what he is supposed to be. Relief, unexpected and blooming in shaky waves in his chest, is briefly overwhelming him.
“Nothing?” Wei Ying asks, bouncing on the balls of his feet. They are near-strangers; Lan Zhan has never seen most of Wei Ying’s expressions. It seems like he wants to be pleasing. Wei Ying does not need to strive to be pleasing. It is not what anyone else would call pleasing, probably, but the attempt is already almost overwhelming. Lan Zhan wants to bundle him somewhere warm. Lan Zhan wants to pinch him, hard, till he can’t stand up straight. “There’s gotta be something, Lan Zhan, c’mon.”
Lan Zhan says, steadying himself on his own front door, “Oreos. Next time, you can bring me oreos.”
Wei Ying lights up a split second before he laughs. “Oreos?” he says.
“Oreos,” Lan Zhan agrees, embarrassed and trying not to show it. “I like them.” He hadn’t been thinking. He had not thought at all.
“A dom who gets compensated in oreos,” Wei Ying says, apparently to Lan Zhan’s maple tree, further in the rock garden, like it’s his partner in a comedy sketch.
Lan Zhan breathes through it: through liking oreos and liking sex and liking things so much when he likes them. Liking, still, the near-stranger talking to his maple tree.
“I will ask you if I want you to bring something. Maybe I will, next time. It is my job to take care of the rest. Does anyone know where you are?”
“Yeah,” says Wei Ying. “My sister. She, uh, knows about the whole scene, it’s cool. I sent her the address but not like, your full name, so.”
“You can text her my full name if you’d like,” Lan Zhan says, standing aside to let him in.
“Nah,” says Wei Ying. “Oh, this is big.”
He means the house, and in some ways it is. Comfortably if not exceptionally big for an American house, but real estate is so expensive here that it is more impressive. That, and the entry opens into the living room, with a two-storey ceiling and pristine white carpet, eminently United States 1980s chic. He wonders if Wei Ying will ask about the house.
Wei Ying just looks at him and laughs a little and says, “I’m feeling kind of — can we start right away, with what you suggested? In whatever order? Does that work for you?”
If it’s just nerves that will be fine. If it’s discomfort, starting too fast could actually overwhelm him. “Alright,” Lan Zhan says, and pads towards the formal dining room, which like the living room is rarely used. Wei Ying takes off his sneakers in the entryway, then trails him slowly, footsteps sinking into the soft cream carpet. It is a lot, to see him on Lan Zhan’s carpet. “We covered most of it over text, but can I confirm we’re on the same page, now that you’re here?”
“Yes,” says Wei Ying, glancing up at Lan Zhan’s chandelier — Lan Zhan’s mother’s old chandelier — which is mid-century modern-ish pieces of straight glass but throws rainbows across the two-story ceiling that slopes with the roof.
“Are you still interested in in-person sexual play?” Lan Zhan asks. There are two versions of what he could do, given Wei Ying’s parameters, both discussed and just now — “in whatever order” indeed. Wei Ying slowly looks down from the chandelier, down and at Lan Zhan, who is standing with his heart in his throat in the formal dining room. They are twenty feet apart.
Wei Ying stares at him. “Yes,” he says.
“We have privacy here,” Lan Zhan says, trying to steady himself. “Stand there, at the base of the stairs.” He’s always liked how the stairs come down in the middle of the formal rooms, an open admission that there are real rooms here, tucked away, where people have lived, live still. “Strip down to your underwear.”
“Ah, you’re actually making me take my clothes off this time, gege?” Wei Ying asks, going for his shirt — a loose button-down today, black again but printed with tiny red flowers. “I’m moving up in the world.”
What Lan Zhan wants is to kiss him. Lan Zhan wants to say, No, wait a bit, I am making dinner. Stay for dinner. I will feed you and then I will wreck you. Please.
He found Wei Ying again, easy as anything. He thought he would never see this person again. The story — that they found each other again after a first meeting — should wrap itself around them, should tether them. But it won’t; Lan Zhan has learned his lessons; Lan Zhan is about to be thirty-one.
Lan Zhan breathes. He can hear the dryer running in the laundry room. He steadies himself, and it’s easy because if he’s unsteady then he will have to stop and tap himself out. He says, “Wei Ying, you asked me to make you come again.”
Wei Ying shivers, full-body. “I don’t usually—” he says, then licks his lips. “What happened, um, what happened the last couple times doesn’t usually happen to me. I honestly don’t uh, I don’t get off easily, or all that often.”
Lan Zhan blinks. He had thought they’d covered this. Most of the scenarios he’d offered didn’t require orgasm, including the ones involving sex.
“That is not a problem,” Lan Zhan says, to make it very clear. “I want to see you. I want to see your soft cock.”
“Hggh,” Wei Ying breathes.
“Do you disagree?” asks Lan Zhan, leaning on the wall that divides the kitchen and the family room behind it from the rest of the house.
“Um. Might not be entirely soft, if that’s okay.”
“You cannot wait for me?” Lan Zhan asks, severe. Now that he has thought of seeing Wei Ying soft, maybe small, he wants it. He never saw anything at the party, just Wei Ying’s squirming hips. He has, he supposes, photographs.
“It’s just a little,” Wei Ying whines.
“I want to see you soft. Get on my dining table,” Lan Zhan says. “And take off your underwear.”
“O-okay,” Wei Ying says, padding across the carpet and then stopping to quickly take off his black briefs. He stops by the conversation pit, which largely stores a collection of paperback novels that belonged to Lan Zhan’s mother. “Hey, is that an orgy pit?”
“It is a conversation pit,” says Lan Zhan, who does not exactly mind speaking about his mother’s house during sex, but acknowledges that most people would prefer not to. “Get up and kneel on the table, and try to stay soft.”
Wei Ying sucks in a breath. His toes flex in Lan Zhan’s soft cream carpet. The sudden exposure, the nudity, the dining table, might actually shock him into staying soft. Or get him there; Lan Zhan will find out.
The dining table is an oval that seats eight people. It creaks a little, making Wei Ying flush as he climbs onto it, naked, his nipples tight and his dick and balls swinging between his legs. He is mostly soft, but Lan Zhan thinks he can detect something of a chub. It is medium sized but cute. Lan Zhan wants it, small and soft, in his mouth. Lan Zhan loves sucking cock.
Lan Zhan is kind of expecting Wei Ying to say something about the dining table, about the other-the-top exhibition of himself on it. Instead Wei Ying meets Lan Zhan’s eyes, licks his lips, and says, intimate as if they’re just murmuring together in Lan Zhan’s bed upstairs, “Do you think my cock looks small?” His eyes gleam. His face is solemn.
It is, honestly, average for a soft cock. It is curved prettily in the crease of Wei Ying’s bare thigh, because he is not kneeling properly. His ass is on Lan Zhan’s unused dining table. The tips of his hair look wet against his shirt, from the shower he would have taken before this. In the dry air here, he must have been in the shower very recently; fifteen minutes. Did he say he walked here?
Lan Zhan, fortunately, has always been able to concentrate with a cock in front of him.
Lan Zhan says, “Does it look small? Perhaps.” Wei Ying shudders.
Alright.
“Sit properly,” Lan Zhan says. “Kneel like I asked.”
“You can’t make me kneel on this,” Wei Ying says, shifting knee to knee, “there’s not even a tablecloth! Think of my knees, Lan Zhan!”
“I am thinking of your knees. Bruise them for me,” says Lan Zhan. Wei Ying barks out a breathless laugh and Lan Zhan almost smiles. The formal rooms feel less stiff. The blinds are closed, but behind them he can see the shifting light of the trees, his and his neighbor’s. They clack in the breeze.
Lan Zhan doesn’t smile, though. Instead he says, “Kneel properly and show me your soft cock.”
“Ah!” Wei Ying says, sitting back hard on his heels, posture for a moment reflexively perfect. Someone taught him to sit straight as a child, and adult Wei Ying has unlearned it. His hands fly up to cover his cock, which twitched hard. Lan Zhan stares at him, waiting. Wei Ying flushes, hands covering his crotch. “It’s a little bit hard now,” he whines to Lan Zhan. He slips into Mandarin for a moment, apparently just because the sajiao won’t be as effective in English. “Wouldn’t you rather see me hard for you, Zhan-zhan?”
“No,” Lan Zhan says. He was going to go for the toys right away, but he’s stopped halfway around the table, transfixed. “I want to see you soft. And small.”
Wei Ying whines and shoves his hands down harder on his hidden dick. Lan Zhan wonders wildly why he did not list CBT in his misc enjoyed kinks, even though what he’s doing now cannot hurt that much. There’s obviously— something, there.
“Are you trying?” Lan Zhan asks.
Wei Ying bites his lip. “Not--not all that much, haha.”
“Hm.”
“Don’t want your ego bruised when you realize how good I am at staying soft.”
Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow. “I hardly think my ego is responsible for your small cock.”
Wei Ying goes bright red. Lan Zhan is, briefly, able to breathe, and move. He takes advantage.
There is a cabinet to the far side of the dining table which is obviously supposed to be for wine. Lan Zhan has a set of wine glasses that hang from it, but no wine in it. He uses it to store the downstairs sex toys.
Lan Zhan pulls out three dildos that interest him in this moment. Then he closes the cabinet and plops the selection of dildos in their neat drawstring bags down on the end of the table closest to the living room. Two of the three are weighted with the motor of a vibe; dropping them makes a noise. Lan Zhan’s eyes narrow happily to see Wei Ying jump, just a tiny bit.
“If you can’t kneel, then lie back and spread your legs,” Lan Zhan tells Wei Ying, reaching up to slap him on the thigh — close to his cock but not actually on it. Wei Ying jumps, eyes wide. His cock twitches, too. It is so fucking gratifying to be able to see him this time, fuck. Lan Zhan wants to grind his teeth.
“Your cock is misbehaving,” Lan Zhan informs him. Wei Ying, finally, makes a little whimper like he did at the party, when Lan Zhan barely knew his name.
Greed thick in his mouth, Lan Zhan slaps Wei Ying’s cock.
Wei Ying rocks back, eyes wide, flushing bright patchy red on his face and his chest. He is paler than Lan Zhan; it shows up better on him. He sits back on his butt and spreads his legs like Lan Zhan wants. Behind him the sun is afternoon low and smoke-red through the blinds.
“Oh,” he says.
“You are not staying soft,” Lan Zhan says.
“No,” Wei Ying breathes.
“Then I will have to use you for something else.” Wei Ying nods jerkily, but he looks tense. Maybe too exposed, on the table. Maybe it is not quite right. Lan Zhan picks up a purple dildo, one of the ones with vibrating function. “Give me your hand.”
Wei Ying puts one hand out, his fingers shaking a little. Lan Zhan picks up a bottle of lube and squeezes a little onto Wei Ying’s fingers. Too much, lets it spill. Wei Ying shivers — there, a step in the right direction.
Lan Zhan goes to lean against the wall to the kitchen, arms crossed, watching. Twice Wei Ying has come with Lan Zhan at a distance. Lan Zhan wants — to make this hot for him. To make him feel good. To learn the rest of his rules and which of them he will ask to have broken.
“Fuck yourself,” Lan Zhan says. “Your fingers first, then with whatever I choose for you. I want to see what you can take.”
Wei Ying closes his eyes and arches his back and does it as Lan Zhan directs: one finger, two, stretch it for me, let me see, three. He’s quiet, though. His eyes stay shut. Like he’s reaching for something and can’t quite get it. When he starts on the dildo, his shoulders go tense.
“Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. “Wait a moment.”
Wei Ying does, holds still with his eyes shut and a dildo half into him.
Lan Zhan pushes off from the wall, circles around the table until he is behind Wei Ying, until he can place a hand between his shoulderblades and only relax when Wei Ying’s shoulders go down, and Wei Ying himself relaxes and leans into the touch. Lan Zhan moves a chair out of the way so he can stand right next to the table behind Wei Ying, so that his chest is against Wei Ying’s back.
“Wei Ying,” he says, softly because his mouth is right by Wei Ying’s ear. He puts his hungry hands on Wei Ying’s ribs, feels his quick breaths. Not too quick; he’s only uncomfortable, Lan Zhan thinks. Too exposed, or too untouched. Something. Everyone has their snags, everyone. Lan Zhan feels full of them, himself. Normally he would be hitting one right now, feeling upset to have not gotten it right the first time, but he’s distracted by Wei Ying’s warmth against his chest. He feels, strangely, like he can get things wrong here, without fucking up.
Lan Zhan makes a little enquiring noise, and is about to follow it up with Too much? but Wei Ying responds like he asked, anyway.
“Ah, I don’t get why this is hard,” says Wei Ying, laughing a little, shoulders tensing and relaxing again. He tugs the dildo back out without Lan Zhan having to tell him. Lan Zhan puts a hand almost over Wei Ying’s on the dildo and taps it in rhythm, like piano keys. Wei Ying huffs a little almost-laugh and tries to imitate him. He clearly does not play piano. “This is so — texting you was so self-indulgent, you know? I’m pretty sure indulgence is supposed to come easily.”
Lan Zhan pauses. “I think indulgence is very hard,” he says, too honest into Wei Ying’s soft hair.
“Nahhh, hell, that’s too serious an answer, gege,” says Wei Ying, wry smile back, over his shoulder and so close to Lan Zhan’s cheek that he could bite it. He is so naked. Lan Zhan could have unwrapped him slowly, but he rushed. He wanted to rush. “Lan Zhan,” he adds, licking his lips. It is the first time he has said Lan Zhan’s name aloud. He does it naked on Lan Zhan’s formal dining table, with his head resting back on Land Zhan’s shoulder and Lan Zhan’s dildo held loose in his hand, under Lan Zhan’s hand. “Lan Zhan, give me a more fun answer.”
“Alright,” says Lan Zhan. He hums and reaches down, slowly enough to know if Wei Ying will tense again, to play with the stretch of Wei Ying’s rim around the toy. “Indulgence will be extremely easy. I will make it so.” He adds, dry, “Miraculously.”
Wei Ying huffs a laugh but his hands spasm on his stomach. His dick twitches at the same time. But his fingers still dart around, searching.
Lan Zhan will not leave him searching. “I haven’t done right by you,” he murmurs into Wei Ying’s ear. Wei Ying squirms, in a good way this time. “I left you out in the dining room. You must be cold. Come entertain me while I— while I cook.”
“Yeah,” Wei Ying says, voice already softer, brighter. Oh, perhaps indulgence will be easy after all. Lan Zhan cups his chin and he looks even warmer. So happy at the idea, which is such a simple one.
Lan Zhan will fucking improvise for three hours if that’s what it takes to get this right.
They go together into the kitchen. The house is brighter here, smaller, the ceilings a normal height. Land Zhan idly closes the blinds while Wei Ying laughs and pretends to wave to the joggers on the footpath, who cannot see into the house easily. Probably.
Inside the kitchen door is a hook that holds a calendar and two aprons and a fly-swatter and what looks like a New Years decoration he never took down. He takes down both aprons. One goes over the counters, which will just have to be bleached again a little ahead of schedule.
“Bend over the counter,” Lan Zhan says. The apron is arranged so Wei Ying is not hitting his dick on the cupboards. He opens the fridge. Out of the corner of his eye, Wei Ying cups his dick warily. Even with the apron he’ll have to hold his hips a little away from the lip of the tile.
“Go,” Lan Zhan says, closing the fridge. “Are you hungry?”
Just regular hungry. Feeding kink wasn’t listed. Lan Zhan wonders if he can ask for that, and then remembers that that is not what this arrangement is about. He breathes.
Wei Ying is taking his time. Lan Zhan plants a hand along his spine and presses slowly but sternly down. Wei Ying yelps. He tucks his face to the side easily enough though. He nuzzles the cool tile of Lan Zhan’s counters.
His eyes crack open. “I still— something in me.”
Asking over text was probably easier. Lan Zhan remembers, feverish, how much he had wanted to be full.
Lan Zhan thinks first of a finger, or something. He thinks of Wei Ying losing steam on the dining table with the very reasonably sized purple dildo.
He thinks about how things that should be easy are so hard.
“A pear?” Lan Zhan says, mild, putting a little bowl of cut pear in front of Wei Ying. It was what was already in the fridge.
“Lan Zhan—”
Lan Zhan pinches his thigh, finally. Wei Ying gasps. Lan Zhan was going to let go but does not yet, waits. Wei Ying’s forehead comes to rest on the tile. His hips are shifting and he’s having to force himself not to grind into the hard cupboards behind the thin layer of apron.
“Eat one slice of pear.” Lan Zhan lets go of his thigh. Wei Ying gasps. Lan Zhan nudges the bowl a little closer to Wei Ying’s face and takes a few steps back out into the formal dining room. He ignores the dildos on the table and the little puddle of lube and goes into the wine cabinet.
Back in the kitchen, Wei Ying has one slice of pear gripped in his teeth. He has bitten it right out of the bowl. Lan Zhan leans around him and taps the end of the pear slice sticking out of Wei Ying’s mouth.
“In,” he says. Wei Ying looks up at him. Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow and pushes a little on the pear slice. Wei Ying sucks it in in one gulp. “Don’t choke,” Lan Zhan says, amused. Wei Ying chews noisily at him.
Lan Zhan waits till he’s swallowed before putting the new dildo on the counter next to the fruit bowl. In case he really does choke.
Wei Ying just stares, maybe hypnotized, at the largest, pinkest dildo Lan Zhan owns. It is swaying gently where Lan Zhan placed it upright, balanced on its gargantuan fake pink balls.
The thing about this ridiculous dildo is that it’s really too big and too flexible to be good for fucking, if you can get it in; it’s quite squishy, and Lan Zhan uses it sometimes for people who get off by letting him slap them in the face with it.
“You’ve had a snack. Before I start cooking I need two things: I want to watch you show me how bad you are at fucking yourself, and then I need to fetch something from the laundry room. Try to put this in yourself.” Whether or not he can get it in doesn’t matter. Lan Zhan just wants to see him try.
Lan Zhan lays the second apron on the floor, to catch lube drips. Wei Ying steps on it as Lan Zhan leans down and lifts each of his feet delicately to push the apron under him.
“How far— ah— how far is the laundry room?” Wei Ying asks. His dick is filling rapidly; Lan Zhan can see this clearly when he is crouched at Wei Ying’s feet. He shivers.
Lan Zhan stands up and picks up the bowl of pears in one hand and twists his other hand in Wei Ying’s hair, pulling it into a single twist that Lan Zhan can grip at the back of Wei Ying’s skull. He doesn’t pull very hard, just lets the pressure speak for him.
“I will show you,” Lan Zhan says drily. “Do you need help putting it in?”
“N-no,” Wei Ying says. He’s mouth-breathing.
“Do it with me right here, I want to see it. If you get it in, you can come with me to the laundry room.”
“Yeah,” Wei Ying breathes, even though the laundry room hardly sounds like a treat, and scoots his feet and the apron back on the linoleum so he can bend over further, just his hands braced on the counter. His hands scramble on the big pink dildo, and instead of putting it down to open and pour lube into his hand he holds it between his knees. Lan Zhan’s breath catches. He wants to— to bite him. Make him drop it. Make him pick it up, complaining.
The thing about things that are easy is that sometimes this makes them impossible. The thing about things that are impossible is that they are easier. Wei Ying did not like the shallow end of the pool.
Wei Ying pants and lubes the dildo and fingers himself a little. It’s already easier than anything on the dining table. The room smells like pears and silicon. The blinds clack.
Wei Ying leans down even further and twists his hips to open them up a bit. “Are you watching?” he breathes, and nudges the giant pink dildo against his hole, letting it skid away. Again, twice. “Don’t you want to make me do it right?”
“Do it right,” Lan Zhan says, from deep in his chest, not thinking. He’s begging; he’s ordering.
“There’s no way I can,” Wei Ying says. “You know I can’t.” His hands become clever again instead of clumsy. Lan Zhan’s brain has not restarted. He is just there, in his kitchen, watching Wei Ying work the tip into himself, sighing — no, breathing out to make himself relax further.
“Oh no,” Wei Ying pants. “It’s actually going in, Lan Zhan— you said I wouldn’t be able to get it in.” It is, it really is. The easy option was impossible; the giant pink face-slapping dildo is forcing his ass open, slow. Lan Zhan watches his ass stretch around its widest girth, then try to pinch closed on a smaller part of the toy, but it’s all thick shaft.
“You are going to walk with it in you to the laundry room with me,” Lan Zhan says, his teeth buzzing, his cock hard in his trousers. “You will want to push it further in,” he adds.
“Shit! Shit, nng,” Wei Ying says. “There’s so much of it, though. Even if it slips a little, I’ve got like five inches in me.”
Not a bad estimate. The thrust depth, minus the flared base with its big pink faux balls, is [eight] inches [check the specs on Outlaw]. “Yes,” Lan Zhan says. “And you will need more.”
Wei Ying twists his head to stare back at Lan Zhan as he pushes the dildo in, deeper. His legs shake once, hard, but he does not stop. His eyelashes flutter; he does not break eye contact with Lan Zhan for a long moment. Then he lets out a big shuddering sigh, his body surrendering to its new situation. His belly gets softer when he relaxes. They do not know each other well enough for Lan Zhan to palm it affectionately, but he likes it very much. Wei Ying says, on the end of his sigh,“Ahh, why do you even have something this big, gege? People buy this shit to--to leave out to impress their hookup or whatever, not to use.”
They’ve been speaking almost entirely English since Wei Ying arrived; to say this he has switched to Mandarin. Lan Zhan did not actually know the slang for hookup until just now. Last time — when they met, in the roses — it was playful, pressing. In retrospect it had not been a test Lan Zhan would have failed by speaking his father’s language badly, but just Wei Ying on the offensive, figuring a new puzzle out. This is not like that. He does not know what this is like. With his father and his uncle he spoke Mandarin at home; with his mother he spoke only English, even when she could not think of a word. She would make them up, sometimes. A whole secret language: words for microwave and for dish towel and for pasta strainers.
Lan Zhan wrenches himself out of the past. He loves to live in his mother’s house, but he does not want Wei Ying to ask why he went distant.
Also, the pink dildo is as close as silicon-balls-deep in Wei Ying now as it is ever reasonably going to get. Wei Ying pants and shifts around it, arching back. Lan Zhan steps close and says, “Good boy. Take my arm.”
One of Wei Ying’s hands paws gracelessly at Lan Zhan’s forearm. Lan Zhan catches his hand in his own, and helps him straighten up like he is a precious thing. Wei Ying groans and sways and doesn’t get entirely upright, the long heft of the dildo inside of him, its big pink balls brushing his thighs. He has to put a hand on it the first time but then he is able to keep it slipping out, lips pursed in concentration.
“Go on,” Lan Zhan whispers, mouth thick with longing. He lets Wei Ying keep his grip on Lan Zhan’s forearm, like a gentleman leading someone through a room, only Wei Ying is naked and starting to sweat and has Lan Zhan’s biggest squishy pink dildo up his ass. Wei Ying’s grip is light. Lan Zhan wonders if this will be too easy. Wei Ying takes a step and — ah, this will not be too easy. A stumble, and the noise he makes — Lan Zhan won’t find it easy, either.
Wei Ying manages two and a half stumbling steps before he is doubling over, gasping, and clinging on to Lan Zhan’s arm to stay upright. If Lan Zhan were not supporting him, perhaps he would have tried to go farther, perhaps he would have gotten through the doorway to the kitchen before he collapsed on the linoleum, unable to walk. Lan Zhan would like to work him up to that. Lan Zhan wants Wei Ying to be so overwhelmed that he falls to the floor and feels wanted and wanted and wanted all the way down, even with his face pressed to linoleum, even with his ass in the air, straining to take the dildo. He should still feel Lan Zhan’s desire pouring over him.
As it is, this is so good. Wei Ying is breathing fast, is looking daunted but not lost. He knows what he needs to do; he knows Lan Zhan will not ignore him.
“Oh,” Wei Ying gasps, “Fuck, this is impossible, Zhan’er.”
“You are only trying to walk to the laundry room, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying makes a little high noise and takes another shaky step.
“It’s so big,” Wei Ying gasps out. “Fuck, I can feel it. I can’t even walk right, gege, are you seeing — hnng — are you seeing this.”
“You have made it to the steps,” Lan Zhan says, dryly congratulatory.
“Fuck!” Wei Ying says, so high and sharp that Lan Zhan wonders if they have hit a tipping point, but no, Wei Ying takes another step. He is shaking. Lan Zhan is shaking too from how much he wants him, how much he likes this.
“God, you have to help me,” Wei Ying whines. Fuck, he’s getting so worked up from this. It’s like Lan Zhan finally found the right little angle and he’s opening up beautifully, so good Lan Zhan can’t even look directly at him all at once. Lan Zhan tries not to pant, too. He breathes through his nose. He looks over his shoulder at Wei Ying’s ass, where Wei Ying is still half bent-over as he tries to stumble forwards. The dildo has slipped out maybe a centimeter; it’s big fake balls are prodding Wei Ying’s thighs as he walks. Wei Ying’s other hand is slung around his lower belly as he shuffles his way across the kitchen, face flushed, his little brown nipples hard. He notices Lan Zhan looking and moans, loud.
“Fuck,” he says. “Fuck, fuck. I can feel it in me. It’s slipping just a little. Lan Zhan, help me get there.”
Lan Zhan goes to take his arm again. Wei Ying moans and must accidentally clench; the dildo slips out another centimeter. They are on the two steps down to the den. The laundry room is only six feet away, really. The washer and dryer are in the linen closet in the hall off the den.
“It is slipping,” says Lan Zhan. Wei Ying whines and clamps his hand harder around Lan Zhan’s forearm, leans more heavily. He’s stopped, eyeing the steps.
“Lan Zhan,” he pants, forehead against Lan Zhan’s bicep. “Can I please — can I push it back in?”
Lan Zhan thinks about it. If Wei Ying had asked Lan Zhan to push the dildo back in for him, Lan Zhan had been half-thinking that he would make Wei Ying do it to himself. But Wei Ying asked to do it himself; maybe a bargain to be able to get away with it.
“No,” says Lan Zhan. “I will do it.”
Wei Ying shivers, and — spreads his legs a little. As if to give Lan Zhan access.
Lan Zhan wants to grab the dildo by its ridiculous pink balls and shove it hard into Wei Ying, hard enough to make him stumble, hard enough that it would hurt, a little. And keep it there, grinding it in, until they hit a real tipping point. Maybe if Wei Ying were more carefully stretched.
Instead he says, “On your knees.” Wei Ying jolts, surprised. The dildo slips another centimeter, and now the weight of the flared base and the shorter length inside Wei Ying must make it tip up and press, hard, against Wei Ying. Maybe not his prostate exactly, too deep and too big, but good enough. He cries out and Lan Zhan has to press his shoulder down to keep him focused, to send him to the floor at Lan Zhan’s feet.
Wei Ying kneels, hands twitching like he wants to reach back. “On your forearms too,” says Lan Zhan. They are on the parquet floor, where Zixuan kneeled earlier this week. This is very different. Lan Zhan’s heartbeat is thudding in his jaw, his hands.
“Oh,” Wei Ying whispers, and then he’s done it: positioned himself on Lan Zhan’s clean wood floors on his forearms and knees, ass in the air with a big pink dildo waving ridiculously from it. Lan Zhan kneels down too, quickly, not giving Wei Ying a chance to feel anything but nicely crowded. He touches Wei Ying’s thigh first. Wei Ying whines and sways into it until Lan Zhan snaps, “Stay still,” and grabs his hip. He shivers and tries to move again. Lan Zhan takes hold of the end of the dildo, lube-sticky, with his other hand and presses it in a centimeter.
Wei Ying stops trying to move and starts trying to gasp. His face is turned towards Lan Zhan, his eyes dark and desperate and intent, the way Lan Zhan feels dark and desperate and intent. It was only a centimeter. He’s so desperate for it. Who has been fucking him so poorly that he is still so desperate for it?
“I’m putting it back in, now,” Lan Zhan says. The rest goes slowly, slowly. He presses it deep into Wei Ying, and this time gets to feel the press and give of Wei Ying’s body around it.
“Stand up,” he says, once he’s finished, trying not to look like he feels like he just had a religious experience. Wei Ying trembles and shakes his head. Lan Zhan blinks, hard, tries to clear his thoughts, unclench his jaw. Before he can do anything else, Wei Ying makes to stand. Lan Zhan helps him up, one arm hauling him to his feet, the other with two fingers on the dildo’s base. A little mercy, to keep it in tight and deep while Wei Ying straightens.
Wei Ying moans, slumps against Lan Zhan. But he’s the one who takes the first step forward. Lan Zhan does not want to make him lead. He takes two swift steps and pulls Wei Ying along in his wake, huddling naked and so hard against his side.
“Hurry,” Wei Ying whispers. “Hurry, I can’t keep it in.”
They’re crossing the corner of the den towards the hall to the downstairs bathroom. Lan Zhan, obligingly, hustles him faster. Wei Ying whines, shuffles across the sun-warm parquet flooring. The den faces full west, but Lan Zhan has closed the blinds on the sliding glass doors. Everything is dull warm with flashes of bright white sunlight sneaking through.
They make it into the laundry room hallway. Wei Ying is gasping. The dildo has stayed in, but Wei Ying’s own cock is swaying, now, jutting out hard and wet and lewd in front of him. With his free hand, Lan Zhan pulls open the closet doors that hide the laundry.
“Oh thank god,” Wei Ying whispers. “Will you fuck me with it for real, now? Don’t you want to? I’ll get on the floor again, Lan Zhan, I’ll—”
“Good job,” Lan Zhan says, shaky, against Wei Ying’s temple, because it bears saying. Wei Ying shuts up for a moment when he hears it. There is just fast breathing, a body moving against Lan Zhan’s. “Turn and put your hands on the wall.”
There is an obvious pause where Wei Ying decides to push. He says, “Don’t you wanna—” and Lan Zhan gratefully takes the opening to grab his wrists and push them against the wall. He lets himself squeeze, once. He lets himself make it hard, lets himself use the strength that lives in his fingers, in his hands. Wei Ying just cries out, cock jumping. The dildo slips but Lan Zhan lets Wei Ying go to catch it, and doesn’t hesitate to grind it back in. Wei Ying, hands braced high on the wall, says, “Ahh--ahh.”
Greed sits buzzing in Lan Zhan’s teeth.
Lan Zhan says, “I am going to take the dildo out, on the count of three.” Then he says, “One,” and fucks the dildo up into Wei Ying sharply. Wei Ying jumps, moans. “Two,” says Lan Zhan, doing it again. “Three,” and a final time, and Wei Ying’s knees shake. He eases the dildo all the way out this time, careful around Wei Ying’s fluttering rim.
“Good job,” he says again. “Good boy, good boy. Turn around.”
Wei Ying moans and does it, eyes glazed. Lan Zhan places the dildo, balanced neatly on its balls, on the closed lid of the washer. He purses his lips and — lifting people is about using your legs and otherwise not overthinking it — lifts Wei Ying with Lan Zhan’s arms around his upper thighs and deposits him on top of the rumbling dryer.
“Sit there,” he says. Wei Ying blinks at him, hands braced on the edge of the dryer.
“Um,” says Wei Ying. He coughs. Maybe his mouth is dry; they will get water. “I’m getting lube all over your dryer?”
“I want lube all over my dryer,” Lan Zhan tells him desperately. He has rarely meant a thing more.
Wei Ying looks at him, wide-eyed. “Spread your legs,” Lan Zhan tells him, only a little because he needs him to. He is greedy for it. Wei Ying shudders and does so, his cock bobbing, his balls softly trembling with the movement of the dryer. Lan Zhan bites his own lip savagely. He takes one of Wei Ying’s ankles and moves it further to the side. Then he crouches down and — as Wei Ying’s eyes flutter shut — pops open the dryer door.
“Hywah?” Wei Ying says. “You’re— you’re gonna do laundry while I’m here, um. Here spreading my legs for you?” His voice peters off weakly at the end of the sentence. His face is even more flushed.
“No,” Lan Zhan says, pulling his softest bathrobe out of the dryer, warm and soft. He closes the door again and the dryer rumbles back to life. “You are going to help me cook.” The bathrobe is white, fluffy, with something faux-fur-ish going on around the cuffs and collars. It came from some resort stay, somewhere, Lan Zhan does not remember. A family vacation.
Lan Zhan lifts him off the dryer and sets him down on his feet, wraps the dryer-hot robe tight around him, does up the belt. Lan Zhan puts a hand on his back and says, “Alright, now you will entertain me while I cook.”
Wei Ying shivers, but he is not cold, this time. They walk back to the kitchen, quickly this time. Lan Zhan could make Wei Ying crawl but he wants to crowd him, wants Wei Ying to feel crowded, manhandled. Wants to be the one to do it. The hand on Wei Ying’s waist goes to Wei Ying’s hair. It’s back in a ponytail, a tiny one. Cute, but Lan Zhan takes it down, lets it brush Wei Ying’s shoulders. Wei Ying makes a little noise, then pants when Lan Zhan makes a fist in Wei Ying’s hair, tugging him a long a little. He nearly trips on the step up to the kitchen. Lan Zhan grabs his arms, move them behind his back. Wei Ying tests his grip right away when Lan Zhan gets both wrists in one hand. Lan Zhan squeezes, hard.
There they are in the warm kitchen sunlight again. Lan Zhan says, “Kneel here,” and pulls Wei Ying down by the wrists even as Wei Ying goes. Wei Ying’s thighs are splayed wide where he kneels, his hard cock jutting up wet and obscene from the parting of the bathrobe. Wei Ying looks down at it, flushing.
“Needy,” Lan Zhan says, letting go of Wei Ying’s wrists and petting Wei Ying’s hair. He presses two fingers against Wei Ying’s lips. “Suck, needy boy.” Wei Ying moans and does it, his bare cock jerking. A bead of precome forms at the tip and slides down. Lan Zhan fucks his fingers in harder, harder. He can feel the wanting in his own throat. Wei Ying just moans more, takes it. He does not need softness here, just a certain kind of roughness, a certain kind. Lan Zhan puts his other hand in Wei Ying’s hair again, tugs, and says, “That’s enough. Wait here, I will be right back.”
Wei Ying nods, serene there on the floor, eyes glazed. Spit is on his chin.
“Hands behind you,” Lan Zhan tells him. Wei Ying does it, squirming.
Lan Zhan does try to be quick; it’s barely a few steps to the dining room to grab the first dildo Wei Ying had tried, the more normally sized purple one, not quite so phallic but armed with a very sturdy suction cup, and a pair of light leather cuffs from the wine cabinet.
He puts both in one of the discarded drawstring bags still on the dining table, and goes back into the kitchen.
Wei Ying is touching his dick, just rubbing the tip, thumbing the slit. Eyes open, looking at Lan Zhan. Lan Zhan raises an eyebrow and does not hurry, steps up to and then past Wei Ying to place the bag on the counter.
“Brat,” he says, and sinks a hand in Wei Ying’s hair, tugs him forwards so Wei Ying has to take his hand off his dick to catch himself to keep from faceplanting into the linoleum. Wei Ying nervous-laughs and moans on the same breath; both a noise of release. He’s on his hands and knees on Lan Zhan’s kitchen floor, in Lan Zhan’s warm bathrobe. Lan Zhan flips up the skirt of the bathrobe. Wei Ying’s ass is still smeared with lube, his hole still wet and a little looser. Nothing looks hurt; his asshole is flushed dark and Lan Zhan should check if he has any little tears. After
Wei Ying had said what we talked about and in whatever order. So Lan Zhan finally, finally smacks him — hard across the ass. His own cock throbs harder than his hand when he makes contact. Fuck, fuck, he likes this so much. He gives himself two more, gives Wei Ying two more. He flips the bathrobe back down as Wei Ying gasps and shakes.
“Oh god,” he’s whispering, high pitched. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, it stings.”
“It’s supposed to,” Lan Zhan breathes. His own hand stings, he knows it stings. He thinks of Wei Ying over the phone, tugging on his balls. “Kneel back down. Hands out in front of you.”
Wei Ying does it, squirming as his ass hits his heels. It was not much; it was only a sting. Watching him revel in it, squirm towards it and away from it, is so much though, so much. Lan Zhan takes his wrists and quickly straps on the cuffs. They are not his bulkiest pair; the bedroom is better set up for that, but he likes the leather, likes them well enough. He tightens them, closes the quick-release snaps. Instead of hooking the metal clasps onto the little o-ring, Lan Zhan uses the strap attachment, a tough cord also covered in leather. He clips it to each o-ring on each wrist. Wei Ying can hold his hands about six inches apart. Lan Zhan can grab the strap between, which he does. Twists it around his wrist and drags Wei Ying with him as he reaches for the drawstring bag again, for the next thing.
He pulls out the purple dildo and holds it to Wei Ying’s face, his lips. “Suck,” he says. Wei Ying scowls up at him and Lan Zhan does what he’s been asked to do, takes Wei Ying’s jaw and presses hard on the hinge of it till Wei Ying gasps and flinches and his mouth falls open. Lan Zhan fucks the dildo in and Wei Ying sucks it, greedy now that he’s had a chance to resist, greedy now that he’s been forced to do it. Saliva drips down his chin again. Lan Zhan pulls it out, swift. Wei Ying moans and chases the dildo and Lan Zhan smacks his cheek with it lightly, a warning. Wei Ying’s eyes flutter and he moans, swaying. Ah.
Lan Zhan lowers the strap of the cuffs and then lets go, lets Wei Ying get back on his knees and forearms.
Lan Zhan plants the suction cup of the purple dildo on the cabinet door. He said Wei Ying could entertain him while he cooks; it doesn’t have to be so literal but still, he likes the idea. He’s trying to think of something to do for dinner that does not involve chopping too many vegetables. He doesn’t know, he doesn’t know. He likes the game but does not care about food just now.
Wei Ying is wrapped in the warm bathrobe, eyes hooded, mouth parted. Lan Zhan can see his tongue. Lan Zhan flips up the skirt of of the bathrobe again, palms Wei Ying’s ass. Wei Ying flinches away from it, flinches into it.
Lan Zhan kneels next him, tests the grip of the dildo. It holds nicely. He puts his hand in Wei Ying’s hair and tugs him backwards, makes him shuffle back on knees and his forearms, wrists still cuffed right where he can see them.
The dildo rubs up against Wei Ying’s ass, obscene. Wei Ying jolts. He probably guessed what Lan Zhan was doing behind him but he has not been able to see the dildo. He twists around to look now, wide-eyed, shock-mouthed. Lan Zhan dribbles more lube on Wei Ying’s hole but leaves the dildo wet with only Wei Ying’s spit.
“Aren’t you glad you drooled all over it?” Lan Zhan asks him.
Wei Ying’s head drops down between his shoulders and he shudders. Lan Zhan scoots his robe up a little bit more, so Lan Zhan can clearly see his dick. Hard, wet. Lube has dribbled down from his ass to drip along his balls. Soon it might drip down the shaft of his dick.
“Here you go,” Lan Zhan says, teasing the tip of the dildo against Wei Ying’s hole. “To keep you full while I cook, baby.”
Wei Ying shudders again, fists clenching. “Oh fuck,” he breathes, “Oh fuck, please, I need it.”
“Hm,” Lan Zhan says.
Lan Zhan makes him squirm for a minute, uses the flex of the dildo to brush it hard against Wei Ying’s hole but not let him take it inside. Wei Ying finally gasps and says, in a rush, “I need to be full, I gotta. Just keep me like this in your kitchen, please, please.”
Lan Zhan hums and holds the dildo steady. Wei Ying fucks himself back onto it so hard that he hits Lan Zhan’s fingers. Lan Zhan sits back, in front of Wei Ying. A hand in Wei Ying’s hair, Wei Ying’s glassy eyes meeting his. “Just keep it in you, baby,” Lan Zhan says softly. His hands cup Wei Ying’s face. “Stay still and keep it in you, good boy.”
Wei Ying moans and spreads his knees a little. He’s shaking, he’s sweating. Lan Zhan always hated sweating until he discovered sex, and now he loves it. “Fuck!” he says, loud in Lan Zhan’s big house, in Lan Zhan’s kitchen. “It hurts, it hurts.”
“Are you telling me to pause?” Lan Zhan asks.
“No,” Wei Ying whispers. He looks straight into Lan Zhan’s eyes. “I’m telling you it hurts.” Their gazes hold. Lan Zhan’s world swims. He grips his cock in his trousers for just a second, but Wei Ying sees. Wei Ying’s eyes roll back. He twitches like he wants to fuck onto the dildo, but he stays still. Lan Zhan is breathing open-mouthed too, now.
Lan Zhan’s brain unclouds for a brief, shining moment and he remembers that he is soaking shiitake mushrooms in the soup pan on his stove. They should be ready to take out and trim the stems. There; he’ll use kitchen scissors instead of the cleaver and it will be something approaching passably safe.
He gets up and takes the whole soup pot and places it in his sink, where Wei Ying is on his hands and knees. He reaches down and pets Wei Ying’s hair. Wei Ying chokes and tries to chase his hand, mouth open. He catches Lan Zhan’s thumb and sucks and Lan Zhan does make a sound, involuntary. His mouth is so soft. He is grinding a little back on the dildo. If he does too much he really will make it hurt too badly; the big dildo was more than enough.
“Stay still,” Lan Zhan says.
Lan Zhan takes the kitchen scissors out of the drying rack, and pulls out a shiitake, and snips the first mushroom stem. They pass a few quiet minutes that way, with Lan Zhan snipping stems and occasionally petting Wei Ying’s hair. The sun is lowering, golden. Less smoke in the air today.
Wei Ying moans and uses the slack in the strap between his wrist cuffs to struggle up from his forearms to brace himself on both hands — on Lan Zhan’s foot, ow — and bury his face in Lan Zhan’s thigh. His little hot mouth is sucking frantically at Lan Zhan’s trouser leg, fabric going damp. Lan Zhan is so turned on he is lightheaded. He puts the scissors down in self-defense. Maybe he can just tear off the last of the mushroom stems. Fuck, fuck.
“I can’t give you my fingers,” Lan Zhan tells him, stern. “I’m cooking. It would be unsanitary.”
He watches as Wei Ying tries to balance between the dildo in his ass, his bound hands braced and Lan Zhan’s foot, and his mouth on Lan Zhan’s trousers. The cabinet door creaks. Wei Ying strains upwards and puts his mouth over the crotch of Lan Zhan’s trousers.
Lan Zhan is not going to survive this.
“Do you—” Wei Ying whispers to Lan Zhan’s hard, hard cock. “Lan Zhan, would you…?”
There is a roaring in Lan Zhan’s ears.
Lan Zhan has condoms in his pocket with no actual intention to use them for this particular scene. He was going to use toys. He was going to fill Wei Ying a dozen little ways. He still will, he promises himself, he still will if Wei Ying wants to do something like this again, but not until —
“Be patient if you want it,” Lan Zhan says. Fuck, his voice is too low, too rough, too affected. Wei Ying just moans, noses at his thigh again, suckles at his dark wash jeans. “I can,” Wei Ying says, “I can, I can be patient, help me be patient Lan Zhan, I— I — I—!”
“Pull off the dildo, Wei Ying,” Lan Zhan says, because he cannot be this unbalanced and risk falling over with it still in him. The suction cup would probably just come off the cabinet, but it could bruise him.
We Ying moans but does it with surprisingly little complaint. Instead he focuses, apparently, on gripping Lan Zhan’s jeans between his teeth even as Lan Zhan unzips his fly, hasty, violent. Lan Zhan wonders if Wei Ying is coming unplanned by both of them but no, it doesn’t seem like it. He would be able to see, anyway. The come would splatter on his kitchen floor. Lan Zhan gasps as he pulls his cock out.
Wei Ying looks up at his cock. “Too big,” Wei Ying murmurs, “Too big, you’ll break me, hahhh, you’ll really—”
It’s ridiculous after the pink dildo situation. It doesn’t matter.
Lan Zhan rolls the condom over his cock, tightens his lips. He has learned to enjoy it, the feeling. It is one of the little rituals to sex, to putting his body in someone else’s. Now it is part of the anticipation. The little extra tightness of it at the base of his hard cock, the way it presses gently at the soft skin of his balls. Lan Zhan buys mostly anal condoms, plain and sturdy. Not perfect for blowjobs, but it will work.
“Open for me,” Lan Zhan whispers. His heart is beating so hard. And then he gently feeds Wei Ying his dick. They shake together, Lan Zhan hissing out a breath between his teeth. “Good,” he grinds out, “Yes, good boy.”
Wei Ying moans, and this time it is around Lan Zhan’s cock. Lan Zhan breathes deeply, focuses on Wei Ying. The dizziness fades. The kitchen settles back around him, existing, warm and familiar. Wei Ying is having a little trouble getting his mouth onto Lan Zhan’s cock and still grinding back on the dildo; Lan Zhan obligingly steps closer, lets him fill himself on Lan Zhan. He can drink and drink; Lan Zhan has oceans of this. Wei Ying moans. Lan Zhan thrusts forward, presses his cock in, presses Wei YIng back against the counters. Wei Ying’s cuffed hands scramble at the hem of Lan Zhan’s trousers. Lan Zhan eases them into something which can be kept up, a slower rhythm.
Still, Wei Ying is panting harshly through his nose. Lan Zhan carefully, carefully frees his hands and cuts a few more stems off mushrooms, very slowly, and watches. Grinds his cock into Wei Ying’s mouth; stops, pulls Wei Ying off to make him breathe gasping breaths and to tell him, “Good job.”
Wei Ying says, hoarse, “Is it good, Lan Zhan, does it feel good, do I feel good?”
“Yes,” Lan Zhan bites out, both hands framing Wei Ying’s face, pulling him back to Lan Zhan’s dick, “Yes, you feel good. You feel so good, Wei Ying.”
Wei Ying moans and slides off Lan Zhan’s dick with a little pop; Lan Zhan doesn’t immediately force him back, waits to see what he will do. He shuffles closer, stumbles trying to kneel up and brace himself against Lan Zhan’s legs, mouthing at Lan Zhan’s shaft. Lan Zhan grabs the cord between his wrist cuffs and pulls up, both surprising Wei Ying and keeping him upright.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers, “I--I—”
Lan Zhan guides his head back to Lan Zhan’s cock. Wei Ying whines and shuffles closer, closer, till he’s plastered up against Lan Zhan’s legs. There — his cock, which he’s rutting desperately against Lan Zhan’s leg. When Lan Zhan gasps and pulls Wei Ying off Lan Zhan’s cock he whispers, “Lan Zhan please, please, oh god. I won’t get in the way, you can keep cooking, I can just. Just.”
“You want to grind on my leg?” Lan Zhan says.
“I’m gonna,” Wei Ying pants, “Oh fuck, I can’t help it I’m gonna come like this on your kitchen floor, I’m gonna.”
“We didn’t plan on you coming,” Lan Zhan says. Wei Ying tips his head back, whines, humps Lan Zhan’s leg harder.
Lan Zhan holds his head back, pulls off the condom, and slaps Wei Ying’s cheek with his dick. Wei Ying’s eyes roll back; he moans and buries his face in Lan Zhan’s hip, probably right against the zipper of his undone jeans. He’s really going for it now, not trying to be subtle, not trying to be elegant. It is hard to be suave about humping a man’s calf. The bathrobe is untied now, in disarray, and Wei Ying is fucking up hard, faster, grinding his cock against the soft bathrobe and Lan Zhan’s jeans. It probably hurts. He probably likes it.
Fuck, Lan Zhan thinks savagely. Fuck.
“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying says, “Lan Zhan I can’t stop, I can’t stop, I— ahh, ahhh!” He breaks off and Lan Zhan thinks perhaps he will try to hold his breath again, but he cannot do that either, it seems. Lan Zhan, in some insane impulse, slips a knuckle of his finger into Wei Ying’s mouth, between his teeth. Wei Ying obligingly bites down on Lan Zhan’s knuckle and screams through a clenched jaw as he comes. It splatters over the bathrobe, the floor. Wei Ying shudders a few times then collapses against Lan Zhan.
He just breathes, hard, and clings. “Wha—” he mumbles. “The fuck.”
Lan Zhan kneels down and quickly unclips the cord between Wei Ying’s cuffs. Wei Ying pants for another moment then sways into Lan Zhan. It’s so different than before; they are touching again. The bathrobe is nearly off one shoulder. Lan Zhan reaches up to fix it, reflexively. Wei Ying puts both hands on Lan Zhan’s shoulders, cuff strap dangling from his right wrist. He is shaking, flushed, intent. He looks Lan Zhan in the eyes and says, more clearly than he has spoken in half an hour, urgent, “I know we didn’t plan for it for another couple sessions, but Lan Zhan, would you be able to fuck me?”
Something in Lan Zhan surges towards him. Lan Zhan looks down at Wei Ying’s teeth marks in his knuckle. Marks from toys or bodies were on Wei Ying’s good list. So was, in fairness, being fucked.
Lan Zhan, for a moment, cannot talk. He tries and he cannot. He holds up two fingers.
“Yeah,” Wei Ying breathes. “That works, Zhan’er. I can’t — I won’t be able to calm down till you’ve fucked me.” Lan Zhan thinks about Wei Ying alone on the dining table, untouched at the party, alone in his bed texting someone because he wanted so badly to be full.
Words are nearly back, but not quite yet. Lan Zhan hoists Wei Ying up again, onto the white tile, the neatly bleached grout. Wei Ying laughs, shaking from the orgasm he hadn’t really expected or been ready for. Something in Lan Zhan unknots. Wei Ying on the counter is not like Wei Ying on the dining table. Wei Ying is balanced between his sink and his keurig, spreading his legs. Lan Zhan ducks down and presses his face there, breathing between Wei Ying’s thighs. Drags his face up and down them as Wei Ying shakes, kisses his thighs, brushes with his fingers Wei Ying’s hole, his balls, his soft cock. Wei Ying pants, overstimulated. He wraps his legs around Lan Zhan’s shoulders, tugs almost shyly even with his head thrown back and his own semen all over his stomach and Lan Zhan’s bathrobe. Lan Zhan slicks up two fingers and touches where Wei Ying is ready for him. He wants to laugh; he has big hands but he absolutely started Wei Ying on something hilariously, monstrously bigger. He did not set himself up well for this at all. Yet when he thrusts two fingers in Wei Ying cries out, Wei Ying says, “Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan, finally. Take it, take what you need from me, please, ahh— please!”
And Lan Zhan rocks foreward, fucks Wei Ying on the kitchen counter. The mushrooms are still in the soup pot in the sink, right next to Wei Ying. The sunlight through the smoke is red gold and Wei Ying is bathed in it like he is standing under stained glass, or in a bright room done up in red silk. Lan Zhan’s fingers are in Wei Ying, not his cock, which is tucked messily back into his trousers. He shoves his other hand down them. He is supposed to be giving a piano lesson right now.
But Wei Ying is beginning to cry, and it looks different than a line of text from Wei Ying saying “I might cry”. Lots of people cry, but it hasn’t been like this. Wei Ying isn’t going to come again, but he wants the sex, he wants it. Lan Zhan tugs his own cock with his left hand, so turned on his ears are ringing and his face is numb. Wei Ying is begging for him to come as if it’s Lan Zhan’s dick that’s in him, tears on his cheeks, overwhelmed next to soaking mushrooms, next to the keurig. Lan Zhan thinks perhaps Wei Ying likes it, likes being worked into the fabric of Lan Zhan’s kitchen. There is the paper towel roll, there is the sink, there is Wei Ying getting reamed on two fingers, there is the keurig. Rice cooker, kettle, discarded condom on the floor.
It is something. It is a thought.
Lan Zhan bites his own lip hard as he comes, filled up with it. Wei Ying slams his head back, moaning and soft, and Lan Zhan barely manages to get his hand up in time but he does cup it between Wei Ying and the window, lets Wei Ying smash his head into Lan Zhan’s palm and grind Lan Zhan’s knuckles against the blinds, which may be broken now, Lan Zhan doesn’t know. He’s come and it’s peaking again, a phantom second arc of pleasure through him. Another spurt of come in his hand. He pants, raggedly, into the air above Wei Ying, which is the safest air in the kitchen to breathe.
Wei Ying is whispering, “Yeah, yes, yes,yes—yes,” and he is not going to come again, Lan Zhan does not think, but the crying is something like that. A release for Lan Zhan to work him through. Lan Zhan gently pulls his fingers out with a little goodbye wiggle that makes Wei Ying jump and then take his first good, deep breath. First, Lan Zhan leans over a few inches from Wei Ying and runs the sink. He washes both his hands. One is covered in his own come, the other was bare in Wei Ying’s asshole. He uses dish detergent. Wei Ying mumbles when a little spray catches him. Then, slowly, he takes Wei Ying’s shaking thighs from around his waist and sets them down on the counter, stroking each one. Wei Ying cannot even hold his legs up around Lan Zhan’s waist anymore. He strokes both thighs again, grateful, painfully grateful for all of Wei Ying. Strokes his shivering ribs and his bony, hairy ankles and wraps the bathrobe tighter around his chest. Then, thoughtfully, he tucks his little finger of the Wei-Ying’s-ass hand back into Wei Ying’s ass, just for a bit.
“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispers into Lan Zhan’s shoulder after Lan Zhan presses his face there briefly to massage his neck with his clean hand. “Oh. Oh you like. Took good care of me.”
“Hmm,” Lan Zhan responds, acknowledging Wei Ying. He feels there is room for improvement. He feels good, though. Warm, tired. Ahead on tomorrow’s dinner prep, hilariously. His kitchen blinds are definitely broken. Wei Ying in his arms like this is distracting, Wei Ying around one finger, still. When Wei Ying shifts, Lan Zhan is the one who makes an involuntary noise. He felt Wei Ying tighten around his pinky.
“Ahh,” Wei Ying says. “Ah, you stayed in me, you even stayed in me?” He sniffles and Lan Zhan smiles at him a little, cannot quite help it. He crooks his finger hello. Wei Ying whimpers about it, big and performative.
“I am going to pull out now,” he warns, as if he’s balls-deep in Wei Ying. Wei Ying nods and sighs, pouting a little. Lan Zhan bites his lip and pulls his pinky out, regretfully. Wei Ying swings a leg a tiny bit, just enough to hit his heel against the cabinet.
“Stop hiding it. Wanna see how much you came,” he mumbles.
“Wei Ying made me come so much,” Lan Zhan says soothingly — honestly, too — as he buttons his jeans over the mess. His blouse has jizz on it, thank god. Wei Ying’s mess, on him. He opens the cabinet below Wei Ying and throws the blowjob condom away in the trashcan that lives below the sink.
“In the kitchen!” Wei Ying slurs above him. “You throw condoms away in your kitchen!”
“It is my house,” Lan Zhan says, straight-faced, heart pounding again just from looking at him. But it is less terrifying; he is floating on it. Wei Ying in his kitchen, well-fucked. Wei Ying just blinking at him, soft eyed and hazy.
It is something. It is.
***
In the back yard there are two deck chairs of dubious comfort, covered in scratchy outdoor cushions.
They are laying together in one, watching the dusk come into the garden under the pepper tree. Walkers go by on the bike path behind the house, mostly hidden from view behind the lemon tree and the hedges and the compost bins.
Lan Zhan is warm from a very, very fast shower, and in boxers and the second-best bathrobe. Wei Ying is in the good bathrobe, still warm from the dryer, somehow. He had not wanted to shower yet.
It seems like when Wei Ying is coming down, he talks. At first Lan Zhan thought (while getting talked at through the shower door) it meant he was resurfacing, but no, he’s still in headspace, just not the quiet kind. The gentle lap of words are good; they help Lan Zhan judge so easily where he is even as Lan Zhan bundles him up in one arm. They are spooning. Wei Ying had grabbed a blanket off the sofa in the den for them.
“Check it out Lan Zhan,” he slurs, twisting his head to look up at the sky between two Italian cypress pines which gently shade the lounge chairs. “It’s still light out but you can already see the moon. And right now Jupiter and Saturn are right next to each other somewhere to the--to the left. They’re really bright right now, have you seen them at night?”
“Maybe,” Lan Zhan says. It doesn’t seem like Wei Ying needs more of a response than that, but Lan Zhan finds himself offering, “There’s a bright star I see from my window when I go to bed, just above the hills.”
“When you go to— oh, no. Silly boy, that’s Mars. Mars rises a lot later.”
Lan Zhan smiles. “Now I know,” he says, solemn.
“If you could like, see Jupiter’s magnetic field….” Wei Ying says.
“Mn?” Lan Zhan prompts.
“Oh. If you could see it, Jupiter would be the size of a quarter in the sky.”
Lan Zhan nods. Wei Ying nods back, that bit of wisdom dispensed.
There is a pause. Above them is a dusty evening-blue sky that feels, somehow, higher than skies in the rest of the world. It just feels like that here, in this place. In the Bay, in this neighborhood, where the fire-wind whispers in the pines. Breeze in the trees, pepper tree and lemon and pine. The neighbors who fight all the time are trying to grow roses.
“Are you, um. Lan Zhan, are you hard?”
“Yes,” says Lan Zhan, carefully. “A little.”
“Can I um, feel it? If you’re comfortable with that? I just like — I feel better knowing that you’re — yeah.”
Lan Zhan nods slowly, his nose brushing Wei Ying’s hair. He relaxes his hips, which had tensed when Wei Ying asked, careful to keep his erection away from Wei Ying in case it felt like pressure, or did not help him ease back to the surface.
He doesn’t actually mean to take his cock fully out, just to adjust his boxers and press it against the backs of Wei Ying’s thighs, but he is hard — very hard, not just a little, his body is like this — and when he tugs at fabric his cockhead pops out of the fly of his boxer briefs. Wei Ying makes a happy little sound in his throat, even as Lan Zhan watches in dazed resignation as he pulls back the blanket to see that Wei Ying has rucked up the bathrobe and Lan Zhan’s cock is smearing precome on Wei Ying’s bare thighs.
Wei Ying smiles a little, face tucked against the scratchy cushions, and lifts his top leg under the blanket. Lan Zhan bites the inside of his mouth and breathes. He holds his cock and guides it between Wei Ying’s warm, barely sweaty thighs. Wei Ying relaxes and Lan Zhan allows himself a sharp little exhale, a ghost of a gasp.
He feels, unexpectedly, calmed by it. His cock held tightly between Wei Ying’s legs, safe and welcomed. Lan Zhan says, anyway, “You do not need to be making me hard in order to feel good.”
Wei Ying flaps a hand like — I know, I know.
“It’s nice,” Lan Zhan whispers, laying fully back down.
Wei Ying shifts around until he can squeeze Lan Zhan’s hand. Now the message is urgent instead of flippant, but the same: I know, I know.
***
That night, Lan Zhan cannot sleep.
The moon is full and Mars is so bright above it, overwhelming and obvious, red-tinted and unapologetic. Right where Wei Ying said it would be, right where it has been every night for weeks when Lan Zhan did not have a name for it. Moonlight cuts Lan Zhan’s bed in half at his calves; his feet are in a story, a dreamworld. Sleeping alone long enough makes him forget that he does sleep. There is no proof of it. There is no example of sleep’s existence next to him in bed. Dreams feel like no proof. He wants to see himself sleep. He wants to sleep next to someone who will watch him sleep, who might touch his hair where it sticks sweat damp to his face when he is halfway in between.
***
In an attempt to balance out his life a little, and because she is his friend, Lan Zhan tries something new and has Jiang Yanli over to smoke weed and watch baseball. It goes extremely well. Lan Zhan finally calms down, after the Friday with Wei Ying, who has of course texted, but it’s not— They sit in silence, getting high and making the occasional cutting remark about [baseball thing]. “Do you watch other sports?” Yanli asks.
Lan Zhan glances at her out of the corner of his eye, joint pressed between his lips. He got into smoking weed when he quit smoking cigarettes. People don’t believe that he used to go out to a lot of clubs (where he also smoked), but the wall of noise is a lot easier than the up and down meandering of a bar. A club is honest with you. Also, Lan Zhan liked to fuck, and his brothers friends were all Berkeley law students.
“Some,” Lan Zhan says, voice a little tight with smoke. “I don’t like soccer,” he adds preemptively.
“Hm,” says Yanli. “Hm, give me the remote. Do you know figure skating at all?”
“No,” says Lan Zhan.
“I am going to show you something,” says Yanli, doing violence to Lan Zhan’s smart TV remote. “This shit is wild.”
“Okay,” says Lan Zhan. He is pretty high. Potentially, he thinks ten minutes later, too high to be faced with Yuzuru Hanyu in all his glory, but there it goes.
They watch in silence as Yanli finds a full competition rerun on Youtube. Everything is in Russian, so Lan Zhan does not even have to listen to commentary. Ideal.
“This is good,” he tells Yanli very seriously after an hour. They have moved from men’s singles to ice dance, and Lan Zhan is learning exactly when to make a disparaging face at a badly turned out twizzle. “I like this sport.”
“Good,” Yanli says, taking a solemn drag on the joint as, on the screen, a new kind of combination lift occurs. “What else do you like? You didn’t say.”
Lan Zhan frowns. “Softball,” he says. “Alpine skiing.”
“Do you like… badminton?”
“No,” Lan Zhan says. “Why?”
“Oh, it’s just funny,” Yanli explains earnestly. “All the sports you like are completely the opposite of my little brother. He was on the varsity badminton team. He secretly still loves badminton.”
“Your brother is a business major. I am unemployed. We are not the same.”
“Oh, no, not A-Cheng, my other brother. My other one,” Yanli assured him, flapping a casual hand.
��Oh,” says Lan Zhan. “I apologize, I thought there was only one.”
“Nope,” says Yanli. “My two boys.”
She sounds loving, and tired.
“I will work hard at hating badminton,” he promises her solemnly. “I will keep it up my whole life.”
“Thank you, friend,” Yanli says, flinging a leg up on the sofa. “I am going to take a nap. Make the tv show us pairs skating. You’ll like— Sui and Han, Bridge Over Troubled Water.”
She falls asleep. Lan Zhan sits comfortably, legs spread, on his sofa. He watches pairs skating. He cries a little. When Yanli wakes up he says they should go for a walk to look at the bridges over the bay.
“You can see the bay from here?” asks Yanli. She is filling Lan Zhan’s uncle’s Oakland As mug with water, which she says she is bringing with her for the walk.
“Yes,” says Lan Zhan. “It’s better if we walk up the Peak, of course. But we can see them if we walk up and loop on the street above the bike path, up the hill.”
“That’s so funny,” says Yanli. “I live so close by and I never noticed!”
“It is only one place,” says Lan Zhan.
They find outdoor shoes and walk down Lan Zhan’s street, under the whispering pines. They walk up the street where kids like the drag race at night, before the coyotes come out. An old uncle comes past walking a very small dog that wants to sniff Lan Zhan. They walk up to the fancy little neighborhood above Lan Zhan’s fancy little neighborhood. The hills are golden behind them, perfectly golden, like a promise: you do, you really do live here, for better or for worse.
At the crest of a little neighborhood hill they stop on the sidewalk and look down. There it is, a tiny distant glimpse of the Bay, which looks flat and calm from a distance. The haze is settling. The sun has gone down already into the cold green Pacific, the ocean which has for so long held Lan Zhan’s life in it. You cannot see the ocean from here; you cannot see the North Bay or SF, or any famous skyline at all.
The bridges have blinking red lights on them, for planes Lan Zhan guesses, coming into Oakland or SFO.
“Which one is that?” Yanli asks, slurping her water. Her shoulders are relaxed, finally. Lan Zhan’s phone buzzes in his pocket, a sweet promise, but he does not take it out yet.
“I do not know,” says Lan Zhan. “Dumbarton? San Mateo?” He squints as if he will be able to figure it out by looking.
Yanli hums a few bars: Bridge Over Troubled Water. “Like a briiiidge called Saaan Mateo—” she mumble-sings into her mug of water, and laughs, and Lan Zhan dares to hum along for the first time in very many years, since the last time sang with his throat instead of piano wire, here in this place where he can escape nothing. He hums and she makes up the words, makes up the words, and he sings along, low for just a second: Like a bridge called San Mateo, I will lay me down. She breaks into laughter. Lan Zhan feels more solemn than that, but it seems like that is alright.
Lan Zhan takes out his phone, just for a moment before they walk down the hill into the lilac dusk, to take a picture to send.
#my fic#in the pines#ask replies#fic ask replies#anon ask replies#cryinngggg 13k tumblr post will u even work
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For the writer's ask: 11, 20 and 56 ^^
11. Link your three favorite fics right now.
This was v hard bc I like all of my writing 😂
You Share not the Blood of Our, Our, Ours | Baby, Even Though You Just Want to Live | So take me in turns internally (E)
20. Have you noticed any patterns in your fics? Words/expressions that appear a lot, themes, common setting, etc?
LOL in my WIP fic I always write about Copia doing paperwork for some unknown reason. I use said a lot, I feel like, and the characters' names above descriptions of them? Stuff like that, I have a bad habit of saying what they're doing versus showing what they're doing but I'm working on that.
56. What's something about your writing that you pride yourself on?
I'd say that I'm pretty good at mood writing, I think. I do find it hard to describe things sometimes, but I'm pretty decent at really getting a mood across. I'm also wordy, I write a lot of words and to me that's a good thing, just because it feels like the thoughts and stuff are more complete versus a sentence that is like a few words long and then a period and then another sentence. (There is absolutely nothing wrong with writing that way, btw, because I enjoy reading it sometimes, but my brain cannot put together subtext between sentences sometimes so I really need all the extra help I can get.)
thanks so much anon! i appreciate the ask! :) <3
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not pressuring u but pls write for art donaldson:)
Warnings: Established relationship, Stanford era, Sleepy Art Donaldson being The Sweetest, hints of subby Art, smooches
"...You're doing it again, you know."
"What am I doing?"
"You're distracting me, Art."
"How? I'm laying still and I'm being quiet."
"You're staring at me."
"I'm not staring."
"Art."
"I'm not."
"What do you call it, then?"
"...Watching."
You turn your head, brows raised in disbelief, lips pursed as you try to fix him with a stern look. It doesn't hold. How can it, with the way he's smiling at you?
You can see how tired he is from the slow blinking of his heavy lids. It's a wonder that he's still awake; he's been curled up in your bed for the last half hour as you've tried to finish up a paper. It's nearly midnight, and you know that he's been up since six that morning. Between classes and practice, he's had an insanely long day.
"You should be sleeping," You scold.
"'m not tired."
"Bullshit."
He chuckles softly, rolling onto his side and nuzzling your pillow.
"I'll wait."
"For what?"
"You to come to bed."
"Are you just going to stare at me until I do?"
"'Course not...I am gonna watch you, though."
You smile, sighing and saving your work before shutting your laptop.
"Alright."
"You're finished?"
"No, I'll finish it tomorrow."
"You sure?"
You hum affirmatively, stepping into your bathroom and cranking the faucet on. You make it through washing your face before you see movement in your periphery.
"I'll be there in a second," You promise as Art drifts into the room. "I'm just gonna brush my teeth."
Art cuddles up behind you, arms curling around your middle as he presses his face into your neck, drawing in a deep breath.
"You miss me already? It's been two minutes," You tease before lifting your toothbrush.
"Not just two minutes," Art insists. "Barely saw you today." He tips his head up, nuzzling your jaw. "I was thinkin' about you."
You smile, leaning down and rinsing your mouth out, wiggling your hips back against him as you hinge forward. Art groans low in his throat, thumbs dipping beneath your shirt and gently sweeping over your sides.
"I was thinking about you, too," You admit, turning to face him.
"Really?"
"Mhm. All day." Art's smile widens as you wrap your arms around his shoulders. "We goin' to bed now?"
"In a minute." Art leans in, brushing his lips against yours. You smile, sliding a hand into his hair and parting your lips, teasing your tongue tenderly against his. He sighs into your kiss, hands snaking around your back to draw you closer into his chest. You break the kiss slowly, giving his hair a gentle tug and grinning as his eyelids flutter, a sweet flush spreading across his cheeks.
"Come on," You urge. "We can't have you sleep-walking through practice tomorrow."
--
Even with your eyes closed, in the dim room, you can still feel it. You shift a little, adjusting your covers.
"Art," You warn softly, "You're still doing it."
Art's hand cups your face, his thumb sweeping across your cheekbone.
"Baby," He murmurs, "If you were in my place, you'd stare, too."
#Art Donaldson x Reader#Art Donaldson x You#Art Donaldson/Reader#Art Donaldson/You#Art Donaldson fic#Art Donaldson imagine#asks#replies#anon
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I want to eat your art and writing thank you so much
Haha well I'm always happy to keep you all fed. Here, have some old sketches <33
#ask#anon ask#ghostsoap#soapghost#doodle#my art#sketch#*throws old crumbs at ya because im currenty out of gourmet feasts*#these are from various times in the last year#but yea watch wisp's art style be the least consistent thing ever as they jump from brushes and programs due to indecision :>#some old aus in there too#kid au and mw3 fixit stuff and whatever the rest of this stuff is#nrftw doodle of ghost w the guitar#and beard too#also hi Gaz!!!! he's been randomly thrown in there to be glared at by ghost. poor guy#debated giving u some writing snippets as well but i didnt want to clutter my reply lol#im working on a fic that im so excited about#its actually making me write again pretty consistently so im happy
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hiya! i’m a really big fan of your stranger things work and I was wondering, if youre comfortable of course, a steve x reader period imagine where reader tried to hide their period from Steve, but he finds out and is super fluffy and sweet about it? thank you!
HAHAH wow i have let this ask stew in my inbox since last year thats CRAZY im so sorry my dear,, i was going through old asks and i rlly like this prompt actually so here u go, i hope u enjoy!!!!
pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader
tags: established relationship, obv mentions of periods / menstruation, reader is referred to as female, steve being dense at first lol, regular sized font below!
wc: 1.4K
notes: while the reader in this fic is female, i am well aware not everyone who has a period is a girl, and not everyone who's a girl has a period!
Steve is one attentive boyfriend.
It’s the early stages of your relationship, the golden era, the honeymoon phase. And while you’re a still a bit nervous about it all, you couldn’t be happier, because he does it all right.
He knows your favourite snacks, what music you like, what makes you laugh, what makes you cry. He’s starting to figure out your ins and outs, and it’s almost crazy how quickly he’s catching on. You have no reason to feel judged by him at any point, he truly is comfort poured into the shape of a person.
So then why are you staring at your phone right now, struggling to dial his number and just tell him why you can’t make it to your date?
It’s not usually this bad, at least it hadn’t been for a while, so why now, of all moments, must you be forsaken to be terrorised by your period?
You bite your lip, laying flat onto your bed, hand over your lower stomach. It's right where the pain is just gnawing at you, just like the guilt is. But you know you’d feel even guiltier if you just stood him up, he doesn’t deserve that. You sit up, a tad slowly to save yourself from another cramp, and swallow your nerves for now.
“I’ll just… Tell him I’m sick. Yeah… Yeah I can do that.” You think to yourself.
The combination of his number had started to feel natural to your fingers now, unlike how anxiously you pressed the buttons the first time, triple checking before finally pressing call. You're triple checking again now, more so because you're not sure you can handle hearing the defeat in his voice when you tell him you can't make it.
The phone barely gets a moment to ring before he picks it up, and his all too familiar sweet voice comes through the device.
"Hey babe, everything okay over there?"
You pause a moment before replying. "How did you know it was me calling?"
"Lover's intuition." He chuckles, and it makes your heart flutter. It's not fair how easy it is for him to do that to you, but you enjoy it nonetheless. "So, what's going on?"
"I, uh..." God, getting the words out is like pulling teeth. But you'd rather die than let him think you just got cold feet about your movie date. "I'm really not feeling too well right now, Steve... I'm-- I'm so sorry, I'm gonna have to cancel for tonight." Your eyes are welling up with tears before he even gets a chance to reply, just imagining his pretty face losing its bright expression when hearing your unfortunate news.
"Oh," damnit, he does sound sad, "that's okay, uhm... Is there anything I can do? What kinda sick is it?"
Shit, he's gonna make you say it, isn't he? You know Steve is a mature guy, he knows about periods, knows how they work, but you've been told to suck it up and get on with it before... A part of you is still disappointed that you just can't.
"U-Uhm... It's more like, a stomach thing, I guess?" It's the best way you can put it for now, hoping it'll put his worries to rest.
"Okay, I see..." You can nearly hear him thinking, the subtle noise of bags being moved and a fridge being opened coming through the phone. "Uh, how aboouuut... I come over to yours, and we just watch a movie at home? I still got a couple of tapes we haven't gotten to, and I can bring some light snacks that won't upset your stomach too much."
The thought of Steve caring for you while you're sick sends a warm feeling through your entire body. God, how does he just keep getting better? But you can't lie to him, right? It's not like you're really sick, unless you count the curse of menstruation as a symptom.
Before you get a chance to explain, he's talking again, and by the ruckus in the background you can only guess he's rushing to grab all his stuff. "I'll be heading out in a bit, I'll stop by the corner store too, stay put for me alright? See ya in a bit!"
You're sure he didn't realize he wasn't letting you talk, but frankly, you probably couldn't even come up with a response on time anyways. Right now, you just have to worry about looking somewhat presentable, and maybe figure out a way to tell him you're not actually sick.
By the time you've brushed your hair and brushed some mascara onto your lashes, you're already hearing the doorbell. You just manage to pull a fresh shirt over your head, before stumbling down the stairs and stopping in front of the door. With a deep, loaded, sigh you open it, to reveal your boyfriend.
Hair messed up, plastic bag in hand, jacket haphazardly thrown on. He clearly rushed to be here, still panting a little, but in your eyes, he's the image of your guardian angel, your saviour in need.
Before either of you know it, you're crying again, your freshly applied mascara now leaving thin black streaks over your cheeks. Your hands go up to cover your face, embarrassed, not even sure why you're sobbing all of a sudden. The feelings just hit you like a freight train, rocking you before you even have a time to rationalize.
Steve's expression falters, the bag he had in hand dropping to the floor in an instant, stepping in closer so he can carefully wrap his arms around you and pull you to his chest. Not too tight, he doesn't want to startle you. He's a bit distraught; he's really only seen you cry at a sad movie scene before, so he's a bit unsure as to what's caught you to be so upset right now.
"I-I'm sorry..." you manage to mutter through your incoherent sobs and sniffs, effectively ruining the front of his shirt in the process.
"Hey, hey..." His big hands go up to your face, gently cupping your wettened cheeks as he looks into your teary eyes. Hell, the image of you is almost enough to make him break too. "What're you sorry for? You can't help it that you're sick, right?"
The reminder of your lie makes you want to break eye contact in shame, but it's hard to force yourself to lose sight of that soft, caring gaze of his.
"I," sniff, "I lied, I'm so sorry Steve, I-- I'm not sick, I just... I have..."
He watches you expectedly, not upset, just curious. You'd surely have your reasons if whatever caused you to cancel is making you this upset.
"I'm... I'm just on my period and it-- it hurts really bad, it's not even usually this bad, and I felt like I was overreacting and I feel so bad and--" Your ramble gets cut short by his chuckle, the same one that nearly caused you to melt over the phone earlier.
"W-Wha... Why are you laughing?" You're not sure if you should be happy or worried, you're already experiencing so much at once, it's hard to pick one emotion to feel.
"Nothing, it's just, well," he picks up the bag he dropped, opening it slightly to show the bars of chocolate, candy and your favorite chips inside. "I had a feeling."
The sight of it makes you snap out of your state of distress, and you can’t help but crack a smile through your tears. “Seriously? How?”
He shrugs, a sheepish smile adorning his face. “I told you, lover’s intuition.” He pulls you back to him and kisses your head. “There’s another bag in the car with chicken soup in case I was wrong.”
You both laugh, just hugging on your doorstep for a moment. You have to let it sink in, that maybe Steve just is that sweet and considerate of a guy.
“D’you wanna go inside, or does standing outside help with cramps?” He pulls back a little, and you fight the urge to poke him in the ribs for his sarcasm. You love it either way.
“Yeah, let’s go inside. We can watch When Harry Met Sally and I can cry my eyes out again. Sound good?”
“Sounds perfect.”
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#tysm for the ask!#stevemath#steve harrington fic#steve harrington fluff#steve harrington imagine#steve harrington#steve harrington stranger things#steve harrington x reader#steve harrington x you#steve harrington x reader fluff#steve harrington x fem#steve harrington x fem!reader#steve harrington fanfic#steve harrington writing#steve harrington blurb#steve harrington drabble#steve harrington comfort#serpentwithatardis#aster replies
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HIII I MISS YOU :(( straight to the point, I need a yandere pyramid head fic!!
I´m sorry for the disappearance ;v; Can't post much due my studies.
Anyways, I ADORE your suggestion! And boy if our little (Y/N) is going to have a rough time with a yandere creature like Pyramid Head ._.)
Welp, let's start the story!
"Innocent lamb"
(Yandere!Pyramid Head x GN Reader)
Summary: the entity's realm was hell for some, heaven for others, and an inconvenience for the rest...
But when one of the creatures encountered you, he made it everyone's problem, even the entity's that brough him there in the first place.
But he meant no harm to you.
He likes you.
He wants you.
He needs you.
And he wͦ̀ͯi̸ll̩ͩ have Y̛̗̰͇͚͓͈̣͕̰͓̗͛ͤ̀̇̍ͥ͒̓͝Ơ̵̔_̰̅U̵̷̡̧̡̨͖̟̹͙̙͓̥̗̫̣̙͉͕͉̣̬̇ͭ͗̉͂̅̍͗̇̇́́̈͟͞
Warnings: yandere/obsessive behavior, violence and violent acts, quite angst(y) mood in general, (understandably) terrified reader darling :(.
Word count: 4.2k
The moment they entered the trial, all four survivors knew right away who the killer was. Either its the dread they all felt as soon as their feet made contact with the ground that gave it away, or the fact that the entity had placed all of them in the same spot next to two generators just to have any chances to make it out alive.
But they know it's in vain, they know they're doomed for a long long death by bleeding out.
They know it... Because (Y/N) is with them.
Said survivor had to bite their lip to avoid crying, as guilt and terror embraced them. Just because the monster had this unholy obsession with them it didn't mean they were okay with it, if anything it scared them more.
He, Pyramid Head, the Executioner... Or however you want to nickname him, is said to be one of the most powerful creatures the entity had the pleasure to bring, so powerful in fact that the spider-like being had to make a deal to bring him.
So it's not surprising that they are absolutely horrified, but who wouldn't? This monster, an embodiment of pain and punishment, almost a god, has been hunting them relentlessly ever since he laid his gaze or... Helmet? On them.
At first it was all jokes and gags;
'Aww look, (Y/N) has a boyfriend!'
'Watch out, here comes your crush (Y/N)!'
'Uh-oh, the triangle man seems jealous, look how pissed he is at Nea for healing you!'.
But the jokes stopped when it got clear how truly messed up and sinister said 'crush' is.
They still remember it, it was a regular match against that one masked knife wielding guy that runs a lot, he's called 'Legion' they think. The trial was going relatively well, just like many previous ones. Until it suddenly got an 180° turn when one of the walls to the realm was literally destroyed by a hulking mass of muscle and a giant knife. To say both (Y/N) and the killer nearly had a cardiac arrest was an understatement, things got so ugly that the entity had to intervene and cut the trial short.
That incident could be a fuel for a new wave of jokes, could... If it didn't happen again. And that next time was even worse, the beast nearly made his way into the survivor side of the realm, somehow bursting through the barrier the entity had created to keep the survivors separated from the killers to avoid any pity fights after trials.
Ever since that event, Pyramid Head was strictly kept in 'his' realm, aka Midwich Elementary School.
Sometimes, after escaping through the gates and running back into the camp through the fog, (Y/N) could swear they can hear the monster roar in the distance. Loud, distorted and fierce howls resonating somewhere behind the dense fog, as if the creature was desperately trying to yell out their name. Either to let them know how badly he wants them or a promise to break free and get them... Both possibilities giving them chills.
The entity of course wasn't okay with this, it was pissed! But it also could do so little... The great deal now had turned into a major curse. If the deal is broken, the Executioner won't hesitate to damage the realm to get what he wants. But if it remains, the monster will find new ways to bend the rules and make it everyone's problem.
Why the entity doesn't just give (Y/N) to the beast or gets rid of them ones for all? No one really has the answer. Some think it's due the entity's pride, or the possibility of the executioner going ballistic. For now, it's more of a silent (and petty) battle between two stubborn beings, each of them refusing to back away from their goal.
Goal. The entity's goal, though still confusing, is more or less clear; force people and creatures to play these twisted games and feed on those who get sacrificed. But the executioner's goal? It's straight up a mystery. (Y/N) know it has something to do with them, but... Why them exactly? Why not Cheryl? Didn't she come from the same place as that beast? What the monster even wants them for?
What will he do when he finally gets his hands on them? Wh-
A rough shake snapped (Y/N) out of their internal break down.
They blink a couple of times, tears of fear nearly sliding down their cheeks as their body shivers. They were scared, more than the other three survivors combined.
The survivor holding them by their shoulders, David, sighs when he finally notices them react.
—"Look, I know you're scared..."— he starts talking, his voice surprisingly calm.
—"I'm-... I- I'm sorry, I'm s-so sorry-..."— you choke out in a weak wobbly voice, guilt eating you from inside.
—"No no. Just listen for a sec. I... Well, we all can tell that you aren't enjoying it neither. So, let's not break down into a soap opera, okay? Don’t think of this as hopeless match, but as another chance to woop that asshole's ass and escape."—
—"And also leave him empty handed!"— Feng announces from her place while already working on a generator.
—"Yeah, screw that triangular piece of shit! Let's try out Dwight's strategy this time. You remember it, do you?"— he asks you, not letting go of your shoulders yet.
The surprisingly positive and reassuring words of their teammates towards them really soothed and even cheered (Y/N) a bit. With a small smile they quickly wipe their eyes before nodding.
—"Good, see? We're already starting on a good note!"— he lets go to then pat your back, basically pushing you forward. —"Now go help with a gen before putting the 'plan' into work."—
Though the push hurt a bit, (Y/N) didn't care at all about the pain, too focused on keepings all the negative and pessimistic thoughts away.
For the first minute and a half everything was going well, (Y/N) and Feng were working on one generator while David and Jonah were working on the other one. The four of them were dead silent, straining their ears for any of the sounds the creature makes, such as heavy footsteps, the scraping of his gigantic knife or their own heartbeat. Weirdly enough, everything was calm... Too calm.
(Y/N) nearly choked with air when a cold chill ran through their spine.
Spine Chill. The beast... Is watching them.
They attempt to subtly alert Feng by carefully tapping her leg, but as soon as their fingertips touched the other girl’s skin, their heartbeat started to get louder and louder, until…
—“WATCH OUT!”—
(Y/N) exclaimed as they pushed Feng, just in time to dodge a bunch of sharp and rusted metal pieces coming out the ground.
—“Holy-...”— she mutters.
Now that the monster is here, the four survivors decided to put in action the mentioned strategy.
They all let go of the generators and run away in different directions, (Y/N) being the most desperate while running since they know exactly who the beast is targeting.
His pattern is always the same; chase after until sending them into a cage to then down all of their teammates and then come straight back to all caged and helpless (Y/N) and then… Stare or touch them until the others bleed out or the entity has enough.
The difference in the current case, is that (Y/N) is not playing just cat and mouse. In fact, chasing them is the worst the killer can do. All of their abilities are chase oriented, another teammate lurking around has all the boon ones, while the last two have all is needed to rush through the generators. If everything works out, the monster will get himself in a situation where he's be forced to leave (Y/N) alone.
The chase was intense, at least for (Y/N). Despite never catching a clear view of the Executioner, they could feel him close behind, following them methodically like a wild animal on a hunt, waiting for the right moment to strike while keeping up the tension.
It was hard to maintain the focus, every single hallways in The Game looked the exact same. Did they vaulted that window already? Didn't they pre-dropped that palled over there? Did Feng placed it up again? Are the other two working on the generators? Have they taken this left path before?
So many questions where swarming their mind as their legs kept carrying them on, only momentarily relaxing when two generators finally made that distinguish noise.
Two done! Tree left.
A breathless laugh escaped from them. Great! This is already going better than all of their previous encounters with the Executioner, which would always end with the first generator barely reaching 30%.
However, their smile was quickly swept when they realized they no longer hear their heartbeat or thundering footsteps tailing behind. It was silent, dead silent, with no other sounds that their own breathing.
A wave of anxiety flushed through (Y/N) like a tsunami wave and started to drag and drown them deeper into their own worries.
What the?... Okay, this was not part of the plan. The Executioner had never left the chase with them, never. So the fact that he finally did, and apparently a while ago, made them shake.
With nothing else to do, they gather the courage to start moving again. Where? Somewhere! Anywhere but to stay in place and be an easy target to the beast that so desperately wants them.
They keep running, stopping only for a brief moment before turning a corner, making sure they don't hear any muffled breathing that at times resembled growls. They learned the hard way with the Shape that some killers like to wait around corners, and they don't want to commit the same mistake right now.
Their heart jerked when they heard a scream resonate from their left, and a faint reddish aura in the shape of a human gleamed for a second before disappearing.
David is down.
And it seems like he's not getting picked up, which could either mean that the monster is setting up a trap or chasing someone else. Whichever the case is, they shouldn't go-
They hear a bunch of footsteps come their way, and in a set of panic they crouch behind a bunch of boxes, silently praying that their disguise is mildly good.
They can't see much from their spot, but they can clearly recognize the shape of Jonah running away from something massive.
As soon as the two figures passed by, (Y/N) gets up and takes off running towards David to check on him.
After some wondering around the labyrinth-like place, they finally reach their injured teammate, who was still on the ground and groaning from pain.
—"{David!}"— you whisper-yell as you start running towards him.
He weakly lifts his head just enough to see them. When he recognized who it is, he starts to frantically shake his head.
—"NO! GET THE FUCK OUT!"—
Huh? What-
As (Y/N) is about to reach David, a path of sharp metal pieces and razor wires had emerged right in front of them, just when they're about to make contact with the floor again, making in impossible to dodge.
The second their leg got tangled into the sharp metallic mess, everything went too fast. They don't even have time to pull away as something sliced them on their side, sending them directly on the ground.
They send a guilty and ashamed glance to David, who had an frustrated expression.
—"{Sorry...}"— you mouth.
(Y/N) has no chance to see David's answer as a massive hand suddenly curled around their throat and forced them to look away from the other man.
Their eyes wide at the sight of the beast menacingly hovering over their helpless form, holding their body in place between him and the ground. The muscles of his extended arm were tense, his breathing heavy, almost like he's holding back the anger and displeasure caused by them giving attention to someone else.
Their heart skipped beats, their breath uneven, their eyes watered as they tightly closed them, not wanting to witness whatever this thing was about to do. They can feel the warmth coming from his body, his breathing slowly stabilizing, as if staring at them and watching them slowly submit was enough to calm the monster. Ironically, it did the complete opposite to (Y/N), as their own heartbeat raised from the anxiety of having to face the unknown, attempt to predict the unpredictable and prepare to witness another massacre unfold around them at any second... Just to then end up caged and at the mercy of this-
—"LEAVE THEM ALONE ASSHOLE!"— David angrily yells from his place, struggling and trying to stand up. —"You're fucking terrifying, of course they don't want to look at you!"—
They can feel Pyramid Head's hand tense and start shaking, his fingers twitching and pressing further into their skin. (Y/N) was beyond terrified now, just a little bit of pressure and the creature could crush their throat like a cardboard tube.
David, though clearly using all of his strength, ended up falling back on the ground, as if some invisible weigh is actively pushing him down.
—“You freak! Absolute sick fuck! Let them go already!”—
As the waterfall of profanities continues, (Y/N) slowly places their hands around the monster’s wrist to attempt to push his hand away, unfortunately he didn’t budge at all.
Suddenly, David’s stops screaming and the very next second (Y/N) feels something warm and slippery press against their cheek.
They jerk in place at the uncanny sensation and shoot open their eyes, a breathless gasp escaping them at the sight of a… Wh-What even is that? A freaking tentacle? A tongue?…
The dark pink muscle wiggles in front of their face for a moment before licking another stride, wiping some of their tears and blood in the process, making (Y/N) shiver in discomfort.
They shoot a confused glance to David, desperately wanting to know if he’s witnessing this too. The man had an expression of pure ‘what the fuck’; eyes narrowed, brows furrowed and mouth slightly gaping.
This eye contact was brief though. (Y/N) got startled for a loud growl that reverbed from the beast's chest and helmet. The hand finally leaves their throat as the beast stands up to his full height and starts making his way to David, leaving them alone, as well as his knife?
(Y/N) throws their teammate a scared look, but David responds with a forced smirk.
—"Ah, now you decide to drag your big ass towards me."— he mutters through gritted teeth.
The monster seem to not react to his taunts. With each step that he takes towards David, his mask of confidence seems to crack.
Nevertheless, the man didn’t back out from his insults, he never does.
—“What’s wrong? Why so pissy, huh?! Jealous that (Y/N) prefers us?!”—
Saying their name was a sore spot to hit, and the way Pyramid Head reacted confirmed that.
The monster roughly grabs David by the neck, completely ignoring the fact that he’s not even holding his weapon. Instead he uses his bare hands to silence him.
Nasty, wet and crunchy sounds resonated through the room and hallways as the creature began to tear the man’s body limb by limb, piece by peace, unbothered by the pained screams of his victim or the low groan of displeasure that resonated from above for again not playing by the rules.
(Y/N) froze in horror at the sight in front of them. Blood, chunks of flesh and bone pieces where flying everywhere, never before they’ve witnessed this type of gore, not even during the ‘mori’.
Though it felt like the massacre lasted hours, it was actually second. The monster threw the whatever remaining he had in his hands and slowly turned back to (Y/N), who was still frozen and unable to look away from what was left from David. They know they will meet again in the fire camp, in one piece and alive, but god they felt sick...
Their shock breaks only when the thundering footsteps began to resonate again, shaking the ground underneath them with each the creature took. He grew closer, and closer, with them being able to do absolutely nothing aside from attempting to crawl away.
But that pity attempt was stopped when the same sharp wires and rusty metal pieces emerged from the ground and wrapped around their body, pulling them slowly underneath and sinking them further into the ground. And before they realize it, their body is already trapped in that rotten metallic cage.
Cold metal spikes just inches away from their flesh, so close to penetrate their skin, a wrong move and they would undoubtedly get hurt. But even if they wanted to move, they couldn't really. The space in the structure was small, claustrophobic even, each spike perfectly adjusted to keep their form in place. In some twisted way, it felt like a hug, a very cold, unwelcoming and unnerving hug.
They flinch when they hear a scream resonate from somewhere, which was cut by a loud slam.
Feng was caught.
It seems like the Executioner didn't bother to down her, rather getting rid of her directly, most likely because he's aware that Jonah is not keen of going for rescues...
And speaking of the man, there is his aura flashing before (Y/N)'s eyes as his body fell on the floor.
He's down... Which means that-
Before they even finish their conclusion, the tall figure of the monster appeared. Just by looking at them his behavior seemed to change; movements more erratic and pace uneven, almost like he's hypnotized.
He makes his way to them, slowly, as if purposely building up the tension.
(Y/N) wanted to look away or close their eyes, but whenever they did so the cage felt painfully small. It hurt, literally, so they stare at that beast grow closer with wide shaky eyes that struggled to keep their focus on him. This is something Pyramid Head was always good at, he could always make you fear, even the toughest bravest ones would inevitably succumb to the terror his presence brings.
Ones in front of them, the creature stops in place and simply stares, like he always did.
(Y/N), though still scared, was a tiny bit relieved that this is what the rest of the trial would be; them being pinned like a butterfly with the monster observing.
It would be just that.
Just this bizarre staring contest.
...Right?
WRONG.
The creature suddenly let go of his weapon and grabs the edges of the cage with both hands quite violently.
Now the little hope and comfort (Y/N) had was thrown out the window, as now they realize they no longer have any idea of what will happen next.
And by what it looks like, the entity is not planning to intervene, as if curious itself to see what will happen next.
Pyramid Head remains like this, his big hands tightly squeezing the imperfect metal bars, bending them slightly and making the already miserable looking material groan from the pressure he was applying.
It looked like he wanted to destroy that cage, rip it apart and get to them, but didn't do it by holding himself back... Why? What's even the point of this build up? What's even the point in wanting them?!
—"{Wh-...Why?...}"— you choke out in a very quiet voice. —"{Why a-are you d-... doing this?...}"—
(Y/N) knows is stupid to ask, Pyramid Head can't even speak! But they can't help themselves, they're too scared, their anxiety is unbearable and their thoughts are too out of control. They need answers, anything that could even hint for a possible explanation of the killer's intentions.
They began to second guess their decision to speak when the creature froze in place, even his breath was now inaudible. This was the first time (Y/N) spoke directly to the monster, but they didn't expect him to react at this fact, not like this, or at all.
But he did, he did acknowledged that little detail, and he will make sure they acknowledge it too.
The creature soon moves again, by slowly leaning closer and slightly tilting his head to the side, almost like trying to get a better look at them.
His breathing got heavier, low huffs and growls resonating from that metallic helmet of his. It really looked like he was actively holding back some major urge or desire, but what it is?
(Y/N) wanted to ask again, but decided against it as there is little Pyramid Head could do to answer, and even if he could, why should he? Maybe it's more amusing to him to see them helplessly wondering in the dark and unable to comprehend what's going on.
Or maybe, there is simply nothing to explain?... Maybe he does what he does just because? Human mind is way too used to seek for reasons and explanations for anything and everything, often forgetting that sometimes the answer is way too simple or straight up null, could that be the case?
The same groan coming from the cage bars pulled (Y/N) out of their thoughts. They forget how to breathe at the sight of the structure slowly collapsing as the monster starts to rip the bars with his raw strength.
A scared yelp escaped them as they try to back further into the cage as much as they can, ignoring the sharp edges that scratched or pierced their body. They barely felt pain, none at all actually, the adrenaline and basic survival instincts keeping their body resilient and ready to run. The sad part is, is that there is nowhere to run, nothing to do. It's sweet that their body tries so desperately to keep their hopes up and reassure their survival, but their mind is more than aware of the cold desolated reality...
The front part of the cage was eventually ripped off and thrown against the floor violently. (Y/N) can only cover their eyes with their hands and quietly sob as they wait for whatever the monster had planned to do next.
Even when no further actions are made, they refuse to look. They no longer want to face this thing, they no longer want to suffer this torment. Regardless if they believed in any religion or no, they mutter silent prayers under their breath, but not no save them, but to make it end and to know how sorry they are for any evil or harm they've did in their life that leaded to such tragic conclusion.
But this is where the catch is... They've committed none. At least from the Executioner's perspective.
Despite their whispers being so silent to a non-existent point, Pyramid Head heard them loud and clear. And the more he heard their voice, the more he felt the inside of his chest burn and the desire for them grow even more. (Y/N) is not perfect, they're human after all, and all humans have their fair share of flaws and defects... But unlike the rest, (Y/N) has the ability to acknowledge said imperfections and genuinely try to make up for them, to fix them... Regardless if they get something in return or not.
This, this is the true purity in a human being. An innocence and kindness so genuine that it would be a sin not to worship and protect... And who is a best fit to take care of it other than the fearsome Pyramid Head?
(Y/N)... So pure... So innocent... So kind... He must keep them save.
He must keep them...
He wants them...
W̴͕̳͈͔̭̝͠ͅ a̶̩̰̲̎̓͊̈̓̕ ǹ̴̢͇̬̘̗̯̜̍̋͊͠͝͠ ṭ̶͇̃̔͝ s̶̭̩͔̹̝̼̅̍̆̉͌͝
As the monster is about to reach them, a spider like legs burst out through the floor and wrap themselves around (Y/N).
The trial... Is over.
And while the absolutely livid roar gets overshadowed by the groans of the entity as the black fog surrounds the whole place. (Y/N) only keeps quietly sobbing as they cling to the spider leg sticking out of their chest. And though they knew the entity is the main responsible of their current torment, they were too overwhelmed with emotions to properly process their actions.
Surprisingly, the spider-like being didn't disappear right away, probably feeling pity for their situation and allowing them to cry for a brief moment, most likely to compensate this unplanned mess they have to deal with.
To everyone's surprise in the camp, when (Y/N) finally arrived they where unconscious, either passed out after such emotional roller coaster or the entity wants them take some genuine rest. Whatever the case it, it didn't matter, what matters is that their fellow friend is back save and sound, right?
As one of the survivors decided to take them closer to the bonfire for warmth and comfort, they could swear they heard some weird noises from afar.
It resembled a demonic cry filler with rage, so distant yet menacing. Everyone instinctively shivered.
And though (Y/N) successfully 'survived' yet another trial with the executioner, almost everyone had the gut feeling that the next encounter they have with the beast, it will not end good...
They all take a glance at their still unconscious form.
Poor (Y/N)...
#nothomegal ask reply#nothomegal fic#nothomegal oneshot#pyramid head#pyramid head fic#pyramid head x reader#yandere#yandere x reader#gn reader#dbd fanfic#dark romance#dbd x reader
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What about a request where After the divorce, Andy barber meets Jacob's childhood friend, reader who they reunited in college and hasn't seen her since middle school. Andy can't stop thinking about her and having wet dreams. Then the wet dreams became a reality
hello, sorry it took so long. I hope you like it.
warning - smut, swearing and fluff.
18+ only, please. the gif I use isn't mine, divider by @newlips
“Y/n, what are you doing in here? Shouldn’t you be with Jacob?” The older man asks, gulping as the young female spreads her bare legs, exposing her glistening folds. He grunts, feeling his pants tighten.
“You didn’t wish me goodnight, Mr Barber. I was sad.” Her hand slides down her nude form, softly grazing her plump breasts before reaching her soaked honey pot. Her eyes are locked with his dark blue ones, and a soft whimper falls from her lips when her fingers glide through her folds. “Don’t you want to wish me goodnight? I’ve been a good girl, I swear.”
Andy strides forward, his cock throbbing from the sight before him. Not expecting the goddess on his bed to want him. Andy stands at the end of his bed, having a complete view of your pretty little cunt. “You’ve been a good girl? Are you sure?” Y/n nods, half-lidded eyes focused on him. “I don’t think so, sweetheart, because, from my view, you look like a naughty little slut.” His eyes snap down, watching your juices leak out at being called a slut. “You like being called a slut, sweetheart?” Andy groans when you nod.
“Play with me, daddy?” Everything seemed to have moved fast once those words were uttered from her lips. Andy lies on top, his mouth covering hers, tongues tangling together as he rubs his bulge against her bare cunt. Andy quickly reaches down to release the throbbing member before lining it up with Y/n’s entrance and pushing in. Their groans and moans fill the room as he begins to thrust. He plants kisses on her neck, loving the feeling of her clenching and pulsating around him.
When Andy feels his end approaching, he suddenly wakes. His eyes open with a snap, and he looks around, trying to find you, but when he comes short, a groan of disappointment leaves his lips. Andy looks down and notices his cock is straining against his pyjama pants, the member throbbing wildly and his chest covered in sweat. “Fuck sake.” He slowly sits up, wiping his hand down his face before his hand moves to his pants. A soft groan falls from his lips at the slight relief before it disappears and an image of you pops into his head. “Jesus fucking Christ.”
Andy stands, tucking his member into the waistband of his pyjama pants before walking out of his room and heading to the kitchen to get a glass of water. Andy is too busy wiping his eyes to anticipate the sight before him. The sound of a small gasp causes him to put his hand down and look toward the noise.
“M-Mr Barber... I’m sorry if I woke you. I was trying to get some water….” The sight of your wide doll eyes and the oversized shirt covering your form causes his already rigid member to twitch, pre-cum leaking from the throbbing red tip.
“It’s okay. So am I.” He gulps, moving closer to your tiny body. His eyes flicker down to where your thighs not-so-subtly rub together as you take in his bare chest. Andy grabs a glass and fills it with water, not taking his eyes off you as he takes a sip. Once he swallows, he places the glass on the counter and crosses his arms against his chest. “What are you doing up so late?”
“I– uh. I couldn’t sleep” Y/n’s lip goes between her teeth as she stares at the older man’s bulging muscles, itching to know how the hair covering his chest would feel against her. She feels herself clench around nothing at the forbidden thought of her friend’s dad bending her over the counter and pounding into her. Just like in her dream…
Andy strides forward until he’s so close to her that he can feel her breath on his skin, Andy’s hand comes up, and he uses his thumb to untuck Y/n’s bottom lip from her teeth. “Why are you lying, sweetheart? Don’t you know only bad girls lie?” He grunts when he hears a soft moan fall from her lips.
Y/n slowly nods, feeling her thighs slick with her juices. Suddenly realising there was nothing underneath her shirt, and she was close to her crush, which made her dizzy. “S–sorry, Mr Barber, I just don’t think it’s appropriate to tell you….” She casts her eyes down at the confession.
Andy’s eyes darken, his hand gripping her chin as he tilts her head to look at him. “Tell me, sweetheart. You want to be a good girl, right?” Andy’s eyes move down to Y/n’s chest, noticing her nipples poking through and how her breathing quickens. “C’mon, be a good girl for me.”
“I had a dream… “ Andy raises a brow, waiting for her to continue. “I–I was bent over a kitchen counter whilst getting pounded into.”
Andy growls at the thought of someone else fucking your tight little cunt, not caring that it’s a dream. “You going to tell me who it was, sweetheart?” He leans forward, staring deep into her eyes.
Y/n’s cheeks turn a rosy pink, trying to look away from Andy, not wanting to confess that she dreams of him fucking her until she can’t walk. The sound of a slap and the feel of sharp pain caused her to gasp and look at Andy bewildered.
“I’m asking you a question, and I expect an answer, sweetheart.” Y/n gulps as she feels herself clench and drip, her cunt throbbing like crazy at how dominant he is.
“I–it was you, Mr Barber….” Andy groans before smashing his lips into hers. Moaning as their lips move in sync, his hands grip her hips while maneuvering her to the kitchen counter. Andy pulls away as he turns her around and bends Y/n over the counter. His cock begging to be free and buried deep inside her tight cunt as she whines. “M–Mr Barber.”
Andy pushes you down, pressing your cheek into the marble. “It’s daddy to you, whore. Now stay still. I'm making both our dreams come true.” Andy quickly pulls his pants down, his cock springs free, and he wraps his hand around the thick base, tugging on it as he lifts your shirt and groans at the sight before him. “You dirty little slut, wearing nothing underneath? Were you expecting this?” He tuts, shaking his head. “What a whore you are.”
Y/n moans when she feels Andy rub his tip through her folds, the head catching her swollen bundle. “D–Daddy, please.” A choked gasp forces its way out when he begins to push through her entrance, the girth stretching her small walls, causing a pleasurable pain to shoot through her. “Oh– Fuck, daddy too big.” Andy’s hand comes around and covers her mouth, his thrusts getting deeper and harder.
“Shut up, you little slut. You don’t want Jacob to walk in and see you being a whore for his dad, do you?” He grunts when you clench around him, the thought of getting caught exciting you more. “Oh, you like that idea.” Andy leans forward, pressing his front closer against your back before delivering deep strokes. “You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart. Just relax while I use you.” Andy’s thrusts become brutal, a slapping sound filling the room.
“A–ah, please. S–so close.” Y/n’s eyes roll to the back of her head as she feels herself clench down, her walls pulsating around the thick member piercing her tiny cunt. Soft moans fall from her lips, still blocked by Andy’s hand as she cums.
“Fucking hell, you feel so fucking good.” Andy leans back, his gaze focusing on where they connect, watching as his cock thrusts in and out, her cream coating the base causing it to be easier for him to pound in. “I’m going to cum, sweetheart, and you'll take it.” His pace picks up, eyes locked on her tight cunt, his balls tightening and hips stuttering as his end approaches rapidly. Andy leans down and plants soft kisses on the back of her head and neck as he finishes inside, streams of thick cum shooting out of his cockhead and deep into her womb.
The two stay like that as they catch their breath, Andy’s hands squeeze her hips gently before he slowly pulls out, walking over to get a clean cloth and wetting it before he comes to clean the young woman up. “How are you feeling?” The softness in his voice shocks Y/n out of her blissful daze before she slowly stands and hums.
“I’m okay, thank you.” Andy’s eyes connect with hers as they share a soft smile. Y/n leans forward while resting her hands on his chest, finally feeling the hairs that sit there. She places a soft kiss against his lips before pulling away. “Goodnight, daddy.”
thank you for reading!
feedback and reblogs are greatly appreciated.
#imyourbratzdollasks#imyourbratzdollwork#chris evans imagine#andy barber imagine#chris evans imagines#answered#anonymous#asks#anon reply#chris evans angst#anons welcome#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans#chris evans blurb#chris evans characters#chris evans x female reader#chris evans x reader#chris evans drabble#chris evans fan fic#chris evans fan fiction#chris evans fandom#chris evans fanfic#chris evans fic#chris evans fluff#chris evans one shot#chris evans oneshot#chris evans x fem! reader#chris evans x reader fluff#chris evans x y/n#chris evans x you
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Just an Eddie thought. Him calling reader Girl Scout or something similar after realizing why they know all these knots that are definitely not used for their intended purpose…
Not me immediately researching knots and rigging 🤣🤣🤣
The first time it captures his attention is in the upside down, or right before you come out.
"Shit!" Dustin curses for the forth time, trying to tie the sheets together above you. You watch the sheets slip apart as the yank, not holding at all.
"Dustin! Throw them over here!" You finally demand through the chorus of groaning. Dustin glances up at you.
"I can do it!" He yells.
"Dustin! It is cold, and gross, and slimy over here! Throw me the goddamn sheets or so help me, I will climb through it without it and you do not want that!"
Dustin yeilds halfway through your speech, using Lucas to help him haul all the sheets up and throw them through in balls of fabric. Eddie watches with amusement as you don't even stall once, dropping into a low squat to retrieve them. Your immediately not just tying the ends together, but using real knots.
It's a practiced motion. You've done this, he thinks, more than once. There's no hesitation and in under ten seconds you have the first two sheets linked together.
Eddie tilts his head as he watches you tug them tight and slide to the next knot. You barely even looking, still paying avid attention to the conversation around and contributing. You are sparing glances at your hands but in under a minute your launching the rope of sheets into the air and Eddie is wondering to himself, exactly how you knew how to do that.
"Good job, girl scout," he comments and in the dim lighting, he watches as your cheeks darken.
"Uh, yeah. Thanks." You reply, avoiding eye contact.
Eddie knows in that moment. He doesn't have solid evidence, but he knows. You're either a rigger or a rope bunny. At least until everyone's trying to find something in Eddie's music collection that he catches you staring at the cuffs slung on the wall.
It's inopportune to ask further questions for well... nearly the whole day it ate him. And then when he was hot wiring that RV... oh, did he see the way you were looking at him. That far away look in your eyes, he caught in the wide rear view mirror, made him flash pearly whites your way.
When Eddie hops up to allow Steve to drive, climbing into the back he makes a beeline to the seat you're in. As Steve pulls out Eddie's dropping down beside you, and the rough run out of the trailer park has you toppling right into Eddie's lap.
"Sorry! Shit!" You squeak in a way that goes south in the best possible way for Eddie.
"S'okay, Girl Scout," he purrs in your ear. He eats the flustered glare you give him right up as Steve evens the rig out on the road.
"Stop calling me that," you hiss, "I'm not a girl scout."
"Oh," he tells you with a malicious grin, "I know." He leans into your ear. You blink owlishly at him, and loves to watch your face go all horrorish and flushed pink. "But, uh, when this whole thing is over... You'll have to show me the, uh, other knots you know."
"Oh," you repeat and after a beat of silence, "okay," is your response. For a moment, Eddie thinks the universe might be balancing out for all the shit that it's slinging at him.
He spends the rest of the ride to the store with his hand on your thigh.
#eddie munson#eddie munson x reader#stranger things#eddie munson x you#eddie munson fics#eddie munson smut#asks#eddie munson fanfic#asks and replies
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DP x DC Prompt #50
When Danny came to Gotham, he hadn't been planning on being a vigilante, he swears! And, technically, he wasn't a vigilante. He was a villain. Sort of. He was Catwoman's sidekick. Her partner in crime, quite literally.
But hey, it hadn't taken a lot of convincing from Catwoman to start stealing things from a bunch of rich dudes. Danny hates rich fruit loops.
#finemeal prompt#dp x dc#danny fenton#selina kyle#danny fenton is selina's “robin”#catwoman#i just think it'd be fun#i think i've seen a fic with a similar premise out there?#where dick is flirting with danny#and danny is selina's sidekick#and bruce is just like#damn we all fall for villains huh?#i don't remember it very clearly#but it was a good fic#this is probably subconsciously inspired by that#if y'all ask me about it i'll track it down and put it in the replies#also!!!#wild that i've made 50 dp x dc prompts#and i got more coming#and all of y'all are here#ain't that neat?
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🧚🏻♀️✨Bippity boppity bow chicka wow oww! You’ve been visited by the Shameless Hoe Fairy, and now you must share a hoe drabble about:
Landlord!Ari + being caught watching you while you sleep
Well, it took me a couple of days but I did it!! Oh, and it's the longest drabble in the world. Did y'all know a drabble is only 100 words???? I thought it was 100-500...I still wrote way more than that, but still.
Title: No Good Deeds
Rating: Explicit, 18+, Minors - DNI
Pairing: Landlord!Ari Levinson x Reader
Word Count: 1.6K
Summary: Moving out on your own is challenging, but your landlord, Mr. Levinson is kind and helpful. But he may want more from you than your tenancy.
Prompt: Landlord!Ari + being caught watching you while you sleep
Warnings: age gap (Ari is mid-40s, Reader is early-20s), yandere Ari, drugging, non-con fingering (f receiving), non-con p-in-v intercourse, non-con creampie, choking, dead dove: do not eat
A/N: Hahahaha this was supposed to be a drabble. Thank you to @peyton-warren for the beta!
Dividers by: @firefly-graphics
Support/Reblog banner by me
Cover Art by me
My Masterlist
Moving out on your own isn’t exactly the easiest thing for you. You spent four years living in your college dormitory, but you always had at least one roommate. So, signing a lease and accepting the single set of keys was a huge accomplishment.
Your landlord, Mr. Levinson, is so great. He told you to call him Ari more than once. From the first tour of the apartment to the day of your move-in, he offers his help in many ways. Where the best farmer’s market is, how to reach him if you need any repairs, and even when the local bars close are just a few tidbits he leaves you with.
You get to know him a bit more during a block party one Saturday night. The two of you talk over cheap beer, tamales from Señora Cruz, smoked brisket from Mr. Lorenzo, and lasagna from Mrs. Di Paolo. Ari seems like he is lonely, and your kind heart can’t stand to see someone in need.
Before you know what you are getting into, you agree to have a weekly tea date with him. It’s during one of those visits that you realize that something is a bit odd about Ari. He tries to cover up how he knows what cabinet you keep your tea in, but he makes up some dumb excuse that it would just be “the perfect spot”.
You excuse yourself to the bathroom as he busies himself with setting the tea, and when you come back, a steaming mug is waiting for you on a saucer on your coffee table. Usually, you make the tea, but Ari wanted to help out, and you had a long day at work, so you accepted.
“What is in this tea? It’s almost spicy,” you ask, taking another big gulp of the tea you don’t recognize.
“Is it spicy? Well, it does have ginger and cinnamon in it. Some chamomile, too. A little benzodiazepine in there,” Ari clambers on, trailing off at the end.
“D-did you say benzo…dia…zep,” you slur, reaching for Ari as you sit on the couch, but you end up passing out with your head in his lap.
When you come to, you struggle to remember what happened. Your heavy head pounds as you turn it to the side before putting the heel of your hand to your still-closed eyes.
“Take it slow, Bunny. You must’ve been really tired,” he consoles, from the other side of your bed.
“Mr. Levin-”
“Uhn uh. Call me Ari; no more of that Mr. Levinson polite shit, ok?” he swears for the first time in your presence.
“Um, Ari… What are you doing in my bedroom?” you ask, your mind a blank slate from earlier.
“Oh, Bunny. You invited me over for tea, and then you weren’t feeling well, and you asked me to stay until you felt better. Next thing I know, I’m carrying you in here because you fell asleep on me with that sweet little face of yours right in my lap,” he comforts, the knuckles of his hand sliding down your face before he boops your nose.
“Why do you keep calling me Bunny?” you mewl, still trying to get in control of all your limbs.
“When you sleep, you furrow your eyebrows and scrunch up your nose like a little bunny. It’s one of the cutest things you do,” he admires, his hand now moving down your neck and through the valley of your breasts to get to where your skirt rides up your thigh.
“Mr.-Ari…I think I feel better now; you don’t have to-”
Your words are cut off when Ari reaches under your skirt, and you specifically remember having on panties earlier today, but his fingers are touching your tender pussy directly. Did he take off your underwear?
“Fuck, you’re so wet. Must’ve been all that time I spent rubbing your cute little cunt through those white cotton panties. God, those little moans you were making went straight to my cock, Bunny. Feel it,” he dares, grabbing your hand and resting it against the thick outline of his dick through his Wranglers.
While your hand is on his length, he shoves two of his fingers into your wet heat. At first, you are surprised by the shock of it. But soon, you can tell that he knows how to work your body. You scream out his name, but he doesn’t stop. Instead, he shoves one hand over your mouth and gets close to your ear.
“You’re not gonna ruin this for me. You have been parading yourself around here like you’re some holier-than-thou sweet little thing. And I knew you’d end up letting me smash at some point. But I didn’t wanna wait anymore, Bunny. You have had me wrapped around that little finger of yours since you moved in. It’s time that I get what’s owed to me-what you’ve been flaunting in front of me,” he sneers, pulling his fingers out of you and sucking them clean before opening his pants and pulling his dick out.
He lines up with your sodden core before thrusting in with no grace or elegance. Slamming himself inside your tight snatch for the first time feels like he is splitting you in two. You’re no virgin, but you also don’t have much casual sex, so Ari’s thickness was a shock, to say the least.
“Sweet Bunny, you’re so tight. What a good girl! You’ve been waiting for me like I’ve been waiting for you, huh? Fuck, you’re like a fucking vice. You hear that, Bunny? Hear how that cunt loves it when I fuck it? Love that loud, sloshy pussy,” he beams, his wide hips between your legs making your joints hurt.
You’re in stunned silence as Ari uses your body to chase his release. Your mind is bringing up all the times it seemed like he was getting a little too close for comfort. All the times when he would talk to you about his divorce, or his current dating trend, or the fact that he once told you that a pretty thing like you belonged locked up in a tower for a prince to come and free you.
Did he think he was a charming prince?
“Oh, Bunny, fuck, I’m not gonna last much longer. Look at me; wanna see your eyes when I cum inside you,” he blurts, holding your face in his hands as you look into his dilated, hungry eyes. “Take it. Just. Like. That.” The last few words are punctuated with thrusts as he paints your walls with thick, milky ropes.
Once he closes his eyes, his hips remain still, and his forehead meets yours. This would be almost romantic if Ari didn’t make it beyond creepy by whispering how perfect you are and peppering kisses all over your face. His softening cock finally slips free from you, and you are happy to be empty until you feel the flow of his semen leaking from you. He notices your discomfort and mocks your whines as he pushes his jizz back into your swollen hole.
“Don’t worry, Bunny,” he starts, moving off of you to recline next to you, “Not gonna leave this bed ‘til you’re knocked up. As soon as you are, I’m gonna move you in with me. You are gonna be well taken care of, too. You are so perfect-every little thing about you. And when the baby comes, we are gonna be the perfect little family. You wouldn’t wanna ruin our family, right? You’re gonna be a good girl for me, huh?” he implores, holding your cheeks in his hand so your lips poke out a bit.
You nod while tears stream from your eyes, finding it hard to form words. But what would you have said? He seems to like you mostly silent; you haven’t uttered a single word since before he was inside you. It wasn’t too late to try, but it was too late to have hope; at least that’s what you told yourself.
“I don’t know about you, but I am starting to get hard again just looking at you. On all fours for me, Bunny. I know you got it in you,” he orders, no kindness in his voice.
You quickly scramble to get on your hands and knees for him and are happy that he is pleased with your speed. As he slides into your sensitive folds again, you grimace but hold in your noises of pain. You don’t want to give him the satisfaction of making you hurt, even though what he is doing is traumatizing. He relishes in the gushy sounds your pairing makes and the mighty “oomph” you make when he wraps an arm around your neck and flattens you down to your belly.
He has you in a chokehold while his hips canter back and forth, plunging his length deeper and deeper inside you. When he hears you start to sputter and gulp in air, he removes his arm from around your neck and holds your face cheek-down on the bed.
“Look at her, taking my cock just like she should. You’ll be the prettiest little wife and mother, won’t you? Gonna keep you nice and round as much as I can. My perfect little Bunny…ugh, fuck,” he blurts, his release surprising him suddenly.
When he pulls out, he smacks your ass and lays down next to you while your life flashes before your eyes. He moves closer to you, readjusting your body to lay on top of his as he rubs your back. He kisses the top of your head in such a kind gesture that you feel your eyes stinging with unshed tears.
You can’t even bring yourself to fully cry, the tears streaming down your face just to splash on Ari’s denim shirt. Forgotten and dried up to never be seen again.
A/N: This was supposed to be a drabble!!!!
**Tag List**
I also didn't know who to tag since this is the first time I wrote Ari.
#chris evans#ari levinson#ari levinson fanfiction#ari levinson x reader#ari levinson smut#chris evans characters#ellethespaceunicorn fanfic#ellethespaceunicorn prompt fill#ask reply#landlord ari levinson#dark ari levinson#dark ari levinson fanfic#dark fic#dark fanfiction#dead dove do not eat#dead dove fic#dead dove
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okay i don't know anything about hockey, i followed you from your mdzs days, but i got such a whiplash seeing your post about that comment on mosquito because i'm from calgary and have never seen it mentioned in detail in a fic (i guess if i read hockey fics that would be different but. anyways). so yeah uh just thought that was cool... it's an honour but also i extend my condolences that you have to learn about our terrible roads
Thank you for this ask, which somehow makes everything even funnier than it already was. I am glad to have done honorably by Calgary via omegaverse hockey rpf.
If I could do it with grace and respect, and I needed to write a mdzs modern Chinese diaspora AU in Calgary, Wei Ying and Jiang Cheng would be shiny young medical professionals (new doctors suffering through individual residencies) who have somehow both ended up as specialist liaisons working with Alberta Health Services (despite mutually working 60-hour weeks at their actual jobs) on a new and somewhat short-sighted public outreach campaign designed to limit the spread of STIs during the Stampede. This would be wangxian because I am me, but also an homage to the unforgettable jiang cheng/lan xichen fic "10RMB Lucky Chickens", in which iirc Jiang Cheng is doing pioneering phd researching on chlamydia, and Wei Ying one-ups him by becoming an astronaut. In this case, Wei Ying does not do that.
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For the writer ask!: 4, 8, 14, 17 & 27 ^^
4. where do you find inspiration for new ideas?
usually when I'm getting ready to fall asleep or I'm super busy at work, I get hit with inspiration, haha. But realistically it usually comes from like, idk, most recently, I got inspired by that video of the new bug tickling Swiss on stage after a show. So like, I guess it's really situational haha
8. Do you prefer the beginning, the middle or the end of a story?
I absolutely hate writing endings bc i think those are my weakness when it comes to writing. Having to wrap everything up so it makes sense? Hard as fuck for me adlfkja
14. How do you write emotional scenes? Do you ever feel what the characters feel? Do you draw from personal experience?
Depending on the emotional scene, I guess I like to act it out in my mind, just sorta see where it's going to go. I do have this tendency to like, make weird faces when I'm writing emotional scenes because if I wrote like, someone frowns or something, I automatically make that same facial expression haha. I have pulled from my own sadness a few times in the past, though, especially when it comes to things like loneliness and the like.
17. What do you do when writing becomes difficult?
I'll take a small break, like a couple of days, if I'm working on a fic that's a wip/ongoing fic, I'll sit down and look at the plan I have (if I've written a plan) for the next bit that I'm stuck writing. I'll also talk it out with a friend to see if the direction I'm going makes sense. Though if neither of those work, I will end up writing something else just to shake off the cobwebs of my brain and then afterwards I'm usually good to go back to my previous writing and continue on.
27. What is your most and least favorite part of writing?
Most: definitely writing something that I really enjoy and want to see. Lately I've been writing mostly Copia/ghoul fic and there's so many scenarios that I want to see. So many things I want to happen. So, being able to put those down on paper is definitely a huge plus.
Least: lack of engagement/community sometimes. Putting myself out there and getting barely anything back? Idk, also having to write the things I want to read when I just want to read them XD but that's what writing fic is, I guess. Having to write what you want to see cause no one else is gonna do it haha :)
thank you so much for the ask <3333
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#27 with art if you feel so inclined! :) 🖤 please and thank you!
Sure thing!
Prompt: Kisses exchanged while one person sits on the other’s lap.
Warnings: Established relationship, divorced Art Donaldson, smooches
"Did you eat already? I'm so fricking hungry," You grumble, leaving your suitcase by the door and striding toward the kitchen.
"Yeah, I ate."
"How's your shoulder?"
"It's fine."
"Are you sure?" You glance back at him from the kitchen. "Ken said you mentioned that it was stiff."
Art doesn't answer for a moment, eyes sweeping across your face. You watch him glance even lower before he shakes his head a little.
"It loosened up."
"If you're sure," You turn back to the sink, cranking on the faucet to wash your hands. "Don't push it if you don't have to."
"I won't."
"How did Lily's uh—Career day go?"
"It went fine. C'mere."
"Her teacher was so excited you could make it, I mean, so happy." You shut the sink off, plucking up the dishtowel to dry your hands before turning to the fridge. "Like, jazzed. I know no one uses that word anymore, but she was jazzed. Did you eat already?"
"I told you I did. C'mere."
"She's always been the coolest kid in the third grade in my opinion, but now it's official. Like—Peer official. Like, blue tick, you know?" You eye the contents of the fridge. "Are you hungry?"
"I just said I ate."
"No, right—Sorry. My mind's like," You shake your head. "I'm trying to slow down and catch up at the same time."
"Baby."
"I'm all jet-lagged and just jacked up. Fucking hate conferences."
"Baby."
"Yeah?"
"Look at me."
You turn your head from the fridge, raising your brows at the sight of Art's small, amused smile.
"...What?"
"Come here," He laughs, holding his hand out. You close the fridge, rounding the counter slowly and eyeing Art with suspicion.
"What's that look for?" You ask.
"I'm not giving you any kind of look."
"Yes you are."
"I am not."
"I know that face, mister."
He chuckles, taking hold of your hand once you're close enough, tugging you down. You lower yourself over him, straddling his thighs and settling in as his arms curl around your waist. He leans up, sucking a gentle kiss to your neck. You bite your lip, shifting slightly as his hands curl in the fabric of your shirt.
"...Are we picking Lily up from practice tomorrow?" You ask as your mind races.
"Tashi's got her," Art mumbles, the hum of it vibrating against your skin.
"Okay, good. I mean—Not good like—I've got some errands to run and I have to wash my clothes from the trip. I don't wanna mess up her schedule."
Art groans, tipping his head back and leaning away. You frown, pouting.
"What's wrong?"
Art lets his head loll to look up at you, a pout forming on his lips.
"You've been at a hundred since you walked through the door."
"I've got things on my mind."
"I can tell."
"Alright—" You groan, beginning to lean away, but Art's arms tighten around you, leaning up and pressing his chest against yours.
"I missed you," He murmurs. You wilt a little, raising your hands to cup his cheeks.
"I missed you, too."
"Yeah?"
"Mhm."
"Because I'm feeling very neglected."
Art grins as you break into a laugh, leaning up and brushing a kiss along the underside of your jaw.
"You poor thing," You coo, turning your head. He catches your lips with his, sliding a hand up to your nape to guide your kisses as you sink down against him.
"...Art?" You mumble against his lips.
"Mm."
"I...Missed this...And you..."
"Mhm."
"But I am starving."
"Pizza'll be here in ten."
You grin, leaning back to look at him.
"You didn't."
"Course I did." His hand slides around your neck, knuckles brushing against your jaw.
"You're gonna spoil me rotten, Donaldson."
"Or die trying."
#Art Donaldson x Reader#Art Donaldson x You#Art Donaldson/Reader#Art Donaldson/You#Art Donaldson fic#Art Donaldson imagine#asks#replies#anon#kiss prompts
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why are you and your drawings so cool 😭🙏
afdsasdfasg thank you !! irl ppl would laugh at me being called cool lol - Have a ghoap as thanks <33
#ask#chloe-is-slightly-epic#ghostsoap#doodle#i'm trying to get better at letting myself be a bit more open online#a bit more uncool if you will#im an anxious perfectionist so a lot of art and posts end up in drafts forever#like this sketch i drew..... 4 months ago#hope you all wont mind if I start posting a bit more#unfinished work like sketches or fic snippets#Im constantly making stuff and writing but I just dont post#womp womp anxiety#so yeah decidedly uncool but im happy you like my art :')#btw if youve ever sent an ask or asked a question that i've never answered... yeah its probably in my drafts because i got stuck on somethi#and then forgor#and now its been so long that it feels weird to reply#sorry!! I super appreciate everyone who take the time to write
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[Desmond Miles has successfully saved a Levantine village during the Third Crusaders after waking up in the past.]
Grateful civilian: Thank you, stranger! You have saved our village from the cruelty of war. May we ask who you are so we may know the name of our savior?
[Desmond Miles believes he cannot say ‘Desmond Miles’ because that might accidentally create a ripple effect in the future.]
[Desmond Miles believes he cannot use any of the names of the ancestors who haven’t been born yet especially the Kenways because of how important they are to his history.]
[Desmond Miles has not yet processed the shock of dying a painful death and waking up in the past and his brain is blanking.]
Desmond: Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.
[The people Desmond Miles have saved now believed their savior’s name is Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad.]
[Desmond Miles has committed identity fraud.]
[… and he will continue to commit identity fraud.]
#we interrupt teecup’s attempts to replying to all the pending replies + asks#to post this half-crack(?) idea#brought by joongdok identity fraud love language#im sorry guess ive been taken in by orv#one day i might even get an actual orv x ac idea#for now…#assassin's creed#desmond miles#teecup writes/has a plot#fic idea: assassin's creed#altaïr ibn la'ahad
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ITS CHRISTMAS EVE (or at least where I live bc timezones) and I would like to gove Pyramid Head smoochies under mistletoe pls 😌
Aww I was having this idea too! And since it's Christmas allow me to bless you with a drawing!...
...And a lilttle one-shot!
"Mistletoe"
(Pyramid Head x GN Reader)
Warning: suggestive implications by the end, but mostly fluff!
Word Count: 1k
Christmas was always a funny holiday for (Y/N). Either because they never truly felt connected to it or because they haven't felt the 'magic of Christmas' since childhood. Don't get me wrong, they would still put some decorations when they could, but ever since they came to Silent Hill such tradition was lost.
Not like they mind it too much though, they already have the absolute best gift and company they could ever ask for! Just tell me, who in their right mind would be upset about having a nearly 8ft tall demi-god creature as your forever partner? You have to be chronically insane to turn down such blessing!
And speaking of the creature, (Y/N)'s daydream was interrupted when a large hand curled around their arm and stopped them. They shoot a curious glance to their lover, who was already looking at whatever got his attention.
Right above them, placed on the old metallic door frame with, what they suppose is duct tape, were hangign a bunch of oddly shaped pieces of paper. Some pieces where green, others painted green, and all of them where kept together with a piece of damaged red cloth that was tied as a bow.
(Y/N) stares at that weird construction with furrowed brows, really trying to grasp what the hell they're looking at. Pyra was still as well, but his head tilted towards his human as he curiously observes their reaction. Seems like they too have no clue what is this-.
However, (Y/N) manages to make out the shape of it and instantly burst out laughing.
—"No way! No way someone actually made one!"— you say between laughs.
The beast simply observes them, letting out a low wondering rumble. Is that another pointless joke humans have? (Y/N) is laughing hard so it must be something very funny or very stupid.
After the laughter had ceased, (Y/N) takes a look at their monster and suddenly remember what he wanted in the first place. Oh, right. They were supposed to explain what is that.
—"Okay, okay."— you say between giggles as you point at the object. —"That thing over there is supposed to be a mistletoe. Remember when I told you about Christmas and how people decorate that one fuzzy tree? Well, this thing is also kinda a Christmas tradition. People hang it somewhere high and when two step or pass underneath it, they have to kiss."—
While (Y/N) explains, Pyra listens to them carefully. But the second they mention the kiss part, the air between them shifts and becomes... Odd. And Pyra himself still, way too still.
(Y/N) of course feels the change, and is quick to start clarifying.
—"But of course, it's optional. It's not like you're forced to kiss anyone. If anything, I never did! So I suppose this will remain as a silly tradition some-"—
Their speech is replaced by a tiny gasp when the monster suddenly grabs their jaw, gently lifting and moving their gaze where he needed. Their eyes narrow slightly when they noticed a tongue peek out from his helmet and slowly, almost shily, wiggle towards their face.
—"Aww. What a polite guy."— you chuckle as a little blush creeps on your cheeks. —"Well of course I'll give you a kiss."—
Ever since they introduced this new method of showing affection, it wasn't rare to witness Pyra ask for a 'kiss' once or twice. It's kinda funny to see how shy he gets, always taking it slow and giving them enough time to stop or pull away. Do they do that? Nuh-uh! Do they think it feels gross? Weird, yes. But (Y/N) is deranged so it's fine.
The pink muscle soon presses against their lips, and they respond by giving it a kiss while holding it in place gently, totally unbothered by its wet and slippery texture. They could feel Pyra practically melt into the gesture, he does it every time. It's small, but is the closest they can get to an actual kiss, and the intimacy and specialness of it seems to get the beast to his very core.
After some second, when (Y/N) attempts to lean back, a pair of big arms gets a hold around them, cementing them in place completely and pulling them closer to the monster. The said beast lets out a low menacing growl as his tongue licks their cheek and part of the jaw. The message was clear...
M̵̞͔̥̏̌̊o̷͕͒̓͑ͅŗ̷̭̝̓̾e̵̠̤͓̅̒̋.
He wanted more.
Despite the apparentaly hostile growls, (Y/N) showed no intimidation and simply chuckled as they roll their eyes.
—"Someone is feeling frisky, huh?"—
Another, and a bit louder, growl resonated from inside the beast's helmet. His grip around them tightening and the tongue sliding along their lips, almost begging for them to kiss it again.
—"Calm down tiger. We both know if we continue you'll get too carried on."— you coo, sliding one of your hands along one side of his helmet.
He groans with certain displeasure, but his grip soon losens as he slightly tilts his head into their touch, yet he doesn't let go neither.
—"If you're really feeling like doing it then let's go somewhere else. You don't want anyone to see me naked, don't you?"—
This time their answer is no longuer a growl or a sound, but the same pair of big hands lighting their form up and swinging over a broad shoulder.
Before starting to walk however, the monster reaches up and snatches the little paper mistletoe. (Y/N) of course notices that and can't hold back the little laugh.
—"Well well, see you really liked this particular tradition."—
They get no response as the monster resumes his walking. But the small squeeze on one of their thighs was enough proof to know that they got it right and it won't be the last time the see the little item.
After this little interaction, and probably after what's about to come, (Y/N) doubts to ever be able to feel that magic of Christmas again.
However, they realize that they still experienced something new. The magic of the mistletoe.
Is that an actual thing? Who knows.
But it worked on Pyra so it must be a thing, right?
It worked well after all.
...Too well.
#nothomegal ask reply#nothomegal art#nothomegal fic#nothomegal oneshot#pyramid head#pyramid head x reader#pyramid head x y/n#gn y/n#gn reader#happy holidays y'all ❤️#slasher fluff
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