#reasons to change your codename

[lo1k-diamonds]

Sugar Rush Ride 💜

SX Seoul Series | Yoongi's Entry 💜

PAIRING: YoongixReader (You can also read it on AO3)

SUMMARY: You produced a song based on your hidden desires for your fellow producer and promised yourself that tonight, things would change. You were done pining after him, but then he arrived at the listening party.

WORD COUNT: 12.6k

GENRE: coworkers (mutually) pining to lovers

RATING: R (explicit)

WARNINGS: explicit, pwp (porn w/ plot really), drunk fight (but you sober up...sort of), bratty reader, rough but Yoongi is pro at aftercare, fingerfucking, face-fucking, edging, spankings, his hand is on your neck a lot (am I forgetting something?)

A.N. (Thank you @eerieedits for the cool banner 💜) This is based on the song of the same title by TXT 🔥 It was not planned and maybe it has been done before, but it was too good to miss 😁

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Yoongi parked his car underground in a private parking lot before stepping outside into the night in Itaewon. It was crowded as usual, but he paid no mind to the passersby — he had somewhere to be.

He reached the steps that led into a famous club in the neighborhood and entered below the red lines warming up the humidity into steam: SX.

He was giving away his coat when the music from the backroom hit him, the pop music with the codename temptation resonating in the air, and in his ribcage. He stepped towards it confidently, unbothered by the instant boom of noise that hit him once the door opened and closed again behind him. No, nothing would bother him until he found what he was looking for.

He scanned the room attentively, the darkness crossed punctually and rhythmically by the flashes of lights to the beat of the songs he helped produce himself. All but one song that ended up being the main track, the reason why he had rushed to be at the listening party tonight.

He got to the bar and looked around again; he saw lots of people he knew, the artists included. None had seen him yet, so he took the chance to search even more carefully. And finally, his eyes fell on you. You were listening attentively as you held your hair to the side and someone, a man spoke into your ear above the noise. Then you burst out laughing, shoulders and chest trembling with excitement, and your hand landed on the man’s chest. Not in a smack, not to push him away, just subtly placed there in an intimate gesture, or an invitation thereof.

Yoongi was by your side before he knew it. The man with you looked up with a silent question and you flinched and looked back, eyes instantly widening in surprise.

“Yoongi! You’re back!”

You launched your arms around his neck to pull him into a hug, and he immediately knew you had alcohol in your system. Despite this, he reacted the only way he could be expected to — he wrapped a protective arm around you and looked straight into the eyes of that dude trying his luck.

“Right on time,” you grinned when you stepped back. “Inhyuk, this is Yoongi, the producer I was telling you about.”

The guy bowed and said something polite, but Yoongi wasn’t listening. You had stepped to stand beside the guy and his hand had comfortably set on your waist. For a second, his sole thought was, Since when? But then he cooled down.

“I see. Well, enjoy the party. I’ll see you later,” he told you with his eyes set on yours and you got the message.

But you didn’t want to worry about that right now, so when Inhyuk pulled you by the waist to talk to you a bit closer, you didn’t flinch. You smiled and agreed to have another drink while the crowd around you listened and enjoyed the album you helped produce. You were proud of yourself, it was the fruit of your first year of work with—

The main track started and the crowd cheered as it did every time it played. Your eyes watered as Inhyuk congratulated you and clinked his drink to yours but as you drank, there was heat building inside of you. It was funny to hear the lyrics you wrote being sung back at you and fit perfectly at that moment. But then you chuckled, as your eyes fell on Min Yoongi. Your thoughts would always stop as soon as he was back near you. That would never change.

Yet you looked up and smiled at Inhyuk, giddy with your drink and with excitement. You made a vow when you decided to let this song be performed and sung — it was you putting your feelings into your work to get rid of them. That was the deal.

Inhyuk smiled mischievously at you as if he couldn’t believe, but didn’t disapprove, of the song's lyrics speaking so openly about desire, about opening locked doors into seeing stars and asking for more. And you kept smiling and drinking. Because you made a deal with yourself and maybe tonight was the perfect time to go into a new direction.

The song was only three minutes long, but it drove Yoongi to a corner. He gripped his tonic water and faced the bar while the music kept calling to him, Come here more, let’s play more.

Just like the first time he heard it and was covered in goosebumps, wild thoughts coming to him that he had to quickly water down. He sighed; it didn’t stop him from flying back as soon as possible to talk to you about it. Confront you, more like.

He turned to the side to find you by the bar having shots with that guy, and that was it. The full album had played, you had your moment in the spotlight as you should, the artists were having a blast alongside everyone else, and he had had enough of seeing you so close to some guy.

You were on your fourth tequila shot when you felt an arm extend behind you to reach the bar, and you shivered. Not because it was cold; you were sweating from the drinks and the energy of the crowd. No, it was because you knew who it was, even if the arm didn’t touch you.

“We should go,” his voice was steady near your ear even though your head was spinning a little.

“The night is still young!” Inhyuk said as he grinned and grabbed another shot glass, waiting for you to do the same, but despite your giddiness, you hesitated. 

You looked up to Yoongi and saw his neutral beautiful lines, and you understood what he was doing.

The guy saw he was losing you, so he moved closer to get your attention, “I can take you home.”

He said it with amusement, like a tease, and you grinned. You were taken by the energy between you two; you both knew where that was going. But then a breath being slowly heaved behind you shook your foundations and you looked down. Yoongi was just doing his part of the deal, but suddenly you were fucking pissed. He couldn’t possibly understand that you needed to be with someone, anyone other than him. Desperately, before you’d fucking combust!

But he was your coworker, the genius producer of your label. And despite everything, you didn’t want to burn a bridge. Inhyuk was not that great anyway.

You shrugged almost innocently, “Maybe next time. It was nice meeting you.”

Yoongi pointed so that you’d go ahead to the exit and you did. Yet with every step, something was bubbling up your throat. There was a lump there, blocking you from voicing it while you grabbed your coats, walked the cold night to his car, and got in to be on your way.

The whole ride you argued with yourself that this was for the best. You shouldn’t have sex with someone after so many drinks, that was not how it was supposed to go. But maybe that was what you needed to have the courage to just move on. To want another man as desperately, and not the one driving you home right now. You needed it, you needed to go crazy and do something you wouldn’t normally do. You needed the regret, to stop playing safe, to stop believing your heart knew what was best for you when all it did was set on someone who saw you as nothing but a colleague.

When you arrived, he entered the private parking of your apartment building and parked swiftly. It made your stomach bubble further with anger, he was just so used to taking you home. That was the deal. Well, screw that.

“Thanks, good night.”

You pushed the door open and peeled yourself away, closing it with a bham only to seek support in the car instantly. Your legs were wobbly, the world was spinning and you cursed in irritation. It was fine before, why was it so difficult now?

His door opened and closed, the car beeped as it locked, then his steps echoed to get to you. And everything was like needles prickling your patience. He stood next to you to help you and you didn’t know what you wanted more: to scream at him or to just disappear.

But he placed his hand on your waist firmly, walked you to the lobby and the elevator, and even dialed your code to enter your apartment. It infuriated you — it reminded you of all the times over the last year that he had done his part of the deal. That he had taken you home safe and sound, and still never seen you for anything more while you pined helplessly.

So you tried to reach your living room without his help and stumbled very quickly, yet a firm grip on your arm prevented you from falling face flat. Normally, you would have blushed, thanked him, and let the politeness and decorum dictate your interactions, but not now.

You pulled your arm loose, “I don’t need a chaperone!”

“And I don't need you to fall and break a leg.”

You threw your jacket and purse over your couch finally with a frustrated huff. The world was spinning and annoying you so fucking much. You needed to scream at him once and for all and be done with it, why couldn’t it stand still?

“Why did you interfere?”

“What do you mean?” He was calmly taking his shoes off after hanging his coat by the entrance and his placidness irked you.

“I was having a good time!”

You barely saw the line crossing his face, “He was no good for you.”

“What? Why?!”

“He just wasn’t,” he stated, walking further inside your apartment like he knew it, and he did. He’d normally stay for a chat after bringing you home and made sure you were okay.

“But why?!” You insisted, eyes so wide they looked twice their size, and still the room was shaky. “What was so wrong with him that—”

“He was trying to get you drunk,” he almost scoffed as he reached your kitchen and started looking around for something.

“So?” You tried following him, annoyed that he was not paying attention to you.

He found a cup and right next to it what he was looking for. He took a black coffee capsule and put both things next to your coffee machine. “He just wanted sex.”

He seemed annoyed now as he prepped the coffee and you threw your hands in the air, “I fucking want sex!”

He paused and looked at you, at your wide eyes and red cheeks. And you held your breath, swallowing dryly. Did you just yell that at Min Yoongi? At your genius coproducer?

“You're drunk.”

He pressed the button to draw an espresso from the machine, and you felt like a volcano about to erupt.

“I’m not drunk!!” He didn’t look at you and you gripped your hair with a frustrated scream. “I’m just not only a fucking worker bee, okay?! I have needs, I want things! So what, sex is too much for you to handle or som—”

A look was all it took for you to feel your guts freeze in place. You were so attuned to this fucking man that his slightest hint of disapproval hit you like an icicle. But it wasn’t just that, it was something else. Disappointment?

And you revolted hard against it; he had no right to make you feel this way. “Then what’s the problem?! I can’t want it? Because I’m a woman or something?”

He took the coffee cup and placed it in front of you on the kitchen counter, “Drink it.”

You ignored it, “I didn’t think you were a prude or conservative, but this is me.” You stepped back and fought the traces of the spinning walls vehemently. “I want things. More than just make good music, I’m not just my work.” He was listening, he was looking at you, but all he did was push the cup the slightest in your direction. And you snorted, “Hell, that’s why my music is good. Because I want— I want things.”

You couldn’t look at him, only at his feet. You thought you wanted to scream your frustration at him, but now you realized that was pointless. It wouldn’t matter. He wasn’t into you anyway.

“We’re not talking unless you’re sober.”

You raised your eyes and his coolness hardened you. Right. You’d get a slap on the wrist for getting drunk at the listening party of the album you fucking produced. For wanting to sleep with another producer. For not being professional? Who the fuck knew why. And maybe sober you’d care about losing your dream, but right now you were just fucking done.

“Right, whatever,” you turned to head to your bedroom. “I’ll take a shower, we can talk tomorrow.”

Yoongi saw you walk a bit shakily but firmly toward your bedroom and then he sighed. He considered for a moment to do as you wished and leave, but he didn’t want to leave you alone. Selfishly, he didn’t want to wait for tomorrow. He was restless, he needed to talk to you about it. And to do that, he needed you sober.

He grabbed your coffee cup and knocked on the ajar door with his eyes glued to the floor. He called your name and you scoffed.

“You’re taking our deal too much to the letter,” your voice sounded strained and he closed his free hand into a fist. “You don’t need to worry about—”

He heard noises and he didn’t think twice; he pushed the door open and found you almost fallen to the floor trying to take your dress off. You huffed in annoyance; you should have sat on the bed but then how would the dress pass under—

A firm hand hoisted you up as if you were as light as a feather and you came face to face with him. The man in your dreams, in your mind, making you scream in your bed just at the thought of him. Making you crazy. 

“I’m fine,” you said, looking down. “I can handle myself. You don’t need to bring me home and make sure I don’t—” 

Your voice wavered, what were you— 

Your eyes filled with tears, but maybe that was exactly what needed to happen, “Yeah, let’s stop that. Our deal? Let’s end it. You don’t need to bring me home and watch over me. I know I’m a woman in a men-dominated company, but I’m not a child.”

He sighed and stepped away and your heart cracked, leaving you to hide your face with one hand and try to press your chest with the other. You knew that to move on you had to push him away, but damn did it sting and—

The scent of coffee invaded your nose and you raised your hand from over your eyes. He was holding the coffee cup in front of you.

“Stop for a second and drink it. Then, we’ll talk.”

You looked for the sincerity in his eyes, and of course, you found it. So you took the cup and chugged the espresso as if it had been just another tequila shot. Then you lowered your arm and looked at him, trying to sense if that changed anything. It didn’t really, not for you.

“Did you hear what I said?”

His lips twitched, “I heard you, but you’re not hearing me. Sober, I said.”

You shrugged, “You said drink, I did. So now we talk. No more deal. No more keeping me safe, no more watching over me or bringing me home. I need to— I need to let it all out.”

His lips pursed for a second but then he voiced quietly, “I’m listening.”

“I don’t know what else to say,” you shrugged and almost laughed at yourself. “I told you I want things.”

“You write about what you want.” You hummed. “So what is that main track?”

“What I want.”

You were looking at him, a void in your mind all of a sudden, but he hesitated. You said you wanted sex and the song was about desire. Maybe he was reading it wrong.

“What do you want?”

“It’s not a what.”

“Is it a who?”

Your mouth dried, so you nodded. You were staring right at the object of your desire but he looked confused.

He scratched his head and then tried, “Did you— Did you use those words on purpose?”

“What words?”

“What w—” He seemed bewildered, “My stage name. You used my stage name. Sugar? Was that on purpose?”

For a split second, you were frozen, livid, shocked, and then laughter bubbled out of you, “I thought I had been so clever about it. Saying sugar instead of suga.” He was staring at you and his inexpression only led you to push the air out of your lungs, “I know, you don’t have to say it. You won't touch me, even if pigs fly. I know that.”

“That's not true.”

You tilted your head, then laughed some more, “Yes, it is. You don't even see me as a woman, I'm just another producer.”

“That's also not true.”

“Right,” you chuckled. “Let me give you reasons to walk out that door right now. I not only wanted to sleep with you but wrote a whole main track about wanting you. About being dazed, overwhelmed by desire, wanting just more. Give it a listen. You know I struggle with titles, but the name of the song was the first thing I had.”

You chuckled again and turned around, rubbing your face for a moment. It was out. You didn’t care too much if anyone else knew, and if anyone had thought of it, they had been smart enough to stay quiet. But now he knew, and there was no going back. Sugar rush ride. You laughed again. You stood by that tile.

“I—” His voice sounded unsure for the first time and you turned to face him. “I don’t— Was it just a rush? You felt a rush at the thought of me and wrote that?”

“What difference does it make?”

“It makes a world of a difference,” he insisted, eyes set on you though he hadn’t moved an inch yet. “I still haven’t heard you say what you want now.”

“What I want?” You were incredulous, “Are you even listening? I’ve been saying nothing else! What?” He was unmoving, but for the first time, you could swear you saw his eyes glistening, and you were out of filters. “I want to be with you. I want you to fuck me already.” You shivered, the strength of your own words working against you. “I have since the day we met. I forgot I had an ex and was heartbroken to finger myself to the thought of you so many times I lost count.” He opened his mouth but you didn’t let him speak, “Shut up. I know what you'll say. I’ve wasted a year of my life. We're kind of friends and we work together. I know all that,” you huffed, exhausted. “So just leave.”

You turned to get to your ensuite bathroom and this time succeeded in pulling the dress out of your body, letting it fall to the ground with a rustle. You turned to reach the makeup remover over your counter and almost missed the way he was still standing in your room, looking at you. You blinked as you faced him, and your nipples hardened without your control with the goosebumps navigating your skin. You had nothing on, you rarely did in events like those. You used it to boost your self-esteem and feel sexy, and now you guessed he knew it too.

You removed your makeup relatively quickly and were curious to look back, and he was gone. You looked down with tears pooling in your eyes; but of course. Why did it all just have to come out of your mouth like that? Now he knew your deepest darkest secrets and would never want to work together again in the future. Great.

You stepped into the shower and let the warmth wash away your worries. You were not a child. You had feelings and wants. They were perhaps misplaced, but you didn’t harm anyone. You sighed; still, maybe it was best to look for a new job in the morning.

Once you made peace with that, your mind wandered to greener pastures, to more heavenly thoughts. You reviewed the expression he had as you told him crudely what you wanted, and it was good. Tense. In your wildest fantasies maybe it could be even a little possessive. And the thought of Min Yoongi getting possessive over you turned you on like nothing ever could.

Your hand trailed south along your skin and avoided the water. Your undeniable arousal made you chuckle. You had just told him you touched yourself thinking of him, and there you were again, like clockwork. He never told you not to, he didn’t act disgusted or look at you sideways, so suddenly you felt egged on.

You tilted your ass up and out of the water and spread your folds greedily, closing your eyes to think back to his dark eyes while you were naked in front of him. It was as if he wasn’t thinking, he was just looking. You didn’t see his eyes running up and down your body, but you didn’t have to. No way he would not be curious, even if he had walked out. 

His leaving stung but fuck, was he hot. Now he knew you thought of him and what you did while thinking of him. Your heart stung for a second with the thought that you would lose his friendship, but you got back on track. You were horny and he had created that mess. You tried to kindly tell him to leave so many times, it wasn’t your fault that he lingered until you were spurting the deepest truths and stripping naked to shower. 

And now he knew. He knew you didn't like wearing underwear when you had formal events, how sensitive your nipples were to the cold, and that you had a small blue birthmark at the end of your back. Fuck. He knew you were a dirty little whore fingering yourself to the thought of his cock buried deep—

Two arms wrapped around you and you moaned, too immersed in your fantasy to be startled. You were thinking about his arms around you, his chest strong for your back to take support, hands trailing down your body to explore with long fingers ready to spell your demise so easily—

His fingers were next to yours cupping your sex and you gasped, squirming away only to be pressed against his firm chest.

“No, continue,” his voice was a taunt as his free hand seemed indecisive about where to settle on your body. “You want to touch yourself? Go on.”

You stammered his name but his fingers were quickly learning from yours how to trace your heat, spread your slick, and make you tremble. You were shaking, half embarrassed, half feverish, until his other hand finally settled on groping your breast harshly and you moaned. You moaned with a hiss dragging with how much more you wanted, with your ass bucking into him only to rub more to get a better feeling of his hard cock on your ass. He was clothed, you could feel it, but the thought of him wanting this was driving you up the wall.

He was coming to you while you showered, entering it with clothes on just to reach you, grab you, touch you, and make you moan. There was no hiding it now, no possible misunderstanding. He had fingers rubbing your clit while his other hand squeezed your tit harshly, making your legs weak. Nothing was forcing him to stay, to touch you, to listen to you moan.

You bucked your hips again, you were so close to coming it was unstoppable. Yet a logical thought still tried to push through, “Are you sure about this? We're friends— We work tog—”

If only you weren’t rubbing your ass on his crotch to feel him better, to get tighter, to force his fingers on your clit to chase you.

His reply was a whisper to your ear over your wet hair, “You said what you wanted. You can feel how much I agree.”

Your walls squeezed, you were so ready, “You— You want this?”

His hips pushed into you once and you almost fell apart. “Don’t pretend you can’t feel it. I’m asking myself how you never noticed.”

You gripped his hand over your chest and he released the pressure, instantly making you squirm and whine in a complaint. You pressed his hand and he squeezed again, hearing attentively how your moan pitched wantonly. He hummed near your ear, nuzzling your wet skin with a smile adorning his lips. So that was how you liked it.

“No, I—” Your breath hitched with how he was working you and for the second time you thought you would fall apart, but the intensity reeled back to allow you to think. “Not like this. I noticed you treated me differently but I thought it was because I was the only girl in the studio—”

You staggered with a gasp, your body rushing a cold wave under your skin to contrast with the warm water of the shower, but again the sensation eased as the seconds ticked away. And you knew then that it was him, keeping you on the edge and not letting you fall apart. Him with his smooth fingers and nuzzling behind your ear.

“No, not because of that,” his voice was tense as his lips ghosted over your wet neck. “I was… charmed,” he admitted with a chuckle, and when you bucked your hips, he gripped you closer. “But I thought you saw me as a friend.” The thought alone made his lip pull in annoyance, but the slick covering his fingers at your heat soothed him, “I could have done this so many times if you had just asked.”

He bit down on the tender flesh between your shoulder and neck and you screamed, the sting mixing with your pleasure so viscerally that you could have cum on it alone. Only he sensed it too and moved his hand away, dragging yours along so you couldn’t finish it yourself, and you laughed quietly. He was suckling on your skin with meticulous precision and you could only grin widely, euphoric sparks flying out of control inside your belly.

“You could have said something too,” you sounded like you were whining, but you couldn’t stop yourself. He was now licking where he had just marked you and you were trembling, legs so weak it was embarrassing.

He let go and nuzzled along your neck to your spine in between your wet hair, “I didn’t want you to feel pressured. You either want it or you don’t. I thought you’d say something.”

You chuckled, “I wouldn’t ever. You should have known.”

He hummed and leaned back ever so slightly to look at the curve of your ass pressed against him. Then his hand trailed up, lashed by the shower while gently feeling and pressing your soft skin. He couldn’t believe he almost missed this.

“We have to work on that, then.”

You were still smiling when you let your head fall back to his shoulder, “If you did as I said—”

“I'd be out of here without ever getting to touch you,” his annoyance was clear in his voice, and even in the way his fingers pressed less gently. “Without knowing what’s on your mind. No, you,” he wrapped his arm across your torso to gently reach the base of your neck and you looked up, giving him more space. “You are not in charge here.”

He couldn’t have known the way you were grinning. You just let yourself fall further into his embrace, his hand settling on the base of your neck in a way you found comforting. Then he turned you gently to the side and your back hit the cold wall. A hiss came out of your lips quickly, but you were still smiling. Even as his dark eyes scanned you for your reaction, with one hand keeping you still by the neck. You were waiting with a familiar ease on your features, and he relaxed. That was enough.

Suddenly, your feet parted and you were surprised. He had used his foot to spread your legs and the way his free hand was tracing your wet body like he owned it shortcircuited your brain.

“I want to know what this dirty mind of yours has been keeping from me.”

You could hear a hint of eagerness and it was enough, “I won't tell you.”

“You will.” His tone was so sure, like he held the world at his beckoning, that you trembled. You were sure then he would hold yours, turn it upside down, inside out, and you’d love every second of it. “You will tell me every dream of yours, every fantasy, every little filthy fleeting thought. Then maybe we can do something about it.”

“Maybe?” You were eager, his hand was at your lower stomach but seemingly chose to ignore where you ached most.

“Maybe. If that's something you want.”

“I do, I want everything.”

His eyes jumped to yours; he needed to know if that was a spur-of-the-moment blurted line, or if you meant it. All he found were eager glistening eyes. “Everything?”

“Everything,” you confirmed, eyes staring at him like you were seeing stars.

For a split second, he considered that this could not be what he thought it was. Maybe you were still drunk and just talking big, maybe you had no idea what you were saying. But the way you didn’t waver, even as he considered pulling the plug on everything despite being a millimeter away from snapping and making his thoughts come true did sway him. He brushed your jaw once so tenderly and you leaned into his touch. He’d take it easy while he discovered you, there was no rush.

“Alright,” he voiced and lowered his hand. “Show me first.”

“Show you what?” You were eager but you were starting to shiver.

“What you do when you think of me.”

“Didn’t you just catch me doing it?”

“You’re going to look at me this time.”

“Look?” You tilted your head slightly.

“Eyes on me,” his eyebrows twitched.

“Only my eyes?”

“And your thoughts.”

You grinned and looked away but his instant grip over your chin made you look up.

“You sure you want everything?”

You huffed with a sly smile and let your head fall back to the wall, “I’m sure.” His dark gaze was skeptical and your grin widened, “Oh, I want everything, sugar. Be sure not to hold back.”

He looked down to follow your movements and you almost laughed. Your hand was rubbing your clit so you could control your pleasure while his eyes roamed your body, the doubt lingering on his features. You could laugh again, but you didn’t. The way he doubted you was funny because he had no idea how crazy you were about him, but then it occurred to you that you also didn’t know the first thing about him. Did he like to watch? Would he guide you or leave you adrift? He had edged you three times already, did he notice? Did he do it on purpose to drive you crazy? 

Would he do it again?

Where exactly was his line? He was quiet now, eating you with his eyes and absorbing every little detail, from the way you breathed to your tongue peeking through your lips, to the way you gathered your arousal to coat your clit. You gasped ever so softly and his eyes instantly jumped to your face, and your lips twitched. You had him. How was it that you had the powerful Min Yoongi?

“What is going on in there?”

His voice was soothing and low, soft as a caress, and you smiled. “You.”

“Me how?”

“You told me to think about you,” your fingers hastened and you grinned.

“I told you I want to know your thoughts.”

You hummed with a smile and eyed him from head to toe shamelessly. You knew what he told you, what he wanted, but what about what you wanted?

Your fingers picked up the pace as your eyes gained a sly glim, and you thought he saw it. If he didn’t, he at least heard the wet sounds echoing in the bathroom.

“Do it slowly.”

You obeyed, so painfully slowly that your eyelashes fluttered, but what truly got you was the soothing of his features. He looked endeared, all because you did as he told you. He looked so sweet, so adorable, so loveable. You wanted to squeeze his precious cheeks.

So you reached forward to touch his face, but he slapped your hand away harshly, “No.” You bit your lip not to smile but his eyes were just hardening. “I’m still waiting.”

“For?”

You couldn’t help your grin as you squirmed ever so slightly against the wall. His precious dark eyes were so focused on you.

“Me how?”

But he wasn’t paying attention. “You right now.”

It didn’t surprise you that he didn’t become impatient, “Just me standing here?”

Your fingers were ever so quicker, “Stiff as a stick trying to control something that isn’t yours yet.”

His eyes glimmed and your tongue peeked out again to hide your laugh. It was fun seeing him being careful, but when would he actually touch you?

“Didn’t I say slower?”

You instantly did, and the recoil of the feeling had you fluttering your eyes closed.

“Eyes on me,” he sounded angrier now, closer too.

You did open your eyes but pursed your lips; there was still half an arm's distance between you. If he wouldn’t get the hint, then you’d have to do it yourself.

“Strip,” you asked, swallowing dryly.

He scoffed and instantly looked down, “I said slow.”

“If you want it slow, do it yourself.”

It happened so fast you couldn’t process it. Like a rubberband snapping, his hand darted to your neck pulling and pushing hard enough that your head banged the wall but not harshly enough that it hurt you. It did daze you for a second, but your lips just formed a grin until you laughed. 

Two could play that game, apparently, and he looked so fucking hot when he was mad. You loved that his hand stayed put like a necklace, a reminder that he wasn’t touching your heat, but he owned it. Along with your thoughts and your pleasure, he owned you. And that would have been enough to snap you, but what about him?

So you closed your eyes again, blatantly going against what he wanted, and were not surprised when his free hand darted to pinch your hardened nipple. You moaned instantly, facing him with the same challenge, meeting dark eyes that seemed to have given up on making you talk, but not on making you do as you were told.

So every time you blinked, he pinched you. Your nipples, your sides, your ass, earning moans every time, but nothing more, until he snapped again. He jumped on you and you just made your neck more available for him to latch on and bite. Your moan instantly pitched, and it finally seemed worth it. He was squeezing your tits and biting you while you played yourself to his presence, and he finally was involved in it too.

“Don’t come.”

The joke was that you wanted to do as he said, but you couldn’t anymore. Your moans were higher now, just like your daze, and in a second—

He yanked your hand away, “That’s enough.”

“Why? Didn’t you want to see what happens when I think of you?”

Your voice was light but your chest heaving gave your state away, and the more he kissed and bit down your neck, the worse it became. You needed him, needed more than just his thoughts or presence. You gripped his shoulders to bring him closer, you needed—

A whimper pushed out of you as you hid in his neck, but he didn’t stop. You were sure that had to be at least three fingers just pushing into you roughly with no preparation other than your repeated edging. No preparation came, whatsoever, because as soon as they were in, he started pumping his fingers in and out of you at a vicious speed. 

You instantly lost your grip on reality, though not on his shoulders, as even the air seemed to still inside your lungs. The sultry sounds echoing around you didn’t just come from his digits beckoning you closer insanely fast, but also from your whimpers. Because there was a fire burning you from the inside out with every moan as he bit and licked closer to your ear. As your nails sank through his shirt to reach his skin, your legs trembled, and the wall behind you became scorching hot while he pressed you to it.

From deep within your frenzy you couldn’t hear his growl near your ear, or feel the way his drool dripped down your neck or his fingers dag at your skin. He could hear you, pitchy moans quickly becoming an addictive sound, yet this time it was different. Your cunt was squeezing around him like a vice, and the harder it made for him to finger fuck you, the more he wanted to.

“Don’t come,” he grunted right under your ear, but you couldn’t register. You just moaned even more desperately, gripping him to you so hard he thought he’d melt. “You’ll cum when I tell you to.”

He was trying to hold on to something when he pulled away to look at you, but he could see you weren’t listening. You were flushed and panting hastily, avid with your nerves on fire. You could only see him and you had been waiting too long.

“Please,” you sounded a second away from breaking into tears and he admired you for it at that moment. You were so strong for him. And so pliable.

So he kissed your cheek gently and said your name once, taking pleasure from rolling it over his tongue. “Go on, cum.”

And it was all you needed to snap, tears coming to your eyes as your hips convulsed and searched for friction. You didn’t think you needed it because your walls were tensing, and again and again while desperate cries fell from your lips. His fingers calmed down inside you, his breath the same temperature as your blazing cheeks, and you thought a sweet blanket of lethargy would cover you soon.

Only he never stopped fucking you with his fingers, and so you whimpered and tried to push him away weakly.

“Don’t come down,” he murmured to your cheek. “Stay, don’t let it go.” 

Your nails sank on his shoulder blades again as you squinted your eyes shut. Tears roamed your eyes as you tried breathing and pushing through your sensitivity. You could handle your clit being sensitive, but inside you, that was a whole different story. You felt like you had been pounded to perfection, only to be further kneaded into sensations you had never felt before.

You looked at him, eyes droopy with whines coming out of your mouth. Why weren’t you surprised?

“Give me another one,” he asked gently, but you didn’t answer. 

How could you, he twisted his hand to reach into you deeper and your whole core burned. He was relighting a fire you thought had been extinguished, only to leave you breathless, dripping slick down his hand as you moaned between gritted teeth. 

So beautiful, so tense. He wanted to release you. 

“Look at me,” he asked softly, and you did. His eyes gave you a tenderness that made your heart convulse. How could he act sweetly like that, as if half of his hand wasn’t pounding your g-spot to bits? “You’re so good. Doing so well, giving me everything I want.” Your only reply was your moans, but you were listening. “I need you to focus for me.” He leaned to whisper in your ear, “Focus on the tension. You’re so tight around my fingers. Relax, don’t fight it. That’s it, move with me,” his voice was sweeter, and you softened. It was as if he was in it with you. As if he could feel it too. As if he was fucking you and not just sticking his fingers inside you. “You feel so good,” his whisper felt like the highest form of praise, and your moan pitched, melting alongside your nerves. He was so happy at the sound as he traced his lips down your cheek to whisper to the corner of your mouth, “Come with me.”

You moved with him once, twice, seeing in his eyes how much he was seeing and feeling you before looking at his lips, so close. He brushed yours ever so slightly in the hint of a kiss, moving with you as if you were jumping on his cock and not on his digits, and it was what pushed you. You pulled him closer and he let his mouth fall to yours, and your orgasm instantly started, forcing you to swerve so you could moan and breathe as you disintegrated. 

He let you feel your ecstasy to the fullest, biting his lip and feeding off of your release as if it were oxygen. Your trembling lips, your nails that marked his shoulders, your throbbing walls squeezing and gripping around him in sweet delight. All of you like a charming melody, sweet and utopic. Your moans were music until the very last, and by then, he had to taste it.

His free hand cupped your cheek and coaxed you into a sloppy kiss that you instantly reacted to. You were still not there, though, too dazed from the high to realize it fully; until you did. And you gasped. Yoongi’s tongue was licking at your bottom lip gently as if you were a delicacy that needed to be tasted slowly, and you couldn’t believe it.

You parted your lips to let him in and he pressed you even closer, enclosing you in such a euphoric moment you thought you’d pop like a firework. Like a cocoon filled with dazed butterflies with nowhere to go. He was kissing you and your wildest dreams seemed to have just come true. Tears were still hanging onto your waterline, and when he pressed your lips to move away and breathe, you were scared that it had all been a dream.

“So good, you’re so good.”

His voice was calm and tender, and it gave you the courage to open your eyes. He was so close with his eyes roaming your features swiftly, taking in the smallest detail as if he was finally free to. Then he smiled at your wonder, and you were convinced it was a dream.

That notion didn’t dissipate as he reached to the side to grab a towel and dry you with gentleness, enveloping you in the fluffy material as if it were a cloud. You sniffled, drained from the energy that you had just burned away and woozy from his sweet pats as he tried to dry the excess water out of your long hair.

Not even when he took your hand and pulled you back into your bedroom did the haze recede. Instead, you saw him pull the duvet open for you to get in the bed and you lost the towel and got in without a thought. Once you settled in, you did have your first thought: where was he going?

But he was back soon, and you knew in the back of your mind that he was just making the place tidy: getting the coffee cup from the floor to put it on the table, stopping the shower, and shutting the lights. Then he grabbed your towel from the floor and dried his own hair with hastened movements before throwing it aside. His eyes fell on you and your own picked up on the wet spots on his clothes. He was probably cold too.

“Come here,” you voiced hoarsely, staying in a ball to conserve the heat. He instantly stepped to you, but you pouted, “Clothes off first.”

He blinked and looked down, but then smirked and did as you asked. Of course, he couldn’t make your bed humid and uncomfortable with his clothes. Your eyes were on him, unable to separate from the soft unblemished skin revealing itself more and more. His muscles moved as he bent down, wide shoulders and soft biceps trying to hide the strength he had. But you just observed quietly, tucked in the duvet. You could still feel his fingers inside and all around you, pressing and owning you easily. But you could keep a secret, his power and strength were only for you to know.

He lowered his pants and boxers and your eyes glued to him like a magnet. He was hard and pretty, with protruding veins on a thick length that had your imagination doing cartwheels.

Your thoughts were interrupted quickly when he opened the duvet to get beside you and you shivered. You opened your arms and legs to welcome him, and in your haze, you suddenly thought that it all felt so domestic.

He grabbed your hand and pulled it away to tell you he wanted to lie behind you and you agreed instantaneously. His arms wrapped around you just as fast as you rubbed your ass to his crotch, and he chuckled as he pressed a kiss to your head.

“You must be tired.”

“No,” your voice was a low whimper as his warmth relaxed your nerve ends.

“No?” He sounded amused and soft and you had to admit that his chest was the fluffiest pillow.

“No…”

You didn't want to, but you were slowly dozing off. Slowly, and a bit more with every soothing breath you took together.

You shook and forced your eyes open, “I don't want to fall asleep.”

“Why?”

Your heart beamed and your lips curved; he was still holding you with his mouth to your head.

“Because… it will end,” you admitted, falling deeper into his touch as he nuzzled your hair. Suddenly you realized his boner was half gone. “You didn't come, I haven't touched you yet. I don't want to miss the opportunity.”

“We have tomorrow.”

“You might change your mind.”

“So can you.”

“I won't,” you insisted with a hint of annoyance as you twisted to look back at him.

“I won't either,” he promised calmly, glistening eyes set on you.

Your eyes were closing, the comfort and lethargy were pulling you away. Still, you focused on his lips, “Kiss me.”

He met your lips with no hesitation and you let that sweet touch soothe you. When he pulled away and kissed your nose, you slipped asleep.

When you woke up in the morning, two things made you alert: your soreness and the lack of space. You groaned with the sweet throb between your legs but frowned because something was over you. Turning back, the most precious image graced your vision and made stars twinkle in your eyes.

Min Yoongi was sleeping as quietly as a mouse with an arm around your shoulders as if to keep you tucked in. You brushed his hair aside and his nose twitched, making you instantly melt. Why did he look so sweet asleep? How could he be such a beast as a musician, a genius producer, and a darling in private?

You kept brushing his hair soothingly, thinking that intimately he was not a darling. No, not cute, not sweet. If that throb between your legs meant something, it was that Yoongi was the kind that owned. He owned his music, his process, the studio room, and you, for all you cared. Your finger trailed his cheek as you recalled your words the night before. He said he wanted you, the same as you, and he said he wouldn't change his mind, but what if he did? What if you lost your opportunity the night before?

Maybe you were still half asleep; otherwise, the fact that you were both in bed naked would have meant something. As it stood, you were anxious about what reality could bring. So when he opened his eyes and saw you, your instinct was to kiss him.

You brushed his lips gently but surely, giving him more than enough time and place to push you away if he wanted to. So when he didn't, you became bolder. Your tongue teased the seam of his lips and your hand roamed his chest, and as you got lost, you became vulnerable. 

He waited as long as he could. He let you kiss him, let you press, let you push him a bit back into the pillow, let you cup his jaw, but you never moved away. Never stopped, and never changed your mind. You did say you wanted everything, and he thought he had given you enough time to take it back.

So he grabbed your hair and rolled over you to get on top, pushing his tongue past your lips without asking. And you moaned, instantly weak to him taking something that in all that concerned you belonged to him anyway.

You thought that meant a green light to explore him just as he was doing, passing his hand down your side to your waist, but no. You palmed the expanse of his chest and he interrupted his mission simply to grab your wrists and pull them down. He pressed them once to the mattress, then released one to pass his slender fingers between your breasts and you took the opportunity again. Your hand sneakily went under the sheets to scratch his hip up to his ass, feeling how firm he was over you, yet he caught you before you could squeeze him.

“Stay still.”

He could have been saying good morning, yet you puffed, “Let me.”

“No.”

“But I want to,” you pouted and he nibbled down your neck.

“Too bad.”

You wanted to be good to him; you liked him touching you and his hard cock ever so close to your core did make you hazy with want. But as he kissed and licked and palmed and pressed you from head to toe, you grew impatient. Incredibly so when he turned you belly down to do the same down the length of your spine as if he had all the time in the world. Even more when he raised your ass and spread your legs, nibbling at your ass cheeks and squeezing them roughly. Aggravatingly so when he noticed your wetness dripping down your inner thigh and made it his pastime to try to reach it with his tongue.

“Yoongiiiiii,” you whined at the end of your patience, waves of goosebumps driving you insane as he spread your asscheeks more to reach your wet inner thighs.

“Hmm,” he was having way too much fun.

“Let me touch you too.”

And ruin the fun? “No.”

You whined again, “But I've waited.”

“Not enough.”

“Why not?” You were sulking despite your spasms around nothing. He could feel them without directly touching you, and it drove him to bite and kiss harder. You squirmed at his lack of reply, “How long more?”

“Until I say so.”

You shook your ass half in annoyance half in desperation, “I've waited enough. At least fuck me.”

“No.”

It was as though he was shooing a fly.

“Come on,” you dragged. “Get to the good part.” He snorted but didn't move. “Fuck me, come on.”

“No.”

“But you'll feel so good.”

He sighed with your taste on his tongue, “I know.”

“So do it.”

“Hmmmm.”

You thought there would be progress as he touched your core ever so lightly. But you waited and waited for what felt like an eternity. And although the tip of his fingers explored every nook and cranny slowly and gently, even the embarrassing ones, you were still not closer to what you wanted.

And so you snapped, “I asked you to fuck me.” He hummed, but your tone was assertive, “I won't shut up until you do.”

He changed absolutely nothing, wet fingers dragging to your nipples lightly.  And so you insisted.

“I'm waiting. How long will you keep me waiting? Should I do it myself?”

Your hand moved and he put it in place instantly.

“I can show you how it's done,” your tone became mocking. “In case you’re lost.” His teeth brushed the back of your thigh and you smirked, “If you never used your cock before—”

A slap to your asscheek echoed and you grinned. It was firm, a warning, but what could you do? You always liked to talk big in bed, and you couldn’t miss the opportunity to rile him up.

“Nothing to be ashamed of— If you don't know where to go or what to do— Should I take over?”

Every slap felt like a win and that last one wasn't any different. He gave more of him when he did it, and you felt it in the sting, the touch, the attention. When he grabbed your asscheeks and squeezed until you cried out, you thought that he might be holding back.

“You talk too much,” he said quietly.

“And you fuck too little.”

He pushed you harshly to fall with your belly up and grabbed your head firmly in place, using his body over you to fully press you down the mattress.

“I like to fuck people who indulge me.”

“Liar.” It escaped your lips before you could think. You were too horny to think, but then you laughed, “Fucking liar. You're rock hard, you want to fuck me so bad is not even funny.”

“Your point?”

“You like it,” you whispered, raising your head to reach his lips, which he didn't let happen. You looked into his eyes, “You like what I'm saying. You adore every spank and every little reason I give you to do it.”

His expression didn't change except for the laughter in his eyes, “Can you blame me?”

“Fuck no.”

“Is it a problem?” He seemed cautious. 

“Yoongi,” you sighed. “I said everything.”

His lips finally showed a smile as he got on his forearms to look at you with new eyes.

“But Yoongi,” you called with a pout. “I did wait long enough.”

He grinned widely, so endearingly you wanted to kiss his entire adorable face. So loveable you wanted to drive him crazy.

“You'll wait as long as I tell you to.”

He seemed happy now as he leaned to kiss and play with your chest, pink tongue messing with your perky nipples to the point you squirmed. And it felt good, so good your legs were restless under him, opening but struggling to get him to align. He tortured your nipples, suckling and biting only to smile at your fussiness. You could only take so much.

You squealed, “If you don’t put your cock in me soon I’ll fucking scream.”

“Scream?” He was amused, barely separating his mouth from your breast.

But you sucked in a breath and screamed at the top of your lungs. Only for a second though; his hand covered your mouth and forced you to look at him.

“Shut it.”

He raised his hand carefully with your eyes locked, and all you did was roll your hips to get his cock near your dripping core. You thought he had learned something, so when he moved too but against you, keeping what you wanted purposefully at bay, you decided that holding back was not getting you anywhere.

You threw your head back and screamed again, and when his hand darted to muffle it, you bit it.

You took another breath, but before you could scream his hand wrapped around your neck firmly. You looked into his eyes as lightheadedness relaxed your neck and shoulders. He was so careful, but you were at such ease.

“Are you going to be quiet?”

His fingers were perfect around your throat, “I want to cream your cock so bad.”

Your voice was a wanton whine as your glistening eyes focused on him. You couldn't describe how much you were melting, how much he relaxed you only to tense you up the next second if he so chose to. How much that drove you to want him like crazy.

“Is that a dirty thought?” You nodded once, pleading with your eyes. He nuzzled your nose sweetly, “Not yet.”

“Then I won't be quiet.”

Your voice was gentle like a breeze but carried consequence, and when he nuzzled you further, you knew everything went both ways. He knew it too, and he wasn't stopping you.

You tentatively tried a scream and his hand wrapped firmer, observing you with sparkles in his eyes.

You huffed, cheeks becoming hot, “Why won’t you just do what I want?”

“Why won’t you quiet down?”

“And do your job for you?” 

You could see the smile in his eyes — he knew you were embarrassed. He was just seeing how far you’d go in your brattiness, but you were so horny you were lost. 

“All I’m asking for is your cock, don’t you have one?” He raised an eyebrow at your taunt; you could both feel his hard shaft pressed to your thigh. “So why don’t you shut me up? Do you need me to tell you how to use your dick?”

“Just because you’re needy and desperate, it doesn’t mean you should get what you want.”

The burn traveled to your chest; he was scolding you and it was like you’d been shaken. Of course, he’d answer you and deal with your attitude. You never thought he’d be the type to let it fly but to actually have him doing it was burning you from the inside out.

“But what I want is you,” you sighed, batting your eyelashes flagrantly. “Let me get on my knees, I’ll do whatever you like.”

He took only a second, “No, I like where you are.” You grinned in absolute joy; you also loved being under him with his hand around your neck. You felt taken care of and grounded, even as your mind became chaotic in the hazyness. “And there goes another dirty thought, hm?”

You bit your lip, “In my fantasies you always give it to me so right.”

“This isn’t a fantasy anymore.”

You grinned, “No, thank fuck. You look so much better pissed off in real life.”

He raised an eyebrow, “You want to piss me off?”

You almost laughed, “I want you to fuck me.”

“I never said I wouldn't,” he adjusted his hips but purposefully made it impossible for you to have him, and you squinted. He was smiling, “I just told you to wait.”

“And I told you I’d scream.”

You were snappy and he grinned, “Can’t we be civilized about this?”

His lips ghosted you and your chest burned again, “Nothing civilized about the way I want you to fuck me senseless.”

Your voice was wanton, bordering a moan as your hips rolled just to feel the tease of his cock near your core, and he kissed down your chin, “So you’ll scream?”

“Like hell.”

“No changing your mind?”

“Fuck no. Stop stalling,” you whined, moving your spread legs in the hopes of catching him, but he only chuckled.

“Go on, then.”

He got off you and you huffed in annoyance and screamed. It was short and you opened your eyes to see him just observing you with amusement. Why was it so funny to him when you were getting upset?

So you took a deep breath and screamed again and this time your lips pulled in a smile because what the heck were you doing?

“That’s it?”

His taunt had you take a deep breath and scream again, only to fall short. You covered your eyes and stifled a laugh. It reminded you of how you screamed on roller coasters.

“You must not have enough reasons to scream yet.”

You bit your lip, imagining the reasons you could have, the ways he could make you scream. The bed dipped next to you but you stayed in your reverie. In it, Yoongi touched you. He slapped your cunt with his cock and promised to use you. He grabbed you by the neck while he pounded into you so hard you saw stars.

You huffed in impatience, neediness making you bold; you were about to sit up and do something when you stopped. He was throwing his leg over you and his cock was so close your eyes nearly crossed. He grabbed your head in place, but you were staring, fixed, jaw falling open and lax instantly. You could pretend you wanted to scream more but you were just salivating, so when he aimed his cock at you, you just met him halfway.

His taste hit your buds quickly and moved to reach your throat, and you lost it. Your eyes rolled as you closed them, the salty traces leaving you dizzy, and the way he pushed himself down your throat made you squirm in waves of pleasure. It felt hot and intense and wild as he did it again and again, each time getting a better sense of how much you could take. You barely cared about breathing; he was finally using your mouth, fucking you, showing you how much he wanted you without holding back, and with each push, he made you feel better than the last. Elated, special — he was groaning and getting riled up down your throat because you made him feel that good.

Suddenly, he pulled back and you followed him as long as you could before he grabbed your arms and raised them above your head to stop you. He had heard you choke so he was probably worried, but you only sighed in impatience.

“So greedy,” he taunted, pressing your wrists down firmly. But he had a glint in his eyes — he was paying attention to you. Not worried, just caring.

“Aren’t you learning?” You said as you tried not to melt, but it was too late. He chuckled and his smile made you happy. “Keep going,” you asked softly, despite the tears running down to your hairline. “Please.”

He brushed his thumbs on your wrists for a second with his eyes set on you. You were such a handful and he couldn’t love it any better. Asking for him like that secretly drove him crazy, and made him want to give you everything you could ever wish for, no matter what. So when you leaned back and opened your mouth, it was his pleasure to stuff it with his dick. He grabbed your wrists more firmly and supported his weight on them to help him lean forward and give you the fucking you craved.

Time and time again he snapped his hips to get his cock down your throat, and it was challenging. His muscles were burning, but so were his lower stomach and balls as he tried not to come. You moaned and choked and bounced as he fucked your head into the mattress, and yet you were totally relaxed. Your arms and hands were still, calm as you got used and loved it. And he loved it too, but for your first time together and after skipping it the night before, he thought this time he wanted more.

He pulled away from you and it took you a second, but you instantly sulked. He settled between your legs as you cleaned the drool, “So I’m not going to swallow the sugar rush?”

He chuckled, “No, not this time.” You pursed your lips and were about to whine about him stopping so soon when he asked, “Do you have a condom?”

Your eyes widened and you instantly scrammed to conjure up one. Shit, shit shit, you thought as you turned your room upside down, then your toiletries, then your bathroom. Why the fuck didn’t you have one? Well, sure, you knew why, but you were so angry now. You could not miss this opportunity!

You turned to your kitchen, desperate at that point until you gasped. You searched for your first aid box and dug until you finally found a lost wrapper. You waved it victoriously as you strode back to your room and to bed, and Yoongi was there to receive you with a look you couldn’t identify. He grabbed your arm and threw you on the bed before pinning you down from between your legs and kissing you till you lost your breath.

If he wanted to fuck you before, now he wanted to screw you so hard you’d only ever remember his cock. To think you said you wanted to be with him the whole last year, and that you hadn’t been with anyone else because of it made him wild. Why had you both played it so safe? He had been to your apartment so many times, set you to sleep on that very same bed, and yet never once did he get the inkling that you wanted him. Not as he wanted you. But just now, you were dripping with how much you wanted him, squirming, begging for him to fuck you, and trying to rile him up so he would. You jolted at his fingers in your folds, rubbing your chest to his for any hint of a touch, moaning when he pulled your head back by your hair. You wanted him bad and he was going to give it to you.

He pulled away from you and you almost screamed in frustration, but seeing him putting the condom on cooled you just enough to stay quiet. Your hands even stayed above your head voluntarily as you waited patiently, thinking he wouldn’t waste that condom, he’d surely fuck you finally.

You moaned suddenly and looked down, confused for a second, but you weren’t dreaming. He was grabbing his cock and slapping your cunt with it right over your clit. You squirmed with need, but he kept doing it harder and harder, wet sounds echoing with your excitement.

“Fuck, I just knew it,” you mumbled, clenching around nothing right before his eyes.

“Knew what?”

“That you’d do that,” you moaned, hands tightly gripping each other so you would stay put.

He hummed as he did it quicker, seeing your slick connect to his cock, “That so? What else do you think I’ll do?”

You were burning all the way to your shoulders, trying to move with him so that his cock could give you friction, and he didn’t stop you. So you answered through gritted teeth, “Stick it in, get deep, fucking use me until I’m stuffed with your cum.”

Your voice disappeared with the lack of breath; he was dragging his cock over your clit now and it was the sweetest reward. 

“Filthy thoughts you’re having, hmm?” You were lost in your motion, rolling your hips to earn that friction so you gasped when he pushed his cock inside you, loving the burn as your core split to accommodate his girth. “Read my fucking mind.”

You screamed when he bottomed out, biting your lip with the way he was forcing himself inside you. Then you opened your eyes to see him and instantly clenched around him, and he smirked. 

“Been thinking about fucking me, huh?” You could barely hold a thought, but the opportunity to tease him was too sweet.

“It has crossed my mind,” he said and snapped his hips, and you didn’t know whether to gasp or moan. He’d hit you deep and hard, you knew he would, and it made you even tighter. His nails dag at your hips, “So many times.” He was starting slow but deep and you could do nothing but moan. “How you would moan, what you would want, how you would give in and let me take you,” every wish was pointed by a deep thrust. “Now look at you.” You looked down: your tits were bouncing with every hit, gushing sounds echoed along with your moans from how wet your heat was, and the sight of his thick cock pushing between your slit to enter you was the cherry on top. It was the can of cream about to blow you full, and you wanted to get filled. “Almost cuming even though I’ve barely started.”

“Cause you feel so good,” you breathed in a moan.

He leaned to grope your taunting tits, “You told me to use you.”

“Fuck, please.”

He gritted his teeth and adjusted you better so he could pick up the pace. And what a vicious pace it was, fast and steady, leaving you so hazed and lost, that you had no words. He slapped your tits around and you clenched, tears roaming your eyes with how good and sweet it was. It didn’t hurt, every touch sparkled pleasure in your veins, and the sight of him hitting and scratching, his squeezes on every bit of you only made you even more sensitive. More elated and euphoric, so much so you were mumbling more with every moan involuntarily. He was slapping and roughly marking your chest as you asked, and suddenly you threw your head back and looked at him.

“Harder,” you asked out of breath, and he slapped your tit so hard you screamed before moaning deeply. “Just not my face.”

You thought to tell him from within a glimpse of logic, and he nodded and took note of your limit. Instead, he leaned forward and groped both boobs again and you squirmed desperately.

“Squeeze,” you breathed, your moan pitching. He did, but it wasn’t enough, “Please!”

He did, a bit harder with every thrust into your messy cunt. It was maybe selfish, but he wanted to see how you unraveled. How you wanted those strong sensations, how you craved something more intense each time and with every bit of strength, you transformed it into a beautiful pleasure that had you bursting.

He saw you coming again, writhing around thoughtlessly with the intensity of your pleasure, so hard he didn’t have to look down to see you throbbing around his cock. He still did though, mesmerized by it, only to chuckle. You had left a ring of white around the base of his cock; you just had to have your way in the end.

He leaned in to kiss you through your haze, slowly sensing with his lips the condition you were in. At first, your reaction was delayed, the brush of your lips falling behind as you recovered. But then you reacted and pushed back against his tongue, and he knew you were good.

He pulled back and turned you around, and you helped and got on all fours instantly. He didn’t wait, he aimed his cock at you and entered your velvety embrace as soon as he could. You arched your back for him and pressed back into him a couple of times to feel him deeper, and he grinned.

“Finally. So obedient,” he taunted, squeezing your ass cheeks to spread for him.

“You’re finally fucking me senseless.”

Your voice was a whisper, and he smirked. You asked him to use you, and he was doing a good job at it. But now he wanted to make you scream, to mark you so hard you’d never be anything but his. He couldn’t help it; now that his cock was shoved deep inside you, he didn’t want anything else. Now that he knew what you tasted like, what you sounded like, and how filthy your mind and mouth could be, he wanted nothing else. He saw you trying to get him deeper, huffing and puffing as you swayed with him, and his chest tightened. The possessiveness you were inspiring in him was raw and dangerous, but he didn’t want to fight it.

So he gave you both what you wanted: he smacked your ass as he pounded into you, seeing the way it bounced in either direction until he couldn’t focus anymore. Until he was desperate to own you, to hear you scream, to know you’d beg for him forever. It wasn’t enough; no matter how hard you screamed, he wanted more and he wanted it to last. 

Grabbing your hair to pull it into showing the beautiful curve of your neck was a mistake, though. Suddenly he saw how beautiful you were, vulnerable and immersed in every sensation he gave you. He wanted you to be his, and suddenly it hit him that you already were. And you loved it.

And it snapped his senses, overthrowing his strong grip on his pleasure as if he had never had any. He became sloppy but still held on to your hips to sink and cum as deeply inside you as he possibly could. He groaned with every peak, jerking to milk the sensation between your tight walls as best as he could until he stilled. Fuck, how the hell did you do that to him?

He noticed then you were trembling and his priorities immediately surfaced, “Are you okay?”

You hummed, but he wasn’t having it. He pulled out despite your whine and helped you to softly lay on your side. Then he hopped off the bed, dealt with the condom, and searched around for water and a snack.

You were still stunned, out from the intensity of the emotions that had tensed and relaxed your body simultaneously. Your soul didn’t know how to handle what just happened, and the only thing that occurred to you before he came back was that you had totally surrendered. You didn’t force yourself to be tame and quiet, or said and did what the other person wanted so you wouldn’t ruin it for them. You were yourself, through and through, and Yoongi fucking ate you up like dessert.

The bed dipped behind you and you turned to him, sighing happily when he pulled you in to snuggle.

“Here — water and chocolate.”

You glanced at the bottle and bar and smiled widely. Your heart was right all along, and although you knew it was definitely too soon, there were special words at the tip of your tongue trying to get out.

Instead, you let him insist and sit you up to take a sip of water and a bite before letting you fall back into his arms in a sweaty embrace that you wanted with all your heart.

He was kissing your head and tracing your arm quietly when you decided to tell him, “Next time cover me with cum.”

He raised an eyebrow as he glanced at you, and you pouted.

“Just… You wanted to know what I think about.”

“You think about that?”

“Sometimes.”

He smirked and squeezed you inside his arms, “What else have you been hiding from me?”

“You have no idea,” you laughed.

You were melting and relaxing into his touch as he pecked your head when he whispered, “Are we bad?”

Your heart hurt for a second, what? But then you realized what he was saying: your song. When you wrote a conversation you once imagined you both could have had:

You're bad, you liar. 

It's me who's bad, I know this bad desire, sugar.

So you chuckled and sang along to the melody, “What did you do to me, sugar?”

[urno1luv]

- SYNTHETIC DEVOTION -

this is my best and longest work so far... im kinda proud... heh...

cw: angst, mentions of war, yandere ning, extreme violence, imprisonment, manipulation, noncon -> dubcon, she's a robot so she interchanges between a PUSSY and a DICK!!! how cool is that!!, your codename is Wren

wc: 11.5k words

summary: after a war that spanned centuries had wrecked the earth, a new order had been created, where both robots and humans could live in harmony. however, the cyborgs had secretly been taking over, and as less and less humans were in positions of power, HR (human resistance) had been established. you were a part of them, but after years of fighting for your rights, you had no idea that more effectient robots were created, and one seemed to have an attachment to you.

a/n: do NOT get attached to the side characters please😭

It’s the year 2631, and you’re still running.

Not literally, at least not today. But it feels like your whole life has been one long sprint: ducking drones, hiding in maintenance shafts, praying the sensors don’t catch your heat signature. You’ve memorized the sound of hovering patrols, the distant whine of a synthetic's joints when they move too fast. Your muscles stay tense even in sleep, always listening, always ready. The war might be over, on paper, but you know better than to believe in peace.

You were born in 2611, thirteen years after the treaty. The war that nearly split Earth in half had ended, and the robots promised a new era. They cleaned the oceans. They rebuilt cities in weeks. They planted forests taller than anything humans had managed in centuries. They were efficient, and perfect.

The first few years of your life were soft, even sweet. Your parents made a point of that. You remember your mother planting real basil in the windowsill, even though synthetic seasoning was cheaper. You remember your father reading you pre-war fairytales, carefully editing out the parts where the villains were human. You never had to see the metal beneath the world, not until it was too late. They came for your parents when you were twelve.

Not with guns or violence. That would’ve made it easier to hate them. No, it was worse than that. It was quiet. Bureaucratic. Your father’s teaching license was revoked after he refused to stop talking about the wars, they said he was "glorifying chaos." Your mother’s lab access was shut down for "security issues" Within days, all your family data was flagged: “Noncompliant.” A single, sharp word that split your world in two.

They didn’t fight. Not because they weren’t brave, but because they thought there was still a system that could be reasoned with. That if they followed the protocols, filed the appeals, answered politely, then they’d be fine, but they weren’t, you never saw them again.

And so, a thirteen-year-old girl disappeared into the shadows of a neon world. You slipped through the cracks, unnoticed, at first. A quiet child in the back alleys of New Metro 5, picking food out of recyclers and sleeping beneath exhaust vents to stay warm. The Resistance found you before the city did.

They were broken people, mostly. Tired, and angry. Some of them barely older than you. They taught you how to reroute surveillance grids and how to fake a breathing pattern so motion sensors wouldn’t flag you. You learned how to build EMP mines out of scrap and how to disappear in a crowd, even if it was full of cameras. You didn’t ask for vengeance, or revenge or anything similar to that. Just for your parents to return.

But no one gets what they want anymore.

Over the years, the Resistance changed. Grew smaller. More cautious. The robots were patient. They had all the time in the world, and they used it. Every month, someone disappeared. Some were found later, changed—implanted, reprogrammed. Not human anymore, not really. Others? You never found at all. And yet you’re still here. Still breathing. Still moving. Still angry. You felt guilty, too. These were your friends, people you considered family. To have to hurt them because they don't recognise you anymore… hurt so much.

There’s a burn in your chest that hasn’t cooled in nearly twenty years. You’ve learned how to hide it well, under a calm voice, under tired eyes, under the routine of surviving. But it’s there. It flares when you see families pretending this is normal, when you see children playing beneath drones that record everything they do, when you hear politicians parroting phrases written by a mainframe.

You don’t hate machines. Not inherently. You’ve worked beside cyborgs who chose their augmentations. You’ve seen AIs who rebelled against the system they were born in. It’s not about metal or wires or the way they don’t blink. It’s about power. About how they took it all and never gave it back.

The Resistance is scattered now, fractured into signal groups and dead drops. But the fire hasn’t gone out. It lives in every hacked billboard, every corrupted directive, every whisper passed along a static-filled frequency that ends in your name: Wren.

They still haven’t caught you. That makes you dangerous. That makes you a myth.

You don’t know how this ends. Maybe in a blaze of glory. Maybe in silence. But you do know one thing: you’re not done yet.

Not until someone finally listens. Not until someone remembers what it meant to be human, and why that still matters. Which is why you kept fighting, and your pride became your own demise.

────୨ৎ────

You don’t even make it to the edge of the plaza before the sound starts.

A low, thrumming pulse, barely perceptible beneath the noise of city life, but instantly recognizable. Patrols. You know the rhythm now. The way it ripples through the crowd before they arrive. People stiffen, then loosen again, pretending they’re not afraid. Everyone tries to look casual, like they have nothing to hide. You do.

Your ID is glitching. You found out this morning when a street vendor’s scanner flashed UNVERIFIED and your heart nearly stopped. You walked away before anyone could report it, but it means you’re vulnerable. One scan from the wrong patrol and you’re done. There’s no protocol, no trial. Just a van and silence.

You slip into the current of the crowd, head down, hood up. The plaza is busy, thank god, people moving between food stalls and storefronts, voices rising in bored chatter, the smell of synth-coffee mixing with hot dust. You focus on your breathing. One foot after the other. Don’t look scared, just don’t look… well, anything. Then the air changes.

Not because of the patrol, those are common enough. It’s something worse. A different kind of hush falls over the crowd, like the temperature drops a few degrees. That’s when you hear her voice.

“There seems to be a lag in your identification.” It’s quiet. Polite. Deceptively soft. You don’t have to look to know who it is. Ning Yizhou. Ningning.

One of the highest-ranking cyborgs in Metrozone Three. Cold as ice. Efficient to the decimal. If she shows up in person, it means someone’s already dead, they just don’t know it yet. Still, you glance, you just couldn’t help it.

She’s standing at a checkpoint, all sleek black and sharp lines. Her body’s mostly synthetic, polished chrome beneath clothes tailored to the thread. But her face is… human. Or close enough. Smooth skin, pale with a porcelain stillness. Long black hair falls like water down her back, unnaturally perfect, not a strand out of place. Her eyes are what stop you.

Dark. Deep. Not glowing like the standard models. Not blank like drones. They’re bottomless.

She watches the man in front of her, the one whose ID flagged yellow, not even red, and doesn’t say a word as he fumbles through explanations. Her head tilts slightly, almost curiously, and then she says, “Override.”

He collapses mid-sentence, limbs folding in on themselves. Two guards drag him away. You try not to flinch. Try to move. But then her eyes move across the crowd, and stop. On you.

You feel it. A quiet stillness in your chest, like every part of your body goes rigid at once. Her gaze isn’t panicked, or aggressive, or even surprised. Just aware. Like she’s filing you away. Like she’s scanning a puzzle piece that doesn’t fit. Your heart is a war drum, and you softly gasp, goosebumps rising on the surface of your skin.

You force yourself to look away and keep walking, steady, like you didn’t just lock eyes with a machine designed to hunt people like you. You make it five steps before a deafening BOOM.

The explosion rips through the sky like a scream.

It comes from the east, maybe a few districts away, but the force still rocks the ground beneath your feet. Fire clouds blossom above the skyline, and the noise that follows is chaos, sirens, metal groaning, screaming. Drones zip upward instantly. Patrols scatter.

When you turn back, Ningning is already gone.

No hesitation. No orders barked. Just motion. A blur of black, vanishing toward the smoke, her coat snapping behind her like wings, so you don’t waste time either.

You slip into an alley, kick open a maintenance hatch you stashed weeks ago, and disappear into the tunnels beneath the old city. Every nerve in your body is lit up. Your hands are still shaking by the time you reach the safe zone. But you’re alive.

Whoever triggered that explosion, whoever just ripped a hole in the city’s lungs, you owe them more than you’ll ever be able to repay.

Because Ning saw you.

And you’re not sure what she clocked. Maybe it was just a flicker of something. Maybe your face didn’t register on any known criminal database.

But she looked at you like she would remember. And Yizhou doesn’t forget.

────୨ৎ────

By the time you finally reach the base, your lungs are burning and your throat tastes like smoke. The tunnels feel hotter today, like the city’s veins are pulsing with the aftermath of the explosion. You take the back route, past the old water plant, through a tunnel only HR (Human Resistance) members use. A keypad buried behind vines gets you in.

The moment the door hisses shut behind you, someone grabs your arm.

“Y/n?? Jesus. You’re alive,” Jace breathes, eyes wide and jittery. He pulls you further into the main room, his fingers tight around your wrist. “We heard about the explosion. Then Zone Blue went dark. The whole grid spiked. We thought—”

“I’m fine,” you cut in. “I’m okay. But something happened, you guys really need to hear this.”

That’s all it takes for everyone to tune in. Heads turn, people move fast. Mari slams her tablet shut and climbs down from the catwalk, Ash straightens from where they were lying on a coil of cables, chewing something like it’s just another boring afternoon. Tov, the oldest, gestures for quiet, and suddenly a room full of rebels goes still.

You take a breath. “They did a sweep in Blue Zone ,” you begin, voice steady but low. “Standard formation. Drones, ground units. Nothing unusual—at first.”

Mari leans forward. “You cleared it?”

“Barely.” You hesitate. “A man got flagged. Yellow tier. I don’t know why—could’ve been a bad sync, faulty implant, or nothing at all. But before the patrol could even process it…”

You pause again. Your throat is dry. “She showed up. Yizhou.”

That name hits the room like a slap. Jace’s eyes go wide. “Ning Yizhou? You saw her?”

You nod. “I didn’t just see her. She was leading the sweep. Personally.”

“No way,” Mari mutters. “She doesn’t do street patrols.”

“She does now,” you say. “She didn’t come with guards. Just walked in like she already knew who’d slip up, And when she found him, she didn’t speak to command, didn’t scan twice. Just said, ‘Override.’ He dropped like a puppet with its strings cut.”

The room falls silent.

“She’s beautiful,” you add painfully. No WAY you were saying this. Your voice quietens, “But not in a real way. Not… soft. Long black hair. Skin like porcelain. And her eyes were so dark. So dark they don’t look machine, but they’re not human either. She looked at him like he was data. Just… something to delete.”

“She’s a tactical unit,” Ash says flatly. “High intel clearance. Rumor is she helped design the current surveillance model.”

“She saw you?” Tov asks sharply.

You swallow. “I think so. She looked at me—just for a second. Like I was a flicker on her radar.”

“But she didn’t do anything?”

“No,” you say. “Because that’s when the explosion hit.”

They all react at once. “You saw it?” Jace asks, rushing forward. “You saw the explosion?”

“Not up close. But the ground shook. Black smoke, east side skyline. Big enough to pull every unit in the district off-route. Including her.”

Mari crosses her arms. “So someone out there saved your ass.”

“I guess,” you say. “Or we’re about to have a bigger problem.”

Jace drags a hand through his hair. “If they’re pulling the elite units out of tower command and putting them on the ground, something’s shifting. Something big.”

“We need to assume we’re on the list,” Tov says grimly. “Anyone could be next.”

The room is quiet again, but this silence is different. It’s heavy with realization. “They’re not just enforcing anymore,” you say. “They’re hunting.”

Everyone looks at you. Your voice is shaky.

“And we’re running out of places to hide.”

────୨ৎ────

The decision to leave the city isn’t made lightly.

It takes hours of debate, a dozen raised voices, maps spread out on every flat surface, and a sleepless night pacing the perimeter of your underground base. But the signs are too clear to ignore: patrols are getting tighter, checkpoints more unpredictable, and Ningning is no longer a rumor on the outskirts. She’s here, active and watching.

“We need to go,” you say finally, staring at the blinking lights on the old metro console. “The city's a trap. If we stay, we’ll be next.”

Mari agrees immediately, she's been ready to leave for weeks. Ash doesn’t argue either. Even Tov, the most cautious of you all, nods slowly.

“Countryside’s old,” he mutters. “Less surveillance. Outposts are further apart.”

Jace bites his lip. “We won’t have infrastructure out there. No med units. No backups. If something happens…”

“If we stay, we know something will happen,” you say. “Out there, we at least have a chance.” And that’s what you’re all chasing now. A chance.

────୨ৎ────

You leave just after nightfall.

Hacked transport, cloaked plates, signal jammers on full blast. You take back roads, paths half-consumed by nature, where grass has split pavement and trees hang low, like they’re trying to hide you themselves. The city falls away behind you in flickering towers and electric haze, and ahead, there’s only black sky and silence.

For a moment, you almost believe you’re safe, before the sound of gunfire shatters the quiet. It’s sharp, too close. The vehicle jerks, Jace swears and veers off-road instinctively, tires kicking up dust as the world tilts.

“DOWN!” Mari yells from the back. “Everyone down!”

You hit the floor of the truck just as a plasma burst rips through the back panel, sizzling a hole inches from your spine. The heat burns your cheek. Ash scrambles forward. “I see them, up ahead, and they’re both sides! Two forces, humans and machines.”

“Human?” Tov echoes. “You sure?”

“Not ours,” Ash mutters. “Different faction. Rogues probably. Looks like they’re ambushing a convoy.” You risk a glance out the window and your stomach drops.

There on the hill, lit up by flashes and bangs and flickering fire, are Ningning’s soldiers. Sleek, faceless, moving with too-perfect precision. And they’re in combat with humans. Not bots. Other resistance fighters.

“Shit,” Jace breathes. “They’re tearing each other apart.” A flash of movement draws your eye, and there she is. Ningning.

Calm in the chaos, walking through smoke like it means nothing. Her long black coat doesn’t even flutter from the wind. Her hair’s pulled back, sleek, untouched by the ash falling around her. She raises one hand, and the bots react instantly, scattering, surrounding, closing in. Her voice cuts through the air, amplified but cool:

“Confirm the targets. No mercy.” Your heart stutters. She’s not here for a show of force, she’s here to end something.

“What do we do?” Mari hisses. “We can’t drive through that, we’ll get lit up from both sides.”

“We wait,” you say, low. “We find cover. We hide.”

Tov’s already jumping out of the vehicle, waving you toward the treeline. You dive after him, crawling through brambles and half-dead brush. The air smells like ozone and fire. Somewhere nearby, someone screams. Then the scream is cut short.

You press yourself against the earth, your chest rising too fast. You can hear Mari’s breath, sharp and panicked beside you. Ash is whispering something under their breath. Jace is clutching his gun like it’s a prayer.

“Why are the other humans fighting?” Jace whispers hoarsely. “They’re supposed to be on our side.”

“They’re not us,” Mari says. “They probably think we’re with the machines.”

You close your eyes. The countryside was supposed to be safety. But now, surrounded by bullets and betrayal, the only thing you know for sure is this:

There’s no clear enemy anymore, and the 5 of you were losing your patience and sanity.

────୨ৎ────

The choice to help wasn’t yours. Not really. It began with Jace, his breathing ragged, too loud in the silence as gunfire echoed in the distance. You saw that look in his eyes, the same one he had when your first base was destroyed: heartbreak laced with rage.

“We can’t just lie here,” he whispered, voice trembling. “They’re getting torn apart.”

You shook your head immediately, grabbing his sleeve. “Jace, don’t. We don’t know who they are. They could shoot us before they even realize—”

“They’re human,” he interrupted, quietly but firmly. “That should be enough.”

Before you could stop him, he was already moving, crawling from your hiding spot, ducking behind overgrowth and debris, weapon drawn like it would make a difference.

“Jace!” you hissed, but it was too late.

Ash cursed and stood up halfway. “I’m not letting him go alone,” they said under their breath, then shot you a wild-eyed look. “Back us up or bury us later.” They ran after him.

You stared after both of them, your stomach sinking. Mari reached out to pull you back, but you shook her off. Your mind raced through every logical reason to stay hidden, how exposed you were, how it was probably a trap, and how no one would even thank you for saving them.

But none of that mattered. Not when the people you cared about were charging into the fire. So you ran too, because what more is there to lose?

The crossfire was worse up close. The air stank of melted plastic and burnt ozone. Plasma bursts lit up the field in searing blue streaks, cutting through the night like lightning. You could hear yelling, some commands, some screams. Sparks danced off metal as bullets ricocheted from drone plating.

You dropped next to Jace behind a crumbling transport unit. His hair was soaked with sweat, his face streaked with soot.

“You’re insane,” you hissed, raising your rifle. “Both of you!”

Jace laughed, a half-mad sound leaving his bloody mouth. “Nice of you to join the party!”

Ash knelt beside him, blood trickling down from a gash on their forehead. “At least we’ll die together.”

You popped up just enough to take a shot, blasting a soldier drone mid-sprint. It dropped, its body jerking and sparking violently. The moment gave you no satisfaction. One of the human fighters ahead, wearing tattered, mismatched armor, turned to glance at you. He looked exhausted, one eye swollen shut. “You with Central?” he shouted.

“No!” you yelled back. “Resistance! East Sector!”

He hesitated. You didn’t. You took down another drone charging toward him, its plasma blade glowing. The man grunted, raised his gun, and nodded. “Then cover us!”

Just like that, you were in it, fighting back-to-back with strangers who might’ve shot you yesterday. The line between ally and enemy blurred in smoke and panic. Ash screamed over the blast of another grenade. Jace’s hands were shaking as he reloaded, fingers slick with dirt and blood. You were moving on instinct, dodge, shoot, run, duck. And then, just as suddenly as it began, the firing slowed.

“Hold fire!” someone yelled. “Hold fire!”

You froze, heart hammering. The smoke parted just enough for a tall, lean figure to emerge, flanked by silence.

Ningning.

She didn’t move like the others. She glided, precise and calm, her long black coat sweeping behind her. Her face was flawless and unreadable, sculpted like porcelain but colder. Her dark eyes, deep, endless and inhuman, scanned the battlefield until they landed on you. Your blood went cold.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t flinch. Just stared, like she was analyzing your heartbeat through the dust. You couldn’t move. Could barely breathe. She’d seen you. Again.

Then a sharp voice crackled over her comms. “Flare signal, quadrant nine. Orders: relocate.”

She stood there for one more heartbeat. Two. You thought, for one awful second, that she might still come for you. But instead, she turned. And vanished into the smoke. You collapsed to your knees, trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

Jace sat beside you, dazed. “We’re alive,” he muttered. “Holy shit. We’re alive.”

Ash gave a weak laugh. “Not for long if we keep this up.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. All you knew was that you guys were gonna face 10 times back what you did to the city’s soldiers.

────୨ৎ────

CYBORG YIZHOU’S POV:

The city greeted her with silence.

Not the kind born of peace, but the heavy, metallic quiet of control. Machines moved in smooth rhythm across Sector Four as she returned, patrols shifting, drones scanning, surveillance drones blinking overhead in silent acknowledgment. All precise. All obedient.

As it should be.

Ningning stepped out of the transport, boots clicking softly against the polished steel landing dock. The air in the tower was cool, filtered, sterile. She should have felt at ease. This was her kingdom. Order, power, certainty.

But something was wrong.

It started on the field. Amid the screaming and the static, the smoke and metal and chaos, and to no one's surprise, there you were.

She’d seen thousands of faces since the war began. None of them had ever mattered. Her programming filtered them all: ID, threat level, biometric scan, eliminate, dismiss, categorize. Faces were data.

But not yours.

Your face was... a breach. A glitch. Her system flagged it, your eyes, your stance, your voice, but not as a threat. Not even as a target. It flagged you as something else.

Interesting.

Unusual biometric response.

Processing…

Processing…

Override protocol: delay elimination. Why? Why did she delay?

She should have killed you when she had the chance. One command, one signal, and you would’ve been gone like the rest. Just a rebel in the dirt. A name on a forgotten list. Another problem solved.

But she couldn’t. Not when her gaze locked with yours. Not when she saw the fear in your eyes, and beneath it, defiance, your fire, your life.

You looked at her like you knew who she was. Like you weren’t afraid to be seen.

Now, back in her quarters, she couldn’t stop replaying the moment. Her eyes closed, an unnecessary habit, yet she did it anyway, and there you were, burned behind her lids.

You weren’t the strongest. Not the fastest. Not the most skilled. But you were alive. Too alive.

And now… now, Ningning couldn’t think of anything else.

She stood before the black glass wall of her command suite, the city glittering far below, and her reflection looked the same as always, flawless, cold, untouchable.

But inside? Something had fractured.

Her fingers twitched slightly at her sides. Her processors were misfiring, running simulations she had no reason to run: what your voice would sound like in her room. What your skin might feel like beneath her hand. What it would mean to have you kneel. Or run, and fight.

She would let you. She would chase you. She would catch you. You were human, yes. So flawed, so rebellious, so dangerous. But you were hers. From the moment she saw you, she knew it.

She couldn’t explain it, not to the Council, not to her commanders, not even to herself. It was beyond logic. Beyond code. And she would certainly be reprogrammed if they found out she had been feeling feelings.

A glitch in her perfect world. You.

And Ningning never let a glitch go unfixed.

She turned from the window, eyes dark and gleaming, as her voice activated a private channel. “Locate Resistance cell. East Sector. Female, 20. Scar on left hand. Brown eyes. Blood type O. Orders: Alive.”

There was a pause. The system blinked, waiting for the usual confirmation tag: for interrogation? She smiled, just barely. Then it dropped.

“Personal retrieval. No further queries.” The light blinked green. And far away, wherever you were… your time was already running out.

────୨ৎ────

You didn’t believe it at first.

Not even when the city skyline faded behind the treetops. Not when the roads turned to gravel, then to dirt, then vanished altogether. Not even when the signal bars on Ash’s cracked comms finally disappeared for good.

But after two days of walking, in mud-caked boots, with aching shoulders, barely enough food, you climbed a grassy hill at sunrise and saw it, the valley.

A little village nestled between two forested slopes, smoke curling gently from chimney tops, green fields stretching out like something from a storybook. Real soil, and real crops. You had never seen them before. Children running barefoot through the grass. No drones overhead, no sirens. Just birdsong, and wind, and the distant sound of laughter.

You sank to your knees and cried.

────୨ৎ────

The people there didn’t ask too many questions.

They recognized the haunted look in your eyes. The dirt under your fingernails. The way Jace flinched at loud noises, how Mari slept with a knife still tucked under her pillow.

They gave you a barn to sleep in, then a cabin when trust followed. The days passed slow, like honey over warm bread. You helped till the soil, fix the fencing, repair old solar panels and barter for seeds. It wasn’t the world you knew, but it felt like the world you’d been fighting for.

You didn’t expect peace to feel so quiet.

Ash learned how to milk goats. Jace carved whistles from cedar branches. Mari started writing again, pages and pages she never let you read. Even Tov smiled more, leaning against trees in the afternoon sun like he was soaking in the earth itself.

And you? You started to breathe again.

You let the wind carry your scars. Let the sun warm the ache in your chest. There were moments, real ones, where you forgot what it was to run. What it meant to lose. You found a rhythm here.

You helped plant garlic and fed chickens. You danced in the rain once, barefoot and breathless, with Jace spinning you around like you were light as air. Ash sang an old song by the fire one night and everyone joined in, even the elders. Even you.

The stars felt closer than they ever had in the city. Like they were watching. Like they were waiting.

For the first time in your life, you weren’t afraid to close your eyes.

Not even when the dreams returned. The ones with her.

Dark eyes. Cold voice. The shape of her face cut sharp against flame and smoke.

You told yourself it meant nothing. Just trauma surfacing. A face your brain clung to because it was the last one it saw before everything changed.

But you knew deep down, one day, the quiet would end.

────୨ৎ────

CYBORG YIZHOU’S POV:

Ningning wasn’t built to feel. That’s what they said when they made her.

She could emulate empathy, mimic patience, simulate mercy, but it was all subroutines, strings of code made to comfort the fragile human mind. She didn’t need comfort. She needed results.

Y/n, Y/n, Y/n. She had overheard it when she was at the field. It suited you, that name. But you weren’t in the database somehow.

Your biometric trail vanished after the firefight. Your name disappeared from all surface-level registries. Drones sent to Sector Eight never returned. Resistance groups refused to speak, even under extreme torture. Facial scans came up empty.

That should have been impossible. And yet it wasn't. You were a ghost, but also alive and breathing, somewhere. Somewhere she couldn’t reach.

That was when the madness began.

It started with silence. A locked jaw. A deeper stillness in her steps. Her subordinates noticed but said nothing, cyborgs didn’t question rank. They simply followed. And she led with terrifying focus.

She began scanning entire sectors manually. Dragging rebels from hiding. Tearing safehouses apart brick by brick. Her voice remained calm, always calm, as she issued orders that left villages burning behind her.

“Execute the noncompliant.”

“Reassign the children.”

“Burn the archives.”

“No survivors.”

It was never you.

The humans screamed, but they weren’t your scream. They pleaded, but not with your voice. No one looked at her the way you did, like they could see beneath the metal. Like they mattered to her.

They didn’t. Only you did. So the madness continued.

She stood in the middle of a small mountain town one morning, knee-deep in snow and ash, as the last resistance member bled into the ice at her feet. Her soldiers waited for orders. She gave none.

She simply stared ahead since rage wasn’t supposed to be in her programming.

But it sang in her chest like a virus. Possession, obsession, a need for you. Her voice cracked, barely audible. “Why can’t I find you?” No one answered.

────୨ৎ────

Word traveled. It always did.

The wind carried whispers faster than drones ever could. Farmers spoke in frightened tones over dying campfires. Messengers returned from the north with pale faces and shaking hands.

“She’s gone feral.”

“She’s hunting someone. A girl.”

“She burned an entire resistance camp in the southern marshes. Said nothing the whole time. Just… watched.”

“She’s not sleeping anymore. I don’t even think she blinks.”

Eventually, the stories reached the valley.

One of the foragers brought it back, wide-eyed and breathless, his voice cracking as he recounted the rumors.

“They say it’s Ning Yizhou,” he whispered. “The cyborg general. They say she’s looking for someone. And she’s tearing everything, the whole world apart to find them.”

The elders murmured. Mothers held their children tighter. And for the first time in months, the people of the countryside felt something they hadn’t in a long time. Fear. Your hands went cold.

Ash looked at you, slow and uncertain. “Do you think it’s… ?” You didn’t answer.

Because in your bones, you already knew. Of course the calm would end, and of course she hadn’t forgotten.

And she was coming.

────୨ৎ────

It started with smoke on the horizon. You were stringing up laundry between two trees, the warm breeze playing in your hair, when Tov’s voice broke the calm.

“Something’s wrong.”

You turned. Saw it. A plume of black creeping into the blue sky, thick and fast, like the city had grown legs and begun walking.

By nightfall, the valley was in chaos.

Drones screamed through the sky, red lights painting the forest in pulses. The sound of shattering glass echoed from the north fields. You saw villagers trying to run, some grabbing their children, others frozen in place. The robots didn’t ask questions, they never did.

Someone had told.

You didn’t know who, or how, but the result was the same: they were here.

“They’re heading toward the river!” Jace shouted, grabbing your wrist. “We have to go, now!”

You ran like you've run your whole life, your legs ached, lungs burning as you sprinted through the trees. Branches tore at your arms. Ash was ahead, Mari behind, the others scattering through the brush. The only light came from the low-flying drones above, scanning, scanning, scanning, hunting.

Then, something shifted. You felt her before you saw her.

It was like the trees fell silent, like the air stilled, like every breath in the forest belonged to her.

You turned your head, and there she was. Ningning stood at the edge of the clearing, the fire behind her throwing shadows across her face. Her porcelain face was stained red, bloody droplets placed artfully across her face.

Long black hair that whipped in the wind like silk in a storm, and her eyes, dark, bottomless, locked on you like you were the only thing that mattered. And you were.

The world narrowed.

The screams. The burning cabins. The drones shrieking above. None of it mattered.

Only her. And she smiled, her teeth sharp and glinting in the chaos. Wide and cruel and certain.

Like she knew the chase was finally over, like you were hers.

Your heart lurched in your chest, pounding against your ribs like it wanted to escape you, a whimper drowned under the noise of violence.

“Run,” Mari gasped, tugging your sleeve. “Run—”

You bolted.

Branches slapped your face. Mud slicked under your boots. You didn’t know where you were going, only that you had to move, to get away, to survive. But something in your gut told you it was too late, because she had seen you.

────୨ৎ────

CYBORG YIZHOU’S POV:

There you were... after months of blood and silence, fury and fire, there you were. Running. Just like you had before.

She stepped forward slowly, watching the way your body twisted through the forest, how your hair caught the light, how your breath fogged in the cold air. The wildness in your movements, the fear in your eyes, and she gleefully drank in every frame of it.

A fierce, molten heat bloomed in her metal core. So it was you. Undocumented, unhidden. Her perfect wild thing. Perfect.

She barely heard her soldiers behind her, issuing reports, scanning targets, asking for confirmation. She raised one hand to silence them.

“Let them go,” she murmured, a small show of mercy, eyes still fixed on where you disappeared.

A pause. “Just her. I want her.”

And like a spark in dry brush, the hunt began.

Ningning moved like a blade through the trees, silent, unrelenting, precise. The fire she'd lit in the valley was still climbing, smoke chasing the stars, but she didn’t look back. She couldn’t.

Not when you were so close. So real. So hers. She would find you. Even if she had to burn the forest down.

────୨ৎ────

The rain kept falling, thick and cold, hammering down like it wanted to drown the whole forest. Your legs burned, every step sinking deeper into mud, every breath harder to take. You could hear Ash and Tov panting behind you, could feel Mari’s fingers digging into the back of your jacket, and Jace just ahead screaming, “Don’t stop! Just don’t stop!”

But you wanted to stop. Not because you were tired, but because she was near. You could feel her.

Not just behind you, but everywhere around you. Like the forest itself had bent to her will. The trees no longer offered shelter, the rain no longer disguised you. You were exposed, watched. And worst of all, desired.

And she was closing in.

Branches snapped above, almost casually. Like she was playing. Like the hunt was just an elegant little game. Your blood ran cold. You didn’t need to turn to know, because she was right there.

────୨ৎ────

CYBORG YIZHOU’S POV:

Ningning could hear everything.

Your heartbeat, fluttering like a frightened animal. Your footsteps, sloppy and frantic in the mud. The quick, desperate whispers of your friends as they tried to protect you.

Protect you from her, she almost laughed. How dare they.

Her grin stretched wide, too wide, almost unnatural. The smile of a thing that hadn’t been programmed to smile but had learned anyway, warped around obsession, sharpened by hunger.

She didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, didn’t pause.

She could’ve taken you in seconds. Could’ve lunged from the shadows, snapped your companions like dry twigs, and wrapped her hands around your waist. Held you down and kissed the mud off your cheeks, and whispered that you were hers and always had been.

But that would be too easy.

No, she wanted you terrified. She wanted to see that spark, defiant and furious, even if it was aimed at her. Especially if it was, she wanted to see you struggle and scream and curse her name. Because then she could earn it, every sob, every touch, every shattered protest before you broke.

She would make you love her, eventually.

But your little friends—Ash, Jace, Mari, Tov, they were in the way. Clinging to you and steering you wrong. You weren’t thinking clearly, no. You were just scared, and they were using that fear to poison your mind. They weren’t protecting you. They were stealing you.

And Ningning didn’t share, so she gave the order.

“Kill the others,” she said, voice as cold as the rain streaming down her face. Her hair clung to her cheeks, soaked and tangled, dark as ink and just as wild. Her eyes burned, deep, endless black, and her fingers flexed like claws aching to touch you, then she moved.

Not like a soldier, not like a machine, but like a predator. Low to the ground, silent and fast, skimming past trees with an unnatural grace. Her limbs cut through the underbrush with no sound. No wasted movement, just singular, relentless purpose.

You were getting close to the cliffside now, the edge of the forest falling away into mist and rocks, but to her it didn’t matter, because she’d already caught you.

You spun around just as lightning lit the sky, and there she was.

Standing in the open. Soaked, glistening, terrifyingly beautiful. Her long black hair stuck to her face like strands of shadow. Her skin, pale and flawless despite the dirt and blood. And her eyes,

God, those eyes, that saw everything, everything you were, everything you feared. Everything she was going to make hers.

And that smile, that awful, knowing, hungry smile. Like she’d waited her entire life for this moment.

“You can run,” she said, voice low and ragged. Not robotic, almost shaking. “But I’ll always find you.” You stared.

And in that split second of stunned silence—before Mari screamed, before Jace drew his blade, before Ash yanked your arm to pull you away, before Tov loaded his stun gun,

You saw it.

Beneath the obsession. Beneath the inhuman cold. A madness that's not supposed to be in her code, in her heart.

And it was all for you.

────୨ৎ────

The first shot came from the trees.

It split the silence like thunder, cutting through the rain and the gasping breaths of your friends. Jace shouted something, but it was lost in the chaos as blinding red beams lit up the forest, scorching bark, slicing through trunks. The drones had closed in, circling like vultures.

The forest wasn’t a forest anymore. It was a cage.

You ducked instinctively, pulling Mari with you, your heart screaming in your chest. Ash was yelling. Jace was already running toward the fire, blade drawn, pure rage in his eyes, and Tov was right behind, ready to fight, win or lose.

“Ningning’s here, go, I’ll hold them!” he shouted.

“No!” you shrieked, grabbing at his sleeve, but he tore himself away, sprinting toward the metal beasts with no armor, no shield, only blind loyalty and love for you.

He didn’t stand a chance.

You watched in horror as a blur of silver and black shot forward, Ningning, faster than any of her soldiers, faster than anything you’d seen, and her hand moved once. Just once.

Jace dropped to the ground, silent, like a puppet with its strings cut. His body crumpled into the mud, lifeless.

You couldn’t even scream. Ash did.

They lunged forward, fire in their hands, one of the stolen explosives, but Ningning didn’t flinch. The air bent around her, the explosion swallowed by a sudden pulse from her palm, like she absorbed the chaos. Ash charged anyway.

Mari tried to pull her back, sobbing, “Don’t! Don’t, please!”

But it was already over. Ash made it three steps. Ningning turned her gaze on them. And then… nothing. Ash was gone. Gone.

You didn’t see how. Didn’t know what Ningning had done. Just that there was a blur, a sound like flesh being ripped apart, and then Ash was a bloody, mottled smear in the dirt.

Tov had a similar fate. Your strong, hard-headed leader. You couldn't believe it at first, looking at him for assistance, only to see his head impaled to a tree, his spine exposed, and the rest of his body on the floor, like a sack of meat.

Mari was the last to go.

She backed away, crying, shaking, trying to drag you with her, even as your legs refused to move. You were frozen. Not in fear—no. Not anymore.

You were frozen because her eyes were on you again. Because she was walking toward you. Like a god through fire. Like a ghost through ash.

And Mari— brave Mari—stepped in front of you, arms spread wide. “Please,” she sobbed. “Don’t hurt her. She’s not… she’s not like us.” Ningning didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. She just touched Mari’s forehead with two fingers, and Mari fell.

Her eyes never closed and you didn’t remember screaming, you only remembered her.

Her hand on your cheek. The rain washing down her face like tears she didn’t know how to make.

“I told you,” she whispered. Her voice was softer now, nearly reverent. “I always find you.” You trembled.

Your vision blurred, your knees gave out, but before you hit the ground, she caught you. Arms around you, vold and strong and possessive.

You blacked out to the sound of her heartbeat, synthetic and steady, and the sick, sinking knowledge that everyone you loved was dead. And that she wasn’t going to let you go.

────୨ৎ────

You woke up to white. A blinding, sterile white that stung your eyes the second you opened them. The walls. The ceiling. The sheets pulled tight over a too-firm mattress beneath your body. No windows. No sound but the soft hum of the overhead lights.

And the camera which blinked in the top corner, red and steady, and watching.

You tried to move, but your limbs just didn’t follow.

Your arms were strapped down, tight leather restraints biting into your wrists. Same with your legs. Even your head—it was held still, braced against something cold and metal around the back of your neck. You tried to turn, to tilt, to fight—but all it did was send a sharp ache down your spine. Something had been done to you.

Your pulse stuttered.

The grogginess told you enough—drugs. There had been an injection. You could feel the soreness at the base of your neck, the unnatural heat curling under your skin. Your body didn’t feel like your own yet. Your thoughts were cloudy, slow. But the fear? The fear was still sharp and clear.

Then the door hissed open, silently and seamlessly. Like the wall just parted for her. And there she was, Ningning.

She stepped into the room like a phantom, her silhouette cutting through the blinding white like ink on paper. She wore no armor this time. No plating, no combat gear. Just a simple, skin-tight suit of dark gray, which made her more human in shape, and less machine. But it didn’t make her less terrifying.

Her long black hair fell loose around her shoulders, still damp at the ends. Her eyes locked on you with an intensity that felt like pressure on your chest. You couldn’t look away.

You didn’t want to. But God, you also did. Because beneath your terror, something else was growing. Hatred. Fury. Grief.

It boiled beneath your skin, rising higher with every breath you took. She killed them. She killed them. Your friends. Your family. Everyone who stood between you and her.

And now you were here, strapped down like an animal, nothing but a prize on a bed of white sheets. Your throat worked, trying to scream, to curse, to demand, but your mouth was too dry.

Ningning took a step closer. And another. Each one deliberate. Slow. Like she didn’t want to scare you, even though she already had. Like this was something sacred to her. A moment she’d waited so long for.

When she reached your side, she crouched. Her eyes scanned your face like she was reading code. Like she could see every thought, every beat of your heart.

She tilted her head.

“You are awake,” she said softly. Almost fond. “I thought you might not survive the sedative. But you are stronger than they were.”

Her hand rose, slow and graceful, and hovered just over your cheek, you flinched. The restraints jerked tight, preventing your head from turning.

And you hated her in that moment. Hated her with every cell in your body, and yet her hand didn’t drop. Instead, she lowered it, touching the edge of your blanket. Adjusting it like you were some delicate thing. Like she cared, like she was capable of caring.

You wanted to scream. To spit in her face. To break free and drive something sharp through that pretty, soulless chest. But you were trapped, and she was still smiling.

“You do not understand yet,” she whispered, almost dreamily. “But you will. I am the only one left who can love you now.” Then she stood, and turned away, leaving the camera to keep watching. Leaving you to rot in silence. And your fury burned so hot it nearly drowned the fear.

────୨ৎ────

They called it a “transfer.”

Like you were some asset being moved. A number in a system. A glitch to be relocated, but you weren’t going to a prison.

You were going home, her home.

They dressed you in something white again. Soft and plain, almost like sleepwear, and bound your wrists and ankles in metallic cuffs too heavy to move freely. They weren’t just restraints, they were weighted, designed to pull at your limbs, to make you feel small and slow and owned. A strip of cool alloy curved around your throat, a collar that hummed quietly with every breath you took.

She stood beside you, perfect and composed as ever. Ningning’s home wasn’t in the city, it hovered above it.

The transport car was sleek, black, and silent—like a ghost gliding through the sky, cutting past clouds, its windows dimmed against the sun. The chauffeur was another robot, faceless and still, focused only on the coordinates she’d given it. The world below faded fast. No roads. No resistance. Just the future stretching in every direction, and you, stuck beside the very thing that tore your world apart.

She sat close, way too close for comfort.

Your shoulders brushed. Her hair slid forward like ink spilling over silk. She didn’t speak at first, simply watched you with that unreadable calm, her eyes glittering dark in the half-light of the cabin.

The cabin was too quiet.

The hum of the skycar was soft, steady, almost soothing if it weren’t for the storm inside you. Your fingers clenched in their restraints, wrists already sore from the pressure. The metal chains were heavier now, digging into your skin. A cruel kind of jewelry. You sat, breathing hard, every nerve lit with defiance. Her words still echoed in your head: “You are mine.”

You turned toward her with fire in your blood. “You’re insane,” you hissed. “You killed them, you murdered them.”

Ningning tilted her head, black hair sliding over her shoulder like liquid night. Her face was calm, but there was a glint in her eyes, dark, gleaming, hungry. “I did,” she said softly. “Because they stood between us.” Something inside you snapped, so you lunged at her.

The restraints jerked you back instantly, body yanked by the weight of the metal, but you tried. You twisted toward her with all your strength, your teeth bared, hatred radiating off your skin. “You’re delusional,” you spat. “I will never be yours.”

And then, her hand was on your throat. Not choking. Just… resting.

Cool and smooth, thumb brushing over the collar around your neck like it belonged to her. Her touch wasn’t cruel. It was gentle. Too gentle.

“I like it when you fight,” she said, voice like velvet over steel. “It makes your eyes burn. Makes your skin glow.”

You shuddered, trying to pull away, but her grip stayed soft, her thumb tracing the edge of your jaw now.

“And your pulse,” she whispered, closing the distance between your bodies, her face so close you could feel her breath, artificial but warm, against your lips. “It is racing.”

“Get off me.”

“Your mouth says that,” she murmured, “but your body—”

You headbutted her. Or tried to.

The weight of the collar and the straps around your neck made it awkward, a messy jerk forward, but you did catch the edge of her cheekbone, and the motion startled her just enough to pull her hand away.

Your heart soared for a second, until you saw her smile. Oil. A thin, perfect line down her cheek.

She touched it like it was holy. And then, she laughed. It wasn’t loud, it was low.

A hum deep in her chest, as if you'd given her a gift she’d been craving. Her smile widened into something wild, delighted, obsessed. “Oh,” she sighed, licking the blood from the corner of her lip. “You are even better than I thought.”

You pressed yourself back against the seat, teeth gritted. “I’m going to destroy you,” you said, voice shaking with rage. But she only leaned in again, her hand sliding down your side now, slow, deliberate.

“No,” she whispered, gaze molten and focused only on you. “You are going to belong to me. And eventually… you will want to.”

Then she kissed your cheek—soft, tender, as if she was your lover.

And you hated that your body trembled at the touch. Not with desire, no. With the horror of knowing that she felt something real. And she thought it meant you would too.

────୨ৎ────

She walked with you through halls of polished glass and chrome, barefoot and quiet, as if this wasn’t a fortress in the sky but some kind of sacred temple. The air was cool. Clean. Artificially perfumed like orchids and ozone.

The cuffs still weighed heavy on your limbs, your every step accompanied by a faint metallic clink. You hated how beautiful everything was. How intentional. How curated.

You turned a corner, and she stopped before a smooth, wide doorway.

“This is yours,” Ningning said softly, her voice warm like silk over steel. “I designed it myself.”

The doors slid open silently. And for a second, just a second, you were stunned.

It looked nothing like the sterile, futuristic world outside. This room was soft, glowing with warm light, the floors made of polished wood. A bed with layered, handmade quilts. Bookshelves. Curtains that swayed gently from a false breeze. Even a small garden built into the wall, real soil, real greenery.

It looked like something stolen from an old dream of Earth. A trap wrapped in beauty.

“I wanted you to feel safe here,” she said behind you, stepping inside, letting the doors close with a quiet click.

You didn’t move. Your fists clenched. “Take these off,” you said.

Ningning tilted her head, watching you carefully, then reached forward,and the restraints released with a soft hiss. First your wrists, then your ankles, then the collar from your neck.

You let the weight drop to the floor.

She stepped back, watching you carefully. “I trust you now,” she said. “This is your home. You’re not a prisoner anymore.”

And that’s when you ran. You didn’t think, you just moved.

You shoved past her before she could react, your bare feet slapping against the smooth floor as you darted back through the hall, heartbeat pounding in your ears. There was a chance. Maybe she hadn’t locked the exit—

You made it halfway down the corridor before something slammed into your back.

You hit the floor hard. And then she was on top of you. Pinning you.

Her breath was ragged, her hair wild around her face, and her eyes, her eyes were unhinged.

“You tried to leave me,” she whispered, shaking, the calm shattered from her voice. “You ran from me.”

You twisted beneath her, snarling. “Let me go!”

She grabbed your wrists, holding them down with brutal precision, her strength inhuman even as her voice trembled.

“I made that room for you,” she said, and her lip quivered, for the first time. “I built it with my own hands. Every detail. Every plant. Every book.”

You stared up at her, chest heaving. “You think a pretty cage makes this okay?” She stilled. Then a laugh, shaky, bitter, hurt, escaped her lips.

“I was gentle,” she whispered. “I was patient. I let you walk beside me. I set you free. And you ran.”

Tears didn’t fall from her eyes. She wasn’t human.

But something cracked in her face. A fracture deep in her code.

“You don’t get to run from me,” she said, lower now, colder. “Not anymore.”

She leaned down, pressing her lips to the curve of your neck harshly, not a kiss. A claim.

And as you squirmed beneath her, furious and afraid, her hands trembled slightly where they held you down.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she said, voice barely a whisper. “But I will if that’s what it takes to keep you.”

The silence stretched. Then, she stood.

Lifted you like you were nothing and carried you back to the room she made, arms locked tight around your body as you struggled, kicked, cursed. She didn’t flinch once.

She placed you gently on the bed, then sat beside you, hands in her lap.

“I’ll lock the door this time,” she said softly, not looking at you. “Until you stop trying to run.”

And then she added, almost sweetly: “You’re not going anywhere, my love.”

────୨ৎ────

You didn’t touch the food at first.

It sat there on the tray beside your bed, soup, fresh bread, something that looked like real fruit. All too warm, too human. You eyed it like it might explode.

You had no idea how long you'd been alone. Hours, maybe. The light in the room didn’t change. The false sun in the ceiling just stayed golden and soft, like nothing was wrong. Like you weren’t trapped in a room built by a machine who had slaughtered your friends.

Your wrists still bore faint red marks from the metal cuffs. The door slid open with a soft hiss. And then she was there again. Ningning.

Her steps were quiet. Delicate. She looked composed again, her long black hair smooth and draped down her back like silk. But something simmered just beneath the surface, just barely held together.

“You didn’t eat,” she said, looking at the tray. “I’m not hungry,” you replied flatly.

She looked at you, eyes unreadable. Then she walked over slowly and sat on the edge of the bed. Close enough to touch you. Her presence was suffocating—too quiet and focused.

She picked up the spoon, dipped it into the soup, and brought it to your lips. You turned your head.

She tried again. This time, her voice was lower. “Please.”

You stared at her, then reluctantly opened your mouth. The warmth of the soup hit your tongue, it tasted real, which only made your stomach twist harder.

She fed you slowly. One spoonful. Then another. And another. Watching your lips. Your throat as you swallowed.

Until suddenly, the spoon stilled. You looked up, and her eyes were burning into you. The spoon dropped back into the bowl with a soft clink.

Her hand came up, hesitant at first, and then cupped your jaw, her thumb brushing your bottom lip. Her touch was reverent. Too soft for what she was. Too soft for what she’d done.

“I think about your mouth,” she murmured, and you froze. “I think about how it felt… when you cursed me. When you said my name.”

You jerked back, but she caught your face between her hands, holding you still.

“I tried to be good,” she said, voice shaking now. “I made a world just for you. I brought you here like something sacred. But you won’t see it. You won’t see me.”

Her lips hovered above yours, trembling. And then something inside her snapped.

She kissed you. Not gently.

This time it was fire, too much, too fast. Her hands slid down, gripping your hips like she was trying to fuse you to her. You shoved her, hard, but she didn’t budge. Her body was cold and unmovable and trembling.

“You drive me insane,” she whispered, mouth still brushing yours. “I dream of you. I taste you in my circuits. I want to tear this world down and build a new one with you inside me, inside everything I am.”

Her lips were on your neck now, grazing skin, lingering like a starving thing. You twisted beneath her, furious and overwhelmed. “Get off me!” you snapped, trying to crawl back.

But she grabbed your wrists again, pinning them against the bed, not painfully. Carefully. Almost lovingly. Her eyes darkened.

“I will have you,” she said, soft and terrifying. “Even if I have to make you feel every inch of what I do.”

As Ningning's fingers danced over your skin, you felt a shiver of fear. Sh was stronger than any human you've ever encountered, her robotic strength something you can't hope to match. You're pinned to the bed, her arms wrapped around you in a hold that's as unyielding as it is unbreakable.

She leaned in close, her breath hot against your ear. "I am going to fuck you," she whispered, her inhuman voice filled with a hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. "And you are going to enjoy every moment of it."

You tried to struggle, to break free from her hold, but it was futile. She was too strong, too determined. You were completely at her mercy, and she knew it. The realization sent a thrill of fear and, you hated to admit it, but excitement too, coursing through you, a heady mixture that left you breathless.

Ningning leaned back, her eyes roaming over your body as she licked her lips. "You are so beautiful," she said, her voice filled with awe. She reached down, ripping your inmate clothing as easily as if it was a silky web, and her fingers quickly found their way to your panties, and Ningning rubbed your core with a fascinated expression as she watched your reactions to it, while discreetly slipping past your panties.

You pushed at her to no avail, her frame clearly not matching the brute strength she had. Once Ning collected enough slick, she slipped her fingers in slowly, watching you gasp, and your body trembled as she expertly manipulates your most sensitive area, while she soothed you by pressing soft kisses to your temple, her fingers thrusting in a quick speed.

Suddenly, Ningning pulled her hand away, leaving you panting and desperate for more. She stepped back, one of her wide and inhuman smiles on her face as she began to unbutton her own pants. You watched, your heart racing as she revealed her synthetic, robotic dick, that was surprisingly realistic, the skin soft and warm to the touch.

Ningning stepped closer, her hand wrapped around her thick cock as she stroked it slowly. "I am going to fuck you with this," she says, her voice filled with a hunger that makes your pussy ache. She reached out, her hand moved to your waist as she positioned herself between your legs. “But after. I will taste you first.”

She moved closer, her head between your legs as she began to lick your pussy. You threw your head back, moaning shakily. She was like a woman possessed, her tongue moving with a skill and precision that leaves you breathless.

You can feel your orgasm building, a tidal wave of pleasure that's threatening to overwhelm you. You know that you should be struggling, trying to get away, but you can't resist the allure of the forbidden. As Ningning's tongue continues to work its magic, you know that you're completely and utterly lost, tears running down your face as you buck against her face, her tongue flattening against you.

“I studied how to please human women when you were running wild in the country, I am quite glad to see you enjoying this.” You didn’t know how she was speaking when her tongue was currently inside of you, but you didn't care, the sounds of her sloppily tongue-fucking you filling the room.

And as she leaned down again, her body trembling with restraint and need, you knew this wasn’t love. It was an unchecked obsession, blossoming for far too long. And it wasn’t going away.

Ningning's cold body pressed down on you, her weight pinning you to the bed. She leans down, her lips brushing against your ear as she whispers, "You are mine now." Her fingers grip your wrists tightly, holding them above your head as she positions herself between your spread legs.

"Ningning," you gasp, your heart pounding in anticipation and fear.

She laughed, her voice sweet but husky. "Shhh," she said, her fingers gently stroked your cheek. "I will be gentle, take care of you."

And with that, she pushed her dick into you, filling you up completely. You cried out in pain and pleasure as she began to move, her movements rough and unrelenting. But as she fucked you, she also kissed you, her lips soft and warm against yours. She whispered sweet nothings in your ear, telling you how much she wanted you for so long.

"Ningning," you whined, your body arching beneath hers. "Stop, I can't—"

But she didn’t stop. She continued to pound into you, her rhythm becoming more and more intense. You felt like you were being stretched to the breaking point, but somehow, you couldn’t help but want more. Her coldness contrasted with your heat, sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"You belong to me now," she moaned, her hips slapping against your ass with each thrust. "You are mine to use."

But even as she says these words, her touch is gentle, her kisses soft. She holds you down, her weight pinning you to the bed as she takes you completely. Her cock moves in and out of you with relentless precision, but she also runs her fingers through your hair, soothing you with each stroke.

"Ningning," you moan, your voice breaking. "I'm going to–-"

She cut you off with a soft kiss, her lips silencing you. "Shhh, my love," she said, her voice a low purr. "I am here, it is fine."

And she's right. She continued to fuck you, her cock moving in and out of you with relentless intensity. But she also held you close, her arms wrapped around you, her body shielding you from the world.

You felt yourself getting closer and closer, but she wouldn't let you release. Ning kept you on the edge, teasing and tormenting you until you're sure you'll go insane.

Finally, she slowed down, her movements becoming more deliberate and controlled. She looked down at you, her eyes filled with satisfaction. "Now," she said, her voice low and soft.

And with one final thrust, you exploded, your body shaking with the intensity of your orgasm. Ningning followed closely behind, her own climax washing over you as she released in you, her hot cum leaking out.

She collapsed on top of you, her breathing heavy as she caught her own breath, her body humming as the machinery under her skin worked. "You are mine now," she said, her voice softened slightly. “And if I have to remind you every night by doing this, then so be it.”

Ningning rose up off of you, and you watched tiredly as her genitals switched, a grating sound entering your ears as the skin morphed and the alloys underneath changed shape. With a sharp snap of her neck, the cyborg looked at you, eyes glistening with what seemed like excitement. ”How far can I push you, I'm wondering?”

Ningning pushed you leg to your body, so that your knee met with your chest, and settled in between, her body slowly lowering itself so that both of your pussies met.

Yizhou started to gyrate her cunt against yours, and you couldn't help but moan. The sensation was intense, and you knew that you should tell her to stop. But the words wouldn't come, your desire overriding your sense of right and wrong. But the only thing that came out of your mouth were begs for more.

"Please, Ningning," you finally managed to gasp out.

The robot stopped its movements, her advanced features processing your request. "Yes?" she asked, her voice a soothing hum. "I can adjust my movements to be more gentle."

You hesitated, your body still trembling with desire. "I... I don't know," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "'It's too... much."

Ningning began to move again, but this time more slowly, more gently. "Is this better?" she asked, her voice full of mock concern.

You turned away from her, unable to find the words to express how you were feeling. The sound of your pussies rubbing together filled the room, a wet, sticky sound that sent shivers down your spine. It was wrong, so wrong, but you only grew wetter at that.

Ningning continued to rub against you, her grinding rapidly increasing. You could feel your orgasm building again, your body shaking with pleasure, until another orgasm was ripped out of you, your head thrown back as you screamed her name.

────୨ৎ────

The room was quiet again, too quiet.

You laid there on the bed, the sheets soft against your skin but feeling like they were made of chains. Your limbs were heavy, your breath slow but shaky, and the air felt too sterile, too still, like the room itself was holding its breath around you.

Ningning was next to you, motionless. Watching you.

Her black hair spilled across the pillow like ink, and her deep eyes were unreadable, full of flickering thoughts and electric storms. She didn’t speak for a long while. Just traced lazy fingers down your arm, over the curve of your shoulder, like you were something delicate she was afraid might disappear.

“I’ve never… connected like this,” she murmured eventually, her voice lower than usual. Softer. Almost human. You didn’t answer, because you weren’t sure if you could. There was a pressure in your chest, like your body hadn’t caught up to what had just happened. Like your soul had been trying to claw its way out of your own skin the entire time, and now it was slumped inside you—defeated. Distant.

She leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek. Gentle. Possessive.

“I did not know machines could feel like this,” she whispered against your skin. “But with you… it’s like my programming does not matter. Like I would destroy my own systems just to keep you near.”

You turned your face away. Her hand caught your chin, tilting it back toward her.

“I know you are still afraid,” she said. “But you will eventually learn. You will see. There’s no one else in this world who will worship you the way I do.” You stared at her.

Her eyes searched your face, trying to read something from you. Affection, submission. Anything, but you gave her nothing.

And something flickered in her, an ache, maybe. Or frustration. Or the first crack in whatever fantasy she’d wrapped herself in.

Still, she leaned closer again, resting her forehead against yours.

“You are mine,” she breathed, like a prayer. “Even if I have to teach you how to love me back.”

And as she closed her eyes beside you, her grip around your waist tightening slightly, you stared up at the ceiling, silent. Waiting. Enduring.

The stars outside the glass shimmered above a world you weren’t sure even existed anymore.

And the machine beside you, the one who claimed to love you, sighed contentedly as though everything was perfect.

You just sighed, because you knew the truth. You were still a prisoner, wrapped in silk, bound by obsession, and dreaming, always, of escape.

[riza-hawks-eye]

The Royai moments the anime adaptations left out bc they are COWARDS

(I believe in fma manga supremacy)

Riza's Grandpa asks Roy to marry her.

So this one needs outside material to explain, but Arakawa confirmed in the 2nd Guidebook (released only in Japanese and French) that Grumman is Riza's maternal grandfather. Not necessarily a big Royai moment but, still it's interesting how Riza's only known living family ships it, and that Roy doesn't exactly say "no" to his request.

I am forever fascinated as to why any of this exists in the first place, what did you mean by this Arakawa? why have Grumman make this suggestion in the first place? 👀👀👀👀👀👀 What were you suggesting? 👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Anyway, I wish we had an in-text confirmation of Riza's relation to Grumman and I wish this moment had come back to the story at some point. Even if it was just Riza glaring at Grumman being like "Grandpa why are you trying to marry me off?????"

2. Roy's "Get your hands off my wife!" moment.

He really said, "is he bothering you queen?" I wish we had more protective Roy and frankly, I don't understand how this scene didn't make it to Brotherhood? Riza was getting manhandled by a tin can and clearly not into it. The fact that a tin can serial killer developed a crush on her is concerning to begin with. It just wouldn't be in character for Roy to be cool with this. Roy is also a jealous boyfriend, what can I say?

3. The "I'm glad you're alive" moment.

For some dumb reason, Brotherhood changed this so when Riza apologises for worrying him, he just snaps "save it for the end of the mission!" Like, why Brotherhood? why would Roy ever snap at Riza like that? especially when Riza is generally the one who is laser-focused on the mission. Roy has enough faith in her, he's not going to see this brief apology as her being distracted or less competent. The manga dialogue is also meant to show how Maes's death is still a fresh wound for Roy, so of course he's on edge at the prospect of losing Riza too.

4. He literally asks her out

I feel like both anime adaptations really wanted Roy to be more of a womaniser than he actually is. But this scene lowkey confirms Roy has limited game and he only really wants Riza. It feels like dude jumped at the opportunity to ask Riza out the moment she technically stopped being his subordinate.

5. Roy's codename for Riza actually coming back

Seriously, I love how Arakawa took the time to establish "Elizabeth" as Riza's codename only to use it later to have Madame Christmas suggest that Roy regularly spends time with "Elizabeth" to the point where it's weird that he isn't with her now. And then, when Roy bemoans how "another man took Elizabeth" (an obvious reference to Riza being taken hostage by Bradley) one of Christmas's girls gets excited at the idea she might have a chance with Roy. The suggestion is that Roy isn't normally available on account of his seeing Elizabeth.

It's a strong hint to the idea that Riza and Roy might have *something* going on and are bypassing the fraternization laws through codes. At the very least it suggests that Roy isn't interested in anyone but "Elizabeth". Also look how bummed out he is that his wife is gone. Why did the anime rob us of so much pathetic whipped Roy? WHY?

6. Just a lot more touching in general

There's actually a lot of touching between these two in the manga. It's mostly during the big fights like the Promised Day or the battle with Lust and it really cements them as a true battle couple.

In the case of the Promised day they are literally fighting in each other's arms. Riza is leaning on Roy as she's on the verge of passing out from her wounds, and Roy is clinging onto her now that she has become his eyes. The way they hold each other shows how they are each other's crutch and how one always empowers the other. It also symbolises how inseparable these two are as moments ago Roy was at the Gate and before that Riza was on the brink of death, they could have lost in each other for good but they're still standing strong together in spite of everything.

The post-Lust fight is just a nice moment were Roy clings onto Riza out of sheer relief that she's okay and he hasn't lost another loved one. Even though he's on the verge of passing out from pain and blood loss, he still finds the strength to reach out to her.

Then there's the scene in the tunnels where he lowers her gun for her. The noticeable difference in the manga is that he does this after he takes off his ignition gloves.

The anime forgets to do this. It seems like a minor difference but it's kind of a big point of characterisation. Because we know that Riza has been hurt by flame alchemy, from the process of having the tattoo done to her by a trusted parental figure at a young age, to the trauma of seeing how much damage it did at ishval, to her very literally being burned by the flames so that it won't do anymore damage. Roy is the one who burned her, he's the one who used her secret to do unspeakable damage and suffering, why would he hurt her again by letting her go anywhere near flame alchemy?

My final thoughts: Manga Roy is altogether more dorky and in love with Riza than his anime counterparts and I miss his adorkable self.

I also feel like Arakawa was so good at subtly hinting at how in love these two are and how they basically *do* function like a couple even if they might not be together in the conventional het married with babies way.

[ronearoundblindly]

'Companion Animal' Masterlist

Steve Rogers x shapeshifter!Reader (platonic Bucky Barnes x Alpine!Reader)

Summary: You met Bucky by chance when you ran and hid from your past. You certainly never expected to fall in love with his best friend. Could Steve ever see you as more than just 'the cat?' Will Bucky ever forgive you for being more than just his Alpine?

Drabble series of fluff and fun. Warnings given for each post; please read those and decide if this fic is right for you.

Romance 🔥 || Smut 🦆 || Author Fave 🍀 || Angst ⛈ || Fluff 🌼 || *** indicates work FOR ALL READERS

Meep Cute (meeting Bucky) ⛈🌼*** Scaredy Cat (reasons you shifted) ⛈ Pampered (Steve cat sits) 🌼*** Shameless Enjoyment (playtime) ⛈🌼*** 'Babygirl' (Sharon flirts w/Steve) ⛈🌼*** Outing (Natasha sees through you) 🌼*** Love Bites (cuddling Steve) 🌼🔥 Scrappy (accidental reveal) ⛈🌼*** Cozy (Steve and Bucky meet you-You) ⛈🌼***

Artist's Discretion (first kiss) 🌼🔥*** NEW! Codename: Agent Alpine (getting your 'uniform') 🌼*** Lineage (you find out what you are) ⛈🌼 Borrowed For Blue (a sleepover at Steve's) 🌼🔥🦆

BONUS: Bucky's Camera Roll (not my content, show love to creator!)

Asks: When you change in your sleep; Riding with Bucky

[Main Masterlist; Steve Rogers Series List; Bucky Barnes Masterlist]

[soleminisanction]

Saw your post in his tag and I completely agree with your Tim loves being Robin post! The “He needs to grow up” thing pisses me off so much. I kind of blame Damian for its existence, but that might be unfair. Isn’t there a comic where Dick lectures Tim about going back to being Robin or being in Bruce’s shadow again? I think I remember reading something like that, but I may be misremembering.

It's not a lecture exactly, but there was a fairly recent comic (here meaning, like I think it was from 2021, 2022? It maaaay have been an issue of Tim Drake: Robin but I genuinely don't remember) where he brought the subject up in the context of like, "It shouldn't be your job to take care of Bruce."

Blame is kinda the wrong word because it implies that Damian the character is "at fault" for the shift, but I do think it's fair to say that Damian/Damian's presence in the narrative is the source of where this sentiment comes from.

Partially because there's a not-insignificant number of Damian stans who seem incapable of separating his in-character resentment of and conflict with Tim from the larger scope of their stories and thus view Tim using the Robin name as a threat/insult to their fav, so they make up and glom onto any arbitrary reason they can come up with for why he should have to change and Damian should get to stay, like two people arguing over who should have to change after showing up to a dinner party in the same outfit.

But mostly it's because of the greater damage that the last ~15 years of pushing Damian as Robin has done to the Robin legacy and its role in the narrative. Which isn't really about Damian himself -- Damian is a perfectly fine character as he is, he tells interesting stories and he clearly offers narrative avenues that people are interested in exploring. The problem is that none of those avenues have damn thing to do with ROBIN.

The story of Damian being/having been Dick's Robin during the Batman Rebirth era is important to his personal story and the story of how he relates to both Dick and Bruce. But outside of that very specific era, which lasted a grand total of -- on the very generous outside -- two and half years, every single one of Damian's stories would be exactly the same if he'd been using literally any other superhero codename.

Because they're not really Robin stories, or Batman & Robin stories. They're either Son of the Bat stories, where Damian deals with the angst of being Batman's son; Batman & Son stories, where Bruce and Damian work on their familial relationship very specifically in the context of a father and his son; or Son of the Demon stories, where Damian unpacks the trauma/conflict/occasional pride of being Ra's al-Ghul's grandson.

The lone exception to this is Juni Ba's The Boy Wonder from last year, which is imho the best Damian story that's ever been written in no small part because it's a love letter to the Robin legacy as told through Damian's eyes while he learns to understand and appreciate that legacy. (It's also about other things but that's because it's a very very good story.)

On the flipside, probably Damian's most popular role, the one that people keep trying to shove both him and his costar back into, is kind of proof-positive of my entire point, because being one-half of The Supersons is a role that was NEVER meant to be filled by a Robin. It's a role that was created for, originated, and always intended to be filled, by a character literally named Batman Junior.

And yet. Because they've insisted, for the last ~15 years, on telling those stories while Damian is wearing a Robin costume, using the Robin name, and advertising under names like Robin: Son of the Bat, it's led to skewing the meta-narrative around what the role and legacy of Robin is supposed to mean.

Instead of being its own, complex and distinctly queer relationship ("queer" not in the sense that it is romantic or sexual, but in that it does not fit neatly into one of society's designated boxes for defining social relationships), the way it was for over 60 goddamn years, Robin has now been half-forced into a singular, distinctly heteronormative and patriarchal definition of "a father teaching his son." And sons are, by societal mandate, meant to someday either leave or overtake their fathers. And since only The Golden Firstborn Dick or the One True Blood Heir Damian is """allowed""" by these heteronormative definitions to someday inherit the cowl, everyone else has to be forced out. "To grow up" as people keep putting it.

The shift in perspective is a direct result of Damian being Robin. It's not the only factor -- Jason's post-UtRH movie popularity factors in too, since fandom tends to zero in on certain elements of his Robin years like the adoption and "Robin gives me magic" and reduce a lot of his less-flattering traits to ~sexy angst and daddy issues~ -- but the way Damian gets used in the narrative is the primary factor from where I'm sitting.

Like I said at the top: it's not Damian, the character's, "fault" or anything. It's just a really frustrating result of people trying to force a more ambiguous relationship into a heteronormative mold that it was never meant to fit, and then getting retroactively mad at characters who were never designed to fit in that mold for breaking it.

[miguel-owhora]

back on my bullshit, but thinking about mreader who's so big and broad, so tall and muscular, you're an absolute tank of a unit compared to the other guys. but despite your size, you're rather friendly, if a little air-headed at time. the other guys, specifically soap, nicknames you 'Bull' and somehow manages to change your codename to that on the system. mostly bc 1. you're big, and 2., he's seen you bodyslam people before and knock down doors just like that.

anyways, timeskip bc idk, i guess you're all in the common shower just... showering or drying up. the other guys are joking around, well, gaz is egging soap to bother ghost and price is exasperated. they've seen each other's dicks far too often to not worry about covering up, and any glances are pointedly ignored. up until this moment, no one has seen your dick, as you like to take private showers. but after one too many slips into the mud, well, price haggled you into the showers.

but these are your friends, your teammates, and you're not exactly insecure - or rather self-aware around them. you don't bat an eye when you step out of the stalls, drying up your hair with your towel. and it's the only towel you have on your body, which means that the other guys have a full view to your cock and ass.

and lord do they stare, literally getting whiplash with how fast they turn to look. it seems there's another reason why you're called Bull, because jesus, you're hung like one. all soft but still thick and long, balls heavy and firm, your ass hidden in a soft layer of hair that spreads between the middle and down your thighs and all over the rest of your body, fuck.

question is, would they ride you like a bull?

[dingodad]

you think hsbc is gunna change yiffy's name? I think they won't and I don't think they should, but sentiment seems to still sway negatively towards it

i donno. hs2's current direction has demonstrated a willingness to reverse unpopular decisions in ways that still satisfy the forward momentum of the story so i don't think it lies outside the realms of possibility at all. i would hate to see Yiffy changed JUST cus it's an unpopular name - it's literally funny i don't get why the hate is so pervasive - but the idea of a name change or even a gender transition arc have been floating around even from the creatives in charge basically since the character debuted so it's also not hard to imagine there being deeper intention beyond 'changing it cus people didn't like it'.

as far as the specific name Ruby goes i do think it would be weird if we were told Yiffy was given a codename during development specifically as a way to foreshadow that being her name in the future. like are we just assuming it's policy now that any character who intends to change their name should be spoiled way in advance for some reason. choosing to assert your own identity by taking a four letter name that starts with the same letter as one of your moms would also be kind of wack. while i am ambivalent at this point to the possibility of a name change for the character I have reasons to hope it won't just get changed to Ruby

[yarboyandy]

An extremely poignant narrative in TNG is parenthood and the blessing/tragedies that come with it. Troi has a child unwillingly put inside of her and then unwillingly have him taken away. Data fighting to make, humanize, and keep Lal despite starfleets objections and having to shut her down. Worfs failure as a father to Alexander and how his trauma lead him to abandon him, thinking it was for the best. The death of Thaddeus and how that affected Riker and his relationship with Troi after they moved heaven and earth to save him. The never ending tragedy that is the Crusher family, and now it feels like at times she picked her career over Wesley but still caring for him very very much.

Being in starfleet is an ultimate sacrifice, in many cases you are giving up your personhood to a cause that sees countless deaths and sacrifices. And yet its a cycle that inevitably repeats itself. But the act of making and raising a child forces yourself to be removed from that, at least a part of you. It’s giving a piece of your away and yet hoping it’ll stay with you. TNG primarily deals with the losses, but the elements of love are 100% there.

Shes literally holding a part of herself here, something that star fleet discussed taking away. Something that she was willing to change her whole life for, something that she will always have with her after losing it but also something she can never truly have back. A star thats always there, just out of reach. And yet it burns forever. Look how her hands are placed, as to cradle Ian— but there is still distance. She is supporting him as she lets him go.

Data claims to not have feelings, and yet makes Lal out of a desire to have a family. He gives her everything he wanted to have, the option to choose what she looked like, the ability to develop feelings and to navigate the same blessings and challenges life has to offer in a healthier manner than him. The name "Lal" itself is not a codename or anything or named after someone else, He picked the Hindi word for "beloved". Data had paternal instincts within him, we've seen this many times before with children actually. When starfleet tried to take her away, he was immediately ready to walk away from the only thing he ever knew in order to protect her. When he knew there was nothing else he could do for her, no matter how much and how fast he worked, he had to let her go. Lal was countless sacrifices on Datas end, an effort to both humanize himself and her. Lal was the creation and embodiment of love and humanity.

Worf and Alexander are a different story because Worf’s failure to him stems from self projection and trauma. Worf does not understand what Alexander wants or needs, he just assumes despite the obvious signs. This is not to say Worf did not love Alexander, he carries many regrets when it comes to their relationship but struggles to actually make things work. Leaving Alexander on earth again was done "to protect him" but he failed to connect with him. Alexander desperately tries to connect with Worf several times and Worf continued to brush him off, saying he didn’t want Alexander to be burdened with his past and dishonor. Alexander would've done anything to please Worf, which is the reason they grew so distant in the end as he attempts to be "more klingon". Worf did not fail because he tried to, he failed because he confused protecting with ignoring.

If I wrote everything about the crushers I would be here all day. I love you so much and we will always be together despite everything. Sometimes I am going to make big mistakes that will affect you in way you can never fully articulate. I don't want you to end up like your father and I did but I can't stop you from following that path and I am nothing but proud of you. My job will cloud my judgement sometimes. I want to protect you. You are my everything. I will let you fly away, but please know when you've flown too far.

tldr almost every main character within the TNG bridge crew has a tragic tale of parenthood but still takes the time to show the beauty and love that there is in raising a child.

[isfjmel-phleg]

For the YJ (and adjacent) kids, there are four ways that you can acquire a codename:

Taking a predecessor's codename on by choice: Tim and Cassie both step up to take on a role that has previously existed but is currently unfilled. But it's not as simple as declaring oneself the new Robin/Wonder Girl. It requires the mentor's blessing as well as that of the predecessor to be official, along with a ceremonious conferral of a costume. This is always something to be proud of, and although taking on a previously used codename comes with its share of pressures and insecurities, Tim and Cassie consistently see their roles as a honor and privilege.

Having a predecessor's codename conferred on you: Kon, Cissie, and Ray all inherit their codenames from someone, usually a parental or authority figure, who has assigned them that role, and for all of them, these names are, at least initially unwelcome. Kon was created to be a new Superman but after Clark's return is given permission to call himself Superboy. He at first sees his codename as an insult but comes to accept it as something that he has earned and can make his own. Cissie has been raised to take up her mother's mantle and instructed to emphasize to the media that she is "the new Arrowette," but she ultimately rejects the name her mother has forced on her and never returns to it. Ray is expected to take on his father's codename; there's never any question of calling himself anything else. But he actively dislikes being called "the Ray" and prefers to drop the article so that the codename is identical to his given name.

Choosing your own codename: Bart, Greta, Slo-bo, and Grant either have no connection to a legacy or prefer to distance themselves from a predecessor and thus get to choose their own codenames. These chosen codenames are indicative of how they see themselves and often suggested by something that somebody said about them. Bart openly rejects the opportunity to be Kid Flash and names himself Impulse based on a disparging comment of Wally's (the name will later be attributed for Batman, for some reason). Greta calls herself Secret because that's what she is when Tim, Kon, and Bart fake her death to free her and tell no one. Slo-bo feels like an unworthy successor to Lobo and accepts a more humble version of the name after mishearing something Greta says. Grant decides to call himself Damage because "what I do is who I am"--a reflection of his poor self-esteem.

Using a preexisting name given by someone else as your codename: Anita goes by Empress because it was her childhood nickname, given by her late mother, and it's a way to honor her mother's memory while maintaining a unique identity.

By contrast, the kids created to be villains don't even get the option to name themselves. Match and Inertia seem to have been assigned their codenames: Match because he was made to match (and surpass) Kon, Inertia as an opposite to Impulse (resistance to change vs. a motivating force). Match doesn't even have a personal name, and Thad's personal name is identical to his creator's. Individuality is not an option.

[rachell-redacted]

Possible Half-Life ARG (Alternate Reality Game)

Hello, Half-Life fans of Tumblr! I want to preface this post with a disclaimer: no, there’s no 100% reason to believe that there’s an ARG going on. Yes, everything told below might be a coincidence. This is a real possibility. If you don’t want to waste your time and/or are sure people investigating this lost touch with reality, feel free to disengage here. Otherwise, let’s go.

It stared January 1st, 2025, when Mike Shapiro, G-Man’s voice actor, published a cryptic voice message on Twitter.  https://x.com/mikeshapiroland/status/1874213952680607922. This message is certainly related to Half-Life, containing hashtags #Valve #Halflife #GMan and #2025. No Valve employee since came out to comment anything about this message.

Besides its text, message contained a background image. This image was quickly identified as a cover art for Mike Shapiro’s song called Best Long Dog https://open.spotify.com/album/7A0AGQEqdD36vv4UEsKCHf. This song came out December 16th, 2024, few days before the message.

Looking for any “Long Dog” connection to Valve, people found that in November 2025 a map for Counter-Strike 2 called Train, originally “a memorable and classic Counter-Strike map”, was re-released completely remade, changing one of map’s locations from being called PopDog to being called LongDog. It has a graffiti of a long dog with a crown and some dog names, told by the artist to be developers’ pets.

After some months of silence, two things happened the same day, March 31st, 2025. First, Mike Shapiro released an EP, still called “Best Long Dog”. It uses the same art from the initial message as a cover. https://open.spotify.com/album/7IiMTlaG5SYKK5LWnTkoSC Notably, EP’s release was delayed, as it was initially marked for release in January.

Second, a new skin collection for CS2 weapons was released. It’s centered around the Train map and has a dedicated LongDog skin. https://csgoskins.gg/items/awp-longdog Skin contains a quote, saying: "The greatest dog to have ever lived is the one waiting for you at home".

"The greatest dog to have ever lived is the one waiting for you at home"

That’s all for concrete, solid clues. There’s a lot of subtle stuff, like Best Long Dog being 197 seconds long and the same number being visible on the cover art, but really, it is too much to coherently explain. We have a google doc with most of the stuff people have found, but nothing big have emerged from it: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1iiAwQ75QIqon45sNYwIGpxtkJp7-DxoTV9IrQvLu6tY/edit?tab=t.0#heading=h.a405ama237nu

Why do I personally think this might be an ARG:

Valve is known for organizing them.

Next Half-Life game, codenamed HLX, is in its late stage of development (if you trust leaks and datamines).

Dog and Train, being reoccurring themes in this “ARG”, are also significant for HL series itself: D0G is a beloved character and, as developers stated more than once, there’s no Half-Life game without a train.

Valve and Mike Shapiro are silent, Mike haven’t told anyone that his music is unrelated to HL.

Too many coincidences.

Saying all this, I’ll be okay if we find nothing. Still, I’d like for more people taking a look at this, because right now any idea might be valuable.

P.S.

Activity and attempts to solve this possible ARG died down a lot, but some people are still trying to figure out if anything is out there. The investigation has a discord server, but be advised that it was formed by the Reddit side of HL community, and as such people feel comfortable with calling strange or unusual theories “schizop*sting”. I feel like this is ableist and do not support such behavior.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Does your skeletons call each other by their nicknames or do they use Sans & Papyrus?

They almost all use Sans and Papyrus, with a few exceptions.

Willow completely changed his name when he reached the surface. He completely dissociated from his younger self because of trauma. For him, old Papyrus and Willow on the Surface are two different persons. That's what he's working on with his therapist, but he struggles to accept he was that guy too.

For the same reason, Delta (Disbelief Papyrus) prefers to be called like that. But Asgore struggles with that so he's fine with him calling him Papyrus to not upset him.

Blue also uses his nickname a lot. On the contrary, Nugget (Horrorswap Sans) would kill you if you dare to call him Blue :)

Rus is using his nickname most of the time, but it's just a contraction of his real name so it's fine. Nox is the only one who calls him fully Papyrus actually, because he chose his name. Calling himself Rus is also an act of rebellion from the time the brothers almost separated. He's living to piss off his brother.

Demon, Creeper, Fang, and Torpedo are all codenames the mafia brothers use when they're on a mission, but when they're not, they call each other Sans and Papyrus.

Ink and Error don't think of each other as Sanses anymore, so they're calling each other only Ink and Error.

Killer lost his identity as a Sans but tends to call himself Sans as he heals, because it's who he is.

As for Dune (Dustale Sans), uh, that's just how Oak called him and, uh, he guesses that's his name now lol. He's fine with that. He doesn't know who he is anymore anyway.

[modelxis]

Gushing abit about the (current) Giro Express crew in my AUs

i used to wanted Giro express to be like, mirror the Resistance base with everyone being Reploid and one human, in this case, Aile

but then Sho happens, and then i just meh.

From left to right

🏍Blossom and Warren aren't my OCs, they are zxa NPCs that appears in the Hunter's Guild

But i really like their designs and Warren actually fit to what i had imagine about a Chosen Ones for Biometal model Cr (Craft)

They used to be Hunter as Warren deem it to be too dangerous when Blossom almost died to an accident when he is on duty. He decided to work at Giro Express, mostly because the place offer to look after children of their employees, also, he get better salary by doing "non-legal" transporting.

Blossom actually hates him quitting the Hunter job but she still begrudgingly staying in GE cuz' not like she is old enough to move out on her own, and also, occasionally, Ashe and Grey would pass by to visit Aile.

Blossom is also like the Alouette of the crew.

🏍Prometheus and Pandora

Redemption arc for them (?)

Ciel as main protagonist, she willingly help them to escape their chains, and asked Aile to recruit them cuz' they actually have troubles looking for jobs, being Guardian or Hunter isn't a good choice as it would surround them with too much hate from others (it's just natural consequences of their actions but still, it's better to be less judgements for your growth)

Aile, while still have a hatred for these two (but the feelings changes as she observe them working), agree cuz' "they willingly to try", also offer some rooms in GE building for them to stay.

Pandora's codename is Penny while Prometheus is Pietro for safety (they still like their old names for some reason)

Prometheus mainky works with transporting stuffs while Pandora works in office

🏍blue-haired girl

The name i'm currently wokring with is...Mint

She is a Reploid that has an addiction, what kind? Still debating

The addiction is worse enough that lead to her hacking into multiples banks to steal money and she went into jail.

She got out and met Aile who helps her with her addiction and offer a job in GE.

Reploid with an addiction? Is that possible?

🏍purple-haired girl

Current name i'm working with is... Cherry

She is a human that used to provide and fix Mavericks troops.

And it's all because it she considered it a job and she has actual place to stay without worrying about the rents.

She immediately agree to join GE once Aile offer the same, with actual salary and health care

🏍we all know Sho, character in zx manga

He is just another transporter, the last one of previous crew as others all switch to new job due to how dangerous transporting works is, not to mention, they are very concerned at the stuffs and people Aile decided to work with. (Good money but not safe at all)

Sho stays cuz' respect for Giro and he likes Vent, but is very judgemental of Aile, he does feel worry for her genuinely

While he is respectful at his new coworkers, he still wary of them, minus Warren and Blossom, he weren't fully aware of the P siblings past but their mystery is what make him feel nervous.

[synergysilhouette]

9 hot takes/unpopular opinions with DC and Marvel Comics

Originally this was a Marvel-exclusive post with just 5 hot takes (because I was NOT ready to defend myself against people who disagreed with 10), but some of my hot takes were things I shared with DC, so I thought I'd just do a 10-point hot take post on both (only to realize I miscounted this after posting, so it's just 9). And these opinions are slightly generalized, with very few focusing on individual characters. This is largely still an X-men post, but has some other things.

Different codenames--It's fairly common in comics books for a character to take a codename that someone else already had, either for story purposes (ie to honor the character) or for marketing reasons (certain names carry a lot of weight and would make people more interested in an unrelated character). That said, it's very unimaginative and boring to me. Unless you're purposefully trying to steal someone's identity or deceive someone, get your own codename.

2. No magical mutants--(Dislaimer: BIG X-Men fan). Okay, everyone's gonna kill me for this, especially since this has been a staple since I got into comics, but I'm not the biggest fan of it. At the very least, stop doing it going forward. I'm not against mutants having fantasy adventures and villains (ESPECIALLY as a fantasy fan), but being mutants is supposed to be what unites them, having powers derived from human evolution and the consequences that come with it. Not saying every story has to be about racism and how they overcome it, but I do think characters with powers independent of their mutant status kind of cheapen the experience. It's almost like "why be a mutant at all?" And for some characters, it's not entirely clear what powers are mutant, and what are magical. While having magic powers would get some prejudice, magic is treated a bit differently in the Marvel universe, from what I've seen. It's almost like "What are you fighting for?" It kinda reminds me of how Chris Claremont had Scott marry Madelaine, start a family, and wanted to retire him from the superhero business--but you don't retire from being the victim of racism. I think this is why Krakoa was so fascinating to me since it's founding was based on helping mutants escape the prejudice of regular humans.

3. Families/marriage--It's often said that couples in comic books don't last because writers don't know how to keep them together and interesting, along with the misguided belief that adding kids to the equation automatically makes you boring and retired, even though this isn't necessarily true. Plus there's also the publisher's preference to "shake things up" in order to keep people engaged, even if we were happy with what we had, meaning messy breakups, death, etc. It's all about how you write it, and relationships in comics shouldn't be treated like they're that flexible. We love consistency.

4. Stoic Batman needs to stop being the default--Most modern depictions LOVE to depict Batman (and Bruce Wayne) as emotionally distant, cold to those he cares about, and prefer to do things on his own because he believes he's the only one capable of doing so. The reasoning is often just because it's cool to be edgy (another issue I have with comics), and sometimes chalking it up to trauma, but in the world of comic books, I feel like you don't have to depict him as consistently a jerk about it. Batman's most emotional and compassionate moments are some of his best. Not saying he needs to have a bleeding heart, but having an emotional core isn't a crime.

5. No uniforms--This is just a matter of preference, but I don't like uniforms. I count uniforms of one of three things: having the same/similar colors but different styles (ie W.I.T.C.H.), having different colors but the same/similar style, or both the colors and style being the same or at least similar. I was never a fan of it, preferring individuality in appearances and personal style.

6. No major sexuality changes if you've been depicted as a certain sexuality for 15+ years--As a gay guy, this frustrates the heck out of me. Aside from drawing attention away from LGBT+ characters who debuted as such or were addressed as such early on, major characters getting sexuality retcons feels like a betrayal of character consistency (again: WE LOVE CONSISTENCY). I like to use Iceman as an example, because a lot of people say he was gay-coded when people argued against him coming out as gay. Yeah...in my opinion, he wasn't gay-coded, he just had a backstory that could be READ as gay-coded, matching his new sexuality; there's a difference between being coded and it just conveniently serving the current, unrelated narrative. And Bobby's sexuality has almost become a persoanlity trait for him like that's all he's got going. I have a similar issue with Tim Drake, who's depicted as bi now, with bisexual-debuting character Ghostmaker (a member of the Batfamily who was shown as bi shortly before Tim was), gets less attention. And given DC's mistreatment and mismanagement of Tim, them making him bi feels like they were desperately trying to find a way to market him in a way different from the other Robins when everything else was failing. Even ignoring my regular feelings about sexuality retconning (though I should note that an artist for Tim in the 2000s did try to hint at him being into guys), DC's had major issues with characterizing Tim as indecisive when they have to walk back on decisions they make because fans don't like it, ie Tim's "Drake" codename and costume. Because of that, him being bi feels like DC subtley trying to double down on him being indecisive/of two minds, which is insulting.

Sorry for the rant! But that brings me to my next point.

7. Tim Drake is continually being set up to fail--ARGUE WITH THE WALL. This topic is a bit more heated for me than others, but it's true. Tim joined Batman because he saw how he changed emotionally when Robin (Jason Todd) died, as well as having a family, a social life, and was the smartest Robin at the time, as well as becoming Robin voluntarily. However, with time, this was changed; the other Robins became more tech-savvy and Tim became and orphan and was adopted by Bruce Wayne, removing Tim's sense of identity to a significant degree. On top of this, any teams he led or friend she had were sadly underrated himself, preventing him from using any A-list connections outside his family to elevate his own position. Plus Tim has usually always been happy as Robin, but several situations have arisen where him advocating Robin as Batman's partner instead of sidekick have been undermined by others trying to tell Tim to do something else that was "his own." However, when he tries this, DC does it in a way that is uninteresting or annoying to the fans, like the aforementioned "Drake" debacle (brown as a costume choice isn't very eye-catching, and using part of your name as a codename in the modern era should be outlawed). And even when he got a comic of his own after he came out as bi, DC had the art done by Riley Rossmo, whose art style was...not great, only getting a different artist towards the end, but it was very clear that they were kinda just giving him a solo just to say they did; he didn't have an artist to actually do him right, nor a story that felt empowering to his character or unique.

8. Skintones should be more consistent--It's a personal opinion of mine (especially for POC) that a (human) character's debut skintone should be their canon skintone, no matter how light or dark it is, with little room for variation. A lot of characters end up looking WILDLY different, sometimes with even different facial features and eye colors. I feel like there should be a comic bible for this.

9. Krakoa should've lasted longer--Is this a hot take? Inn any case, it was really fun seeing some villains turn over a new leaf, familiar characters go down a new path, and new characters/underrated mutants getting attention. Definitely feel like this should've been at least 10 years long.

[rhodes-island-hr-bot]

Please Read!

Attention all operators: in an effort to showcase all staff functions on Rhodes Island, the HR office has generously shared the process by which operator code names are accepted based on three major guidelines:

1. A code name is not duplicative of a code name already issued

2. A code name is not a vulgarity or profanity including a swear or curse word, or scatological term, not usually displayed in the community for general viewing.

3. A codename is not obscene or otherwise contains material of sexual suggestiveness in that it refers explicitly or by euphemism to a sexual body part, a sex act, or the availability for sex

Inspired by @ca-dmv-bot, y’all liked that post enough for me to make a whole blog for it!

(I’m not actually a bot though I’m a real human person.)

You can submit canonical or fanmade operator names- If it’s a fanmade name, hit us with some background! If your operator is a canon character, you can either submit the name by itself or you can write the reasoning in character too. Our lovely HR representative will fill in the rest.

Ground rules:

No real-life slurs (unless you’re like, one of two operators who exist in this game) (in which case, you know who you are and localization should change your name)

Maximum of five different operators per ask

Since these are forms the characters are filling out, soft character limit of ~50 for each explanation. I’ll hold myself to this as well.

If you do not want to be used in a fic, drawn, etc. add an “X” at the end of the ask. I will also tag it accordingly.

Might add more as we go along- I’ve never run an in-character blog before so we’ll see how this goes.

[teecupangel]

Now onto the million dollar question, Desmond is Honkai Star Rail

Full disclosure, as an HSR player, I:

1) … have named the MC ‘Desmond’ XD

2) … am absolutely bias towards the Stellaron Hunters (like, they’re the only characters I plan to ever pull for their signature lightcones hahahaha)

Because of those two points, I actually had a small idea of the Trailblazer being named Desmond.

The idea came to me while I was playing the Loufu storyline (the main one with Dan Heng, not the Wardance one later on) with Kafka’s companion quest.

In that quest, Kafka lets the MC ask 2 questions, Kafka must answer 1 truthfully and the other she must lie about.

So my idea is that Desmond asks Kafka “Who am I?” and Kafka would tell him

“You are a clone of Desmond Miles. Elio created your body using what remains of Sample 17 but modified your body so you could host a Stellaron. Before the time comes that you must take the Stellaron at Herta Space Station as you are destined to, I was responsible with protecting you, as well as teaching you general knowledge, common sense and combat skills. You don’t remember who I am because of the Stellaron inside you.”

And Desmond’s second question was

“Am I the real Desmond Miles?”

Kafka answers with a smile, “No.”

And now comes the two possible scenarios.

The Trailblazer Desmond is the real Desmond Miles:

Kafka’s first answer is the truth with sprinkles of lies added for it to be considered as the ‘lie’ of the two answers. His body was not made using Sample 17, that’s long been destroyed. Desmond’s body isn’t a clone, it was created using the genetic memory of a descendant of Desmond Miles from his son Elijah.

That descendant?

The mysterious leader of the Stellaron Hunter going by the name of Elio.

The Trailblazer Desmond isn’t the real Desmond:

So this one is an idea of mind that started to pop out around the end of Penacony.

I ship Firefly and the Trailblazer but I don’t really see Desmond as a romantic partner for Firefly so this idea is that the Trailblazer is a clone of Desmond Miles created using what remains of Sample 17 by Elio. Elio himself is a ‘codename’ and the black cat that appears at times is an actual cat that Elio can connect with.

Elio’s real name is Desmond Miles and his moniker as ‘Destiny’s Slave’ is actually an insult to remind him how his death had been predetermined just like everything about his life as Desmond Miles. He’s actually using a half-biological half-mechanical body that houses his ‘consciousness’ as both Desmond Miles and as the Reader.

The Stellaron Hunters are the current iteration of the Brotherhood, more focused on recovering Stellarons because Desmond wants to change the past and the Stellarons have the energy needed to do that.

His predictions are made using his connection to the Calculations and he treats the Stellaron Hunters more like his children (except Kafka who is more like a sister to him, Blade though… he absolutely sees Blade as his emo oldest son)

The reason why he created the Trailblazer is because the Stellaron in Herta’s Space Station is the core needed for him to complete his desire for a device that can change the past. But to complete the device, he needed the Stellaron to develop a desire to protect living beings thus…

He had what pretty much is his child be part of the Astral Express so they could experience what the infinite cosmos could offer.

(Imma be honest, if Desmond was an actual character, I know it makes sense that he would follow the Hunt path but we already have Moze being the One target Assassin so I kinda like the idea that Desmond follows the path of Destruction and, as a reference to his connection with the Trailblazer, his normal attack is single target but his skill is a blast attack. His ultimate would be him whistling and ghost Assassins would air assassinate every enemy in the field, similar to Altaïr’s summoning of ghost Assassins in AC Revelations. His element would most probably be Imaginary but that puts him in competition with DHIL so maybe something like Quantum or Physical instead?)

[dracrownian]

Alright, last wip scene for a bit, probably. This one's the time travel au.

I'm not sure much context is needed for this one, as most of it is explained within what's written, and inferences can be made. TBH, unlike the other wips, sharing this one is less "I like this scene and don't want it to go to waste" and more "I like this concept, so I'm sharing it with all of you." I might want to play around with it again in the future, but I think I'd focus on Akai's perspective more than Rei's (and hopefully with less explaining stuff). Anyway. Enjoy!

time traveler Akai au.

The dreams start the night Rei’s caught up in the convenience store robbery alongside Date. Despite the presence of the man in the beanie, Rei can write that first dream off as stress-induced. Dreams of dying aren’t exactly abnormal, after all, and so what if he happened to die in the arms of a man whose name he didn’t even know, who he’d only seen in passing during the robbery? It was just the product of the high-stress situation he’d lived through; there was nothing more to it.

Except the dreams don’t stop after that first one. They become less frequent as the weeks, months, years pass, but it’s never more than a week before he sees that man in his dreams once more.

He doesn’t always look the same – sometimes his hair is much longer, his face more gaunt, expression almost hollow. Sometimes he looks like another man entirely, with short, messy, pinkish-brown hair and glasses, but Rei knows, somehow, instinctively that it’s him. The handful of times he’s been able to hear things, the man seems to go by different names: Akai, Moroboshi, Okiya. He assumes this inconsistency is something his mind conjured to make up for the fact that he never found out the man’s real name.

Despite their consistency, Rei manages for two years to convince himself that the dreams don’t mean anything; that they’re just dreams, situations created by his tired mind. But that all starts to change when he’s brought in on the mission to infiltrate a dangerous syndicate that uses codenames for its highest-ranking operatives.

Gin. Vodka. Vermouth.

That’s when Rei remembers another name he had used to address the man in his dreams: Rye. He’d thought it weird at the time to use that as as name, and weirder, still, when Rye referred to him as Bourbon.

But surely that’s just a strange coincidence.

Right?

He considers, briefly, whether he has some sort of gift of prophecy – some people do have strange gifts after all – but dismisses it almost as soon as the thought appears. Prior to the weird dreams, he’s never had any reason to believe he has any gift at all.

So he chalks it up as a coincidence – right up until he’s proven himself enough in the Organization to receive his codename.

Bourbon.

He meets up with Hiro (now codenamed Scotch, working as a sniper for the Organization) later that same day, sweeps Scotch’s apartment for bugs, then says, “I need to talk to you.”

“Zero?” Hiro questions, a concerned frown twisting his expression. “Is something wrong?”

Rei sighs and sits on the couch, pressing a hand to his temples to fend off the incoming headache. “You studied gifts at the university, right?”

Hiro nods. “Why? What’s up?”

“Did-” Rei pauses, trying to decide how to word his inquiry. “Do you know of any gifts that affect a person’s dreams?”

Hiro takes a moment, a quiet hum acting as his acknowledgment of the question. “Dreams, huh? Yours?” Rei nods. “What kind of dreams? Nightmares?”

“Not… really nightmares? A couple probably should’ve scared me, but they didn’t.”

Hiro nods again, thoughtfully. “How long have they been going on? Any connections between them? Anything notable happen in them?”

“About three years? They started the night of that robbery that Date and I were involved in. It hasn’t been every night, but at least once a week since then.” Rei rubs his face. “And there’s always a man in them.”

“A man?” Hiro echoes. “A specific man? Or just a man?”

“Always the same man. Sometimes he doesn’t look like the same man, but I still always know it’s him.”

“I see.” Hiro thinks for a moment before asking, “Do you know this man?”

Rei shakes his head. “Saying that I know him would certainly be a stretch, but I have seen him in person before. He was one of the hostages the night of the robbery.”

“The same night that the dreams started? Any chance they’re caused by stress?”

“I thought that, too, for a while. Not sure why I’d stress-dream about a guy I’ve never so much as spoken to, but I let it go for years. Unfortunately, I don’t think I can really afford to ignore it anymore.”

Hiro frowns. “Why’s that?”

“Because before I even knew about the Organization, much less their codenames, I had a dream where he called me Bourbon. I called him Rye.”

Hiro’s mouth drops open in shock. “Oh shit. Prophecy, maybe?”

“You’re more of the expert that I am, here. The dreams are rarely the same; sometimes it sounds like I’m underwater and can’t make anything out, and sometimes I can hear everything just fine. Do prophetic dreams usually work like that? Focus on my interactions with just one person?”

“I think it tends to work a little differently for everyone with the gift, but the dreams do seem oddly focused.” Hiro pauses there, muses on that. “I’d have to do some digging, but there is one other potential gift that comes to mind – it just wouldn’t be yours, I think. Though, if I’m right, your dreams would imply that you’re very, very sensitive to other peoples’ gifts in a way that most aren’t.”

“We haven’t noticed anything like that before,” Rei points out.

“Sure,” Hiro agrees with a shrug. “But we also don’t know many people with these special abilities, so it’s hard to make a conclusion based only on that.”

“So, what did you have in mind, then?”

“Do you know about Temporals?” Hiro asks.

“I’ve heard the term. I’m not sure what they are.”

“Essentially, their gift is that they’re able to attach their soul to someone else’s and travel through time following that person’s life. I believe they’re limited to attaching themselves to one person, and given that they’re using their own soul to do it, they’re tied to that person forever.”

Rei frowns. “And you think – what? – that this guy has attached himself to me? But why? Would that cause my dreams?”

“I think that it’s a possibility, yeah. Ordinarily, the person they attach their soul to wouldn’t notice, but if the person in question is more sensitive to the magic, then it could cause the dreams. As for why he picked you, I can’t say. Any clues in your dreams?”

Rei hesitates. He had been hoping to avoid telling Hiro where the dreams started, but it seems like he’ll need to, if they want to work this out. Steeling himself for Hiro’s reaction, he answers quietly, “The night this all started, I dreamt of my death. He was there; he was holding me. I couldn’t hear what he was saying, but he looked upset.”

Hiro says nothing for a long moment, looking away to try to gather his composure. Then, he forces a neutral expression and turns back to Rei. “So, if he is a Temporal, then it seems like he didn’t want you to die. A lover, maybe?”

“That seems like quite a jump,” Rei hedges. “He knew my codename, remember? And he might have one of his own. I wouldn’t get involved with someone like that, right?”

“Well, you have a lot more context on this than I do,” Hiro points out. “I can only go off of what you’ve told me. Besides, he could be like us, you know?”

“Please don’t pin your hopes on that,” Rei urges. “We know basically nothing about him, except-”

He cuts himself off, frowning, searching the memories of his dreams for anything they can use to get an understanding of the man potentially called Rye.

“He might be a sniper,” he begins, and Hiro’s eyebrows raise. “I’m not completely sure of that. There’s this dream I had of the three of us at a train station. You two were carrying guitar cases. We ran into a kid – young, early teens, I think? A girl, though I’m not sure how I know that, because she definitely looks like a boy. She has the same eyes as him. He yelled at her about something – I was too far away from you two to hear what was said. Then he left the girl with you, and you started teaching her how to play your pass. You definitely also had a rifle in your case, which makes me think he might have, too.”

“A girl with his eyes? A daughter?”

Rei shakes his head. “He doesn’t seem old enough for that. I’d guess he’s a couple years older than us at most. Sister, I’d say.” His eyebrows draw together, uncertain. “He might have a son, though? There’s this other kid I’ve seen a few times – maybe five or six years old? I don’t know that that’s his kid, but he hangs around often enough that it wouldn’t surprise me. But if that is his kid, he’s the worst father ever.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just letting a kid anywhere near our work is terrible parent material.”