#now that i wrote it down it doesn't look so grand | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

trblsvt · 3 months

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so obvious | jeon wonwoo

summary | so you disclosed your relationship to admin. now all you needed to do was break the news to your students. maybe they could pick up on the signs you were dropping? genre | fluff, teacher!au warnings | swearing (maybe, i don't think so), corny couple stuff word count | 2.4k words pairing | jeon wonwoo x fem!reader minli | lowercase intended so this is technically a sequel to this piece that i wrote a while ago! a lot of people wanted a part 2! i'm not sure how i feel about this... it's a bit tamer than what i was going for initially, but this is my return i suppose. hope all is well with everyone

wonwoo rolled over and glanced at the alarm clock. unfortunately, it was 7:00 am, so it was time to get up. he turned back over to wake you. "___, my love, it's time to get up," he murmured in your ear. he felt your skin raise at his touch, and he smiled. you groaned and rolled over to face wonwoo. you immediately buried your face into the crook of his neck. he chuckled and pulled you closer to him. "it's time for school," he urged. you groaned. "come on, let's get going," he tugged on you playfully. "the sooner we get there, the sooner we can come back home."

"that's not how that works," you rolled your eyes as you practically fell out of bed. wonwoo sat up against the headboard and watched you gather your things to get ready. "today's the big day, right?" you asked, looking at him. he nodded. today was the day the two of you agreed to disclose your relationship with your students. it was about time, and if you were honest, you were just happy to get it over with. "i was thinking i could just tell my first period class, and let the information spread on it's own. how were you thinking of doing it?" you asked wonwoo, sitting back down on the bed.

wonwoo gazed at you with an emotion you couldn't pinpoint. "i actually was thinking about that last night," he began.

"oh no," you laughed leaning into his body. his arms wrapped around you. "maybe, we could reveal it in a more, how should i say, grand way?" he suggested.

“grand?” you asked. wonwoo was never one for big announcements. you were surprised he even agreed to announce it to the students in the first place. now he was talking about something grand? he smiled shyly, “yeah, maybe we could, like, hold hands.” he looked at you so seriously. you couldn’t help but laugh, “hold hands?” you repeated. he pouted, gripping your hand tighter. “what? you don’t like that idea?” he asked.

“no, no, sorry. i’m sorry. i didn’t mean it like that,” you quickly tried to reassure him. “you know i like holding hands with you.”

“you only like holding hands with me?” he teased.

“love. i love holding your hand” you corrected, kissing his cheek. he smiled leaning back in bed, considering his plan. “it would be cool to sort of have them figure it out on their own,” he said. “like a mystery. we could hold hands, hug… just be more touchy, i guess.”

“so you’re suggesting we act like a normal couple,” you said.

“well, when you say it like that…” he rolls out of bed, pulling you up with him.

“plus, we don’t want to be indecent at school of all places,” you smiled, resting your hands on his shoulders. he chuckled, “indecent? never.”

"so, you still don't believe there's any chance of miss ___ and mr. jeon getting together?" daniel asked his two friends lily and mina. lily slumped down in her chair. they were sitting in mr. jeon's class, bright and early for first period. "lily doesn't believe it's possible anymore. remember how many times miss ___ shut her down last time?" mina sighed.

"well, i have news for you guys," daniel smiled, leaning over the table. "i saw miss ___ reach for mr. jeon's hand today on the way into the teacher lounge." mina practically shrieked at the news. lily still looked unimpressed. nothing in her mind could make her change her mind.

"maybe she was just reaching for the door handle after him," lily rolled her eyes.

"how could she if mr. jeon was holding the door already?" daniel argued. "aren't you the person who wanted them to be together more than anything?" it was true, lily really wanted to believe her two favorite teachers could be together. yet, she had a hard time believing in it. miss ___ always dodged her questions and mr. jeon was cryptic as ever. it seemed fruitless. "c'mon just entertain it," daniel pleaded. lily rolled her eyes. there couldn't be any harm in hoping.

"___, don't you think that's a little risky? couldn’t you just put your ring on your finger and see if anyone notices?" seungkwan groaned as he sat down on the chair across from you in the lounge. "it feels like it would violate some sort of public indecency mandate or something," he added. you just rolled your eyes even though you had the same thought. "come on, you know wonwoo wouldn't do something too crazy," you assured. just as you said that you felt a hand wrap around your waist and turn you around. suddenly there was a pair of lips on yours, and you kissed back. "hello, my darling," wonwoo smiled.

"hi," you laughed.

"i believe you stand corrected," seungkwan fake gagged and left to get more coffee. you looked at wonwoo and smiled. "you can't do this in front of the students," you teased.

"me? kiss you in front the students? never," he smirked, leaning down to kiss you again. you leaned away and pushed his face away playfully. "i'd prefer it if you didn't do it in front of seungkwan's coffee either. looks like he's going to be sick," you pointed out. wonwoo glanced over at seungkwan, who was fake throwing up and looking at them with disgust. “he can close his eyes,” he smiled, leaning in to kiss you again. but, you stop him by slightly moving his face away with your hand again. “don’t you have class to get to?” you asked.

“can’t a man love his wife?” he rolled his eyes.

“this particular man doesn’t have a wife.”

“yet. that’s a technicality.” wonwoo looked at you with a slight smile on his lips. “you love technicalities!” you pointed out.

“oh, gosh. look at the time. i have a class to get to,” he looked at the silver watch on his wrist and left the lounge giggling at his own humor.

“dork.”

before you stepped into class, you had listened to seungkwan and slipped the ring off the necklace hanging around your neck and onto your finger. maybe they would notice the diamond as you pointed at the board. you stepped into the classroom, and you noticed something in the air felt wrong. you glanced over at mina and daniel, who were staring you down. meanwhile, lily was slumped in her seat, but she was still looking at you like she was expecting something. you brushed it off and got up to the front of class. “hi, everyone!” you said cheerily. “how has the day been?” you were expecting the default answer of “good” from everyone, so you were a bit surprised when daniel said, “lily is ruining my mood.” he was promptly smacked by mina.

“guys, please do not hit each other,” you sighed. “maybe you should talk to lily and try to sort it out privately.” daniel nodded and slumped into his chair.

the rest of class went on without much of a hitch. you even tried to motion with your hands more so they would notice the shining stone on your ring finger. but, halfway through class, there was a knock on the door and it opened quickly. you looked up from writing on the board and saw wonwoo step into class. “mr. jeon,” you said surprised. he looked at you sheepishly and looked around the classroom. “miss ___, i- uh- you forgot your lunch,” he smiled holding up your lunch bag and taking another step into the room. your students were silent as he stepped into the room. “so sorry to interrupt. i had my free period so i thought i could swing by to drop it off,” he shrugged casually.

you stepped forward and took your lunch from his hands. “thank you,” you whispered coming closer to wonwoo than what was probably appropriate. wonwoo’s hands brushed yours briefly, and he pulled away. “once again, apologies for interrupting,” he said calmly walking out the door, sending you a slight smile on the way. you paused momentarily but snapped out of it since you needed to finish this lecture. “okay, so where were we?” you asked the class. but when you looked out into the sea of young faces, there was a collective look of shock and bewilderment on their faces. “what? is there something on my face?” you joked.

“what was that?” daniel gasped, utterly confused.

“what was what?” you asked looking around the class, playing coy.

“mr. jeon basically invading your personal space!” mina yelped.

“i wouldn’t say that was necessarily invading my personal space….” you trailed off.

“he touched your hand!” lily exclaimed.

“i’m sure that was just an accident,” you insisted. you play with the ring on your finger as she says this. you were surprised none of them had pointed that out since you made an effort to speak with your hands today. “are you and mr. jeon together, miss ___?” daniel asked.

“that’s not an appropriate question to ask, daniel,” you said, but in reality, you were hoping they were going to guess it sooner than later; your hands were tired from motioning with them all day.

“oh come on… miss ___,” lily whined. but before you could banter with them further the bell for class change rang.

“oh, look at that, it seems as though it’s time for everyone to get going to the next class. wouldn’t want you to be late,” you ushered them and turned off the projector. there were some grumbles of discontent, but they left eventually.

“you saw that right?” mina grabbed lily’s arm as they left the classroom.

“noticed what?” lily asked.

“the ring!” daniel exclaimed. “come on… there’s no way you didn’t see it.” lily continued to look at them confused. “lily! she was waving her hand around like she wanted us to see it! no way the most delusional person here didn’t see it,” daniel groaned.

“i am not delusional,” lily huffed. “but… if there was a ring… maybe they are together…”

“well, luckily for us, we have mr. jeon’s class next,” mina smiled, practically grabbing lily’s hand.

“i’m giving you all time to work on the essay in class. please, take advantage of this time,” wonwoo announced to the class. he sat down and fidgeted with the bouquet he had under his desk. he was planning on taking you out to a surprise dinner tonight. after the school bell rang and you met him outside, he would bring out the flowers and ask you to dinner out in the parking lot. this would be his grand gesture to let the students know. plus, maybe he would be able to hold your hand too. another gesture to signal your relationship.

there was some quiet whispering going on, but that was expected and he paid no mind to it. but, suddenly, someone was standing, or multiple someones, at the foot of his desk. “lily, daniel, mina. what can i do for you three?” he asked looking up at the three students.

“are you and miss ___ together?” lily asked plainly. wonwoo swallowed nervously. though the two of you planned to tell the students, he was so used to keeping your relationship secret from the students he froze. “uh - what? where have you gotten that idea?” he cleared his throat.

“well, you two aren’t exactly inconspicuous,” daniel said. wonwoo tried to hide his shock. he thought the two of you did quite well hiding it up until today. the whole “forgetting your lunch” thing was staged by him, but before he thought he was laying low. he was honestly torn if this is how he wanted to tell his students.

it wasn’t.

so his brain went into autopilot. “lily, i thought i told you not to pry into personal matters? miss ___ and i have a close partnership as the youngest faculty members at this school. however, i do not want this to lead any misunderstandings among students,” he said in the best authoritative voice he could muster through his shock.

they looked guilty and a bit dejected. “sorry, mr. jeon. we won’t ask again,” mina apologized first. daniel and lily followed suit. “please get back to your work,” he said. they nodded and headed back to work.

“maybe he was lying,” daniel said. mina scowled at him. “i did not like getting told off by him,” mina grumbled. “i didn’t know he was gonna be like that.” lily opened her locker and grabbed the books she needed for homework. “whatever, guys. i’ll just give up all hope on this,” lily sighed. “it’s not worth thinking about.”

they exited the school with their bags. then they see a familiar figure stroll into the faculty section of the parking lot. “wait… was that mr. jeon… with flowers?” mina asked, pointing in the direction of him. he was carrying a bouquet and a smile. he tapped the shoulder of someone. she turned around. “miss ___?” mina gasped as she watched the scene unfold. mr. jeon handed miss ___ the flowers. they hugged and she kissed his cheek. “what? i thought he said they weren’t like that?” lily exclaimed.

“he must have lied,” daniel shrugged.

“why are you so casual about this?” mina elbowed him.

“well, like i told mr. jeon, they’re so obvious,” daniel smiled smugly.

“wonwoo…” you giggled as you took the flowers he handed to you.

“so dinner at 7 at that new restaurant,” he smiled, grabbing your hand. you smiled and kissed his cheek. you glanced over at the car loop where you saw some familiar young faces. “so, this was your grand gesture,” you smiled.

“well, yeah,” he blushed. “but, i am also holding your hand like we discussed this morning.” you laughed and nodded. he indeed was holding your hand. “the grandest of gestures,” you kidded. he smiled and opened the car door for you. before you got in you turned and waved at the three faces watching after you, ring glinting in the afternoon light. wonwoo turned to see who you were waving at. he shot them a wink and climbed into the driver’s seat. “i love you,” he said smiling.“i love you more.” you said smiling grabbing his hand.

“impossible.”

minli | so thanks for reading! lightly proofread! i'm on spring break so that's why i go around to getting this out! thanks for you guys who stuck around :) i went through the people who asked for a part 2 a long time ago and tagging you all even if you don't remember the og fic.... taglist: @a-wandering-stay @cinnamoroxie @wonwoosthetic

@skz-tua-txt-storytimes @ellelabelle @minghaossv @gie-gie-gie-gie @tootheiass @stendy4life

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iznsfw · 1 year

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The Rabbit

IVE's Jang Wonyoung x Male Reader Smut

9,623 words

Categories | maid!Wonyoung, if you could get the movie this is based off of you're awesome, blowjob, anal

Yep, I finally wrote Wonyoung. Who knew, right?

Maybe you'll meet your end today. Tomorrow, if you're lucky. Either way, they'd find out. That's definitely certain; mandatory love is no winning game. Love in general isn't, especially when it's founded on merely scrawny and lustful sex. The lines between lust and love blur, and it becomes more dangerous than it actually is.

And one could say that it really isn't love (you've heard that a couple more times than you'd like) when you barely know anything about her, when your mind only dances with the thought of ruining her angelic self again, but they know you'd never listen. You refuse to.

So, where did all this—a young, gorgeous woman by the name of Jang Wonyoung in the crook of your arm, her hand on your cock and glossy lips on yours—start?

Well, to understand, you have to stay in the present and reminisce about the past, just one more time. You've to live in it as if the former days were the current ones and what's now is nothing to worry about. But you shouldn't dwell too long; the world out there is no land for lonely men.

1. HOP

Your nerves and fears merge and struggle as one as you line up to the counter. They've plenty of reasons to do that sickly collaboration that makes your stomach hurt, but you find solace with the fact that it's at least a nice hotel. The soft yellow paint on the wall makes a lovely pair with the yellow one smeared on the outlines. The rooms are all well-furnished, and the frames bear replicates of several famous abstract masterpieces. In general, the hotel possesses a grand and pretty aesthetic, and you would have rated the stay five stars out of five if you weren't hoarded out of your home and in here.

Everyone dresses nicely, too. The older woman in the line next to yours wears a blazer and a high fashion tube top under it, her main color all over being pink. On the other hand, the man in front of you dons a formal black suit. It's like there was a recurring oath all around to dress grandly that they left you out of. How rude of them.

Suddenly self-conscious, you smooth down your simple shirt and jeans. You're already making an exception for yourself from the expensive dress code; the obligation to look clean should at least be followed. There shouldn't be any crinkled lines riding the fabric of your shirt, or a single speck of dirt on your cheap shoes.

"Next," says the woman at the counter briskly.

You make your way forward. Said woman is dressed in mandatory, dead-looking uniform and has no sign of a smile on her emotionless face. She doesn't want to be here more than you do. She makes that clear as she flashes you a tired look.

"Name?"

You tell her your name, switching your weight from one foot to another.

"Age?"

"Twenty-one years old."

"Sexual preference?"

"W-what?" you ask. It bears repetition; you have no idea why the woman would ask that.

She—(you should start calling her "Kim Gaeul" now; you've read the name on her breast pocket tag)—sighs, not caring to hide her frustration. "You know why you're here, don't you?" she asks.

Her tone suggests that you should know. However, no idea comes to mind. If they ever informed you of your purpose here, the message got lost in translation in the stress of packing your belongings and traveling all the way to this hotel. It's a decent upgrade from your humble little house, but it can’t mimic the safety of the place you grew up in. You're basically being held hostage here—this place will never be home.

"I don't," you admit guiltily.

"Well, if it's not obvious, you're a twenty-one-year-old heterosexual—I assume—man, and you still haven't found a partner."

Gaeul says it in this unnecessarily audible voice that makes you flush red to your ears. Everyone is going through the same, hence their presence in this very hotel, but when it's uttered out loud, it's like rubbing salt over an already throbbing wound.

Your face feels hot with humiliation. "Yes? And?"

"This doesn't go well with your purpose of being fruitful and multiplying," continues Gaeul. To quote the Bible in these times is… well, something, but you’ll let her have this one. "Here, you'll be able to find your lifetime partner—"

You're confused. "And how does being here help with bagging a girl?"

"—and spend two weeks together to prove your bond to us." Gaeul glares at you, clearly annoyed that you've interrupted her. For that, and out of pure, unyielded spite, she dodges your question expertly. "You're given forty-five days, and, if by the end, you're unable to find someone who shares the same qualities slash traits with you, you're turned into an animal."

Well, you did not expect that one coming.

(But, if your memory serves you well, the cop in the van that took you to this place said, as he brushed down his gray uniform: "They skin you alive to make you a little critter, that's what they do—it's heinous. Happened to an old friend of mine. Miss him more than ever."

"Did you see it happen?" you asked, his words stealing your attention from the lands running to keep up with the vehicle.

"Was told about it," answered the cop. "He said he wanted to be a dog. They took out his organs and gave all the blood to the hospitals. Dunno what happened to those, but they probably went down the same route. Wonder what kid out there got his lungs now, heh."

"Well, did it work? Did he become what he wanted?"

"No idea. All I can say is after that, dogs kept following me around.")

"You know," you say, leaning forward on the counter with your arms crossed, in hopes of appearing more in control of the whole thing than you actually are, "it takes more than forty-five days to find a wife, Gaeul. It takes years."

"Oh, really?" Gaeul gives you a condescending look one would give to a rambling, precocious toddler. "Didn't know that."

"Hey, I'm not doing this. I'm out."

"Suppose you're a Loner, then?"

"I've heard that one before."

She sighs. "A Loner doesn't believe in what we do here," she explains tiredly. "They don't believe in love."

"Sounds like me."

"If one wishes to extend their forty-five-day period in finding a partner," adds Gaeul helpfully, her statement definitely not a thinly veiled threat, "they're required to kill a Loner."

You're stunned by how everything works. Just forty-five days to get a wife? Those who don't want to comply with the system being hunted down as a consequence? What has this world come to?

You look back in line. There are numerous other men and women waiting for their turn, and you're wasting their time and Gaeul's. Not that you care much for her since she's been rude to you since the beginning, but she does look like the kind of person able to make someone disappear off the face of the Earth if they don't fit in. What if you don't match her criteria either? What would she have the people in charge do to you? What if the animal thing was a lie and they actually just killed you off?

It's either death, becoming an animal, or having someone to hold.

You haven't had the third one in a long, long time.

You inhale, hold that breath, and exhale slowly. Straighten your shoulders. "Fine, I'll do it."

"Alright. Sexual preference?"

"Heterosexual." You think.

"If, in any circumstance, you are unable to find a partner, what animal would you like to become?"

A beat.

"A rabbit," you say thoughtfully. "I think I'd want to become a rabbit."

2. DOWN

"A rabbit? Really? Out of every animal out there?"

A small Japanese woman from behind you in line keeps you entertained now in the waiting room. She has short, auburn hair and a cute smile. Her cheeks remind you of dumplings. Speaking of, you can smell some of them cooking in the kitchen nearby. You can hear your stomach rumble.

"It just… feels right, you know?" you say, shrugging in your seat beside her, in which she's strangely pressed up closely to you.

You haven't really given the animal thing much thought. You know that there's an underlying reason for it, but you can't really ponder exactly what. Perhaps it's a favorite animal from childhood? Nope, couldn't be it—your favorite animal back then was a lobster. And you can't even recall the reason for that.

"A rabbit… carrots…” You give up. “No idea.”

The woman nods understandingly. Her fingers guitar a rhythm on her knees. "Aren't you gonna ask what I'd like to be?" she says expectantly.

Alright, sure; you'll play her game. You've nothing else to do, anyway; you're just waiting for your room number to be announced. It might take a while, too, with the number of people waiting before you. The richer ones obviously get more privileges as well.

"What animal would you want to be?" you ask the girl.

"A butterfly. Be nice to just fly around and be pretty, don't you think?"

"A butterfly’s an insect, no?"

"Insects are also animals."

Desperate to keep the conversation going to fill the eerie silence, which makes you grow more and more uneasy, you prompt more lines from her. "Are they?"

She twitches her mouth to one side with a thoughtful look. "I'd like to think so."

You're given only forty-five days to find the one, you remind yourself. You have to constantly give yourself reminders lest you forget about your new life here in the hotel. Here's your chance.

"What's your name?" you ask her.

"Rei."

A cute name for a cute girl—nice. Rei's adorable from head to toe. Even the clothes she wears are sweet. Her plump cheeks allude to that, too. "Well, Rei, you want to team up?"

Rei scoffs, suddenly moving away from you. Her face, which you once saw as adorable, suddenly looks scary. "Is that what you think of all this? A defense-offense field game?"

"Uh, no, I meant that it’s—"

"No, save it. I want to actually find love here, you bastard. Love isn't a game you can just play anytime."

Yeah, of course it isn't; love is a fucking requirement. Does Rei really think she'll find true love in a world like this? You pity her Snow White enthusiasm for true romance, for a prince who’d sweep her off her feet without the feeling of obligation, but maybe she really wants to be a butterfly. You're not gonna stop her from what her heart desires; you're far from that kind of guy.

At least, you hope so. God, are you becoming one of those men?

Rei's obviously upset. From the pure shock in her face, it's clear she saw something in you that was quickly made meaningless by your mindset. She rises from the sofa, fuming, and walks away. She says in heated breaths that she needs some fresh air.

You watch your chance disappear just like that and smile tightly. Oh well.

"Tough, ain't it?" remarks the man from the loveseat across the room. He's a lot older, and he looks like he'd be the best grandfather. He'd probably let his grandkids stay awake past bedtime and give them candy. Why is he here? Maybe he recently broke up with Grandma? "Finding a girl?"

"Don't I know it," you sigh.

He smiles sympathetically. "It's better than being a rabbit," he says.

"I'd take a rabbit over a no-jerking-off policy."

That's how it works here: real life torture, in an unusual way, since they're depriving you of self-pleasure. They don't believe that masturbating would help find a girl. Gaeul told you earlier that if you were caught doing so—(and they will; they have CCTVs in the damned rooms, which definitely breaks more than a few laws about privacy and the like)—there would be severe punishments.

You truly don't want to know what punishment awaits your refusal to obey.

The man chuckles. "At least you get a lap dance. That's better than yankin'."

"A lap dance?" you ask. Gaeul didn't mention that.

"Every night, a maid comes over and gives ya a good grind down the groin. You don't actually get to touch her or do the thing, if you catch my drift,” he winks, “but it helps with mating. Wouldn't want someone who can't get it up at night, amirite, mate?"

"Suppose not."

The man sees the sparkle in your eyes. His laugh evolves from a soft, olden chuckle to a full-on guffaw. "See? There's pros in this place, too, getting a pretty girl on top of you every night."

"Can't the maid be my wife instead?" you joke. That would make the flow of things here a whole lot easier, if that were true.

He shakes his head. "Nah, some say they're part of the Loners. Wouldn't want to mess with them."

The Loners… you've heard about them during your drive here. You saw them lurking in the woods, guns cocked, with eyes flashing demonic looks at every passerby. While the cop told you not to make eye contact with them, Gaeul informed you about their beliefs earlier during your heated exchange: love shouldn't be mandatory. And you agree, but getting hunted down by desperate rich people isn't at the very top of your bucket list.

You're a coward, but you like to think it's just you playing safe. One wrong move can land you in a place where your eyes would never behold the light of day again, where life holds no meaning unless a carrot is present.

"You're lying about the lap dance thing, aren't you?" you say finally. The world is fucked up, but it can't be that bad, right?

He grins. "See for yourself, and don't say I didn't warn you."

If there's anything good in this hotel besides the air-conditioning and paintings, it's the food. The platters served on the white-drapes tables make you feel more well-off than you actually are. There's fish skillets, sushi, gravy, and mashed potatoes. Spoons and knives of varying sizes and utilities sit on the opposite sides of every plate.

"Guess I like this place now," you joke to a woman beside you. She giggles back politely, but doesn't respond; her mouth is stuffed with crispy chicken skin.

You eat to your heart's content. Pour gravy all over the hills of mashed potatoes. Scoop up unlimited rice and pair it with the soup. You wonder what kind of cooks they hired to produce these delicacies. Was there a certain secret degree that had to be obtained to be accepted here? A secret recipe worth signing an NDA for?

"Good, isn't it?" asks the young gentleman across from you. It's clear he's used to grand dining; he's dainty with his chewing, and knows on which occasion a specific utensil should be used. However, his eyes are kind—there's no judgment in them as he watches you wolf down your food.

"Definitely." Letting go of table etiquette, you speak with half your mouth full. Glance down at his plate. "Do you usually eat that little?"

"Not really," he responds. "Just keeping room for dessert."

"There's dessert?"

As if on cue, chocolate cake and more chicken wings are placed on the table. You take one of the chicken wings and eat it with rice, classic Filipino style.

(Speaking of, you really, really miss Jollibee.)

Should you go for the cake, too?

You glance at the cake, then at your growing belly. Fuck it. You slice a generous part of the cake onto your golden plate. The frilling of the dessert is made of flowery cream. The bakers decorated the top of it with coffee-flavored candy, which you fork into your mouth gladly. Your stomach and heart feel full, but you just keep eating. It’s rare to come across food this delicious, and you’re not going to waste it. It’s all or nothing.

"Let's take half and half for this bad boy," the gentleman gestures to the cake with a pinky, "and leave nothing for the rest of these fuckers. How's that sound?"

"What the hell, I'm in."

As promised, he slices the dessert smoothly with a serving knife and places a good amount for you, and another one for him. You're gluttons, you two, but it's exactly that which made you like each other.

You become quite uneasy when you see staff looking at you strangely. Their eyes are squinted, and they’re murmuring among themselves, pointing in your direction. You try to look away, but they’re approaching already. There’s nowhere else to run.

"Sir, you might want to come with us."

You look up, ready to bear whatever they're planning to do to you. But then you realize they’re talking to your new friend, who looks nervous. The look in his eyes matches the one you’d see in an animal caught in a bear trap. He follows them anyway to the backrooms; the staff look pretty serious, and they don't look like they'd back up.

You've no idea what happened after, but you hear the words "masturbation" and "disobeyed," watch a few heads turn out of curiosity, and smell the horrid scent of burning skin.

You also hear screaming.

Safe to say that no one used the toaster after that.

You enter the chambers of your room with a fulfilled stomach. There's just a tiny amount of alcohol in your system, enough to keep your nerves at bay, and maybe a few mashed potatoes. You make sure to brush all that off in the tiled bathroom, using the small tube of hotel toothpaste and the children's toothbrush they provided for you. Drain it all down with mouthwash and leave your mouth feeling minty.

You thought the bedroom would be as grand as the rest of the place. To your surprise, its design and furniture look like ones you'd see at a gas station motel, nothing more. There's no expensive comforter to slip under, or a tiger's carpet to rest your feet on. It's all just… normal.

Maybe you'd like it that way. One day, it'll feel like home. You're not entirely sure about it, but you're hoping it'll happen.

You're just watching TV on the vintage television they set up on a small table (it’s a pretty old movie called Psycho) when a knock sounds on your door. Wondering who it might be, coming over at this hour, you open it.

"Good evening, sir."

A girl with braided hair twisted by dark bows in a stereotypical and an obviously fetish maid outfit stands timidly outside of your room. In spite of your tiredness, it still astounds you how she looks like an expensive, vintage porcelain doll brought to life. Her skin is as pale as the frilly, ribboned fabric forming the top of her black dress and the gloves that wrap her thin arms like a present. Her hands are curled behind her back, but they hide nothing, not even her nervousness.

"I'm sorry," you say. She's pretty, and you would have done her, but you don't know what the hell she's doing here. "I didn't ask for room service."

"It's not room service," she says. She's tall for a girl, only a little shorter than you, but you forget it with how often she hangs her head. "I'm, I'm here to give you the… you know…"

"Huh?"

"The grinding thing?" the girl goes on. Her fingertips tap against each other. Her eyes meet everything but yours. "The lap dance?"

Oh, now you remember. Your mind let go of the idea, having trained its focus on the food you consumed, but now, you can't stop thinking about what this girl is going to do. And here you thought it was just a joke to get you going.

You take a proper look at her. She's really beautiful. That face and body of hers, visually striking and slim in all the right spots, doesn't belong in a maid's uniform, now that you look closer. She should be a model, strutting down the catwalk with confidence in every one of her strides. She should be out there walking for fashion weeks and shows, not grinding on random strangers varying from old and young.

(However, in all unfiltered honesty, you certainly wouldn't mind her rubbing her thighs and ass on you, or holding those braids as you plow her—)

"Who are you?"

"I'm the maid," she replies. She bites her lip, getting even more anxious about what's to come, but it just looks undeniably sexy to you, even if its effect on you is wholly unintended.

Nodding: "Yeah, I know that. But what's your name?"

"W-Wonyoung…"

"Well, Wonyoung, do you want to do this? It's completely fine if you don't."

It's probably her first time hearing this because her blush is intense. She can't recall the last time anybody asked if she actually consented to her job. "I don't mind," she says honestly. She crosses her arms together and looks down. "I think I kinda like it."

You smile widely. "You do, huh?"

"Yes, but I'm a little nervous. I… I've never done stuff like this before."

Her voice is small and sweet. Pair that up with her angelic face and the outfit, then it equates to her looking like the perfect fuckdoll. You can imagine a million different scenarios with her if the world were kinder: having her as your pretty little sugar baby, with Wonyoung always following you like a tail and calling you daddy. Perhaps as a young wife, too, who'd welcome you home in ways that stray from a simple breakfast or kiss. Oh, you lament those lost universes.

But for now, you can have her pretty ass on your crotch.

"Come show me what you came for," you say.

"I—" Wonyoung shakes her head. She has to get a hold of herself. "Sorry, I'm just scared."

"Don't worry, I'll help you out."

Your lower body descends on the bed. And after, so does her tight, round ass on your center.

Your hands hold on to her tiny waist and guide her in her routine. She's on your lap, and you're in heaven.

The skirt, created and woven by the wealthy seamstresses in the hotel, is mesmerizing, but it's the natural way of her butt grinding left and right on your crotch that catches you whole, as if she were born with the ability to make the simple, subtle action of nuzzling her rear end on your cock feel like every good thing in the world. In that moment, you have strong faith that a million dollars or a good life can't compare to Wonyoung's ass.

The doubled pleasure from her thin safety shorts and her round butt causes you to let out a deep, guttural moan: "Fuck, Wony."

"Wony?" she asks, looking back at you with glassy eyes that still hold impossibly delicate innocence in them. Oh, how much you want to see the corruption's lust bloom in her irises.

"Sorry." You throw your hands in the air with a soft, broken laugh. "Just slipped out of me, dunno why."

"No, it's fine," says Wonyoung. She winks. "I like it."

Temptation taunts you in the form of the young girl's skirted ass. You wonder if she's lying about being a neophyte to this; she's a natural talent. She takes care to press her butt hard against your rising erection, and pleasure its covered tip by grinding on it with a rapid rhythm. Your cockhead starts to feel hot and tight, and you can tell she's aroused as much as you are; her safety shorts are attractively damp.

"Does it feel good?"

"Yes." You hold on to her dancing hips that grind on your growing erection, guiding her movements to what feels good for you. "Mmm, fuck, faster."

"I can't, I'm sorry..."

Wonyoung halts and rises from your lap. It's a terrible decision to make; it leaves you with unfulfilled desire and her with shaky, buckling legs. She bows apologetically. "I—I'm not supposed to do anything other than that, sir," she explains. "I have to go now. I'm sorry."

You can't believe you were teased like that. And you can't even masturbate to get down from the path to your high. You've seen what they did to the man who was caught touching himself, and you aren't keen on having your hand shoved inside a burning hot toaster.

"Wonyoung, please—"

She exits the room, head bowed and cheeks flushed. You're sitting like a rejected schoolboy on the bed, with blue balls and a throbbing erection, and you couldn't be more disappointed.

The next day arrives faster than you expected, and you still can’t stop thinking about her. Well, there wasn't a minute in the nighttime you spent without thinking of Wonyoung. Although your eyes ought to be on the pretty girls aplenty who’re looking for a man like you—(there’s Miyawaki Sakura, the wealthy heiress with pink hair and a charming, camera-trained smile, and; Kim Jiwon, who would have stolen your heart with her cute, cat-like ways back in your high school days)—your mind remains caught up in Wonyoung.

Pick up your cup, and the black design makes you think of her dark braided hair, which would have felt amazing curled up in your hands as you have your way with her. It’s difficult to drink coffee when the bitter taste reminds you of how she’d taste infinitely better, if last night her crotch was parked on your face instead of your lap. Wiping your mouth with the provided tissue paper sparks a new lamentation: the similar smooth feel of her maid’s dress, and, with her slim shape, how easy it would be to fold her into every position imaginable just to feel her insides become disarrayed from your needy cock.

She’s like a dream come true, dancing in your mind as if she were your ballerina rather than a hotel maid. She’s a sweet, innocent daydream who knows not of how much she stays first in line in your train of thoughts. Wonyoung is temptation in its most innocent form, and it ruins you how you can’t have her for yourself.

"Hey, you alright?" asks the old man you befriended after Rei's rejection. He's still wearing his pajamas and foggy glasses.

You nod, your mind someplace else. "Yeah. You?"

"All is well on my end, too." He lathers Nutella on the plateaus of bread and folds into half tightly. "Did the maid come over to see you last night?"

Chewing through your bread (untoasted, of course), you shake your head. "Nope," you lie through your teeth. "No lap dance, no nothing."

"Huh, that's odd. You probably don't remember it."

"Or maybe you lied," you say.

"Nuh uh, your old man's a saint. She came over to me last night. Gave hot stuff here some action."

"Sure she did."

The man chuckles lightly before taking a bite out of his bread. Now that his eyes are on his food rather than you, you think of Wonyoung again. You wonder if your meeting with her is what love at first sight is. You’re unhealthily infatuated with the girl, and you’ve only met her once. Could it be that this means something more?

Unfortunately, you haven’t got the answer to your own question. But, when she comes tonight, you’ll find out. Your determination is set on it.

3. THE

And come she does; her meek voice barely has audible quality past the glass peephole on your door, but it does make her small face look unusually large. Her expression holds the same lamblike innocence to it, and the dirty thoughts all come rushing back.

Your heart jumps as you welcome her inside. "Hi, Wonyoung."

"S-sir," she stutters, hands folded in front of her skirt, "I want to say that I'm sorry for last night."

Her voice is sweetly precious in a way that, even if you didn't already like her, you would have forgiven her instantly. Her departure last night isn't a grudge you hold on her—she just wants to stay true to the rules, plain and simple. And there's nothing wrong with that; you play by the book, too.

"No hard feelings." You pat her cheek. Feel it become hot. "You're just doing your job. One more time okay?"

You watch the relief wash over her face. But nervousness settles in once more as she sits on top of you.

Her bum erects your cock, sliding up its backside and teasing the tip like she did the night before. You even get a feel of a cameltoe through her shorts. Your hands find her waist and you help her sway her hips side to side. Wonyoung's constantly looking back at you with desperation tinting her gaze. She might not know it, but it's the plea in her gaze that's daring you to break the rules for her just one time. Just one time.

Come on, it seems to taunt, you can live with a burnt hand, you can live with being a rabbit if it means spending a night with Wonyoung. Do it.

So, when she finishes her routine, the first thing you utter is:

"Please don't go."

You've reached a new low: you've fallen for the maid's tight hot body and pretty little face, and now you can't get enough. You won't ever get enough of her, and that both satisfies and dissatisfies you. If she's so far away, how can you ever get to have at least a healthy portion of her? How can you lose yourself in her when it's forbidden?

Wonyoung looks at you regretfully. "Sir," she begins, hand steadied on the doorknob.

"Please, Wony."

The nickname ignites a firework in her. The flame shoots through her trembling hands, pretty face, and drenched core.

When did words alone make her feel so… warm? Her legs feel weak all of a sudden, and though she knows she can get in trouble for entertaining you more, invisible puppet strings drag her to you. Her lust, like some tumors, has formed a mind of its own, and it overpowers her logic already. It intends to keep her on the track towards granting her sexual needs.

"If we do it," she says hesitantly, "do you promise to never tell anyone?"

"I swear."

Wonyoung nods, registering your oath and making a silent one of her own, too. "Okay, thank you."

"Of course."

"And… and can you call me Wony?"

You promise to. You swear on your risked life and heart poisoned by Wonyoung's presence that somehow thrives with the toxicity.

To illustrate what happens after that, and how your pants and her underwear end up slipping off and her thin legs are suddenly curled around your waist, is difficult. It's hard to remember who initiated everything, or even make verbal guesses when your lips are entangled with Wonyoung. Any attempts to cover any hidden CCTVs should have been made earlier when your hands weren't on her thighs, lifting her to the bed and keeping her down there as kissing becomes the only thing you know.

You don't know if Wonyoung is a good kisser or it's all because of how plump her lips are. They wrap around your own with such soft security that the tenderness of it makes slipping your tongue inside her ignites feelings of just a tiny bit of guilt. But then you remember that corrupting Wonyoung from a sweet girl with little experience to a nymphomaniac is exactly what you want to do, and the guilt goes away almost completely.

"You kiss so well, sir," she says, much to your surprise when you've just completed an internal monologue about how good she kisses.

"You're not so bad yourself. Fucking love these lips." You lick a stripe of lust over her mouth and she giggles. "Show me what they're good for, Wony."

"You mean, like… suck your cock?"

"You're a quick girl."

"I am, but only for you, sir."

Wonyoung takes this as her sign to switch the positions, with you being the one on the bed while she gets on her knees. The size difference between your erection and her small face surprises you. With how small Wonyoung is all over, especially her little mouth, how can she take you?

Luckily for you—and for the equally turned on maid—that's the thrill of it. She's big and tall around everyone but you, and that alone already makes you want to do the most unholy things to her. Show her who's truly the big one in this situation, show her where she belongs, which is below you, between your legs and making puppy eyes for your cock.

The light dawns on Wonyoung's pleading face. She pouts, grabbing a hold of your cock and swiping it on her mouth, before asking, "Please? May I pretty, pretty please suck your cock?"

"You can anytime. Wouldn't mind if I pull on your cute pigtails, right, Wony? You'd let me tug on them while I fuck your face?"

"Oh!" Wonyoung nods eagerly. Is that even a question? Of course she'd let you. "Yes, yes, sir, please do. Wony doesn't care if it hurts. Wony only wants you."

Are those tempting words part of her training course prior to becoming a maid? Maybe, and perhaps closing her sweet lips cleanly around your dick is a lesson there, too; it's a lesson she passed with flying colors.

Her hair's already twisted in your fingers, ready for when the overpowering emotion of lust hits. Meanwhile, her hands are on your thighs to guide her in pushing her head back and forth. Her eyes sparkle more than the stars in the night sky outside the window.

She clicks her tongue on the bottom side of your cock. Hissing, you make your first tug, mumbling her name in almost rueful tones. Yea, rue Wonyoung for how fucking sexy she is, rue her for taking your eyes off the people you're supposed to be with. Oh, yes, rue her. Her punishment ought to be what's happening right now, but she's enjoying it a little too much for it to be called one.

"So good!" she says pitchily, as if your cock were actual food that's left a lasting first impression. "Mm, oh, you're so big and long, sir. I love how your precum tastes. But I want the, the real cum from you, too."

"Wonyoung…"

There's her name again, never leaving your thoughts but departing from your lips. You rise from the edge of the bed and poke your dick against the inside of her cheek, and God, does she look adorable. It feels good, too.

"Mmm, mmm! You'll give it to me, won't you?" Wonyoung looks up at you expectantly, speaking between effortless blowing. "You'll give plenty of cum for Wonyoung, right?"

"If you keep blowing me like that, I might as well."

The last three words come all rambled against each other, tied closely between syllables as you're losing your breath. Dragging your cockhead against Wonyoung's tongue and cheeks brings you a lot closer than you'd like, but you really don't want to deny her of what she wants. You'd love to spoil her with numerous shots of semen, all over her beautiful and angelic face, plus inside her prepared mouth.

"Oh, then I'll keep doing it." She giggles mischievously. Your hips are contained by her hands as she starts to bob her head. You gasp as you fill her throat and part its tightness. Her tongue teases your balls pressing against her lips and your throbbing veins. "Mmm, like this, sir? C'mon, fuck my throat. Give me your cum."

You aren't going to deny her of that either. Your cock enters the depths of her throat with the help of your fists pulling onto Wonyoung's braids. She lets out soft grunts whenever you thrust, and soon, her effortless blowing becomes difficult to replicate.

It's sadistic pleasure when her gags stimulate your cock even further, as if she were just another pretty little fuckdoll whose purpose is none other than that, and her mouth opens wider for air only to be filled again with cock. Her breaths are far away, and with your musky scent filling her nostrils, she can't even get oxygen. Spit and gags are all you can hear aside from your own heavy groans and Wonyoung's whines. A world outside of sex with her doesn't exist at the moment—it's just you and her, and there's no turning back.

And, even with only you and her in this universe, you still get lost in the warm wet pleasure of her mouth.

The merciless assaults you do unto her face, using what's supposed to be the visual of the century being displayed in billboards nationwide as your personal fuckhole, make both of you scream. Like an experiment gone wrong, you explode in Wonyoung's mouth. Her drool slides down her chin as her tongue sticks out, trying to catch the hosed eruptions of semen into her mouth. She wants it all inside her, and there's no excuses that can be made for drops gone wasted.

That's what the rest of her face is for. You pull out and spray your cum on her. More explodes

"Sir, oh, sir, that's so much!" Wonyoung opens her mouth wide and sticks out her tongue, her eyes closed. "Yes, thank you, I'll take all of it!"

There are promises all over the world that are broken everyday, but Wonyoung keeps hers, true to her word: hands on her knees, like the obedient little maid she is, she lets your mess launch into her mouth and face. Even when some get into her hair, or a few specks roll down her maid outfit, she stays still and lets the tide take its toll on her.

It settles eventually, like all things do at some point. But it's made clear that this sex thing won't—you still want more. Like lust and gluttony, the sin of greed has taken over you. You long for more of Wonyoung, for her everything, knowing that this might be the last night you're ever allowed to see her again. They're sure to be watching everything going on.

You stand to lock the door. As the latch falls into place as well as the dresser table for extra security, Wonyoung's eyes sparkle; it means that the two of you aren't done yet.

"You're going to give me the real thing, right, sir?" A good pet and a good girl, Wonyoung crawls, following your steps, and sets her used face on your knee when you sit back down. "Right? Please say I'm right."

You laugh. After stroking her hair, you wipe the cum off her face with your thumb and offer it to Wonyoung. She sucks on it, as expected. "Aren't you supposed to be leaving? I thought you didn't want to do this."

"Oh, but I do, sir. I wanted to but I was scared… but I'm not scared anymore. I want you and your cock inside me, now."

You dig your thumb deeper into her tongue. Wonyoung whimpers, forced to open her mouth wider. "I'm afraid you don't get to make the rules around here, Wonyoung," you taunt. "But maybe if you tell me what you want, I'll give it to you."

"Really?"

"Sure, why not? But don't get your hopes up, Wony."

"Hahmm, okay." Wonyoung's finger dimples her chin. "I want you to fuck me."

"Dirty little mouth you got there."

Wonyoung blushes. "You made me like this, sir. It's your fault. I want you to take responsibility."

"In what way?"

"No…"

"I need you to be more specific, doll," you say. You raise her chin upwards. She juts her bottom lip out. "I'm risking everything here for you. Tell me what you want."

"I want sir to fuck me… to fill me up like I'm his little breeding toy." Wonyoung squirms. She's getting turned on at her own words. "Yes, yes, I want that—I know it'll hurt because I haven't been fucked by a cock as big as his, but I don't care. I want you to fill my insides and fill every hole. I want you to make it last."

"Even if we might never get to see each other again? Even if you might lose your job?"

"I don't care if I do, sir. All I want is you."

"You're a desperate little thing, aren't you, Wonyoung?" you ask, smiling a little. "But that's good enough for me. Get on the bed."

Wonyoung obeys a little too fast for someone who's only met you once. Where is the hesitation from earlier? Out of the window—she's on all fours on the mattress, skirted ass and pussy jut out. She's shameless, bold, and you certainly wouldn't have thought she'd be this weak for cock if you had only met her outside of this hotel. Her angelic looks just sweep out all possibilities of sluttiness, or at least, you would have thought so, because why is she whining helplessly right now, all for your dick?

Her soft sounds are subliminal messages. They tell you to spank her soft ass and have your way with her. They're so powerful that you do exactly that: you draw your hand back as far as you could and slap Wonyoung's ass cheek. Her knees tremble, and she's whispering your soft honorific over and over.

"Sir, please," Wonyoung whispers. "No more. I need you right now."

She doesn't need to say it when her soft, virginal cunt dribbles a waterfall of wetness. You make it a point to let your fingers slap its puffy lips as well. It sends the little maid crying out in pain, but it couldn't be that if she's spreading her legs more, right?

"Need your cock inside me," she says. She winces and cringes through the spanks. "Mm! Need it to ruin me, sir! Need it to make your maid too tired to work, please, please, please!"

"You're risking your job here, Wony," you say, a proud smirk on your face as you remind her of what's at stake, "you're risking everything just for my cock. And you've only met me once. My god, you really are a slut."

"Mhmm, I am!"

"And you know what happens to bad little maids like you, right?" Throwing one last harsh spank, you lean over to whisper in her ear. "They get this."

Wonyoung screams a ramble of curses when your cock enters her. You suppose she's truthful about never having done much of this before; she's painfully tight. Grunts already depart from your lips at the first few thrusts.

"Jesus fucking Christ." You're hypnotized by her reddened ass bouncing against your stomach as you drill into her. Your hands are wrapped tightly around her little waist to feel more of the round cheeks clap.

"Sir!" she shouts. She never gives you a break; her vaginal walls are always swallowing your length and keeping most of it there. "More, please, more, I need it!"

Wonyoung's pussy is better than just having her do a lap dance on you. It isn't even a debatable matter when it's wet just right for you to slide in and out of her hot warm hole, and tight enough to pleasure your cock like she was designed for fucking. Sizable breasts, pretty dazed face, and slim bod? It's hard to believe that those descriptions do not belong to a sex doll but instead to Wonyoung, but she's becoming one herself also.

That's exactly the reason why you're more than happy to give more to her. You glide your hands everywhere, feeling her beautiful body almost worshipfully. You're afraid to break her; she's so slim that you might hurt her with one wrong move, but your fear doesn't really match up with how mercilessly you're pounding her, how you're forcing her to scream out your honorifics as if the walls were soundproof.

You're worried, to be honest. You know they're watching, and you know other people are still waiting for their daily routine with her. You know that the two of you could get in trouble that extends to more than a simple scolding. More clarity would have hit you like a brick wall in your way if it weren't for Wonyoung screaming:

"Yes, yes, yes, fuck me like that! Ha– oh!"

Wonyoung lets out a tiny exhale at your hands pulling on her braids. With the help of the tugs, your eyes enjoy the sight of her expressions contorting with the pleasure and pain. One second, she's pursing her lips and her eyes are wide open, and in the other millisecond her mouth hangs with yelps and gasps. Wonyoung is not afraid to show how she feels, which motivates you to keep pounding. Every flush drill into her naked lower body draws another orgasmic expression on her pretty face.

"That's right, Wony likes having her little pussy stretched out," you growl. Sex might as well be an exercise; you're straining your hips with how hard you pull out and push, and getting your hands sore as they grasp her braids. Wonyoung is merely your equipment. "You do, don't you? Pretending you're an innocent babygirl just to tempt me?"

"Y-yes," she says, biting her lip. "I love sir's hard cock! I love how it hurts, oh yes—"

"Of course you do, baby. It doesn't matter what I do to you, you'll always cum for me. You'll put everything on the, fuck, line just for my dick."

Wonyoung squeals throughout firm rubs on her clit. Her lower body sways and flinches, and she's beginning to struggle to keep herself up. Luckily, there's your grip on her braids to keep her upright, to keep her in position for fucking.

"That's right, sir," she tells you. Her words are cut off by tiny gasps. "I'll always cum for you, I want to be the one you use forever. I don't care if we get caught, I don't care, I just want you."

"Of course. Nobody can fuck you as good as me. You're mine to ruin. Now cum for me like a good girl, Wony. Don't hold back."

She nods. She's almost there. Just a few more sunken thrusts into her warm pussy, and she's going to lose it. It's an ending she actually looks forward to. Being able to squeeze around you and to sheen your girth with squirt seems like an achievable goal. It doesn't even have to be time-based, too, she realizes, when her legs shake once more.

"Ohhhh, fuck! Sir, oh my god, sir, I'm cumming!"

Dragging your penis against her textured sensitive spot, you fuck Wonyoung into an orgasm. It arrives (you smile at the pun) like a heavy flood. If you were the one to spray your cum on her earlier, now it's reversed—Wonyoung's vagina squirts a mess of girl cum and nectar onto your lower body and the little clothes that remained on you. She's screaming so loud that you bet even soundproof walls wouldn't be able to hold back her shouts. No, the walls and windows would shatter, and the bed would break into pieces as well, with the help of her limbs scrambling to steady herself. Wonyoung has gone crazy, finally corrupted to the core as it contains all of your plentiful cum.

You tug her braided ponytails up and let her kneeling form rest against your chest. Her head rests against your shoulder, and from there, you hear her muttering senseless sentences. They can't even be called so when they're fragments of words that don't mix well together, but fortunately, you understand what she means: you fucked her really well.

It could go two ways with Wonyoung when you start to kiss her neck and shoulders: fortunate or unfortunate. She might be ready to have her other hole filled, but on the other hand, she might need more time to recover. But that isn't a matter you linger on when kissing Wonyoung's pretty collarbone and shoulders is a better task to fulfill. She's gasping softly, unable to moan because of losing her voice in her orgasm earlier, but you still work your magic.

"Sir…" she mutters. Exhaustion rides her body like a carousel. It makes her weak, and your kissing doesn't help aid her situation.

"Yes, Wony?"

She leans back more into your neck, and curves her head to the side so that her words play out next to your ear: "I want more."

4. RABBITHOLE

"You sure?" you say. This is probably one of the few times she has had sex, and it's only one night. Maybe it's going too fast?

"Does sir not want to fill my little asshole up?" Wonyoung asks. She guides your fingers to her sides. As if her body and your hands were magnets, they join instantly. "Doesn't he want Wony anymore?"

God knows what Wonyoung referring to herself in third person does to you. Your cock hardens and bumps her ass cheeks, and you’re required to tighten your hold on her hips to maintain your stability. "I—I want you, Wonyoung," you say. "But are you sure you're ready?"

She blushes. It's little caring questions like these that put her into the most passive state imaginable. When that state of mind imprisons her, she only wants to make you feel good. "Yes, sir."

There it is. It's your cue to switch positions, make use of as little time as possible to recover, and get ready.

You lather her asshole with makeshift lube. You drag squirt from her pussy to her rear end, using it as lube. Wonyoung, now sitting on the bed, watches. She's overcome with lust. Her puckered hole twitches as you tease your cock against it.

"Don't tease me, sir,” begs Wonyoung. She parts her leg a little more, then leans back into the mattress. The way she’s looking at you with those sultry yet pure eyes and how her legs are spread underneath the maid dress are straight out of a porn. Wonyoung’s so tempting, so irresistible, that you wonder every now and then if she’s even real. She’s a walking doll from head to toe, made to fuck and be fucked, which leaves the question: why aren’t you filling her asshole up yet?

You bunch together a whole lot of effort to push your cock through her hole. It’s a little less wet than her pussy, but god, is it tight. Wonyoung moans softly and tries to relax, but every push makes her impulsively clench down. You’re afraid that you might blow early, and you really don’t want this to end yet.

“Sir, sir,” she says, eyes widening to the size of saucers when you grab her legs and push them back. “Fuck, it’s so good, I can’t—”

You groan a little. “Yes you can, Wony.” Your thumbs slide up and down on her thighs affectionately. “You’re my good girl, right? You can take it.”

“Hnnn.” Wonyoung shuts her eyes. Her moans and whimpers are a series of pleasure that almost makes you forget about being careful rather than urge you to be. You’d love to hear more of those pretty moans from her, but she can’t make them unless she’s comfortable. “Is it all in yet, sir?”

Her asshole has taken in most of your rod. You suppose that’s good for a first-timer. It’s good enough for a little white lie. “Yep. Good girl. Can I move now?”

“Okay… just be careful.”

With a girl like Wonyoung, careful sex is out of the question. But oh, you try, you truly do. Make use of your shaft covered with Wonyoung’s pussy juices to lube up the journey inside her asshole. Let her wet cunt make it easier to slip into her tight, brown hole. You enjoy the helpless, corrupted look in her face and the feel of her pillowy thighs in your hands, and you can safely presume that she’s enjoying it, too. Soft hums of pain still barely make it out from between her knit lips, but her eyes roll back—it’s a different feeling, for sure, yet it feels good.

“Fuck, Wony, you’re a tight fit.”

“Thank you, sir,” says Wonyoung. Her pale cheeks have turned red again.

She rubs a finger over her nub so more of her juices can lubricate her rear end. It’s effective; although Wonyoung writhes with the double pleasure, the unusual method makes it easier to fuck her. Now, thrusting inside her is almost like doing so to her pussy: tight and wet. Her ass ripples beautifully, and her expressions catch you off guard. Her jaw is on the ground and her eyes look upwards, as if doing so helped ease the experience. However, she shuts them, as making that expression makes you hammer harder into her butt.

“That’s it, sir, it feels so good now. You’re so big inside me.”

“Deeper then?” you challenge her. You push her legs deeper into the mating press position, and you can visibly see her pussy clench around nothing but air. You’re allowed to travel deeper inside her butt this way, and Wonyoung couldn’t be more ecstatic.

“Yes, hmmm! So hard, sir, I can feel you throbbing!”

Does a sir kink exist? If not, it does now—Wonyoung’s polite honorific has become the easiest method to harden and lengthen your erection. Each time she calls you that, with those same watery eyes and puffy lips, you’re driven to deliver hammered thrusts in her hole, whichever one. In a way, she’s corrupted you, too. If you erased the former innocent maid she is, she’s transformed you into a man who can only go weak for her. Other women have no effect on you when the hotel maid is the one you’d rather pin down the bed and fuck till she passes out.

And she doesn’t even know it.

“Fuck, Wonyoung.” You give in to your impulsive thrusting, wringing screams of pleasure from her throat. “What the fuck are you doing to me, hm?”

Wonyoung’s next inhalation of air is delayed due to the obstacle that is your hand wrapped around her throat. She whines out. “Sir, oh my god—”

“This is all your plan, isn’t it, you naughty girl? You want me to do anything for you. You want my cock so bad that you make me want you, too. And for what, hm? For a quick dicking down? You’re fucking pathetic.”

Degrading word after degrading word leaves your mouth, but each makes Wonyoung thrust her core upwards to meet your clashing sex. She’s become paler, weaker, sluttier—all in the span of your furious sex session. You’ve no idea why you’re saying all those words that would hurt a normal person’s feelings and dignity, especially when Wonyoung is too angelic and pretty to be guilty of anything, but if it makes Wonyoung look like she’s on the edge of cumming at all times, then you’ll stick to that plan.

“I bet you like walking around in your little outfit, Wony, and wearing those pigtails, too, because you know people are going to look. Is that what you want? For people to notice how goddamned fuckable you are? Because if it is, it’s fucking working.”

Pausing is a faraway dream; you keep on rambling, and your thrusts remain rapid. A stream of ruined breaths squeeze out of Wonyoung’s mouth. Her pillow-like cheeks clench tighter around your cock, as if it were agreeing.

“Sir,” coughs out Wonyoung. Tears spill down her face, but she keeps on rubbing her small clit, and, on occasion, fingerfucking her cunt. “I’m going—god, I’m going to—”

“Cum? Do it, then. Cum all over my dick, but we’re not finished. The night is still young, Wony; we have all the time in the world.”

Releasing Wonyoung’s throat does nothing to help her breathe when your lips crash into hers immediately. She’s screaming into your mouth. You propel yourself closer to orgasm with your thrusting, then fully cream her butthole. Wonyoung’s cum squirts all over the place: on the bed sheets, your shirt, and your cock. She stops rubbing herself, apparently giving up on taking more, but you continue the loop for her.

Her screams continue. They’re a melody to accompany your thrusts, and your sleep, for you collapse on the bed, tired and weak.

You'll meet your end today. They already found out. That's definitely certain; mandatory love is no winning game. Love in general isn't, especially when it's founded on merely scrawny and lustful sex. The lines between lust and love blur, and it becomes more dangerous than it actually is.

So, now that you remember how all this—a young, gorgeous woman by the name of Jang Wonyoung in the crook of your arm, her hand on your cock and glossy lips on yours—start, what do you do now?

Well, for one, you have to reminisce about the past and pray for there to be a future, just one more time. You've to live in what once was as if the former days were the current ones and what's now is nothing to worry about. But you shouldn't dwell too long; the rapid knocking on your door is growing louder and louder.

#kpop smut #izone smut #ive smut #jang wonyoung smut #wonyoung smut #izone wonyoung smut #ive wonyoung smut #wonyoung #jang wonyoung #male reader #x reader #reader insert #pov smut

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aforestescape · 25 days

Text

thinking about older bf simon x younger reader

content includes: fat simon yummy, afab!reader, short reader, fat/chubby reader, cunnilingus, completely self indulgent

yeah i also wrote this at like 3 am:) enjoy

you meet at the grocery store you frequent. somewhere in between aisles as you’re on the phone with your cousin. talking over plans for the weekend, meeting up for drinks at her place and ordering in dinner and cheesecake. a little ways down the aisle is a tall, broad figure. you'd spotted him a minute or so previously, eyes stuck to him for a few seconds too long. eyeing the way his arms and stomach filled out the material. the barley noticeable flex as he moved to grab his item.

letting your eyes trail up from his stomach, chest, neck, and then finally his face only to realize with a start that he was looking right at you. honeyed eyes trained directly on you. watching you watch him with an intense stare that had you immediately turning out the lane. embarrassment flushing your body a few degrees hotter than normal for being caught checking this man out.

as you end your phone call and enter a new aisle you pass through it, grabbing a snack that’s no where on your grocery list but you deserve a treat. as you reach the end you find what you’re looking for. only three items left and they’re stuffed back against the shell. you roll your eyes in annoyance, rocking up onto your toes as you stretch for it. your fingers grazing over the baggy but not close enough to pinch between your fingers.

you plant back down on the ground, letting out a huff of air. pressing your body into the shelf as you attempt to grab it once again. you’re a little closer to grabbing it now. almost managing before a black clothed arm reaches past you to pluck the item.

simons hulk directly behind you, standing in a black hoodie and his normal mask covering the bottom half of his face. it doesn't hide the scars that liter the rest of it though or the ones on his hands as he reaches past you to grab the bag of granola you'd been trying to get. he steps back slightly and gives the bag to you.

you offer him a smile and thank him, voice quiet as you take in his face up close. you can only see from the bridge of his nose and up. a long scar peeking out from the half skull mask. he lets out a grunt in acknowledgment, turning to walk away before you stop him. you take a small breath, deciding to be brave because how bad could it be to ask?

“er- i hope this isn’t weird to ask, but are you single?”

he’s not expecting the question, staring you down for a few unnerving seconds before telling you that, yes he is single. and after exchanging numbers you spend the rest of the week messaging. his answers are sparse through the day but he tells you it’s because he works security during that time. he asks you about your days at night when you’re heading to bed, enjoying your mundane rambles and work tea over the phone.

you send him a picture before and some videos after you getting drunk at your cousins flat. loud music playing in the background as you down a shot, nose scrunched slightly before grinning at the camera. another of you dancing with a friend? he assumes, both of you with cups in your hand and giggling while you twirl around in her kitchen.

you haven’t known each other long at all in the grand scheme but he’s sure he can get used to this. hearing your drunken laugh and slurred speech as you head to your front door from your uber. still living at home and in your last year of university but he doesn’t care. it appeals to him honestly, your brain and that you’re studious enough to have seeked out higher education of your own wanting. he didn’t, knew it wasn’t something he’d be able to do in place of getting away from his awful home life.

leaving his mother and brother behind, doomed to their fate in order to escape the father who raised him. he praises you for it as the weeks go by and you stress to him about mid terms. over in his flat after classes, sat on the floor of his living room with books spread out. every so often he’ll reach his hand down from his spot on the couch, large fingers smoothing over your head like you’re a pet. petting your head and soothing you in his own way.

he’ll take you out on dates on his days off or pick you up to come over to his. he prefers being inside and smaller places. something he’s glad you accommodate to though really you also prefer to be indoors. date nights consisting of standing in his kitchen, prepping for dinner and talking with low music in the background. smiling and reaching on your toes to give his cheek a soft peck as he loops his thick arm round your waist.

you still hadn’t seen his entire face yet but well, you didn’t care much. it couldn’t be that different and the half you could see was attractive enough. and so was his body. you’d always been attracted to thicker frames. hairy chests and abdomens that cover up fatter tummies and delicious pecs. it both made you go absolutely feral and also made you feel more comfortable with your own thicker body.

having grown into a curvier and chubby body came with the occasional feeling of unattractiveness. it wasn’t true at all, your weight and curves only adding to your beauty, something simon said to you whenever he’d catch the way you’d stare at yourself in the mirror sometimes. leaning down and wrapping his bulk around you from behind. big, freckled and scarred arms holding you flush against him so you could feel the swell of his cock.

he’d kiss up and down your neck through his mask. low and thick accented voice singing your praises while his hands would search and grope the rolls on your body. holding the weight of your breast in his hands and squeezing as you’d moan in his arms. simon letting out a chuckle before kissing you again and keeping on with exploring you. coaxing you into bed where he could spread your plush thighs apart and worship you for hours.

keeping them apart with his forearms as he lapped up your arousal. a pillow under your lower back and your hands caught in the sheets, tugging on his hair, covering your face as you moaned in bliss. simons warm tongue spreading your lips as he flicked the muscle up and down them. letting his saliva pool and add to the obscene noises filling the air of his bedroom while he dined on you.

devouring your cunt, one hand on your stomach. caressing and squeezing and pushing down gently on it. roaming upwards to pluck and tug on your sensitive nipples. making your back arch as you cried out from the stinging pleasure. moaning into your slick cunt as he sucked on your clit. sucking and licking back down to stick his tongue inside your hole.

he’d go on for hours, holding your trembling body and praising you through every orgasm. even as you cried and shook from exertion, plush body covered in a layer of sweat. vision blurred and mind fuzzy around the edges. moans of how good you tasted, how pretty you were, how perfect your body is. all just for him, “just for me, right doll? only i get to eat this pretty pussy of yours. all mine, hm.”

and when he was finally done he’d clean you up. hold you in his arms under the blankets while you thanked him softly. pressing kisses to his chest in your sleepy and fucked out state. the telly on some random cartoon as you both drifted off in each others arms.

in a funnier world simon doesn’t actually help you at the grocers. he reaches past you and just as you’re going to turn and thank him for the hand he places the last of the granola in his own cart buggy and goes about his day. never mind the cutie who was staring at him for some reason?

anyways there will be another part cause i didn’t even get to the scene that made me want to write this🤭prepare for angst in the future hehe

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #older bf!simon #aforestescape

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spriteofmushrooms · 7 months

Text

Wei Wuxian sipped the wine Lan Zhan brought from Gusu in one of Jinlin Tai's many ostentatious peony gardens. He had found a branch in a ginkgo tree that was high enough that no one should see him at a glance where he still had a good view of the moon between the yellow leaves. It wasn't the worst way he could have spent his time at the Discussion Conference. Lan Zhan, for example, had to be xiandu. What could possibly be worse than that?

"Jin Ling, what's the matter now?"

Wei Wuxian rolled his eyes. Really, Jiang Cheng is such a wronged mother. He plays his part like a grand madam.

"Do you think Zizhen-ge is a better sect leader than I am?" Jin Ling hissed.

"What?" Wei Wuxian looked down. Through the branches, he could see Jiang Cheng's silver lotus guan glimmer with his head shake. "Where did you get that from? A-Ling, sit and explain."

"You complimented him in front of everyone," Jin Ling grumbled, but he flounced onto the bench.

Jiang Cheng folded himself gracefully, careful of the drape of his robes. "It's his first conference. All I did was walk him through presenting himself, like a junior should be treated."

"You liked his proposal."

"You like it, too, brat. Besides, a little support in the beginning keeps the old men at bay."

Jin Ling knocked his shoulder against Jiang Cheng's. "So it's not because you always wanted a poet for a nephew?"

Wei Wuxian couldn't see it, but he could imagine Jiang Cheng's face. But when Jiang Cheng spoke, it didn't match the tone he expected. Sad, but trying to joke. "After the poems Zixuan wrote?"

"A-Die wrote poems?"

Oh, oh, Wei Wuxian wanted to leave.

"Once he became enlightened, he was devout. 'Rain pearls on lotus leaves which bow gracefully/Thoughts of you collect and overwhelm me.' A-jie blushed for weeks." Jiang Cheng sighed. "The Jinlin Tai library should have them all somewhere. Please don't let Ouyang-gongzi read them."

Jin Ling huffed a laugh and threw his arm around Jiang Cheng's shoulder, which is when Wei Wuxian realized Jin Ling was taller and broader now. He hadn't seen them side by side in years. A light breeze stirred the gingko leaves and lifted the scent of peonies.

"Hanguang-jun didn't murder anyone with his eyes today," Jin Ling chirped. "Do you think he's starting to like politics?"

"Don't."

"Jiujiu..."

"He's the xiandu, Jin Ling. What do you think would happen if anyone overheard you disrespect him, especially while hosting the conference?"

Jin Ling groaned and threw his head back dramatically, jostling Jiang Cheng. Briefly, Wei Wuxian amused himself by imagining what Yu-furen would have made of her grandson. Then he gently slapped himself. "You're so boring, jiujiu! It's not like he respects either of us."

Jiang Cheng snapped, "I didn't realize you aspired to be so immature and irresponsible."

Immature? Irresponsible? Jiang Cheng had a lot of nerve! Wei Wuxian would tell him so, but then he would have to admit to hiding in a tree. Jiang Cheng would be so annoying about it, and Wei Wuxian really didn't want to bother!

"Aiya, jiujiu, if I can't complain to you about him, who can I? No one else sees what he's like."

Jiang Cheng leaned against Jin Ling, but then he ruined the picture by saying, "It's good that most people can't tell. If half of the sects ran to Zewu-jun with complaints about his beloved didi, he would leave seclusion before he was ready."

They were quiet for a few moments. Suddenly, Jin Ling burst out, "Do you really not care?"

Jiang Cheng paused. "About?"

"You know I spend time with—him!"

"You're sixteen, Jin Ling. Your memory should be good enough to remember every other time you've poked at this. And use his name; he doesn't actually appear every time you call."

"Wei-qianbei misses you!" Jin Ling grabbed Jiang Cheng's shoulders and started to gently shake him back and forth, but then Jiang Cheng pushed his hands away and stood.

"As you are clearly feeling better, I will leave first," Jiang Cheng hissed.

Jin Ling zipped in front of Jiang Cheng, blocking his path. "Jiujiu, I don't understand you at all! You want to talk to him, and he wants to talk to you. Why are you waiting?"

"He wants to talk to me so much that I learned about his elopement from gossiping disciples? He wants to talk to me so much that he lives in Cloud Recesses, which he hates? He wants to talk to me so much that he ignores Lan Wangji's hand on Bichen every time we meet?" With each question, Jiang Cheng prowled forward, and Jin Ling backed up.

"I don't think he hates Cloud Recesses..."

That's right; Wei Wuxian didn't. Lan Zhan was there, for one thing. And the juniors!

"That's because you don't fucking know him," Jiang Cheng snapped.

"Oh, and you do? When you won't even talk to him?"

"I was his assignment, Jin Ling. He either played with me or starved; he either trained to be the best or lost his position." Jiang Cheng laughed, dark and mean. "Not that I noticed."

"Jiujiu..."

"Let him live the life he wants, Jin Ling. Let me go to bed."

#pallas.rtf #mdzs #my writing #went through my old wips

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shinjisdone · 1 year

Text

When you have an Secret Admirer - and it's not them (Pomefiore; 5)

A love letter was left at your door and now you are searching for that ‘secret admirer’ - everyone wants to help you out…but have their own reason for it.

'I've kept writing you about the things that you did that enchanted me...but without wanting to sound cliché, I also fell for your beauty...'

form of headcanons + scenario-ish

[note: reader is gender-neutral but mostly mentioned in 2. pov; a series of everyone you meet following you. headcanon will follow each char. own thoughts on the situation. mostly nervousness, slight jealousy & stubbornness]

Part 1: Heartslabyul

Part 2: Savanaclaw

Part 3: Octavinelle

Part 4: Scarabia

Part 6: Ignihyde

Part 7: Diasomnia

It's best if you stay in your room for a few days, you thought.

After faking feigning an injury after the...flower fruit fiasco to Crowley (and him letting out a speech of how gracious he is for allowing you to rest) you've let everyone know that you needed quiet. And. Silence. Even Grim left you alone.

It was calming in a way. Just you and your thoughts, as well as the four love letters lying on the desk. Until a little ring caught your attention and you opened up a message on your phone.

Letting the image sink in it was a photo of a frustrated Vil with his make-up smudged.

'guy is taking the piss hahah' - Epel wrote you.

'What's in front of him?'

You couldn't help it. The curiousity took the best of you, especially when the Vil Schönheit looked this laughably angry.

'someone won a magic mirror on an auction and its messin with everyone. says it shows everyones real beauty when looked at but it shows nothin when we stare at it. no reflec tion and its makin Vil angrier than squirrel with a nut that dont crack lololol'

The boy sent you another image and it was of Rook trying to calm Vil down, who attempted to get the mirror out of the dorm. It made you chortle.

'lol why care about some phony mirror when Pomefiore is filled with real ones'

'I can update u (Name) if you want. Funniest thing that happens in this dully stuck up place'

Epel's comment made you smile. Even when he can get a bit temperamental, which you can't blame him for since he has to live with Vil, the boy does try to cheer you up. He must have heard of everything by now and even if he didn't, Deuce probably told him of your mood. It was sweet of him.

'Sure, might be fun to watch'.

Perhaps you shouldn't have answered like that.

Epel Felmier

Epel is no idiot.

He's aware of how you must be feeling so he tries to be seldom with his calls and presence. If it weren't for all the things that had happened this month for him notice, then it was Deuce's unusual worried frown.

He was so...quiet. Almost looking depressed when he told Epel of the first letter. He tried with effort to explain what had happened but ended up unwittingly admitting his displeasure at the change. He seemed to miss you and you've become reversed yourself. It was a bit of a bummer.

Epel tried hard to play it cool. Although behind closed doors, he'd mumble profanities in the usual accent he'd hide. These rumors were true. Big, richy colleges are full of drama, just like his village said! Why do things gotta be so unnecessarily complicated??? It doesn't make any sense to him.

Epel wouldn't bat an eye at gestures of love and grand confessions (he feels still perplexed though) but all of this was for you. It was no happenstance like usual, no, you aren't just being involved due to coincidence - all of this is happening because of you and for you.

What are ya, a princess waitin' for a knight in yer tower??? It's just????

Less upset and more puzzled. But he wouldn't know how to deal with that either.

Nevertheless, he convinced you to leave your room for a while after school hours...just a small visit that shouldn't take too long...

Rook Hunt

Oh, la la~

This is quite exciting for him. Love letters and confessions are things ususally told in fairytales, so seeing all of this unfold in this very school is quite the entertainment and Rook wants to be seated at the number #1 spot to witness it.

It's less of a creepy reason and more one of fascination. This is a one-in-a-lifetime chance and he always loved romance! He wants to see what this secret admirer is capable of. What they are ready to do for love.

Although he feels...disadvantaged? Challenged? Is it rivalry? Jealousy or true fascination?

As a hunter himself, he should know best how to capture hearts yet he feels like a freshly-born scholar looking up to his teacher. And out of all hearts they are attempting to capture it is yours...

Love can hurt...but it isn't supposed to make you uncomfortable, no?

Ever since he heard the rumors - and especially after he found out they are true - he has kept an eye on you. Without your knowledge of course...

Is the hunter learning...or keeping his prey for himself?

Vil Schönheit

The fairest of them all is a bit distracted, you see.

Aside from this wretched mirror, the senior could barely believe that out of all people...you get love letters.

However, with Leona's sudden interest in anything really and Kalim's lack of cheerfulness, things have become odd - now having rumors be confirmed by Azul (he was a witness!), Vil must believe it.

Even Epel is more on his phone than ever...

Vil isn't...apalled by the idea of you getting attention. He is just the one who usually gets it! But none of his fans' determination compare to that of your admirer. It's strange.

...Thats what he deduces first. Then it becomes ridiculous at the realization of it! You??? Getting more attention than Vil???

Do not misunderstand, Vil is not excluding the possibility of you having a secret admirer but the amount they are doing for you even leaves him a bit stumped.

He isn't sure if he should congratulate you or give into his jealousy. Jealousy of you getting more attention or your attention being snatched away from him? He isn't quite certain of it either.

It's better to distract himself with some puny mirror than keep on pondering about it.

Discreetly making your way to Pomefiore, you swiftly passed by other students, ones who had long started to avoid you. It was believed that your presence alone even summons the secret admirer...so some would take shelter from their strange pranks by getting out of your way. Sure, there were some who showed sympathy, asking about your well-being or even joking when that admirer will finally capture your heart...or if they have already.

Admittedly, you did not feel like meeting either of these kinds of guys...thankfully Epel picked you up quickly, either using his shy mask or temperamental yells to get you out of any situation - and soon, you found yourself in front of that mirror. Just as Epel stopped snickering as he showed you more photos, his head would turn to you and back to that mirror...with a surprisingly soft stutter, he pointed to it.

"Er...it ain't a phony, after all..."

...Why were you able to see yourself?

'...The one who can see themselves here is the true beauty of this school.'

Epel Felmier

Uh, what???

Why are ya able to see yourself in every angle possible? How come the background changed to every possible scenery that suited you so perfectly? With you standing out so marvy too???

That can't be it...is that seriously one of those infamous 'pranks' of that secret admirer everyone's been prattlin' about?

...Your secret admirer?

That can't be it. The (Name) he knows couldn't...have something like that...but it's true.

As Epel watches your face bloom like a magnolia in May, he finally understood Deuce's troubles deeply. It's one thing to hear it from someone on the surface and something completely different when you feel it deep in your soul too.

The boy stood there, as his yelling on what kind of phony mirror that could be transformed into mumbles until he was completely silent. His face scrunched up into a frown.

You look real pretty. He now thinks how you've always been real fine and fair but your reflection seemed so picturesque right now...all because of the darn, stupid smile on your face that you couldn't just wipe away, no matter how hard ya tried.

Damnit...what is this feeling?! How's he gonna get rid of it?!?!

Even as he wonders how others are gonna be up on your case again, the sweet lil' apple grew sour as he also wondered how much that admirer person was making you all happy and gushy now...

Rook Hunt

And here in comes Rook.

Rather, he had been watching you enter so elegantly and now admire yourself in that fancy mirror! He knew something was up with it and spying on Epel's messages, it was only a matter of time before your lovely self would find out about it!

The young man long knew that this 'auction win' was something from the secret admirer - with how they always end up involving whole dorms in their quest to win your heart. Rook has quite the keen eye himself...

Oh, he needs to be there and witness it himself! How exciting! What kind of creative confession will pop up this time?! How will you react?! It's all just trés bien!

Less worried about the consequences that may follow his dorm and more intruiged on how this pursue of love will continue. A true fairytale!

That's what he keeps telling himself.

Rook is torn between watching a beautiful love story unfold before him and being very displeased at the fact that someone else is trying to capture your heart.

How...unfair it all seemed.

But all is fair in love and war, no?

Shall he listen and learn from the admirer? To outwit them in every way and capture your heart himself? Maybe he should show them that this is his hunt and that they shouldn't mess with him.

Regardless, he's hiding it all too well behind a smile. Even as you hide your beautiful face bashfully and Epel trying to keep himself together and not stare at the scenery in front of him too hard and not for too long...

Yes, he'll stay back, like a real hunter.

Vil Schönheit

He hears the noise downstairs and wow, speak of the devil. Or rather when he thought of the devil. You just wouldn't leave his mind.

There you are with little messages starting to pop up in the mirror you were staring at...

'I wanted to have you see all the beautiful things about you when reading my thoughts about you...so you can believe me and witness them yourself in the moment.'

Vil raises a brow as your lovely reflection was overwritten by a dainty message, curvy and in red.

'You don't know how wonderful you look with a smile. It made me fall for you.'

And on cue, a bashful smile appeared on your face.

Vil, as well as Epel and Rook, jumped as they saw the many flowery poems of love spread around your reflection. It almost rivaled Rook's grossly exeggerated compliments.

"Now, now," Vil tries to stay calm as he shushed the mirror and tried to find out what the meaning of this is and by the Sevens, don't let it be the secret admirer. No, no, no, no! He keeps on shooing this...thing away, even if it can't really move.

Or...it can?

The mirror shrunk in size and used it's little attached wings ("WEREN'T THOSE DECORATIONS" - Everybody thinks) to gracefully flutter after you.

Is this some kIND OF TWISTED JOKE

FIRST THE ALCHEMY NOTES, THEN THE MAGIC FLOWERS AND NOW A FLYING MIRROR THROWING POSITIVE AFFIRMATIONS AT YOU

This secret admirer must be some kind of prodigy...

Does Vil not even stand a chance...?

He's confused and irritated. Not ever did he think things would come to this but seeing how someone actually has eyes for his numbre #1 potato sends the senior into slight panic.

This isn't like him.

But the turmoil in his heart is all so real and vivid...as is his determination to not let you be swooned over by anyone but him.

[yeah, I kinda feel like the vibe got from 'tralala oh a secret admirer? classic at a school like this how cute :)' to 'WHO TF...!? WHY U HAVING CRUSH ON MY CRUSH STOP IT' Hopefully this one is just as good as the other ones...dont feel like it does. You see, Vinland Saga...might have a chokehold on me :) ]

[If you get the 'IS THIS SOME KIND OF TWISTED JOKE' joke then u r really cool :) The fluttering, positive affirmation mirror just popped up as I wrote...and I had more ideas for Rook than anyone else. Would feel like Vil would be even worse with that what he had with Neige...even after his overblot, he just gives these vibes. Epel is just...r u kidding me. how am i supposed to be okay with that]

#twisted wonderland #disney twst #twst scenarios #secret admirer #pomefiore #epel felmier #rook hunt #vil schoenheit #twst x reader #gender neutral imagine #gender neutral reader #reader insert #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twst headcanons

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starrailstories · 6 months

Note

Hey! Could you write something about Blade having a keeper of time/ timekeeper s/o? ♥

first ask!!! let's hecking goooooooo

i wanted to write headcanons but then one thing led to another and it's a short story that i hope you enjoy

Blade x gn!Timekeeper!S/O — Seen in the shards

warnings: mentions of blade's depression and suicidal thoughts (canon-compliant), possibly ooc but i really really hope i wrote him well

Blade is destruction incarnate, the mara and rage and grief taking over him sporadically, like bile rising to the throat. He is an effective tool of the Hunters (ironic, isn't it? an abomination like him hardly can Hunt), and many would think that this is all he is, a bounty and a sin and a loosely held leash.

You know him differently, though. You know him in the moments of repose in-between the storm that he brings along, and in those moments, he feels like a large shard of time away from where he'd fit. It's always shards with him, glimpses of past mistakes, and battles, and memories, but mostly sorrow. You think of the ways time cracks as you struggle to keep it whole, revealing the uncomfortable truths you dare not mention to the IPC or the Intelligentsia Guild. It's kind of similar, like if you try just enough, you'll see the complete picture once again.

And he doesn't get you at first, because collecting broken shards and piecing them back is not what Blade does. Blade is all about burning bridges, throwing himself into battle headfirst, Blade does - not - get it when you show concern or worry, when you offer to share a meal, when you tend to a wound of his, when you try and protect him in battle, because he isn't supposed to be together, only apart, shatter and shatter and shatter in hopes that one day, he'll just lie there broken and dead and gone.

You care and that hurts, for some reason, hurts in a way that doesn't sate his urge to be hurt.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

"I almost pity you, Bladie. But envy you all the same," Kafka drops one day as they're sat in a boujee cafe on a planet that will experience a Stellaron catastrophe in about three system hours. She raises her cup of tea to her lips almost immediately, but he catches a hint of a smile.

"Pity, I understand, but I do not welcome it. However, what of the envy?"

Kafka set down her cup gently, in a manner that she would always do, and her smile faded.

"Soon, you would know the meaning of fear. You knew it once, but in a different lifetime. Now, you will know it again, and it will hurt in different ways. It's fascinating."

She spoke with a certainty, as if reciting a script. Possibly that was the case, and that was more sad than anything. Given a power to make anyone listen, but stuck saying words someone else wrote.

"So it will happen?"

"As much as anything said by Destiny's Slave will. There's a seed for fear in that, too. You will resent your wish and your fate, but it still will happen, even if you don't want it to happen anymore."

Right. Blade looks away, because he doesn't usually decipher the grand scheme of things. He was promised a death and a settling of the score, and he is content with that, content in the way a sword is content to rest in its sheath. Kafka reaches across the table to touch his forehead as if to impart a wisdom.

She'd point a gun to his head and he'd be just as apathetic.

"Listen. I am telling you this for your sake, after all."

There's no command behind the word, and Blade regrets this, because thinking he dislikes most of all.

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

Fear is a foreign concept, but the more you reach out to him with your care, the more he starts to grasp it. He knows of your strength, he knows of your capabilities, he sees you constantly fixing time itself, reaching into the molten metal with hands exposed and heart bare, to stitch all together before the past pours into the present and the future into the past and a sea of fake stars replaces the cosmos you traverse (you told him once of a world inside an egg one time, where the sky is fake and the up is down and why does he remember these trivial things again).

But he also knows of his own strength, and how all that he touches goes awry, and that is scary — to see you reach out when he knows full well how your care might destroy you, how he might destroy you.

"You shouldn't be picking up the shards. They'd cut you," he says one time after another crack is restored and the anomaly of the Fragmentum shifts into a stable state. His sword drags on the ground, leaving a distinctly red trace. You know he isn't speaking about the timeline.

"Those are big words coming from someone carrying a sword made of shards," you smile like you always do and it hurts. Because it hurts to be cared for and treated like a person and where were you those centuries ago when dying still felt memorable and there was something besides the anger?

He wishes he fell into a timeline anomaly back then because that would mean even for a moment, being caught by you, and that is a scary thought.

"Blade?" he's zoning out. Bad. He is supposed to keep himself in check, because most people are capable of dying and he is a remarkably well-working death machine.

"I will say this more clearly: if you keep reaching out to me, you will die."

✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧✦✧

You don't stop because... actually why. Blade still doesn't get it. Blade doesn't speak up anymore, a sword in its sheath, but he thinks sometimes. Thinking is still a horrible pastime activity. But he does wonder about what it would have felt like to have met you earlier, when there was some feeling left in him.

He wonders if you bandaging a wound of his would make him feel safe. He wonders if the snacks you buy on the planets you visit would make him feel sated. He wonders if after a long day, sleeping next to each other would make him feel truly content.

Dangerous thoughts, yet strangely warm, like candlelight.

You plop on the bed of a dingy hotel room you two are staying at. Blade cares little about the quality of the establishment, but he does care about security, and keeping on the down low is of the essence. He stores his sword next to his side of the bed, to draw if a fight occurs.

He doesn't sleep anyway, simply lies in a dreamless haze, so nothing would catch him off-guard.

"Room's tiny. Bed's hard as a rock, too," you make small talk, untying the laces of your boots.

"Mhm," Blade hums. He thinks that there were free rooms in the hotel. With two beds in each, no less. He doesn't bring this up because it's safer to stay close together and that's the only reason.

"And it's cold."

"Mhm," he hums again. He doesn't feel much in terms of warmth or coldness.

You lie back on the bed, staring at the ceiling as he checks for emergency exit pathways and makes notes of useful items.

"Sometimes I wish there were no anomalies or Stellarons out there. Then we wouldn't have large bounties on our heads and we'd be able to afford all the good hotels."

"We wouldn't have met then. And this room is sufficient."

Blade says sufficient, but for the last while, he found sufficient lacking. He wanted good things, despite being undeserving, and it hurt, too, because he knew all too well what happened to the good things in his life.

He lies down next to you, six inches, seven hundred years and a universe apart.

"Would we? I'd still have found you, I feel like."

It feels weird to hear this. He remembers how you once got hurt because you tried to block a hit meant for him. It was a long time ago, before that could hurt. It wasn't anything serious, but now, guilt eats at him each time he notices the faint scar on your shoulder. He drifts his gaze left, and there it is, a reminder.

And he also sees that you're cold.

What comes next is a whim and Blade never acts on whims. But he turns on the bed and drags you into an embrace.

"You wouldn't have liked what you've found."

Because then he'd be a mara-struck abomination, immortal mess of ginkgo leaves and dripping bile and the same names roared so much that no one would hear what he says. He still is like that, just somewhat grounded.

"You always decide for me. But isn't it up to me to weigh my choices, Blade?"

No, he wants to say, it's not. He's been mortal and stupid before, and that was his mistake. For that, he must pay a price. He doesn't want you to be hurt that way because you, unlike him, don't deserve this.

But he says none of it, as you raise your hand and touch his cheek and it's warm and it hurts—

His voice breaks, in both anger and fear, "I don't want you fixing me. I know you want to pick up the shards and glue them together. But you will regret that wish."

He isn't Yingxing and he won't be Yingxing ever again. What was him died on the Xianzhou Luofu, and it died again and again and again until what was left couldn't recall the deaths any longer. Then, a mess of shards, an empty husk, he was Blade, and he couldn't ever go back.

You smile gently at him.

"I know. If you ever decide to piece the shards together, it should be your choice and not mine, and I have no deal interfering with that. But still, I want to see all of you, Blade. Broken or not."

It's scary because admitting that he wants you to see him too would mean accepting that it won't change a thing. The script is merciless and uncaring. Even if he allows himself to love you, he is already destined to die as part of the performance. It's scary because it changes everything. It's scary because it changes nothing.

He shifts on the bed, so that you're face to face.

"May I kiss you?"

You close the distance first, as you always do, and he, for the first time in seven hundred years, feels seen.

#blade x reader #blade x you #blade x y/n #honkai star rail #honkai x reader #blade hsr #blade honkai #hsr #yingxing

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anothermansjeans · 8 days

Note

Okay so singer reader idea and if you’re not feelin it then that’s okay! But maybe Bye by Ariana Grande. And I imagined it like her and Spencer were together but have been broken up for a couple months and reader comes out w this song and changing the lyrics in the song to “so I grab my stuff, Penny just pulled up in the driveway.” And then they eventually get back together.

THANKS FOR REQUESTING!! ALSO some quick headcanons for this au so it makes more sense: the other 4 songs i mention reader wrote are down bad, the archer, hits different, and stranger and then after this blurb i picture reader wrote feels like !!

cw: hurt/comfort warning :((( spencer self sabotages !!!!! but happy ending :)

wc: 1k

singer!reader masterlist

Heartbreak has always been a real motivator for you when it comes to songwriting. You just hoped this motivator died the moment Spencer came into your life… unfortunately, it didn't.

Something serious happened at the BAU three weeks ago, so serious that Spencer went to your place in a panic and told you it was best if you two stopped your relationship now before anything bad happens. The media still weren't a hundred percent sure who he was, the disguises and staying on the down low really helped with that, and he claimed that's a good thing– it’s good that no one (other than close friends and family) really knew about him and his job. He told you he didn't want you in danger.

And some very small rational part of you knew he was doing the best thing his brain told him to, you were just angry and sad about it all. You love Spencer; that’s a no brainer, but you wish he would have given you the chance to make the decision if it's going to impact you. So, because of the heartbreak of him leaving that night and making absolutely no contact with you afterwards, you kind of went on a rampage with your writing.

The first song was written not even three days after it happened. Penelope pulled up to your place to give you a hug and to let you know that just because Spencer doesn't allow himself to be happy, doesn't mean she will stop being there for you. You love Penelope so much. After the visit though (and a few too many glasses of wine) you kind of threw anything you saw that was Spencer’s into a bag and handed it off to her. You wanted to keep only what was yours, and you didn't want to have to deal with it later; you didn't want to deal with the heartbreak later.

Still a bit buzzed, you decided to start working on some music. Phone recording, and fingers playing the piano, you sang whatever popped in your head.

“So I grab my stuff

Penny just pulled up in the driveway

It's time

Bye-bye

Boy, bye

Bye-bye

It's over, it's over, oh yeah

Bye-bye

I'm takin' what's mine, yeah

Bye-bye

It's over, it's over, oh yeah”

And it was out to stream within the week. You went through a lot of loopholes, long talks with your management, and producers to get it out as soon as possible. When you wrote it, it felt like it was on the tip of your tongue, and that anxious feeling made you loath everything around you. For your own mental health, it was released way before any other song or even mention of a new album. That week that was spent tying up loose ends on your management’s side was a week also full of songwriting, and you were sure you'd have an album by the end of the month.

When the surprise drop happened, people were confused. Supportive, but confused. You normally did a lot of interactions with fans online before or after a release, so your silence was concerning. You proclaimed it was your hermit season, and with that, people (that being friends and family) knew not to bother you. So you could say that when a knock on your door was heard throughout your place, you were hesitant.

You got up and looked through the peephole, sighing when you saw the genius you were still very in love with. It took you a minute to collect yourself– you didn't want to speak to him but all parts of your heart were aching for a moment with Spencer– and you slowly opened the door, seeing the sadness pool in his eyes.

“Uh– h-hi.”

“What are you doing here?” You didn't mean for your words to come out so harsh, and neither did he by the flinch he gave you.

“I wanted to talk to you…” You scoffed and shook your head. This wasn't a good idea. You began to close the door, only to abruptly stop at his voice. “I heard your song.” You stayed still, waiting for him to continue. “And I spoke to Penelope, and everyone on the team and I hate myself for letting you go the way I did and–”

“And what?” You cut him off, practically begging him to give you something to hold on to.

“And I want to try and talk to you about this and do anything I can to try and make this up.”

You softened a bit, and gave a nod, opening your door wider for him to enter. When he did, you motioned at him, “keep going.”

He took a deep breath and gave direct eye contact as he spoke, “I self sabotage, but in addition to that, I’m terrified of anything happening to you.” He waited a moment, clearly collecting his thoughts, “I see what happens to the loved ones of those on my team. I never want that to happen to you.”

“I understand that, but that doesn't give you the right to make the decision to end things without consulting me.”

“And I completely agree and understand.” His words were quick. “I know I’m allowed to be cautious but I should have spoken to you and tried to figure out how you felt on the subject.”

“Exactly.” You stared at each other, and your eyes began to fill with tears. “You are never allowed to do that to me again. Leaving me… safely stranded… I hated it, Spencer, and I love you so much, so you are never allowed to do that again.”

He took that as his in, and tentatively took a step towards you, bringing his hands up to your arms and gently squeezing them. “Never. I love you too, I am so sorry, Y/N.”

You gave a nod and moved closer to him, loosely wrapping your arms around his waist and feeling his arms engulf you. You waited a moment before speaking, “I wrote four other songs about you.” He hummed in agreement, “and they're all going on the next album.”

He gave a soft chuckle, “I completely understand,” and he left a soft kiss on the top of your head. A huge weight was lifted off of you, and you never felt more at home.

singer!reader taglist: @itsleilabxtch @wietske27 @taylorswiftilovecowboylikeme @marshatesthisreality @ladylincoln @delightfulmakerpiegiant @chericherrypie @punksnotdeadbutiam @stillhere197 @laddywitch @httpstoyosi @obi-wansgirl @amandareids

let me know if you would like to be added or removed!

#spencer reid #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #dr spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #singer!reader

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lady-of-endless · 1 month

Note

omg hai ! i was waiting for u to have no pending hcs. can u write some hcs about bruno and giorno preparing to and then proposing to their s/o? :> love ur stuff btw ;3

Author's Note: I'm so sorry for making you wait. Thank you for this request and above all thank you for your appreciation. Seeing you in my notifications makes me happy. Hope you'll enjoy it! The GIFs are not mine and I thank the owners.

Bruno Bucciarati, Giorno Giovanna x reader proposal headcanons

Bruno Bucciarati

- He will take care of everything alone, planning each detail. At least that's how it goes at first for only a little while because the others decide to join in, too happy that he finally decided to take this step. He will be pestered with crazy ideas from everyone.

- At first, he thinks about doing something big for you, after all, it's what you fully deserve. Something elegant, grand. But he starts thinking that it probably wouldn't be comfortable and heartfelt for you. He fell in love with how profound you are so something fancy and over the top wouldn't be as impressive to you as others think.

- After feelings of excitement and joy because he had reached this point in his life, comes nervousness. A heavy worry about what can go wrong. He's anxious and it's rare to see him like lose his cool like that, it's visible to everyone. However, Bucciarati will slowly calm down by replaying in his mind all the conversations you two had about the future so many times. He wants to make all the dreams you have about this moment come true.

- However, the strongest emotion of all, it's devotion. Devotion is a very powerful feeling that comes from a sense of commitment and loyalty. For Bucciarati, it also comes from a sense of admiration and respect that he has for you. He wants to show you all of these with this proposal.

- He decides to propose to you on a trip to the coast of Napoli. More precisely, his hometown. The last time he was there, his heart was torn apart, now he wants to create a new memory there, a loving one that is going to heal even the last thing in him that's broken. Some might say that it seems too self-centered but it's not. You asked him to take you there so many times after he opened up about his childhood and what happened.

- One late night, Abbachio will notice Bucciarati alone looking at the ring, lost in thought. He will understand right away that Bucciarati is asking himself if you'll say yes to him, after everything you know about him and everything you've been through because of him being a mafioso. Abbachio will sit down next to him sighing, before reassuring him that your wish to be with him will surpass anything, he just knows it.

- Of course, Bucciarati wrote down his confession and even memorized it but as he gets on one knee, his mind goes blank. He ends up talking from his heart.

"I know I was supposed to wait until the right time, but my heart can't stand without telling you. Everything feels right for me when I'm with you. I never thought I would be so lucky to find someone like you and not be taken away from my life. You fill the missing pieces of my heart. Will you marry me?"

Giorgio Giovanna

- He too prefers getting everything done alone and that's why he doesn't tell anyone, knowing how the others will want to be involved with the preparations. However, everyone starts noticing how he's more distracted than usual but no one knows what's on his mind that's so important.

- He wants to do something intimate, different than those basic ideas he has seen, and away from any hassle. Giorno thinks that this moment is only yours. A profound moment between your bound hearts.

- Giorno chooses a sunny place, close to the sea. More exactly, on the Amalfi Coast, where the Bougainvillea flowers bloom (visual). Why? Because he knows how your face lights up when he uses his stand ability and flowers bloom around. His heart also skips a beat when he sees you around flowers, it makes it look like his paradise. And because it's a calm place not many know about.

- The emotion Giorno feels the most is longing. Longing, that sense of yearning for something or someone. Giorno yearned for you and now he yearns for a future with you. It took him some time to make this transition, but now it's so very intense.

- At first, for a long time after deciding it's time to propose to you, Giorno doesn't feel nervous about it because he knows that you two shared a dream for a profound commitment. But in time, as the moment approaches, there is one question that makes him overthink everything.

- Giorno sometimes will look at you from afar and clench his hand around the ring in his pocket. One time, it's noticeable. Mista stepped closer to him, sensing something wrong, but not saying a word yet. Without moving his gaze from you, Giorno asks himself in a quiet tone so that Mista can hear too, if he will be able to make you this happy forever. Mista nodded, understanding everything but not knowing how to reassure him. He tells Giorno that because he worries about your happiness, he is already halfway there.

- Giorno doesn't want to write down his confession, thinking that such a thing shouldn't be planned. He wants to speak from the bottom of his heart, holding your hands as he always did when he was alone with you. However, when he's on one knee, he starts wishing he had written down at least some phrases because he's lost. When he looks into your eyes, he knows, he is ready.

“As I look at you now, I realize that the world is a better place with you in it. I cherish every second we have together, and I feel like I can breathe freely when you are beside me. I don't want a future without you. I, Giorno Giovanna, have another dream now. To make you happy. Will you let me try and will you marry me?”

#jojo bizarre adventure #bruno bucciarati #giorno giovanna #jjba bucciarati #jjba giorno #jjba part 5 #jjba fanfic #bucciarati x reader #giorno x reader #jjba x reader #golden wind #vento aureo #jjba headcanons

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f1-giuki · 2 months

Note

Song: Shameless - Camila Cabello

Pairing: Lestappen

Smut

Pls 🥰

my dear darling anon!💖💖 I saw this post back on my tl, read the prompt, listened to the song, and I WAS GONE! went to the land of pwp with a one way ticket! hope you like it I wrote it last night as I was about to sleep💖💖

shameless - prompt post

Playing footsie at a press conference is something new for Max. He doesn't remember when it started, probably around some summer races, when the heat got to Charles’ brain and the only logical thing was to touch Max with the soft and slim sole of his racing boots. Branding him as if he was the next scapegoat and Charles the haruspex, chosen to read his insides and see the message from the Gods.

Max loves it.

The problem Max encounters is his mind, though. He's at Charles' full disposal. Nothing in his body is his, he's stripped of all possessions, it all belongs to the Monegasque. As Charles gently presses his sole against his knee or his foot, Max can't stop thinking about the previous night, when he was whimpering and fucked over, delirious around tight silk in the colour of blood.

Journalists are asking questions, cameras are on him, Checo is giving him the please stop it right now look, but he can't stop spiralling, nearly drooling all over himself.

Shame has no place in his life anymore, not when he got to know how tight Charles' hand can be around his throat, how much his love handles burn when Charles sinks his nails into them, how low Charles' moans can get when Max cries, drawing salty trails on his cheeks.

He is entitled to feel, to want, to wonder. He can bite his lips and fiddle with the microphone when he remembers Charles' hands on his waist on the podium, how his thighs strained on the leather seats of the Rolls Royce taking them to the interview spot after Charles sat manspreading. He is allowed to think about riding Charles on live television for the whole world to see.

Max can shudder and look down at his feet when he remembers how good it felt to have his mouth so full of Charles' cock, gagging over it, covered in spit and cum.

He can spend the whole press conference thinking about the purple bruises on his legs, the red handprint on his left ass cheek, or the pattern of the stitches in the leather collar around his neck.

Charles should go back to their hotel room and take other bobby pins and make sure Max's tongue doesn't start spitting out things. But that's a dirty fantasy of his. Max doesn't have to ask, he doesn't have to try, it's as if he was naked right in front of Charles' eyes. Open like a book.

Vegas came out too good to be true, like the teeth marks on his pecs or Charles' hand on his thigh back in the car.

They have been particularly careless, touching while improvising a joint interview, manhandling each other in front of walls of photographers. Max loves it. He loves the burning sensation of humiliation running down his spine, making his back shiver and his dick get hard.

If he really thinks about it, what he wants to do is ride Charles until he passes out

“Max? Thoughts about the Grand Prix now that you raced there?” Tom Clarkson repeats again and Max blushes, conscious of having daydreamed all along. He shoots a quick glance at Charles, who grins sweetly. Max knows that's all for show and the Internet. Charles is closer to pure bliss than he is, seeing Max so flushed and caught in the act. They are the same after all. On track and among ropes and kinks. Oh if people could simply see the pictures in his mind.

He grabs the mike and smiles at Charles, keeping their charade up, scratching his throat.

“I mean, it still looks like a pig upside down, but the racing was nice,” he says with a silly grin, hiding all his depravity behind a soft lisp.

#lestappen #lestappen fic #lestappen fanfic #ao3 #charles leclerc fanfic #max verstappen fanfic #lestappen fic rec #lestappen smut #f1 rpf #lovely anon

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andmaybegayer · 11 months

Note

Hello. So what's the deal with computer chips? Let's say, for example, that I wanted to build a brand new Sega Genesis. Ignoring firmware and software, what's stopping me from dissecting their proprietary chips and reverse-engineering them to make new ones? It's just electric connections and such inside, isn't it? If I match the pin ins and outs, shouldn't it be easy? So why don't people do it?

The answer is that people totally used to do this, there's several examples of chips being cloned and used to build compatible third-party hardware, the most famous two examples being famiclones/NESclones and Intel 808X clones.

AMD is now a major processor manufacturer, but they took off in the 70's by reverse-engineering Intel's 8080 processor. Eventually they were called in to officially produce additional 8086 chips under license to meet burgeoning demand for IBM PC's, but that was almost a decade later if I remember correctly.

There were a ton of other 808X clones, like the Soviet-made pin-compatible K1810VM86. Almost anyone with a chip fab was cloning Intel chips back in the 80's, a lot of it was in the grey area of reverse engineering the chips.

Companies kept cloning Intel processors well into the 386 days, but eventually the processors got too complicated to easily clone, and so only companies who licensed designs could make them, slowly reducing the field down to Intel, AMD, and Via, who still exist! Via's CPU division currently works on the Zhaoxin x86_64 processors as part of the ongoing attempts to homebrew a Chinese-only x86 processor.

I wrote about NES clones a while ago, in less detail, so here's that if you want to read it:

Early famiclones worked by essentially reverse-engineering or otherwise cloning the individual chips inside an NES/famicom, and just reconstructing a compatible device from there. Those usually lacked any of the DRM lockout chips built into the original NES, and were often very deeply strange, with integrated clones of official peripherals like the keyboard and mouse simply hardwired directly into the system.

These were sold all over the world, but mostly in developing economies or behind the Iron Curtain where official Nintendo stuff was harder to find. I had a Golden China brand Famiclone growing up, which was a common famiclone brand around South Africa.

Eventually the cost of chip fabbing came down and all those individual chips from the NES were crammed onto one cheap piece of silicon and mass produced for pennies each, the NES-on-a-chip. With this you could turn anything into an NES, and now you could buy a handheld console that ran pirated NES game for twenty dollars in a corner store. In 2002. Lots of edutainment mini-PC's for children were powered by these, although now those are losing out to Linux (and now Android) powered tablets a la Leapfrog.

Nintendo's patents on their hardware designs expired throughout the early 2000's and so now the hardware design was legally above board, even if the pirated games weren't. You can still find companies making systems that rely on these NES chips, and there are still software houses specializing in novel NES games.

Why doesn't this really happen anymore? Well, mostly CPU's and their accoutrements are too complicated. Companies still regularly clone their competitors simpler chips all the time, and I actually don't know if Genesis clones exist, it's only a Motorola 68000k, but absolutely no one is cloning a modern Intel or AMD processor.

The die of a Motorola 68000 (1979)

A classic Intel 8080 is basically the kind of chip you learn about in entry level electrical engineering, a box with logic gates that may be complicated, but pretty straightforwardly fetches things from memory, decodes, executes, and stores. A modern processor is a magic pinball machine that does things backwards and out of order if it'll get you even a little speedup, as Mickens puts it in The Slow Winter:

I think that it used to be fun to be a hardware architect. Anything that you invented would be amazing, and the laws of physics were actively trying to help you succeed. Your friend would say, “I wish that we could predict branches more accurately,” and you’d think, “maybe we can leverage three bits of state per branch to implement a simple saturating counter,” and you’d laugh and declare that such a stupid scheme would never work, but then you’d test it and it would be 94% accurate, and the branches would wake up the next morning and read their newspapers and the headlines would say OUR WORLD HAS BEEN SET ON FIRE. You’d give your buddy a high-five and go celebrate at the bar, and then you’d think, “I wonder if we can make branch predictors even more accurate,” and the next day you’d start XOR’ing the branch’s PC address with a shift register containing the branch’s recent branching history, because in those days, you could XOR anything with anything and get something useful, and you test the new branch predictor, and now you’re up to 96% accuracy, and the branches call you on the phone and say OK, WE GET IT, YOU DO NOT LIKE BRANCHES, but the phone call goes to your voicemail because you’re too busy driving the speed boats and wearing the monocles that you purchased after your promotion at work. You go to work hung-over, and you realize that, during a drunken conference call, you told your boss that your processor has 32 registers when it only has 8, but then you realize THAT YOU CAN TOTALLY LIE ABOUT THE NUMBER OF PHYSICAL REGISTERS, and you invent a crazy hardware mapping scheme from virtual registers to physical ones, and at this point, you start seducing the spouses of the compiler team, because it’s pretty clear that compilers are a thing of the past, and the next generation of processors will run English-level pseudocode directly.

Die shot of a Ryzen 5 2600 core complex (2019)

Nowadays to meet performance parity you can't just be pin-compatible and run at the right frequency, you have to really do a ton of internal logical optimization that is extremely opaque to the reverse engineer. As mentioned, Via is making the Zhaoxin stuff, they are licensed, they have access to all the documentation needed to make an x86_64 processor, and their performance is still barely half of what Intel and AMD can do.

Companies still frequently clone each others simpler chips, charge controllers, sensor filters, etc. but the big stuff is just too complicated.

#computer stuff #silicon #vlsi #ask #video games #thehylianbatman

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calqlate · 6 months

Text

LOVE, MAYBE | TWO

— LOVE, PERHAPS

SERIES MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER

PAIRING: crown prince! kageyama tobio x f! crown princess! reader

SUMMARY: after taking your younger sister's place in a political marriage involving the crown prince of the neighboring kingdom of karasuno, you resigned yourself to a loveless marriage. little did you know, the prince has loved you for a while now and plans to win you over.

GENRE(S): arranged marriage au + royal au + fluff + one-sided pining (which later becomes mutual)

WC: 3128

TAGLIST: @deeomi

A/N: i forgot i had already written this and i just needed to edit it LMAO (clown emoji). n e ways, enjoy!

"your ladyship, his highness the crown prince is here to see you."

you were still keeping your gaze focused on the words on the thick management textbook in front of you. as you wrote down some notes on the margin of the textbook, you replied, "he may enter."

the large double doors swung open and in walked the prince, in all his glory, except... he had arrived with a huge bouquet of flowers clasped in his gloved hands. this was very out-of-character for the stoic prince, and this shocked the maids and butlers, who had (definitely) not expected to see the bloodthirsty prince with flowers in his hands. all the servants held back their breath as prince tobio walked right up to you, brows furrowed and eyes fixated on his fiancée who had not yet looked up to see him. he stopped short in front of your desk and you placed your pen down carefully before looking up at him. upon spying the grand bouquet in his hands, you raised your eyebrows, "what—"

"these are for you, my lady," he choked out, thrusting the bouquet into your face, "i thought these flowers suit you very well."

all eyes were on you as you awkwardly accepted the flowers, pretty much using your arms to wrap themselves around the lower half where the stems were. you eyed the pink arrangement of roses, asters, and lilies before looking up at the prince, "thank you, your highness. i appreciate your gift."

"do you..." his cheeks turned pink as his voice dropped drastically in volume and he averted his gaze to the side, "do you like them?"

"well..." you paused, watching his facial expressions carefully, "do you want me to be honest?"

he nodded, still avoiding your gaze.

"i appreciate the thought behind this, but..." you paused, then decided to take a leap of faith and be truthful (as he had said), "actually, i don't really like flowers."

an awkward and tense silence soon followed after the words left your mouth. prince tobio was pretty much frozen in sheer shock, she doesn't like flowers?! then again, never did he once thought of considering the possibility that you did not have a liking for flowers.

"i... i see," he coughed. feeling the embarrassment creep in, he said, "i have some matters to attend to, so i'll leave first. enjoy the rest of your day."

with that, he turned and exited your study, leaving you with a bunch of flowers in your hands and deathly silent servants.

"call the two hostlers in," prince tobio said with a sigh once he was safely in his own study, massaging his temples with furrowed brows. is courting girls supposed to be this difficult?

a few minutes later, hinata brought the hostlers in, who were both starry-eyed and were definitely expecting good news out of the advice that they had given to the prince.

"so, was her ladyship completely starstruck? lovestruck, even?" tanaka asked, grinning from ear to ear as he looked at the prince with hopeful eyes.

"did it go as planned, your highness?" nishinoya asked, his smile mirroring that of tanaka's.

the day that hinata had led prince tobio to tanaka and nishinoya, the two hostlers had given the prince some advice on the day itself.

"your highness, do you know what ladies really like?" tanaka said with a sly grin.

prince tobio shook his head, completely clueless. that itself was a given, since the prince had never gotten into a relationship before as he had dedicated his life to protecting the kingdom and learning how to be a good king to his subjects. to the prince, there was no space in his tightly packed schedule for romance.

"flowers," nishinoya piped up, "especially roses."

"why roses, specifically?" prince tobio asked, cocking his head to the side. was there a particular reason why roses were so popular among the ladies?

tanaka and nishinoya would have made a snide comment on how the prince was pretty much doomed to a life of being chronically single if his parents had not intervened to find a bride for him, but refrained from doing so lest they wanted their heads to roll off the guillotine. after all, he was the crown prince, and he was therefore the second-most powerful after the king himself. lopping off anyone else's head would be easy enough for him as long as he willed it to happen.

"that's because roses are a symbol of love in the language of flowers, your highness," tanaka explained, "if you give her ladyship roses, i'm certain that she will be able to see your feelings and accept them quickly!"

"no," prince tobio replied sharply, glaring at the two hostlers so harshly that shivers went up their spines, "she doesn't even like flowers."

tanaka's and nishinoya's eyes widened. this was the first time that they have ever heard of a lady not liking flowers at all. they glanced over at each other with an incredulous look on their faces, is her ladyship some sort of weird recluse?!

"is something the matter?" prince tobio asked, eyeing the two's non-verbal communication in front of him.

"n-no! nothing's wrong at all, your highness!" nishinoya said and shook his head vigorously.

"we're just surprised at how... unique her ladyship is!" tanaka said, faking a laugh, "there's no one quite as extraordinary as she is! am i right, nishinoya?"

he elbowed his friend, to which the latter laughed along with tanaka.

"well, what else do ladies like?" prince tobio asked, a frustrated crease appearing between his brows as he closed his eyes to think of something to remedy that day's situation as well.

"quality time!" nishinoya piped up, and prince tobio flung his eyes open to look at the shorter hostler, "if you spend more time around her ladyship, i'm sure she'll come to notice your affections a lot more!"

"spend time with her..." prince tobio muttered under his breath, then asked, "you mean, i have to set up a date with her or something?"

"not necessarily, your highness," tanaka said, "you can review documents together. you know, you just have to be by her side." he grinned, then continued, "it doesn't matter what you're doing. your presence is all that matters."

initially, you paid no mind when prince tobio said that he would be reviewing his documents while seated in your study. however, after a couple of minutes, you got rather concerned and, honestly, a little disturbed when you could feel the intensity of his gaze on your face. whenever you turned to look at him, he would immediately look back at his paperwork, pretending he had not been staring at you before. after what seemed like the twentieth time of doing so, you sighed and placed your pen down on your desk and looked at the prince, "your highness, please, just tell me what you want instead of staring at me like that."

he turned pink as he turned his head to the side, not wanting to make any sort of eye contact at all, "t-there's nothing in particular. i was simply... resting my eyes."

"your highness, looking at the greenery is a better solution to resting your eyes than staring at my face," you said, pushing your chair back as you stood up, "that being said, do you want to go on a walk with me?"

he whirled his head around and met your gaze with wide, confused eyes. he had never expected you to ask him to go on a walk together, but he was by no means disappointed, nor was he going to complain. instead, the corners of his lips curled upwards just very slightly as he, too, stood up, abandoning his paperwork, "sure. it's about time for me to take a break from reviewing these documents, anyway."

and so that was how the both of you exited the crown prince's palace to take a leisurely walk in the gardens. the air was fresh and the weather was rather cool, and it was all in all a perfect day to go on a walk. the both of you were not linking arms whatsoever and were maintaining a respectable distance between each other. an awkward silence hung in the air as you strolled about with the crown prince, looking anywhere else but each other: prince tobio was doing such so that he would not meet your gaze, and you were doing such because you thought that staring at him for a beat too long would be considered rude and improper.

"um, your highness, about that day," you were the first to break the ice, "i can explain."

"it's alright, it was my fault," prince tobio said, "i should've asked you about your preferences beforehand. i didn't know that you didn't like flowers."

"it's not that i don't like them," you said, "i simply think that they're kind of a waste. i mean, they die after a while, so i'd have to throw them out anyway and it'd be pointless." you then realised how your words could have been misinterpreted as you disregarding the prince's good intentions, so you added hastily, "i mean, i like things that last long. i don't like throwing my gifts away."

"oh, i see," prince tobio said, furrowing his brows together, so she likes things that can be kept and maintained.

"thank you for the flowers, though," you said. he turned to face you, only to see a small smile on your face as you said, "i liked them. really."

he felt his own cheeks begin to burn and he turned his head away before you could catch a glimpse of his red cheeks. he coughed, "i-i can get more for you if you'd like — ah, wait, you don't like flowers."

you laughed, "you learn fast, don't you, your highness?"

"s-shut up, dumbass," he muttered before trudging ahead of you, dying to bury his crimson face somewhere before anyone could catch sight of it and make fun of him for it. rumours of the prince turning red at a mere compliment would overwrite his image of having a cold exterior, which would not be good for him in court.

you watched as he walked on ahead and you picked up your pace to catch up, amusement seeping into your being. this side of the prince was a stark contrast to what you had heard about him.

perhaps he was not so bad of a person after all.

"so, how did it go, your highness?" the two hostlers looked at the prince with bated breath, hoping with all of their hearts that something positive happened this time, or it would really be off with their heads.

"she smiled at me," prince tobio said with an excited look in his eyes, but then frowned shortly afterwards after recalling your subsequent teasing, "oh, but she seemed to be making fun of me."

"t-that's okay, your highness! it's a positive step forward!" nishinoya said and held up two thumbs-up, smiling, "her ladyship is warming up to you!"

"really?" prince tobio looked at the two hostlers with wide, hopeful eyes that resembled those of an anticipating puppy waiting for praise.

"yes!" tanaka said, "so don't fret, your highness! you're doing really well!"

prince tobio's eyes were sparkling again, and tanaka and nishinoya looked at each other. They did not have the heart to not tell him that it could possibly be a negative sign as well, because lady qq might have actually been making fun of him.

"anyway! your highness, there's this last method you should try," tanaka said with a wink, "it'll be sure to catch her ladyship's heart—" — he snapped his fingers — "in an instant! just like that!"

"what is it?" prince tobio was more than intrigued to hear what tanaka had to offer.

"well," tanaka said, a proud grin on his face, "it's..."

"your ladyship, his highness the crown prince requests you to go to the greenhouse for tea with him."

you rubbed your temples. you were fatigued from the lessons from the past few weeks: you had been receiving supplemental crash courses on the additional aspects of ruling that you had not learnt while you were receiving classes as the heir to your father's duchy. a kingdom was far larger than a dukedom, so of course there were more things that rulers of kingdoms were subjected to know compared to those of dukedoms. you had barely been able to keep up, but miraculously, you were still functioning and capable of sitting in your study to absorb more material. maybe it was the studies that your parents had subjected you to that allowed your brain to absorb a little more information.

"alright, i'll go over to him now," you said, standing up.

you sucked in a breath and headed straight to the greenhouse with some maids accompanying you. truth to be told, you would love nothing more than to catch a couple of z's in your bedroom than be drinking tea with the prince. sure, he was your fiancé-to-be, but you prioritised your rest above all. you could not believe you still had the energy to smile and sit there with the prince despite all of your body’s cells screaming at you to get some sleep.

"you're here," prince tobio said as soon as you approached the table.

"thank you for preparing the tea," you said as you curtseyed before sitting down.

"the maids said that you like milk tea, so i've prepared that for today's tea session," he said, "and i heard that you like sweet foods, so i've prepared more sweet snacks."

you noted the milk tea in your cup, as well as the assortment of cakes and scones on the table before you turned to him, "thank you, your highness. i appreciate it."

slowly, you picked up your teacup and took a sip out of it, letting the sweet taste of the drink bloom across your tongue. you could hear the prince talking, but you could not bring your focus onto any of his words at all. it was as though you were stuck in some sort of container made of thick glass and you could barely hear what the people on the other end were saying. you closed your eyes for a second before opening them again, just before you felt something trickling down your nose. you lifted a hand up towards your face to wipe your nose and pulled away before looking down at your fingers, only to see red liquid smudging your fingertips. you looked back up at the prince and made eye contact before you felt all of your remaining strength leave your body and your eyes roll back into your skull.

your vision was coming back, little by little.

it was a little hazy at first when you first cracked your eyes open. however, the more you cranked them open by sheer force and determination, the fog started to clear up as clarity crept back into your eyesight.

"my lady!"

you felt someone grab your hand firmly and warmly, and you slowly turned your head to the side to see who it was. it was prince tobio, who was seated by your bedside with both of his hands clasped around your hand. concern was evident in his blue eyes as he locked eyes with you. you immediately tried to sit up, and he assisted you in doing so, until you were seated up properly with a pillow safely supporting your back.

"how are you feeling?" he asked, his brows creased together in concern.

"i feel fine," you muttered, your voice raspy. honestly, you felt as though you were in a confused daze, as though you had been asleep for an extensive period of time. you asked, "how long was i asleep for?"

"two days," he replied, then his frown deepening as he said, "you've been over-working yourself, haven't you?"

"i..." you were at a loss for words. you, too, were not sure how much or far you had pushed yourself because every single day had passed in one indistinct blur.

"you did," he answered in your stead, "and that's how your body finally crashed."

you stayed mute as he breathed out a sigh from his nose as he squeezed your hand gently, "studying is good, but don't push yourself too hard."

you looked at him with a confused look on your face, why would you care? i'm just someone you're forced to marry, anyway.

as if he could read your thoughts, he answered, "i worry because i'm your husband." he paused, then corrected himself, "well, husband-to-be, but that's not the point."

he cast his gaze down at your hands as he picked both of them up and held them gently, as if they were fragile glass pieces that could shatter with one wrong move, "please take care of yourself."

he looked back up at you to observe your facial expressions: your face was completely neutral and seemingly guarded as you met his gaze. disappointment filled his lungs as he said, "i'll leave you to rest."

gingerly, he let go of her hands (that he had placed on her lap) before getting up from the chair and leaving your room, not before taking some extra precautions with your maids and butler. as the door swung shut behind him, he sighed, looks like that didn't work, either.

"what is it?" prince tobio was more than intrigued to hear what tanaka had to offer, leaning forward and hanging onto his every word as if he were preaching the holy word.

"well," tanaka said, a proud grin on his face, "it's... to be a gentleman towards her! nothing else beats a guy who treats her well."

"what on earth, ryuu!" nishinoya smacked tanaka's bicep, "what if her ladyship likes guys that degrade her and stuff? you know, the mean types!"

"i don't think she does," tanaka retorted with a frown, "what kind of crazy psycho—" — then, upon remembering that he was talking about the future crown princess here, he quickly stopped himself mid-sentence and changed his words — "i mean, person would reject flowers?" he added, "my guess is that she's not the innocent sort that would love a bad boy to sweep her off her feet." he grinned, "wanna bet, noya?"

i suppose it's another fail today, then, prince tobio sighed as he walked down the hallway.

however, if he had chosen to turn around and take a sneak peek into the room, he would have seen the telltale blush rising on your cheeks.

#💫—love maybe #💫—qq writes #writeblr #writing #kageyama x reader #kageyama x y/n #kageyama x yn #kageyama x you #kageyama #kageyama tobio x reader #kageyama tobio x y/n #kageyama tobio x yn #kageyama tobio x you #kageyama tobio #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x yn #haikyuu x you #haikyuu

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cera-writes · 10 days

Note

I love all your fics and i read you wanted to write song fics, and I've been obsessed with TTPD and Gambit this past month, so I was thinking in a hiper angsty fic inspired on this album and other songs, where Gambit meets Avenger! Reader, who is in her twenties, and they have a secret relationship because it could be a disaster between their teams, and she doesn't know Remy and Rogue's history, so when they break up and he goes back to Rogue, the reader doesn't know if everything that they had was real to him, plot twist Remy was using her to get information all that time. And she's heartbroken, but at the same time, she has so much rage.

Some songs by taylor swift that give me the vibe of their relationship: "Gorgeous", "Suburban Legends", "willow", "Slut!" "august", "Guilty as sin?", "Florida!!!", "The smallest man who ever lived", "down bad", "my boy only breaks his favourite toys", "how did it end?", "Would've, could've, should've", "dear john"

plus: "Silver Springs" and "can't catch me now" because he'll always be tormented by her love

* Sorry if there's something you can't understand, English is not my first language!!! Also, I don't know if you like Taylor or if this is a long request for you, so I understand if you don't write this, but I hope it can help you when you need inspiration.

And thanks for feeding the Gambit nation, his fics are scarce and everything you write is amazing xoxoxo

-💫

A/N: hello fellow Swiftie~ I wrote these sectioned into mini parts! It'd probably take me a while to write a full length fic but I summarized their relationship according to each song you requested :) Pairing: Remy "Gambit" LeBeau x (Avenger) AFAB!Reader

Tangled Threads (A Gambit/Avenger!Reader Songfic)

Part 1: Gorgeous (and secret trysts)

He sauntered in, that Cajun charm dripping like molasses, a smirk playing on his lips that could disarm a bomb squad. Gambit. Not exactly Avenger material, an X-Man, but here he was lounging in the small speakeasy, all roguish charisma and smoldering unusual eyes. The two of you had struck up a secret alliance, amidst a blossoming relationship.

"He's gorgeous," you thought, trying to focus on the holographic briefing flickering before you. "Gorgeous enough to be a criminal mastermind." The internal voice was probably right.

He caught your eye, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Mind if I join the party, cher? Looks like you could use some company."

You rolled your eyes, a reluctant smile tugging at your lips. *"This isn't a party, Gambit. Briefing. And besides. we're supposed to be secretive."

"Even briefings need a little spice, wouldn't you agree?" He leaned closer, his voice a low rumble. "Besides, I brought intel."

That piqued your interest. Intel was always welcome, especially from someone as questionable as Gambit. The next few hours were a blur of stolen glances, whispered strategies, and a thrill that sent shivers down your spine. This shouldn't feel so good, not with him on the other side of the line.

But there he was, effortlessly weaving himself into the fabric of your world, a secret melody in the symphony of my life. "And you're right here, right next to me," the T-Swift song echoed over the ambiance of the bar, perfectly capturing the forbidden electricity crackling between you.

Stolen moments turned into stolen nights. Rooftop rendezvous under the city lights, whispered secrets amidst the chaos. You were a tangled mess, a love story written in code, a secret waiting to be exposed.

"Deep down, I know this is delicate," the lyrics resonated with the fragile nature of your connection. "But I can't turn away." The danger was intoxicating, a forbidden fruit you couldn't resist. But the fear, a persistent whisper in the back of my mind, gnawed at you.

Was it real, or was it just a game? Were you just another pawn in Gambit's grand scheme? The thought sent a tremor through you. "Maybe we got something good," the song continued in your headphones, painting a hopeful picture despite the growing doubt.

But hope, like trust, was a fragile thing. One day, the melody would change, the chords turning discordant. And when it did, the fallout would be a symphony of heartbreak.

Part 2: Willow (and Whispers)

"We can't keep doing this," you whispered one starlit night, the weight of your double life heavy on your chest. "It's too risky. We're on opposite sides."

He pulled you closer, the familiar warmth a bittersweet comfort. "Love doesn't play by team rules, cher." You could never tell what he was thinking. He always had that damn poker face.

"If this was an open shut case, I never would've known from the look on your face, Rem," you replied, challenging his open statement.

"Heh," he smirked. "Daring though, non?"

"But it can get us both killed," you countered, the voice you used for briefings laced with unspoken fear.

"Maybe that's the thrill, yeah?" He winked, the playful facade a mask for something deeper. "You're a prize I'd cheat to win, chere."

A knot tightened in your stomach. Was it just a game to him? Was he another "august slip away into a moment in time," a fleeting fling he'd discard when the thrill faded? "Guilty as sin," you thought, a line from another song echoing your turmoil.

Part 3: Slut! (and Lies)

The news hit you like a psychic blast. Remy LeBeau, back with Rogue. Public declarations, lovey-dovey photos splashed across mutant newsfeeds. The air felt thick with betrayal, the stolen moments tainted with a sickening suspicion. "Slut! Oh, you're the only one who even tried." The song ripped through you, a cruel mirror reflecting your shattered trust.

Fury simmered, a storm brewing beneath the hurt. Were you just a pawn in some twisted game? "Down bad, down bad, but I won't cry." You wouldn't let him break you. Rage, a fiery ember, ignited alongside the heartbreak. Maybe this was for the best. Your reputation had never been worse. At least you could focus on your team and not Remy anymore. But who were you kidding? It hurt.

Part 4: The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived (and Doubts)

Days turned into a blur of training, a desperate attempt to drown the doubts. "Was he the smallest man who ever lived?" You questioned everything, replaying his words, searching for a crumb of truth. Had he ever loved you, or was it all an act? A cruel manipulation to infiltrate the Avengers?

Part 5: Dear John (and Deception)

You cornered him, the raw emotions a maelstrom in your eyes. "Did any of it mean anything, Remy?" The question hung heavy in the air.

His smile didn't reach his eyes. "Always cherish the memories, cher. But some things just can't last."

"Would've, could've, should've," you seethed. "Was it all a lie?" The words were a gut punch, a desperate plea for the truth.

He turned away, a flicker of regret in his eyes. "Maybe that's a story for another time."

Raw, unbridled anger burned through your veins.

"Right," you spat, the bitterness dripping from your tongue. "Just another girl you used and discarded." The weight of his betrayal settled on you, a heavy cloak.

Chapter 6: Can't Catch Me Now (and a Tangled Future)

The training room became your sanctuary. Sweat turned into tears, the pain fueling a relentless drive. Punches became declarations, each blow a defiant roar against his betrayal. "Flying like a jet stream, faster than the white cars can go." You wouldn't be some damsel in distress, a mere conquest in his web of lies. You'd become stronger, faster, a force to be reckoned with.

He might call himself Gambit, but the real gamble was his. He'd bet on manipulating you, using you for his own ends. But the tables had turned. You wouldn't be another forgotten pawn in his game.

One day, your paths would cross again. And when they did, you wouldn't be the naive hero he'd once known. He might slip through your fingers like charged cards, haunted by the ghost of a love he couldn't keep. But as you soared through the air, empowered by rage and renewed purpose, one thing was certain:

"You can't catch me now."

Hope this was okay! I tried to use most of the songs you listed! (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

#x men 97 #xmen #gambit #remy lebeau #gambit x reader #remy lebeau x reader #cera writes #taylor swift song fic

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riseswiththesun · 2 months

Text

tell me what you really feel

mini drabble/ficlet based off this comic by @mayskalih! i saw her first hc about this and had wanted to write something but then she did the comic and i literally got up and wrote this sksks so thank you for the brainrot LOL

not sure when the canon time frame of this would be I kinda made it vague, so you can imagine it how you want tbh lol, I kinda imagine them a bit older, so like canon divergence/post canon

ao3 link

word count: 2.5k

title inspired by lyrics from the song like or like like by miniature tigers

He hates to admit how much the words sting when Sokka says them.

Lovebirds.

Zuko feels like he did as a child; the way he feels is almost petulant, wanting something he knows he cannot have. The way feelings he can't quite discern—anger, jealousy, sadness, bitterness, perhaps, he isn't sure, and he doesn't even really want to know—pool at the bottom of his stomach, leaving him uneasy. But he knows all of this is so painfully trivial, pathetic even, how such a nonsensical word almost sends him into a downward spiral of emotions.

But Sokka only confirmed what he’s expected—what he’s known.

He’s seen the way that the two of them smile at each other, the way she seems almost happier, lighter, brighter, around Aang—something he would be foolish to think she would ever be around him. And so even though he’s been clinging to their few brief moments of amicability, the few moments of vulnerability, and the few brief touches that he’s clung onto more than he likes to admit, he knows his place. He’s grateful for the forgiveness he’s been granted, and that, albeit unfortunately, will just have to be enough.

Zukko never wanted to come to terms with these feelings—if that’s what they even are. He’s tried to tuck them into the back of his mind, being content with where they currently remained—something he didn’t want to grapple with. But now, the painstaking realization has hit him that his feelings are large and grand, knowing that it’s more than just admiration or maybe even something as menial as a crush. He cares, feelings that feel large and grand in a way that he can’t quite comprehend. But he knows that he likes how he feels understood, and he likes how he feels that he’s not someone who’s broken, and he likes that he feels that he is someone who is capable of doing good things—of making a change, of becoming good again. And even aside from that, he likes that she is all things good, that she is hope, that she is someone who deserves better—which is something that he knows that he is not.

So because he cares, he allows for the upturn of his own lips as he watches the two of them, the sun casting down glowing rays—something almost out of a picture, and he thinks to himself: this is what she deserves, what she wants.

And because he cares, cares in a way that it aches in the deepest swells of his chest, he turns to Sokka, nodding in agreeance, the same smile on his face as he speaks.

“You’re right, Sokka,” he says almost breathily, forbidding any sort of indication of the affliction that hangs low in his throat to show in his voice. “We should help them.”

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Katara feels a shift—something is off.

It feels harmless at first; she doesn’t think much of it. It starts with Sokka’s calculated glances towards her, almost as if he has some sort of intention behind his stares. He has the same look on his face when he talks about war plans or whenever he’s discussing something concerning logistics—he’s plotting, but she doesn’t know what.

She sees the way he and Zuko share mutual looks, almost as if it’s something they’re in on together. It felt harmless at first, the way they’re insistent on certain things, guiding her to certain parts of the camp, directing her to do certain tasks that normally they wouldn’t have her do, but then it crosses into a certain territory where it raises flags, and she knows that something’s off, but she can’t quite figure out what.

It makes the energy within the camp feel strained—she can tell that Sokka is being sneaky, like he’s hiding something from her, or maybe even all of them, which only floods her with additional anxiety—something she already feels she has enough of, and doesn’t need more of at a time like this; Toph is indifferent as always; Suki constantly looks as if she’s worried, almost as if she knows what’s going on, but refuses to say much of anything; Aang tries to keep spirits up, acting as he always does, which that much she can appreciate, her one small semblance of normalcy; but then there’s Zuko, who she doesn’t know how to describe his behavior, but all she knows is his is the person’s behaviors whose bothers her the most.

She hates that once she finally found herself comfortable with him, almost seeking him out, almost desiring to be near him, he’s decided he no longer wants to be near her, taking every opportunity to push her away. Every instance in which she attempted to even talk to him, whether it be for something small, or even when she tries to seek out his assistance, he’s quick to call someone in replacement of him.

Katara huffs to herself, feeling exasperated by everything that’s been going on the last few days. Part of her feels like she’s being dramatic, something everyone wouldn’t hesitate to tell her, but she knows that something is wrong, and she hates that it bothers her so much.

She finds herself roaming aimlessly around their campsite, searching for some form of respite, anything at this to put her mind at her ease. She sees Aang and Zuko sitting and talking, prompting her to try and join them, hoping talking with them could jog her spirits even the smallest bit knowing the two of them are two people that as of lately, are the only ones who she feels like understand her most.

“Hey,” Katara calls out as she approaches them, a smile on her face, “Can I join you guys?” She takes a seat before they can even answer, assuming she’ll receive an eventual yes. She somewhat receives one in the form of Aang’s returned grin, but Zuko’s body stiffens at the sight of her. The smile she saw from afar has been replaced by a face she once deemed as cold—an expression she didn’t associate e

“U-uh,” he hesitates, quickly standing up. “I-I gotta go…” Walking away before the two of them can question his reasonings for leaving.

Aang and Katara share confused glances, before both their eyes follow Zuko to the other side of their camp, joining Sokka in whatever it is he seems to be doing. Aang gives her a shrug before he continues the conversation, but Katara no longer has any interest in talking, her mood seemingly gone sour.

But most of all, she hates the feeling in her chest, something almost like a tear in her heart, that occurred the second that Zuko left, taking all the air in her lungs with him.

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

Zuko concludes that solitude is the best course of action.

He knows that he’s doing the right thing, the honorable one even, but it doesn’t make it any more bearable. He almost wishes that he felt the petty rage and jealousy that he felt with Mai—anger, at least, is an easier concept to grapple with.

But he finds that whatever this is, he can only take in strides, the gravity of his feelings being a harsh reality that he’s been forced to come to terms with. Each time Zuko aids in this plan of theirs, he knows it’s for a greater purpose, one that he would put above his own desires and feelings (something that the Zuko before would have never considered), so he continues, and will continue to do so for the foreseeable future.

Though despite being someone who's changed, valuing those who he cares about, it’s in his innate being as a person to at times, wallow. So he concludes that solitude is in fact the best course of action. Because in isolation, there he can bask in his emotions without fear of being questioned; there is nobody to judge his seemingly childish tantrums, when all of it just feels so unfair, and why him; but most of all, there he can live in the bliss in knowing he’s the only one who knows just how much his feelings have amounted to, and just how much he may have fucked up in allowing them to get to that point.

So he keeps to himself in the moments that he can, doing whatever tasks he can alone, cherishing the few moments of privacy he gets to wrestle with his emotions. He clings to whatever noises around him, hoping they can somehow bring him back to earth, but it’s normally much to no avail—the crackle of the fire and the buzzing of insects in the night sky only provide cursory background noise to the never ending state of chaos of his mind.

In Zuko's mind, he feels as though there’s a constant influx of emotions, so much so that he almost doesn’t feel smaller hands against his back, jolting him out of his thoughts, stopping him in his tracks.

“Hey, Zuko,” a voice that could belong to nobody other than Katara calls out from behind him. He feels his body stiffen at her touch, no longer used to the close contact, even in the few instances it had occurred. Zuko turns to face her, her face showing clear signs of displeasure, but before Zuko can even question why, she keeps talking. “Why are you avoiding me?” She asks, anger, or maybe even hurt, Zuko thinks, hanging in her voice.

His eyes go wide, but he quickly tries to regain his composure, not wanting to raise any sort of concern. He thinks to what he’s done for the entirety of the week whenever Katara’s had any sort of issue, knowing there’s a better solution than him to her problems.

“Let me go get Aang…” He says gently, trying not to make matters worse.

Her face scrunches at this, releasing out a huff—she’s upset. Zuko tries to think of what he could’ve done to upset her, all he’s done since they’ve made amends is try his hardest to do right by her, and he feels like he constantly keeps coming up short, only confirming what he’s known for so long—she deserves better.

“You’re not going anywhere—you don’t need to get Aang, this has nothing to do with him,” she starts, closing the distance between them. Zuko can see the telltale signs of her anger, the face she makes when she’s fed up with all of them, when they’ve pushed her buttons too hard, or worn her patience too thin—the furrow between her brows, the narrow of her eyes, the rosiness in her cheeks, the exasperation in her voice. “What’s wrong, Zuko? Why are you avoiding me? Why is it that every time I try to talk to you or ask for your help, you suddenly call Aang or leave?” She asks angrily, before her voice gets quiet, as if she’s nervous to finish the rest of her sentence, “Did I… do something?”

Zuko didn’t think there was a feeling that felt worse than how he already did, but the look on Katara’s face, one that had just been filled with anger, that now holds so much hurt, is enough to make him fess up to the whole ruse—he doesn’t want to leave any room for misinterpretation.

“I-I wanted to help you and Aang!” He blurts out. “Sokka told me you liked each other, so we’ve… been trying to help you two. Maybe it wasn’t the best idea but… that’s why I’ve been doing that, for you two.”

Her face twists, this time not in anger, but what he thinks is annoyance. Katara lets out a pained huff, pinching her nose and closing her eyes, almost as if she had to take a moment to process his words.

“You two are idiots,” she sighs.

This time, it’s Zuko's turn for his face to scrunch up, but for him, rather than anger or annoyance, it’s in confusion. He raises his brows, leaning against the wall behind him, “What?”

Katara steps closer, cutting the distance between them from arm’s length to inches away in just a few seconds. She leans in, pressing her hands against the stone wall behind him for support. Their faces are so close he can feel her breath tickling his cheek, he feels his heart racing and his palms growing sweaty, the result of too many emotions and her presence alone.

“Zuko, I don’t like Aang…” She says. “I like you.”

He blinks at her, feeling dumbfounded. The words hang in the air, almost as if they’re waiting for Zuko to take them and physically make himself process them, screaming at him to comprehend the gravity of what she means, but Katara, instead, does it for him, giving him no time for things like insecurity or misunderstanding. She closes the distance between them, pressing her lips onto his.

At first, Zuko feels his body tense—one too many shocking proclamations have occurred, leaving him incapable of processing things at a normal rate. By the time his mind has finally processed her words, I like you, his body finally has caught up to reality, taking him out of the state of limbo he’s since been existing in—those few seconds between before and after her profession—he feels Katara pull away, just after he’d finally become accustomed to the way her lips felt against his.

He feels his cheeks flush, seeing the way she looks at him, waiting for his response. Her eyes have a look in them, softness almost, something akin to hope, Zuko thinks. They stare at one another, at a loss for words, both too scared to break the silence between them, the only sound their bated breaths and the drumming of their heartbeats.

Zuko has never been the best at emotions or words, he thinks the best course of action in this scenario is just doing. So this time, it’s Zuko who leans forward, cupping her cheek affectionately before pressing his lips onto hers with a confidence he didn’t know that he had in himself.

And though Zuko isn’t perfect, and he still has so much to learn, so much growing to still do, maybe he is deserving of good things, and there are people who are capable of seeing the good in him too. He thinks that maybe later they can talk more about their feelings and specifics and whatever other misunderstandings may have occurred, but for now, he enjoys the way she feels underneath his touch, a feeling he wants to tattoo in his memory, a moment like this he will remember forever.

All the feelings of self doubt and insecurity and the little voices that scream inside him, you aren’t enough, begin to dissipate with every little press of her mouth against his. It feels sweet and it feels new and it feels like the good in life that he’s been searching for.

When he finally pulls away, he looks at her, admiring how the fire casts a glow on her face, her cheeks rosy, and her lips plush. Her eyes sparkle, and Zuko never realized, or at least he’s never allowed himself to admit just how beautiful she really is.

He feels a warmth settle inside him, the corners of his lips upturning. And there’s more that he wants to say, but his mind, always an influx of emotions, albeit this time, positive ones, settles on: “I like you too, Katara.”

#zutara #atla #zutara fic #zuko x katara #zk #vi’s drabbles

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undermine-the-instinct · 4 months

Text

Sweet Dreams are Made of These

Cyno x Bard!Reader x Kaveh

Previous part.... Bard!Reader Masterlist.....

Warnings: In game racism (?) of the Sages against the desert folk/eremites. Gaslighting, Job market polarization ('Bad jobs' the desert folk do to survive), MURDER, DISSOCIATION. These parts will be marked beginning and end by a RED BAR. if you want to skip look past those. Word count: 7.1K.

Oh Cyno. You’re such a fucking idiot.

He jolts awake at his desk, immediately alert. Who… Who called him? Was he dreaming? About what?

It's late. He fell asleep at his desk. How odd.

Do you want me to seduce you?

He shakes his head of the drowsiness, sighing hard. How annoying. He's just been sleeping over all this paperwork, work that he could've been working on? He thought he had an adequate amount of sleep, proportional to his workload. He needs to adjust it, if he's falling asleep like this.

He rubs the sleep from his eyes and looks at the report his cheek was plastered to. The written interrogation of a scholar, suspected of being an accomplice to one of his wayward classmates.

Said wayward classmate has been stealing and selling Akademiya knowledge. Essentially contraband. He's been writing down all the information he could and selling it to the eremites, to do Archons knows what with. Smart, since the Akasha could be tracked easier than paperwork.

The exact contents of said contraband was in a different report though. The accomplice's interrogation, carried out by another matra, simply noted the strange times he would arrive at the dorms and leave, the frantic way he wrote everything down.

The case landed on his desk, now that a matra had caught him meeting with another known associate of the eremites. It would be up to Cyno to track and interrogate him. Should he do anything incriminating, Cyno will have to arrest him, as well as the suspected accomplice. He probably already would.

Cyno sighs hard, again; He needs to have all this paperwork done by tonight if he wants to be on track. He couldn’t believe he fell asleep.

There's a knock on his door, and he barks out a quick, “Who is it?" Sharper than he meant it, but anyways, a young secretary pokes his head in.

"Um, General? So sorry for interrupting you at the late hour. The…The Grand Sage calls for an audience." He doesn't show any signs, but his heart sinks at the familiar words.

He stands from the desk without another word, and walks out the room, shutting it and paying no heed to the floundering secretary, sending him scuttling with a look. He makes way.

He walks the halls, his footsteps hardly a sound. His hand trails along the cool walls, tapping, counting.

Azar is a distinguished man, with many years at the Akademiya under his belt. He's seen generations of scholars pass and fail, and has been the judging hand in many of these fates.

A man like that doesn't survive being Grand Sage with clean hands.

The room is darkened, with only a lamp on either side of the man's desk, lighting up the documents there.

"The paperwork never seems to end, does it?" Azar has even more documents and articles on his desk than Cyno’s doubled, and Cyno wonders when this man ever sleeps.

"It's part of the job sir."

"Ah, yes, unfortunately. If I trusted anyone else competent enough I would gladly offload it all. Alas, only certain people are suitable for certain jobs. Right, General?"

Cyno isn't sure if he should answer, so he doesn't. He stands there and waits for the conversation to go the way he knows it always goes. But Azar seems content with this nothing-talk.

“You’re not wearing your Akasha, Cyno.” His hand flies to his ear, where the device would emit that green symbol.

“...How did you know I wasn’t wearing it sir?” He hasn't even looked up yet.

“Because I am the Grand Sage, Cyno boy. Tell me, how long did you have it off? Did you have any pleasant dreams?” Only children dream in Sumeru, and Cyno is not a child. He doesn't miss the implication though. And it doesn't escape him how, nonetheless, he still dreams.

Peach fuzz. Eyes flutter like dove wings. A mouth that sears across his like fire; the curve of a knee and the bend of the spine.

Do you want me to seduce you?

He shakes his head free of the fog.

“No, sir. Too tired to dream. I’ll put my Akasha back on when I return to my office.”

Azar nods his approval. "Good. Now, with all this work, it's important to rest, as well as to go outside and get some exercise. Have you been doing that, General?"

"I keep my body in top condition sir."

"Of course you do. Do you take any time off for yourself? You need time to rest, boy. You work hard enough as is, you should ‘party’ hard’ too, like the youth these days.”

Cyno gives a noncommittal shrug, and Azar sighs. “Well, you can relax after this job I have for you. Put yourself to use and get some fresh air. Here." He holds out an indiscrete envelope, which he knows is his next job.

He opens it and looks it over as the Grand Sage speaks.

"We've been so focused on that Monstadt pest that it seems we've fallen behind in keeping order within the Akademiya. This one has been undermining us with this little ploy of his, you should have already read the reports. He annoys me. Take care of him, will you?"

Take care of him. He knows what that means. Normally, he doesn't speak, not anymore, and yet…

"This is the scholar suspected of selling information to the eremites."

"Yes, those brutes."

"...The report said that he's been selling general lesson plans, exams and answers for the past entrance exams. We change the tests every year, so that is general knowledge anyone with general permission can access.”

“Well, yes. We change the order of questions and topics and even the questions themselves lest a pattern be found, and the entrance exams lose their set purpose. Tell me. What is their set purpose?”

“To weed out the ones not knowledgeable nor capable enough to survive here.”

“Or worthy enough. Exactly.”

Cyno doesn't shuffle on his feet. “...Sir, the scholar can be charged with unlawful distribution of Akademiya knowledge, or even copyright infringement, if we push it perhaps. Akademiya knowledge such as official tests and dissertations are copyrighted. But his crimes don’t seem too…discriminatory. Severe." Azar doesn't speak.

“For lack of a better word, sir.”

Azar doesn't even look up from his paperwork.

“He's been selling it so that those desert folk could have a shot at passing the entrance exams,” he supplies, his voice going low.

“Like a sort of study plan. He's been working to create a sort of basic general education for the younger desert folk. Better than whatever education system they might have."

Cyno nods. "He should have proposed the idea to the Sages instead of selling off the information. But does this require my involvement, sir?"

"Oh? You would have one of your subordinates take the case? Giving one of them a chance to shine, hm?"

"No. Sir, I'm wondering why there is a case at all." Finally, Azar looks up. He looks at Cyno, puts down his pen and folds his hands.

"Cyno," he says his name. Says his name properly, the first syllable a long ‘EE’, rather than a hard ‘I’, like most others say it as. It's a common misconception. Cyno.

"From whom do the Corp of Thirty originate from?"

"They are a faction of the eremites."

"And what do they do?"

"Protect Sumeru."

"Yes. And tell me, who makes up the majority of the Corp of Thirty, and the eremites, and the merchants and store owners in Sumeru? Answer that and tell me why, as well."

"All of them are mainly…desert folk. Those trying to seek a better life."

Azar has his hands steepled over the desk, his eyes hard and level and flat.

“...I don't have to spell things out for you Cyno, you were an Akademiyian student. An exemplary one in fact. That's the only reason why I didn’t have you pressured out in fear of your…proclivity to violence, all those threats and fights—that, and respect for your adoptive father.”

“I was not a violent student. Those fights were usually instigated by the other party–”

"You did not grow up in the desert, but still, there is a savageness in you Cyno. It's in your blood. So imagine those who thrive there. Why there no shortage of eremites and mercenaries despite the high mortality rate. It's in the blood.”

Before he could even refute that (but wasn’t he right? He is violent), because he had to be wrong, if not misinformed, Azar went on.

“It’s why I have you take on the more…Unsavory jobs. You do what needs to be done. We just take the desert folk’s penchant for violence, and repurpose it to something more honorable, less harmful for everybody. Mostly Cyno, we need them as our soldiers, not our scholars. If we let them study and fill our halls, who will serve as our civil defenders? Our guards and protectors? Who would help us boost our economy?

“I will not let the Akademiya's great prestige and peace be marred. Especially not by someone so naively hopefully and with so little subtlety." He waves his hand, back to his papers.

"I want to make an example out of him. So I expect you to do a thorough job, sometime by the end of this week." That'll only give him a couple of days.

"Everything is in the folder. You should see where he's heading and ambush him there. Your other matra already did most of the tracking for you, so you just need to follow through." Cyno gives one last glance to the paper in his hand, before sliding it into the envelope.

“Cyno.” He looks up.

Azar levels him with a look, heavy and long, yet the apathy there is dull edged like a rusted knife. “This is for the better good of Sumeru, and her people. I enjoy this as much as you do. You understand that, right?”

"...Yes, sir." And he leaves.

There are still students in the library, briskly walking the halls back and forth. The bright stars in their eyes have been replaced by dark bags and desperation, and the gleam of spite for unfunded projects and encroaching deadlines.

He trails his hand along the walls as he walks back to his office, for some reason not in a hurry. People avoid his path so it is clear, and moonlight follows his footsteps as he trudged back.

The boy is not even in his mid-twenties yet. And Cyno has to kill him. He's not that much older. A year or so.

He's not putting on his akasha, he’s going to sleep tonight, damn the paperwork. Hopefully he won't remember his nightmares tonight.

Maybe he’ll dream of you again.

There's so much blood.

Of course, he knows why there is so much blood but it doesn't really lessen the shock of how much of it there is. It always surprises him. For some reason. Why does it surprise him? It was worse in the beginning. He's learned to compartmentalize so it's simpler now.

Raise the staff. Strike. Avoid blows. Attack. Cut down the enemy.

Make sure they don't get back up.

He cuts them all down, wheedling out the group. The hideout they've been meeting has red splattered on the walls, on the children's pictures plastered there; red like their scarves, red like his blades.

The scholar falls to one knee as he makes eye contact with the ruddy smear of his eyes. Like the blood he spills, as the last eremite rushes to engage him. He gets up and starts running though.

When the last falls Cyno stands for a moment, listening to the ringing in his ears. He wonders… why exactly he doesn't like to wear shoes…? His feet are soaked in blood. It'll make the sand stick.

He turns and chases down the scholar boy. The threshold is so red he doesn't leave any footprints.

The sand is hot. The sun is hot. It'll only get hotter.

He finds the Scholar not too far off, and immediately pounces on him, pinning him to the sands. He scrambles, but there's nowhere for him to go.

Strangely enough, he starts laughing. His hands fisting in the sands, voice high and hysterical, his eyes bulging. He doesn’t meet Cyno's eyes though, eyes scrambling for purchase anywhere else. Cyno finds he does not mind this, but he’s confused.

"Why are you laughing–"

"You're going to kill me, right, right? Oh fuck, what did I do? What did I even do?!" His voice rises, higher and higher, panicking.

"It's an order from the Sages. You have been found guilty of treason against the Akademiya–"

"What did I even do?!” He answers himself before cyno could. “I'm handing out lesson plans for the desert kids and that's treason? Why? Scared you won't have enough soldiers to lick your heels?" He spits, harsh vitriol. Cyno's eyes squint at the jab. The boy sees this, and laughs again.

"So, so that's why? And you're just going to kill me because they said so?" His voice breaks down suddenly, betraying his terror and desperation. Irrationally– it's so irrational, it makes Cyno angry.

If the boy is going to put on some bravado he could at least make sure the act doesn’t slip.

"I tried to stop it," the words pull at him, bringing reality slightly back into focus.

The boy scoffs, but it's more of a splutter of tears and snot. “Looks like you didn't try hard enough.”

"You were too outspoken, too bold. They were already on edge, now they want to make an example out of you." The boy blinks furiously, and his lips tremble in their half snarl.

"You're from the desert, aren't you? Shouldn't you want a better life for those kids? More than anyone?"

"I didn't grow up in the desert." He scoffs, and indignation drains the fear from his face.

"Those kids don't have anything. Either they join the Eremites or Corp of Thirty after failing the entrance exam, or if they get in, they’re stressed and pressured to drop out after a year or two. There's nothing else."

"I’m plenty sure that their economy would be in shambles if that were the case."

"But of course!" He laughs again.

"There's other professions. They could be merchants, but really that's a nice word for smugglers. Store owners, if they want to live while paying the exorbitant fees for a license. Assassins, sorry, Eremites, are always in high demand, especially with the high death rate. Cartels are all the rage. The brothel industry always needs more workers to satiate the demand. Oh, and there's always those who want an extra spouse or two, someone less privileged so that they can feel benevolent, beholden to. Like they’re doing some good thing. It's all sick. I'm fucking sick of it!” And, again, he starts to weep.

"Is it so bad I wanted something more for these kids? Shouldn't we give them a chance?"

Cyno can't think, and he feels half frozen, which is strange for being in a desert. He shouldn't even be thinking, he shouldn't be talking either. Cyno should have already slit his throat and left him to bleed while he starts to take care of the bodies.

The scholar smirks as he raises his weapon, but it trembles, barely put together.

"And to think these kids look up to you. The great General Mahamatra. The Sages dog, trained to bite–" his weapon slams into the sands by his head, throwing up a little sand cloud.

"....If I let you go, can you swear you'll stay undercover?"

His eyes fill with confusion, a little outrage. "....You killed all those men there, and you're going to let me go?"

“Who knows, maybe they’re still alive. I’m rather pressed for time, you know. I might have rushed the job.”

“I saw all that blood, those injuries— You couldn’t have–”

“Do you want me to slit your throat here? Leave you bleeding out in the sands, slowly, while I deal with this mess? The bodies? At least those already dead. While I cut them up and dispose of them, perhaps feed them to the desert foxes?" The boy's hair, its sweat-plastered to his forehead and his cheeks, crusted with sand and salt.

He trembles, hard, silent.

"I'll stage your death as they instructed me to do. You’ll be declared missing for a few weeks, or months, depending. Then we learn, you were conducting illegal, dangerous business with the eremites, finally they decided you weren't worth your keep, and decided to get rid of you. How horrible. How terrible. A tragedy. He was so young, so full of promise." A sort of whimper-shriek-sob leaves his clenched teeth when Cyno sets his palm flat against his belly, pressing down hard against the flinch.

"I admit, the Sages have been on edge lately, which is why they hard pressed me into this situation. They're upset with me too, but if I do this job, that'll ease their minds some.

"So why shouldn't I kill you? You're right, why should I leave you alive when the others aren't? What makes you so special? I don't even remember your name."

He doesn't. Or maybe he just never learned it. It slipped from his mind from the reports, and Cyno doesn't know if it's his guilt or his consciousness that's keeping it from the forefront of his mind.

His eye sight is looking a little blurry at the edges now, like a mirage, wavering and blurry.

"...Please don't kill me."

"Hm.” He nods. “I can't ensure that you won't try anything."

"I'll stay with the desert folk, I won't leave! I won't deal with the Eremites again, ever again, never, okay?!"

"And what would you even do?"

"What I've been doing. I'll…work as a teacher for the kids, I'll just stay low! Just…please don't kill me." Tears slip out his eyes and his hands fist themselves in the sands.

He's not even in his twenties. Cyno's not that much older.

He feels like it though.

It's a familiar feeling, and all too familiar motions; He's done this so many times he swears he could dream of it. But it always felt necessary, those times.

The way he pulls out a dagger and plunges the thing into the eye socket, past the soft squish of flesh and into the brain. Press down hard, dig it in deep. The body writhes, violent, half a groan slipping past the lips, a few spasms before it twitches still.

It's quick. Not painless, but quick. No time to despair. Perhaps one second of panic, and then stillness.

Just like that. There.

He piles the evidence, a bit too meticulously, makes sure he has the most important paperwork, a journal, (the rest will stay) and sets the base on fire. There are colored pencil drawings on the desk. Walls. Despite better judgment, he takes a couple, folds them and presses them into a pocket.

Is it done? A message pings through his akasha.

Yes. I'm burning the place down.

Have you collected the information from the Akasha?

Yes. I have the journal as well.

Good. Head back now. The fire will be dealt with and forensics will go to inspect the bodies. That is, if they find anything.

I did my job. You won't find anything.

…Meticulous as always, Cyno.

Will we go ahead with the plan and alert the boy's family?

No. They'll file a missing person's report eventually and it'll go cold in a couple months. You can head back now. You have the next three days off.

And like that Azar's line is cut off.

He stares at the flames, kicking up the sides of the base like a hungry beast. In his left hand he holds the journals. In his right, his weapon. The blood is dry, tight and sticky now, and is flaking off.

He starts the trek back.

There are soft hands on him, and he jolts awake from the sensation. He doesn't know where he is. What time is it? How did he get here? How long was he out?

Why are you kneeling there, at his feet?

You hold up your hands in a placating motion.

"You collapsed outside and I found you. I just brought you here before anyone else could see you. You're covered in blood and sand."

"Where are we?"

“At a nearby inn.” He swerves his head, and standing in the doorway is none other than the Grand Scribe, Alhaitham.

“And by nearby I mean In Sumeru city. You’re far from the desert, General.”

Immediately his brow furrows.

“And why would I be here?” In an inn?

“Because they found you slump in an alley, and insisted that we bring you inside before enough of a crowd came to witness your debacle,” he waves his hand dismissively, blase.

“Seeing me, they insisted I help them."

"I didn't take you for the good samaritan type," Cyno drawls.

"I'm not. I refused, until they threatened to make a scene. You know I don’t particularly like you enough to help you.” His eyes slid to the side, towards you, not a glare but still irritated.

"But I hate a scene even more."

“...How do the two of you know each other?” Cyno moves to step off the bed and your hands flounder, trying to encourage him to lay back. He ignores you and focuses his eyes on the scribe, who remains nonplussed.

"We just met, actually. In person at least." You offer.

"Oh yes, the one man you call to aid you just happens to be the Grand Scribe. The same man who helped direct you in your process of acquiring your vision license." You pout, trying to look cute, but it just makes you look petulant.

"It was the secretaries I met up with, who passed on his word. The work was carried up the chain through them up to him, so I never even met him. I just picked him out because he looked strong. I didn't want to carry you up all those stairs."

“Do not try and play me for a fool,” he scowls. "You two know each other. I can tell."

"You're swaying on your feet General, forgive me if I don't trust your judgment." The Scribe rolls his eyes, and tosses a case to you. You catch it, and he notices the red cross on its front.

"Answer me. How long have you known him, and what have the two of you discussed?"

"I told you I just met him, and based on his snarky ass attitude, I don't want to know him." Your eyes flash, sharp and gleaming.

“Such kind words.”

You roll your eyes at the Scribe. "I said what I said. So? Is there any way you can prove that I'm lying, beyond your intuition of course? Or are you just going to take the both of us into custody?"

"He can't do that unless he wants to break protocol," Alhaitham says. "He needs probable cause to arrest us, which he doesn't have beyond suspicion, that is."

Cyno clenches his jaw, feeling his teeth grind together.

"But I'm sure Azar would understand if you simply skipped that. Of course, to the General, protocol must be just a formality. Surely the Grand Sage trusts you?"

"Enough." He cuts a hand through the air like a knife. The Scribe is too keen, and knows him too well.

"If that's all I'm going to check in with the Matron-I'll make sure she stays silent. Deal with him, why don't you." The Scribe leaves, and shuts the door with a decisive click.

Cyno doesn't untense, he stares at where Alhaitham left with a slow simmering, crackling anger in his chest.

“So… Can I take care of your mess now?" You sigh, near forgotten. Near. Because when he turns his gaze back onto you you flinch.

“....”

“...What is it?” You shy away.

He scoffs. “You deny it so vehemently, but I know. You think you have that man wrapped around your finger, like how you had him to sign the form for you. But that man is too conniving. He'll use you until you're an empty husk, and then toss you aside."

"...Okay then. You done?"

His brow digs further down. "Do not make light–"

“I told you I'm unaffiliated with that man. He's snarky and condescending and talks like a textbook. Why would I want to know someone like that?"

That…gives him pause. "...You're right about that. He is particularly frustrating." Always sneaking off and rubbing people the wrong way.

"Exactly."

"...You truly called him over, by chance to help you?"

"Yes. I understand what a crazy coincidence it is...but have you seen his biceps? That’s why I called him over. He's strong, although I don't know what a Scribe would need to be so strong for."

"Because he's always planning something. I've warned you, stay away from that man."

"Aw, are you worried about me Cyno?" You grin up at him, and Cyno forgets to breathe for a moment.

"...?" You tilt your head at his silence, and with a hard sigh he turns away, and sits back on the bed.

"No. I just don't want to deal with what the both of you could get up to together."

"Oh, and here I was getting my hopes up." You pout again, and this time, you do succeed in looking the slightest bit cute.

He still feels like his mind is drifting away. He watches in some mute interest as you bring a small basin and cloth over, and start to wash the crust off his feet. He doesn't know why he lets you. He notices the first aid kit to his side, and watches you as you work.

“You’re playing with fire, bard.”

“I’ve lovingly been called an arsonist before,” You grin. But it slides away.

“...The Akademiya is hellbent on beating me down, and you’re constantly on my tail. I have to use all the cards I have at my disposal.” You hold his ankle gingerly, and he can feel the pads of your fingers, under the cloth at his heel.

“....So you try seducing government officials?”

"Yeah, are you in love with me yet?" Cheeky fool.

"What kind of fool flirts with danger like you do?"

"Only the most romantic fools."

“But a fool nonetheless.” You give a noncommittal shrug, slipping into deeper thought.

"Yes. Though I suppose it is better than the alternative." You stop, a thought striking you. He just watches as you gather yourself and start drying his feet, patting firmly.

"Which is?"

"Holding myself up in some corner, shivering in fear and trepidation."

"..."

Cyno sighs, relenting, and lets his elbow fall on his knee, resting his chin on his palm. It provides him a better angle to stare down at you. "You’re scared?"

"Yes, I am."

"Of me?"

"Of course I'm scared of you. You represent everything that can or has gone wrong so far. I can hardly find work because people are too scared of coming across you. There are establishments and restaurants that refuse to let me enter. You can only imagine the amount of people eager to sell me out for some mora. Some already tried.

“Did you know the Zubayr theater almost shut down during all the interrogations you held for its members?"

"Of course I know." He mumbles, rubbing at the sand crusted in his lashes. "They shouldn't have entertained the idea of keeping you."

"Ooh, you sound like a jealous lover–"

"Do not jest." You chuckle, shoulders shaking.

"Well, don't worry. They let me go."

"...I know.” Zubayr told him himself, during his interrogation. So much for his impassioned speech about talent and hard work.

The smile remains on your face, but there is a somberness that pulls at his edges, and your eyes are sad. You wear your expressions openly, and Cyno doesn't like the way his chest tugs down with your mood. It angers him. It confuses him.

“Why do you pursue me?" You start applying a salve to his feet, bitter smelling and thick. You grab bandages next.

"I could ruin everything for you. I'm trying to."

"...Well, just because!" Just like that your pep is back.

"Doesn't it sound lovelier if I best you in love rather than combat? I think it does."

"You don't care for me." Cyno lifts his head, lets his hand smack down to his open lap. He looks down with all the spiteful righteousness he can muster, and he wishes you would shy away or fidget, instead of meeting his eyes.

"You don't even care for me but you play around like this. Do you truly think me so young and unseasoned? Are you truly so flippant?”

“What?” Now it's your turn to be confused, because your face twists like you ate something sour.

"Of course I like you, Cyno. I wouldn't 'play around like this' if I didn't. But that doesn't change the fact that you're…you."

"Yes. And you are scared of me."

"I’m scared of what you can do, I’m not scared of you, Cyno.” Finally finished, you stand, brushing the sand off your thighs.

“I’m a very stringent man.”

“And a very handsome and awkward one too.”

“I’m stubborn, and told I’m often the wet blanket at social functions.”

You giggle. “So?”

“Not a good metaphor when my element is Electro.”

“No, I guess not. But I happen to like your dour attitude, so I don't mind.”

“...I’m a very violent man. It's in the blood. My blood.” Like how it's still crusted in his nails, the lines of his palms. He raises his hand up to the light to show you.

“Disease of the blood is hard to cure, especially if you were born with it.”

And you, strangely, don't react as you should. Though you both know the blood isn’t his. Maybe it would be more strange if you did react as you should’ve. You just take the cloth you put aside, and start cleaning his hands, using your nails to dig under the grime of his own.

“We exist in the world in two planes,” you say. “Mental and physical. Just as we are our mind and emotions and thoughts and morals, we are our actions too, or inactions. Nothing is predetermined, everything is just a result of consequence, a huge unfathomable cycle of cause and effect. The only way to predict it is to evaluate ourselves, and our effect on the world.”

You’re not getting much blood out, but still you try.

“So you could be all those things, that we both said, because we’re people, and people are large, we contain multitudes. Sometimes, being perceived by someone else lends ourselves to more authenticity. But, Cyno...Don’t let someone else's words dictate who you are; Just be whoever you want to be. Follow your head, but follow your heart too.”

“...” And what does he say to that? Could he say he’s felt split in half for as long as he could remember, like two puzzle pieces that only fit together sometimes? And not easily, even now he feels disconnected, like a socket pulled out of place.

But your words make sense, and land somewhere Cyno though he had long sealed away.

You have a habit of doing that.

"Who are you?" Cyno asks. "Tell me Bard, or criminal. Knight? Who are you, you confuse me." It comes out unbidden, but Cyno finds that he cares more about your answer. You hum a note under your breath, light and soft.

"I'm all those and more. I really hope I'm more. But I’m… just me. Just me. What about you?"

"Me?"

Your face takes on a commiserating look.

"Who are you? Sometimes I wonder if there's any of you beyond what the Akademiya needs. Cyno, the General Mahamatra. But what about Cyno the man?”

A rush of heat makes his skin prickle, and all of a sudden he’s acutely aware of how small the room is, how close you are.

He bristles. “Did I not tell you to stop this? Do not try to endear yourself to me–”

“I'm not. I sympathize with you. Pity you, a little. You remind me of myself in some odd way. The way you are, it's why I left home.” A bitter note, sour and unagreeable paints your face.

“We both give too much of ourselves to the things we devote ourselves to, huh?”

“You’re a civilian now, whoever you were before. You're not like me. You’re–”

“I’m what? A ‘good person’? Is that what you were going to say? I know you’ve done horrible things,” your eyes flick down to his hands, where he could still feel the leftover blood under his nails, sticky and grimy. Your mouth presses into a flat line, and you gesture halfheartedly towards him.

"And that...you will continue to. I…I already know that Cyno."

He looks at your hands, your arms; your sleeves are rolled up and you have tan lines. Your skin looks smooth, but tiny pock marks dot you, little scars and wispy hairs. Beads of sweat. It's hot here. In Sumeru. Your shoulders and your hair and your neck and your face.

Cyno knows that he dreams of this.

Never mind the fact that none but children ever do dream in Sumeru. He does, just knows it. He can feel it. This moment might be a dream too, this moment too still and heavy to be anything else.

You said people exist on two planes, mental and physical. So which plane does he exist on when he dreams of you, neither mind nor body, just pure longing?

For once, he doesn't shove down the thought, he doesn't stop to think. His mind is wandering anyways, he can't seem to hold on to his thoughts anymore than he could hold smoke. He reaches a hand and holds your chin. Your mouth is soft under his thumb.

"....You did something really bad today, didn't you." You don't say it like a question. The blood isn't his, you know this.

"Yes." But he doesn't want to think about that. Tonight he'll take off his akasha and let the nightmares rampage. He'll see the bloody Eremites, feel the suction of flesh as he pulls the knife out while the boy, he laughs and weeps and rages at him, and all the faces from before come back to haunt him.

"...You're actually a really bad person, aren't you?" You breathe.

"Didn't you say I remind you of yourself?”

“Yeah. That's how I know." And he kisses you.

It's your turn to be shocked now. You release a muffled squeak when he pulls you up to his mouth, a hand on his arm steadying yourself. He doesn't think about how he's never actually kissed anyone before, except that time you kissed him in the alleyway, something dark and heavy, just awakened.

He snakes his other hand to the small of your back, fists his hand in the cloth there, holds on, holds on. He's never done this before.

But he thinks this is the way it's supposed to be. He likes the way your mouths mold together, the taste, how close you are. You're warm, but in a good way. You can get closer. You can get a lot closer.

He dreams of this. The peach fuzz of your cheeks, the sweep of your eyes like dove wings, the arch of your eyebrow like bridges, tugging at his thoughts. Your mouth. Your damn mouth.

You break away with a gasp, breath stuttering. Your eyes wide.

"What was that for?"

"Do you want me to stop?" He waits, and the moment is heavy, you don't reply. So slowly, he draws you back, and kisses you again.

This time he tilts his head at an angle, and you're more responsive to this. He didn't really notice it before, but you're close; You stand between his knees, and the dying sunlight gilds you in blood and amber like a temptation he’s all too keen to take. You’re close enough he can almost feel your lashes flutter against his skin.

He'll carry this to sleep as well. He hopes he does.

Your hand is still on his arm and the other creeps to his cheek, fingers damp. You mumble against his mouth.

"You could've asked me."

"Asked…what?" He clicks his tongue when you retreat just out of reach.

"To kiss me. I want you to ask me." You pull your face away, but you're still smiling. If he presses forward, he could reclaim your lips easily. You'd probably let him. No, if he asked, you would say yes.

But does he deserve it? Does he deserve having his hands on you? Being able to touch you?

Do you?

Of course I’m scared of you.

It's in the blood.

"...What did you mean before?" You suddenly ask.

"Before…?"

"You asked if I really think of you as ‘young and unseasoned’. Are you…not?"

He is, in practise. In theory, he’s long grown used to longing. He’s had enough practice denying himself the things he yearns for.

So before he could loses his nerve, and sense he stands, brushing against and past you, and out the door.

You don't follow him, and he immediately steps down the stairs, not bothering to make his footsteps featherlight like he usually does.

His eyes lock with the Scribe as descends. He can't discern the look there, and the woman he's speaking to wrings her hands but doesn't even lift her gaze from the pouch in his hands, mora obviously. The inn suspiciously doesn't have many customers, who also avoid looking at him.

The air outside is only slightly cooler, cooling the sweat at his brow and the nape of his neck. He lets go of a breath, before walking away from the inn.

It's not long before he hears footsteps following him, and heads to an alley to wait there.

“I knew you were impertinent, Scribe, but not foolish. Do you want to be charged with aiding and abetting criminals?”

"What, am I not allowed to have acquaintances?" The Scribes form blocks out the open light of the street, and he approaches Cyno, looking no worse for wear.

"....I'm not fooled. Even if you two are acquaintances, you only want them for your own schemes."

"Then why do you want them?" The words falter in his throat, and the Scribe draws closer.

“Why didn’t you arrest the Bard at the Zubayr theater? Why not when you caught them behind the Architects Guild? Why do you waste your time chasing them through alleyways and markets, to put on a spectacle for the good people?

“We both know if you put effort in, you could put them down flat.”

Cyno…doesn’t have an answer, and he burns, angered and sullen.

And the Scribe, bastard, scoffs a laugh, wiping a hand over his mouth. His eyes don’t widen, but sharpen.

“Well, how ‘bout it… Looks like the bard has secured another admirer.”

He snaps. “And what about you? I know what you do with people–and I know how conniving you are. What I don't understand though is why you would potentially put yourself under the Sage's suspicion by leaving a papertrail. Paying for their bails, signing their license; Even staying until I woke–you normally would have left long before.”

“I have my reasons, and only I am privy to them. Nothing I do is careless, or without thought, General.” He leans against the cool wall and crosses his arms.

…You were right, he does have big biceps.

“Exactly that. Makes me wonder what you’re planning.” They face off, with the ambient sounds fading away in lieu of this standoff.

The Scribe backs down first. He looks back towards the open mouth of the street, fiddling with the wire to his headphones. Tactical retreat.

“I won't resist If you decide to take me in for questioning General, if you find my behavior suspicious.”

“You would wriggle your way out somehow even if I did. I know you also work under Azar.” Which is the only reason he’s not dragging this man towards the Akademiya.

As for you….

“If Azar found you disloyal he would have done you in ages ago.”

“Which is why you killed Bahar, huh?” Alhaitham scoffs.

Bahar?

So that’s his name.

Cyno almost sways, his head suddenly swimming, but he stays upright by sheer force of will and pride. “...I do as I'm told. It’s part of the job; For the better good of this nation.”

Alhaitham just sighs and readjusts the headphone over his ears.

“So you believe. Yet General, whether it be academics or knowledge, law or society, everything has its boundaries. Everything has a limit. A metaphorical line in the sand. If those lines are crossed, the rules and order that govern everything in the world will be destroyed. That's a simple fact of the world.”

“Your point being?”

“...What boundaries have you crossed, General? Beyond just your own.” And while the shock at his audacity is still fresh in his veins, he leaves.

He stands there for a moment, before stumbling his way back to the Akademiya, undignified. He follows the back alleys to avoid being seen. He has paperwork to do.

His head is too clouded for him to think straight. He shouldn't have spoken to the Scribe; Words are his forte after all, excelling in a subject that Cyno so often fumbles in.

He should have just taken the both of you under custody, damn the fogginess in his brain. If he couldn't trust his mind, he could trust the strength in his body–he’s sure he could take the both of you on. If the Scribe was stupid enough to try and protect you. It's what Azar would have told him to do.

Archons, why did he try kissing you? He shouldn’t have enjoyed it–You’re too…enticing. You’re like a seducer from his worst nightmares, come to life. And he’s too tired to resist you. It gets harder and harder every time he sees you.

Just follow orders, and the law. The law exists to exact justice and promote peace; that is a fact of life. The Sages are meant to embody the law, their word is law.

Unless they decided to push their personal agendas forth, forsaking their duties as government officials. Unless they purposely took his ideals, his morals–and exploited them. For power, prestige, mora, greed.

And Azar is an incredibly greedy man.

…He’s tired. He needs to rest.

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