#i'm totally down for multiple threads!

[ofthestcrs]

Marlowe covered her mouth with her hand, but it merely muffled the giggle that left her. "I appreciate the honesty." She managed to say before she was full out laughing again at his slip up. She'd had way worse said to her before and she could tell he really didn't mean it, so she was giving him a pass. Maybe also because she thought he was kind of cute, but she wouldn't admit to that part.

"I guess we can try it. I think the world will be shocked at the revelation that I do my own hair and make up, but I'm kind of particular." She beamed before turning away, moving over to the vanity and sitting down. "You can do your thing and I'll just ... do my best to pretend you aren't here snapping pictures of me." Usually an easy task, but she was keenly aware of him right now.

Wes gave her a soft smile. "It's nice to meet you too." He chuckled softly, shrugging. "I'm glad that I can come off confident because I can assure you I am not." He told her. "But really, I thought maybe it'd be nice for the shoot to get some pictures of you getting ready." He then realized it might come off wrong. "Not, uh, not like you undressed or anything."

[fuckyeahisawthat]

Since everyone is talking about that concept art of Jayce and Viktor fighting, it's useful to know that the concept artist, Suheb Zako, also posted it on their twitter with some context.

It is early concept art for a final fight between Jayce and Viktor in the hexzone sorry I'm not calling it that astral plane. There's a link in the twitter thread to an anime clip that gives you a sense of what the vibe would've been.

It's not totally clear when in the development/production process this art is from, but I wouldn't be surprised if Jayce and Viktor originally had a dynamic that was more like their game counterparts. In that case a knock-down-drag-out fight in the astral plane might've fit better. But in the final version of the show it wouldn't have worked anywhere near as well as what we got, and not just because it would have seemed out of character for what the characters and their relationship arc became in the finished show.

First of all, we already did have a knock-down-drag-out fight between them. That's the Council chamber fight scene. It would've felt like a repeated beat and that's the last thing you want in your big finale. When you have characters who fight each other multiple times, you want each fight to reflect a progression of their relationship.

Secondly, by the end of the show, Viktor is absurdly overpowered compared to any other character. Once he goes full Machine Herald he is basically a god. A conventional fight scene is just not gonna do it here. You need a twist, some way to win that doesn't involve being stronger than him. And the trump card being The Power of Unconditional Love (And Also This Time Machine Getting Chucked at Your Head) fits perfectly with the show's themes.

Thirdly, the final episode is ALL action. In an episode that's one massive battle, it takes a lot of work to make individual pieces of action stand out. (And generally, you do it not by making the fighting look Super Duper Extra Cool, but with character work.) But any scenes between the characters that are not action are automatically gonna pop because they're so different in pacing and energy from everything around them.

I haven't seen as many people discussing this set of keyframes, but the changes here are also fascinating:

Because Viktor assimilating Jayce as a battle move is almost the complete opposite of what we got in the finished show, and what we got in the finished show is so fucking good. It's one of my favorite moments in the whole damn series.

I've already written about it here, but playing it so that Jayce doesn't get surprised or overpowered but chooses to allow Viktor to bring him into the astral plane as a last-ditch effort to reach whatever is left of Viktor's humanity is sooooooo narratively sexy. (And also just. Sexy. Big stronk dude with his fuckass hammer and his stupid shoulder armor waiting on his knees for his eldritch god bf to materialize behind him and oh so tenderly penetrate his brain with his magic fingers, listen I am not making this up this is just what happens, no homoerotic fight scene could ever top this.)

It also fits with the motif of a number of characters winning their individual battles in the finale by surrender/submission/potential self-sacrifice. It fits with Caitlyn realizing that to cut the string of protective runes off Ambessa's arm she has to allow Ambessa to get within stabbing distance of her face. And of course, Jinx forcing Vi to let her go by popping the gemstone out of her gauntlet and letting herself fall with Warwick.

Arcane has fantastic action storytelling and part of good action storytelling is knowing when to have the character stop fighting each other. Seeing the early concept art is cool to see how much things evolved, but I'm glad they moved away from just trying to do an epic boss fight because what we ended up with is so much more interesting.

[destinationtoast]

Hello! I keep hearing that fandom culture has changed, and there are less comments now than there were years ago. Have you noticed this in your analysis? Is the percentage of comments being left today lower than before?

Hey! Thanks for the question -- it prompted me to start collecting data about comments (after procrastinating on it for a while, because I had to write new code to gather comment data). I've also seen other discussions from folks also thinking about how to do this kind of analysis (like in the fandom data projects community) -- hopefully we'll end up with multiple people attacking this from different angles and getting a variety of data about comments!

I'll give a sneak preview that partially addresses your question and contains some good news. If we look at the fraction of AO3 works that get at least one comment (focusing just on one-shots for now), I think things have gotten better over the past decade on AO3*:

In other words, it tentatively looks like more works were getting at least one comment in 2024 than in 2014 (for a variety of time periods). One caveat, though -- if a bunch of works with no comments got deleted in the interim, there will be survivor bias here. I'll try to look into that possibility later. Another caveat: this is based on only like ~100 randomly selected works from each year -- this may all change with more data!

Another interesting tidbit: I still see some of the 2014 works getting comments. In fact, ~30% of works have gotten new comments over 5 years after they were posted, and it looks like ~10% of one-shots posted back in Mar 2014 got a new comment in 10 years later, in 2024.

I'm still doing other analyses; there may be other factors that better match with the discourse around how comment culture has changed. It could be that comment activity peters out faster now than it did back then, for instance. Or the total number of comments left on the popular works is less now than it was back then (though my current methods may not be able to capture that). Edit thanks to quick eagle-eyed readers: it's likely that some of what people are thinking about is ratio of comments to hits -- that is hard to compare in 2014 to 2024, because we don't know which hits came from which years. But I am working on some analyses along those lines. :)

If you have other hypotheses about what's changed in commenting culture, feel free to share! I'll look into what I can.

Some methodology notes:

*I've been tackling this by comparing AO3 one-shots posted in early 2014 to one-shots posted in 2024, and comparing activity in the days/weeks/months immediately after the works were posted. (To start with, I'm only scraping the first page of comments for each work -- meaning the first 20 comment threads -- so there are lots of comments I'm potentially missing for the really popular works. But for many works, this captures all the comments, and I think it may be sufficient for a lot of the analyses I am interested in.)

I'm choosing to focus on 2014 vs. 2024 because 2024 is close to now (but it's been long enough for comments to have settled down a bit), and 2014 was well after AO3 was established (thus it was already a pretty lively time on AO3). I don't want to collect data about every single year because it's too time intensive/too hard on AO3's servers. But if people think that I should be looking at different years, I'm interested in feedback.

Because it's only been ~10 months since March 2024, I am limiting a lot of my analyses to only look at commenting activity the first ~10 months after works were posted in both cases.

[ramp-it-up]

Pop Fly

Show Off | Muse: Five | Peach Masterlist

Summary: Steve cums in his pants.

Word Count: 3 K

Pairing: Art Dealer (Mob Boss) Steve Rogers x Dancer!Reader (Peach); Ari Levinson x Reader (Muse); Bucky Barnes x Frumoasa

A/N: This fic is a Peach Fic and is connected to the Knock You Down AU, and comes directly after the events in the Muse: Five and also some time after Show Off and the Bucky fic At Last. I'm trying to get Steve and Bucky caught up to the same point in time as Ari. It's been a minute for these two freaks, lol. Let me know if you like it by commenting & reblogging.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. SMUT. Read at your own risk. Steve and Peach (they are warnings unto themselves, Beloved), possessive Steve, horny Steve, Chaotic Peach, public displays of ferality, dry humping in a stadium, Dom, yet slightly subby Steve, oral (f receiving), multiple uses of the term good boy, untouched orgasm, Steve makes a mess in his pants, oral (m receiving) woman on top, over stimulation, raw p in v, praise kink, soft talk about weddings and babies.

I don't have a taglist. Please follow @rampitupandread and turn on notifications to learn when I post! 😘

I Do NOT Consent to my work being reposted, translated or presented on any other blog or site other than by myself.

-----

Steve passed you one of the beers the vendor handed him without looking, eyes already scanning the crowd like he felt something coming.

His old instincts were kicking in.

“Did Bucky say where the seats were?” you asked, slipping your arm through his.

“Just said first base side. Section 112 row one.”

You made it three steps into the row before Steve stopped short.

There was Ari Levinson.

Sitting halfway down with a beer already in hand, ball cap, tee shirt, posture deceptively casual, but there was tension in his shoulders.

And next to him was a beautiful woman.

Damn, she was fine.

And you recognized her.

She was in sunglasses and cutoff shorts and a top that was going to haunt a few men tonight. One devastating leg was crossed over the other, and her head was thrown back as she laughed at something Ari had just said.

Steve didn’t move.

You looked up at your husband and saw it hit him: not jealousy, but recognition.

That was the girl. 

The one Bucky had said might just be it for Levinson. The one who walked into his life and somehow made him decent. And the way Ari was looking at her?

Yeah. She was it.

You bumped Steve’s hip.

“What’s that face?”

Steve didn’t answer. Just watched as Ari leaned in slightly to say something to her. Watched the way her mouth curved, slow and tentative, not giving him too much of her. 

“She’s gonna ruin him,” you murmured, admiration threading through your voice. 

“God, I have to meet her.”

You stepped forward before Steve could overthink it.

“C’mon,” you said, breezy as hell.

“Let’s go meet the girl who finally shut him up.”

You didn’t wait for permission. You didn’t need it. You made a beeline down the aisle and Steve followed, stoic and careful, but something tight flickered in his jaw.

—---

Steve’s arm was wrapped tight around your waist, like he needed the contact to breathe evenly. You were making him hot, sure, but he wasn’t totally focused on you or the game. 

He was watching Ari out of the corner of his eye.

He didn’t trust him.

But Levinson wasn’t looking your way. His hand rested on Muse’s thigh, their heads tipped together, a whisper slipping between them.

Steve exhaled.

It had taken a model to distract Ari Levinson. Someone bold enough to match him. Smart enough to hold him. And beautiful enough to make him forget anyone else.

Not that Steve had ever truly worried.

If it came down to it, he would’ve broken Ari in half. 

End of story. 

But that wasn’t what this was. He didn’t want a fight.

He just wanted you.

And in the quiet relaxing of his shoulders, you felt it, his relief.

You reached up and kissed his jaw, the way you always did when you could feel his temper running hot beneath the surface. 

A grounding touch. A reminder.

“I’m yours,” you whispered. “You know that, right?”

His eyes closed for a beat. Then he leaned in and kissed your temple.

“I know.”

You smiled, wicked and sweet.

“Good. ’Cause you in that hat and those jeans are making me wet, Mr. Rogers. There’s no other man for me here than you.”

Steve huffed a laugh, something primal flickering behind his eyes.

“Goddamn right.”

But you weren’t done with him.

—-

You’d been teasing Steve since the minute you sat down from talking to Muse. The scent of lust and love in the air had you feral.

It began with you leaning in to Steve a little closer than necessary. Then your fingers danced on his thigh, featherlight every time you reached for your drink.

You’d laughed louder when Muse said something sharp. And you’d reapplied your gloss in slow, hypnotic strokes that caught the stadium lights, and Steve couldn’t stop watching.

By the fourth, you were shifting just to watch him squirm. Uncrossing and recrossing your legs with deliberate grace, the hem of your tennis dress sliding up inch by inch until his brain short-circuited trying to follow it.

It wasn’t just the dress. Or your laugh, It was the way you looked at him, eyes all heat, lips parted, with your breath grazing his neck.

“Peach,” he breathed, barely audible.

“What?” you asked innocently, as your hand inched higher.

“You wanna start something in the middle of a baseball game?”

You grinned. “Who said I was starting it? You throwing caveman vibes has me about to get on my knees right here in the stands.”

His cock throbbed in his jeans.

He clenched his jaw, trying to breathe through the way your leg brushed his, the way your gloss gleamed under the lights. 

He remembered that gloss smudged on his cock. 

On his stomach. 

His nipples.

You turned your head and licked your lips and Steve nearly came undone.

He leaned in like he was whispering something, but his mouth found your neck instead, lips dragging against the spot that always made you sigh. And you did, breath catching, thighs pressing together, heat blooming between your legs so fast it made your head spin.

Ari noticed. Eyes flicked to Steve’s hand and then to your mouth.

Muse caught it too.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

“They’re like this everywhere,” Ari muttered, resigned.

And you were. No shame.

By the fifth, you were in his lap.

Steve’s knuckles turned white where he gripped your hip, guiding your rhythm just enough to make you feel it. Make you remember. 

The press of your ass against his jeans was enough to make him see stars, but he kept it slow and controlled.

Barely.

You were both pretending to watch the game. But you hadn’t seen a single play since the fourth inning. 

You tilted your head, let your hair brush his cheek, let your teeth catch your lip just as you rocked against him again. Every movement shot fire through his spine.

He was one second from dragging you out of there.

“You gonna be good, Mr. Rogers?” you whispered.

He groaned, quietly desperate.

You barely made it to the end of the game.

—----

Steve was on you the second the door clicked shut. Not rough. Not frantic. Just pure wound up heat. He’d been white-knuckling his restraint the entire night.

He caged you against the hallway wall, lips crashing into yours, hot and claiming. You let him take for a moment, let his tongue slide deep, his teeth catch your bottom lip.

But then you flattened your hands to his chest and pushed him back.

“Strip,” you said softly.

Steve’s chest rose, then fell. He didn’t move fast enough. You tilted your head. 

“You don’t get to fuck me tonight, Rogers.”

His cock twitched. You leaned in, lips brushing his ear. 

“You’ve been misbehaving in public. Touching me like that at the game. Making Muse blush. Making Ari jealous.”

He exhaled a shaky breath against your throat. 

“You loved it.”

“Oh, I loved it,” you whispered.

“But that doesn’t mean you get to cum easily.”

“I just want to worship my wife, Peach.”

You drew back enough to meet his eyes, molten blue.

“Worship?” you repeated.

“You sure about that, Mr. Rogers?”

He nodded.

“Every time. Every inch of you.”

You smiled slowly. 

“Good. Then get on your knees.”

The words hit him like a bullet. You felt it in the shift of his breath, the twitch of his fingers, and the brief falter in his composure before he dropped.

Just like that.

To his knees.

At the foot of the bed, in front of you. Looking up like he knew exactly who was in charge.

All Steve needed was to belong to you.

You let your tennis dress fall in one smooth motion, the soft fabric pooling at your feet and his eyes devoured you. You stepped closer. Close enough that your thighs framed his face, close enough that your fingers tangled in that perfect hair and tugged until he met your gaze.

“Then worship.”

And he did.

He kissed the inside of your thigh, then higher, his tongue dragging along your skin, tasting salt and heat. His hands greedily grabbed your ass, pulling you closer.

“Perfect,” he rasped.

“You’re so fucking perfect. My good girl.”

You guided him where you needed him, your cunt already slick, already aching. He opened his mouth like he was made for this, tongue flicking and curling deep into your wet heat.

Your gasp punched the air and your knees nearly buckled.

“That’s it,” you whispered, pressing his face tighter to you.

“You want to be good? Make me fall apart.”

He moaned against your cunt and doubled down, ams tight around your thighs, tongue circling and dipping, his mouth wet and unrelenting.

You rolled your hips into his mouth and you were so wet and perfect on his tongue, so fucking powerful above him, that Steve had to try to focus. 

He just needed to stay grounded and to make you cum. 

That was his only job.

His only purpose.

You’d told him to worship. And he meant to do it.

And every second you moaned, every time your fingers tugged his hair tighter, every time your thighs clenched around his head, he felt himself slipping.

And then you said it.

“Good boy.”

God, your voice. Your praise.

It made him feel split open. Like everything inside him was raw and soft and trembling. 

He hadn’t even touched himself.

He didn’t need to.

The words wrapped around his spine like a fist and something cracked open inside him. His pulse surged. His hands gripped tighter, and his hips twitched helplessly in mid air.

He tried to breathe through it. Tried to fight the heat crawling up his spine. He clenched his jaw and buried his face deeper between your thighs like he could outrun it.

But he couldn’t.

Not from the way you smelled. 

Not from the way you tasted. 

Not from the way you owned him with nothing but your voice.

You said it again. “Good boy.”

And Steve Rogers came in his fucking jeans.

He choked down a moan against your pussy as his cock throbbed and he came, hard, in his pants like a virgin who couldn’t hold it.

No friction. No hands.

Just the heat of you.

The sound of you.

The unbearable beauty of submission.

Heat flooded his jeans.

His hips bucked once, involuntarily, but he kept licking you through it because he didn’t want to stop. 

Because he didn’t want to miss the sound of you gasping. 

Because he hadn’t made you cum yet. 

Because he was yours.

“Being in love with a beautiful woman is hell on your ego.”

Steve had said it to Levinson, smug and knowing. But now with his face soaked, his thighs shaking, and his cock still twitching in his wet jeans, he felt it in his soul.

You were beautiful and devastating and so far out of reach, even when you were right on top of him.

And somehow, still, you were his.

And when he looked up at you, he was hard again before his heart even slowed.

—----

You knew when it happened.

You felt it his whole body tense, the soft, stifled moan against your cunt, the way his body twitched. His shoulders shook. His face was wrecked.

And then you realized it.

“Steve…” you murmured, and tipped his chin up. His lips glistened. His eyes were dazed.

“Did you just come?” you asked.

He swallowed hard.

“Yeah,” he said, barely audible.

“I...I couldn’t help it. You said…”

“‘Good boy,’” you finished for him.

“You came in your jeans from eating me out.”

His face flushed with embarrassment. But you weren’t done.

You kissed him hard, tasting yourself on his lips.

“That is the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

He still looked stunned.

“I need to make you come again…”

“You will,” you promised.

“On your back.”

You stripped him slowly, jeans damp and clinging to his thighs. He looked wrecked and gorgeous. 

He was yours.

When he laid back, cock twitching with the beginnings of another erection, you ran your mouth down his chest, licking the evidence off his skin and dragged your tongue up the length of his cock.

He shouted your name.

You straddled him, slick still smeared on your thighs. You teased the head of his cock along your folds, watching his throat work.

“No hands,” you said. “You made a mess in your pants for me, now you’re going to lie there and take it.”

He whimpered.

Steve Rogers, ruthless former crime boss, at your mercy. 

You took his hard huge cock in your hand, tutting at his oversensitivity, and sank down on him slowly, until you were seated all the way, hips flush to his.

His beautiful neck tipped back with a guttural groan as you fluttered around him.

“You’re already hard again?” you teased, grinding once.

“God, Stevie. One taste of me and you lose your fucking mind.”

His whole body arched.

“Please, Peach…”

You rocked slowly, just enough friction to make him twitch, but not enough to let him finish.

“You gonna come again for me, Baby?” you purred.

He shook his head, trembling.

“Can’t,” he whispered. “Not yet. Too much.”

You leaned in closer, nose brushing his, your breath hot against his cheek.

And then you whispered it again: “Good boy.”

That was it. His hands clenched at his sides, white-knuckled on the rug.

His body arched beneath you, every muscle locking as he came again, this time inside you, this time so raw and needy he didn’t make a sound, just a long, broken gasp as he flooded you.

You didn’t stop. You rocked through it, holding his shoulders down, making him feel it, making him sob through the overstimulation.

When his body finally went limp beneath yours, when his eyes fluttered open, wide and dazed, you leaned down and kissed his jaw.

“I love you like this,” you whispered. “All messy and feral. And all mine.”

His arms finally came up to wrap around you, trembling but tight. You curled up on his chest, both of you panting, wrecked, and soaked with each other.

He laughed, exhausted and wrecked for you.

“I think you’re gonna kill me,” he said.

You smiled.

“Not yet.”

—-

You woke up sticky, flushed, and still a little drunk on power.

Steve was sprawled on his back beside you, mouth slightly open, one arm flung across his eyes. You ran your fingers lazily along his chest, tracing the light scratch marks you'd left the night before. He stirred under your touch, groaning low in his throat.

“You alive?” you asked, voice still thick with sleep.

“Barely,” he rasped. “Pretty sure you broke me.”

You smiled, slow and smug. “You begged me to.”

He turned his head toward you, blinking through the haze. His hair was a mess, cheeks still rosy, and his lips were a little swollen.

“I still can’t feel my legs.”

You kissed his shoulder. 

“You don’t need them for what I have planned later.”

He laughed easy. The kind of laugh that belonged to a man completely undone and completely in love.

You stretched slowly and settled against his chest, resting your chin just below his collarbone. His hand slid into your hair, absent-mindedly stroking as the silence shifted, warmer now.

“You saw the screenshot of the ultrasound Bucky sent?” you asked, your voice bright with excitement. “And the bump pic?”

Steve hummed, a little stunned at your smile.

“Yeah. She’s starting to show.”

“She looks so good,” you murmured. “She’s glowing!”

“Bucky’s still in shock,” Steve replied.

“He texted me right after they found out the sex. Said, ‘Am I allowed to cry at a gender reveal or is that soft?’”

You snorted.

“That is soft. But we love him.”

Steve laughed under his breath. 

“Yes. Even if he still pretends I didn’t catch him crying at the wedding.”

You both went quiet for a second, remembering.

The island had been glowing that night. Pale stone altar, sunset in the background, string quartet playing something romantic and slow. You and Steve had danced barefoot in the sand. It was perfect and your cousin was so happy.

“God,” you whispered. “That wedding.”

Steve shifted to see you better.

“You thinking about it? Want one?”

He asked it carefully. You could hear the tension underneath, like he was afraid you’d say yes, that you regretted what the two of you had done. It had been just you and him, a quick elopement before the holidays. 

A stolen moment of peace in a city where nothing stayed quiet for long.

You shook your head.

“Not that. Ours was perfect. I wouldn’t change a thing.”

He relaxed slightly.

You trailed your fingers down his chest, your touch softer now. 

“I meant… how ready they looked. Ahhhh! The picture with their hands on her little belly. The way he looked at her when she wasn’t watching.”

You hesitated, then added, quieter, “It was more than just being married. It was making a life.”

Steve didn’t say anything. Just kept watching you.

“I want that,” you said.

“Eventually. I really do. But not yet.”

He nodded once, slowly.

“I want to learn you,” you said.

“Before everything changes. Before there’s diapers and bottles and spit-up on your ties. Before I’m someone’s mother. I want to just be yours first.”

His thumb brushed your cheek, lingering.

“You already are.”

You kissed his palm. 

“I mean really be yours. Without rushing. Without timelines or countdowns or expectations.”

“I don’t want to rush it either,” he said.

“I like waking up with you like this. Just us.”

“Me too.”

He dipped his head and kissed the corner of your mouth. 

“We’ve got time. And you’re going to be the most terrifying, beautiful mother anyone’s ever seen. But right now?” 

His fingers slid to your hip.

“I want you selfishly.”

“Greedy,” you teased, tugging his hand back to your waist.

“Absolutely.”

You curled into him, the conversation folding gently between your bodies. 

No pressure. 

Just heat and love and the sense that you had time.

-----

Let me know how you feel! 😘

[venxomi]

Jibaku Shounen Hanako-kun Chapter 120 - Yugi Amane, Minamoto Kou & the Red House

This is my first time making this type of thread, so I hope you will bear with me ^^ I'll talk about the important bits.

Yugi Amane

Chapter 120 explains Yugi Amane's situation in the new present. Even though Nene tried denying it, Yugi Amane was incapable of finding happiness, even if he got to live a little longer. It confirmed he died in his late 20s, and that his soul is but a prisoner to the Red House, forced to obey its orders.

That he's been killing multiple people without him even realizing, as he is unable to defy the House...

And ultimately revealing that, while possessed, Amane had killed both Kou and Sousuke in the aftermath of chapter 118. The Kou we saw in chapters 119 and 120 is nothing but his now trapped soul.

As Kou explains everything, we come to realize the following: It's not just Yugi Amane who is a prisoner of the House, but Tsukasa, their parents and the souls who warned Mitsuba as well. That they're all unfortunate victims that were eaten alive by the House and forced into servitude.

Minamoto Kou

Kou is not immune from the Red House's possession- He is now one of its servants, just like Amane and the other people killed. Just like Amane who forcefully dragged Kou and Nene to the well through the black door, so did Kou lure Nene through the same door.

Finally possessed by the House, he tries to drag Nene down the well, to make her a victim just like the others.

It is then when Teru comes to rescue Nene, but not realizing that the Kou he sees is nothing but his soul, he accidentally exorcises him while snapping him out of the possession.

It is important to note that Kou didn't feel any sort of bitterness towards Amane killing him or towards Teru exorcising him.

After Amane killed him, he just lamented his fate.

Not only did he lament his fate, but also asked Nene to change the world back to how it was. Not only because he and Mitsuba are long dead, but because he now knows how truly messed up the new present is. How no one is truly "happy" here. How it goes against his motivation, which is to bring everyone actual happiness.

That's why he brought Nene to Amane in chapter 119. To make her see how this world actually looks like, to make her want to go back. To make her see that even if Amane lived longer, he was way more miserable than he ever was in the original timeline.

When his big brother exorcised him, he only felt glad. Glad that he couldn't harm Nene, and glad that he doesn't have to suffer the same fate as Amane. Glad that he hasn't succeeded in killing anyone against his will.

Even while disappearing right before her eyes, Kou tries to comfort her. If she succeeds in rewinding the world, they will be able to meet again.

He even compares this new world to a "bad dream", contrasting himself from chapter 118, who considered the old world to be the "dream", then not knowing how truly wicked the new present is.

His last words confirm that Mitsuba has died together with him.

The Well

Teru, shocked by the events, immediately heads over to the well and looks inside.

He falls limp, only supported by the well, in total disbelief. Due to the implications throughout chapter 120, it is safe to assume that in the well lies the corpses of all the Red House's victims, including Kou and Sousuke.

This is further evidenced by Akane's reaction, who is repulsed by whatever is seen inside.

It is then when Akane concludes that this timeline is not stable, as he was tasked to check. The well is enough evidence to back up how twisted the world is.

Conclusions

I'm not sure whether we will see the contents of the well. We see the series through Nene's eyes, and Nene being stopped from seeing what's inside the well meant the readers are stopped from seeing aswell. The implications are evident enough to prove that within it lie numerous corpses, including Kou and Sousuke's.

Akane ended the chapter with a resolution to change the world back to how it was, but they still aren't aware of when to go and what to change. So they will stay within the Red House for the next few chapters for sure.

I'm not sure if the Red House will let them leave. All 4 living humans are all right next to the well where the Red House supposedly eats them alive. It's too good of an opportunity for it not to ambush them in the next chapter.

Teru and Nene, but especially Teru, will 100% go some under serious character development. Not only does Teru exorcising Kou somewhat parallel Amane killing Tsukasa in the original timeline, but Teru sacrificed his entire childhood to protect Kou, only for it to end like this in the New Present. Truly tragic.

Amane reacted to Yashiro calling Hanako for help. It may be that in the future chapters, Amane will get his memories from the original timeline and help Nene and the others find out what to change. Though I have a feeling, given that he's susceptible to being possessed by the House, that he will take himself down along with the House in order to let them leave. Although again, this is just a random prediction of mine...

This is the first time Nene's hairclip slips from her hair. The shape of her hairclips symbolize good luck, and it was truly good luck. If it weren't for her hairclip falling off, Aoi wouldn't have found her and Teru wouldn't have saved her in time. Albeit this can be also interpreted as limited good luck, as it slipping off would mean that Nene won't benefit from the same luck again.

This was truly the most heartwrenching chapter in the series, but also one of the best written in my opinion, being a huge pay-off for the other chapters of the Alteration arc. However, I have a feeling we're only going downhill from here.

Kou was likely already doomed from chapter 116, when he was first possessed by little Tsukasa. Because he was then sent to the Red House with an envelope that had nothing inside and with circumstances he himself doesn't remember, and as per Kou's words in chapter 120, the Red House uses the souls it captured to bring new victims from the Near Shore. He was fated to die the moment he came into contact with Tsukasa. Mitsuba could've escaped, but he wanted to save Kou and died together with him instead.

I hope you enjoyed my post!

[butterfly-lies-chase-them-away]

Paparazzi - Nakamoto Yuta x Reader

Now Playing: » Paparazzi - Yuta « Lady Gaga 2:16 ────〇── 3:28 ⇄ ◃◃ II ▹▹ ↻

Pairing: Rockstar!Yuta x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 19,438 Total Word Count: Part 1 of 3 - (Part 2) (Part 3)

Playlist Masterlist NCT Masterlist

Warnings: SMUT (p in v, unprotected sex, oral (fem recieving), licking(?), scent kink, creampie), seseung-ish reader (at the start), Obsessive behaviour, Toxic Relationship(?), Commitment Issues, Manipulative Behaviour, Yandere

Summary: 🎵 I'm your biggest fan I'll follow you until you love me Papa-paparazzi Baby, there's no other superstar you know that I'll be Your papa-paparazzi 🎵 or it's not everyday a fan gets this kind of attention from her idol

A/N: Oh my goD!! I usually post all the parts in one go, but my friend (who was on call with me for most of the time I was writing this, love you @rubymalfoy101) convinced me to release it, and I thought it was kinda perfect with Yuta's single release (even though I'm late and it actually got re-released (fuck SM)) So here we go! I hope you enjoy 🫶 💚

-

She’d seen him three nights in a row now, two cities in three days, and her bank account was hanging by a thread. Rent could wait. Groceries could wait.

But he couldn’t.

Luxury hotels, tight venues, trailing him like a fly. It wasn’t hard to track his every move, the online forums had his schedule down to the hour. A handful of usernames, blurry backstage leaks, rumours passed in DMs. All roads led to him.

Y/n had always been a bit…obsessive with the things she loved. So many posters in her room, it might as well have been the wallpaper. Multiple DVDs, scratched CDs, merch ranging from shirts to fucking bottle openers. And that was just her teen phase.

Adulthood gave her something more dangerous than freedom. Money. Income. Paychecks. And she spent it the only way she knew how. All in. But this time wasn’t like the others. He wasn’t just a short-term fixation. He wasn’t just another phase she’d get over in a month.

This was different. He was different. Yuta.

He wasn't like the other, clean, polished idols she used to scream over. Yuta Nakamoto was raw. 

He didn’t just perform, he devoured the stage. Hair long and messy, body soaked in sweat. One night, he’d wear leather pants and an open blazer with red eyeliner. The next, a loose tank with a cross swinging over his chest.

The band behind him were skilled, loud. But Yuta was the show. The scream in the chorus, the smirk before the encore, the low, growls he slipped into his songs. His voice wasn’t always feral. Sometimes it was pretty, flowing, angelic. But it was when he was animalistic when Y/n would go wild. 

And the way he looked at the crowd? Like he owned it. Like they owed him something. The way his eyes raked the crowd, Y/n couldn’t wait for his eyes to land on hers.

The first few times were surely her imagination, how his eyes held hers for just a second too long. But now? After three shows? She wasn’t so sure.

He had to recognise her by now.

This was the third show in a row, and she’d been right there every time. Front and centre, bruised from battles to the barricade and elbow jabs, sweaty and breathless. She fought for that spot like her life depended on it, and tonight, it paid off.

Because he looked at her.

Really looked. Eyes cutting through concert lights and screaming fans until they landed on hers. And then he winked. Quick. Unbothered. Like it meant nothing. Like it meant everything.

Her heart stuttered in her chest. The crowd jumped around her, hands in the air, voices chanting his name. But it didn’t matter. For a second, maybe less, the noise dropped away.

It was just him. And her. And that look.

He smirked, never smiled. He didn’t need to. That wink was enough to burn itself into her skull, replaying over and over like a broken record. And she clung to it like proof. 

Proof that she wasn’t just another face in the crowd. 

No, he saw her. He chose her.

The concert had ended over an hour ago, but her heart hadn’t slowed once. It still pounded in her chest. The moment was over, but the feeling still lingered. 

Y/n sat curled in one of the velvet lobby chairs, still wearing her concert clothes, makeup smudged, glitter clinging to her skin. She hadn’t even gone up to her room to change. She couldn’t. Not yet.

Her phone rested in her hands, just sitting on the home screen. She wasn’t scrolling. She wasn’t texting. She just needed something to look at, something to make her seem normal. But really, she was waiting.

Any second now, Nakamoto Yuta was going to walk through those glass doors.

She kept replaying that moment. The moment. That look, that lift of his brow, and the slowness of the wink. Like he knew exactly who she was. It was insane, and yet…it didn’t feel like delusion.

A sharp ding broke through her thoughts, the familiar pop of a Discord notification. One of the servers.

‘He just left the venue.’

She sat up straighter, pulse quickening, eyes flicking toward the entrance. It was really happening. He was on his way. Here. She adjusted her jacket. Smoothed her hair. Tried to breathe. Every second stretched like a thread pulled too tight.

And then…Nothing.

But what did she expect? She got the notification 3 minutes ago, and it’s at least an 8-minute drive. She glanced back down at her phone, pretending to check something, mind still spinning.

That’s when she heard it, the soft scuff of footsteps right in front of her. Not walking past. Not toward the elevators. Stopping. Her eyes snapped up.

Yuta was standing there. Just standing, watching her. His blazer now replaced with a hoodie, a beanie sitting atop his head, his gaze locked onto hers, as if it were him who was waiting for her. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

He gave her that same unreadable look. Like he knew something she didn’t. And then, without a word, he turned and started walking toward the elevators.

Y/n sat frozen, watching him move across the lobby like it was a dream playing out in slow motion. Even out of the spotlight, he carried that same dangerous energy, shoulders relaxed, confident walk, his presence taking over the room.

She could’ve called out. Should’ve, maybe. But the words stuck in her throat, heavy and useless. Her heart was hammering too loudly for her to think straight.

And just before he reached the elevator, just before the doors slid open, he stopped. He turned. Looked at her over his shoulder. Not a smile. Not a wink this time. Just a look. Like he was testing her. Inviting her.

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t a request. It was a command. Y/n stood up like she wasn’t in control of her own body, legs shaky as she crossed the lobby and slipped inside the elevator, to which he followed.

Now it was just the two of them. Alone.

The air was thick. He didn’t look at her right away. Just stood there, calm as ever, pressing the button for the top floor with a single finger.

Her reflection stared back at her in the silver walls of the elevator, wide eyes, flushed cheeks, trying to look like she wasn’t about to explode. He turned to her slowly, gaze sliding over her like he was reading every thought on her face and enjoying every second of it.

“Enjoy the show?” he asked, voice low and smooth.

Y/n breath stuttered, finding the words to respond, but he cut in before she could even think.

“You’ve been following me,” he said, outright, now turning to face her completely.

Y/n swallowed hard. “Y-you’ve noticed?”

His lips twitched. “I always do.”

Y/n looked at him like he wasn’t real.

Up close, without the lights or the music or the screaming crowd, Yuta was something else entirely, almost quieter, but not in a timid way, more intimidating. Even out of his stage clothes, he still shone. 

She expected anger. A scowl. Disgust. Something violent.

She was stalking him, after all, following him through cities, booking rooms in his hotels, just to see even a glimce of him. But there was none of that in his eyes.

He was looking at her like she was...interesting. Like she wasn’t just another face, or even a weirdo. Even behind the cocky tilt of his mouth, behind the lazy amusement in his voice, there was something else. A flicker. A spark. Like he wasn’t just acknowledging her, he was considering her.

It knocked the air out of her chest.

She opened her mouth to say something–anything!–but her thoughts were scrambled. Before she could form a single coherent word, the elevator dinged softly, and the doors slid open.

Top floor.

Yuta turned away and stepped out like nothing had happened. Not a glance back. Just that same slow, deliberate walk down the hall, vanishing around the corner like it never happened.

Y/n stood frozen, blinking at the empty space where he'd been. Her brain still lagged behind, trying to catch up, to make it make sense.

It didn’t.

But then the elevator doors started to close, she was pulled back to reality. She stared at her own reflection in the mirrored panel inside.

Wide eyes. Parted lips. A girl who looked like she’d just been seen for the first time, and didn’t know what to do with it. Her hand shaking slightly as she pressed the button to her floor, two stories below his.

The elevator moved. Back to reality. Or something like it.

-

She had barely made it to the airport that morning.

Using some of the last note and coins she found in the bottom of her bag, she just managed to have enough to get her a bus from the hotel to the airport. Y/n was running on no sleep and had no money. 

By the time she stepped off the plane, everything ached. Her back, her head, her pride. She hadn’t eaten properly in a day and a half, her phone was less than 20 percent, and her suitcase had a shit wheel that made it drag behind her like dead weight.

But here she was. In the next city for the next concert. No more cab money, no spare change for an Uber or even a bus. Just a hotel location on Google Maps and sore legs carrying her down unfamiliar sidewalks as the sun dipped below the skyline.

It was over an hour walk to the hotel, and she didn’t care. The cold bit at her skin and cars splashed her with gutter water as they sped past, but she kept walking. Kept her headphones on, playing his setlist, letting his voice fill her head.

At least her night couldn’t get any worse.

Her shoes were soaked from the light rain, her bag straps were digging into her shoulders, the wind was starting to pick up and it felt like the footpath stretched endlessly in front of her. Her phone buzzed in her pocket, warning her of it’s low battery. 

She chuckled bitterly, her breath fogged in her face as she shook her head and she carried on. That’s when headlights hit her from behind. Slow. Too slow to be a random car passing by.

Not willing to turn around, Y/n kept walking, feeling more uneasy than before. Until the car pulled up beside her, rolling to a smooth stop. Fear running through her veins, she couldn’t stop her eyes shifting uncomfortably towards the car.

Until the back window rolled down.

Yuta.

Sitting in the backseat like royalty, rain had not touched him. The smug look on his face and eyes gleaming under the glow of the streetlights. 

“Hotel’s a bit far to be walking to, ain’t it?”

Her heart stuttered and she blinked quickly, trying to get a hold of herself. She didn’t want to admit to her idol that she was too broke with following him around, that she had to walk to the hotel. That’s just embarrassing.

“I-I wasn’t able to catch a bus.” she said, breathlessly. 

Yuta looked down the street for a second before looking back at her. He wasn’t smirking like before, he was thinking. 

“Well,” he broke the momentary silence. “Good thing we’re going to the same place then.”

She froze incomplete shock. Was he…was this…huh?

He rolled his eyes. “Get in.” 

It wasn’t a suggestion. She barely even registered when she started moving, her legs working on their own. But before she could reach the door, it opened from the inside. 

And he stepped out. Without hesitation and no care for the rain, standing in front of her, he looked down at her, holding her gaze intensely. Eyes still on her as he reached for her bag.

“I’ve got it.” he said, already lifting it out of her hands. 

As he reached down for her bags, he was so close, she could smell him. Fuck, he smelt divine. She could have swarn he stood close to her for longer, inhaling her himself, but it was probably just he delusional self slowing down time. 

Y/n let out a strangled noise, something between a protest and a thank you, but he was already walking back to the car. Opening the boot, he lifted her suitcase into the back, before coming back around to the side. 

Resting his arm up, above the open door, he looked towards her, waiting for her to get in. She just about tripped over herself getting in. 

Setting herself down in the seat, she watched as Yuta shut the door behind him. The warmth hit her immediately as she laid back in her seat. The car smelled of leather and something expensive. The driver didn’t speak, just looking ahead and driving off. 

She sat stiffly, back against the chair, hands fiddling in her lap. She could feel Yuta beside her, mere inches from her, looking at her. 

He didn’t speak right away. Just looked at her. His gaze so intense.

“You look cold,” he said finally.

She swallowed. “I-I was outside, walking for a while..” Y/n could barely even look in his direction.

“I saw.”

…

Turning her gaze slow to look at him, Y/n’s lips were slightly parted in disbelief. How long was he watching her walk for before he decided to pull over?

He didn’t say anything after that, but his eyes stayed on her. Like really looking at her. Like he was taking in every detail of her. Her drizzled hair, her flushed face, she sat so still, still in shock.

She couldn’t read him, considering he had no clear expression on his face didn’t help. But the way his eyes never left her face had her wanting to scream. 

Y/n forced herself to speak. “I didn’t think I would make it tonight.”

“But you did.” He smirked.

She breathed out a laugh, semi embarrassed. “Barely. I had to beg my parents for some money, skipped meals this week..”

He arched his brow. “Just for a show?”

There was no judgement in his voice. Just…curiousity. Dare she say, he look impressed almost.

“Just to see you..” The words slipped from her mouth before she could stop them. 

And there is was again, the twitch of his mouth, a smirk. “And was is worth it?” he asked curiously, tilting his head.

She nodded without hesitation. “It always is.”

All the confidence she had while saying that sentence was now gone. Looking back down at her lap, she couldn’t hold his gaze. Yet, he still had not looked away. 

Pulling up to the hotel entrance, Y/n’s nerves were still high, her hands gripping her sleeves tight. 

Yuta spoke up. “You got a room here?”

She glanced at him, but only briefly, before she got shy again. “Yes.”

“Good.” He unbuckled his seatbelt. “Means I don’t have to let you go just yet.”

Y/n couldn’t even speak. 

She was frozen but everything inside her was racing. Her heart, her thoughts. 

Then Yuta opened the door, and stepped out, as casual as ever. But then he turned back to her, holding the door open still.

Waiting.

But she was still frozen.

He was waiting for her. 

The man she had been following across cities. The man who she had posters of up on her wall. The man who sang the songs that were on her playlists. 

And he was waiting for her. 

He wanted her to follow him. 

He wanted her to talk to him. 

He wanted to be around her. 

She clenched her hands from her sleeves and took a deep breath. She could barely tell if any of this was real or it was her hunger brain tricking her. But there he was. 

When she finally looked up, his eyes locked onto her, and he smiled. 

Holy fuck, he smiled. 

It wasn’t his smirk, or cocky smug. He fucking smiled. 

If she wasn’t already warm from the car ride, she was burning now. 

Wordlessly, she stepped out of the car, knees just about giving out on her. Yuta didn’t speak, just closed the door and grabbed their bags. 

Slinging his over his shoulder, he pulled hers along with him.

“I can take that now..” she said softly, reaching out.

But Yuta didn’t even look at her. “You walked halfway here in the rain for me,” he said, “least I can do.”

Just like that, she fell silent. She followed him through the revolving doors, the hotel lobby soaked in golden light and quiet music.

It was a luxury hotel. The kind where everything smelled like money and riches. Staff straightened up a little when they saw guest arrive. 

Yuta headed straight to the front desk, bag still slung over one shoulder. Y/n lingered a few paces behind him, patting her shirt down, still damp and trembling slightly.

He gave his name, just like that. No security hovering nearby. Just Yuta, in his black jacket and undone hair.

She expected at least some effort to hide his identity and where he was staying. But he didn’t lower his voice, didn’t glance at her once like he was worried about her seeing or hearing too much.

It should’ve been a security risk. She was a fan after all, that was well established. For fucks sake! She followed him here!

But clearly, he didn’t care.

And she–God, she wasn’t about to complain.

When he took his room key, the front desk glanced toward her as if waiting for something, but Yuta didn’t offer context. He simply turned, handed off her bag, and walked toward the elevators like he was done playing host.

She didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until he disappeared around the corner.

Then the front desk looked back at her, smiling politely. “Name?”

She blinked. “Y/n. L/n.”

She gave her ID with trembling fingers, still stunned that she’d just witnessed–more than witnessed him, so casual, so exposed. Like she wasn’t a stranger. 

Key card now in hand, she stepped back, glancing once toward the elevators.

And then she froze.

Yuta was there–still there!–leaning casually against the wall beside the elevator.

Jacket unzipped, hands in pocket, bag next to his feet. He looked like an absolute sin.

He didn’t speak when their eyes met.

Just smiled. Slow. Like he’d been waiting for her.

He was always waiting for her.

Y/n’s breath caught. She couldn’t move for a second, her body refusing to believe this wasn’t another dream bleeding into her real life. It was a wonder how she was still functioning. 

Then, without looking away, Yuta reached out and pressed the elevator button.

Ding.

The doors slid open.

And still, he said nothing.

He just stepped inside and held the door with one hand, gaze never leaving hers. Waiting again.

As if it was a choice to take another elevator or walk away. Her choice.

Even though they both knew it wasn’t.

She stepped into the elevator, her body moving before her brain could catch up, and drifted to the far wall, away from him. Yuta stepped in beside her, letting go of the doors, letting them slid shut, then reached out and pressed a button. 

Was he really patient with her, or did he just enjoy her hesitation?

Yuta turned to face her. Y/n, on the other hand, hadn’t moved an inch.

She could feel her pulse in her throat.

“So…Y/n, is it?” he spoke, voice low and almost amused.

Her head turned toward him, caught off guard by how easily her name rolled off his tongue. She nodded, quick and nervous, then looked away again. She couldn’t hold his gaze for long, otherwise she would faint.

Yuta leaned slightly against the mirrored wall, head tilted, eyes still fixed on her like usual. He loved to look. 

“You follow people often?” he asked, one brow lifted.

It wasn’t accusatory. It was playful. Curious. 

Y/n swallowed hard, a shaky laugh slipping out before she could stop it.

“I’m your biggest fan,” she said. It came out too fast, breathless. “I-I’ve just never really done something like this before. I mean-not like this…”

She trailed off, flushing.

Yuta didn’t blink. His smirk deepened just slightly.

“Not like this?” he echoed. Then he leaned in just a little, barely enough to invade her space, but enough to make her nerves light up like static.

“Well,” he murmured. “I should be so lucky.”

Y/n looked up at him. He wasn’t smirking anymore, not really. There was something softer on his face now. A small, private smile that didn’t belong to the stage version of him. 

Something quieter. More human, dare she say.

And God, she could’ve stared at him for hours. The curve of his mouth, his soft hair, the dark eyes that held her in place. She was drowning in the sight of him, in how close he was, how real.

She didn’t even notice the elevator coming to a stop until he glanced toward the doors and said, “Your floor.”

Her eyes flicked to the glowing number above the doors, and sure enough, it was hers.

She blinked.

But…she hadn’t pressed anything.

Her stomach fluttered.

Yuta had.

Which meant he’d been paying attention when she was checking in. Not just to her name. To her room. To everything.

Still dazed, she stepped out, the wheels of her suitcase bumping slightly behind her as if to remind her that this was in fact real. That she’d just shared yet another elevator ride with Nakamoto Yuta, and he’d known exactly where to let her off.

She turned to look back at him, needing something more from him, another word, a glance, anything.

And she got it.

“See you tomorrow,” he said so casually, as if they did this every night. 

Then the elevator doors slid shut.

And she was left alone in the hallway, heartbeat hammering, wondering how the hell she was going to sleep tonight.

The hallway was quiet as she made her way to her room. The sound of her suitcase wheels being the only thing helping her grasp reality. 

Reaching her door, she slotted her keycard in. Click. She opened the door. Shut.

And…silence.

Y/n walked to the centre of the room and just stood there. 

She just…she…what?

She’d gotten into the car with Yuta. Talked to him. Ridden the elevator with him–twice now! 

And he knew. God! He knew.

He knew she was following him. He knew that she wasn’t just an average fan going to see his show. No. She’d been to the last three concert, in a row, staying at the same hotels. 

She was a real life stalker! 

But instead of shutting her down, calling security, or even simply asking her to fuck off…he smiled. He invited her in the car, he checked in with her, he rode the elevator with her.

It wasn’t a matter of him not caring. 

It was as if he wanted her keep going. 

Encouraging her. Antagonising her. Laying out pieces for her to follow.

And she did, without hesitation. 

Dropping her bag, she sat on the bed and buried her face in her hands. 

“I didn’t even hesitate, the fucks wrong with me?” she muttered to herself.

Essentially, a stranger pulled up beside her in a car and told her to get in the car. And she fucking gets in. She just about wrote her fucking end. Became the next victim in a true crime podcast. 

Stranger danger? Who’s she?

But he wasn’t really a stranger. It was him. Yuta. Her obsession. 

Of course, she folded the second he looked at her. The second he looked at her like she mattered. 

Even now, after the adrenaline had worn off, she wasn’t scared. Sure, she was still freaking out, but it wasn’t fear.

It was something worse.

It was want. 

Wanting to see what happens next. Wanting to know how far he’ll pull her. 

Wanting more.

-

The morning hit her like a truck. 

Her body was aching all over, likely from lugging a bag halfway to the hotel in the rain and she felt as if she had been punched in the gut, ripped a hole inside of her, and squeezed her stomach. The tight and nauseous feeling she had in her stomach was so uncomfortable. 

It was too fucking early to be dealing with this shit. 

Y/n didn’t know how long she could handle thing. Maybe she could find a supermarket around lunch and just buy a nutbar or something. 

She rolled over onto her back, squinting at the light streaming through the sheer hotel curtains. Throat dry, eyes heavy, she did not want to exist at the moment. Maybe if she just laid still for a few more hours, the feeling in her chest would go away, and she wouldn’t feel like she was about to die.

Grabbing her phone from beside her bed, she immediately checked her notifications for Yuta updates. Because what better way to start the day.

The first thing she noticed was his new Instagram story, clicking on it only made her tummy growl louder. A simple breakfast, egg on rice and a little bowl of soup. It was like a knife to the gut, fuck she was starving. 

Then, three knocks at the door.

She shot up, her hair a mess, heart about to give out. What the fuck?

“Room service,” a voice called.

Room service? For fucking who?

She barely managed to pull herself up off the bed and shuffle to the door, looking through the peephole. Sure enough, a hotel staff member stood there with a covered tray and a little cart.

Y/n opened the door, “Sorry, I-I didn’t order anything.”

Like hell, she ordered anything. She can barely afford to breathe at this point. 

The staff didn’t even blind. “It’s already been covered.”

Her brain was short-circuiting. “What? By who?”

He just gave a bland customer service smile as he rolled the cart into her room. “Enjoy.” He said, before turning and walking back down the hall, before she could ask any more questions. 

Once again, she found herself standing frozen and blinking. 

Then she looked down at the tray and lifted the cover. She didn’t even like eggs that much. But seeing its glossy yolk, fried and served over rice with a little bowl of soup, just like Yuta’s Instagram story. 

Her stomach dropped and grumbled. 

Placing the tray on the little table, she sat down in front of it and let the warm steam hit her face. 

Fuck, she was hungry.

So, she ate. 

She devoured every last bite like a starved cat, like this was all a dream she’d wake up from any second. But the food was real. The cutlery clinked against the ceramic. The hollowness in her gut softened.

And as she licked the last of the yolk off her spoon, the same thoughts still wrapped around her mind.

He thought about her. 

He knows where she is.

And he’s feeding her. 

The tray sat empty now, pushed to the edge of the table. Y/n wiped her mouth with a napkin and stared int the silver dome cover at her warped face, questioning everything that had just occurred, praying it would give her the answers.

It didn’t.

Everything about this morning felt surreal. The warmth in her stomach, the ache in her limbs, the fact that she was still in his hotel. That she was still wrapped up in him.

She ran a hand through her hair and stood, pacing the room like it would help clear the fog in her head.

He sent her food.

It’s not even that he knew her room, but it was the fact that he remembered. Remembered the fact that she would have to skip meals to go to his concert. And not once had he seemed surprised. Or unsettled. He was calm. Controlled. Smiling like a man watching something he’d already planned play out in real time.

The thought sent a shiver straight down her spine.

Y/n pulled open the curtains, letting in the grey, overcast light of the city. It was early still, too early to head to the venue. The adrenaline hadn’t come back yet, but the anticipation was starting to thrum again in her.

Tonight. Another concert. Another show. She didn’t know how she was going to survive standing in front of that stage again, knowing what she now knew. That he saw her. Really saw her. That he didn’t just remember her face, he talked to her, he watched her. He fed her.

And now she had to look him in the eye from the crowd and pretend she wasn’t completely unravelling.

She grabbed her phone, checked the time, and checked the Discord fan server out of habit. A few people were already posting venue updates and sightings, crew moving equipment, and someone claiming they saw Yuta in a hoodie getting out of a black van. The usual excitement.

She didn’t say anything. She just read.

No one knew what had happened last night.

No one knew she was already marked, already pulled a little deeper in.

She took a quick shower, forcing herself to wake up, to feel normal for five seconds. It didn’t work. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his smile. Heard the lazy rasp of his voice.

See you tomorrow.

She didn’t leave her room. Not yet. There was too much to do.

The moment she rolled the breakfast tray back to the hallway, Y/n turned to her suitcase. Clothes spilled out onto the bed, her favourite tops, her lucky accessories, her scandalous bottoms, outfits she’d imagined herself wearing in front of him just like this. 

Tonight mattered.

She picked out the little black cami first, thin straps, soft fabric, the neckline low enough to make her feel confident but not desperate. It fit her like a second skin. Then came the mini skirt, pleated, just long enough to pass for decent at the right angle. 

She laid it flat on the bed beside the stockings, sheer and lacy, already clipped to some matching suspenders. Platform boots, scuffed but loyal, gave her the extra inches to see better.

He’ll notice this. 

He had to.

Then came her makeup, scattered across the bathroom counter. She leaned in close to the mirror, planning out what to do. Dark, bold eyeshadow, lips chosen to match. Deep, complimentary. Every detail chosen with one goal set in mind. Make him look again. 

She stood in front of the mirror, fingers tangled in her hair, trying to decide. Clean? Undone? Something about looking polished felt like the safer option. But not him. Not Yuta. He wasn’t neat.

He was chaos wrapped in leather and chains.

So, she left it loose. Let it fall the way it wanted to, a little messy, a little wild. Something about it felt more intriguing. More like something he’d want to touch.

Untamed. Just like him.

Grabbing her perfume from her bag, she sprayed herself all over. It was just a cheap perfume, but did she smell divine in it. 

The hours passed like this. Quiet. Precise. Obsessive.

And then she checked the time.

Four hours before the concert even started.

Perfect.

It was early enough to get to the front of the queue. To be there before the masses arrived. To wait outside and be the first to the barricade.

She took a breath, grabbed her phone with her ticket, and looked at herself one last time in the mirror.

The outfit, the makeup, the hair, every detail had been for him. So why not show it off a little?

She turned slightly, moving herself to catch the best lighting from the window and turned the camera to the mirror. Snap. Another. One with her camera covering her face. One with the camera to the side, her lips slightly parted and head tilted. The one last selfie for good measure.

She picked her favourite and typed out a caption.

“Front row for my man - Yuta Tour 2025 Part 4”

Post.

This was who he’d see tonight.

Not a fan.

Not just another face.

His girl.

-

The walk to the stadium was longer than she thought. Her boots hit the pavement with a steady rhythm, and every now and then, she felt an ache in her heel, but thankfully, the shoes were worn in. If they hadn’t been, she’d be dying by now.

The sun was still high, heat clinging to her skin, but she didn’t stop. She kept her eyes ahead, hand gripping her bag strap, and occasionally adjusting her skirt when the wind picked up.

By the time she turned the final corner and saw the stadium come into view, her breath hitched, not from the walk, but from the sight of it. The place where he would be tonight.

To her surprise, only a couple other people stood in line outside the gates, sitting on blankets, sipping drinks from plastic bottles. She exhaled a sigh of relief and stepped into line behind them.

It would be hours before the doors opened. But that was fine.

She was used to the wait.

She settled in on the concrete, pulling her bag over her lap like a makeshift cushion. The overcast sun baked her back, and the ground hard beneath her, but she barely noticed. Her eyes drifted up to the venue, looking through the windows, looking at every possible exit or entry, just in case she caught a glimpse of him. Just in case.

The two girls ahead of her were chatting softly, talking about concert stories and whatever else. Y/n half-listened, smiling to herself. She could guess the setlist by heart now, every song, every guitar riff. But what she couldn’t predict was him. 

What he’d say. What he’d do. That was the part that kept her chasing.

She pulled out her phone, checking the time. Three hours to go.

With hours to kill, she opened Instagram, mostly out of boredom.

Notifications popped up, a few likes, some comments, compliments, emojis, the usual. She refreshed the page every now and then before heading back to her explore page.

That’s when she saw it.

A name.

His name.

Liked by @yuu_taa_1026.

Her lungs stopped working. She blinked. Stared. And before she could even screenshot it, the like vanished.

Gone.

Her feed looked normal again, no trace of him ever being there. No proof. No memory, except hers.

She sat frozen, phone clenched in her hand, heart hammering. Her mind raced. Had he really looked her up? Found her account? Was he watching her, just like she was watching him?

Her stomach flipped.

Maybe it was an accident. Maybe he hadn’t meant to like it. Maybe it never even happened and she was spiralling. Maybe she made up the whole thing. But no, she saw it. That flash of his name. The unmistakable icon. 

She stared at the screen, her post sitting in front of her.

If he’d seen it, what did he think?

A slow smile crept over her face, pulling the edges of her lips.

Whether it was real or not didn’t even matter now.

She knew what she saw.

-

Hours passed. The sun dipped lower, and the line behind her for VIP had built up. Many of them in pairs or groups, wearing their very best. But Y/n didn’t pay much mind to them. 

She kept checking her phone, even though the notification was long gone. No matter how much she refreshed her page, it was like it never happened.

But it did.

His name flashing on her screen wasn’t something she’d easily forget. It happened. It meant something. Even if he didn’t mean to like her post, he looked for her, and saw her. 

She looked down at herself, smoothing her skirt with her palms, then rechecking her hair with the reflection of her phone. The wind had messed it up a little, but it only added to the slightly untamed look she’d been going for.

The venue doors finally opened. A quiet buzz shifted into chaos. Security herded everyone through, one by one, checking bags and scanning tickets. Y/n stood on her toes, ready to enter.

When it was her turn, the security guard barely glanced at her bag before his eyes flicked up to her face.

“You Y/n?” he asked, squinting like he already knew the answer.

She blinked. “Uh…yeah?”

He nodded once, then leaned behind him toward another staff member, saying something too low for her to catch. The second person handed over a small VIP kit, a tote bag with the tour logo. But instead of pulling one from the stack in front of them like they had for everyone else, they reached behind the table, grabbing something from under it.

Y/n’s brows furrowed slightly as they passed it to her.

“Enjoy the show,” the first guard said, already waving through the next person.

She stared down at the kit in her hands, walking slowly toward the second holding line just before the venue doors. People around her were already standing at the doors, looking through their own VIP bags, lanyards with laminated passes, signed posters, glossy double-sided keychains.

Y/n moved to stand behind them.

The same stuff was inside. Mostly.

But tucked at the bottom was a small paper bag. Not branded. Just a simple brown pouch, folded over at the top. 

Her stomach flipped.

No way.

She opened it.

A fucking brownie.

Rich, thick, and obviously not store-bought. It smelled faintly of espresso and dark chocolate. Moist. Still slightly warm.

She stared at it, dumbfounded.

This motherfucker was feeding her. Again.

Her lips curled into a disbelieving smile, eyes flicking over the paper bag again as if it might reveal some hidden note, some little message.

But it didn’t have to.

It was a message all by itself.

Y/n pulled it from the bag, heart hammering again. The line was quiet for now, just murmurs and rustling plastic. But inside, she was going crazy. 

She took the first bite, and it was like heaven on her tongue. Wherever he got this from, it was bloody amazing.

Y/n glanced around the room, and as she suspected, no one else had one. It was special just for her. 

Smiling down at her brownie, if it wasn’t the sugar fueling her giddiness, it was how he was making her feel. She was so much more than just a fan, that’s for sure. She swore she could taste his smugness in the brownie. 

The doors opened not long after. The fans filed through the entrance, walking quickly enough to get to the barricade, but not too fast where they’d be told off by security. Tucking her half-eaten brownie away, Y/n made her way right up to the centre of the front. 

She slid her way up, both hands gripping the metal barricade, looking up at the stage. It was empty at the moment, but he’ll be there.

And he’ll see her. 

The venue filled slowly at first, but then all at once, like a broken dam. General admission flooded in behind her, noise rising, and the space was tight. 

Security shouted, left and right, telling people not to push. The lights dimmed just a little, enough to signal that things were starting, even if nothing had yet.

People squeezed in on either side of her, the space around her shrinking by the second until she was 

pressed tight against the barricade. Shoulders hit hers. An elbow nudged her back. But she didn’t care. Not even a little.

She was exactly where she wanted to be.

She leaned forward, arms draped over the cool metal, the anticipation rising. From here, she could see the setlist taped to the stage floor.

Any second now, Yuta would step onto that stage, and he’d see her.

She didn’t know what he’d do this time. If he’d look. If he’d wink. If he’d smile.

But whatever it was…

She’d be right there.

Then the lights cut out all at once. And the room erupted in cheers.

Screams burst through the crowd, bodies pushed forward, arms flew up in excitement. Y/n gripped the barricade tight, her heart hammering loud enough to drown out everything else.

A single spotlight snapped on. The bass dropped. Drums boom to life, you could feel it in your chest. Guitar followed. Then smoke, curling out over the stage

And then…He stepped out.

Yuta.

Black boots. Torn jeans. His shirt sleeveless and low. He walked out, hair still damp, laying lazy over his face. A mic in one hand. Rings flashing in the spot light.

He didn’t say a word at first. Just stopped centre stage and looked out over the crowd with his hands out.

And then he smiled.

Not the smirk. Not the grin he threw into the crowd when he was feeling cocky. This one was slow.

Y/n’s stomach flipped. Her eyes were locked on him.

He raised the mic to his lips.

“You ready?!” he shouted. 

The crowd lost it.

The energy in the venue was live. People jumped, screamed, and sang so loud the ground shook. The bass boomed hard, the guitars were loud, and Yuta. He was everything.

He moved like he owned the stage. Every step, every lyric, every glance sent the crowd into a frenzy. Y/n was right there with them.

Sweaty, breathless, shouting the words until her voice cracked. She gripped the barricade and yelled the lyrics with everyone else.

The lights flashed across the crowd. Y/n kept her eyes on the stage, heart racing.

This was why she came.

The concert raged on, loud, electric, alive. Every song was a rush of adrenaline, the crowd around her pushing and swaying, but Y/n didn’t care. Her eyes were locked on him. On Yuta.

And then it happened.

Mid-song, through flashing lights and smoke, his eyes swept across the crowd, and landed on her.

She noticed it instantly.

The flicker of recognition. That tiny pause in his movement. His lips twitched, but not into a smile or smirk. But he saw her. Again.

And he didn’t look away.

Not immediately, at least.

He dragged his gaze back to her every chance he got. Between lyrics, between steps. Even when he turned his back to the crowd, she caught the angle of his eyes in the stage screen, the looking over his shoulder.

Yuta was watching her.

Not the sea of fans screaming his name. Her.

And Y/n? She couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. The noise faded around her for a second, her grip on the barricade tightening.

He saw her. Again.

He kept looking at her.

-

When the intermission came, the lights dimmed and the crowd moved on from screaming to loud chatter. Y/n barely noticed how sweaty or breathless she was, she was still reeling from the way Yuta kept looking at her like no one else existed.

Security started walking past the front row, handing out little bottles of water to those against the barricade to hand back. Y/n took one with a dazed thank you, twisting open the cap with shaking fingers.

But then one of the security guards stopped right in front of her. 

He leaned in close so she could hear over the music still playing through the speakers. “Hey. You’re Y/n, right?”

Her heart nearly stopped. “Uh…yeah?”

He nodded. “Cool. Just hang back after the show ends, alright?”

That was it. He didn’t wait for her response, just moved on like he hadn’t dropped a bomb on her.

Y/n stared after him, water forgotten in her hand. Her brain scrambled to keep up. Hang back? After the show? What does that even mean?

She bit her lip to keep from grinning like a maniac.

Her heart was practically bouncing as the lights shifted again and the second half of the concert started.

She wasn’t even sure if her legs would hold her up for the rest of the night.

But she knew one thing for sure. She wasn’t going anywhere.

-

As the concert came to a close, Yuta shouted his final “Thank you!” into the mic before vanishing offstage. The crowd roared around her, but Y/n stood frozen, her pulse louder than the cheers.

Was it really him who’d asked her to stay behind?

It had to be. Right?

Unless this was actually to give her a restraining order. Maybe this was how it ended. A cease and desist with her name on it, and security politely escorting her out of the venue, and away from him, for good.

Her stomach flipped with nerves and anticipation. She was buzzing with possibilities, spiralling between worst-case scenarios and something dangerously close to hope.

The crowd thinned out slowly, bodies moving toward exits, their voices still echoing with leftover adrenaline. It felt like hours before the room finally cleared out, but it was probably closer to thirty minutes.

That’s when one of the security guards returned, the same one from earlier.

He stopped in front of her, face unreadable. “Come with me,” he said, already moving to open the barricade in front of her.

Y/n swallowed hard and slipped through the opening he made. Her legs felt like jelly, but she managed to keep pace behind him, trying not to visibly shake.

Down the side of the venue, past heavy black curtains and dimly lit hallways, until…

Backstage.

Her breath caught.

Holy shit.

The security guard stopped in front of a door, gave it a quick knock, then pushed it open without waiting for a response.

Inside, the room was warm with low light, a soft amber glow casting shadows across the walls. A few half-empty water bottles and discarded setlists littered a nearby table. Jackets hung over chairs, instruments rested on stands. Evidence of the rest of the band was everywhere, but they were gone now.

Only Yuta remained.

He was slouched comfortably on a couch, hair still damp from the show, a towel draped around his neck. He looked up at her like he’d been expecting this moment all night. Like none of this surprised him.

“Thanks,” he said to the guard without looking away from her.

The man gave a nod and stepped out, leaving just the two of them in the room.

Yuta's gaze stayed locked on her. “Come in,” he said, his voice low and calm. “Close the door.”

She did, slowly, her hand trembling as she reached for the handle. Her heart thundered in her chest, echoing in her ears. The lock clicked into place behind her.

She turned to face him, throat dry, pulse wild.

This was really happening.

Yuta leaned back slightly, a smirk ghosting over his lips. “Enjoy the breakfast?”

Y/n’s eyes widened. “S-so that was you?” she blurted, heat rushing to her face. “I thought…I wasn’t even sure it really happened.”

He shrugged, like it was nothing. “You said you had to skip meals..and we can’t have that, now...”

Y/n let out a nervous breath, still half in disbelief. “And…the brownie in the VIP bag?” she asked, tilting her head.

Yuta gave a quiet laugh, eyes glinting. “Guilty.”

Her mouth dropped open in a stunned smile. “Are you serious?”

He just looked at her with that same calmness. “Thought you might need a little extra. And I figured you’d know it was from me.”

She shook her head, still reeling. “That’s insane.”

“Probably,” he said, grinning now.

She stared, completely thrown, mind racing just to keep up. But before she could fumble out another response, he tilted his head and asked, “You coming to the next show?”

Y/n’s stomach twisted. She dropped her gaze for a second, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag. “I…I can’t. I’m out of money.”

Silence.

Then he stood up.

Slow and casual.

She froze as he crossed the short distance between them, heart pounding, breath caught in her throat. He stopped right in front of her, close. Closer than anyone should stand unless they were more than just strangers.

Yuta reached out, his hand gentle as he pushed a piece of hair from her face. His touch lingered just a second too long, his eyes dark and unreadable.

“I’ll make sure you’re there,” he said softly. “Don’t worry about the money.”

Her breath hitched.

He didn’t just say that. But he did.

“B-but…my flight home is tomorrow afternoon…” Y/n said, her voice barely steady as she looked up at Yuta, completely star-struck.

He didn’t flinch. “I’ll handle that...” he said easily, like rearranging her entire life was no big deal. “But while you’re in this city, you might as well come one more night.”

She blinked, still trying to process. “But I have to check out of my room at ten tomorrow morning…”

Yuta gave the smallest smirk, stepping dangerously closer. “I’ll take care of that too.”

She stared up at him, completely at a loss. “Why are you doing this?”

He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Well,” he said, voice soft with a smile, “I’ve gotta have my biggest fan at my show.”

Y/n’s brain short-circuited. The obvious answer was to go home, act normal, and pretend any of this made sense. But she wasn’t normal. Not when it came to him. She’d already chased him through three cities and four concerts. One more couldn’t make her any crazier than she already was. And anyway…who was she to deny him?

She looked up at him, eyes wide, struggling to keep her focus, but his face, God, his face, was pulling her in. Deep. Every sharp line, every shadow, every inch of him was carved into her memory, and now he was standing so close she could feel the warmth radiating off his skin.

All she could do was nod.

The smirk that curved up his lips wasn’t the usual cocky kind. It was quieter than that. Almost unreadable. Undetectable. But there was something in it that made her chest tighten. Something dark. Possessive, maybe. Like he knew exactly what he was doing to her, and liked it.

That’s when a chill ran up her spine. Something…intimidating. But it wasn’t fear. No, it couldn’t be…it couldn’t be.

But she wasn’t going anywhere. That, she was sure of. 

“You look good..” He said, nodding his head as he looked down at her. “You put this on for me?”

Y/n couldn’t feel her legs. She couldn’t even tell if she nodded, completely frozen in the moment. 

Yuta leaned in closer, enough for her to feel his breath on her. Her heart stopped.

He inhaled slowly, breathing her in before his eyes flickered down before locking back on hers.

“Is that perfume?” he asked, his voice low.

Her heart nearly jumped out of her chest. He noticed.

“Mhmm..” she hummed, barely nodding, trying to find more words but they all got stuck in her throat.

Then softly, but firm, he said…”Don’t wear perfume.”

Her stomach dropped, like a record scratch. “W-what?” she blinked. Did he not like it? Did she put too much on?

He looked at her again, gaze heavier this time. “Don’t wear perfume.” he repeated. “I want to know how you really smell.”

Did–Did he really just say that?

The room felt smaller now. Warmer. 

Yuta looked just behind her at the clock on the wall. “Well,” he said, moving back from her slightly, “better let you get back to the hotel…”

Y/n blinked, hardly registering the words he was saying, as she was still in awe.

“I’ll have someone take you back,” he said, pulling his phone out from his pocket. “Wait here a second.”

All she could do was nod, again, because her mouth wouldn’t work and her legs felt like jelly. She watched him type something quickly before looking back up at her.

“They should be out front in five.” 

She opened her mouth, wanting to say something, thank you maybe, but she was still too starstruck. He called her his biggest fan. He said he’d shout her a concert. He wanted to smell her. 

And now he was having someone drive her back to the hotel. 

What the fuck was going on?

He leaned forward, pressing up close as he reached for the doorknob behind her. Her heart couldn’t beat any faster. 

“You’ll be at the next show.” He said. It was clearly not up for debate. It was a demand. A promise.

Opening the door to the hallway, Y/n turned away from Yuta, making her way out, where there was a staff member waiting to escort her. Looking back at Yuta one last time, he winked before closing the door.

Y/n followed the staff member, completely numb. The echos of his voice still bouncing in her head. 

Walking through the backstage halls felt so surreal now. The people moving around, fixing and resetting parts of the stage and other shit she didn’t know. She was still caught up in the moment. 

By the time she was led outside, there was already a black SUV waiting for her. The staff member opened the door for her, to which she thanked them before getting in. As the door shut, the driver was already on their way. 

Everything felt like a dream.

The hotel finally came into view, and before she could process anything else, the car was slowing to a stop. The driver got out, opened the door for her, and offered a quick “have a good night,” before getting back into the vehicle and driving off.

She stood outside the hotel for a few seconds longer than necessary, just staring. He said he’d take care of it. And he did. He was taking care of her.

Y/n made her way inside, through the quiet lobby and up to her floor, the events of the night running in circles through her mind. His voice. His smile. That look on his face when he touched her.

She reached her room, let herself in, and finally sat down on the edge of the bed, hands in her lap, trying to breathe normally again. 

Going back to life as normal was out of the question. 

Not after tonight.

-

Waking up was a different story. 

Her alarm went off at 9 a.m., far too happy for how wrecked she felt. She barely managed to turn it off before groaning into the pillow, brain foggy and limbs stiff. It took a full minute for the reason behind the alarm to click. Checkout. Right. She had to be out of the room before she got hit with a late fee.

“Fuck me.”

Pulling herself upright, Y/n stumbled around the room, grabbing clothes from the floor, chargers from the wall, cramming everything into her bag in a clumsy rush. Her head still buzzed with everything that had happened last night. She was barely keeping it together, until her eyes landed on something resting quietly on the bedside table.

The perfume bottle.

The one she’d specifically chosen for the concert. The one she sprayed right before leaving the hotel, hoping he'd notice.

She froze, reaching for it slowly. The moment her fingers closed around the bottle, the memory slammed back into her like a wave.

“Don’t wear perfume.” he repeated. “I want to know how you really smell.”

Her breath hitched. Heat crept over her cheeks, down her neck, flushing through her body like fire. She gripped the bottle tighter, unsure whether to laugh or scream into the mattress. 

How was she supposed to go back to normal after that?

She held the perfume bottle for a secon longer, then lets out a scoff.

“Sort it out,” she muttered under her breath. 

Last night felt unreal now, like some fever dream put together from lights, noise, and the sound of his voice far too close to her ear. He’d said he’d take care of it. That she’d be at the next concert. That he’d sort her flight, her hotel, everything.

But now, in the morning light with hotel air around her, reality crept back in like a draft through a shitty door. He wasn’t actually going to do anything. Why would he? That kind of thing didn’t happen to people like her. Not really.

Still…she felt the ghost of his hand push her hair from her face, His stare which held her with a weight of 20 trucks. 

No–she couldn’t afford to start hoping. 

Grabbing the last of her things, she zipped up her bag and gave the room one final glance. It looked the same way she’d found it. Empty, temporary. Exactly how she felt now, standing in the doorway. 

She exhaled, shook herself free of the thought, and stepped out. 

Time to check out. Time to move on. 

Or at least…pretend to.

Check-out was uneventful. The front desk smiled, handed her papers, and told her to have a good day. That was it. No messages. No surprises.

Y/n adjusted the strap of her bag and headed for the doors, heart sinking a little more with each step. Of course he was just being nice. Flirty. Maybe bored. Last night didn’t mean anything, just another blurry memory for a girl who should’ve known better.

But then, just as she passed the lobby lounge, a man in all black stepped into her path. 

“Y/n?” he asked, low.

She blinked. “…Yes?”

“Come with me.”

Her brain went blank. For half a second, she thought panic. Trouble. Restraining order. This was it. But the man didn’t look mad. 

She followed him without a word, nerves crackling in her stomach. They didn’t go out to the car park. Instead, he led her back to the elevator and pressed the button for one of the top floors.

Y/n’s pulse was thudding by the time the doors opened.

He stepped aside, motioning her out. “This way.”

And the second she stepped into the room, she knew.

Yuta’s jacket was slung over the back of the chair. A half-empty bottles of water on the nightstand. A pair of sunglasses abandoned by the window. Everything about the room screamed him. Loud, messy, Yuta.

What must have been the manager gave her a brief nod and said, “He’s at rehearsal right now, there’s a key card on the table. Someone will be back to take you to the concert around 5,” before slipping out and closing the door behind her.

Y/n stood frozen in place.

She was in Yuta’s room.

Her hands were shaking. She didn’t even know what she was supposed to do.

So she stood frozen.

Because clearly, this wasn’t over.

Y/n shifted from foot to foot, still standing in the middle of Yuta’s hotel room like she was intruding on something.

She checked the time on her phone.

9:57 AM.

Seriously? It wasn’t even 10 yet. All of this, checking out, getting stopped, walking into his room, it had barely taken twenty minutes. Her head was spinning.

“…Well,” she muttered under her breath.

She pulled up her contacts and tapped on Jaemin before she could overthink it. He picked up after a couple rings.

“Hey! You all good? I was just about to head out to grab coffee before coming to the airport–”

“Yeah–nah,” she cut in quickly. “I’m not gonna need that ride.”

A pause. “What? Why?”

“Uh…change of plans.”

“Y/n,” Jaemin said flatly. “What the hell does that mean?”

“I’ll explain later,” she said, eyes flicking toward the door like someone might walk in mid-conversation. “I’m safe, okay? Just…not going to the airport...today.”

Another long pause. “…You sound like you’re about to be arrested or some shit.”

She laughed quietly, nerves bubbling under her skin. “Just trust me. I’ll let you know whats happening later, just let me get ready and I’ll give you a call back.”

“You better. If I don’t hear from you by 1, I’m flying to you myself.”

“Noted,” she smiled. “Bye, Jaemin.”

She hung up before he could push further and let out a breath, dropping onto the edge of the bed.

She was still wearing the perfume she swore she wouldn’t wear again.

And she was sitting in Nakamoto Yuta’s hotel room.

At 10 a.m.

With no idea what the hell was going on.

But she had a concert to get ready for.

Except this time, she wasn’t getting ready in her own hotel room. She was in his. Nakamoto Yuta’s room. 

Which meant when she stood up and walked quietly across the floor, walking toward the bathroom to freshen up, she was heading into his bathroom.

And the second she stepped inside, she just about combusted.

His scent still lingered in the air. Not perfume. Not something from a bottle or spray. Him. It was in the towels, in the faint steam still clinging to the mirror. There was a comb by the sink. A bracelet he must’ve taken off and left there. Even a face wash resting casually beside the tap.

Y/n gripped the edge of the sink, staring at her reflection with wide eyes, her cheeks already flushed.

She was in the room he got ready in. She was standing exactly where he stood before walking out on stage, before seeing her in the crowd.

She let out a shaky breath, trying to calm herself down. "Pull youself together, girl," she whispered to herself.

Then she grabbed a towel, turned the shower on, and stepped into the steam, ready to start again.

The water was warm, comforting, though her thoughts were anything but.

What was her life?

How did she get here?

A laugh bubbled out of her, half-disbelief, half-delirium, as she rinsed shampoo from her hair. If someone had told her a couple days ago she’d be in Yuta’s hotel room, showering in his bathroom, and getting ready for yet another concert because he told her to stay…she would’ve said it was a dream.

But here she was.

And she was going again.

By the time she got out, the mirror was fogged and her skin felt flushed. She wrapped herself in a towels, glancing around like she was still trying to believe any of it was real. After drying off, she moved into the room to do her makeup, laying everything out on the ground in front of her. The eyeliner was darker today. Lips a little bolder. Hopefully, the confidence she didn’t feel came out in her makeup.

Then came the clothes. She hadn’t planned for another night, but somehow she still made it work, a tight vest, another skirt, accessories swapped from what she didn’t wear yesterday. When she finished, she looked at the last thing sitting on the bed beside her stuff.

Her perfume.

She held the bottle in her hand for a moment, just staring.

Was she really about to let a man dictate how she smelled?

She paused.

Looked at herself in the mirror.

Then gave the tiniest shrug and set it right back down.

Well. It looked like she was.

Apparently, she’d let this man do a lot of things.

Y/n grabbed her phone and propped it up against the lamp on the bedside table and hit the video call button before sitting on the bed. It rang twice.

Then Jaemin’s face popped up on the screen, eyebrows immediately shooting up.

“Daaamn, girl,” he said, dragging out the words with a grin. “Who are you trying to impress? You look hot.”

She smirked, flicking her hair a little. “Thanks. I’m going to another concert.”

Jaemin blinked. “No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

“With what money?” he asked, squinting at her. “You told me you couldn’t even afford airport snacksand your parent’s wouldn’t pay for any more.”

She hesitated, then said casually, “Yuta’s money.”

There was a beat of silence. Jaemin just stared at her. “Okay, if I see a headline tomorrow that says ‘Delusional Fangirl Sneaks Into Concert,’ I’m not picking your ass up from the airport.”

Y/n groaned, “That’s not what happened.”

Jaemin raised a brow. “Then what happened?”

She looked around, then lowered her voice like it mattered. “I’m not sure how much I’m allowed to say but...let me explain…but promise not to scream.”

-

Jaemin stared at her through the screen, mouth slightly open, completely stunned.

“Wait! So let me get this straight,” he finally said, blinking slowly. “You’ve stalked this man…he’s figured it out…and he’s proceeded to let you into his room and his next concert?”

Y/n bit her lip, trying not to smile too hard. “Yeah, that’s about right.”

Jaemin leaned back, running a hand over his face. “This is…fucked up.”

“But?” she prompted, grinning.

“But?” his eyes were wide, “There is no ‘but,’ this is just fucked.”

She huffed.

“I mean…there’s not much I can really tell you to do now…” he added. “But if this turns into some true crime bullshit, I’ll make sure you get a good photo.”

“Shut up,” she giggled. “I’m fine. He’s not like that.”

“He better not be,” Jaemin said, pointing at her through the screen. “And if he flies you out again, I want floor seats. You owe me.”

“Deal,” she smiled, still giddy.

“You’re fucking insane,” he muttered with a shake of his head.

“Don’t worry!...I’ve got this..” Y/n smiled.

-

Time passed slowly.

Y/n sat on the edge of the bed, dressed, ready, and absolutely buzzing with nerves. Her phone was in her hand, screen lighting up every few minutes, none of it was what she was waiting for. Just a few DMs, an Instagram like, a notification from her airline asking if she was still planning to check in.

She was not.

Jaemin had hung up hours ago with a “Good luck, psycho,” and a middle finger blown. Now it was just her, pacing occasionally, then sitting back down, then checking the time again.

4:46 PM.

She’s meant to be picked up at 5.

Shouldn’t someone be here by now?

She fiddled with the hem of her skirt, legs bouncing, trying to breathe through the anxiety. What if he forgot? What if it was all a bit? What if she really was insane?

She was just starting to spiral when there was a knock at the door.

She jumped to her feet, nearly knocking her phone off the bed. Heart in her throat, she crossed the room and opened the door.

It was the same driver from the night before.

“Ready?” he asked.

Y/n blinked. “Y-yeah. Yeah, I’m ready.”

“Come on, car’s downstairs.”

She grabbed her bag and followed him, nerves spiking again.

It was real. It was actually happening.

-

The car pulled up behind the venue, a different entrance this time, the only crowds around were behind fences in the distance, screaming for a look. She used to be in the same position, but not anymore. Y/n stepped out, every step closer made her more breathless.

The staff member led her inside. Crew members darted around with headsets and clipboards, shouting into radios, adjusting wires, checking lighting panels. It was busy, but controlled. 

And she was being walked straight through it.

No one questioned her. No one stopped her. They all just made space.

Eventually, they reached a quieter hallway. The man guiding her gave a small knock on a door, cracked it open, and then glanced back at her.

“This way.”

Y/n stepped into the room, and there he was.

Yuta stood in front of a mirror, shirt half-buttoned, a stylist finishing up on his makeup. The light above him caught his dark eyes, on the glint in his earring, on the sharpness that made him look untouchable.

Until he looked up.

He caught her reflection in the mirror and smiled, slow and real. That kind of smile that made her stomach do a full somersault.

“Thanks,” he said, voice low but clear, directed to the people around him, indicating for them to leave.

No hesitation. One by one, everyone packed up and slipped out. She barely even noticed them leave, her eyes hadn’t left him since she walked in.

The door clicked shut behind her.

Yuta turned, facing her fully now, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “You made it.”

A rush of nerves moved through her stomach. Sure, this was technically the fourth time they’d spoken, he’d fed her, talked to her like they had something going on, had her miss her damn flight just to be here again, but none of that changed the fact that this was still Yuta.

Her idol.

The person she’d watched through screens, across stages, through phone cameras, never thinking for a second that he’d look back.

And now, he was standing up, eyes locked on hers.

Each step he took toward her was slow and made her pulse throb harder in her throat. Her mouth went dry. 

Even though she’d already been alone with him, backstage, in elevators, sharing smiles in a crowd, this still felt different. Like something was about to happen, and she didn’t know whether to brace herself or let go.

He stopped just in front of her. Close enough that she could smell him, warm and clean. Close enough that her breath hitched without permission.

“Still nervous around me?” he asked, but he already knew the answer.

Y/n swallowed hard, trying to pull herself together. “Maybe a little,” she said, almost whispering.

Yuta smiled, soft, but with that same unreadable glint in his eyes. He tilted his head slightly, gaze dragging over her face like he was trying to memorise it. Like he liked that she was nervous. That she couldn’t hide it.

Then he leaned in again, closer, his nose brushing near her cheek as he drew in a slow breath.

He lingered there for a second, then pulled back just slightly, satisfied.

“You listened,” he murmured, his lips curling up a little more. “No perfume.”

She could barely breathe. Her skin was burning.

Yuta gave a low hum of approval. “You smell better this way,” he added.

It didn’t sound like a compliment, but it felt like one. The kind that wrapped around her like a silk rope and didn’t let go.

He stayed close, eyes flicking between hers and her mouth, like he was considering something, like maybe he was deciding how far this moment should go. Y/n felt frozen, locked under the weight of his eyes, of him. 

Her pulse thudded in her ears.

Was he going to kiss her?

Did she want him to?

Yes.

But instead, Yuta’s gaze shifted, his jaw tightened like he was forcing himself to pull back. He took one small step away and glanced at the clock on the wall.

“I’ve gotta go,” he said, low and regretful.

Y/n blinked, trying to catch up. “Right…”

Yuta’s eyes met hers again, softer now, but no less intense.

“Watch me,” he said. Not a question. A command.

Her voice caught in her throat, but she nodded quickly. “That’s what I came for.”

That made him smile, really smile. No smirk this time. Just pure satisfaction. Then, without warning, he took her hand and tugged her with him through the door and down the hallway. 

The closer they got to the stage, the louder everything became. The screams of the crowd, the pulse of the music. But all she could focus on was his hand holding hers.

They reached the edge of backstage. He paused, turned to her, and finally let go.

Then, with one last glance and grin, Yuta took off on stage, the crowd roared as the lights flashed and the stage came to life.

She stayed just behind the black curtain, tucked into the shadows with a clear view of the stage, and of him. The entire venue shook with screaming, flashing lights, pounding bass. And still, somehow, Y/n only saw him.

It was impossible not to.

The way he moved. His body rolled with the beat, sharp and fluid. His voice cut through the sound, raw and alive. It was magnetic, addictive. She couldn’t take her eyes off him, not even for a second.

She’d thought maybe after four concerts, the high would wear off. That the novelty would dull, just a little. But it didn’t. Watching Yuta perform felt like a drug. It sank into her blood and stayed there.

And the worst part?

He knew it.

Because every time he moved near her side of the stage, he looked right at her. Not like the casual glance of an idol scanning the crowd, but direct, locked-on. He winked once during a lyric that felt far too suggestive, and she nearly melted into the floor.

Another time, mid-turn, he glanced her way and smirked so subtly she thought she imagined it, until he did it again during the next chorus.

Y/n’s heart was doing laps inside her chest. She was half convinced he was going to give her a heart attack right there in the wings. But she didn’t care.

Let it kill her.

If this was the way to go, watching him like this, feeling like the only person in the room he saw?

She’d die happy.

She could tell the intermission was close if she remembered the setlist correctly. She did. Y/n’s heart thudded. She had a small window. Maybe she could do something for him this time.

Without thinking twice, she spun on her heel and slipped away from the side stage, weaving through the narrow hallways backstage. 

She made her way back to the room they’d been in earlier, peeking through the cracked door to make sure it was empty. It was. Just the low hum of the last bit of a song playing on stage bleeding through the walls.

There, a mini fridge tucked in the corner. She pulled it open and grabbed a cold bottle of water, then paused, spotting a towel folded neatly on the table. After a second’s hesitation, she grabbed that too.

He was probably drenched by now.

Her fingers clenched around the water bottle as she made her way back toward the stage, heart picking up speed again. This wasn’t much, but it felt like something. A small way to take care of him.

He was about to walk off stage any second now, and she wanted to be there. With something in her hands. Ready.

Just as she stepped out of the room, water bottle in one hand and towel in the other, there was commotion at the end of the hall, Yuta. He was there.

His chest was heaving, skin glistening under the lights, eyes darting around like he was looking for something. No, someone.

And then his gaze locked onto hers.

Her breath caught. She lifted the water slightly, about to speak. “Got you water and a–”

But she didn’t get the words out.

With fast steps, he was in front of her. His hands were on her, one at her waist, the other cradling her face, as he pushed her gently back into the room, pushing the door shut behind them with his foot.

And then his mouth was on hers.

Warm. Demanding. Deep.

It wasn’t a soft kiss. It was full of heat, like he'd been holding back for hours, maybe longer. The water bottle fell from her hand, hitting the carpet with a dull thud she barely registered. Her free hand clutched at his shirt, lips parting in stunned surrender.

His grip on her waist tightened, pressing her closer as he kissed her like he needed to make up for all the shows she’d watched from the crowd. Like he was finally letting go.

Y/n’s brain stopped.

Yuta’s mouth moved over hers like he was starving, like he hadn’t just been on stage minutes ago in front of people, like none of that mattered compared to this. Compared to her.

He kissed her hard. No hesitation, no uncertainty. His hand slipped from her waist to her lower back, pulling her flush against him, and she could feel the way his breath hitched when she kissed him back just as fiercely. Her mind was a blur of heat and static, no thoughts except Yuta, Yuta, Yuta, crashing like waves in her head.

Then he walked her backward, step by step, until her legs bumped a small table behind her. He didn’t pause. His hand swept out, pushed the edge of the table roughly, just enough to make room, shit clattering to the floor, and then she was leaning back into it, his body pinning hers in place.

His hands roamed, searching, like he wanted to remember the shape of her. They slid up her waist, pushing up her top, fingertips pressing against bare skin. Her breath hitched, her heart slamming against her ribs like it was trying to escape.

His lips didn’t stop, kissing her, then trailing to her jaw, her cheek, down to the curve of her neck. His breath was hot, his touch rough and careful all at once, like he couldn’t decide whether to devour her or worship her.

And just as suddenly as it had started, he stopped.

He pulled back only slightly, his lips ghosting against the skin just beneath her ear, breathing her in. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest, fast and uneven, like he was trying to pull himself together. Then, without a word, he stepped away completely.

She blinked, dazed, lips swollen, breath ragged, barely able to stand on her own.

Yuta didn’t look back. He reached for the door, opened it, and slipped out like nothing had happened at all.

Then. The crowd screamed.

Music erupted from the main stage again, and it hit her all at once. He’d just gone back out. Back to performing like he hadn’t just had her pressed up against a table, like he hadn’t kissed her like she was the only real thing in the world.

Y/n stared at the door, stunned. Her hands trembled slightly as she reached up to touch her lips.

What the hell just happened?

Her thoughts were spinning so fast they barely made sense.

He kissed me.

He really kissed me.

Like he meant it.

Her heart was still hammering in her chest, her lips tingling, body still leaning against the edge of the table, giving her the support she needed at that moment. She wasn’t sure if she should laugh, cry, scream, or just melt into the floor. None of it felt real, except for the heat still clinging to her skin and the echo of his breath in her ear.

What the hell was that?

Was it just heat-of-the-moment? Was it some kind of high from the concert energy? Did he do this all the time?

No.

No, he looked for her. He talked to her. He came down that hallway, searching for her. That wasn’t random. That wasn’t nothing.

She took a deep breath, trying to ground herself, but the second she looked up, she stilled.

The TV in the corner of the room was on. Silent, but playing the live feed from the stage.

And there he was.

Yuta.

Dancing like nothing had just happened. Hair slightly messier than before, skin flushed, a half-smile tugging at his lips, which looked to have smears of her lipstick. 

Her stomach flipped.

Because she could see it now, between the jumping and flashing lights, he kept glancing towards the camera. Like he knew she was still watching. Still stunned. Still burning from the way he kissed her like he’d waited forever to do it.

And all she could think was…

What do I even do now?

-

She must've been zoning out the entire second half of the concert, because before she knew it, it was over.

She hadn’t moved from the spot Yuta left her in, still in the middle of the room, sitting on the edge of a table. The crowd, the music, the energy, it all felt distant. Like she’d been stuck in a daze, replaying that kiss on a loop in her mind.

The door opened behind her with a soft click. She turned her head slowly.

There he was.

Yuta. Posture relaxed, but eyes heavy as ever. He stepped inside, shutting the door behind him without a word. With each step he took closer, her pulse quickened.

"You missed the second half," he said, voice low, teasing.

"I-I watched it on the TV..." Y/n stammered, her voice barely more than a breath. Her brain still lagging, like she couldn’t catch up to the moment.

Yuta let out a soft chuckle and walked until he stood right behind her. He leaned down, resting one hand on the back of her chair, bringing his mouth close to her ear. His presence wrapped around her like a snake.

"I’ve got to finish some things up here," he murmured, his voice sending a shiver down her spine. "But I’ll have someone take you back to the hotel..."

A pause. The weight of silence hung between them for half a beat before he added, softer this time, "Wait for me."

The words echoed in her chest.

She didn’t move. Couldn’t.

Then, he leaned in even closer, pressing a kiss gently to the side of her head. She felt his breath against her skin as he lingered there for just a second longer, inhaling.

Her heart was thundering in her chest.

By the time he pulled away and slipped out of the room, she was still frozen in place, eyes wide, breath caught halfway, mind screaming What is happening to me?

-

She couldn’t even remember leaving the venue.

Everything between the moment Yuta left the room and now felt like a blur, like her body had been moving on autopilot while her mind stayed tangled up in the memory of his mouth on hers.

Now she was here, outside the hotel again. The car had already pulled up to the curb. The driver stepped out and opened the door for her with a polite nod.

Before she could thank him, he handed her an envelope.

“Your flight details and ticket,” he said simply. “He asked me to give it to you.”

She blinked, slowly accepting the envelope with both hands like it might burn her.

“…Thank you,” she murmured, her voice quieter than she expected.

He only gave a small smile before returning to the driver’s seat.

Clutching the envelope to her chest, she turned and stepped into the hotel lobby. Her heart was pounding harder with every floor the elevator climbed. And by the time she was standing outside Yuta’s room again, hand hovering over the door handle, her nerves were practically buzzing under her skin.

She stepped into the room, the now familiar scent of him hitting her instantly. The door clicked shut behind her, and she stood still for a moment, just breathing it in. It was quiet. 

She glanced around. The room looked exactly how she left it. Her eyes landed on the bed, then the chair in the corner, then the bathroom door.

Just her. 

Her fingers curled around the envelope in her hand as she wandered to the window, looking out at the city skyline. But she wasn’t really seeing it. Her thoughts were loud, too loud.

Was he thinking about that kiss as much as she was?

She sat down on the edge of the bed, bouncing slightly with the movement. Her leg bounced restlessly, nerves winding tight in her chest. The adrenaline from the night hadn’t worn off. If anything, it was worse, moved from excitement to something heavier.

Anticipation.

She kept checking the time on her phone. Every two minutes. Every time she heard movement in the hallway, she sat up straighter.

He’d said wait for me.

So she did.

Still wearing her concert outfit. Still dizzy with everything that had happened.

Still aching for whatever came next.

She tried waiting patiently. Really, she did. But after the tenth glance at her phone and what felt like the hundredth inhale of Yuta’s lingering scent in the sheets, her body refused to stay still.

She got up.

Started pacing.

Back and forth across the carpeted floor like an animal. She hated pacing, always had. But there she was, feet dragging along the same invisible path, nerves eating her alive.

But even that lost its usefulness.

“Ughhh,” she groaned, flopping onto the bed. Her arms sprawled wide, and she stared at the ceiling.

Just then–

Click.

She sat up.

The sound of a keycard being slid into the door. The heavy clunk of the lock opening.

Her eyes shot to the door.

It opened slowly…and there he was.

Yuta stepped in, hair a mess, shirt clinging slightly to his skin from sweat and the cool air outside. His eyes scanned the room and landed on her.

His smile was small, but there. She would have missed it she wasn’t so addicted.

And just like that, her breath caught in her throat.

Yuta moved toward her with that same calmness that made it impossible to look away. Y/n’s breath hitched as he made his way over, every slow step pushing her heart higher into her throat.

“Hopefully I didn’t make you wait too long…” he said.

Y/n shook her head quickly, as if she hadn’t been dying of anticipation just minutes ago.

“Good…” he murmured, a slow smirk tugging at his lips. “Can’t have my biggest fan waiting on me.”

Her pulse fluttered in her neck as he stood again, this time moving directly in front of her. One step, then another, until he was close, too close.

He stepped between her knees, standing tall as she sat on the edge of the bed, the space between them shrinking to nothing.

She tilted her head up to look at him, and the second their eyes met, she felt it. That look again. The one that was just a shade too dark. Intense. Possessive. Like he already knew she wouldn’t be walking away any time soon.

Yuta didn’t break eye contact as he leaned in, arms resting on either side of her, hands planted on the bed. She instinctively leaned back, and he followed, closing the space between them.

She could barely breathe. His scent, his body, his everything was overwhelming. And he hadn’t even touched her yet.

Was this really about to happen?

Y/n barely had time to finish the thought before Yuta's hand slid to the back of her head, his fingers threading through her hair with a gentle but commanding holding.

He didn’t hesitate. He pulled her in and kissed her just like before, like he needed it.

She melted into him instantly.

There was no space for doubt, no time to breathe. Just the press of his mouth against hers and the way he tilted her head just right to deepen the kiss.

Every second felt like it stretched forever, her body completely giving in as he kissed her into something hazy and breathless.

It wasn’t just a kiss, it was a claim. 

And God, she let him have all of her.

Yuta’s lips pressed harder against hers, stealing her breath like it belonged to him. His hand at the back of her neck held her steady, while his other slowly trailed down her side, ready to pull her clothes right off her.

Y/n’s heart pounded in her chest as he guided her back against the bed, his body following until he was above her. The world around her blurred, everything in her focusing on the feeling of his weight on her, the scent of him, the heat that seemed to build in her core.

He broke the kiss for a moment, looking down at her with something in his gaze, something dark, electric, and terrifyingly tender all at once.

"Is this what you wanted…is this what you hoped for when you started following me?" Yuta whispered, his voice low, hoarse, brushing hot against her ear.

Y/n's breath caught in her throat. Her cheeks flushed instantly, a rush of embarrassment crashing over her. God, she hadn’t expected this–him–any of it to become real. Not like this. Not in a hotel room, not with his body pressed against hers, not with his voice cutting through her like that. It was all a dream. A fantasy. 

But still…she couldn’t deny it.

She had followed him. Concert to concert. City to city. Holding onto every lyric like it was written just for her. Every glance from the stage had felt like it meant something, even if she’d told herself not to be delusional.

And now…he was here. Touching her. Looking at her like this.

“I…” she tried, but her voice failed her. She swallowed. “I would’ve followed you anywhere.”

The words slipped out too easily. Her heart pounded in her chest like a warning, but her eyes didn’t leave his.

Yuta stilled above her, the tension in his body shifting, like something had clicked. His gaze searched hers, more thoughtful now, the playfulness fading. His eyes…darkened, but not in a dangerous way, more like he was seeing something in her that she couldn’t see herself.

Her mind echoed one line, the words sitting on her tongue.

I’ll follow you until you love me.

This wasn’t just watching from the distance anymore. She meant it. And somehow, he knew that too.

Yuta sat still for a second longer, his thumb brushing gently along her jaw, more tender than before. Then a flicker of something crossed his face, something personal. Distant. Like he was suddenly elsewhere, no longer in this room, wrapped in a thought she couldn’t touch.

But just as quickly as it came, it vanished. He leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to her cheek, his lips lingering just long enough to leave her wanting.

“Be careful with that,” he murmured near her skin, almost too quiet to hear.

She blinked up at him, confused. But he said nothing more.

And in that moment, she didn’t know whether he was warning her, or himself.

Y/n didn’t know what else to say, not when her pulse was in her throat, not when her thoughts were a complete mess. So she didn’t speak, she simply pulled him back to her.

His hands slid beneath her clothes, never rushed, just intense. Every touch burned. Every breath between them felt heavier.

She arched into him, wanting more, and he gave her just that, more kisses, more touch, more of that energy that made her feel like the only thing that existed in his world.

As his mouth traced a path down her neck, her eyes fluttered in delight. The anticipation, the ache, it filled her to the point of no return.

He just stayed there, hovering close, his hand still resting along her jaw, thumb ghosting over her cheek. Then, slowly, he dipped his head lower, brushing the tip of his nose along her collarbone and chest.

Y/n froze, her breath hitching.

He inhaled deeply, not once, but twice. Slow. Deep.

“Fuck…” he whispered, breath shaking. “You smell like...”

He didn’t even finish his sentence as he took a deeper breathe. There was something in his tone, something possessive in the way his fingers gripped slightly into her waist. His lashes were low, his mouth just barely grazing her skin.

“None of that fake shit. No perfumes. No distractions,” he murmured, dragging his nose lightly from her chest to her stomach. “Just you. Mine.”

Y/n’s heart thundered in her chest. She just about missed what he said. Her hands trembled where they rested at her sides, unsure if she should pull him closer or push herself back.

Each press of his mouth left a ghost of heat in its wake, a slow unraveling of her senses. His nose pressed harder to her skin as he breathed her in, slow and deep.

She shivered under the weight of it.

Then, his hands slid to her sides, fingers spreading as he took hold of her waist. His palms were warm and with an aching slowness, they began to move upward. The thin fabric of her singlet gathered between his fingers as he lifted it inch by inch, his tongue now following the path he revealed.

Her heart pounded, skin tingling under every new inch of exposure. It wasn’t just the fact that he was undressing her, it was the way he did it. Worshiping. Devotional. Consuming. Like this moment had existed in his mind long before it had ever reached hers.

She felt bare before she even was.

Yuta’s tongue moved higher, leaving a wet trail of heat up her middle. Her eyes fluttered shut, breath caught in her throat as his hands pushed the shirt up and over her chest. Her thoughts spiraled, spinning in dizzying circles of disbelief and surrender.

God. How did she end up here? How did she get this lucky?

She didn’t even have time to answer the question. Because before she knew it, her cami was on the floor. 

Yuta came back up, his hands glued to her body, dragging along the newly exposed skin. Then his mouth found hers again.

The kiss was messy. Open mouth, tongue and all. With each breath she took between, his tongue darted in, meeting hers. 

He kissed her like he was trying to consume her, like every second away from her mouth was unbearable. She responded quickly, arms wrapping around his shoulders, fingers pulling on the fabric at his back. There was no time to think. Only feel.

Yuta pressed forward, his weight holding her and she felt all of him against her, the heat of his body, the raise and fall of his chest, the unmistakable hardness between his legs he didn’t bother to hide.

Her mind was screaming. There was nothing else. Just the crush of him above her, the slide of his lips and tongue against hers, the way he tilted his head just right to deepen the kiss, claiming more of her with every second.

It was far from clean, their noses bumped, her teeth grazed his lip, but that’s what she expected from Yuta, what she wanted. 

His hands moved again, gripping her face like he couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t feel enough. The bed creaked beneath them, every shift fueling the fire already burning wild in her veins.

This wasn’t a dream. This wasn’t a fantasy.

This was Yuta.

And he was starving for her.

Her fingers curling into the hem of his shirt, she tugged, just enough to make her want clear. Yuta pulled back slightly, lips still brushing hers as he huffed a breath of a laugh, and without a word, he peeled the shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

Her breath caught.

Stretched across his torso was the massive butterfly she’d seen at the concerts, black wings spanning from one side of his chest to the other, like fire in temporary ink. The same butterfly that bathed in lights from the concert hours ago now in front of her in the quiet of the hotel room. And up close, it was even more alluring.

But then her eyes drifted lower.

Just above the waistband of his jeans, barely visible, were two real tattoos, one on either side of his hips. Her eyes lingered there, tracing the lines. It was suddenly hard to breathe.

Yuta watched her with something like amusement. He liked the she was looking at him. 

And god, she couldn’t look away.

Yuta’s hands slid to her hips and he gently pushed her backward. The bed sheet moving softly beneath her as she leaned further to the middle of the bed. 

He followed her, climbing up onto the bed properly. The mattress dipped beneath his weight as he settled between her legs, gaze never leaving hers.

Then, wordlessly, he reached down.

His fingers gripped the heel of her boots, tugging them off one by one. The dull thud as they hit the floor echoed in the silence between them. Next came her skirt.

He hooked his fingers under the waistband, and with one slow pull, dragged it down over her hips and thighs. The fabric caught slightly at her knees, but it wasn’t hard for him to guide them off the rest of the way, yet another item on the floor. She was left beneath him, nearly bared and vulnerable, her chest rising and falling a little too fast.

The cool air of the room kissed her newly exposed skin, but all she felt was him. His hands, his eyes, his presence, it filled every corner of her world.

And when he looked at her again, still kneeling between her legs, there was something in his gaze that stole the breath straight from her lungs. She could barely name it as he dropped down, closer to her.

Yuta shifted to lay flat on his stomach beneath her. He hooked his hands beneath her thighs, lifting them gently and settling her legs over his shoulders. Then, with a firm grip, he wrapped his arms around the backs of her thighs and pulled her closer toward him, anchoring her against him.

Her breath caught, hard.

The intimacy of it all hit her like whiplash. The way his hands molded to her skin, the heat of his breath against her, the sheer proximity, it was overwhelming in the best, most intimidating way.

Her heart thundered in her chest. The weight of what was to come made her skin feel too tight, her body too aware. Every nerve was lit up, her thoughts tangled in a storm of disbelief and desire.

She knew what was coming.

And somehow, the knowing only made it worse. Better.

She wasn’t ready. She was so ready. 

Her hands gripped the sheets beside her, eyes wide and blurry as she looked down at him. Yuta’s gaze lifted to meet hers, dark and unblinking, like he could read every frantic thought running through her.

Yuta’s flickered down as he lowered his head, his breath warm and slow as it ghosted over the thin fabric covering her most vulnerable part. His eyes fluttered shut for a moment, like he was taking a moment just to savor her.

He inhaled deeply, and the sound alone sent shivers through her. Every muscle in her body tensed, her thighs instinctively tightening around him, only for his grip to keep her firmly in place.

She could feel the heat of his breath on her sensitive mound. It wasn’t rushed. He wasn’t rushing to it, he was taking his time, like this was something he’d wanted for far too long.

Yuta’s hands ran slowly along the sides of her thighs, steady and firm, as if to calm her…or claim her.

The tension was unbearable. And yet, she didn’t want it to end.

It was the way he leaned in slowly, that made her breath catch in her throat. When he pressed his face against her, she gasped softly, her hips flinching in surprise. The sensation wasn’t anything she was prepared for. The warmth of him. The closeness. The way he exhaled like he consuming her all over again.

What really made her brain stutter was the sound, subtle and deep, as he breathed her in. Like the scent of her alone was something he’d been aching for. It was so raw and vulgar that her mind couldn’t quite keep up.

And then, gently, he pressed a kiss to her through the fabric. Just one, but it lingered. Her whole body tensed, a wave of heat spreading through her chest and up her neck.

She squeezed her eyes shut, one hand flying to cover her mouth as she shifted instinctively beneath him. She was sensitive, impossibly so, with him on her like this. Yuta, her idol, her obsession, now real in the most impossible way.

She wasn’t sure how long she could last.

She should have expected the next sensation. A slow, hot pressure that moved up her clothed cunt. Her back arched before she could stop herself, a sound slipping from her lips, completely caught off gaurd.

Even through the fabric, it was insane. The warmth of him. The wet glide of his tongue as he dragged it up the center of her like he had all the time in the world.

Her fingers quickly moved to heir hair, knuckles pale as she gripped his locks. Her breath came short now, uneven. He must have been studying the way she responded with how he watched her.

She bit her lip, but the moan still escaped, quiet, shaky, and completely involuntary.

There was something dizzying about the contrast of the soft fabric between them and the heat of him pressing through it. It had her whole body humming, toes curling as the pressure built and her thoughts scattered to dust.

Her hips jolted before she could stop them, a soft cry slipping past out her as his lips closed over her. Even with the barrier of her underwear still between them, the sensation of his lips moving against her sent a pulse of heat through her entire body. 

She gripped his hair tighter, her mind was spinning, still unable to process the fact that this was real, that Yuta was here, doing this, to her.

And he was getting exactly what he wanted, every shift of her hips, every breathless noise he drew from her only seemed to make him more determined. Like her reactions were the only thing that mattered in the world.

It was when he started gently sucking through the fabric when her head fell back against the pillows as another wave rolled through her, leaving her trembling beneath him.

She was gone. Completely unraveling, and he hadn’t even really touched her yet.

“Why don’t we get all this out of the way?” Yuta’s voice came low as he pulled back slightly, eyes scanning her quickly.

Y/n could barely breathe. Panting, her skin flushed and trembled under his gaze.

He reached the clasp of her suspenders, unhooking them, the sound of the metal clips releasing far louder in the stillness than it had any right to be. With the suspenders now off, he left just her stockings, but unstead of removing them, his hands trailed lightly down them, brushing over her calves, her ankles, his tongue darting out teasingly as he did.

But it wasn’t until his fingers hooked around the waistband of her underwear that her heart stuttered.

She should’ve felt shy, maybe even nervous, but instead, she felt breathless and needy. Her fingers dug into her palms as he peeled the final barrier away from her skin, and a soft gasp escaped her when the cool air hit her now bare core. She hadn’t even realized how wet she was until that moment.

She was completely exposed now. And yet, under his touch, under his gaze, she didn’t feel small or afraid.

She felt wanted. Worshipped.

Yuta repositioned himself without any further words. Her stocking covered legs settled over his shoulders again, his hands reattached on her thighs. His face hovered close, so close she could feel the heat of his breath ghosting her wet opening.

Y/n’s entire body tightened. She’d never felt so ready yet so unprepared all at once.

Then he leaned in, placing a soft kiss just where she ached for him most, just as he did before. The warmth of his mouth made her shudder.

And then, he deepened.

Yuta’s movements were planned, like he knew exactly what she needed before they even hit the bed. As the pass of his tongue came, Y/n’s back arched again, a heavy gasp escaping her throat. Then he returned to kissing her throbbing bud.

It was like a cycle. A lick and a kiss. 

Each pass of his tongue through her folds brought pleasure, and each kiss to her clit brought warmth. 

When his lips wrapped around her bud and sucked, it was like her body forgot how to process anything else. The sensation pulled a sharp breath from her lips, her head tipping back against the pillows as a flurry of heat rushed through her.

Her thoughts scattered, completely undone by the way he moved. The room felt too warm, the air too thick, but none of it mattered. Not with him, there, with that kind of focus, with that kind of care.

She couldn’t even speak. Only feel.

Yuta pulled back, only slightly, lips glistening. His hands still gripped her thighs, holding her close, completely under his control, and he knew it.

His eyes flicked up to hers, half-lidded and burning with desire. A smile tugged at his lips, the kind that made her heart stutter and her breath hitch.

"You’re shaking," his voice was taunting, amused. "Barely touched you and you’re already falling apart."

He leaned in again, just close enough for her to feel the heat of his breath, but not enough to touch. Blowing air against her needy hole, she instinctively pusled and tightened, earning a chuckle from Yuta.

She let out the tiniest sound, a desperate noise from the back of her throat, and it only made him grin wider.

"That desperate for me already?" he whispered before pressing a kiss above her clit.

With one final flick of his tongue, Yuta pressed a kiss to her inner thigh before finally pulling back. Her breath caught as he rose, licking his lips and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes locked on hers the whole time.

Her chest heaved, body trembling, the cool air of the room doing little to settle the fire he’d started in her. Yuta stood up from the bed. Her eyes trailed him, completely captivated, as his fingers dropped to his belt. The soft sound of the buckle being undone echoed in the room. 

He didn’t break eye contact as he slid the belt from the loops, letting it fall with a quiet thud to the floor. There was something in his gaze that told her he had her right where he wanted her.

Before she could even fully take in the sight of him, Yuta was already moving. He climbed back onto the bed, and in a blink, he was on top of her. His hands found her sides, then he was there, chest against hers, lips capturing hers in a kiss that left no room for thought.

It was, yet again, messy, just how she liked it.

Her fingers curled into his back instinctively, needing something to hold onto as he pressed her down, his arms wrapping around her like he couldn't bear to let her go. There was a heat to him, not just his skin, but something that matched the rapid beat of her own heart.

Wrapped in his arms, surrounded by his scent and the weight of his presence, she felt like the world outside this bed didn’t exist.

She was so lost in the way he kissed herm that she barely registered how close their bodies had become. It wasn’t until the shift of his hips and the subtle but unmistakable feeling of his dick lining up with her opening. The warm press of him against her.

Her breath caught in her throat. She opened her eyes to look at him.

Yuta pulled back just enough to look back at her, his forehead resting against hers, his breathing as uneven as hers now. 

Was he as nervous as her, or was this just the high of sex?

That’s when she felt it, the slow push inside of her, filling her. A deep ache flittered in her stomach as he slid in and out of her. Yuta’s mouth found hers again, open and slow, swallowing her soft gasps with each kiss.  

With each thrust, Y/n felt like her body was floating. The weight of him, the warmth of him, the way he moved, it all felt so unreal. Like it was all make believe. 

When she wasn’t kissing him, she couldn’t stop looking at his face. His lashes low, his eyebrows furrowed, looking at her intensely. His hands, however, wouldn’t stay still. Holding her hips, gripping her her waist, brushing her cheek.

Yuta’s movement was steady, each pound sending sensations through her, her core tightening. Y/n gripped his arm, nails digging in slightly, trying to stay present. 

His hot breath on her neck, growing heavier by the second. She felt as he chuckled slightly.

“Still with me?” he murmured, voice rough and raw. 

She just had enough will to nod, but far to lost to speak. Still, he held her close. It was as if he knew what was going on inside her head before she did. 

“Mhmm, you feel that?” Yuta spoke between gasps. “That’s real..”

She leaned up, into him, trying to get a grip on reality. Kissing her cheek roughly, he kept thrusting into her. 

“You followed me..” he started. “City after city..and now you’re here..under me..”

Her heart launched at his words. How was he not utterly disgusted by her? 

“And I’m not letting you go. Not tonight.”

Yuta leaned in, his breath ragged and warm against her cheek. 

“Tell me..” he panted. “What are you?” 

The question sent a wave of nerves through her, though she already knew the answer he was looking for. 

“I-I’m your biggest fan,” she choked out, voice trembling with each thrust. 

A smirk pulled on his lips, but he wasn’t done. Still pounding into her, he continued. “And?”

Her heart was about to explode, her voice barely above a whisper as she spilled out her breathless confession. 

“I’ll follow you until you love me…” 

For a split second, Yuta’s movement stilled, his eyes burning into her. A look flashed past his eyes, something dangerous. Then, he smiled. 

Yuta was relentless, slamming into her at an infuriating pace. But that wasn’t the only thing relentless about him. The way he watched her, intensely waiting for her to come undone before him. Leaning down, he pressed a wet kiss to her jaw.

“Look at you..” he murmured against her jaw, “You like this..yeah, you’re liking this a lot.”

Y/n couldn’t even form a comeback, her brain was fogged. Every roll of his hips her core tightened, begging for release. 

“You want me to ruin you, don’t you?” Yuta taunted, his lips brushing her cheek. 

Her only answer was a desperate gasp and a whimper. He chuckled, smiling against her cheek. 

“Say it,” he whispered. “Tell me to ruin you.”

She could barely get a thought out, let alone speak coherently. Instead, she clawed into his back as a wave of pleasure overcame her. The feral look on his face told her he had no intentions on slowing down. 

And that’s what pushed her over the edge, her orgasm crashing down on her like a tsunami. Y/n felt her body tighten with the overwhelming high, her voice breaking as she shook, the world going blurry and warm.

Yuta didn’t stop, he rode through the storm, dragging it out until her legs trembled around him and he filled her with his seed. Then finally, he leaned down, forehead resting against hers, his chest rising and falling with hers.

“Still my biggest fan?” he asked, breathlessly.

Y/n let out a dry laugh, but nodded nonetheless. 

His grin widened. “Good.” When Yuta finally pulled back, his breath was ragged as he looked down at her. His eyes raked over her flushed face, red cheeks, the way her chest rose and fell with each deep breath, the way his essence dripped out of her. She looked like a wreck, yet, it was a beautiful sight to see. It made his chest tighten, but that wasn’t something he’d ever admit. 

He ran a finger across her forehead, pushing back a piece of hair before dragging his finger down her cheek. His eyes lingers softly for a beat too long. 

Then, without a word, he collapsed down beside her, letting out a long groan and an arm flung over his eyes lazily. The silence settled over the two of them, nothing but the sound of breathing filling the room. 

Y/n blinked at the ceiling, brain still trying to catch up, heart still thuding in her chest. She could feel the heat of his body radiating beside her, the weight of the moment sinking in. 

What just happened?

The entire night played in her head like a movie she couldn’t pause, from the moment she was stopped that morning, to now…lying next to the very person she’d once only watched from a screen. Her idol. Her obsession. Now real, warm, and a little too close to comprehend.

It felt insane. Completely unhinged, even. This wasn’t supposed to happen to people like her. This was the kind of thing you dreamed about, not lived. And yet, here she was. Sweaty, dazed, probably bruised, and so, so alive.

Just as her mind began to spiral again, she felt the bed shift.

Yuta turned onto his stomach with a soft sigh, his head facing away from her, and casually dropped his arm across her middle. The weight of it landed right above her stomach.

Her thoughts vanished.

Blank.

Every nervous question, every surreal thought, gone. Like his hand had flipped a switch, quieting everything.

She swallowed, glancing down at where he touched her. He was still half out of breath, sprawled like he had nothing in the world to worry about. Meanwhile, she couldn’t even remember how to breathe.

Her fingers hovered uncertainly for a second…before she let them rest lightly on his forearm.

Whatever this was, whatever it meant, she wasn’t going to question it. Not yet.

She just wanted to exist in it. With him. For now.

The exhaustion had finally started to weigh on her. The adrenaline, the nerves, the overwhelming tidal wave of emotions, it all caught up with her at once. 

Y/n blinked slowly, her eyes growing heavier by the second. Yuta’s arm was still slung over her, it was getting harder to fight the pull of sleep. 

She let her head lull to the side, eyes fluttering shut, her breathing starting to slow. She didn’t even register the soft rustle beside her, the slight lift of Yuta’s head as he shifted to look at her. 

His eyes landed on her face, now relaxed and peaceful. Her lips slightly parted, lashes resting against her flushed cheeks. He didn’t say anything, just watched.

She was already asleep, she hadn’t noticed his gaze. And he didn’t move.

He just lay there, watching her breathe. For the first time that night, everything was quiet. 

-

The light that filtered through the room cast a hazy warmth over the room. Y/n stirred, her body stretching under the sheets. A dull ache settled in her limbs, not painful, but a reminder of the night before.

For a moment, she smiled to herself, eyes still closed. The memory of the night flooded her memory. She wasn’t ready to let go.

But then something felt off.

She reached out, hand brushing over the cold surface of the the bed beside her. 

Empty. 

Her eyes opened. 

Yuta’s side was vacant, cold with no trace of warmth. Her gaze darted around the room in confusion, he chest tightening. 

She sat up. The room was looking too clean. 

The clothes that had been tossed onto the floor, gone. The shoes by the door, gone. The phone charger plugged into the wall, the smell of him, all of it, gone. 

Her heart sank, a sick hollowness blooming inside her.

He was gone. 

No note. Barely a sign. 

Y/n’s fingers curled into the sheet in her lap, mind racing. Had she imagined the whole thing? No…no! It happened! She could still feel the weight of his touch lingering on her skin, his voice in her ear.

But now the silence in the room was deafening.

-

comments and reblogs are appreciated A/N: Thank you so much for reading, hopefully it won't take too long to get through the other two parts, but knowing me, it could be 💀

[andhumanslovedstories]

If You Don't Have Store-Bought Character Growth, Homemade is Fine (chapter 15)

Luo Binghe knew he had demonic heritage. As he got older, his blood's influence became more and more apparent. He embraced the power it gave him and tried hard to stomp down everything else. His attraction was disgusting, violent, possessive, frightening—nothing Shizun could possibly tolerate. Nothing Shizun deserved. To win Shizun’s love, it was not enough to get older and attain glory, though both were essential parts of Luo Binghe’s elaborate forty-part seduction plan. Luo Binghe needed Shizun to feel safe. Hearing that Luo Binghe dreamed of ripping open his own chest and tucking Shizun within his ribs and viscera  so that no one could ever hurt him again was not what would make Shizun feel safe. 

(“Hey kid,” Meng Mo had said after that dream. “What the fuck.”)

ch 15 of ??? (but my current outline says 22) on AO3

So much dvd commentary:

This chapter is, astonishingly, exactly how I outlined. Some of the sections are in different places, but I managed to get through without adding another POV, introducing a new subplot, or going into such detail that I had to split the chapter in half. It IS about 8,000 words, but it's still one chapter. That's a win in my book.

With this chapter, I hit a total word count of about 85,000 with the first chapter posted in August. That's about 14,000 words a month. Fourteen thousand words, by the way, was my original lestimate for the whole thing. My new wordcount goal is to not double my wordcount before the story is over. In theory, that 85,000 represents about 2/3s of the story, but also I know how my long fic tendencies work. The later chapters always get longer and longer and longer.

The first chapter of Homesick (total word count 118,000) is 4k words. The last chapter of Homesick (not counting epilogue) is 16k. Character Growth fic has so many plot and character threads I want to wrap up. That's the thing about doing a canon rewrite (A PARTIAL CANON REWRITE. I'M NOT DOING ALL FOUR BOOKS)--I want to address all the parts of canon that would be affected by this AU. And then there's the stuff I invented for the fanfic, which also need to be resolved.

The increasing length and detail is the result of the stories being an evolving work in progress. I've always known the ending of the story and the very broad strokes of how we're getting there, but the details that texture the story develop as I'm actually writing. That means I'm adding stuff to current chapters because I find them interesting but also because I might need them later. The reason this fic has gotten so long is because I want big moments to feel like they had good buildup, but I'm not always sure what will be most useful for those big moments before I'm actually writing the scenes in context. So I want to have multiple elements I can draw upon, but I don't want those elements to feel unresolved if they never appear again. Like Yao Lijuan, for example. I wasn't sure if I'd need her again in a later chapter, so I tried to write her previous sections in a way where I could either bring her back as a pov character or keep her as a fairly simple joke.

Ocs in general are one of the most versatile tools I have for making narrative choices while still keeping my options open. It's so delightful to me when people comment that they like my OCs in chapters where the OCs are prominently featured, because I think very heard about how to give them a narrative purpose that couldn’t be filled by a canon character. I want to have a reason that I’m not just writing like Ning Yingying here instead. I'm aware fanfic is for fun and I can do whatever I want, but I find it really fun to deal with the challenge of "justifying" an original character.

Yao Lijuan was originally conceived because I wanted to show an outside POV on this timeline's Shen Qingqiu and on Qing Jing Peak in general. I also use Liu Qingge (and to a smaller degree Mu Qingfang) as outside POVs, but they're both Shen Qingqiu's peer. I wanted an outside POV from a younger geneartion disciple talking to other disciples, so I invented a feral ten-year-old girl from a rival peak. In addition to her filling this POV role I wanted, her voice is also SUPER useful to me. She's blunt, shameless, and knows what she wants. It's so easy to keep conversations and action moving with her because she just plows forward as reasonable characters try to keep up. She's the younger generation equivalent of LQG in that way, except with none of the relationship baggage.

That's the main reason I have certain OCs in this story. For the story I have in mind, I want SQQ to have relationships and conversations that don't have the weight of canon attached to them. There are things I want SQQ to do, say, or think that would be a lot harder if he’s interacting with someone who has set characterization and relationships. Like sometimes you don’t want to think about Ming Fang’s interior life.

Yao Lijuan emerged to be an outside POV disciple because I wanted to show how the younger generation views the new SQQ. She’s also there to characterize Bai Zhan Peak culture. Interacting with her in turn characterizes Qing Jing culture. The relationship between Bai Zhan and Qing Jing has ended up being more prominent than I originally anticipated, because that relationship functions as a representation of both Shen Qingqiu and Liu Qingge's relationship and as Cang Qiong versus Shen Qingqiu in general. The canon presents LQG and SQQ as bitter enemies prior to transmigration at which point LQG gets so down bad. I wanted that present in a lesser degree between the peaks themselves. Enemies to people who hang out together an inexplicable amount.

The OCs narrative need molds their personality, sometimes drastically from my original idea. The previous Qing Jing head disciple evolved as in response to what I needed to show about canon characters. In the originally posted version of her first appearance, she was straight up the peak lord. I snuck back in and retconned that when I realized that I wanted a foil for head disciple Shen Jiu, not Peak Lord Shen Qingqiu. Shen Jiu was originally going to kill her, but I thought that was too evil. Then she was going to die off-screen so he could become head disciple, but then I thought it was too easy.

I also thought about how if I want him ousting her to be a character moment with SJ that had weight to it, then Dai Qinglai should to be more sympathetic. But I’d already written her as affably abrasive and openly skeptical of SJ. I’d written it that way to compare to LBH’s tea ceremony with SQQ. So what way do I want her relationship with SJ to contrast with LBH and SQQ’s? I liked SJ seeing enough of himself in DQL and LBH that he can’t control his bitterness and envy. If they are like him, what would it mean if they were happy or successful and he wasn’t? Either something is wrong with him or something is wrong with the world, and he believes whichever version brings him the most satisfaction.

At the same time, I’m trying to figure out why Dai Qinglai is the one to welcome SJ? I was like, okay maybe the actual lord is absent so she’s in running the peak. The next question is if she’s doing a good job. I decided yes so she would be a genuine threat to SJ’s aspirations. Then since I was writing this in between scenes with Ming Fan, I shaped her so that she would be an interest foil to him. She’s someone who is considered by her shizun to be remarkable but too withholding and sly. She doesn’t like or respect her master. Meanwhile Ming Fan is a dedicated SQQ flunky, completely loyal and desperate to please. This isn’t not a major element on page in the outline, but I keep this comparison I’ve drawn in mind when I write Ming Fan and SQQ. Ming Fan’s narrative needs shape her character.

I also realized that I could pull in more of Shen Jiu's sexual trauma. I didn't want to write him as a sexual predator (again, I think that would be a bridge too far) but I wanted to show him inflicting his traumas upon others by betraying her in a way that relies upon sex work. He’s aware that she did a brave thing in being open about her past with him, and he cannot accept her doing that because he cannot conceive of reciprocating. He is misunderstood because he wants to be. He is incapable of the vulnerability of openness. And since Shen Jiu visiting brothels is such a big part of his character, I knew that we’d inevitably have a scene in a brothel, I just didn’t know when, so I did myself a favor by giving myself material to build on later.

Chapters later, when I wanted to flesh out the history of the previous generation in Liu Qingge's, I already had a character that I could use that was connected to Shen Jiu. Since Liu Qingge is reflecting on/responding to new knowledge about SJ being abused, it made sense for him to think about someone willing to say another peak is harboring an abuser. We see Dai Qinglai as the only person standing up to a repeat predator in the sect, and that this action is neither successful nor popular. That something about her but also about Liu Qingge for the way he recounts it and sect politics in general.

Plus, she had only been seen from SJ’s pov. SQQ is such an unreliable narrator and I want to constantly draw attention to that, which means multiple narrators dealing with the same or similar events, noticing different traits than he would and offering different opinions.

Besides just wanting to give Liu Qingge narrative space to react to the last chapter, I wanted to zoom out to look at the sect as a whole. Part of the issue of Original Shen Qingqiu was that he had no checks on his actions. His misconduct and abuse is tolerated. Additionally, Luo Binghe is bullied by basically everyone. Both of those speak to a more systemic problem than just one cruel peak lord. I could characterize the sect and LQG through this recounting of failed attempts to check an abuser’s actions through proper process and the ultimate solution of circumventing the official process to just beat the shit out of the guy.

I could have used a canon character in that role, but none of them were perfect. MQF didn’t have the right personality, Yue Qingyuan would have required giving the event more narrative weight than I wanted, and the other canonical peak lords haven’t really come up. And I knew that the next chapter or two was going to involve the brothel, and that DQL was going to be connected to the brothel, so if she was the character challenging LQG, then I can further characterize her which characterizes SJ by proxy for his decision to betray her AND remind people that she exists before she became plot relevant again.

That’s how plotting and characterization usually works for me. I like it when any given detail is able to serve at least four different needs. And thinking about narrative purpose and intent rather than specific plot actions helps me get out of ruts. Makes me thinking on a structural level.

I hope these are interesting to read, btw. I love hearing how authors think about their stories and find it very useful for my own writing. I'm not trying to like "explain how to read the story" or anything like that, but to show (some of) the reasoning that goes on behind the scenes for people like me who find the mechanics of writing fascinating.

[hazel-tanthamore22]

Meeting the Kats

Megan Skeindel x baemon!8thmember!freader

Sypnosis: Since the kats are doing promotions in korea, theyre currently at the hybe building and Megan wants you to meet the kats, despite it feeling absolutely never wracking, you'll do anything for your girl.

A/n: gonna miss ginger Megan. Reader is 18. Barely proofread, bear with me pls

You sigh heavily before getting up from the couch and turning to Ruka and Pharita, who were sitting on the floor doing God knows what.

"Unnies, I'm going out" You say as you walk towards the door to wear you shoes, grabbing your hoodie and keys from the kitchen island and caot rack.

Pharita nods and Ruka hums, signifying they've heard you. You exit the dorm, going down to the car. The drive to the hybe building is gut wrenching, your nerves feeling like they're about to short curcuiting.

You pull up to the building, tapping your foot nervously on the break as you reconsider your desicion. You eventually gather some courage and step out of the car and stepping into the building.

"Hi im here for katseye" you say to the lady at tge front desk. "Floor 16 door 12" she replies, barely looking up from her documents, she knows its you tho because you have a very distinct voice. Maneuvering through the building was easy, seeing as you've been here multiple times for dance challenges with the hybe artists.

The elevator ride up is spent evaluating what you would say, second guessing yourself and overall think so much you don't even remember walking to the door and knocking, till you're faced with a straight faced Filipina eyeing you up and down as if judging you.

"Oh hello" you quickly stutter out and bow. "Sophia stop scaring her" you hear the familiar voice of your girlfriend as she nudges Sophia out of the door way and hugs you. You quickly hug back, burying your face in the older's neck.

She pulls away from you and looks you in your eyes. "Don't let them intimidate you ok, you'll be fine" she whisper before placing a kiss on your cheek. Someone clearing their throat interrupts your moment with her.

She pulls away from you before she turns around, holding your hand and practically drags you into the dorm. "Y/n the girls, girl, Y/n" she points at each respective person when introducing you guys. "Hello it's nice to finally meet you" you say nervously as you bow.

You stand straight keeping your eyes on you and Megan's interlocked hands. "What are your intentions with Megan" Sophia asks as she looks solely at you. "My intentions are totally pure, to shower uer with love and gifts and whatever meets her standards nothing less" you say genuinely as you meet her eyes.

"What makes you think you deserve her" Yoonchae asks, being her usual sassy self. "Yoonchae" Megan warns. "It's fine love" You assure her, squeezing her hand. "I don't think I deserve, but she believes I deserve her, so thats what ill go by" you reply to Yoonchae and she let's out, what seems to be a satisfied hum.

"Alright you've proved yourself, but if you hurt Megan, you'll be hearing from all of us" Lara, who's been uncharacteristically quiet, says. Manon and Dani just nod along with the others.

You let out a breath you didn't even know you were holding and nod. "I promise I'll treat her right" You reply with a small smile. "You better" Manon and Dani say at the same time, causing a few giggles.

Day turns into Night as the kats keep interrogating you, bit it's less tense, as the Kats try to get to know you better. After some more questions, Megan drags you to her room. Laying down with you and cuddling you.

"I told you you'd be fine" she mumbles as she places a gentle kiss to your collarbone. You hum in response, threading your fingers through her hair. "They were still scary" you mumble into her hair.

She pulls away and looks up at you with her signature smile and places a lingering kiss on you lips. You reciprocate before she pulls away with a smile. "No matter what they would've said I would've still loved you" she says pecking you before cuddling up to you chest. "I love you too " you murmur as you both fall asleep.

[kantocamping]

Kichijiro. He/Him or They/Them. 40s. Fluent in JP + ENG, semi-fluent in FR.

Experienced pokemon trainer and studying ornithologist at Oak Labs + Celadon City University. Currently making a living selling/trading pokemon professionally. Living in my RV by choice. Used to be a competitive non-circuit battler, but I only do it casually these days.

Currently researching farfetch'd and its evolution(s), focusing on the possibility of a Japanese region evolution. Check out my papers on OakNet; some are translated into English, some are not.

My current team consists of pidgeot, noctowl, psyduck, delibird, farfetch'd, and rowlet. Feel free to ask about them as well.

// ooc

hiiii <3 my name is kristopher!! he/him + 22 :] i'm an enviro science/agriculture student, avid birder, and passionate hiker + camper!! please keep in mind that i'm a white american trying to portray a japanese man as best i can; feel free to let me know if i get anything wrong or do anything insensitive!! i am not fluent in japanese (though im studying it!) so expect typos and mistakes when i write in it.

the pokemon lore i go with is based on a mixture of the games, anime, and comics, alongside my own headcanons that i've come up with over the years!! i'm totally okay with people interacting who have differing and even totally contradicting hcs to my own!! it's all in good fun.

that said, generally some baseline 'rules' (and i use the word loosely) that'll likely come up often enough i go with are:

pokemon are typically more intelligent than real animals and are treated as such. they have an understanding of human concepts that real animals don't, and can even communicate now and again. however, even humanoid pokemon still have animalistic behaviors, since they're not humans.

while multiple universes do exist, kichijiro is generally unaware of and skeptical about this concept. most direct references to this will be glossed over and not taken seriously by him. i generally just don't really like storylines like this and probably won't engage in them.

legendary pokemon are provably real, but rarely seen, and never documented as being captured by trainers. i won't ignore characters that have legendaries, but this won't be referenced outside of direct interactions! pseudo-legendaries are just considered to be very rare.

team rocket (which kichi is totally not in) is generally a more realistic crime syndicate that does genuinely awful shit aside from just stealing pokemon.

i reference real life places alongside the places established in the pokemon universe! they both exist in my universe. ie kanto is a part of japan, unova is part of the us, etc etc.

please keep the following in mind when interacting with me!

content warning: this blog may at any time contain themes of smoking, drinking/alcoholism, drug use, suicidal thoughts, pokemon death/abuse, veterinary practices, organized crime, guns, and non-canon typical violence. bolded topics will always be tagged! please let me know if you want anything else to specifically be tagged.

pelipper mail is on, but please don't go crazy with it, i'll just ignore it if i don't know what to say or think it's not going to be fun for me. magic anons are off.

fallers and sentient pokemon are fine to interact

i'm totally down to write literate threads if anyone wants! i love long-form writing and am more than happy to plot something out.

kichijiro is not a nice man! he's trying to be better, but he's a generally rude person who's done a lot of bad things in his life and has been in rough circles for over 20 years. he might be mean, but this doesn't reflect my thoughts on you/your character at all!! if this upsets you, please just let me know.

if you have ANY issues with me please please PLEASE bring them up to me in dms!!! i'm always willing to talk things out, and i'll never freak out on you or whatever :]

[damnfandomproblems]

Fandom Problem 9217 generated a lot of replies so I'm going to round them all up in one spot here. And because I see this as being one that could potentially go on forever, I'm going to ask that all replies be handled as comments on existing posts.

Anon:

Hi, OP here. I'm from Canada, dude. Nice try though.

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Anon:

Lol, of course the one person who assumed the submitter is American when the entire world has kinda been blowing up the last few years is the person with the EXACT poll-type scam posts that the submitter is talking about. Friendly reminder: people have problems with their own countries even if they aren't in the US. Also: this problem was probably submitted like a year or two ago, before the total firestorm in the US with the orange turd. Also: Your bigotry is showing.

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Anon:

Going down the rabbit hole in the post notes here is a trip. A person in the comments assumes OP is from the USA, then you go to their blog where (apparently) OP tells them they're from Canada, then the person goes on a rant: are you fucking shitting me. for real? you think ‘actually, im not from the us im from canada 🤓☝️’ is a good reason to let palestinians die? canada? you think being canadian is worse than being palestinian? you think you’re suffering more? canada? oh my god poor you, it’s so hard to be canadian. fucking canada?? canada???? This is like quintessential tumblr. It sounds like the Miette meme. I'm dying. I don't know whether I should cry too.

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Anon:

Did the person commenting in 9217 forget their meds or something. Unplug. Go outside. You're severely grass deficient.

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Anon:

In response to the "usamerican spotted" comment thread You really gonna call someone else a cunt while being xenophobic towards both Americans and Canadians? I hope you're just a troll, I don't want to believe someone that stupid exists.

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Anon:

"A xenophobe denying the personhood of Palestinians" is a wild ass, chronically online take for a post that just says they're burned out and don't want to get tricked into reading posts that are, like it or not, usually scams.

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Anon:

Hi, OP of 9217 here. Since there seem to be multiple people assuming I'm American, I just want to say, again: I am Canadian. Stop assuming everyone who mentions the state of their country is American. Or that everyone who is stressed out is American. Between our maple MAGA, Proud Boys, and racism, we've had a massive radical problem here for years, and it's only getting worse. I've been profiled. I've been followed to my car. I've been threatened with swatting. We have hate groups trying to ban books from our libraries. We have a TFW program that companies left and right have been exploiting, and leaving hundreds of thousands of people without properly-compensated work despite months of full-time searching, and abusing the employees they do hire. We have a healthcare crisis, and you can't get life-saving medicine fast enough. Our cost of housing is through the roof. Even after I found a job, I couldn't afford to live where I grew up, so I had to move back to a province where you're completely isolated from literally everything unless you can afford a car. That shit is expensive. We're threatened with constant talk of annexation from our neighboring country. Everything is up in the air. We haven't seen this much instability in decades. If you think "a Canadian can't be stressed out" for some ungodly reason, maybe because oh, joy, we have free healthcare, which is great if you don't need surgery yesterday and can afford to wait a year in a massive backlog, and a year for a damn referral, sure, that's great. I'd rather be in debt than die. So forgive me, and everyone else who understsnds that submission, for not wanting to deal with more shit. There are starving kids in Africa, there are people dying in genocides. We all know. Forcing ourselves to never take a reprieve from the shit news doesn't help them, or you, it only helps you feel better about your own uselessness, and I'm a pragmatic, not an idiot. There is still an invasion happening in Ukraine and problens in Uyghur, and some of you have been awful quiet about those because all you care about is clicking a button for the current Thing. Miss me with that.

Hi, crap, I'm OP of 9217 and I meant to say Xinjiang, not Uyghur in my ask. Is it possible to add this to that compilation post? Won't respond to anyone else either way, I've said my piece.

[halloween4life]

The Orange Side is going to represent Impulsiveness and the rest of y'all are wrong: a thread

For obvious reasons the title of this post is a joke. But anyway, hi hello. I wanted to talk about my theory of what I think the Orange Side is gonna be! Now this post is going to be looong so for the sake of everyone it's going to be put under the cut.

Disclaimers that I want to get out of the way now: I have just recently re-entered the fandom and I haven't been into Sanders Sides in years. I'm not a Patreon supporter nor do I have Twitter so I lack any information that may have been revealed there. Also I am still in the process of rewatching the series. So as of now, I don't really have a complete understanding of the series. I apologize if I get anything wrong, and if any of this puts you off, totally valid.

Oh also, general spoilers for like, anything Sanders Sides related but specifically Working Through Intrusive Thoughts (if you still somehow have not watched it). Honestly I recommend watching it before reading this as a refresher, because most of this theory is based around/supported by that video. It's like, really the only foundation for this theory as I don't really delve much into the other episodes.

First things first, I am going to lay down some rules on what the Orange Side could represent:

1) The concept needs to in some way be the "opposite" of logic. Realistically this doesn't have to be the case in the series, but based on how the other Dark Sides function, it makes the most sense for now.

2) The concept needs to be generally considered negative for them to be considered a Dark Side.

3) Whatever they represent needs to REALISTICALLY make sense as an aspect of C! Thomas' identity. I think a lot of people forget that the Sides are that, Sides of a whole person. So I tried my best to make that work.

Now, with that out of the way,,,I'm going to "debunk" some theories first. Yes sorry there is a lot of set up to this theory, but I feel like it's important. Also, reminder, if you believe in either of the theories I am going to debunk, that is TOTALLY 100% VALID! I'm just going to discuss why I don't think they work, so this is all just my opinion!

Theory 1: The Orange Side represents Rage

I'm pretty sure this is the most popular theory right now, and I know a lot of people also disagree with it. I think this one mostly came about because our only real evidence of the Orange Side is through Logan's anger fueled outbursts in WTIT and Learning New Things About Ourselves. While I definitely understand this line of thinking, I don't think it's right.

First and foremost, it breaks the third rule set up earlier. Again, all these characters are facets of Thomas' personality. And from what we've seen of him, it just doesn't make sense with his personality. Now, again, this could obviously be different in the series, we could learn that this is actually his rage and he's just been repressing it, but I doubt that'll be the case. (Also I feel like this could break the first rule but I don't know how to explain why).

Secondly, and I just think that rage in and of itself is just, way too specific of a concept to be represented by a side. This kinda works in tandem with the first point, since again, it just doesn't seem that large of an aspect of Thomas that it would be represented by its own side. As well, all the other sides represent either much larger concepts or multiple at a time. For instance, Logan, Patton, and Roman represent logic, morality, and (good) creativity respectively. While Virgil and Janus do represent anxiety and deceit, those titles are rather reductive, as they also represent vigilance and self-preservation respectively. (Really I think we need to talk more about the fact that Janus is canonically Thomas' self-preservation but is really only viewed as "deceit"). Remus is a fun case as although he is viewed as "intrusive thoughts", he as a whole represents the bad side of creativity. TLDR: Rage is too specific a concept to be its own side.

Theory 2: The Orange Side Represents Emotion

Okay I'm going to be honest, I've only seen one person on here with this theory (and for the life of me I can't remember their name). But I just want to say that if you are reading this, this isn't me calling you out or anything (honestly I really agreed with your theory until I came up with this one). If I remember correctly, this theory is more built on the Orange Side being an opposite to logic, and how emotions tend to cloud logic, similar to the reasoning for rage.

I think this theory most obviously breaks rule 2. Now emotions as a whole do have the capacity to be bad, I think the concept of just emotion is not generally considered bad. Definitely not enough for it to be considered along with the Dark Sides. It's simply too big of a concept to be either "good" or "bad".

On that subject, I think this theory has a similar issue to the rage theory, but in the opposite direction. While rage was too specific, emotions are waaay too broad to just be one singular side. Especially given that all of the current sides have some sway over Thomas' emotions. And it's also possible that this side would be considered too close to Patton. While yes, it is not explicitly stated that he is in charge of Thomas' emotions, he definitely has the most sway over them. Ultimately, I think this theory is just too vague to work.

Okay, now with that all out of the way, let's get into my actual theory. So,

Why do I think the Orange Side will represent Impulsiveness?

I'm going to start this off by comparing my claims to the rules I made up. Because tbh, that's how I came to the conclusion in the first place before I started finding evidence to support it (but isn't that how all good hypotheses work?)

1) Does impulsiveness act as a counter to logic?

According to Merriam-Webster's dictionary, Impulsive is defined as "prone to sudden illogical changes of mind, ideas, or actions". Now I was gonna go on a big explanation of how they are opposites but it literally says illogical in the definition. So uh, yayy 🎉🎉🎉

2) Is impulsiveness seen as a negative thing?

Now, truthfully there is no way for me to prove that impulsiveness is either "good" or "bad". That being said, I feel like a lot of people generally view impulsiveness as a bad thing. While in small amounts it can be seen as good and fun, the more frequently you engage in impulsive behaviors, the more destructive it can become. Often leading to bad decision making, i.e. avoiding work, making big financial decisions without much thought, and generally just doing what you want over what may be important.

3) Does this fit within Thomas' personality?

Yes. It has been shown time and time again that Thomas has an issue with his impulsive behaviors. Oftentimes manifesting in him avoiding chores and general self-care in favor of doing something easy or entertaining. The most clear example of this being the video "Growing Up." While yes, most of these decisions are made due to Patton, it's not entirely uncommon for the sides to be affected or swayed by the others. (Also if I'm being honest, I don't think it entirely fair to analyze the earlier episodes with the same critical lens as the later ones, it's definitely not fair to Thomas (the real Thomas) to criticize the early episodes for not perfectly aligning with later lore).

Now, finally, we can get into some evidence to support all these claims I'm making. First things first, as of right now Logan and the Orange Side are one in the same. We haven't been given any proof that they are at least physically different beings (unless you want to count the orange eyes in the Sanders Sides anime intro parody). So all of our evidence is just Logan acting really out of character. So, where does Logan act impulsively?

Our first major incident of this (I'm pretty sure) is in the episode "Learning New Things About Ourselves", specifically the scene where Roman essentially pisses him off so much that he throw's a crumpled up note card at him. Most important is his reaction afterwards, being shocked at himself.

He was basically pushed so far that he reacted without thinking (impulsively some may say? ok I'll stop, I'm sorry). Which, obviously, is EXTREMELY out of character for him. He is logic, he is supposed to think first before he acts, go through possible scenarios and decide the most favorable outcome. Yet, here he loses all control.

Our next example is less of Logan acting impulsive and more so how I believe his actions are affecting Thomas. In the episode "Working Through Intrusive Thoughts", Thomas basically spends the whole time being tormented by Remus because he can't keep his mind off of the risky text he sent Nico (I'm aroace but I'm gonna assume valid? So real?). While Logan is simultaneously trying to keep Thomas on schedule, accommodate his struggles, and accommodate Remus' actions as part of Thomas' identity. Basically, it's a lot, and when he's finally at his limit, well

Yeahhhh, a certain something makes itself known. And while Logan doesn't act particularly irrationally or impulsively in this moment (literally all he does is yell at Remus), it is what Thomas does after this outbreak that I find interesting. As immediately afterward he gets a call from Nico, inviting him out. And given the choice between what he has planned to do and needs to get done for the day, vs spending the day with Nico?

He decides suddenly to just drop everything he is doing for Nico. A rather impulsive decision if you ask me. And while yes, technically none of what Thomas was doing needed to get done that day (it was mostly chores), it was part of a plan and he promised himself to stick to it. Logan doesn't react well to any of this, both his own outburst and Thomas deciding to just leave him behind like it's nothing. And I don't think it's gonna spell anything good in the future for Logan and the rest of the gang.

So, where does that leave us now?

Well, moving a bit on to what I think is going to happen next. Obviously things are going to get worse before they get better. Logan will fall more and more into impulsive behaviors, which will only become more destructive for Thomas. As well, I think (hope, pray) that there will be some sort of team up between Logan and Remus. They're the only sides who I think could "properly" get along (I know that Janus and Remus have some sort of friendship, but it can only work so well as Janus being self-preservation can only really run counter to Remus' intrusive thoughts). Most likely they will feed into each other in a horrible cycle of "I can make him worse." I don't think that would be either of their genuine intentions, as I don't like labeling the Dark Sides and "bad", but I definitely don't think they would be good for each other. I do also think this will come about because Remus either knows or understands something about Logan that the others don't, not even Janus. As well I do hope that Logan and the Orange Side are one in the same somehow, and not just Logan being influenced.

Anyway, sorry for the insanely long post and sorry if it started to devolve towards the end. I am quite literally writing this on no hours of sleep, so give me a bit of grace. Also, another sorry if I have gotten anything wrong or if I have missed something. It has been very long since I've engaged with Sanders Sides, but I'm trying my best. Anyway, thank you for coming to my ted-talk, I hope Logan gets to commit murder in the next episode.

[antimony-medusa]

Ao3 Wrapped

I like numbers so here I am delving into my works again!

__

Overall stats for 2024!

User Subscriptions: 218

Kudos: 1,703

Comment Threads: 376

Bookmarks: 479

Subscriptions: 126

Word Count: 186,620

Hits: 186,620

That's a decrease on most metrics, but my word count is very comparable to last year, and I had no idea my subscription count had broken 200! Cool! Especially as I wrote some kind of out there fics this year, I'm very touched by that people want to stick around. I feel like I also do kind of absurdly well for comments, so thank you guys for that.

Fun Stats: 

Fics Published: 25, including one on anon, for 186,620. This is down from last year's 31, but my word count last year was 198,621, so we're pretty damn close!

Number of One-Shots: 22— It was another year of going hard on exchanges, and that encourages one-shots! Of those, 14 were under five thousand words, so I'm pretty pleased with my objective of learning to write short was actually enacted, when I was experiencing deadline pressure!

Number of Multi-Chapters: 3 total, and one still unfinished. I didn't start any new ongoings and leave them unfinished this year, but I still have multiple languishing from 2022, and I didn't finish the one of those I was working on this year, so— augh. I need to stop doing events and finish some of those ongoings! But events are so good...

Number of Inspired Works: 3, because I participated in recursive exchange, where you write fic inspired by other people's fic and art! One of those was inspired by an animation, which I'm very proud of.

Longest Fic: You Blew Me Into Stardust (42,846 words), my beloved mech au. I did two fics for the aufest reverse bang, I also wrote Trying Hard Not To Smile Though I Feel Bad (16,254 words) for Aufest, which is a college au! The minimum for that event was 5k so I— went overboard a bit.

Shortest Fic: I just posted it actually, that's How To Make The Secret City’s Speciality Dessert - Roasted Brown Sugar Oranges And Buttermilk Ice Cream  (912 words), that's a zine fic where we had a 1250 word maximum! I love this fic, and I'm so proud that I managed something short.

Most Kudosed Fic: Gonna Have It Out Like Fight Club, which is a bit unfair because that one has been acquiring kudos since 2022, and is now at 213 kudos. My poor neglected child the mafia fic I HAVE THE REST OF THE FIC OUTLINED I just keep writing things for events instead of writing you.

Most Viewed Fic: That's Gonna Have It Out Like Fight Club, with 2,220, but again a bunch of those are from last year, so probably my biggest fic is Trying Hard Not To Smile Though I Feel Bad, my 13-things-I-hate-about-you Niki & Ranboo au, at 1,457 hits. That one I honestly did not expect to get as big as it did, but I guess people like the comedy.

Most Subscribed Fic: Gonna Have It Out Like Fight Club, with 82 people wanting to know how that one ends. I"M SORRY. I"LL FINISH IT I PROMISE. I did notice my subscriptions to fics overall fell— people were still subscribing to one-shots last year, and this year I guess people realized that was not panning out.  

Most Bookmarked Fic: okay so it LOOKS like it's Gonna Have It Out Like Fight Club at 73 but I can count dates so I can tell that only 28 of those are from this year, wait I forgot about private bookmarks. Hm. Well anyways the one I'm sure was bookmarked this year was Things Could Be So Easy (If You Let Them), my first real intentional shot at writing QPR emduo with a proposal, and boy having THAT unlocked was a delight. That one has 52 bookmarks.

Most Used Fandom: Dream SMP with 13 fics, and SMPEarth in second place with 5. I wrote 9 different fandoms this year, technically.

Least Used Fandom: this is A MULTIWAY Tie as Internet & Social Media (Anthropomorphic), Murderbot Diaries, Books of the Raksura, Original Work, Origins SMP, and Parkour Civilization are all at 1 fic.

Most Used Rating: Teen, 18 fics. I wrote my first two explicit fics this year, both for exchanges!

Least Used Rating: Gen, 1 fic.

Most Written Relationship: Technoblade & Phil Watson | Philza, 10 times, UP FROM NINE LAST YEAR I'M DOING BETTER.

Most Used Additional Tag: hilariously, it's a tie between Comedy and Grief/Mourning, both with four times.

Most Frequently Used Characters: 

Philza (16)

Technoblade (15)

Ranboo (Video Blogging RPF) (6)

Niki | Nihachu (5)

Tommyinnit (3)

Ghostbur (Dream SMP) (2)

Tumblr (Anthropomorphic) (1)

Jade (Books of the Raksura) (1)

Moon (Books of the Raksura) (1)

Archive of our Own (Anthropomorphic) (1)

Last year I was really startled that Tommy didn't make the list and well. I am not immune to Tommyinnit. He's back again.

Last Year’s Stats

And here's my stats! Tag me if you do this too, I like to see numbers!

[macravishedbymactavish]

Alex Keller SFW Headcanons

| Blog HQ | Modern Warfare Masterlist | 18+ MDNI |

Headcanons for the man who has me in a literal and metaphorical chokehold

He is a straight up a nerd. Think: Star Wars, lego, Star Wars Lego!

Sitting on the floor, clad only in a pair of baggy plaid pajama pants surrounded by lego pieces. Eyes shining as he scanned over the instructions, soul feeling free and finally alive as he snapped the pieces together.

Soft sounds of the original trilogy playing through the speakers from the TV. Ignoring the nagging pain in his lower back as the child in him squealed in delight.

Another component completed. Now, onto bag 4.

Prefers to clean up while or after you cook, rather than cooking himself

Tending to the food in the pan, he reached around you to grab the discarded utensils. Placing them in either the dishwasher or sink; making soft comments about how many spoons you decided to use for one meal.

"If you don't like it, you're more than welcome to cook for me," you teased, watching as the man froze. A mischievous smirk spread across his face as he pointed a spoon at you.

"If it weren't for me, you'd be out of spoons 5 steps ago"

Horrible (like "reminder on the phone but will still with upmost confidence say the wrong date") with dates. Appointments and anniversaries, he's not very good. He blames it on his brain shutting off from not being in survival mode when at home, but genuinely feels bad

"Ma said they have something for our anniversary and will pop over to drop it off closer to the day. I told her it's on the 18th, so Saturday would work better, " Alex explained mindlessly, leaning back against the counter. Eyebrows raising when you froze.

Smiling softly, you whispered, "Sorry, what day is our anniversary?"

"The 18th. No, the 17th, " his eyebrows scrunched together as he thought. "No, actually 18th. Final answer" 

Leaning over, placing one hand on his cheek as you gave him a soft peck on the lips. "It's the 21st, actually"

Takes FOREVER to get ready for anything (especially fancy date nights and events)

Sitting on the edge of the tub, you watched in awe as Alex continued getting ready. Shirt still unbuttoned, belt not yet threaded through the loops of his pants; and he wasn't even halfway through his hair styling routine.

Multiple bottles and products lined the counters, all of which in use at one point or another as you sat and watched. Your outfit was ready and laying on the bed for when he was done with his hair.

After so long together, you'd become efficient in the timing of when to start getting yourself ready for a night out. Depending on which hair product he reached for next.

He has a super dark sense of humor

"Hey, since you have a ton of tattoos," you started, leaning against the doorframe as he fussed with his hair. "If a shark came and bit your arm off, would you be more upset about losing the arm or the tattoos?"

"The tattoos," he answered immediately. Pausing after to look himself up and down, nodding. "Definitely the tattoos"

Terrified of holding babies (despite being a total natural). He loves interacting with younger kids though.

"Uncle Alex!" The young boy squealed, running over and wrapping himself around the man's legs. "I'm a brother now, too!" 

Smiling down at his nephew, Alex laughed. Hoisting the boy up into his arms as he listened to the excited stories about his new little sister. Nodding along with genuine interest until the baby was brought over to him.

"Be fair. You can't just cuddle your nephew. She'll get jealous, " his sister, Ellie teased. Holding the newborn out. 

Freezing in place, as his nephew squirmed out of his grasp. Loudly encouraging him to hold the baby. Looking over at you, Alex sighed when he realized he was outnumbered.

"What if I drop her?" He whispered, fear flashing behind his eyes as the small bundle was passed over to him. The girl remained asleep as she was cuddled by tense arms.

"The obvious answer is don't." Mrs. Keller walked up behind him, placing her hands on his shoulders. Pressing into the tense muscles. "And relax. Things are more likely to go wrong when you're stressed out and stiff like a board"

Appreciates a good horror or FPS game - but nothing beats couch co-op and cuddles.

Snuggled against your side, he yelled nonesense as your characters scrambled around the screen. Grabbing boxes and flinging them onto the truck.

"What?!" You both laughed, watching as his character hoisted an animal into the air. "I have the chicken!" 

"We'll I'm moving an entire sectional by myself, so drop Cluck and help me!" you elbowed him lightly

Absolutley can't fall asleep in silence, no matter how hard he tries

He blames a lot of this on his childhood, the sound of clocks ticking throughout the house driving him mad. Reminding him of the sleep he wasn't getting. 

Even now, years later, as an adult, he tells you that if it's too quiet, he can still hear the distant ticking. He doesn't tell you that the silence also brews night terrors; that's not a side he wants to burden you with.

On the nights when he falls asleep alone, he'll usually have a movie or YouTube video playing in the background. If you can't fall asleep to a lot of noise, he'll opt for a fan or one of those sleep background noise tracks.

Unlike some of the other COD men -- I think he'd be the opposite of a human furnace. He'd be like a reptilian creature looking to sap your warmth at any given moment.

He makes a point to cuddle against you, as much contact between your bodies as possible. Almost like a human backpack.

"You're so warm," he sleepily mumbled, pressing his face into your back. Humming in content at the feeling of your body warming his.

His hair lightens so easily during the summer (In MW2019, he was dirty blonde. MW2022, as an operator he has dark brown hair)

"You're like two totally different people," you laughed, fingers running through the light locks as he rolled his eyes.

"It'll be back to normal by halloween," he half-heartedly grumbled. Adjusting the sunglasses on his face, holding back a smile. 

100% cries during movies, has no shame. Especially since it gets extra cuddles from you (even if you lightly tease him for it)

Your heart aching within your chest, the protagonist grieving their loss. Sighing softly, you silently reached forward, grabbing the box of tissues from your coffee table. Holding the box up to your boyfriend, who was trying (and failing) to hide his soft sniffles.

Head falling against his shoulder, feeling his arm tighten around you. His chest shaking with emotion he was trying (and failing) to hide.

Taglist: @bloodonmyhands-1221 @v1naco @bowtruckleninja

[ian-the-existential-crisis]

Oh? I wasn't playing around. I'm totally writing a Kit-centric Jentry Chau fan fiction that's going to be multiple chapters and upwards of 55k long. I just don't know if I want to write it being platonic ot4 or romantic yet.

Long live Kit!

So... Human. [Preview]

Humans were like the big horse fly in the corner of his room that had become the unknowing victim of a predator. The daddy long legs spider had, at some point when his eyes were busy elsewhere, ventured up to the opposite corner of the room, spinning a decent sized web. It was laying in wait for the horse fly to buzz around the room again, for it to land on the soft threads of the spider's webs.

In that way, Kit could see how the horse fly was like a human. That made him the spider then. He was currently weaving a new identity, the supple skin of a young boy for this job. Was it even a job? He lived off of life force, stealing a person's very energy to live. That probably made him worse than a spider. Or were they the same? A spider, he had learned from his short time enrolled in a human schoolhouse on the outskirts of Korea a few hundred years ago, would suck the blood from whatever got caught in their web, leaving the shell of a body wrapped in its silken threads. Is that not what he did, with less blood?

Kit hummed to himself, looking down to select the eye color. A deep brown would go well with the navy blue of the British school uniform he would be forced to wear, but most of the children attending the school had soft baby blue eyes.

Decisions, decisions.

Normally when it came to stalking his prey, he wanted to make himself the most likeable version that he could. Sometimes that meant being a beautiful woman with stunning platinum blonde hair, sometimes that meant being a young boy with baby blue eyes so he could fit in.

He needed to do more research on his prey. Or rather, the child that would lead him to his prey. The shui gui that had bought his services had paid him half up front, and the other half would be given to him once he fulfilled his part of the bargain.

Beihe, he was pretty sure that was the water gui's name, had asked him to bring her a specific woman. The easiest way to get to her was through her son. She was a married, faithful woman of the church, so he couldn't seduce her like he had done for so many others. And he only needed to bring her to the water's edge at night. If he couldn't do that Beihe said he could drop her corpse at the bank of the river, but he hated having to kill. Even if it was necessary. But he had done it before and he would do it again. He had to. The fish that Beihe promised him wouldn't last forever. And the nourishment he got from animals always seemed less filling than that of humans.

[chaifootsteps]

if you have time and feel like getting frustrated, the comments on this thread are certainly a read: https://www.reddit.com/r/HelluvaBoss/comments/1gsa0nr/after_episode_10_i_think_blitz_is_ready_to/

to run it down quickly:

someone immediately points out Blitzo did apologize several times while Stolas never has

comments saying it's a good time to switch to see what Stolas is up to because he'll totally have become a better person by now, right? right?

comments like 'well it's been a month wth has Stolas been doing the whole time?'

comments implying it's on Blitzo to sit Stolas down and explain exactly where he screwed up, because holding him to account went so well last time with Mr 'I don't look down you! how many times - I'm not going to ask for examples and instead just racistly compare you to Striker' and Stolas is a three year old who can't be expected to do any thinking of his own

multiple comments along the lines of saying Stolas doesn't think he did anything wrong, is delululu, he suspects he did something wrong, he's open to the possibility that he did something wrong - I just don't get how anyone thinks Stolas is sympathetic or even likable at this point?? he's been told straight up to stop doing something before and ignored it, told he's upset Blitzo before and ignored it. how much more evidence do viewers need that their sweet sensitive boi is actually a selfish void of empathy? how do they still have the patience to believe he'll ever hold himself to account for anything when the entire season has been built to say he's not responsible and is just very sad and misunderstood? when there's quite literally a shot in the trailer implying he gets exactly what he wants - to make Blitzo his knight whether he likes it or not? if this were any other character there'd be endless essays about how much they suck and how abusive they are

someone falsely claiming "Blitz will still blame himself for being the one who came up with this whole deal" - uh, no he literally didn't?? Stolas did that.

someone else saying 'Stolas did nothing wrong' then being reminded he did, going back and watching s1 and remembering that he did used to be classist (kind of worrying that Viv's retconning is working on some fans tbh)

someone implying it's Blitzo and Verosika's fault for giving him different ideas about who was wrong like it's their fault Stolas went to Anti Blitzo party he said was childish and petty and would never go to. he could have stayed home and got blind drunk there instead

people pointing out that the rest of IMP messed up too by not using disguises so they should all be on the hook for it, not just Blitzo (not holding my breath for anything but the gang being like 'this is all your fault!' if Viv wrote those ones though) - this one makes me a little sad tbh, it's obvious Blitzo has no hope of getting any grace from Stolas but we already know he sucks. the writing on IMP is so inconsistent it's gonna be sad if his family threaten to leave him over a business plan that all three of them were all in on, too, just to pile on the Blitzo misery again

It's been crazy to see the subreddit, where the narrative is so tightly controlled, waking up little by little. They've still got a ways to go, but it's pretty astounding to see it happening at all, and being allowed to happen.

[rrr-is-gay]

RRR ON-SCREEN KISS OPPORTUNITIES, rated for her pleasure

1. Immediately following the fisher boy rescue. They go onto the dock and kinda embrace one another but fail to kiss. Not okay. 3/10

2. The thigh touch scene. Come onnnnn, I know they’re talking about Sita, but they coulda squeezed a lil kissy kiss in there, if they had any courage at all. 8/10

3. RAMBHEEM SQUAT WORKOUT. Not exactly the ideal shot for an onscreen kiss; we’d need to get a little creative with the camera work to keep it cohesive. But it would be the literal hottest thing EVER, so I hate that it isn’t real. 8/10

4. MAKEOVER SCENE!!!!!!!!!!!! This one demands a kiss, multiple times! The beard trim? Pop a lil kiss on his nose, Ram! The hair treatment? Kiss his forehead! Changing his shirt? Bheem, give’m a nice lil smooch! It’s practically canon, the camera just cuts too quickly for us to see it. 10/10, peak kiss opportunity.

5. Pre-Naatu. How fucking SWAG would it be for them to just pop the fastest lil kiss on each other’s lips RIGHT at the moment they dunk on Jake for not knowing Naatu? This precise moment, when Bheem twirls around and Ram puts his arm on his shoulder? KISS!! 6/10

6. Post-Naatu piggyback ride. Would have loved to see Bheem kiss Ram’s cheek here. Totally ungrateful that he doesn’t. Wtf Bheem. 9/10

7. Sopping fucking wet. Bheem could totally pop a quick kiss onto Ram's lips before administering the antidote here. He's all up in Ram's face anyway, tending to him, caring for him, healing him. A nice kiss would help!!!!!!! 7/10

8. MARRIAGE CEREMONY. Bheem. BHEEM. You adorn your lover with the holy thread of your tribe, but don’t seal the deal with a kiss?? Maybe he thinks it’s dubcon cuz Ram is basically unconscious. Would’ve loved a kiss here, but I respect the consent king. 4/10

9. REVEAL YOURSELF TO ME IN BED. Bheem could have AT LEAST kissed Ram’s hands here, I mean wtf!!!!!! You think you might die tonight, and you could be saying goodbye forever, and you DON’T kiss????? 10/10, scene incomplete without a tender smooch.

10. Devastating fight. Bheem could’ve gone out on a limb here and really brought Ram back to reality if he’d gone in for a kiss. A bold move, yes, but not out of character for Bheem. 3/10

11. Pain, pain paaaaiiinnnn. Ram is more devastated in this moment than he’s ever been in his entire life. He would absolutely kiss Bheem’s head while holding his limp body in his arms. Only gets a pass cuz Ram is still undercover and a kiss would’ve given him away. 2/10

12. Hand nuzzle. CANON, I TELL YOU!!!! It’s CANON that Bheem kisses Ram’s hand here! It was only cut from the film because of homophobia! 11/10

13. Burn this lanka down. Okay. It’s one swift move to pull Ram out from the cell and onto Bheem’s shoulders. So a kiss on the lips couldn’t work. But Ram could, and should, totally kiss Bheem’s head right here. And Bheem should kiss Ram’s wrist! The fight can wait one millisecond!!! JUST KISS ALREADY! 8/10

14. Bridal carry. A nice swift peck from Ram to Bheem would really boost both of their morale right here. And it's such a brief shot, I'm sure the kiss happened, we just didn't get to see it. Once again, homophobia. 9/10

15. CANON CANON CANON CANON. I don’t wanna hear ANY debate or disagreement on this one, you little freaks! They DO kiss here! I can see the intention in Bheem’s eyes! That slow lean inward!!!! He’s about to kiss this man smack on the lips!!!! And Ram is so tired, but he’s BLISSFULLY here for it! He’s flat on his back, ready for Bheem’s plush lips to smother his right NOW! HEAL THIS MAN WITH YOUR SWEET KISS, BHEEM!!!! 10000000000/10

16. Phallic rifle. Would love a nice little makeout sesh right here in front of Governor Scott. How fucking badass would that be? Not a little peck either, I want them to get really filthy for a minute, because they’ve earned it! Grip that rifle and stick your tongues in each other’s mouths! Come on, the movie’s almost over! What have you got to lose?! 9/10

17. “What can I offer you in return?” “KISS ME!” This really is the last chance for these two men to show us how they really feel. I get that it’s kinda awkward in front of their friends and family, but it’s all worth it just to make Jenny uncomfortable. (Why is she there?????) Oh wait, Sita’s there too. Meh. I still want them to smooch. 7/10

18. Etthara Jenda! Dance, smile, skip, cheer, KISS! This song is all about victory and pride. Wouldn’t an onscreen kiss just be the cherry on top?! I think so. 9/10