#sorry edited out the snarky comment

[sapphia]

[spootsaline]

(( ...iiiiii think that was my scheduled big mental illness talk of the year

[little-diable]

Afraid - Dean Winchester (smut)

Y'all asked for some jealous!posessive!Dean, so who am I to deny that wish? I came across a Dean edit paired with the song "Afraid" by The Neighbourhood, I guess that set the mood. Honestly, it's just pwp, but I ain't sorry. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Dean is tired of watching men trying to chat (y/n) up wherever the brothers take her. Dean is tired of faking his disinterest in the reader. Dean is tired of holding back.

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, choking, oral (m), car sex, but some fluff and a love confession

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (2.2k words)

The sound of her boots meeting the ground was drowned out by the music echoing through the bar and the chatter filling the air. She was working on the adrenaline still thumping through her veins, riled up by the hunt Dean and her had just finished, wiping their weapons clean before they found their way to this very bar, ready for some distraction before they left this town in the morning. 

With a bright – yet awfully fake – smile glued to her lips, (y/n) made her way to the bartender, studying the man who was focused on the drinks he kept preparing. She was too concentrated on the game she was about to play with the guy, all too used to these moments, to notice the eyes of some other men on her frame, intently studying the woman’s body.

“Hi.” Her soft voice forced the bartender’s grey eyes to find hers, grinning at the smiling woman. He was handsome, with his bright, stormy eyes and the black hair he had gelled back, yet he was nowhere near as handsome as the green-eyed hunter she had been friends with for years by now. Dean fucking Winchester, the man who had an awfully confusing grasp on her body and soul, holding her heart in his hands, crushing it whenever he turned from her to find shelter in another woman’s bed. 

“Hi, darlin’. What can I get for you?” Before (y/n) could speak her and Dean’s order, an unfamiliar voice spoke up from behind her. 

“Give the lovely woman a few shots it’s on me.” Slowly (y/n) turned towards the man, eyes finding his greedy ones, trying to keep her disgust from finding its way to her features. A soft chuckle left her, hoping to distract the man for a few seconds, while she figured out a way out of this situation. 

“Mhm, thank you, that’s very sweet.” (Y/n) tried to turn away from him, though without any luck, stopped by the hand finding its way to her waist. 

“Not so fast, pretty. At least tell me your name.” A groan threatened to claw through (y/n), eyes fluttering in annoyance the man clearly mistook for shy flattery, making the smirk he wore on his thin lips grow. 

“It’s Mandy. Now, if you’ll excuse me, my friend is waiting for me.” The man’s hand didn’t move, tightening its grip on her waist. With her lips forming a snarl, (y/n) was hellbent on fighting her way out of this, it wasn’t the first time a man tried to chat her up against her will, and it certainly wouldn’t be the last, all too used to these uncomfortable situations. Though while her mind raced to find a snarky reply, she was gently though determinedly pulled away from the man.

“Hey, I was talking to her!” Her mind didn’t get the chance to concentrate on the man’s loud voice, distracted by the all-too-familiar scent forcing its way up her nose. For a second (y/n) allowed her eyes to flutter close, relaxing in Dean’s possessive grasp, concentrating on his scent, of the feeling of his muscles pressing against her frame, wordlessly telling her that he wouldn’t let her go. 

“Well, now she’s done talking to you. Let’s go, baby, I want to get out of here.” The man got no chance to protest, forced to watch Dean guide (y/n) through the crowd and out into the cold evening. She inhaled a few breaths, wrapping her arms around herself the second Dean let go of her, searching the distance between them.

“Not that I don’t appreciate your help, but I would have managed just fine on my own, Dean.” He was walking a few steps ahead of her, coming to an abrupt stop the second she spoke the words. Dean turned towards her with dark eyes, features pulled into a hard frown, looking at (y/n) as if she was a supernatural being he was about to kill.

“I’m so fucking sick and tired of watching these men get their hands on you. Do you even know what seeing that does to me?” Dean’s voice carried an unfamiliar kind of anger, dripping with possessiveness, with jealousy. Her heart started racing in her chest, forcing heat to rise to her face, wondering where this was coming from. (Y/n) kept her gaze focused on Dean, eyebrows furrowed together as the seconds kept ticking by, trying to figure out what was going on inside his mind. “You know what, forget it.”

“Absolutely not. Talk to me, Dean, where is this coming from?” She reached for his hand before he could try to start walking once again, eyes drawn to hers like a moth drawn to any source of light. (Y/n) could tell that he was fighting an inner battle, tongue kissing his teeth, fingers forcing themselves closer to hers, interlacing them with his. 

“I,” a deep, almost defeated exhale left Dean, wondering how to put his thoughts into words. But the second the sound of somebody stepping out of the bar found its way to the two, it was as if he was lured out of his trance, letting go of (y/n). “I can’t do this, not here.”

Dean started walking towards Baby without looking back, growling something under his breath (y/n) couldn’t pick up. With determination guiding her, she jogged towards him, forcing him to a halt in front of Baby once again, murmuring his name. The last thing she heard before Dean turned towards her, reaching for (y/n) to press her against Baby, was an angry “Fuck it” leaving the tall man.

Her gasp was swallowed by his lips finding hers, kissing her hungrily as if they had been parted from one another for years, dreaming of their shared kisses, clinging to bits and pieces of their memories. Both moaned in unison, allowing their tongues to meet, turning the kiss even more heated. 

Slowly he parted from her, allowing the both of them to catch their breaths. His cold hands found their way to her warm cheeks, thumb stroking along her swollen lips as he pondered over his words. (Y/n) struggled to concentrate on anything but his touch, taken up by the feeling she had been desperate to feel for years, wondering if and how Dean would touch her. 

“You’re mine, you always have been, and you always will be. I won’t share you, just the thought of it makes me sick.” Dean’s growled words shot heat to her core, walls clenching around nothing. Wordlessly she pulled him down for another kiss, needing to feel him close once again, not fully trusting that this wasn’t just a trick of her imagination. Dean pressed her even further against Baby, keeping her trapped to make her feel every inch of his body, groaning the second his growing bulge came in contact with her desperate heat. “Do you feel what you do to me? I should fuck you right here, for them to see that you’re mine, mine only.”

A whimper left (y/n) at his words, drawing a dangerous chuckle from Dean as he let go of her, giving her just enough space to find her way to the passenger seat. Her eyes didn’t dare part from his features, trying to soak up every second. She couldn’t stop her grin from widening as her hands began to move, finding his thigh before Dean could catch up on what she was trying to do. He shot her a warning look, teeth nibbling on his lower lip, but her hands kept moving, finding their way to his crotch, feeling his hardening cock strain against the fabric of his washed-out jeans. 

“Sweetheart,” Dean choked on the word, struggling to keep his eyes focused on the road. (Y/n) didn’t speak up, she began to shift in her seat, leaning towards him to free his growing cock from the confines of his clothes. The groan that left Dean filled her with giddiness, spitting into her palms before she touched him for the first time, slowly stroking him. “Fuck, feels so good, been dreaming of this.”

Her soft chuckles forced a grin to widen on Dean’s lips, freezing the second he felt her warm breath clashing against his soft skin. Without another warning, she parted her lips, spitting onto his tip before she took him in her mouth. The groan that left Dean echoed through Baby, a sound that forced (y/n) to hum around him, making the sound vibrate on his skin. 

Even though Dean tried to concentrate on the dark road ahead, he felt his concentration slipping, parking Baby on the side of the road before (y/n) realised what he was doing. With one hand getting tangled in her hair, Dean roughly pulled her off his cock and back in for a teeth-clashing kiss. 

“Get in the backseat, I need to fuck you now.” The rough tone of Dean’s voice left (y/n) moaning, struggling to make her way to the backseat with her thoughts focused on the things Dean would do to her. He didn’t waste any time the second she found him hovering over her, hands pulling on her trousers and panties to expose her dripping cunt, groaning at the sight. 

His calloused fingers touched her expertly, circling her pulsing bundle with just enough pressure to push her into another dimension. Within seconds Dean had turned her into a blabbering mess, choking on her words as he pushed two fingers into her tightness. He didn’t hold back, kept her pinned to the leather seat with his free hand finding her throat. 

“You’re mine, your body belongs to me from now on.” For years she had imagined moments like this, wondering if she’d ever be fortunate enough to feel him this close, wondering how it must feel to have his hands on her. She could stay buried beneath him till the end of their time, allowing Dean to touch her as he pleased. 

“Dean,” she whispered his name, unable to use any more strength with his hand choking her just the way she liked. “Fuck me, please.”

Dean stared down at her for a few seconds, nodding his head as he pulled away, reaching for his wallet to pull out a condom. Within moments he placed himself on top of (y/n), aligning his tip with her cunt. With their eyes holding contact, he pushed into her, groaning at the feeling of her walls fluttering around him. 

Her lips parted at the feeling of Dean slowly pushing into her, allowing (y/n) to adjust to the unfamiliar sensation. Dean stared down at her, eyes growing a few shades darker at the sight of her pleasure drunken features, finding excitement in her moans. Only as she nodded her head, teeth buried in her lower lip, did he start a faster rhythm, set on pushing her closer and closer to the edge.

“Fuck, Dean, feels so good.” One of his hands found its way back to her throat, holding onto her as he fucked her faster, deeper, set on making her remember this very night till their last moment together. The Impala moved with his every thrust, keeping them protected from any dangers waiting out in the dark, allowing the two lovers to give in to their every emotion. 

“Been imagining this for years, but you feel even better than I thought, fuck, it’s like you were made for me, sweetheart.” (Y/n) couldn’t reply, could only clench around him with her eyes squeezed shut and her fingernails leaving crescent shapes on his neck. She held onto him as if he was about to disappear, about to leave her behind – even though she very well knew that Dean would never let go of her, forever holding her close.

The second Dean tightened his grip on her throat, she found herself looking up at him, allowing heat to rise in her system as she picked up on the love swimming in his pupils. Dean tilted his head down to press a kiss to her lips, momentarily distracting her from the feeling of his cock nudging her swollen spot, leaving her body tingling.

“Touch yourself for me, baby.” The simple command rolled off Dean’s tongue, filling the Impala with another wave of heat to crawl up her body. With one arm slung around his neck, the other found its way down her frame, fingers rubbing her clit. Dean could swear that he was finally in heaven, that he had finally found his peace with her buried beneath him, finally his to love. 

(Y/n) could only whisper Dean’s name, eyes once again falling shut as she came. He fucked her through her high, staring down at her with his lips pulled into a smirk. It took Dean a few more moments before he gave in, letting a string of curses roll off his tongue. 

“I love you, sweetheart.” His words made tears well up in (y/n)’s eyes, pulling him down for one last kiss before she repeated the three loving words.

[qprstobin]

Stobin Different First Meeting AU where they go to prom together. This was meant to be an au post and turned into a mini fic oops (written completely within a tumblr post so sorry for the poor quality)

(edit: realized I should link the fic I was inspired by for those who don't follow me and so didn't see me reblog it earlier)

Steve doesn't necessarily want to go to prom, right? Like yeah, he'd been imagining it for a while, but now that he was very, very single it just didn't have the same shine that it used to. And he really wasn't ready to start dating yet. However, he didn't want to just, not go to prom, and also knew it would seem really weird (and pretty fucking sad) if he didn't go.

Which leaves him in a conundrum.

He thought for a while that maybe he would go with one of the junior cheerleaders. While he didn't have any close friends anymore, he was still friendly with plenty of people. There were girls that wouldn't be going to prom unless they had a senior boyfriend - some he had even gone on dates with in the past who wouldn't think a single prom date meant that he wanted a new girlfriend.

However, he is pretty sure most of those girls would have... other expectations for the night. And honestly? He isn't quite sure that he was ready to get back on that horse either.

... Not that he thought women were horses.

He's pretty sure men are normally the ones called horses in riding metaphors.

Anyway.

That left him stuck. He couldn't just not go to prom, but also didn't want to wind up trapped on an actual date with someone. So who could he ask?

His solution ended up coming from an odd place.

Robin Buckley was... quite honestly, kind of a weirdo.

She was cute, in an alternative sort of way. She never took any of his shit (he wasn't completely sure she even liked him) but also reluctantly laughed at the snarky shit he said under his breath during their Film History class. And not in the fake giggly way girls did when they were flirting, but didn't actually care about what he was saying, just the way he said it. She actually seemed to think he was funny. Even if that revelation seemed to piss her off.

The only reason he was even in Film History that semester - and therefore, knew who she was - was for the easy A. He got to watch movies in class, and watch movies for homework. He was willing to plow through a couple of shitty essays in exchange for a class that he didn't feel like a complete idiot in.

(Well, he was pretty sure Robin thought he was an idiot about movies, but just because he had trouble remembering the names and shit of characters, didn't mean he couldn't analyze the themes, fuck you very much, Buckley.)

They had gotten assigned a project together early on, and it hadn't been completely terrible. She had quickly taken over doing most of the writing portions, but hadn't thought all of his ideas were terrible. By the end of the project he thought they were even sort of having fun together.

He'd always been one to try his luck, take a little more than he was given. So, after that assignment was over, he started sitting next to her in class, not wanting that easy, if sharp, camaraderie to end. Robin rolled her eyes at him and asked him what he thought he was doing the first time he did it, but she never sent him away.

They ended up chatting more and more during down times, passing notes to each other and sharing sly comments under their breaths during the movies. Steve often had trouble paying attention at school, his mind easily wandering away, and it was almost as bad during most movies, but Robin helped keep him on track.

The class turned into one that was done for the easy grade, a last ditch effort to improve his already hopeless GPA, and became one he actually enjoyed.

The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of going to prom with Robin. It made the night seem a little less unbearable.

He thought about making a big deal out of asking her, because he knows that's what girls (and even Nancy) had enjoyed for past dances. He quickly scrapped that idea, however, because not only did he not want to put pressure on her like that, but also she seemed to hate public spectacles like that.

Or at least when aimed at her, they both enjoyed watching drama unfold in the halls a bit too much to say she hated it completely.

So Steve waits until the end of the day, their film class being their last, to pull her into an empty classroom. She follows him without question in a show of trust he didn't realize she had in him. The notion warms him, and for some reason makes it more difficult to get the question out.

"Why do I feel like you're about to try to sell me drugs or something?" Robin asked, raising an eyebrow at him. He squints at her in offense.

"Why is that your first assumption?!"

"I don't know! Why else are you pulling me out of the hallway all secretive like, making sure no one followed us, into an abandoned classroom," she asks, throwing her arms into the air.

"The classroom isn't abandoned, it's the end of the day! Also, who does drug deals on campus, that's just stupid?" He asks rhetorically, before waving one hand through the air, as if trying to erase the current thread of conversation. "That doesn't matter, you're distracting me."

"Well then, get on with it! Some of us have practice we need to get to."

"It's like talking to the kids," he mutters to himself, "Whatever. I wanted to ask - will you go to prom with me?"

That stops Robin up short. There's panic in her eyes now, though Steve isn't sure what exactly put it there. Was his reputation that bad that even band geeks are terrified of getting asked out by him?

"You want to go on a date? With me?" she asks slowly, disbelief coloring her voice, though it doesn't hide her unease.

"No, I want to go to prom with you," he scoffs, "Not go on a date with you."

"That is a date, dingus! The person you go to prom with is literally called your date!"

"Okay, sure, maybe, but I don't actually want to date you," he said, rolling his eyes at her.

Like, okay, he understood his reputation for being... what did she call him last week? A 'huge effing rake'? But that didn't mean that he was trying to date any girl that looked in his direction. A lot of girls looked in his direction. That was too many women, even for him.

Robin relaxes a little at that.

"Then why are you asking me to prom instead of someone you actually want to date?"

"Because!" he says, resisting the urge to flail his hands back at her. "I don't want to date anyone right now. Most people I ask are going to expect all these things from me - they're going to want dinner, and at the very least a kiss at the end of the night if not more, or another date the very next day. Because Steve Harrington is supposed to want those things!" He takes a deep breath and runs a hand through his hair to calm himself. "But right now? I really don't."

"Well then, what does Steve the Hair Harrington actually want?" She had relaxed fully at this point, a smile playing at the corner of her mouth.

"I want to go to prom with someone I consider a friend, someone who makes me laugh," he says after a moment of silence. "I want to dance badly to really corny pop music and drink just enough spiked punch that I don't remember how much I hate wearing any sort of tie. Then I want to go get milkshakes or go see a really trashy midnight horror flick, just because I'm having so much fun I don't want the night to end."

That small smile has grown into a reluctant grin on Robin's face. It makes her eyes shine and her freckles pop. Steve thought that if he was in a better place, if they had met at a different time, he could have fallen in love with her.

But they had met now instead, in some shitty public school elective course, and she was the closest thing he had to a friend that wasn't a snotty middle schooler.

"That sounds... like a lot of fun, actually," she says, mischief sparking on her face. "Who would've known the hidden depths hidden behind all that hair."

"Hey!" he protests half-heartedly, unable to keep a grin of his own off his face. "So what do you say? Wanna go to prom with me?"

"I guess," she sighs, acting like it was such a trial to go to prom with him. Him! But her next words make up for it. "Since we're friends, and all. However, I still expect you to buy me dinner, though you can keep the kiss goodnight to yourself."

Steve can't help the giddy laugh from spilling out of him. For the first time in weeks, he is actually looking forward to prom.

[vespidphoenix]

Entirely at your service

Tag list: @fanaticsnail @turtletaubwrites @weaversofnulbundin

It's Sanji's turn to stay on the Thousand Sunny while the rest of the Straw Hats explore a new island, so he makes his way up to the crow's nest for his watch. He is pleasantly surprised in more ways than one by what, or rather who, he finds up there.

Notes: NSFW, minors begone, lots of swearing, friends to lovers, porn with feelings, idiots in love, chubby OC, some angst, lots of fluff, praise kink, breast worship, consent really is sexy, inappropriate(?) use of observation haki, etc; word count 6.3k

AN: Baby's first fan fiction! Ya girl can have a little a shameless self-insert, as a treat. I've only seen OPLA and I'm not past the East Blue in the manga/anime yet, but I've done my best to keep everything consistent with canon.

AN 2: I use French as the language of the Celestial Dragons, and both Sanji and Amy are fluent. Most of the time, I'll put the English words in brackets at the end of the paragraph, but there are some recurring phrases that I'll leave untranslated: mère bleue is 'blue mother', as in Mother Ocean; merde is 'shit'; mon amour, chérie, and ma chère are endearments

Chapter One: you are here! | Next chapter: coming soon | Masterlist: coming soon

Edit: read this chapter on ao3!

(Banner courtesy of @cafekitsune)

As soon as the hatch leading to the crow’s nest clangs shut, Sanji sets his snack tray on the floor mats and collapses with a dramatic groan. 

“Fuck me raw,” he sighs.

“As appealing as that sounds, that’s gonna have to wait another couple days per Chopper’s advice,” a feminine voice deadpans behind him.

Sanji sits upright with a start, nearly knocking over his water bottle. “Mère bleue!” he exclaims as he turns to face his crew mate; “for some reason I thought you were in the landing party today.”

Amy’s reply is drowned out by the pounding of Sanji’s heart when he blinks and notices just how casually she is dressed. He recognizes her sarong as a recent gift from a grateful cloth merchant—he would stand by the assertion that everything looked good on Nami, the original recipient, but he’d have to agree with her that it suited their crew’s interpreter better—and the crocheted halter top as Amy’s own handiwork. He feels a sudden itch to find out for himself just how soft a yarn she chose for this particular work of art…

For lack of a mirror, Amy could not see what her face looked like; but she imagined that if she could, her eyes would be wide and sparkling with mischief. It’s certainly the feeling she always seems to get whenever she’s face-to-face with the handsome blond before her: a grin pressing at her cheeks to escape through the seam of lips pressed together, eyelids spread as if to take in more of him.

(Sometimes, she reckons she could spread other parts of herself for that purpose, if she thought him willing to put his money where his mouth always seems to go.)

“I’m not complaining, mind you,” she continues to say, “but this is the third—no, fourth time in a row!”

Sanji gulps and shakes the slightly-glazed expression from his face. “I’m sorry, can you say that again? I was…distracted by your beauty.” He winks one piercing blue eye, and skepticism be damned, she feels heat creeping over her body and pooling between her legs.

Amy rolls her eyes and fidgets with her sarong in lieu of making a snarky comment about blindfolds.

“As I was saying while you were ogling me, I was going to be one of the landing party, but Nami insisted on having Usopp join her in mapping the island because my handwriting is so much better than his, so I should be the one to help you with inventory. She’s not wrong, per se, but this is the third or fourth time in a row this has happened, and part of me wants to call bullshit.”

“Part of you? What about the rest of you?” Sanji asks, resolutely fixing his gaze on Amy’s eyes instead of letting it drift to her bust or the soft rolls of her exposed torso.

This time it’s Amy’s turn to deliver a blush-inducing wink. “The rest of me is simply happy to be spending time with you.”

“Well, lucky for us, sweetheart, I took the liberty of doing inventory earlier this morning so that Miss Nami would have a grocery list,” Sanji replies after taking a deep breath, “so I am…entirely at your service.” 

Entirely at your service. The words tickle Amy as she takes in Sanji’s shirtless form, supine once more and sporting that megawatt grin. As her gaze trickles down from his abs to those steel-hard thighs, she can’t even bring herself to be annoyed by how smug he looks; Mother Ocean knows how handsome he knows he is, how hard he’s worked to earn those well-toned—

“Have I rendered you speechless, mademoiselle?”

Sanji’s voice, sultry and teasing, interrupts her train of thought.

Entirely at your service.

Sanji knows he’s close to some sort of victory when Amy’s face flushes even more deeply and she still doesn’t answer right away. There’s something uniquely thrilling about fencing with words and looks the way Mosshead trains with Wado Ichimonji—maneuvering, testing, anticipating, parrying, scoring—and he reckons it has to do with the way both parties win something if one goes about it correctly.

He watches and sits up as Amy walks around to his front before she settles next to the tray of snacks. His heart thumps harder in his chest the same way that foolish thing does every time they’re in such close proximity, not quite touching but close enough that he wouldn’t even need to fully extend his arm were he to caress her cheek—

“You don’t need to sit up on my account, handsome. Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer later, but right now maybe I’ll serve you some—how does that sound?” Amy plucks a single grape from the cluster and holds it above his mouth.

Maybe I’ll serve you some.

It’s not often Sanji allows himself to contemplate what he might do with such an offer. As a child, he’d served in order to live; as an adolescent and now as an adult, he lives to serve. But sometimes it occurs to him that letting someone serve him instead can itself be an act of…well…service.

(It will take some time before he allows himself even to think the word ‘love’ in place of ‘service’, and longer still before he allows himself to speak it; but it’s there, waiting like a daffodil bulb in early March for safe conditions to bloom.)

There will be time for Sanji to unpack all of this later, when a beautiful woman is not offering him a grape that looks as sweet and delicious as the person holding it, looking at him with the inviting heat of an onsen—or perhaps it is the sort of hunger that no amount of grapes can quench but he might be able to satisfy anyway. 

All Blue forbid he keep a lady waiting. He lowers himself back onto the floor mats and opens his mouth.

“Good boy,” Amy teases in her best attempt at a sultry purr, frowning when Sanji gives her a strange look and shifts uncomfortably instead of rolling his eyes. “Sorry, does my femme fatale impression need work? Too over-the-top, not campy enough, too demeaning?”

“No, that was—no, no, you’re fine,” he replies, suddenly a little breathless. “How about that grape?”

If Amy notices the hunger filling both his mind and his gym shorts, she mercifully does not comment on it.

There’s a look in Sanji’s eyes that, if she didn’t know better, Amy might call naked desire, and the idea renders her dizzy with want, or it could be dehydration—she’s not sure, not in this weather. She drops the grape in Sanji’s waiting mouth, pats his jaw, and gets up to let a breeze in through a window.

She can hear the slight frown in Sanji’s voice when he calls, “Are you alright, darling? Can I get you something to drink? I think I saw a fountain somewhere…”

“You’re not beating the waiter allegations from Zoro anytime soon, are you?” Amy chuckles, the cooler air having relieved her flustered state.

“He can call me a scullion for all I care; it’s a small price to pay to see you satisfied.” The chef curses under his breath; there are no spare cups up here, so sharing his canteen will have to suffice. He brings it to Amy with an apologetic smile.

She takes a sip and smiles gratefully, and allows her eyes once again to wander over Sanji’s chiseled body. “I have a tall glass of water to drink from, and that’s a good place to start.”

Sanji draws a sudden breath and runs a hand through his hair. “Keep talking like that, and we might not get to finish the snacks I brought up.”

A wicked grin spreads over Amy’s face, and Sanji knows he’s fallen into his own trap.

“How about I help you finish your snack, and you help me finish mine?”

He groans and tilts his head back, and the creeping heat that became smoldering want is stoked into flame by the huskiness of his voice, by the way his neck seems further exposed, there for the kissing—

“Say the word, Amy, and all of it is yours.”

Amy merely smiles. She steps past him, hooking an arm around the far side of his waist as she goes; when he spins around to face her once again, she tugs on the hand suddenly holding hers.

“You gonna have a seat or what?” she asks, nodding toward the tray.

A moment’s hesitation, and Sanji steps forward into the gap between them.

“Are you gonna call me a good boy if I do?” he asks almost under his breath, just above a whisper.

They’re standing so, so close together now, Sanji is sure Amy can feel his breath on her forehead and the place where his shorts are almost too tight to contain him—because she might have called him a tall glass of water, but to him her eyes are Dressrosi kahlua, and he is so drunk on her gaze he would confess to a lot more than his longings, just for another shot.

“I can call you anything you like,” she breathes, “when I am entirely at your service.”

Their lips meet now in a kiss that, for all the repartee and flirtation that preceded it, is gentle and unhurried, a moment to be savored. After a few moments they pull apart, all smiles, long enough for Sanji to remark:

“I’m pretty sure that’s supposed to be my line.”

The pair dissolve into giggles and quick pecks as Sanji finally lays himself down beside the snacks.

To his left, recumbent and supporting herself on one arm, Amy realizes her mistake and gestures to the tray. "Would you mind passing me those?" she asks.

"I thought you were supposed to be serving me," he replied with a mock pout and still-twinkling eyes. 

"I was always taught it was impolite to reach directly across someone's personal space." Amy raises an eyebrow, still looking amused.

Gently, tentatively, as if reaching out to pet a cat, Sanji places his left hand on the small of her back. The hitch in Amy's breath at his touch and the way her eyes widen send a tingling sensation down his spine, straight to his groin. He flashes her the most charming smile he can muster.

"Chérie, in case I haven't made it clear, I want you in my personal space; and unless I am reading you wrong, in which case I apologize sincerely..." He begins to remove his hand.

"No, no, keep doing that—"

(Amy almost doesn't recognize that plaintive voice as her own, but the way his broad palm spread across her back and the soothing way he moved his thumb in little circles have seared themselves into her mind like an addiction.)

Sanji, that smug, sexy bastard, grins and does as he is told.

“…if I am not mistaken, you want me in your personal space, too.” 

Amy is speechless for a moment with an embarrassment she can’t quite explain, but she knows exactly how to get back at Sanji. With his hand back in its place holding her, she smiles sweetly and says:

“Thank you…”

—she moves not only to reach across him for the food, but also to straddle him entirely, which she is sure was his plan to begin with; but then she leans her head close to his, and her smile turns impish—

“…or should I say ‘good boy’?”

Pulling her waist closer with one hand and pushing himself up from the floor with the other arm, Sanji kisses Amy again, trailing along her jawline with an unmistakable urgency.

“Mon amour,” he pleads, “laisse-moi te montrer ce que tu m’inspires…” [Let me show you what you inspire in me...]

“Ho-hold on, lover boy,” Amy gasps, giving the smallest yelp when his hand squeezes a plush asscheek and presses her body against his hardness. “Don’t forget what you came here to do. We don’t—fuck—we don’t waste food.” She pushes against Sanji’s chest and hopes he can see the sympathetic reluctance in her face.

He whimpers. Sanji whimpers, and the sound of it is almost enough to break her resolve; but she knows that if he loved anything in the world more than women, it would be food alone. She presses her forehead to his and a gentle kiss to his nose.

“We don’t waste food.”

If Sanji didn’t know better, he’d think he was dreaming. If he’s dreaming, then woe betide the person who wakes him up, he thinks.

The afternoon sun backlights Amy’s head like a halo, and the breeze through the window causes her brown hair to flutter like a curtain or a sacred veil. Sanji thanks whatever deities are listening—for surely the vision above him is divine in source as well as appearance—for every person before him who fumbled their chance at the privilege that is now his. Hell if he knows what a rejected-princeling-turned-pirate-cook could possibly offer that is worthy of a goddess like this; but he would devote himself to her, be her high priest, beg her to take him as her throne—anything for the heaven in her embrace, if she would only let him.

We don’t waste food.

The reminder nudges Sanji out of his angst, and he grins. “Let’s have those snacks, then, before we get carried away and fill up on something else.”

He gives Amy one more kiss on her lips, chaste yet searing, and lets her go.

The absence of his hand on her waist feels like a loss, until she sits back to reach for the grapes and feels something pressing below her tailbone. She exchanges a knowing smile with the man pinned beneath her, handsome as a demigod.

“You know, if we share those snacks, they’ll be gone faster,” he muses, before dropping his voice even lower. “Then you and I can have our ways with each other.”

“Someone’s eager.” Amy winks and picks up a piece of bruschetta.

“Eager to please you, eager to serve you, eager to feel you in the throes of bliss—yes, I am eager, and you deserve an eager lover, Amy.”

Amy looks stunned. Sanji gestures to the bread slice in her hand.

“Mind telling me how that bruschetta tastes?” he asks. “I used a different combination of cheese and seasoning since we couldn’t find any mozzarella in the last port.”

You deserve an eager lover.

Amy knows this to be true, knows that a lack of sex is better than mediocre sex; but knowing is one thing, and hearing a would-be lover echo the sentiment is another. Not only that: Sanji says it with such conviction, as if pleading with her to believe it too. It's refreshing. Arousing.

So...maybe she leans forward a bit more than necessary when she brings a morsel to Sanji's waiting mouth, and delights in the way his noises of appreciation seem to be as much for the heft of her breasts as for the acidic tang of the diced tomatoes. Maybe she grinds her bottom on his clothed cock just a little when she reaches for another handful of grapes, and smiles with the knowledge that his moaning isn't only for the bursts of sweetness on his tongue. Maybe she is uncommonly thorough when licking the sticky tangerine juice off his fingers.

Entirely at your service.

Maybe I’ll serve you some.

Swimming as their heads are with heady lust, it takes Sanji and Amy by surprise when they find the snack tray empty. They stare at it in silence for a long moment, before—

“Should I, uh—”

“That went more—”

“No, sorry, you go—”

“You go—”

Sanji sits up, laughing, and Amy kneels in front of him, head cocked to one side.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any condoms on you, or know whether Zoro keeps any up here?” Amy asks quietly.

“Hm? I think Mosshead keeps all his in his belt thing; Franky’s shooting blanks and exclusive with Miss Robin, so they don’t need any—”

“Wait, how does Franky know…”

“Apparently the Surgeon of Death also does vasectomies from time to time—wish I’d thought of that the last time we ran into them.”

“Damn. But do you have any?” Amy asks, leaning closer and poking him gently.

Sanji sighs deeply. “Don’t got any rubbers on me, but I keep some in the bunk room…”

“Hmmm, mais je ne peux plus attendre.” With her left hand on his right cheek, Amy pulls Sanji in for a lingering kiss. “J’ai besoin de toi maintenant.” [but I can't wait anymore; I need you now]

“Fuck, Amy,” Sanji groans between hungry, open-mouthed kisses, “how’m I supposed to resist you when you talk to me all sweet like that?” He slides a hand just above the waist of her sarong for emphasis, and cautiously slips a couple fingertips between fabric and skin.

Amy allows her fingernails to lightly scrape his skin as her free hand finds his spine; the hand already on his face threads through his hair. “You’re not supposed to resist me,” she murmurs into his jawline as she pulls his head back to expose his neck. “You’re supposed to forget about that snack tray, forget about our crewmates”—she places a cluster of kisses along his neck—“and enjoy some time alone with your lover—”

Your lover. The words send shivers coursing over Sanji’s skin.

“—just…enjoy yourself for a while.” She looks up at him through half-lidded eyes and allows one hand to drift down to his waistband.

“Well, when you put it like that—merde, ça me sens bien—let me at least put a towel down for us?” Sanji reluctantly extracts himself from Amy, pressing a kiss to the back of her hand when he catches a pout on her lovely face. [that feels good]

“Make it quick, mon amour…vraiment, j’ai besoin de toi…” [truly, I need you]

Sanji pulls a couple towels from a nearby rack, drapes the larger one so that it flows from the bottom step onto the floor, and sets the smaller one beside it. Approaching Amy, he holds a hand out to her with the air of a gentleman at a ball asking a lady to dance. She takes it and pulls herself up to stand in front of him.

“We’re really doing this, aren’t we?” she asks with an adoring smile.

Sanji cups her face in both of his hands and looks her in the eyes. “We can stop at any time and it won’t cause problems between us, y’know that, right? I want this to be enjoyable for both of us.”

Amy lets her eyes flick down to Sanji’s parted lips before meeting his gaze. “What would really be enjoyable right now is you kissing me…”

“So needy,” he teases, but obliges Amy anyway.

“‘Needy’? The love cook calls me ‘needy’?” she replies with mock outrage. “You’re the one who tricked me into straddling you and got so horny over a simple pet name that you reverted to Celestial!”

Sanji gives her a mischievous smile and another peck. “You stepped into the trap very willingly, though, didn’t you?” Another kiss, lingering a moment, and he adds: “And I know for a fact you loved it when I switched languages.”

“Quoi d’autre peux-tu faire avec ta langue, hmm?” Amy whispers against Sanji’s lips. [What else can you do with your tongue]

“S���il te plaît, chérie,” he whispers in kind, his fingers dancing lightly along one arm as he lifts it to his shoulder, “je peux te démontrer…” [If it please you, I can demonstrate]

Suddenly he bends down, and with a grunt he lifts Amy by her thighs, one on either side of his waist. He sets her down on the towel.

No sooner does Sanji let go of her legs than Amy is on him, gripping his face with both hands and kissing him voraciously. 

“That’s so—ungh—so fucking hot, Sanji,” she moans. “Fuck, you’re strong.”

“You’re not that heavy, are you?” Sanji manages to say between kisses—not that he’s complaining. “Ten stone, twelve?”

“Fourteen last I checked,” Amy murmurs into his chin. “You’re so good at what you do, I’m always hungry for more.”

Sanji chuckles at her double entendre. “Fourteen’s nothin’, long as I let my legs do the work.”

“Definitely the sexiest legs I’ve ever seen.” Amy sucks lightly at the base of Sanji’s neck, and almost erases his train of thought completely.

“Merde—since your own, of course, right?” He places his hands on her knees and ever-so-slowly moves them upward.

“Mmm, naturally,” Amy murmurs, more interested in Sanji’s collarbone.

“Are you even listening right now?” Sanji asks, grinning with amusement as he pulls away. He laughs when Amy makes a whining noise and chases him with her lips.

“Your tongue is doing way too much talking, lover boy. Starting to think maybe you’re all talk.”

Sanji narrows his eyes.

Before Amy has time even to discern anything from his smile, Sanji’s gripping the back of her head in one hand and nudging her mouth open with his tongue. His other hand slides higher along her thighs, tantalizingly close to where she suddenly realizes she needs his touch the most. She moans into Sanji’s hungry mouth, the noise sounding more like a whimper than she would have liked to admit were she clear-minded; but her senses are consumed with him, and she can’t bring herself to care. His appreciative groans are like held notes on a saxophone; he smells of musky cologne and sweat in a way that registers as the essence of virility in the back of her mind; he electrifies her skin with the slightest contact; she can taste fruit and spice on his tongue, and—

“Sanj, there’s something metal in your mouth, is that a piercing or…?”

Amy leans back to peer into Sanji’s grinning mouth, and sure enough, the frenulum is pierced with a horseshoe bar.

She puts her arms around his neck and pulls him close again. “You know, I’d heard you described as having a silver tongue,” she teases, her lips a hair’s breadth from his, “but I didn’t think Nami and Usopp were being serious.”

Sanji kisses her again, delicate and sweet like a meringue. “It’s surgical steel, love, but I appreciate the sentiment.” He chuckles and Amy rolls her eyes fondly.

“Now, why don’t we go back to your talent show?” she suggests.

“A show, hmm? I’ve never tried exhibitionism, but we can talk kinks later, sure.”

“You know what I meant!” Amy laughs, giving Sanji’s shoulder a playful backhand.

“Oh, yes, that’s right: the talent show in which I”—Sanji places one more kiss on Amy’s smiling mouth—“pleasure this lovely lady”—he whispers before kissing behind her ear and sliding his hands to the laces of her top—“with my tongue until she”—loosens the knot holding the halter-neck in place and nips an exposed shoulder, prompting her to buck against him—“begs me to make her cum on my face.” He presses his face into her cleavage, and looks up to gauge her expression. “That one?”

Amy combs a hand through Sanji’s corn-silk hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and gasps with something like awe marbled with need. His lust-darkened eyes peering up at her from between her breasts might be the most erotic thing she’s ever seen.

Entirely at your service.

You deserve an eager lover.

“Oh, Sanji…” she sighs and leans back against the bench. “Please, yes, I need it…

“…do I get to serve you after?”

The question is so airy and quiet that Sanji almost doesn’t catch it, occupied as he is with the scent of Amy’s perfume and the solemn task of unbuttoning her from the other side. “What’s that, darling?”

Amy holds his face between her hands and pets his flushed cheeks with her thumbs. “Do I get to return the favor once you’ve made good on those wonderful things you said you want to do to me?”

“You may not need to. I’m pretty, ah, worked up right now—might be that I’ll follow you over the edge when you cum for me.” Sanji kisses her palm and, taking hold of her hand, guides it along the faint trail of hair leading to where he needs her touch the most.

Amy wants to press the question further, but contents herself with pressing her hand to the bulge in Sanji’s shorts. She gasps in wonder at his size and the needy cry that pours from his lips.

“Let’s find out for sure, shall we?” She turns her back to Sanji and lifts her hair out of the way.

Seating himself on the bench beside Amy, Sanji can reach the buttons just fine, but he welcomes the chance to lavish her neck with a flurry of kisses. He smiles against her skin at her giggling, and thinks of how quickly the sound is becoming one of his favorites.

Amy’s breath, already shaking, hitches when she feels her top come loose, and again when Sanji sucks lightly on the skin joining her neck to her shoulders.

“Sanji, please…”

“Shhh, darling, I’ll take care of you,” he murmurs as his hands snake over the bare skin of her waist to cover hers in the front. “Your body is so soft, so beautiful. I love it.

“Can…can I just…feel it for a moment first? Explore it, admire it for a bit before I ravish you?” Sanji continues, tracing with his fingers the places that had previously been covered.

“Just as long as your body stays on mine.” Amy sighs dreamily and leans against him, eyes closed, happy to let him fill her senses once again.

There has, historically, been precious little in Sanji’s life that could be described as soft or tender. Such is a hard-working life at sea, to say nothing of what came before his stint on the Orbit; even on such a well-appointed ship as the Thousand Sunny, piracy is piracy, and the oceans swallow the weak. So when something comes Sanji’s way that could be construed as even the vaguest promise of devotion, he has learned to seize it, to enjoy it while he can, before the Blue Mother’s waves inevitably carry it out of reach.

He does not seize Amy, for she is not a pipe dream or a fantasy: she is substantial, in multiple senses of the word, generous in the warm plushness of her body and likewise in the beauty of her soul. He paces himself, like a man who has known starvation followed by plenty; though he does have to take a steadying breath when she sets aside the bralette and turns toward him, now bare-chested. One hand goes to her heartbeat, one to her shoulder, trailing downward and leaving a tingling heat in its wake.

“I want to figure you out, chérie, before I take you apart,” Sanji rasps in Amy’s ear as he engages his haki.

Amy has a hunch she’s in for some of the best sex of her life. Not that she has a great deal of first-hand experience for the love cook to exceed—men did not often stay in her life long enough for attraction to develop—but even if Sanji is as much of a serial womanizer as Nami and Zoro make him out to be, he has already proven attentive and empathetic enough to be above average. It’s not his skill she’s worried about—

The casual flick of a thumb across a now-stiffened nipple jolts Amy back into the moment with a squeal.

“Fuck, Sanji, that feels so good, do it again…”

He obliges, of course he does, and pleasure like an electric shock goes straight to her cunt, suddenly flooded with slick. She arches her back, leaning forward into his touch; and he must have heard the needy impatience in her wordless moan, because he pulls her flush with him and nibbles her ear. 

“Où d’autre, where else do you need me?” Sanji murmurs. “J’ai besoin de te plaîre…” [Where else; I need to please you]

Where doesn’t she need him? Amy wonders. “Everywhere, babe, jus’—fuck—everywhere. My neck, my hands, my tits, need you inside, everywhere.”

Sanji’s face lights up like he’s received the best news of his life, and he kisses her again. 

“As my lady commands.”

As he nibbles at her ear and her neck, Amy can’t resist rolling her hips against him, flush as she is with his hardened abdomen and his cock, and spirits it feels so good—

“Amy, my love,” Sanji pleads, “I don’t want to cum yet, let me do this for you—”

“But Sanji…”

“Amy. Don’t you want me to keep my promise to you?”

He stands and pulls her up as well, and continues: “Don’t you want to find out what my tongue can do? I should think you wouldn’t want the talent show to end so early.”

“Your fingers untying my skirt are giving me a mixed signal,” Amy mutters, though her fingers digging out the knots belie the annoyance in her words.

“I’m going to have you lay back for me, darling,” Sanji says as he folds the sarong, “and I want to have a cushion for your beautiful head.” He holds the garment out to her, and he’s looking at her with such tenderness that she feels something clench in her chest. “Your comfort matters to me.”

“And you feeling good matters to me.”

“Tell you what,” Sanji offers as his hands push gently on Amy’s hips, encouraging her to sit. “I get to taste every part of you, and you get to shower me in praise and ‘good boys’ to your heart’s content. How does that sound?”

“And then I get to play with your cock?” she asks, pouting slightly but positioning herself on the towel nevertheless.

Sanji makes a choked gasp. “Merde, yes, then you can play with my cock.”

“Sounds good to me.” Amy leans back and watches as he hems her in, elbows on either side of her shoulders, powerful legs astride her own.

Sanji takes a deep breath and considers what he learns from his haki. Amy shudders almost imperceptibly with each heaving breath; her eyes, wide and dark, dart between his eyes, his lips, his chest, and occasionally his groin. Her back is arched just enough to not have the steps’ wooden lip pressing into her, or perhaps she means to draw his attention back to her sizeable breasts; and her knees are turned outward, as though readying her legs to cage his lower torso close to her own. She smells of jasmine, sweat, and the spiced tang of arousal, so much arousal. 

He can’t wait to taste her. With no dissonance of thought or feeling in her aura to give him pause, the tasting begins.

He starts, quite naturally, with her mouth: lips that capture his sight whenever she has occasion to wear lipstick, staining his fantasies a pomegranate red; gasps and moans that spill from her like an overturned glass of sparkling wine; the lingering taste of sweet words and peppery olive oil on a tongue seeking out its counterpart to pull him closer. When the cruel need for oxygen forces them to pull apart, Sanji and his own clever tongue find the sensitive spot just behind Amy’s ear that he knows will make her nerves sing—

“SANJI, oh gods!” she cries, sure enough—

“Amy, chérie, would you be very offended if I were to leave a souvenir on your skin?” Sanji asks in a husky voice while he has her ear. “A mark of my passion, so to speak?”

Amy does not answer right away and her frenzied groping stills, but her embrace remains steady, which soothes his unease. She’s considering it, Sanji reminds himself.

Finally, she caresses his cheek, and he takes the chance to kiss her inner wrist. “Put them in places that can be covered with ease,” she replies decisively. “Whatever…this is”—for the first time since he found her in the crow’s nest Sanji hears a note of apprehension in her voice—“it’s our treasure, and I’d like to enjoy it that way for a bit before making it known to anyone else.

“We may be Straw Hats, but we are still pirates,” Amy continues with a smile returning to her face. “I think we’re allowed to be a little cagey about our hidden treasure.”

Whatever this is. Our hidden treasure. When he looks back on this afternoon, with Amy’s words hanging in the air between them, this won’t be the moment Sanji falls in love, much less when he recognizes his heart as belonging entirely to her; but something does shift in him, a moment he will later describe as Amy beginning to take root in his soul.

In the meantime, Sanji’s cock is twitching at the prospect of marking this woman as his, and again with the thrill of keeping a secret. “Such an angel,” he groans into her neck, “such a privilege just to touch you.”

Such a dangerous business, this whole falling-in-love thing, Amy thinks to herself. No, she’s not in love, not with one of the most notorious flirts on the Grand Line, even if he does look like he belongs on a magazine cover instead of a pirate vessel. Even if she isn’t merely imagining the heartbroken look on his face at the words ‘whatever this is’. Even if he is the most caring lover she’s ever had—because that’s just the thing: he does love generously, he loves in defiance of the sire he left behind, he loves and he loves and it would be selfish of her to want some part of it to be hers alone, wouldn’t it? No, she’s not in love with Sanji, but the cliff’s edge is right there, and the call of the void is strong.

“Chérie, have I lost you again? Is everything alright?”

Sanji’s handsome, smiling face is hovering above her chest again. Amy runs her fingers through his hair—he closes his eyes and hums at the sensation—and tucks it behind his ear.

“I was just…distracted by your beauty.” She smiles and winks.

“Using my own lines on me, are you?” Sanji growls in mock annoyance.

“What?! I’m just learning from the best.”

“Flatterer.”

“Clearly flattery works, or else you wouldn’t be straddling a mostly-naked woman right now.” Amy begins to drag one foot along Sanji’s leg for emphasis.

In lieu of an answer, he shudders and trails a finger along the side of one breast, which he lifts toward his mouth. While Amy lets her head fall back against the improvised cushion, he mouths at one pebbled areola with relish and strokes the other with a firm thumb, basking in her babbled praises over the next several minutes.

“That feels so, so good, darling, so good…

“Gods, your tongue is incredible—yes, just like that!”

“Oh, fuck—could let you do just this to me for hours…”

…and Sanji thinks, feeling the way she bucks and tenses under his caresses, he’d be willing to do it, too, his own erection be damned, if he didn’t think muscle cramps on his part would put a damper on her pleasure. If nothing else happens between him and Amy, he could at least go for months touching himself just to this memory.

Mercifully, the sound of a soft chuckle interrupts Sanji’s anxious thoughts before they have a chance to spiral. He leaves off the sucking motion of his tongue and looks into Amy’s half-lidded eyes. “Chérie?” he inquires tentatively.

She again combs his hair back with her fingers, still smiling. “It just struck me as funny, the way you looked like a boy licking his first ice cream cone of the summer.”

Sanji stares a moment before spluttering with indignation. “And what is a man supposed to look like as he is worshiping at his lady’s breasts?” 

Unfortunately, this serves only to make the lady in question laugh harder, albeit with fondness, and touch her forehead to his.

“I don’t know, I don’t know! It felt so good, but when I opened my eyes, there you were, swirling your tongue like you were afraid of letting your mint chocolate chip melt—”

“Melt?!” Sanji echoes, still playfully indignant. “Oh, I’ll make you melt—”

—to which end he pushes Amy back down and renews his ministrations with a vengeance, licking and sucking and nipping the sensitive buds, and tickling her sides. His hands slide lower and lower along her hips until he’s teasing the skin just above her panties; and when she makes no move to bat his hand away, he dips two fingers into the heat of her folds.

Amy never knew sex could be so fun.

Well, no, that’s not quite true; she’s long known, in an intellectual sort of way, that feeling safe and relaxed emotionally is conducive to both having fun and to having good sex. But the wisdom gleaned from others feels like an understatement compared to the euphoria and the anticipation suffusing her right now.

“You—” she pants, smiling, “you’re as good as your word, ah-aren’t you?”

Sanji releases a reddened nipple with a lewd smack.  “And you, love, have been melting for a while already, haven’t you?” He runs a finger along her slit, grinning wickedly at her wetness. 

“Oh fuck, Sanji, keep—keep doing that…”

“Tell me, Amy, is all of this for me?” Sanji all but purrs. Her pussy clenches at the sight of him licking her slick off of his hand and she whimpers.

A whimper is not enough for him: his fingers tease her clit, dancing around but never touching it. He flicks a nipple with his tongue. “I need words, ma chère…” he says.

Amy does not have words, though. There is nothing in Amy’s world save her body, and Sanji’s touch, and pure sensation.

“Answer me,” Sanji insists in a rumbled voice; and when he hears no answer but more wordless whimpering, he bites on Amy’s nipple and strokes her clit at the same time.

“Fuck! SANJI!” she screams, mustering the last two words in her brain as her world turns from pure sensation to white-hot ecstasy.

Likes, reblogs, and replies are appreciated, especially if somehow I fucked up post formatting or my French grammar LOL

[glassofspoiledmilk]

Can I please request headcanons of Yuri girlfriend with the Yuri Angels? Can be anything, like how the fans reacted to their relationship, if they like her, etc. Thanks in advance ❤

Yuri plisetsky x reader headcannons

A/N: OMG thank you so much for requesting !! Sorry for replying so late things have been hectic recently

Synopsis: Yuris angels reaction to you, his girlfriend

★・・・・・・★ ・・・・・・★

Yuris angels

They are very protective over Yuri, and if they don’t like his girlfriend they get angry

However, they were very fond of you

At first they were skeptical of you and you make snarky tweets like “who does she think she is going after a worldly man like Yuri 🙄”

But after maybe a month of you guys dating they started to warm up to you

They would make edits of you guys together and post them tagging the both of you

Eventually they came up with that ship name that went viral

At every competition they would fangirl over you and Yuri together, and would ask you things about Yuri when you were caught alone

Yuri however, is not super fond of him fans clinging to you. Not because he wants them just as his fans but because he dosent want them annoying you.

You assure him that they aren’t annoying and that you actually quite like them.

One time when you and Yuri were out eating at a cafe in Moscow after a competition and a few fans saw you guys eating together.

They came inside and walked up to you two and asked for a photo

You quickly said yes and Yuri allowed it because you were fine with it.

After the picture they posted it on Instagram and it blew up with comments about how cute the two of you were together.

There is that one section of fans that hates you with every fiber of their being

But Yuri always manages to keep them in check

There are so many fan edits and fan arts of you guys it’s not even funny

Every time you guys go out together, later that day there will be many pictures of the two of you up on fan accounts

There is one specific photo that everyone knows of tho

When you two were out at a super fancy restaurant, one fan got a photo of the two of you kissing outside the restaurant and people went crazy

★・・・・・・★ ・・・・・・★

[bookofmirth]

Uhhh what did I miss? Why are big artists leaving the fandom and what did fairyloot do?

Fairyloot didn't do anything - this fandom is just entitled and out of control.

Fairyloot released the designs for their special edition ToG a couple of days ago, and some people disliked it. I say "some" because the post now has 50k likes and plenty of people do actually like the designs, I personally like them and if I had the disposable income I'd buy them.

So people flooded the comments with complaints. I mean it's over 4k comments now. Not all of them are negative, but many of them are incredibly rude and entitled. Like astonishingly so.

But they couldn't leave it at that - they had to go to the page of the book designer and the fan artist and leave rude comments on their pages, too.

Do people have legit things that make sense to want to change? Perhaps. Making the stag white would make sense if that was literally supposed to be the Lord of the North and not just a stag. I guess the wyvern is the wrong color if it's supposed to literally be Abraxos and not just an abstraction of wyverns, of which there are many in the book. In terms of the color and design of the covers, they were going for a vintage look, which the book designer explained, and is something I clocked before she even made that comment.

And the allegations of plagiarism are ridiculous considering the similarities between the two special editions are elements coming from the damn series. I mean, a landscape? In art? Fucking revolutionary /s

The thing is, even if all of these feelings are justified - you can be sad that the colors aren't vibrant, you can be sad that they are relatively monochromatic, you can think that there are other, better special editions out there - that doesn't fucking mean that you need to tell the whole world how you feel, especially when it's going to negatively impact the people who worked really hard to create these books. And what's more, these special editions are a luxury item. No one has to buy them. No one is owed the specific design that they want.

These assholes probably already own and have read the series. If they think someone else has done it better, and for cheaper, then go buy that other version!!!! Go commission someone else for their hard work then, bestie! And you'll quickly find out that people's hard work and time is actually quite valuable and probably regret your decision.

All the comments saying it's a cash grab - I'm sorry, are you not on the page of a store that sells things in order to make money???? Are you fucking stupid???? "This thing that is completely optional to my ability to live and has no impact on my quality of life that I don't need to buy is too expensive and doesn't look how I would want it to" okay, and? Go cry to the group chat.

All the people saying "it's constructive comments/constructive criticism" -

Did they fucking ask??? Fairyloot didn't post asking what people think, they posted saying "here's the design". If you don't like it, don't buy it.

And there is a way to deliver constructive criticism that isn't harmful. A few hundred people commenting the same snarky, passive aggressive shit over and over is NOT constructive criticism. If people were really concerned about that message getting to Fairyloot and the artists, then all they would have to do is find a comment they felt expressed what they agree with - because there are plenty - like that comment, and perhaps respond saying that they agree. Engage with that comment. Don't fucking dogpile with the same. Goddamn. Comment. Over. And. Fucking. Over. And apparently there were a bunch of reels deconstructing how much the book design sucked too, which I didn't even watch or get into.

People are really out here on the internet acting like no one else is human or has feelings.

So yeah, now big artists are leaving the fandom and tbh, if I were a visual artist, I would have left a long time ago. Other well-known authors are commenting on those artists' posts (Sabaa Tahir, Stephanie Garber, Shannon Chakraborty) in support of the artists.

It's beyond embarrassing to be part of this community so I'm just... pretty much done with it.

[ashleywool]

Incorrect HTDIO quotes: Homestar Runner Edition

Caroline: Soooo, are you going to Beach-Themed Restaurant tonight? It’s ladies’ night! Music, dancing, they’ve got fake palm treeeeeees! Marideth: Oh, yeah. I’d rather die. Caroline: Cooooool, can I catch a ride? Pick me up at six! Ooh! And bring plenty of cash. I’m gonna need at least five or six appe-TEE-zers!

Drew: Just explain to me what you were trying to do when this happened. Tommy: Well, I was in Barbados, hanging a picture on the wall. Drew: Ok, that tells me everything I need to know.

Mel: [examining the new lizards at Paws & Claws] Those things look straight out of the creature shop from some low-to-no-budget horror film.

[Remy is hugging a tree at Mel's request. Mel is trying to convince Remy that both of them were trees in their past lives.] Mel: Keep on hugging it. Remy: How did you get me to do this in the first place? Mel: Hug it. Hug it. Remy: And why do I continue to do it? Mel: Keep on hugging it. Hug it down. Remy: I don’t even like this tree that much.

Tommy: As for you, Kyle, I don't have a car. You ever see me in a car? No. Bye.

Jessica: We can form a band and become WORLDWIDE STARLETS! Caroline: Worldwide starlets get MUCH boys. Jessica: Or so I have read. Obviously, I'll sing and pretend to play guitar. Mel: Can I not get stuck playing bass? Jessica: No way!

Tommy: Er…why are you dressed like a ship’s captain? Drew: I thought that I heard that it was the latest style.

Tommy: Scott, I’m borrowing this milk for an undisclosed period of time.

Marideth: I love that blue screen. It is also my dawg.

Caroline: I dreamt that I was a French long-jump champion with eight wooden legs.

Remy: [responding to a snarky TikTok comment] Oh, Simone. You seem like a really nice girl, so I’ll answer your question relatively free of charge.

[Mel and Ashley are playing Mario Kart again for the first time in years, with palpable flirtatious undertones] Mel: You better beat this end boss or we’re all gonna die! We’re all gonna die! Ashley: AAAAH! It keeps making me jump when I’m not pressing juuuuump! Mel: OR WE’RE ALL GONNA DIIIIIIEEE

[In a flashback, Kurt and Amy recount the moment they first suspected that ABA was not the right choice] ABA therapist: Ok, Drew, then what’s two plus two? Drew (age five): Well, the force between any two charges is equal to the absolute value of the multiple of the charges divided by 4π times the vacuum permittivity times the distance squared between the two charges. ABA therapist: No, no, no, stupid. That’s Coulomb’s Law. Drew: Oh, right, sorry. Two plus two? That’s easy. Twenty-two.

[romanarose]

Darkness on the Edge of Town: Chapter 2

Joel Miller x reader

Chapter 1

Masterlist

Chapter Summary: You try to get Joel to warm up to you, and Joel learned his rescue may not have gone as planned.

WARNINGS: References to attempted rape (previous chapter) but we don't dwell on it. blowjob, thigh riding, subby!joel, Joel is a grumpy pants but he's getting there.

A/N I kinda had given up on this, but then someone send an anon ask for me, and i got some nice comments on AO3 so here we are. I condensed the story, so sorry if it feels rushed. one or two more chapters after this. I also changes from OC to reader, so if anything in this chapter or the last says "her" or any physical descriptions i missed in the edit, please let me know! I'll do my best to do this story justice!

Joel woke up the way he always did; annoyed. “Quit touching my shit” He grumbled.

You jumped at his voice, stepping away from Joel’s small collection of records. “Sorry” You didn’t look sorry. He didn’t respond.

But you kept talking. “I saw you have Nevermind, that’s pretty impressive.” No response. “My dad had some SoundGarden album, I can't really remember what it was, used to listen to it a lot” When you still didn’t get anything from him, you sighed, and Joel only felt a little bit bad. For the next few hours, you made occasional attempts at conversation, only to be met with absolutely nothing in response. By the later afternoon, you had taken to nearly having a conversation with yourself. This is how Joel found himself lying on the bed staring at the ceiling, listening to you babble on about one thing or another, trying to think of a way to get you to shut up; telling you as such directly hadn’t worked. “Is this your guitar?” You gestured towards the 6 string propped up against the shotty record player. It wasn’t nearly the first question you’d asked that day, but it was the first you didn't answer yourself. He took the opportunity to be snarky. “Whose else would it be?” “You’re girlfriend?” You answered nonchalantly. This got his attention, making him sit up to look at you while you continued looking at the guitar. “What?”

You turned to him and answered like it was so obvious. “Well, you had pads in the bathroom.” A little flush crept up in Joel’s neck. He wasn’t a stranger to them by any means, he had no problem buying them for Sarah, but talking about it with a woman he barely knew was a different story. Joel dodged your eyes, laying back down again. “I don’t have a girlfriend.” “Well, whoever those are meant for then, if they're here enough to need pads and tampons.” Joel had gotten them years ago, found some randomly in an abandoned store, and kept them on hand for Tess in lieu of trading. Joel has long suspected they were no longer relevant to her, but was not about to ask. “Those are for emergencies.” “Ohhhh” You teased. “Got lots of ladies coming and going?” Joel didn’t dignify this with a response. In fact, he refused to dignify every comment and question you made for the next 3 hours with any answer until you began yawning, and Joel took the opportunity to offer you the bed to nap, very happy to have something to get you to shut the hell up for a few hours.

Once he was sure you were out cold, snoring loudly, he radioed a contact. 

 A few hours later, you were up and still annoying him. You had spent the last few hour attempting to work out, jogging in place, pushups, sit ups rationalizing that you would never be able to sleep if you just sat around all day when Joel gave you a look. He couldn’t help but stare a bit when he thought you weren’t looking looking (you were). You were an interesting person to be sure, one of the few that weren’t intimidated by him, chattering away and continuously trying to get some sort of background information from him, something to work with. It was clear you were likely very lonely, but Joel was not the cure for that. He found himself accidentally looking at your ass while you did squats when someone threw rocks at the window, and while Joel tells you not to, you open the window to see a FEDRA guard. “Yeah?” you shout down, before Joel pushes you out of the way, telling the guard to meet him downstairs.

When Joel opens up the door to the apartment building, he takes the bags the guard brought.

“Was that the girl?” He asks.

Joel doesn’t look up, looking through the bags to make sure everything is there. “How many girls do you think I have in my apartment?”

“Ross isn’t happy with you”

“He’s never happy with me” Joel mutters as he pays for what the guard brought.

“No, Joel, he’s furious. It’s not good. He wants her.”

This caught Joel’s attention, and he looked up.

“What do you mean?”

“He’s not gonna let go of this. He thinks she’s his. When the lockdown is over, she’s not out of this.”

Although his face betrayed no emotion, concern was bubbling in him as he shut the door, walking down the hall slowly. For reasons Joel couldn’t place, he felt a duty to her. He intervened in the ally, he allowed her to stay with him, when this was done, he should be able to wash his hands of her…

“You look grumpier than usual.” You comment as he comes in, carrying the bags as you stretched.

“Very observant” Joel retorts. 

“What’s that?” You reference the bags he was unloading onto the cabinets.

“Nothing”

“Did you get more food?”

“No”

But he did, it was clear. Joel had pulled his strings to get more food and necessities for you. 

“Thank you, Joel”

He was struck with the sincerity in her voice, different from the usual chattering, sarcasm, and one way conversations. He continued to put things away as he heard you stand up, trying to ignore you. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I can pay you back, I got some ration cards at home.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Joel reiterated.

Your voice was suddenly very close to him, he could feel your presence behind him. “Or I could pay you back another way.”

Joel quickly started walking away to pretend to do something else, trying to hide the blush on his face. 

You keep distance, not wanting to cage him in, but you do follow him a little as he fucked around the room. 

“Oh come on, how long’s it been?”

“Not that long” he spoke with a little indigence, so you dropped it.

“Just a blow job, it’ll kill some time-”

Joel whipped around. “I didn’t bring you here to take advantage of you”

You softened, taking a careful few steps forward as you did, not trying to overwhelm him, but assure him that he wouldn’t be. “You’re sweet. I think you try to pretend you’re not, but you are. I won’t push it, but it doesn’t have to be in exchange for anything, if that makes you feel better.”

Joel eyed you suspiciously, still on guard. “What do you get out of it?”

You smirk a bit. “I get a lot out of it, I enjoy it”

He scoffed at that. “Sure, you enjoy sucking a guy off.”

“Oh I most definitely do, Joel.” You said with a smile. “The feeling of a thick cock in my mouth, the taste, the smell, the sounds they make-”

“Stop” Joel had his eyes closed and you could tell he was considering it. “I get it.” He opened his eyes and watched you, thinking. “Just a blowjob? And we can call it even?”

“Just a blowjob. Unless you want to fuck me, of course”

He held out hand. “Blowjob is fine.” But he made no move, and you had a feeling you’d be taking the lead; fine by you, you loved to have a man whimpering at your hands. 

“Awesomesauce. Now, let me guess…” You pretended to consider for a moment. “You strike me as more of a ‘laying down’ kind of guy”

As long as you weren’t going crazy, the smallest smile appeared on his face. “How’d you know?”

You laugh loudly, walking towards the bed. “No reason, you just seem like the kind of guy who's in control all the time, and likes to be able to… let go.” 

Joel was absolutely smiling now, no matter how small it was. “Hm. Let’s see how well you can make me let go, before we get too carried away.”

You were thrilled to see a playful side of him, no matter how slight, directing him to lay down on the bed before straddling him, rubbing your crotch over his in the sweatpants he gave you. Out of instinct, Joel reached out to touch you, but you smacked his hands away. “Aht, aht aht. I’m supposed to be making you let go, remember? Let me do my thing, I don’t need any help”

“We’ll see about that”

You were dead set and determined to make Joel give up control, and god, make him smile. You didn’t feel like you owed him sex, like you were pressured in any way; Joel had made it clear he’d simply not talk to you if you'd let him. But you wanted to make him feel good. He’d saved you from something horrific, and great inconvenience himself in the process. You wanted to pay him back in some way or another, and a blowjob was as good as any. You weren’t lying; you enjoyed it.

Rocking your hips on him and enjoying the feeling of him growing hard, you looked down at Joel; his eyebrows were knitted together, lips pursed, and clearly trying to not make it obvious how much he was enjoying this. You brace yourself on his chest, leaning over so your face was close to his, and taking enjoyment in the way his breathing stopped. “Gonna make you feel so good, Joel” you nearly whisper, lips ghosting over his but never touching.

You work yourself down him, slowly crawling back, until your face is right next to his crotch. “Can I?”

You ask, looking up to see his eyes intense, and wide, and heavily trained on you.

“Joel, can I? Yes or no.” You ask, hands tracing the elastic of his pants.

His voice was so, so quiet. “Please.”

You smile. “Don’t gotta beg, sweet boy.”and you cup his full erection as you speak.

It was quiet, but an unmistakable, small whimper from his mouth as you began your ministrations on him through the material before you pulled down his pants, his cock springing free for you.

“Beautiful” You say under your breath. “Fucking beautiful.” He was massive, and you couldn’t wait to actually get him in your mouth. You start with a long lick from the base to the tip, and immediately Joel was writhing under you, and you figured he’d lied when he said it hadn’t been that long… with a deep breath, you begin to sink down on him, taking as much as you could before coming up and going down a second time, repeating this action as you took a little more each time.

You were right, Joel had lied; it had been a long time. There bad been quick fucks here and there, girls he’d been with for a quickie and not much else, only if the timing lined up. Joel didn’t really go around seaking it, especially in the QZ. When he had saved you, no part of him thought of you like this, there was no part of him that wanted to take advantage of you and your vulnerability, but when it was so clear you wanted him… your pretty lips stretched around him, the way your head bobbed, taking more and more and more…. When you buried your face in the hairs at his base, his cock sliding down your throat, he involuntarily bucked his hips up, causing you to gag just a little bit, but nothing you couldn’t take. When you went up for air, he began apoligizing.

“Shit, sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

But you cut him off by fitting all of him into your mouth again, expertly working yourself on him, using your right fist to wrap around his base, twisting in time to your mouth, eagerly sucking on him with everything in you. Joel was taking in everything about you, every gluck your throat made, the wet, sloppy sounds, the little moans that showed him yes, yes you were actually enjoying this, you got pleasure from his pleasure alone. He could see you were wriggling on the bed, rubbing your thighs together for friction and despite his insistence that this was just going to be a quick blowjob, he wasn’t the kind of guy to just keep you wanting; he wasn’t that much of an asshole.

Joel sat up and you watched him but did not stop your work, thinking maybe he wanted to touch your ass or tits or something. Instead, Joel picked up your hips, placing you so you straddled his leg, a perfect angle to get yourself off on.

“Please don’t stop,” He whispered as he laid back down. 

“I won’t, honey” Your pet names seemed to get a rise out of him, and you watched him breath in deep before releasing a moan as you picked up speed. Working yourself on him, it didn’t take long to near your orgasm and catch up with him; the sounds Joel made, as much as he tried to suppress them, turn you on indescribably, he almost came, but you pinch the base of his hard cock, stopping him.

“No” Joel whines.

“When you cum, I don’t want you to hold back those sounds, okay?”

Joel didn’t reply, and you watched his chest heaving, struggling as his body begged for touch.

You kiss the peak of stomach that showed from his ridden up shirt, stroking him but slowly.

“Joel, need you to promise me you won’t hide from me, okay?”

“Oh- okay” He breathed out, broad body writhing beneath you.

You continue using his leg to get off. “Promise?”

“Promise, please, god dammit it, please-” The words spilled out in rapid succession, desperation lacing his voice.

“Cum whenever you’re ready, baby, I’m right behind you”

You sunk your mouth back on him, your slick coating your thighs and the inside of Joel’s pants you wore, and Joel tried not to think about how they must smell, how you must taste…

“Fuck, I- I’m- I’m gonna cum” Joel warned, but you didn’t pull away, shooting the thick ropes down your mouth as you came on his leg.  He did as promised and didn’t hold back at all, moaning loudly for you, for you, for you….

As you came down from the high, relaxed against him, you look up at Joel, and find he is, in fact, looking down at you, and you could tell he wasn’t about to say anything until prompted.

“That was fucking hot, Joel”

Panting, he replies, the smallest of smiles on his face. “Yeah. yeah it was.”

You pull up his pants for him, and begin to get up, intending on moving to your chair for the night, but Joel quickly sat up, grabbing your arm. “Wait”

Turning to him with raised eyebrows, you wait for him to say more, but he hesitates, all nervous despite his dick literally being in your mouth a few minutes ago.

“Yes?”

“Well… You could sleep on the bed, if you want…  ain’t tryna cuddle or nothing, but-”

“I’d love to, Joel.” You smile, laying down and getting under the blanket.

Joel wasn’t lying, he wasn’t trying to cuddle, he stayed so far away you thought he’d fall off the bed; but the gesture was sweet, and you enjoyed sharing a bed with someone, even like this. 

When you woke up, Joel’s arm was around you.

*******************

@welcometostayingawake @howaboutcastiel @trinkets01 @ninebluehearts @luciannadraven33 @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction

[jukeboxjackal]

Headcanon- Dating Jock! Carol Danvers

Carol Danvers x fem! Reader

A/n: Hey guys, hey guys. Haven’t been here in a while. If i’m not here, it’s either because of writers block, i don’t feel like it, low motivation, or just general laziness. But enjoy my first actual piece in a while though! I just write sometimes now lmfao

Ok ok so first of all, just in general information I feel like she is the softball captain. Reason being is softball is stereotypically a gay sport LMFAO but I guess it’s kind of right (I say this as a softball player and a friend haha) and I think she’d be utility playing either pitcher, catcher, or 3rd base

Anyways to follow with the last bullet, I feel like she would definitely have an undercut and show it almost allll the time. She also has a varsity letterman jacket that may or may not on the tag on the inside say: ‘Property of: Carol Danvers ⁺⁽ʸ/ⁿ⁾ ⁽ˡ/ⁿ⁾♡) You definitelyyyy did not write the second part

More in the popular crowd, whether you are too is up to you

Her arch-nemesis has got to be the volleyball captain Valkyrie. For one, they don’t get along and two, she so obviously has a thing for you

She’s usually hanging out with her friends in the halls or the courtyard, but when she sees you walk by she immediately goes to catch-up with you

She’s superr protective of you. When she’s walking with you she’s always holding your hand or she has an arm around you at all times. If anyone says anything even slightly snarky to you she’ll look them dead in the eye and say ‘Wanna repeat that?’

She also loves when you wear her clothes and especially her sports jackets, helps to show people that you’re hers

Her nicknames for you are the cliches, such as: Babe, baby, sweetheart, (Y/N/N), princess, and my lady/ girl. Whereas you like to call her: Care-bear (she acts like she hates it but you know she doesn’t), bubs, captain or cap, and baby

She does get jealous, but only when you’re clearly interested in the other person. Like when you were hanging out with that one ballet girl Natasha Romanoff who was teaching you but was also way too close to you and she told the dancer to back off

As much as I might get some hate for this, I do feel like she might have been a bit of a bully. Not in the way that she’d go out of her way to be mean to others but just to uphold a reputation. Like if she’s with her popular friends she’d snicker and make some snarky rude comment about a less-popular kid, but if you ever saw her do it she’d apologize to you and to the other secretly

She’s super sweet to you, always going over to your house and bringing you something whether it’s food or flowers

She usually gives you rides to and from school

Don’t forget about y’all’s after-game dates!

#6 on the field but #1 in your heart that’s for sure

If you were to also be on the softball team as well, she’d still treat you the same as the other girls (but behind closed doors that’s different) Like the one time where the team had lost a game and she made you guys do laps for every base you could have stolen but after that she took you out to eat and she apologized profusely

Make-out sessions in the locker room and the bleachers

If you don’t play, you still make sure to be at all of her games. Home or away, you find a way (ooh that rhymed)

Let’s not talk about that one time she was pitching and behind the cage she saw you talking to the opposing team member who had to use the bathroom

She’s your #1 gym buddy and vice-versa

Oh and she definitely said I love you first

Overall, she is the sweetest and you would consider her damn-near perfect. She definitely has her flaws but that’s with everyone. Your love is unmatchable.

Hey guys! Sorry if this wasn’t as straight to the point as my last headcanon was, but I just had a lot to say I guess lol. Anyways, I’ll probably come back to edit this in a few hours I just wanted to put something out for now. Until next time!

Thanks for reading! Feedback, requests, and inquiries are always appreciated and welcome!

[diovstheworld]

Ooh! Another JJBA villain lover. I wanted to request groupchat headcanons for the agents of Dio. Thank you! 🙏

Agents of Dio Group Chat HCs

hi hi! of course! also, thank you so much for the request! i’m so glad you requested the agents of dio because i love them so much <3 i didn’t include all the agents (i did about 7 i think) because i struggled to think for all of them but hopefully the agents i did do are okay! also i’m really sorry this took so long :(( between work and some family issues i haven’t had too much time but i hope you enjoy!

୨ ╭ ୨୧ ✦ ︶꒷꒦・⎯⎯・⎯⎯・₊ˎ✧๑

Steely Dan

absolute menace in the groupchat to be honest

actually, Dan, Mariah and Rubber Soul and THE group chat menaces and everyone hates them for it lmaooo

i feel like he’s a spammer tbh

but he’s never saying anything of interest he’s just spamming with stupid stuff like memes at 3am

definitely one of if not the most annoying agent in the group chat closely followed by rubber

Rubber Soul

another one who’s a big fan of spamming with memes

and it’s normally in response to dan’s memes that he’s spamming. and he’s sending even worse memes in response lmao

has the humour of a 13 year old kid who plays fortnite to be honest

has made the ligma joke too many times (daniel still falls for it sometimes)

Daniel D’Arby

not that active in the group chat to be honest

he pops in every now and then to see if anything work related has happened

group chat besties with Hol Horse and they gave each other their group chat nicknames

he’s slow at responding even in group chat emergencies to be honest lmao i feel like he doesn’t really care too much about what goes on in the group chat

and i feel like he’s probably not that active on his phone anyway unless he’s playing solitaire or some type of betting game

Terence D’Arby

another one who likes to send memes into the chat actually but isn’t a spammer like dan is

he’s pretty much always active on the group chat but he’s more of a lurker and doesn’t tend to respond to messages quick all the time even though he is always on the group chat

which always annoys everyone because they know he’s there and is just ignoring them lmao

is often asked by others to hack the group chat and edit peoples nicknames (normally it’s dan or mariah that asks) most of the time he doesn’t do it but he will if he’s bored and feels like annoying people

Vanilla Ice

co admin of the group chat (Dio is the admin of course)

not that good at keeping it under control though lmao

normally dishing out group chat bans (normally to either Mariah, Dan or Rubber) until another member of that little trio begs for them to be unbanned

he’s the most active i would say. when dio can’t be bothered with the group chat, he’s in charge of keeping it under control (which again, he’s very bad at lmao)

always has to ask terence for technical help because he assumes terence knows everything about technology

everyone always complains to him about the group chat nicknames because he’s not creative enough with them

Mariah

group chat besties with midler

always keeps her up to date on pranks she’s going to pull on the group chat so that she’s in on it too tbh

much like terence, she’s very active but she doesn’t like to respond

when she does respond though it’s probably with some type of snarky comment (never with midler though, she would never do that to her)

as much as she’s group chat besties with rubber and dan, she’s always insulting them too lmao. she loves making fun of those boys

Hol Horse

i’d say he’s semi active in the group

likes to pester the d’arby brothers (daniel is definitely more easily irritated than terence)

most frequently used emoji is the cowboy and the gun emoji (and got sad when they changed the gun emoji)

he’s quick at answering when he’s in the mood. you can always tell if hol horse has fallen out with one of the other members because he refuses to answer them lmao

pretty flirty in the group chat. mostly flirts with mariah and midler even though mariah constantly tells him to give it a rest

[jestersvanity]

Another Friday Night: Patrick Bateman x reader

Oneshot

Warnings/Content warnings: Smut, sex n stuff, major noncon, blood, cutting, virginity loss, Dom! Patrick, he is a psycho, Patrick Bateman being Patrick Bateman yk the classic stuffs

Note: Idk wrote this cus yk why not and I was feeling extra spicy (deranged), only did minor edits so sorry if it's kinda shit. This was very VERY self-indulgent. I tried to leave it gender neutral but it's definitely more fem. Sorry

Summary: uhhhhhhhh yeah

It was about that time of the year where things started ramping up for Pierce & Pierce : Mergers and Acquisitions.

Well not really it's a very grey place to work. You. Well you were just an office runner, no real handling of anything important appart from maybe keeping the pens in stock and making sure there was enough paper in each printer. Making sure the common areas were kept up like restocking kitchen suplies, cups for the water fountain and mediocre coffee station.

The best part of the job was spending the company credit card on snacks and stocking up the snack bar in the "kitchen" area. The kitchen wasn't really a kitchen it resembled a tiny apartments sad excuse for a kitchen but it was missing the stove and oven. Instead replaced with a tiny bench top microwave. Besides the point spending money on cute little snacks and restocking the snack bar was very therapeutic.

You took alot of pride in the "kitchen". I mean there's not much u can take pride in, in this job. You were technically a "secretary" but... It was mainly Jean which took care of the classic secretary jobs.

I'd like to think of it as secondary secretary or on call assistant. Unlike Jean you moved around a lot more whereas she was more glued to her desk replying to emails and phone calls. She was always so polite when she needed me to run some papers to another person. Usually you were last to leave the floor, after Jean leaves for the night you stay back replying to the last lot of emails she didn't get to, usually it was just 5-6 emails with 3 sentence replies.

She's pretty good at getting through the influx of emails everyday but the ones left weren't anything too big so you didn't mind getting the rest done.

Also, you stayed back just in case someone else on ur floor stayed back and needed some errands run.

More often then not its was to pick up food... Again. Half the time you were on coffee runs, lunch runs, another coffee run, another late lunch run, snack runs etc. The snacks run out rather quickly actually. If it wasn't food you would be picking up things from the post office, things from the dry cleaners or once again running a Manila folder to another big grey building down the block. Tonight wasn't so different. You stayed back like usual today there weren't any emails to reply to so you sat at Jeans desk surfing the Web and online shopping.

Tonight Patrick was staying back, you didn't know why it's not like he does anything appart from being a dick. Everytime u passed his office you saw him he reading a magazine in his office or doing a crossword. Everytime he had called you in to run a task it was something useless like throwing a piece of paper from his desk to his trash can in the left corner of his office which he was too lazy to do. He definitely does it just to fuck with you because every time there was a condescending or snarly comment. Of course you would without fail glare daggers at him or reply with an equally snarky and condescending remark.

Scrolling mindlessly for shit you didn't need untill the phone started ringing. It was Bateman. So with a annoyed sigh you picked up "Yes, what." you said impatiently. Honestly you just wanted to go, it was boring and you wanted to use your new artisan bath bomb. Plus it was Friday. "Come here" and then he promptly hung up. What could that prick even want. Getting up with a heavy huff and an attitude walking up to his glass office and pushing open the door.

You stared at him with an expectant look, 3 seconds had passed before he decided to speak. "I need you to carry this" gesturing to the fancy wine and Armani wine glass set that he got gifted today. "seriously... Too weak to carry this your self?". He ignore you putting on his blazer and picking up his breiff case ready to walk out. Bending over to carry his gifts you follow behind him leaving his office.

The elevator ride down was silent and full of tension. What a dickwad you thought. As we got to the ground floor there was a Porsche already waiting. Walking around back to put the wine and glases in the boot suddenly hearing "no I need you to hold on to them in the car, don't want them breaking now do we" he says emphasing the last few words. The driver opens the door for you to get in and shuts it after you give him a slight nod.

Patrick is already seated next to you and staring out the window. God even the way he sits is pretentious. Sooner or later we arrive at his apartment complex. We get out and he waves the driver away. What a dick move, you now had to call your own cab home. After he makes you carry the shit up to his apartment on he makes you call your own cab home??? God what did you ever do to make him hate you so much.

The whole journey you had been glaring at the back of his head trying to burn a hole through his skull. He unlocked his door and opened it up waiting expectantly for you to walk through. You do. As you look around trying to find a table or something to put his stuff down on. At this point your arms were tired and you were exhausted. Not to mention that it was a fucking Friday night. Your eyes landed on his white marble counter top and finally dropping his useless glasses and stupidly expensive wine off. His place was nice but boring as you expected. Clean but a maximalists nightmare.

As the weight left your arms you sighed and went to turn around and leave as you heard a *click* the sound of the door locking.

Did this bafoon straight up forget he just let someone into his apartment??? Walking up to Bateman who was leaning back against his apartment door looking sly. "okay ur stuff-" before you could finish your sentence he had you in a choke hold with a cloth over your nose and mouth. Struggling like a maggot in the beak of a bird, thrashing around untill all went dark.

Blurry white was all you could see. What happened. What the fuck. As your vision came back you sat up slowly. Where. What. You were confused and still trying to figgure out what was happening. Hands shakey reaching up to rub the blurring out of your eyes. Checking yourself for any missing limbs or anything that might indicate what happened. As you explore you feel a thick collar wrapped around your neck. Huh?? Pain shoots through your whole body. In two distinct pulses. As soon as it stopped you hear a chuckle comming from behind you. Turning you see Patrick sat on a chair looking awfully proud of himself. "Patrick..what's going on?" there were tears welling up but you were not going to let them spill.

He hold up a remote with 3 buttons shaking it like a toy in front of a baby tauntingly not saying anything. Pressing one of the 3 buttons with a click that almost echo's in the room. Instantly you feel the pulsing pain shoot through you body again. This time it went on for one second longer but it felt like a minute.

Angry and scared you shouted at him but all that came out was a high pitched pip and air getying caught in your throat. "awww what's wrong? Cat got ya tongue?" he teases walking closer now being over to meet your eye level.

You were on his bed, atleast he had the courtesy of putting you on his bed instead of the hard floors. Gathering your voice back up "Patrick what the fuck?" you manage to snap.

"I would drop the attitude if I were you"

"No Patrick what the actual fu-" pain sears through your limbs once again making you double over onto your side. "Be nice. Or ill shock you till your brain oozes out of your thick fucking skull" Patrick spits out, the dislike apparent in his voice.

As the pain subsides you open you eyes back up eyes landing on the knife he was now holding in his other hand. "Patrick why... Why?" looking up at him as he looms over the edge of the bed, voice no longer as strong or determined but quiet. Putting the knife down oh is side table he grabs a fist full of your hair making you sit up and look him directly in his eyes. "since you think ur so fucking smart why don't you figgure it out" adding a hmmm at the end as to belittle you even more. As if this wasn't already enough.

"what do you want" you whine out eyes casting down. His eyes were piercing straight through you. You didn't want to admit it but something inside you found this oh so very hot.

Letting go of you hair and grabbing his knife back he opens a closet. Watching his movement closely trying to figgure out what he was possibly going to get. He starts to set up a tripod. Oh God what the fuck you think to ur self. Panicking even more if that was even possible.

Adjusting the camera to face you he clicks a few buttons then clears his throat. "Ass up for the camera" in a stern demanding tone. Looking at him questionably to counter he holds up the remote for the shock collar you had on. Almost challenging you. Reluctantly you get on all 4s and arch your back with ur bum facing him and the camera. His footsteps comming closer untill you feel cold sharpness run up the back of ur thigh. Staying silent as he rips you skirt off leaving you in your stockings and a thong. You were still basically dressed but felt so naked and vulnerable. As he threw the now fabric rectangle on the floor he spanks your ass. The stinging making you involuntarily let out a little whimper of confused pleasure. "oh, so your are a little whore" feigning surprise. Hearing something scrape against the bed you try looking for clues as to whats to come next but fail as he strikes you with a whip? Cane? Unknown but it stung. Yelping as the thing made contact. The weight on the bed shifted as he got closer shoving ur face into the blankets "don't move bitch" he whispers into you ear before moving off again. Now you have deduced it was infact a cane and he wasn't going to tap you lightly. Striking your ass with the cane again and again while berating the living hell out of you. It hurt so good as tears soaked into the sheets. You could feel your pussy pulsing but you couldn't let Patrick know that.

"please stop" you were begging him as he kept whipping your cheeks with the cane. "Patrick please it hurts so much" "yeah it's supposed to hurt you dumb cunt" a few strikes later he stops. "stand up" he orders. Mustering up the strength you feel your stiff joints scream as you step onto the floor and straighten you knees and back. He's behind the camera "go have a good look at yourself" gesturing with his head to the mirror.

As you near you see the dark red lines left by the cane. Beads of blood forming at the skin and the skin that did split the blood was smeared by the other smacks all across your cheeks. "you see that" you nod slowly still looking at the carnage of your cheeks. "that's what sacarstic sluts get, I'm not letting you off with just that either" he warns as he roughly grabs you arm dragging you back to the edge of the bed and forcing you into your knees.

You could feel the heat and the pain radiate from your ass as your knees made contact with his carpet. With a hand firmly grasping at you hair and the other one skilfully undoing his belt and fly he pulls down his silk boxers revealing his massive hard cock. "don't just stare open up" yanking your head back so you would be looking up at him. Opening your mouth reluctantly he roughly shoves his cock in. Your hands automatically push against his thighs to no avail. He was so strong all you could do was grip at the fabric of his pants as he kept gagging you. He didn't let you breath and all you could hear was triumphant groans of pleasure comming from him. Your things were pressed together trying to quell the throbbing down stairs. As he pulled his dick out and let you breath he yanked to to your feet and forcefully ripped your shirt off and harshly yanking your bra off as the straps snapped and the claps split. "oh wow would you look at that, you don't know how long I've been wanting to fuck you brainless" as he roughly fondles your chest. His hand making its way up to you neck and then pushing you back onto the bed. "Patrick" you pleaded "Patrick please don't I'm" struggling to get out the words as he tightened his grip around your throat.

All you could do was let out a strangled moan. Finally letting go he sat back onto his knees and spreading your legs so that his cock was right at the entrance of your coochie.

Looking at him with pleading "Pat please don't, please I'm.." "finish ur sentence bitch" as he rest a hand on your inner thigh ready to rip your tights off. "I'm a virgin please don't"

"ur so fucking stupid ur pissing me off you fucking whore" as he rips a hole in your stockings and completely ripping your thong off leaving fabric burn marks on your hips. Without a second he thrust his girthy penis inside. Instinctively you tighten around him yet your legs were trying to push him away. None of your protest did Jackshit. Leaning to the side he grabbed the knife off the night stand again. Pressing his body against yours as he slid the knife up too your throat holding it there as he looked into your eyes while fucking you. All you could do was hold onto his forearm to lessen the pressure of the blade against your throat.

It hurt so bad but he didn't slow down he was pounding into you harder and faster. A shamefully moan every time he trusted into you. "you like my cock you little cum slut? Ofcourse you do u pathetic bitch" "because that's what you are aren't you" he cooes as you moan. He keeps ramming into you harder and faster untill you feel him cum inside of you.

A few final pumps and as he lifts himself up pressing his hand on your chest admiring what a mess you had become. "look at me" you had to fight your mind fog to look at him. "mm pa-" he slaps ur face leaving a sting hand print on your cheek "it's Sir." "slut" he spits out. "sir please no more" pleading with him again now fully exhausted. He just chuckles and walks back over to his camera taking it off the tripod and filming manually. "open up" hitting you leg lightly expecting you to spread them open again. But you didn't hear him still in a daze trying to process what just happened.

One quick shock back to reality quite litteraly you instantly spread open your legs. Kneeling down with his camera he reaches his fingers to display his hard work to the camera. You could feel the warm cum oozing out of your slit. As he kept using his fingers to spread your lips open. Standing back up again. "hands off your tits bitch" he demands. Slowly uuncrossing your arms from your chest you prop yourself up to face him properly with your legs still open. He's filming you. "okay repeat after me, I'm just a hole" "I'm just a hole" you whisper weakly. He drops the camera a bit to look at you and sighs with disappointment "a bit more enthusiasm and smile a bit" tilting his head to the side in sly mockery. "your a slut. Act like one" he states impatiently then lifting the camera back up. "I'm just a hole" this time you exclaimed with more life, surprisingly a smile was easy to muster up.

That sick part of you enjoyed this. "see that's not so hard is it" he teased as he propped the camera back on the tripod. This time he opens the night stand and grabs something. You couldn't quite see. *click* he opens it to reveal a switch blade. Frozen you followed him with your eyes as he sat opposite you. "patric- sir w-what are" squealing as he lunges at you pressing you back down on the bed.

His weight and strength being impossible to struggle against. "stay still doll, it's easier if you stay still" he chuckles as the knife nears your face. "pat" you manage to squeak out as he sliced up the corner of your mouth and up your cheek. The warm blood running down the sides of your head and down your neck. You actually started crying now the tears which you held back so long came pouring down mixing with the warm thick blood from your cheeks. He had finished with your other cheek now sitting back. Losening his tie and undoing a few buttons of his shirt. "look at how much prettier you are now" looking at you with admiration for his handy work. Taking off his tie "hands" he said composed like he didn't just mutilate your face, you stretch out your arms to him as he ties your writs up with his tie then strapping it through a slot in his headboard.

Grabbing his switch blade again he drags it up your thigh stopping when he reaches your sternum. Paralized in shock, fear and... Love? Your breaths slow down as he looks back up at you. "it's okay doll, just customising you a bit alright?". Proceeding to slowly carve his name into your torso. Each letter painfullfully deep and deliberately slow. Making you squirm with each slice. The muffled sobs bouncing around the room.

After he pumped 3 more loads into you he flopped onto his back and reaching for the smokes on his side table. Lighting one up puffing away nonchalantly. After he was done, he snuffed the cig putting it out above the I making the the dot above the I in Patrick.

Untying your wrist and you stared at the wall. Making his way to the bathroom and bring back a warm towel he kisses you for the first time tonight on your now dried up bloodied cheek.

Before tenderly wipeing the blood and dried tears off your face. You sat there on the bed not moving but concious just not moving. He got a second warm towel after the first one got drenched in blood to wipe down your torso and the rest of the dried blood off your body. "Get under the covers" his voice now softer. Before heading back to the bathroom to do his night ime routine. Getting under the blankets. Curling up into the fetal position despite the pain of the cuts in your torso screaming to stop. Trying to fall asleep. The lights flicked off and the bed dipped as Patrick got under the covers his warm body pressed up against your battered body. You were divided. You hated him more than ever you were scared, confused, angry, tired and yet your body seemed to move on its own. You sank back into his chest and arm as he pressed a kiss on the back of your neck. He was completely different than who he was 30 mins ago. You couldn't imagine the Patrick you saw in the office doing all that to you. You couldn't imagine the Patrick that cut you up pressing that soft tender kiss he just kissed on the back of your neck. Yet he did.

Note: y'all got the good ending smh I might write a different ending with more smut lol idk.

Lmao

[literatureatthebowofnails]

A/N: I love you like Dr. Strange loves being right

Created for the 14 Days of Valentines community project, hosted by @muddyorbsblr

Series masterlist

Pairing: Loki x fem!reader

Includes: Angst

Summary: Loki seeks council when he fears he's crossed a line

The Bewitched theme tinkles from your pocket as you leave the cafe. Chrysa wiggles her eyebrows, waving goodbye. She's been making hushed comments about how "fucked out" you look since she walked through the door.

You gave up telling her it was just a dream. A very satisfying, very realistic dream, but still a dream.

"Hey Wanda," you answer the call. "What's up?"

"Is Loki with you?"

"No," you frown at the concern in her voice. "I just left work. Why?"

"Steve's angry. Really angry. He said 'damn' under his breath, and he never swears.

"Loki's supposed to leave for a mission in an hour and none of us can find him."

"Have you asked Thor?"

"Thor's at the market. He refused to take his phone because he 'can't afford any more distractions from the new generation of boxed delight.'"

"He's getting an iphone?"

"No," she snickers. "Pop-Tarts released a limited-edition flavor. He's worried everywhere will be sold out because he didn't make it to the store this morning.

"Aaaanyway, do you know where your boy-toy might be? Bruce heard 'HE'S NOT MY FATHER!' coming from Thor's room before breakfast, but no one's seen Loki since.

"He likes to be snarky on coms, but he's never ditched a mission before. Did he say anything last night?"

"Not really. He said he didn't want to get 'too familiar,' but nothing about going somewhere. Luckily, he wasn't so refined it in my dream," you giggle.

"You're so naughty! What did he do?"

"Haha, we gotta meet up if you want the dirty details. I'm not telling the whole train about it."

"Come down to the tower then. Most of the team is leaving. We'll make pineapple upside down cake, and you can tell me everything. And if Loki comes back, you'll get to see him."

"Twist my arm why don't you."

☕

On your ride up, a feminine tone speaks in the elevator. "Welcome back to Avengers' Tower, I'm FRIDAY. Putting Mr. Stark through now."

"Hey, I'm trying to find Rock of Ages," says the unmistakable voice of Tony Stark. "Any idea where he is?"

You look around for a camera or microphone and say "Hi. Um, sorry? I don't know where Loki is. Can't you track his phone or something?"

The doors open, revealing the genius himself as he takes off his Bluetooth to address you directly. "No can do, princess. He's somewhere even FRIDAY can't reach. Next stop is Bleaker St. There's a wizard down there who likes to keep tabs on potential threats. Might be able to give us a lead."

"You don't think he's...?"

"What? Leading another alien army to attack the city? Probably not, but we can't be too careful. Either way, if we don't find him Cap's gonna have an aneurysm and he's too old to survive that." Chuckling at his own joke, Stark gives your shoulder a squeeze and gets on the elevator. "Don't worry, we'll bring your boyfriend back in one piece."

"We've only been on one..." you sigh as the doors close.

"Hey," Wanda comes up behind you. "There you are. I hope Stark wasn't giving you a hard time. He's still jumpy about planetary security. Wants some sort of forcefield, but after the Ultron mess..." she looks guilty. "No one else will agree to it."

You chew your lip, following her to the kitchen. "Should I be worried?"

"Worried?" she looks up. "I don't think so. Steve's just upset because he has to replan the mission. I'm sure Loki isn't in trouble or doing something wrong.

"From what Banner said, it's probably just a family issue."

You nod, but something doesn't feel right. You haven't known the god for long, but you know he wouldn't go to his parents unless he had to.

A/N: Thanks for reading!

Taglist: @peaches1958, @javagirl328, @loopsisloops, @goblingirlsarah, @buttercupcookies-blog, @lovelysizzlingbluebird, @cakesandtom, @ladymischief11, @km-ffluv

Main masterlist

Let me know if you’d like to be added to the list.

Next part

[rumaru21]

lmao imagine that harbinger!Reader asks a Fatui underling who she trusts to a fair degree to come to her quarters at night and embrace her? (Nothing nsfw happens). And the underling's physique is similar to no other than the 6th harbinger, Scaramouche.

Fearing rejection as well as ostracism for falling in love in such professional setting, Reader fails to confess her feelings to Scaramouche. Knowing any relationship could become a double edged sword and become a danger to both of them, Reader didn't do anything about it.

As for Scaramouche, well... He often makes fun of her at meetings with his snarky comments. And he scowls when their eyes meet. It's doubtful that Scaramouche has any ounce of affection for Reader. Sometimes she wonders why she even fell in love with Scaramouche.

Perhaps it was when her mask fell, revealing the ugly scar for all to see; but them Scaramouche pulled her close, hiding her face with the wide brim of his hat. It was unexpected and afterwards he behaved indifferently. Though it had left Reader in a blushing mess as she turned and left.

Anyways, all the more reasons for the secret visits of her assistant to her private quarters, and fantasize holding the harbinger instead.

But when Scaramouche notices the frequent visits the underling makes to her quarters and how he leaves, pink and flustered, he finds himself angry.

When he finally thought she had felt something for him, he finds her surely being involved in.. acts of obscenity!

Not that it mattered. He was just toying with her. He didn't care. Her mask falling off was all a part of his ploy anyways, to silently note how much a harbinger could worry about something so stupid to prepare his crude jokes for the future.

Her hand had flew to the scarred side of her face in a poor atempt cover it. She had looked so ashamed. And panicked. Her scar wasn't even that bad. But something ached within him. That couldn't be right, because he didn't have a heart.

Then their close proximity. So close that he could see the tears prickling her lashes, despite the shadow casted by his hat. Her breath had caressed his cheek, sending shivers. She leaned, as though to bury her face in his chest, before abruptly stopping, ducking to reclaim her mask and pace away.

She didn't matter at all. Hell, the harbinger was detested by many Fatui members (obviously, that was just a part of his intentions, mainly for amusement), but he knew that there were still some unhinged members who were crushing on him. He just had to pick one to make out with, rile the witness (Reader) up and then successfully point out how she should'nt say anything about him since she does it too, sending her into the pits of humiliation.

"Ah, sorry," Scaramouche lazily said as he pulled away from the kiss, leaving the squirming lady beneath him gasping for air. He felt dirty. Triumphant, but dirty.

"I didn't know this place would be occupied at this late hour," he drawled. A big fucking lie. He knew Reader would visit the sparring grounds late at night when she felt restless, to hack at some training dummies in the cool night air.

The weapon storage room was dimly lit up by Reader who had unknowingly switched the light on. It was fairly dark, but it was just enough for Scaramouche to see Reader's expression.

Shock, surprise, and...

Hurt.

She recovered. "Quite a lowly spot for a harbinger like you, don't you think?" She sneered. Her voice wavered slightly.

She turned and slammed the door shut.

This is so ooc, isn't how Scaramouche is portrayed as a character in the game, but who cares my braincells are begging for scaramouche angst so

edit: just reread this shit wtf did i just write

[therhythmafterthesummer]

Cherry eyes, cherry lips ~ Lee Know

Pair: Lee Know x Reader (unspecified gender) Word count: 1965 Genre: Vampire!AU | Fluff Warnings: vampire antics (good ol’ blood sucking), implied trauma, swearing (a normal, adult amount i would say). Summary: A stroll to the beach with your recently turned friend leads to a couple compromising situations.

Cross posted on AO3.

A/N: hi! If you stumbled upon this, welcome! I had this idea dancing around in my head and if I didn’t write it it wouldn’t have left me alone. Warning: minimal editing ahead.  Any constructive criticism is always welcome! ~✨🌙✏

Disclaimer: the story represented in this work does not represent Stray Kids in any way; anything described in this story and all actions performed by the characters are purely fictional, this was created just for good fun.

“This is the absolute fucking worst”

Minho walks along the sidewalk with you, complaining. You’re sure the scene is eye-catching: two people walking, one perfectly normal, appropriately dressed for a stroll in a coast town. The other… Well, let’s just say that wearing long pants, long boots, a long sleeved turtle neck, sunglasses, WHILE holding a black umbrella was not exactly a normal sight.

“Did you put sunscreen on?” You ask, slightly cautious.

“No, I wanted to get a lovely tan–OF COURSE I put sunscreen on, darling”, Minho snarls at you, his tone visibly annoyed. “I’m not exactly planning on bursting into flames right now”.

“Wow, okay, jeez”, you throw your hands in the air, as a sign of peace. “I’m just trying to look out for you. Sorry for bothering His Majesty with my concern!” Your tone is playful, no offence taken at his snarky comments.

Minho has always been short tempered. You immensely loved to push his buttons in all the wrong ways to piss him off. Lately, though, because of the… Accident, you try to be careful with your words. You try your best to provide comfort and support, whether it is because you are a good friend or because you don’t want to put yourself in danger, you don’t know.

An exasperated exhale passes his lips, clearly frustrated. “I’m sorry”, Minho admits. “I’m just… On edge”.

“I can tell”, you huff. “Tell me again, why did you think it was a good idea to go on a stroll when there’s still sunlight?”

“I wasn’t thinking. I just wanted to feel normal”, Minho is serious in his statement. “It was a foolish decision, as you can see”.

There is nothing else you want to say at this time, so you just fall silent.

Around three months ago, you and your friends got into an accident. A supernatural one. And Minho definitely drew the short straw. You’re still not sure if calling it an ‘accident’ is accurate, but Minho started using the term first, so you just went along with it.

  As you walk in silence with him, you start having flashbacks of that night. 

You, Minho, and Jisung sitting around a bonfire while camping in the mountains.

The sound of twigs snapping.

Two women breaking through the trees.

  “You know what’s the worst part…?” Minho’s voice startles you as you come back to reality.

“Enlighten me”.

“I’m sooo hungry all the time”, he states, rubbing his stomach with one hand. “This ‘vegetarian’ diet… Doesn’t seem like enough”.

You pause for a moment as you reach your destination: the beach.

“You know there are places you can go to find… Uh… Volunteers…” You offer, as you try to locate a spot with enough shade.

“And drink off of some random person?” Minho’s face contorts in disgust. “No, thank you. People are dirty. I’d take the non-fulfilling stuff any day”.

You find shade under some palm trees. Not enough for Minho to put down his umbrella, but enough so he can stay safely under it for a long period of time.

A comfortable silence falls between you two, as you sit there just enjoying the sound of the waves, and the occasional calling of seagulls in the distance. This allows for your mind to wander once again, flashes passing through your mind as if it had only been yesterday.

  A woman lunging at Jisung.

Minho pushing Jisung away.

The woman catching Minho.

Her mouth connecting with his neck.

Minho screaming in pain.

  You shake your head, in an attempt to push the memories away. You’re fine. It’s Minho who you have to worry about, not yourself.

An idea pops into your head, a way you can actually be helpful to him–unlike that day. You just need to find courage to bring it up.

The sun is setting, it’s been for a while you realise.

You turn your head to look at him, and to your surprise, he’s already looking at you. He doesn’t say anything, those damn sunglasses concealing any hint of what thoughts might be dancing inside that head of his. You want to take them off his face. You want to see his pretty eyes as you make your… Proposal.

“What about me?” You blurt out.

“What about you, what?”

“What about feeding off of me?” You sound way more confident than you thought you would.

Minho freezes–you didn’t think he could even look more still than how he usually does these days. He licks his lips, an action you think he’s not even realised he’s done. He takes off his sunglasses, the sun no longer a threat as it’s slowly, but surely sinking into the horizon.

You like his eyes. They’re one of your favourite features of his (not like you keep a list or anything…). Even now, with the warm brown long gone, replaced by a deep cherry colour, you still find them just as beautiful. He doesn’t know about this, of course. Your fleeting looks kept a secret between you and yourself.

“That sounds dangerous”, he states. His expression is sterile, and yet, he’s not dismissed you.

“It’s only dangerous if you make it dangerous”, you argue, shrugging slightly. 

There’s a part in your brain that screams at you, the part that’s trying to keep you safe, to keep you alive. You have seriously lost your mind–you can hear it scream at you over and over again inside your head. And yet, there’s another part of you that wants to do this for him, and, in a moment of self realisation, you realise you want to do it for yourself. ‘That’s something to psychoanalyse later’, you decide.

Minho laughs, but not a humorous laugh. His laugh is dry, cold.

“What makes you think I won’t suck you dry?” There’s a smile on his lips, a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. You immediately decide that you hate that. That you hate the comment that you know will follow. “What makes you think I won’t kill you? You know I can. That’s the monster I’ve become”.

You keep his gaze, as you think over his words. He’s wrong. He’s so wrong.

“You’re not a monster”, there’s no hesitation in your voice, and it throws him off a bit, his mean-monster façade cracking the tiniest bit. “You’re my friend”.

Minho huffs, looking away from you. He puts the umbrella away, since the sun is now long gone.

You need him to look at you. At any other time you would give him space, let him hide his feelings. Now is not that time.

One of your hands cups his cheek–his stone cold cheek–and you turn his face back to look at you.

For a moment you can see it in his eyes. Vulnerability. But he quickly puts up his barriers again. You don’t want him to hide, not from you. You mean what you’re saying. He’s not a monster, he’s your friend.

“I trust you, Minho”, and you realise then that you do. You would literally trust him with your life.

He doesn’t look away. His eyes bore into yours, as if looking for any sign of hesitation, any sign of regret in your words. But he finds none. You’re determined, you’re sure.

“I don’t want to hurt you”, his words are barely a whisper, his tone unsure. You can see his façade crumbling instantly as his gaze shifts, his cold eyes turning warm again, and you see him. 

You can truly see Minho. He’s not some mindless, blood sucking monster. He’s just your friend Minho. Your Minho.

“I trust you”, you repeat, confident.

His gaze moves slowly, cautiously tracing the features of your face. You can clearly see their path–your nose, your cheek, your chin… Finally settling on your neck.

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. His tongue peeking between his slightly parted lips. As he licks his lips, you can just barely see the tip of his canines, now enlarged at the prospect of a meal and–holy shit. You really do want this. 

“You sure?” Minho’s gaze is still fixed on your neck as he speaks. You can see the restraint in his body as he asks, giving you one last chance to bail out. Any sane person would tell you to take that chance, to say ‘no’ and run as far away as you can away. And yet–

“Yes”.

You bare your neck to him, and you can see immediately how his pupils dilate at the sight. His movements are slow, as he dips his face closer to you. It’s as if he’s trying not to scare you, trying to make this as comfortable as possible for you, which you appreciate.

You feel him pause at your neck, his nose lightly brushing against it. You realise your hands are slightly shaking, but not out of fear. It’s out of excitement. A completely puzzling revelation.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you feel his tongue licking a particular spot on your neck. Minho brings his hand up to your cheek, softly caressing your skin as he finally sinks his teeth in.

You can feel his hand tighten on your cheek as he takes his first sip, and you moan. Had you been thinking clearly you would’ve felt embarrassed and out of your mind, but as it is right now, you don’t give two shits about the embarrassing sounds flying past your lips.

After a few moments, you start feeling it. Your ears ringing, and your gaze clouding. You’re starting to feel light headed, and you’re sure you’ve reached the danger zone.

“Minho…” Your voice comes out as a whisper, and you feel him stop immediately.

His movements are careful. He licks at your neck, soothing the pain radiating from the two marks he’s left on it.

With one last lick, you feel him move his head away. His hand is still holding your cheek, the attached thumb lightly stroking your skin, and it is comforting. Intimate, even.

You lock eyes with him and you see it. You see his gaze, invigorated, the most alive he’s looked in the last few months. You decide you like it.

Minho’s lips are red, some of your blood still lingering on them. His tongue darts out and licks every last particle left, his canines finally slowly receding.

“You’re so… Delicious”.

In an euphoric impulse, he brings his other hand to your face, cradling your face between his hands as he pulls you to him, connecting his lips to yours. 

This was something you did not calculate for.

You let out a surprised yelp, as you immediately reciprocate. Because of course you do. Because this is Minho, your friend. Your friend who you’ve been secretly pining after for years. If the whole losing blood thing wouldn’t have made you dizzy, this certainly would have.

He pulls away, and looks at you with a shy smile on his lips. This is an uncommon sight. Among the cloudy haze over your mind, you decide to store this image forever in your memory, right in the ‘reasons why I want to smooch Minho’s face’ folder.

 “Ah, sorry. I… Shit, I’ve wanted to do that for so, so long”, his smile widens as he speaks. “Thank you. For, uh…”

“Letting you feed on me?” You chime in.

He shakes his head slightly. “For trusting me”, his voice is confident, relieved. The thumbs of the hands that are still attached to your face lightly caressing your cheeks.

You smile at him, feeling warmth spread in your chest. “Of course I do”.

You kiss him this time, throwing your arms around his neck and pushing him down into the sand. He just laughs, returning your affections in kind. 

This is fine. You both will be just fine.

© therhythmafterthesummer 2022-2023. all rights reserved. do not repost or translate my stories.

[sanddusted-wisteria]

How to Send Letters to a Star [Oneshot]

GN!Builder/Qi; heavy angst

Warnings: Major character death, grief/mourning over a spouse

Edit 11/23/23: Now with a playlist, for extra sad

Summary: An extension to Empty Skies, Hazy Skyboxes, set after Chapter 4.

The builder is gone, and so is their virtual double. Left without his guiding starlight, Qi sets out to navigate the treacherous waters of recovery with nothing but pen and paper. But this time, he isn't alone.

Also on AO3

A/N: I've had the idea of extending ES, HS for several months now. I originally planned it as a fairly long multichapter fic, but I couldn't really find a way to make it click. But just recently, I came up with this! It reuses some of the ideas I had in that original outline, but it brings them together in a way I feel is much more cohesive.

Just like ES, HS, this fic won't take into account any of the canon main story after The Goat, nor any of the implications of what's happening in Sandrock in the background at this point of the story. Pretend that these two fics exist in a "main story stasis" of sorts. Enjoy!

------------

Qi sat at his usual seat outside the saloon, waiting for his order to arrive. He idly sipped at a cup of tea as he watched the golden light of the evening fall over Main Street. He wished the frycook would hurry up a little. He wanted to be back before dark.

“Evenin’, Director.”

From the street below came Hugo’s voice. He leaned over in his chair to see him coming up the road, returning home for the night.

“Oh. Hello. Productive day for you, I assume?” Qi said.

“Yeah, not bad,” Hugo replied as he stretched his shoulder out. “Got a couple nice swords finished. Best ones this week. How ‘bout you, holdin’ up?”

“Nothing of particular note today. Though that’s not necessarily a bad thing, I suppose.”

Hugo hummed. “Sometimes a borin’ day’s better than a bad one.”

Qi nodded. It was silent. He took another sip of tea. Hugo scratched his head.

After a minute, Hugo started walking again. Qi thought that he would head back to his house, but to his surprise, he walked over and took the seat opposite Qi.

“Um…?” Qi looked over, confused.

Hugo let out a light sigh. “I know that look.”

Qi frowned. “What look?”

“You’re thinkin’ about ‘em again, ain’t ya?”

“N…no. I was just thinking about how I wanted to return to the Research Center before nightfall—”

“—So you don’t get reminded of ‘em again.”

Qi looked away. “…Yes.”

Just then, the door to the saloon opened, and Grace appeared. “Hey, sorry. Had a bit of a fire to deal with… Um. Not with your stuff, though.” She set the tray down on the table next to Qi.

“Mm. Thank you,” Qi said, mind elsewhere.

Grace suddenly noticed Hugo. “Hey, anything for you?”

Hugo shook his head. “Naw. Jus’ talkin’ with the director here.”

Grace’s eyes flickered between the two of them. “Gotcha. More tea?” she asked Qi.

“Oh…no. That’s fine.” He handed Grace the money for the meal. She had no snarky comment this time. Not even a smirk.

“Cool. Enjoy, then.” She turned to head back into the saloon. Halfway into the door, she paused and looked back at Qi. “And take care, okay?” Then she disappeared.

Qi took the spoon from the tray and began drinking his tea porridge. Hugo stared out across the street, lost in thought.

“How you feelin’?” Hugo suddenly said. His voice was quiet, but it was the loudest thing on the silent street.

“I…” Qi set the spoon down. “I…don’t know. I don’t know to describe it, at least.”

Hugo nodded sagely. “Somehow…I know. There really ain’t a word in any language to describe it.”

Qi let out a quiet hum. “How…else did you deal with it?”

“Hrrrmm…” Hugo brought a hand to his chin, frowning at the ground. “Well…I remember soon after it happened, we all wrote letters to Rhonda. Me, Heidi, and Mama.”

Qi frowned. “Letters? To a…nonexistent recipient?”

“Well, we never put ‘em in the mailbox or anythin’. We’d jus’ slip ‘em into envelopes and seal ‘em up, and we’d put ‘em away with the rest of the mail, like she really got ‘em.”

“And this…helped?”

“A lil bit, yeah. Anythin’ we ever wanted to say to her…but never could… We could put it in a letter. Get it out of our system, y’know?”

“That does seem logically cathartic,” Qi muttered, mulling it over. “Do you…still do it?”

“Not as much anymore. Started with one every few days, but as we all got a bit better, we did it less and less. Nowadays I only do it about once every year or so. Jus’ to remind her I still love her. And that we’re doin’ alright.”

Qi slowly nodded. “I see. I suppose there’s no harm in trying it.”

“Yeah, give it a shot. You’re still young. You must have plenty left you wanna say.” He shrugged with a sad look in his eye. “It’s the best we got. Least until the Light reunites us.”

Normally, Qi would have scoffed at that last comment about the Light. But the emotions of it bled through the unscientific idea. He let it slide.

Hugo stood up. “Let me know how it goes…if you want. I understand if that’s somethin’ you wanna keep to yourself.”

“I’ll see,” Qi said. “Regardless…thank you. For all of your guidance.”

Hugo let out a low chuckle. “Don’ mention it. You know where to find us if you need any more help.”

“Of course. Good night, then.”

“Good night. You take care, now.”

Qi watched as Hugo left the saloon’s deck and disappeared into the warm light of his house.

------------

Dear Starlight,

Hello??? I’m…not sure what to write here. Hugo has suggested that I try writing letters as if you could receive them. Apparently this has some emotional benefits to it. I could see it from the way he explained it, but actually doing it myself feels so strange. I know for a fact that you will never read these words, yet I write like I can. I think I will experiment with this further…but perhaps when I think of more topics to write about.

Qi

------------

Qi ripped the last piece of duct tape and slapped it onto the box. He heaved a sigh as he looked it over. Hopefully the relic wouldn’t get damaged in transit. Not that it made any difference if it did. He just needed this thing out of his Research Center. Out of his sight.

He grabbed a marker and wrote down the address on the top of the box.

Old World Computing Technologies Lab

University of Vega 5

Vega 5

Alliance of Free Cities

No return address.

He felt his stomach churn as he shoved it out onto his doorstep.

That wasn’t them, he silently told himself.

They weren’t in there.

They weren’t anywhere.

------------

Dear Starlight,

I got rid of the virtual reality relic. I had it shipped off to a lab in Vega 5. Maybe they can get some use out of it. Maybe they won’t make the same mistake I made. Or maybe they will. It’s not really my problem anymore. I just couldn’t stand knowing it was in my Research Center. I reset everything, of course. No traces of the virtual Sandrock project remain. With luck, no one will even know that I was the one who sent it.

I’ll try not to write about this again, since I really do want to move past it, but…it still sits very clearly in my mind. Sometimes my mind still conflates you and your virtual double as being one in the same. Is that an indicator of the quality of my work? Or a sign of my own mental weakness?

The last thing I want to do is to delude myself again into believing that clone was really you, but even so…I felt like I did the right thing by you. I really, truly felt that you would have wanted me to erase all the progress I had made.

In that moment…it seemed like you were really talking to me again.

There I go again. High quality work, or my emotions taking advantage of me?

Now. Let’s put this all behind me. For good. I still don’t know exactly what to do without you, but anything is better than this.

Qi

------------

Qi was busy running the statistical analysis for his last experiment when someone suddenly grabbed his shoulders. He yelped and angrily whirled around to find Mint standing there, snickering.

“Sleepyhead! Why?!”

“Come on, Spacecase. When was the last time you saw the sun? ANOVA can wait.”

“Well, it can wait, but you just made me lose track of my calculations. Now I have to start over,” Qi grumbled.

“Exactly. So put it down for a bit and take a break, Spacecase. That’s why I’m here.”

“And I don’t suppose you’ll leave unless I comply?”

“Nope!”

Qi groaned, but set his notebook down. “Fine. What do you suggest we do, then?”

“What else?” Mint shrugged. “I haven’t seen you in ages. We catch up.”

------------

Dear Starlight,

Mint decided to visit recently. Apparently he had some time off and thought to come here. Despite all the letters and telegrams he’s been sending, he wanted to come talk to me in person. I assume it’s to reduce the chance of me obscuring the truth when I answer any questions he asks.

I admit…he was right. When I started working on recreating you virtually, he was concerned about how the project would affect my well-being. That I would grow too attached to this artificial version of you.

When I told him this, he just shook his head and told me that he was just glad I managed to survive it and admit my mistakes. Even when he had left, he was still worried. He told some of the other townsfolk to keep supplying me with food and water and other necessities, since he knew I wouldn’t bring myself to do it without coercion. Once again, he was right. I never really paid attention to all the food being left outside my door while I was in the depths of that project. I only had one objective in mind. It hardly mattered if my body wasted away while pursuing it.

All the letters and telegrams were also a form of…insurance, if we want to call it that. Not only did Mint want to know about my well-being, but they acted as a sort of indicator. If I didn’t respond to a telegram, he’d send one the next day. If that happened three times in a row, he would telegraph Mayor Trudy instead and have someone check on me. Same thing for letters, though with a week in between each one instead.

I was surprised to hear this. Mint is far from stupid, but this amount of planning…it’s unusual for him. I asked him why he would go this far.

All he said was, “Why wouldn’t I?”

Now I worry if I’ve taken him for granted all these years.

Qi

------------

Qi was staring a hole into his lab’s front door. He’d stood there for what felt like an hour, half of him urging him to walk out, and the other half begging to fall back. Neither could persuade his feet to move.

He made sure to work a little later than usual today, so he’d still be at the research center after dark. Today, he thought, was the day that he would summon the courage to stargaze again. At least, that’s what he thought this morning. He figured that if he could force himself to stay out later, the probability of him cowering away again would be lower, since he would have no excuse to not just go up the stairs to the roof and do it.

…He could always just sleep here tonight…

Qi grit his teeth and furiously shook his head. With both arms, he shoved the doors open as hard as he could, the resulting BANG rattling across the empty street and through his skull. The chilly air and the dark of night greeted him. He stared out a little longer. Then his impulses took hold, propelling him forward into the darkness before he could shrink away. He stiffly walked up the stairs, stumbling and almost tripping in some places.

And finally, he was on the roof. The cold, hard, metal, empty roof. The telescope stood still in the center, keeping its watchful eye on the stars like always. Qi plodded over to his old spot, his legs no longer familiar with the roof’s incline. He sat down with his knees hugged to his chest, trying to let the cool air push the nausea back down.

The familiarity of the scene in front of him made his heart ache. The rock formations blocking the sky in all those particular spots, the moon peeking out from behind the mesa, the side street far below, and of course, the sky, that grand span of darkness dappled with boundless amounts of magnificent, luminous…

“…Starlight…”

------------

Starlight…

It’s still strange, isn’t it? Someone like me calling you that. I never thought I would be one for such saccharine…nonsense. But with you, it all just seemed to happen of its own accord. You made me feel and act in ways I’d scoff at several years ago. I’d get excited at the prospect of a distraction from my work, if only to spend some time with you. I’d never get tired of talking to you. I’d be glad to explain even the most basic scientific concepts to you. You awoke so many new emotions in me.

Even after you’re gone…you’re still doing it.

I always thought

You never

You were always

When I think of the stars

I still

You still

I can’t

Why do I

------------

Starlight,

Yesterday was the Day of Memories. I had to run out to refill my water tank, and I opened the door to find some lanterns left outside. I have no idea who left them there. But they at least had the foresight to just leave them there without a word.

For the first time…I participated in a town festival. Of my own accord. I wonder what you’d say to that. Actually, strictly speaking…I participated in my own way. Separate from everyone else. Your judgment call on whether that counts or not.

I released the lanterns from the rooftop, of course. I waited until I saw the crowd release theirs…hopefully no one noticed mine separate from the rest.

Did you see them

It’s strange. I’ve never felt compelled to do something like this before. But as I watched the lanterns and the stars…the sensation that I felt… I think I have a new yearly routine.

Qi

------------

Qi sighed as he started his next diagram. Some ho-hum cattle feeding device for the ranch man. Nothing engaging. Just like the last one. And the one before that. And the last 11 of them.

The pencil fell out of his loose hand, only halfway done with the first line. He stared at the point where the line wobbled and stopped.

…

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Qi jolted back up. What was it with people insisting on knocking on his unlocked door? Can’t they just come in? He huffed another sigh and went to answer it.

He opened the door, letting the hot noontime air in. He found himself looking down at the concerned face of…

“Mayor Trudy?”

------------

Qi stepped off the boat, legs still a bit unsteady from riding on the ocean. It smelled like salt and fish and seaweed. He glanced up at the familiar metallic walls, and around at the other boats in the harbor.

A familiar fishing vessel was docked at port 6.

Looks like they were home already. Qi moved on, handing his paperwork to the immigration officer, a tired-looking woman who probably wasn’t paid very much. She took a brief look and gave his forms a stamp.

“Welcome to Vega 5,” she droned.

------------

It wasn’t far to his parents’ house. They lived close to the harbor. He stood frozen in front of the door, unable to bring himself to knock. He pressed his ear up to the door, faintly hearing some murmurs of conversation. They were probably having dinner now.

He raised his hand up to the door. It didn’t move. As he stared at his knuckles, he felt a sudden urge to run back to the harbor and get the next boat back to the mainland. But he pressed it down and knocked.

Inside, something was shuffled around. Qi felt his stomach churn. After a moment of silence, the knob finally turned.

“Hello, can I help—” It was his mother. As their eyes met, she froze. “Heng?!”

Qi tried to say something. An explanation. An apology. Even just a greeting. But nothing came out.

His mother gave him a once over. “Come in, come in!” She opened the door all the way. “We can talk later,” she murmured, a sad smile on her face.

Qi slowly stepped through the doorway and took off his shoes. He looked around at the familiar wallpaper and all the same pictures on the walls, the simple but homely furniture, all the books that he and his grandpa filled countless shelves with.

“Heng? When did you get here?” His father and his grandpa had suddenly appeared in the doorway leading to the kitchen, staring with just as much shock as his mother did.

“First things first,” his mother said, putting a gentle hand on his back. “Let’s get him dinner.”

“...I…already ate,” Qi lied. “I’d just like to rest now, if you don’t mind.”

“Oh, that’s nonsense,” his grandpa piped up. “It’s only 6. You told us you always have your dinner at 6:30 on Thursdays,” he chuckled.

Qi sighed. “Alright. Fine.”

Everyone sat back down at the table, and a bowl and chopsticks appeared in front of Qi. He blankly took them up and served himself a meager portion. His family, meanwhile, started up their conversation again. Simple, light talk about their days. He could tell they were trying to pique his interest, but still wanted to give him some room to breathe. Never did they ask him anything, or try to rope him in. They let him just listen. He felt a pang in his chest. They knew what he was feeling. And he was grateful.

After slowly making his way through his food, he set his chopsticks down and stood up.

“Finished?” His mother gave him a soft smile.

Qi nodded. “I think I’ll turn in early tonight.”

“Alright. Sleep well.”

“Take it easy, Heng,” his father said.

“Don’t strain yourself,” his grandpa added. “Sleep tight!”

Qi nodded mutely and left the table, hearing the others start talking again, only quieter this time.

He walked upstairs to the bathroom and splashed some water on his face. That was all he had energy for.

Right across the hall was his old room. He carefully opened the door. The last time he saw this place was before he left for Sandrock. Everything was still in its place. All his old notes and journals, all his Gungam relic figures, all the books he couldn’t carry with him, all the stains from past experiments. Everything. Coated in a thick layer of dust, but the same nonetheless.

He flopped onto his old bed, which barely fit him now, staring up at the off-white ceiling, dotted with star mappings he drew himself. His eyes grew heavy.

It still smelled like fish.

------------

Starlight,

I’m writing this from Vega 5, believe it or not. The mayor insisted that I “take a vacation” for a week or two. When I refused, she informed me that she told the rest of the townsfolk to not submit any research requests for two weeks. When I continued to refuse, she threatened to suspend my budget allocation unless I used it for paid time off.

I didn’t exactly know where to go, so I went to the only place I could think of. Back to my parents’ house. How did I think of it? I still don’t know. Some irrational instinct, I suppose. Regardless, here I am.

I didn’t tell my family that I was coming. It was so spur of the moment that I didn’t have the time. They haven’t seen me in person for years. And yet…when I showed up and interrupted their dinner…they didn’t ask any questions. They just sat me down at the table and let me rest right afterwards.

After that first night was when they really started talking. Both my parents took a day off from work. Which never happens. With the exception of weekends, they’re always up early in the morning to head out on the water to fish, or to prepare their stand at the market. But that day, they just wanted to stay with me. It almost felt like them staying home to care for me whenever I was ill in elementary school.

We talked for a long time. Meandered around the neighborhood. Visited some familiar places from the past. Not all of our conversation was about me or you or the…circumstances. But when it was, they had nothing but kind words to say. They recalled all the times I had written about you in my correspondence. They knew how much you enriched my life. They would have loved to meet you. And…they’ll always keep my room free whenever spontaneous visits like these would ever occur. Despite not returning to Vega 5 for nearly a decade…they still kept it the same way as it always was. Just in case I would ever show up the same way I did a few days ago.

It felt…a bit overwhelming.

Qi

------------

Heng, my little astronaut,

Care to meet me at 10 tonight? You know the place.

Grandpa

------------

Qi finally climbed the last step, stopping to catch his breath with his hands on his knees. He looked up at the vast night sky above his head. A rare sight to see in Vega 5. He was lucky to grow up so close to the harbor, pretty much the only other place in the city that was completely out in the open. But even so, the smell and the spray and the massive hull of the rest of the city covering one half of the sky didn’t make it anywhere as good as this.

Peach Park. The highest point in the city.

He looked down around the barren terrace. Near the railing overlooking the city below, sitting patiently on a bench and looking out at the sky, was his grandpa.

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to be making this trek all by yourself?” Qi asked as he approached the bench.

His grandpa chuckled. “I’m still fit as ever. The real question is, why is someone as young as you having trouble with it?”

“Not acclimated with it,” Qi grumbled. “I only have to climb one flight of stairs at a time on a daily basis, not fifteen with steep slopes in between.”

His grandpa just laughed, echoing off the metal panels of the terrace. Qi just let out a huff.

Eventually his grandpa fell quiet again, gazing serenely once more at the stars. “Good view of Mars tonight.”

“Indeed.”

Silence.

Qi felt his hand twitch. What was he here for?

“So…” Qi muttered. “Did you…have anything in particular to discuss?”

His grandpa closed his eyes, a soft smile just barely visible in the fading moonlight.

------------

Starlight,

I never met my paternal grandmother. She died shortly before I was born. For as long as I’ve known him, my grandpa has always been a widower. Yet somehow, it never crossed my mind to think of him in that kind of capacity. He was always my mentor more than anything else. My very first research advisor.

He called me up to the highest point in the city, just like all those years ago when he brought me up there and ignited my passion for the sciences. This time, though, there was nothing scientific about what we discussed.

He told me more about my grandmother. I had heard some things about her before, from stories that both my grandpa and my father told me, but hearing about her like this was completely different.

They met in university. Studying different fields, but their mutual hatred of their calculus professor brought them together. They spent so much time together studying at the library, then in cafes and restaurants, then in each other’s dorms and labs, then in the home they shared.

One day, she caught a cold. Then it got worse. Then she developed pneumonia. Then she was gone. And my grandpa was left alone.

And now, his own grandson is going through the same. If either of us were any less scientifically-minded, perhaps we’d call it a curse. An omen, maybe. But it’s neither. Just identical tragedies that happened to two people that happen to be genetically related. That’s all.

That’s…all.

He told me not to let myself get consumed by work as my only way to cope. And this was the part that really got me thinking: he told me that successes from work and the happiness that comes with them are a different kind of happiness than I can get from other people. People like you and Mint and my family. No matter how much work I do, it can never fill the void your passing left behind.

All of a sudden, the stint with the virtual reality relic makes a lot more sense.

At first I misunderstood him. I thought he was trying to get me to completely stop my work. But he quickly corrected me. I can and should work whenever possible. It’s just that it cannot be my only way of responding to the situation.

When you died, I had nothing else I could do. There was no longer anyone in Sandrock I was obligated to. Nothing left…but my work. And work I did.

My grandpa…he made the same mistake, it seems. He would hole himself up in his laboratory for days on end, never returning home unless my father came and dragged him there. The first time that happened, he was infuriated with my father. He had never truly lost his temper with him before, but he exploded, trying to shame him for not caring enough about his own mother. My father was terrified and ran off. But almost the second after he disappeared, my grandpa felt terribly ashamed.

My father returned an hour later, long after his anger had cooled, and my grandpa went along willingly this time. They were silent on the way back, except when my father spoke up to remind him about his future grandchild. I was due in several months.

From then on, whenever my father appeared at his laboratory, he would let himself be dragged away from work, no matter how begrudgingly.

Whenever my parents were away at work, my grandpa took care of me. Even if it meant having to leave me partially unsupervised in a lab full of hazardous tools and chemicals. He shared all of his books with me, no matter how advanced, and would always tell me the definitions of any words I didn’t know. He showed me a relic spacesuit in his lab that was found in Sandrock. When I moved to Sandrock, he gave it to me.

His little astronaut.

He is arguably the reason we met.

And the reason I find myself here.

…I don’t know how I should feel about this.

Qi

------------

“You’re sure you’ll be okay?”

Qi looked up from the surf hitting the dock to the worried look on his mother’s face.

“Y—” He froze. “I…I don’t know.”

His grandpa nodded. “It’s normal to feel like that.”

“And it’s okay to never know,” his father chimed in with a warm smile. “You’ll feel okay eventually, whether you know it or not.”

The ferry tooted its horn.

Before Qi could even think, his mother wrapped her arms around his shoulders. His grandpa did the same on his other side, and finally his father pulled all four of them in close together.

“You can always come home, Heng. Don’t forget,” murmured his mother.

Qi could only let out a hum. Anything more and he’d risk the itchy feeling in his nose spilling over.

They all let go eventually. He gave them one last look as he stepped onto the gangway. They were waving with a smile on their faces. Not making too big of a fuss. He gave them one last wave before stepping onto the boat.

He couldn’t bring himself to look back.

------------

Starlight,

Recently, I’ve been wondering about the sociological concept of “home”. I know. Me, thinking about sociology. Utterly daft. But given the circumstances, I hope you’ll forgive some non-scientific studies for just a little bit.

Why do we differentiate a “home” from a “house”? What does a home have that a house does not? To me, both are simply buildings or other dwellings of permanent residence. It seems that a home is a subjective descriptor, one that holds the invoker’s sentiments towards their place of living.

To make matters even more confusing, I see in a lot of literature that people describe other people as their “home”. Most often in their romantic partners, but also their family members (independent of the place they live in) and friends. So is a home a person or place? Or just some nebulous sentiment?

I ask because…I’m trying to figure out what it means in relation to me. Before I left, my parents told me that I could always return “home”. But Vega 5…was it ever my home? Of course, I was born and raised there. My family has always lived there. But I never had any qualms leaving it. Forever, if I had to. When I stepped foot into the city limits for the first time in ages…there was no sense of nostalgia. No urge to move back.

It’d be inaccurate to say that my home was in Sandrock, either. My Research Center was my workplace. The epicenter of all my efforts and achievements. I just happened to reside in the same building. And your workshop was never mine. That was your land. You designed the house yourself. You built all the machines in the yard. I only was fortunate enough to share that space with you, to have my designs be put to use there.

Were you…my home?

Whatever we did, wherever we were…I always felt at ease with you. Safe. Invigorated. Comfortable.

…Where is my home now that you’re gone?

Qi

------------

Qi sat back down at his desk. Several townsfolk had already written up some requests for him now that his…sabbatical had ended. He skimmed through them, finding the most interesting one to tackle first. His eyes glazed over as he realized all of them were equally simple and dull.

He sighed and picked one at random. The ranch man demanded another, more powerful cattle feeder. He tossed it aside and grabbed another one. Heidi needed some crane lifts. He shrugged. It would have to do.

------------

Starlight,

Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can really write about this time. I’ve just been catching up with diagram requests ever since I returned from Vega 5. None of them are interesting in the slightest. Maybe next time.

Qi

------------

Starlight,

My work is…droll. I’d never thought I’d be saying that about science, but it’s just not the same. My hypothesis: lack of engagement. No one here appreciates the sciences as much as I do. The only people who come close are Fang and Zeke, and I can’t engage either of them for obvious reasons. Everyday I toil away in the Research Center, experiment after experiment, hypothesis to conclusion and all over again. And then I send my results back to someone I can’t see, to a committee of people I’ve never met, and then maybe, just maybe, someone can engage with my work. Over letters and telegrams. It’s like

It’s just like before I met you. You were the only one who I could speak truly to. The only one who ever seemed to see value in my work without hesitation, even if you didn’t fully understand everything. And now you’re not here. Everything’s the same as it once was, all that time ago.

So why does it feel so much more…meaningless? And why does everything from before you came feel so meaningless in retrospect?

Qi

------------

Starlight,

Sometimes I see this whole letter-writing exercise as completely useless. A feeble appeal to sentiment, that’s all this is. I talk like a madman to someone who no longer exists. And yet this is considered an acceptable way of dealing with the situation.

You are dead. Your body has long decayed by now and the sands have likely buried your bones already. Everything that consists of you, physically and conceptually, no longer exists. There is no scientific evidence of souls or afterlives or spirits or any of the ridiculous things that humans have made up for the sake of appealing to their emotions and shielding themselves from the truth.

There is nothing after death. Nothing that could be empirically shown, anyway. That is a scientific truth.

So why do I feel so disillusioned by it…? Why do I feel this cloying desire to deny it? Why isn’t there a scientifically plausible way for me to just pretend you’re still here

Why

Why d

I am the most ignorant person to ever exist.

I’m sorry.

Everything that I’ve done ever since you passed away was just to do that. To pretend like you’re still here. With me. Happy.

I suppose articulating my thoughts seems much more unimpressive when compared to trying to recreate you using an artificial intelligence. Easier to write it off as mawkish sentiment. But…it’s all one in the same. Self-indulgence.

…Is that necessarily bad?

I don’t have the answer. I don’t believe I’ll ever have the answer. I don’t have any answers. You aren’t here to help me find them.

…I suppose the only thing I can do now is what I’ve always done: be a scientist. To face the unknown and attempt to illuminate even a fraction of that darkness. To ask questions about everything and to constantly seek answers, no longer how long it takes.

Perhaps one day, I will be able to find the answers I seek. Perhaps not. But no matter what the outcome will be or how arduous the process is, I know that you will be in my thoughts the whole way. You always have been, ever since we met.

And who knows? Perhaps one day, I will be able to write to you and tell you all about my journey. I’ll be sure to brew plenty of tea to last the whole story.

Qi

------------

Qi sat on the roof of the research center. He kept his eye out towards the station, seeing the crowd gathering and milling about. The first lights started appearing as they lit their lanterns. He turned back to the lantern in his lap, checking one more time that the envelope on top was secure.

One by one, warm glowing lights rose up into the sky just outside the city. Qi stared at the hypnotic cloud of light as it expanded and twisted up towards the highest heavens.

He grabbed the matchbox and carefully lit the lantern in his hands. The glow from the fire warmed him ever so slightly. He took one last look at the letter, and carefully let the lantern go.

Up and up it rose, a little unsteady with the extra weight, but it never stopped rising.

Qi’s eyes followed it for as long as he could keep track of it, before it became another light in the cloud.

Another star in the sky.

------------

Starlight,

Hello.

Good morning.

Have a productive day.

Be safe.

Does the furnace need servicing?

Do you want some tea?

Read anything interesting?

How was work?

I’m sorry.

I forgive you.

Thank you.

You’re welcome.

Don’t mention it.

Of course.

Don’t touch that sample, please.

Remember to keep hydrated.

Let me show you my latest experiment.

Fascinating.

Wonderful.

Excellent work.

Tell me.

Show me.

You should rest.

Don’t overwork yourself.

You’re very warm.

Are you comfortable?

Good night.

Goodbye.

I love you.

Qi