#who very categorically looks NONE of these things

[omegalomania]

patrick stump is the best vocalist on the planet cause he looks nothing like he sounds. white boy the size of an ipad with the voice of a whore.

[capslocked]

PROXIMITY

male reader x chou tzuyu

25k words

You’re not a bad person. And you know how that sounds apropos of nothing - defensive, unscrupulous - but it’s true. You’re like anybody else: full of mistakes, but good, mostly. 

You are also aware of the way she looks at you. None of that has changed.

The slight quirk at the corner of her lips. A flicker, a smirk. A game, all doe-eyed and deep dimpled - she's playing the seduction one. It isn’t subtle, and you're losing by proxy. So you're backtracking, drawing your conclusions; you're reading into the line of her jaw, the fall of her hair. Measuring the weight behind each blink.

"You were wrong by the way," Tzuyu starts, indifferent. Through some act of divine retribution, she laughs. "Because to tell you the truth, I used to have, like, the biggest crush on you."

She’s young, and - well, she’s a lot of things. A terrible idea. Incredibly off-limits. She is anathema, red tape, an original sin. You shake your head at her, smile fading - which for anyone keeping score, is an admonishment, however faint.

Because Chou Tzuyu, you recognize, is categorically, unequivocally: never supposed to happen.

-

If you want a read on your current dilemma, then this is how it pans out:

You’re walking headfirst into one of the multiple terrible, terrible scenarios you've probably had an anxiety dream about. It’s an ambush, really.

There’s the text from Mina, explaining all the ins and outs of her winter hideaway, the logistical whereabouts, and the pinched photo from the outside, the endless winding driveway, the clearing in the woods. The remote location, the unfussed snow, the towering trees. There are no neighbors to speak of, just seclusion and isolation and that makes you, among the seven billion or whatever, the only one who will know precisely how fucked you are.

The door to the cabin swings open on its hinges. You kick the snow off your boots, and the air smells indistinctly of peppermint tea.

It’s a cozy place, you think. A slightly rustic aesthetic. There’s a pair of skis decommissioned over the mantle. Mina, as usual, has good taste. You peek around: the foyer, the open living space, the wood finishes, the sunken fireplace. You almost make out a bathroom, through a half-opened doorway - and the kitchen, maybe, is nestled around the far corner.

You settle in, find your bearings, and start taking these leisurely steps down the hall.

That’s when you see her. Wearing a sweater that's a size too big, draped over her frame - sleeves tucked, exposing the barest hint of skin on her wrists, her delicate fingertips. You blink once, twice. That’s a dangerous flare. The rest of her, this canvas of pale skin and soft, endless legs, the hollowed stretch of inner thigh-

Actually, you know what, you are going to delete that out of your mind; as far as you're concerned, Tzuyu absolutely does not have her long, satin-like mahogany hair spilling over her shoulder, her bare legs poking out from under that bulky cotton blend, and she definitely, very absolutely has not given you a complete lack of boundaries, so it's more than plausible for her to slide onto a stool near the countertop with her painted-toes peeking out from beneath the folded press of her thigh (the pedicure, really, now?) and look over at you like you aren’t perfectly familiar with that goddamn face. Those eyes, that jaw.

And her collarbone is out too. Ouch.

Tzuyu rests her chin in one of her perfectly manicured hands, and tilts her head: she’s very blatantly checking you out.

The problem is, you’ve recognized her immediately.

Which - god, the bottom-lines, the blurred borders. It’s been years. She's twenty-three, twenty-four now, and as it turns out, she's taller than you remember. She's thinner, taller, actually a bit filled out too-

Right, okay, no. Just. Delete that image from the internal memory.

"Oh," you breathe, because there's not a single thing you're sure you’re supposed to do. It takes a split second too long to put the brakes on everything in your brain and say, "Tzuyu." It takes even more control not to tack an unthinkingly fond 'miss' to the front of her name - you're a god-honest lost hope - but at the last minute, you settle for, "hi."

It’s unnatural. She's actually somehow prettier than you remember, and the tousled brown curls flowing down her shoulder make it worse. She smiles, gently; this soft-spoken, "hey."

She’s at the kitchen island, holding a bowl of cereal and looking at you like she’s taking inventory. The strap of her bra is black, loose around the curve of her left shoulder; she's barefoot. Any other context, and it's your favorite kind of combination, basically: casual and messy and haphazard. Perfect. She's so tall, christ.

"We've met a few times," and she's not even phrasing it as a question - because she knows for a fact that you know her - and now, well, you can see how that's a problem.

"Yeah." You drop your bags. "Nobody said anything about anyone being here, so, I'm just a little-"

“Relieved?” Tzuyu tries, and if it sounds conceited, you’ve imagined it.

“Surprised,” you amend, quickly. There is a massive amount of distance currently between the both of you - several feet and an island counter to top it off. That's good, you think.

Tzuyu runs her hands over the top of her hair, a half-effort at putting it up into some sort of a ponytail, or maybe a bun. You see now that her nails are bare. "I'd heard from Mina," she starts, "that Sana was coming here-"

And you watch, absentmindedly, as Tzuyu slides down off her chair. You watch her too carefully almost, for a beat. You want to follow the length of her legs with the same ease and shamelessness - like it's instinct or just expected; it's ridiculous and wrong to think, but-

"-with, uh, someone. She left it purposefully vague." Tzuyu finishes, then pauses. Her gaze slides across you. If the awkward stretch of silence is weird, she doesn't comment on it. “Then I heard the flight got delayed because of all the snow."

"Just Sana’s," you correct, and that's not information you should be simply giving away. She just stands there, blinking up at you.

"Huh," she says, eyebrow lifted - slower than is explicitly necessary, “so you’re like. All alone until she gets here.” She simply eats a spoonful of cereal, chews for a moment, and adds, “bummer.”

It’s true, in some sense. You sigh, rake a hand back through your hair, and your jacket falls further down on one of your shoulders; she drops her gaze down, almost imperceptibly, following the motion.

There is definitely a point where you could take notice of a lot of things, and they include, but are certainly not limited to: the fucking languor with which she is licking the yogurt off the back of her spoon, her stupidly long eyelashes fanning on the tops of her cheeks when she glances down, the frankly risque neckline of her sweater. Those kinds of things. Those kinds of details. Really, you wouldn’t dare.

"It sounds like she’ll be getting in tomorrow evening," you decide to inform her, though she didn't ask, and now she nods, focusing still on the yogurt and granola at the bottom of her bowl.

You walk into the kitchen. Rap your knuckles on the countertop. Tzuyu’s right there, and your mind is filling up with images you could really do without. That's the unfortunate, traitorous nature of all this: in any universe, Chou Tzuyu fawns over you. And she will, on accident or purpose, test you. And as for your hesitation - that's an instinct that gets activated every time you so much as meet Tzuyu in person, this invasive little impulse. 

"Well," Tzuyu says, way too casually. “It’s just us then.”

"Yeah." you agree, stilted. “Just us.”

"There's wine," she decides, tilts her head. Then, matter of factly, "and coffee, hot cocoa. Mina’s more or less stocked on everything."

Her voice hits the room all nice, sweet, syrupy - god, fuck, maybe there's a window or a door here somewhere that you're supposed to open to clear the air, but when you look, there’s frost on the glass; it’s the subalpine frigidity. Tzuyu flashes you this other sort of glance - her teeth scrape the rounded spoon's tip before her lips fully fix around it. The drowsy, delirious feeling is almost involuntary at this point.

"I should unpack my things, is what I should do, probably," and now you are saying things for the sake of saying them, as an escape. "Hey, seriously. Sorry for the inconvenience."

“Don’t be,” she tells you. "The weather isn't anybody's fault."

(Here, a premonition. You look at Tzuyu, who raises an eyebrow back.)

The next logical move is: leave. Tzuyu folds her long limbs back up onto the stool, and you're - trying not to look. You're also trying not to do it consciously, actively - you're not, and not. You fail, like you did a few years ago, too - the eyes have a bad habit of wandering. She's made of porcelain, all thin wrists, thin neck, soft curves and delicate lines. She's made out of glass - she’s at her most dangerous when you’ve gone and broken her.

It’s possible, you think, she could break you too.

-

Look, contextually - it’s Murphy’s law, or maybe your own very specific curse. A lot of stuff happens, so here’s a rough draft, your best effort at an approximation, a smudged-pencil sketch:

Tzuyu has been on vacation in the Alps from the start of the week, or maybe the week prior - she's alone in this stupidly big cabin you're supposed to be meeting Sana in for two weeks and change of pure unadulterated, hedonistic fun. Skiing, lounging, stargazing, drinking, screwing, consummating a situationship. You know the drill.

However there ends up being an actual, literal avalanche - with snow and rocks and ice and whatever the fuck - the power goes out, and you can only assume the whole mountain's gone dark. It's like a classic, a cautionary tale: hey, dude, you're on vacation with this drop-dead gorgeous girl who will let you do whatever you want to her - in the name of love and lust and a loosely legal liability. She says she'll be yours forever, except you also heard her say that the universe is entitled to laugh at you, a bit - so you do something you'll regret (which, okay, you've done countless things you'll regret) and now you're getting punished for it, and so is the stunning temptress currently shivering in the bed next to you. Seriously, whatever you do, do not fuck her, don't let her get too attached, because oh, man - Tzuyu really likes to make herself comfortable, huh? To nestle herself into your arms, let her hand stroke circles in the dark fabric of your t-shirt, warm her cold nose into your chest, and cuddle the night away. She's so easy to give in to, isn't she? This walking, talking paradox of everything she's not supposed to be and everything she'll willingly do anyway - there's her expression, placid and rapturous in equal measures, the sleepy mumbles against your skin that sound like prayers, her damp breaths.

You should know better. You should know that this is the universe, laughing its ass off at you.

And just for the record, there is sound reason for everyone to feel, in some sense, extremely concerned by the narrative that your life has slowly, unceremoniously devolved itself into.

The first time you meet Chou Tzuyu is years ago. She’s dramatically, devastatingly, problematically, young.

It was all happening before you could really clock it, and it was morally reprehensible, and it was, in fact, probably all your own doing.

And it’s even more obvious in retrospect: how she would react to the way you reach back and ruffle your hair when you laugh, the casual appeal of your smile, the depths of your tone, how you cut it as close as you can get it. A girl will trip all over herself to let you look after her; that’s the basic blueprint, that's the default. See, you're in your twenties, an adult - not having figured out much, but having certainly figured out this - and it's very much not lost on you that the girl should not be flirting with you - but she does, and the very worst of it is: you let her.

“Are you out of your mind?” Jihyo had said at the time, and, in fairness, yeah. That more or less sums it up.

So you end up making a point of never getting to know her, to always keep the conversation nonexistent. Or in the worst case scenario, brief - on surface level topics. The weather. Your job. Food. If you like her sunglasses. (They look protective, you’d told her, very practical. Very safe.) It's the essentials, a light, professional rapport - never once crossing the border from casual conversation to candid disclosure. 

She's infatuated, of course. You're not mincing words here. It's actually rather unfortunate, how gone she is for you. You could’ve probably stood to dial it back; you, and your charm. Your smiles.

Because Chou Tzuyu was however many years young, very much off-limits - and like a lot of people it seems, totally hooked on your whole deal.

-

(Theoretically, that's how it all starts. Which is why, pragmatically, you will never, ever lay a finger on her.)

-

So, the plan to get through this was simple and to the point and as follows:

* Avoid unnecessary physical contact

* Maintain social distance, in fact - something covid-esque sounds great, about six feet

* Do not offer opinions/advice unless specifically asked

* Minimize speaking, just to be safe

* Do not exchange gifts, especially personal ones

* Be wary of the temptation to take a voluntarily-tipsy Tzuyu to bed, because you'll want to - and god knows Tzuyu will make it extremely clear that you could; this is exactly how shit turns south-

* Adjust and reframe

* Reinforce

* Remind yourself

* To just fucking think about literally anything else

It was working fine, so far - really fine, especially if you consider how early into the stay you're sitting there, telling yourself off in the bathroom mirror, get it together, you dumbass. What is wrong with you, don’t you know better by now - before an unapologetic knock on the door snaps you out of it, and the click of the door opening a moment later forces a heavy inhale from your chest: you just need a fucking second, thanks - not a half-decent excuse or a rearrangement, not a careful restructure, just a split second in your own head; that's not even the sort of thing you're prone to needing, because it's you, but with Chou fucking Tzuyu-

A soft breathy laugh, "are you okay in here?"

Tzuyu pokes her head into the room, her hair a wavy curtain that tumbles down past the middle of her back. You have this vague, fleeting impulse to run your fingers through it.

"Well," and there goes all the shit you'd managed not to think about, or contemplate, or dwell upon for that one glorious, naive, misinformed second. "Sort of," you say, offering her a quick glance.

"Really?" Tzuyu says, not catching onto the whole existential crisis thing. "Is there anything else you need? I mean," and then your eyes fall upon her; she's put a sweater on, pants, which all things considered, is a huge victory, a total rout - her baggy sweater drapes on her, practically brushing her thigh where the material stops, the hem. "I guess not, just. Um," her teeth catch her bottom lip for a quick moment, and this time she glances back towards the hall, the granite-finish tiles. "Wanna make s'mores?"

"What," you ask, because honestly, what the actual fuck-

"I went into town to get fresh groceries earlier this week. Everything just kinda landed in my cart," she says, the beginning of an explanation - the backstory, if you will. "And there's a fireplace. Momo always says the calories don't count if it's social eating, so." She makes a small shrug.

"Oh,” you say, like you understand. Your throat feels tight. “She’s totally right.”

She offers you a small nod. Tucks her hair behind her ear. You wonder if she knows how suggestive even the smallest of gestures she makes are; and more so, if she does it knowingly, or simply without thought - if it's a facet of her own effortlessness.

"Um," you say, for no particular reason other than that Tzuyu is fucking distracting. "Okay."

The edges of her mouth tick upwards at that. "We could put something on the tv,” she suggests. “For the vibe."

"Oh yeah, for the ambience."

"For the ambience," she nods.

(And fuck her, seriously. You might be a goner already.)

-

"A winter weather advisory," Tzuyu reads, squinting slightly at the tv. A minute later: "Just stay home," followed by another pause, and a frown: "hail and ice too. Yeah, no kidding."

She's reading the weather report. You're pretending you have any idea how to work the fireplace while she sets her eyes on the news, hands running over the blankets she has huddled around herself - legs folded, tucked into the edge of her chest. She'd gotten as far as logging into her Netflix account before the suggestion of cuddling was so obviously implied, her hands patting the cushioned space beside her that you were required by moral law to flip through the cable options until you found the least sexy, least rom-com-y option you could find: a newscaster reporting on the ongoing inclement weather, a forecaster saying 'near zero chance of improving, so travel is heavily discouraged, we strongly advise against-'

"Wonder if Sana's even going to make it," Tzuyu breaks the relative silence, and you are acutely aware of how casual she has been referring to Sana, the complete and utter lack of jealousy or any emotion related - or you guess, inspired. She's not even the slightest bit irked. “If the airport opens, maybe," she adds, and, after a beat, "let's hope."

-

It gets colder. You can barely see three feet past the front door. The forecast only gets worse, the storm intensifies and swells, it snows and snows - and this isn't a cottage somewhere on the lake, you're a couple miles down a single-track, woodsy road, far, far away from society.

-

If only these walls could talk, honestly. You're like, caught in a moment. With Tzuyu and marshmallows and these tiny, sticky wooden skewers. This is a story you will tell nobody, ever.

"I don’t mean to say I told you so," she says, but it comes out with a mouthful of chocolate and graham cracker, and marshmallow, which sort of takes the bite out of it. "But the movie is a little more entertaining."

You pretend like you weren't staring at her mouth a beat prior. "Right, a cinematic masterpiece." 

Tzuyu tugs a marshmallow off the stick, and looks over at you again. Smiles around the impromptu pastry. She's just such a bright, wholesome thing - soft-hearted, selfless, so innocuous and so pleasant. It's absolutely sick. You have a fucking pavlovian response to Tzuyu simply existing.

And you’re pretending like the white, tacky remains on her mouth haven't permanently solidified that look into memory: the melted chocolate, the whipped sugar, the dimple. You could really do without this specific feeling - for however much longer it'll last, should the storm linger.

"You don’t ever have stuff like this, just for a quiet, carefree time?" Tzuyu licks it off her skin, and the question kind of drags your attention elsewhere.

You breathe in, slow.

Maybe she can feel it too, you think. Because Tzuyu drags the pad of her thumb against her bottom lip, and a question she doesn't ask flickers to life in her gaze: if you'll break or not, if there is an absolute limit.

But it’s impossible to read her. Tzuyu takes up this real easy-going disposition, all quiet and stoic, sort of, and maybe that's the dangerous part of her - the stillness. Other moments, she has this uncanny knack for conversation. She's charming in that way, you have always thought, a bright face. She has a keen understanding of things too - maybe sometimes too much; maybe a little bit beyond her years, really, a little too knowledgeable.

"When the gang does," you answer, diplomatically. “Sure, I suppose.”

There's another smile at that, which is how you know that the back and forth, this coolly cool, somewhat-stiff exchange is sort of becoming a game. A bet on who cracks, who turns. She won't tell you it's you, and you'll never in your right mind acknowledge her. It's some version of honesty. A bit like Russian roulette.

"I used to think we were friends, you know," she muses, like it's some great mystery - all very deliberately cryptic. Like it's funny.

"Hey, you were like, a teenager," you're grasping at straws. You’re spinning the bullet round the conversational chamber. “And I have this thing-”

"You have a thing?" Her eyebrow is raised again - sweetly challenging.

"-like, a principle, a standard - if there's nothing there, and let's face it: there's really not something here-"

"Aw," Tzuyu fakes pouting, which is simultaneously very mean and also like, painfully hot, and she makes this pitiful coo, "you really have nothing to say at all, do you."

Which. Fuck, she’s right. The 'thing' here is the no touching, the no messing, the no making anything resembling a move. She's sitting over there with her mouth covered in sugar, batting her goddamn eyelashes. Which you ignore, thank god for impulse control, or the instinct of it, and Tzuyu pushes a graham cracker past her lips to placate her own expression.

And so it goes. She keeps looking at you and looking and looking and you stare, transfixed, back at her. The edges of her jaw, the rise of her nose, the jutting curve of her collarbone; you say something dumb or clever and you're making her laugh, and every time she does, her teeth catch on her bottom lip and you could really do with a distraction right now, but it's impossible not to flirt. 

It's just the way the universe has constructed you - this starvation, a twisted desire. There’s cruelty in the design.

-

(Things take a turn for the worse, of course. You don’t know how, but she gets to you agree that you two should've gotten closer in all that time-

"Well, I’m sure you were just so busy," you'd shrugged, indifferent, and she'd pressed the sleeve of her sweater to her mouth, just to hide how bright the smile was.

-which, honestly, fuck you - given all the context. Because now she's right here in the cabin; she's an arm's length away, and all this time, you've meant to stay the fuck out of reach.) 

-

Tzuyu does the worst thing. She returns from the kitchen, hands full, with two squat tumblers and a bottle of dark brandy. She sets one down next to you and asks if you want some.

You look. You mean, what are you even supposed to do? It's a catch twenty-two, it's a joke - what can a girl be thinking, standing there. Bending the right way, hair framing a face like hers.

Yeah, sure - it’s the voice of someone who's slipping, who’s gonna say the same thing three more times. "Hm, why not."

The ice clinks against the glass. Then, the pour. Toast to good health, a clean conscience, safe passage; you’ll take whatever you can get. 

You watch Tzuyu knock back an impressive amount and make an impressive face. There’s maturity there, you cope. Because you want to touch her jaw, thumb over her cheekbone, breathe baby, it's too strong, slow down on her lips, watch her mouth open slightly-

The fire pops.

She leans toward you. “Are you going to keep stealing stories from me, or are you going to supply anything good to the discussion?"

"About me, personally?" you say, purposefully pedantic.

Tzuyu’s smirk is half-present, half-playful. She sets down her tumbler on a coaster - Mina would be appreciative - and hums at you. “What do you think I mean?”

"I was really hoping the inflection would help clarify."

She levels a gaze with you. You fight back for a hot second - this slow-burning heat under the skin, your resolve threatening to buckle, shatter, spill itself everywhere - and in the end, she is the one that looks away, softly laughing, a pfft under her breath. You’re left the opportunity to just - look. See where the glow from the wood-burning fire has cast this gorgeous gold over her face, all her defined curves, her delicate features.

"I don't care, it could be anything," she poses, settling back into the pillows. Smiling. "Please. Entertain me."

Her cheeks are rosy. You realize, quite suddenly, you are not totally sober either. This is exactly how Sana talked you into something however many moons ago, then however many moons later, surgically unattached all the strings. Sana’s good at talking. At convincing. And you don't do shots like her, or apparently like Tzuyu does - but hell, it's that maddening, pretty little dimple of hers - the one that's always there when she does her mischievous smirk - a deeply devastating look, a devil-may-care demeanor, and you're dead-drunk on it, honestly.

"Want me to talk about Sana?" you offer, "seems like an obvious choice."

"I think you’re projecting," Tzuyu teases. “You just miss her, I'm sure.”

"Mhm. Sure."

Tzuyu makes a noise halfway between a chuckle and a snort, and draws the blankets more tightly around her. "What," she says, nonplussed, "who doesn't want to hear some gossip about their friends?"

You're fucking up, right? Fucking up the same way you did years ago when you caught the wrong kind of feeling for an entirely, altogether inappropriate woman. But you'll blame the drinks. And the mood. And the ambience, the fucking fire that's almost suffocating, the closeness of her body next to you-

"Hey," you say, and it's such a mistake. You're pointing to a spot on your chin. You're making it worse. "You got a little, uh-"

You watch as she lifts her hand, glides it through the air - brushes her own cheek with her fingertips, smoothing out an imagined blemish.

"Did I get it?"

"Uh, well, sorta-" and she knows you’re lying.

Tzuyu tries again. Comes up short, and when her hair falls in front of her face, she’s looking at you like maybe you’ll help take care of that too. She’s a total fucking coquette - though maybe she hasn’t even done it on purpose, maybe she's just that unaware, innocent. Not the second one, you figure. You're leaning, tilting closer and closer to her - in any other scenario, there'd be the shortest possible time between her touching herself and you, cupping her jaw with one of your hands.

But your mouth feels like it's moving of its own accord. "No, wait, let me help you," you continue, before you know it. 

Isn’t it disastrous; all ice and hazard, this is the advisory in effect; a napoleon-goes-to-russia caliber calamity, a colossal write off, a write in. You could have, should have stopped, except you didn't and now you're reaching, gently, until your palm cups the side of her face - until you press, until you hold her steady. Her head tilts. She lets you, blinking up. Her eyes are this hazy, intoxicated coffee-brown, honeyed and burnt and fucking beautiful.

You swipe your thumb along her bottom lip. The gesture is slow, languid, intentional; you think, through some cosmic error, that might just be the end of it.

"There," you say, smiling, naive.

"Yeah," Tzuyu breathes out, and she winds her fist into the fabric of your shirt. "Thanks."

You lean, or she does; you go down, or she pulls you; there's no difference, really.

She is kissing you, this soft little press. A tug in every direction. You hadn’t kissed her, at the very start, but when her fingers thread through your hair, gripping hard, bringing you closer until you groan, parting your lips slightly, and - and her tongue flits past yours - your brain does this wild mental leap that you ought to be questioning later.

But everything starts to sink. 

One of your hands lands on her waist, thumb slipping under the hem of her sweater and pressing against bare skin, and her knee nudges between both of your legs - until Tzuyu hums this low, pretty sound in her throat. There is something fervent here, all-consuming, devouring; her mouth moves like it's frantic for air, for oxygen and fuel, and her whole body melts under yours like she's completely falling apart.

Fuck, you think. There is a deep, smouldering heat in the pit of your stomach.

Because she’s perfect. You always knew that, didn’t you. She is firelight and perfume and muted gold; everything else falls into shadow, fades into the background. Her lips are velvet-soft, and they open again and again with these heavy exhales of hot air - so much so that you have to shift the hand you'd set on her waist lower, a little, her hip bone under your palm, a touch ghosting towards the dip and the swell.

Somehow you have this knowledge: at the end of everything, it'll be her name falling helplessly off your tongue.

"You were wrong by the way,” she stops to say. 

"About-" You press another kiss into her jaw, and her mouth parts around the same slow sigh. "Wait." You lean back enough to look at her again.

“Whatever you said earlier." Tzuyu’s eyes go half-lidded as she starts petting your hair back into place, thumb stroking your jawline. "I'd have made time."

Oh, christ-

"Because to tell you the truth," her tongue wets her lip, shiny, wet, "I've never really forgotten. Like I just thought, that whole thing was so… fleeting, you know, like the last time, when you let me text you - god, I was crushing so hard."

You breathe, shaking your head. 

"Don’t," is what comes out of your mouth after, quick, sharpened. 

“Don’t what?” Tzuyu taunts, pushing another inch further. That small grin on her face, her long, nimble fingers combing through your hair. 

You are trying to think, and there was an apology, right? You'd had this one in you. The one that began as a guilty soliloquy, a rueful acknowledgement; something that should have been directed toward Tzuyu, told her, at one point, or another: look. Sorry it's like this.

But there is a hand tracing the collar of your shirt - a sensation that follows all the way to the base of your throat; you lean further into her touch, almost involuntarily - a simple motion, and yet. "You shouldn't. You shouldn't say things like that to me," and you mean: these things you already know. "It's not good."

"Doesn't feel that bad," she tells you, a breezy sort of whisper, warm. "I think I'm getting the opposite impression."

"Maybe for the wrong reasons," you remind her. And to remind yourself, actually. "Probably for the wrong reasons - trust me, it is.”

"Trust you," and it’s the slightest bit ridiculing, a tease - Tzuyu drops her smile, pulls you in by the hair, whispers low. "Sure," the syllable soft, pressed against your throat, "I trust you not to hurt me," and the 'not' gets hung on for an impossibly long moment, stretched out thin. 

She's sinister; she has to be, or some amalgamation of the most potent version of every word she’s ever said. A dream girl, the definition and essence of a temptress, this shameless attraction - an insistent siren begging for your attention; the incepting mind-game; the entity that stalks the halls in the deepest trenches of the night, whispering your worst fears right into your ear. You fall further into Tzuyu, the prettiest of nightmares.

(Oh, it's the dimple that does you in, really: if there's any possible way that Chou Tzuyu has unintentionally ruined your life, she's done it with that innocent little smile.)

"You can kiss me again," Tzuyu says, permissive.

And you do. You kiss her, and kiss her like you’ve no choice - like you've decided, at least in this very moment, if Tzuyu can own a piece of your soul, you can take something too.

-

(The thing about a cautionary tale: sometimes it is really just a story. Sometimes it happens and the world is left unscathed. There were a lot of warning signs, yes. But this could be a coda, a moralistic adage, a story to turn the page on and laugh and be embarrassed by and say, oh, no, I'd definitely do better; a blip. We’d never do anything like that. It's all history, honestly.)

-

It's not romantic, and it's less gentle than you’d have expected: Tzuyu bites your lip at one point, and you grab her hip so hard she yelps. The pause in the after is filled with a provocation, a stare, a tilt of your head, and her saying, “hey, easy now.” You cup her face in your hands, and run your thumb over lips. The calm is pretty short-lived. She gets her hands working frantically to tear your shirt off over your head. Then it's a haphazard stumble into the doorframe of the bedroom, with her pulling you in too-hard by the waist, bumping your nose against hers in this rough meeting - until your lips fit together. 

“Mm,” Tzuyu’s mouth pushes insistently into yours and your tongue immediately laves at its underside, coaxes it to slide against yours and soon she’s sliding forward on purpose - on her own initiative, pressing the steady line of your cock against the seam of your pants, the pressure sudden.

"Watch it," you murmur, breaking away a little to glare at her, which just makes her smile, like she likes pissing you off or something, likes watching you get mad at her, or whatever - if she says it's true, then it is, probably - she's honest.

Her small hand darts up, gripping the sides of your jaw tightly and moving in, kissing like it's easy; like she knows what the fuck she's doing. Her head tilts and she does it again, except it's a few times in a row, making out in the doorway. 

"And if I say no?" She grins, hand at your dick again, just palming through the fabric and getting off on your soundless reactions to it all. "Like, is that really enough? I feel like you'd have to like - tie me up. Something - you know?"

"That sounds like a you problem."

A mischievous smile steals across her lips and you feel yourself doing the same. "Yeah, you're right," she responds, dragging her thumb and forefinger from the zipper of your jeans to the hard line of your cock, pinching gently along the shape. "It is my problem."

She feels pliant, more than willing, but it's a calculated type of softness. Still, you get a hint, a vague message and you figure, the way this girl's smirking in her lips: she likes being held down, held fast and steady, so you pin her wrists above her head - her eyes stay on you, don't drop; you pin her, and her expression becomes that shade more dark, more teasing. Oh, you'll go slowly, you think, until Tzuyu gives. You'll climb a hand further under her sweater, let it skim over her ribs. You'll kiss her again, open-mouthed, and slow, until she can't breathe.

Her head knocks into the wall, she bites and smiles like a promise, and all her muscle flexes under your grip. "Oh, seriously," Tzuyu whispers into your mouth. "Y'know, this is like a fantasy of mine.”

And that's kind of it: she has that look. In the morning, you can see yourself chasing her down into sheets - just pinning her with the weight of your whole body, feeling each tensed curve of her against you. She pulls you closer, into her; she seems the type.

"I’d really rather not hear that, Tzu.”

"And I want to hear you say please, more than anything," Tzuyu laughs at herself, something hard in it, "but I think you want to fuck me so bad, it'll come naturally. Like, the second you have your fingers inside me. And that's what you want, right? Tell me."

"I'm thinking about your legs,” you tell her, running your palm around the curve of her thigh. Fuck, she’s perfect. “Think they'd fit around my waist."

"And hook my ankles? I’d love that." Her eyes crinkle. "Is that it, though?"

"Maybe I'd keep my hand on your throat and fuck you like that, too. That's on the table."

Tzuyu laughs: a real, actual sound, but not at you. "It is. You're smart."

"To be completely transparent," you mutter. "I don't plan on asking you very nicely at all."

The lines in Tzuyu's face go a little blissful, contented, like she's so, so pleased with this, like she approves, and she kisses you again, the length of your bodies pressed together, except where her hips cant up and meet the space between your thighs. You drag a hand roughly along her waist, kneading muscle there, down to the rise of her jeans - which, fuck, you need to help her shimmy out of and find the pull of the sweater, whatever - and she grinds out some noise, something caught between her throat and her teeth, but mostly in the place where your hand's dragged under the material, tugging gently at the wire of a bra, and you'd actually kind of forgotten it was a thing.

It's when you hear her own rasp, when she slips the side of your zipper open with a few quick strokes, shoving her fingers inside to hold the base of your cock, that you finally decide:

She's yours and you'll prove it. You'll make sure she knows: the evidence, the fingerprints,  the bruises blooming the size of your thumbs and she'll be the one showing them off with pride. She'll let you do whatever you like, which'll be a lot. She'll appeal to all the worst parts of you; she'll say thank you; she'll whimper while you're pulling her bra off and simply letting it flutter to the ground; she'll be crying within the first half an hour of you touching her. You can read it right off her gorgeous face. She'll be so damn breathtakingly-pretty, bouncing on your cock, folded under your weight - it'll be incredible. She'll be yours.

"Come on," Tzuyu breathes. "Yes. Please," she adds, as though it's an afterthought, her free hand tangling in your hair, pulling. "Hurry, or something - I fucking love this but we need to- I’m literally going to, like, die if you don’t touch me right now."

"Yeah," is what you get out. Her jeans finally fall to her ankles and she kicks, to get them to puddle onto the floor. "Yeah. Alright, maybe."

You won't even need to hear her begging, you already know how she sounds: a little annoyed and very turned on, rolling her eyes at herself. This part - she's playing at resistance, but she's giving in. A kiss back, hotter than you were expecting, as you slip a hand up the back of her bare thigh and the edge of her underwear, a thin strip, like it's done on purpose.

When you tuck a finger inside the waistband, feeling a little guilty about the way her whole body reacts - the flex, the pull, the weight of all her muscle straining against how her legs fall open - Tzuyu manages, her face in the hollow of your cheek: "you've waited long enough, right?"

God, she knows where the wounds are still fresh. Which bruises will hurt most when she puts a finger right into one - a reminder you couldn't possibly ignore. She's playing this whole thing a little bit sadistically; she wants this to be your fault, you can tell.

And your mind isn't unbending. You push a finger into her cunt and the girl absolutely shakes apart, body jerking like you've severed a lifeline. She's so wet, and so pretty, so sensitive. Maybe you really have.

"Tzu," you tell her. The hand in your hair tightens, a warning, as you let two, then three, fingers shove inside her. She's breathless; the slow, rough motions, her entire body riding the heel of your palm. "Do you want me to tell you how good you are for me, right now? Is that it?"

"Yeah - do. Please, fuck - please say it."

"I was right," is what you manage, biting your tongue.

"Right?" She asks, her fingers locked, urging your thrusting to turn punishing. "Please."

"Do you want me to make this a nice, pretty little memory? Suck the bitterness out and - have something sweet to go back to, the next time someone hurts you."

"I can take it." She snaps, not even responding to your comment. "Tell me you need me and you're leaving me no choice."

You smile into her hair, because she's a dream. Your thumb pushes into her clit and you can feel her seize up with a pathetic whine.

"Pretty," you mutter, as she slumps her chest to yours. You kiss it right into her hair. “I need you, Tzu.”

And the idea's seductive: keep her pinned and fuck her right into the wall. See her wrecked by the end; the swell of her thumb bloody from how she was biting into it, how she's wrenching at your wrist. Your lips land over her collarbone - no, hers do, to the side of your head - she'd be bent in half if it wasn't for the wood at her back. Her leg crossed in the small of your back. A proper, all-consuming kind of wrecking, with your name on it.

"Yes." Tzuyu nods into your temple, “just- that.” 

You're kissing the crook of her neck; your fingertips sliding right against the end of her, your fingers pressing into her and stretching the girl to her limits, making her tremble in her own skin, making her insides melt for the next round, and the next round, and the next; the best, and worst, and longest-lasting kind of high. Your fingertips push together, flutter apart, and Tzuyu's eyes open all of a sudden, locking onto yours.

"Please," she gasps, this one thing. She has tears in her eyes: her face falls into your hands like water, a long drip, and she's all but unraveling.

"I'm going to make you cum, okay?" you tell her, and it sounds so sincere that she simply nods. She trusts you. Implicitly. You see how something in her relaxes, muscles unwinding as though for one last moment. Then you lean down, to her ear, to murmur: "say you're mine."

Her teeth are gritting. You can feel every last point.

"Just yours," she mutters, and it's barely even audible, but she'll say it: over and over, as her orgasm builds, before her mouth goes slack. "Always been. From the very beginning, please-"

“Fuck,” you bite down, and she looks like she’s won.

“So long, y’know?” she manages, in her halting voice, as if you haven't got two fingers up her sweet, perfect cunt, which is, currently, gripping the shit out of your hand, the hungry slutty muscle spasms, a slippery fist; it's not too hard getting Tzuyu to talk dirty and vulgar like a total degenerate - all it takes is the circle of your thumb and she’s perfect and pliant and absolutely out of her mind. “Since like, forever-”

You need her to stop. Need her to be quiet. Your palm lands over the shape of her mouth. She's murmuring something else, but it's muffled - and that's perfect, really. You’re not going to hell; all the devils are already here, getting off on the impropriety-

On the fucking drag of your fingertips. If it isn’t mean, it’s definitely cynical. Each curl of a knuckle unwinding her, a little more, a little further. The gush of her slick that’s collected on the webbing between your fingers is getting unruly, and you’re pressing her mouth flat against your hand, muffling the sheer appreciation.

“Shh,” you tell her, and she seems to calm - insofar you find a spot inside her that makes her eyes roll back and her chest shudder. “Don’t. Hold still for me, I want to watch you cum, Tzu.”

The only thing you can hear beyond the stilted breathing against your hand is her wet cunt getting stretched and fucked on your fingers. It’s so simple. So straightforward. The front of her orgasm makes her jolt against your hips and you pin her again, just to see those gorgeous eyes opening and shutting in sync.

It's this beautiful thing, watching her cum; her flushed cheeks, her pupils blown.

"Good girl," is the only thing you manage in response. "Such a good - such a good little-"

She moans into your hand and finally the muscles of her core tighten, tipping over the precipice as she tips back from the edge. "Ah, you - oh, it feels so-”

You tell her not to talk, and thumb her sensitive clit until the girl's screaming.

Her cries cut through the hallway: the friction, your movements - she's grinding desperate to ride her own orgasm. The absolute highs wracking her silent. She doesn't seem capable of getting off her tiptoes, or opening her eyes properly. Her mouth's still gaping beneath your palm with a whimper, her lungs heaving, and her cunt practically burning-hot - or, she just is, she's overheating, and everything else is burning around her.

"I'm going to fuck your pretty little cunt, Tzu," you tell her as her hips jump and her eyes open. You drop her leg, which buckles instantly. "You're going to be good for me, won’t you?"

"Yes, sir," Tzuyu promises you - it makes you wince - like she'd say anything else, with her hips pushing into your hand like she can't remember how not to. 

Even with her brain turning to mush, Tzuyu finds it within her to tease, to pull, to coax - as her slick slides down the seam between your fingers, like she's gushing, a wet ribbon coating the backs of your knuckles. There's a fantasy in it, you think - and it's always the unapologetic type, like, they never admit it: they want the dirt, the debasing. There's always a blueprint to it; they want to hear how terrible it is and then have some fun playing into it, playing a part.

Only Tzuyu’s lip is wobbling; she’s looking at you like you’re going to fuck her apart and she’ll thank you for it. There's no play. Tzuyu wants your cum and she's so open-legged about it you can't pretend it's not exactly that simple.

She’s going to fall apart if you don’t shove your cock in her tight cunt. You need to pin her there - fuck her until she’s shaking. You can already see the face she’ll make when you shock yourself inside her-

"What is it, baby?" you ask her, and a beat later, you draw your zipper down with a steady hand, the other working in her mouth, pressing down the tip of her tongue - not exactly holding, not exactly pulling out of her.

Tzuyu sighs, heavy on her eyelids and slow. Very pretty.

"I want-" Her head is lolling. She's in a daze, now, you can tell: her mouth wet and trembling, her legs kicking weakly, a full-bodied tremor overcoming her. Everything wraps around you as your cock slides inside her: the pale-soft underside of her legs, her slender arms. All those lovely, endless tensed lines, her strong abs. She can hold you like this, with only her abdomen tightening, the rest of her almost liquid. Her head knocks into yours. "Fu-fuck my cunt, fill it, please.”

You use the angle, the approach. Her pussy's practically spasming on the thick tip, milking the hardness there - but the deeper, more confident strokes, you feel it in every one of her shaky breaths. The only thing you can see is Tzuyu's dumb little doe eyes, the one-to-two second interval, fluttering in between slow, heavy blinks. The walls of her pussy are all at once so gentle and smooth, her cunt a plush, warm vice on your cock; she's clinging, and hot, and you're so buried inside you could probably pick her apart with a few words alone:

"Please," she's muttering to herself, and every single cry gets stuck in her mouth and vibrates between the both of you.

Your fingertips hook into the curve of her waist, until your nails are sinking into the flesh, pinching gently, and watching her expression twist, you grip her hips with all the bruising-strength in your hands, yank her back onto your cock. Her spine goes rigid as a line of curses fall like rain from her mouth. A shuddering gasp - you have to steady her against you, where her knees lock tight around your waist as though she's worried you're leaving, like she's scared you won't stay-

"Baby," you grit out, like you'd beg too, "Oh- fuck, my baby, you're - you're all mine, okay."

You bury yourself balls-deep - and there's no pretense, it's just you and her, the pace making Tzuyu's little repeating "ah" go choppy with your thrusting, her eyes clamping shut, her limbs locking around you.

"Too deep," she groans. "Jesus, it's-"

"Uh uh," you mutter against the bend of her chin, and press in, still, maybe just to spite her. "Fight me. If it's too deep."

There’s tears in her lashes, she’s sobbing; you’re fucking her so properly you think she wants to kill you. It might even be written into that glossy expression: death, your demise. But her pretty eyes glint with mischief and her lips split into a grin.

"Try me," and this laugh, coming up from your chest - low, amused. "Go ahead. Put my neck in your hand, if you want-"

There's only ever a couple of moves. Like in chess, the combinations repeat, patterns emerge. Tzuyu pulls into your kiss; her wrist pinned to the wall behind her with one of your hands, the other knocking her thighs apart. Her ankles hook into your hips, just as you knew they would. There are so few options for a person; the only solution's the natural one - the urge to match each other's needs; to lose yourself in the easy push and the easy pull.

It doesn't take long before she opens up beneath you: until there's nothing between the hard pound of your hips and her tender, creaming cunt. Then there's that final gasp, this violent pulse as she takes her hands back from you to cup around your ears and press her lips to the line of your cheekbones and nose and mouth, with her tear-slick skin and saliva and, god - she's a whimperer, you now know, but Tzuyu holds her body still enough to not sway. The picture-perfect example of a good little girl -

That's how you push your mouth to hers: the steady-languid thrust of your cock between the hot clamp of her legs. "Oh, god, you’re gonna make me cum again, christ," her cries go, all muffled, right into your lips. She’s a little lost. Fucked-out. Blissful.

It's not right, though; just pinning the girl against a wall - no, she deserves better. You don't let her fall as you drag her into the bedroom. Not until a tumble into the sheets. She doesn’t try to control the fall, you land on top of her, and Tzuyu laughs a little, but it dies into the hard breaths you can feel bouncing back against your mouth. Her soft thighs pressed beneath your weight, quivering still.

"Fuck your cum into me," She huffs out, softly, more air than noise. You’re practically crushing her. And then the tilt of her head, almost inviting, like a question. "Please. I want it."

In hindsight, the real memory of this moment will be a soft and lovely thing - fabricated mostly: her tiny frame shaking, trembling in its effort to take you in, her voice giving out around a cry as she cums again - there's something sacred there, surely, a holiness that isn't altogether safe, considering what this girl is.

You’ll try not to remember how you fucked her and buried your face between her tits, though she did look up at you through her tears and made it sound sweet, said your name just so, or even the fact that she watched her whole body get filled and only smiled with contentment. That part won’t survive - nor the fact you’ll hold the girl down later and cum inside her three times. Until she’s leaking. Details to be confined to Mina’s cabin-secrecy - or at least, to whatever depth of oblivion, past your will to suppress it, her mind reaches when you bury your hand in her hair and pull her head back to really make sure you've hit every corner of her and left your cum there, marking her insides, turning her warm.

And look, Tzuyu doesn't balk. Instead she lets you pull her in close, her nails raking into the nape of your neck, the muscles under your skin. She drags scratches down your back as you sink into her cunt, hot, willing - she’s so fucking wet you’re bottoming out in each sloppy thrust.

"Tzu," you can't stop yourself from muttering, almost reverent. You were right, on all accounts. The girl is a problem.

One that is currently collapsing under you. You push her knees up to her elbows, and all her weight melts under your hands, limp and helpless.

"Fuck, your pussy is unbelievable.” You shouldn’t be fucking her this hard, but, well, you are - “Tzuyu, baby,” and when your hand comes up to her jaw, she palms it. Takes your thumb into her mouth and sucks. Fuck, it’s all slipping, consuming, you need to cum in her, need to bury your cock deep in her cunt and cum right into that wet sopping mess. Fill her up where she’s molten hot and her walls are gripping you so hard they’re practically begging-

"Yeah," she repeats around the digit, flitting her tongue against your fingertip. “Yeah. Cum for me.”

That's how she likes it. She'll scream, if you let her. If you give her the deepest fill. She’ll apologize and she won’t know for what. You already know how her expression will shift as soon as it hits. Head falling back. Her hands fisting in your hair, the bedding - her knees nearly get drawn up, and you push them apart by your fingertips. She whimpers, and whimpers, and you can't stop from fucking the pretty noises right out of her lungs until she's dripping - soaking you, all over the sheets. You want her to feel it when you leave. Your presence. It’s only fair - she should remember some part of you, in exchange for what she’s traded and stolen away - ideally forever.

You thumb at the tear tracks and lift her by a fistful of that pretty dark hair. And for her, you can be kind, you let your lips graze hers. As tenderly as you can manage, which isn't much, but then the angle settles lower, your cock hits deeper, all the right spots - and god, Tzuyu is so easy to fuck. She slips a little, and you’re catching her, pushing deeper, harder - she’s easy to pound too, to hold down and smother and grind deep, to have under you, all boneless, insensible-

"So pretty for me, Tzu," you growl into the shell of her ear, because you can, and another stroke, another velvety drag has you cumming in her hot, little cunt.

Each throb brings more, pumping her full of your cum, and she likes it. Keeps muttering baby, baby please in your ear, and fuck, you almost slip a hand down and make her fall apart too - but - her fingers wrap around your wrist before they get there, so tight.

"Can feel it. So deep," she whispers, when your eyelids screw shut and the mess floods out of her - gets fucked right back in: your hot cum and her thick slick, the creamy mess leaking from her cunt. You pull your cock out halfway, and she does sob - that sounds just like you'd imagine, too. "Please. Oh, my god- sir. That's it. That's it, let it out, sir. Sir, all your cum feels so good in me - please. Please- just give it to me, sir, yes-"

She’s not even taunting or mocking on that ‘sir,’ you think, not the way she sounds now, the halfway-slur. It's all torn up and tired. It makes you press closer, making the head of your cock swell between the thin walls of her pussy. It hurts - the squeeze. And then the soft, pleading sound she makes.

"Anything for you, sweetheart," you groan, a last attempt at a condescending tone. But she's so raw, so broken down by now that nothing is quite right.

"Fuck," she mutters against your mouth, "fuck, thank you," and your palm drags down the length of her sternum, following the angle of her jaw, slipping your palm onto her tits, thumbing at the indent. It's soft, pliant skin, and you pinch: not anywhere sharp or cruel, not especially sensitive, just in a line below the ridge of her rib cage, and it's too pretty a picture not to smile at her, when her entire chest jolts at the contact, the intake of breath. "Sir. Fuck."

"I'm still fucking you later," you assure her, as if her breathing could've convinced you otherwise. "But I wanna hear your voice some more. Hum a little. Give me a yes, sweetheart. Can you do that?"

The noise is barely audible, almost nonexistent, except it is: she hums her assent as you dip two fingertips back into her swollen, well-fucked cunt, scooping out some of the mess. Your fingers hook into her cheek and her mouth opens, because she's so obedient, because that's why it has to be like this.

You rub her bottom lip. Her eyes open into yours; a wet mouth. It's impossible not to see what's right there. It's easy, really, to press through and in, and give her that taste, that warm, velvety brush, like she's been sucking your cock, and maybe - oh, yeah, you'll remind her about it tomorrow, how she's a needy little slut for it, can't get enough - how you could've fucked her face until she was drooling and out-of-her mind - but the way her eyelashes flutter against your touch; the look-

You’ll take your time. You know what she wants: more than anything. It's the thing you can read. Maybe the hot, sticky mess, the flush in her cheeks. A touch to her face. Your thumb in her mouth, too, stretching, prying, holding. More cum falling beneath her tongue, dripping in those gaping, half-open red lips.

She’s licking your load from your knuckles, your Tzuyu. You can’t believe it.

"Swallow," you tell her.

"Mmm," and it’s there: this gorgeous expression on her features, her eyelids dropping, the shimmer, the shine. You'd do anything to keep it there.

You let your thumb leave the corner of her mouth and it stays open, just the tip of her tongue darting out to taste what little she can. The rest of her lulls back with a satisfied murmur, eyes half-closed, clearly the type of content-afterglow of wanting the man who'd just ruined her. A gratitude, or a simple, silly thing, if he would just pick her up in his arms: "thank you, sir."

Her panties end up back around her hips, and a new shirt's thrown haphazardly on, a soft, gray cotton which rides down, slipping past one pale shoulder. And then she turns over, to the side, her back curling into the heat of your chest. There's no attempt at leaving or any plans either. The arm you've loosely wrapped around her waist simply tugs. It's not subtle or even nice: your hand rucks up the fabric and snaps the waistband, and the soft cotton doesn't stop it from being painful.

"Fuck me again." Tzuyu shakes off with a shrug. She's wiggling her ass, practically. She's not wrong, you suppose - your cock hardens easily, more of a reaction. "Are you just going to - keep teasing?"

“Such a brat,” you say, and that makes her whole body tense; she makes the most beautiful sounds for you, but words, praise, humiliation - those always hit harder. You know your girl.

"Your brat," says Tzuyu, easily. "You can do whatever you want." 

Your grip on her hip is brutal. Of course you know. That doesn't mean you can't look for loopholes, anyway, right? You don't move, but the threat's there.

The look she shoots over her shoulder is smug. "I like it rough, or something. Doesn't it make you mad that someone could've had me before?"

"Should I be?" You're swiping your cockhead through her folds before you have a chance to say, "Should I care that some guy's had my little cocksleeve before? Should I be angry that someone used my pretty toy before I got to?" You thumb at the tightness, and Tzuyu gives up the front immediately and jerks her hips backward. "If I wasn't the first?"

"Not exactly," comes Tzuyu's mild answer, "not if I was always thinking of you. Plus, they didn't make me feel like that." She tips her head up, to nip at your jaw. She's smiling so fucking coy when she adds: "please, don't hurt me too bad."

You wrap your hands around her. Press a kiss into her shoulder.

“Or do, maybe. Whatever feels natural, you know," she bites down.

"The hickeys are going to be difficult," you agree. "People are gonna see them and they'll picture themselves, probably, with you spread out, huffing, gasping - fucking you out of a brain."

"As they should," she says, and then hums this low, heartfelt note into the mattress. "So how hard can you do this, hm?" She's moaning into the pillow as you slip back into her cunt, but it's a challenge, the tilt in her voice. "Like, if I ask, real nicely."

Who’d have ever guessed she was so filthy. All hidden behind the pristine, the perfection. The prim girls are always the worst: all that beauty means more to them wrecked than revered - it means they've won, again.

Well, that works just fine. She's won you over.

You lean into her shoulder, murmuring, “you’re pushing your luck here, Tzu.”

“Am I?” Her head tilts back until it finds the curve of your jaw. Those deep brown eyes flashing. She knows what’s coming, her pussy tightening prettily. "I'm sorry, sir. I’ll clean up my act."

And the little smile. The fucking dimple, proudly stitched into her cheek - right as you pull her back onto you again, your length working its way slowly into her cunt. The way her ass fits in your hips lets you know you're no match for this girl: how unbelievably good it feels to be inside her. Hot, tight, wanting. Pressed tight between her gorgeous thighs.

“Guess I never noticed,” she says, before falling quiet with the soft punch of breath as you drag her backwards, against your body and the rocking press of your hips. Her eyelashes tremble while your cock nudges its way fully inside her pussy. The rest, as it seems, is silent: only the crash of skin, the sound of your breathing.

You’re already gathering her hair into your fist when you tug her back to your waist, mouth hovering right at the shell of her ear: "fuck, you take my dick like you're made for it. Do you even know how good your pussy feels? I'll ruin you if you let me. We can find out together," you tell her, pulling her back onto your cock. A wordless, pained, perfect whimper.

Tzuyu lets herself go slack against your chest.

She's taking you like a dream and that's it, that's enough, all you've got to say, and Tzuyu, jesus-fucking-christ, she does it with a laugh: this awful, melodic, bright, sweet, airy fucking thing: "don't fucking test me, Tzuyu -" you repeat, a warning.

Tzuyu bats those long lashes, like it'll mean anything, like this isn't all the proof you need. 

"Okay. Don't tease, then.” Her hand reaches up to the nape of your neck, finds your body close and hot. She sighs. “I want to feel it, sir. So much that I can't walk after. That I'll still have you in me. I want it all to hurt. Is that too much?"

All she does is try to hide her smiles, and she's terrible at it. There's a gasp buried underneath her giggling, one that Tzuyu loses every time she moves her body with yours. There are only two conclusions now: either she's that perfect of a fuck or she's as full of shit as you are. Either way, the dimple's giving her away - her smile, her lips, the full, syrupy brown of her gaze.

Tzuyu wraps that leg up and back around you and the angle is devastating.

"Baby, I want you- I want your cock deeper - yes, baby. Deeper - as deep as it'll go. I want you to fuck me until I can’t think, until there's nothing I can do. Seriously. Fuck me." 

Her hand dives over the shirt; there's no question when your gaze follows the trail she takes over her tensing body, over the curve of her breasts and down to where she's dragging at her pussy, where she's exposed herself. She finds the space and lets the fingertips flutter down, onto her needy, swollen clit; the place where your bodies join and separate; the throbbing pulse of her pussy.

"And then fuck me some more,” she adds, like that'll help. Her pussy fits you like a glove - it’s not fair. It’s not right.

But she's so beautiful up close, eyes fluttering in pure, concentrated rapture as she loses the tension in her face - one more thing that the facets, angles, and shades of Tzuyu become, something you tuck away in a vault somewhere safe; a secret just between the two of you.

Her hand runs up your thigh, fastens back on your hip. “You owe it to me, to use my body a little bit, don’t you think?”

There's no sense fighting it, not anymore - maybe there never was - and when you grip Tzuyu's upper thigh, tilt her leg upwards, she gives you an anticipatory hum. This light sound. An ankle lands over your hip, and what follows is a tight, enveloping slide, your cock buried in her wet pussy. So close together that she can't move much at all except to take it - the hard thrust, the one that forces its way up to the hilt. She's impossibly, overwhelmingly soft, a pleasure unlike any other. The absolute worst kind.

She knows exactly the danger of getting involved with you, and when she cums, once, again, and once more - her eyes water, her voice flooded - you think, so do you.

-

It’s in the hours of the morning that’re not quite today, nor quite tomorrow when Tzuyu leans on the end of the bed as she stretches. A loose t-shirt is draped over her petite body - you glance over at her as the bottom of the fabric lifts, exposing more skin across her legs. No matter the circumstances, the space she inhabits will always feel charged. She could wear a potato sack and have the same effect, you suppose, because that's just how she is: Tzuyu is magnetizing.

"That is definitely not yours," you say, finally.

The girl has a lovely arch to her back, a golden glow of perfection that you can't find elsewhere. That's when Tzuyu laughs and spins around. "Is that a question?"

You only have yourself to blame. Of course it's not hers. The shirt's oversized and could fit all five feet, eight inches of her like a tent. It doesn't belong to her, but her heart-shaped lips make you feel stupid, so you're giving her a second chance. You really need that shirt back. You packed light, it's your favorite tee, it’s a family heirloom, or something - whatever makes her get it off, you guess. You sit up against the bed, and watch her fingers hook into the hem as it slowly peels off from her frame.

And that is - a vision.

You already knew - but it's worth repeating, or forgetting your name and every last bit of your existence for; the sharp collarbone, the striking red lines beneath them, the palest, sweetest chest. Her breasts, a bit smaller, a bit rounder than normal (not that you would know), sit heavy in her hands, soft and full - oh, the hickeys, the perfect peaks and the bruised nipples - she's an aphrodisiac.

"I want one later," she tells you, and runs a hand over her breast, pressing against the angry red marks that color the pale skin.

"A shirt?"

She turns back toward the mirror, an image reflected tenfold - a beautiful flush on her high cheekbones. It's only a small win to think that those rosy cheeks are there because of you. Only a little one, if at all. "One of yours, sure."

You laugh, but she looks taken aback. "What, you mean like a keepsake?"

"Hey, if it smells good." Tzuyu brings up the neckline to her nose, eyes fluttering shut for a brief second before they snap closed. "Yes. Like a keepsake, is that so unnatural?"

"Has anyone ever told you that you are, like, really forward." You thought you knew, but there's this part of you that wonders. Why the sudden revelation. "Not that it isn't obvious. I meant...with the rest. Just to clarify."

"With sex, you mean?" Her smile turns a little sheepish. "I can tone it down a little. I don't even notice sometimes, I just talk."

You walk forward and wrap your arms around her waist. You fit easily around her. "Don't," you say, quietly, against the back of her neck. "It's nice, in a way."

She cranes her head to trade the reflection of your eyes for the real thing. Her body is soft, warm. "You like to talk too."

"Right."

"Your favorite past-time."

"Point taken." Your thumb runs down the middle of her breast and traces her nipple. It's tender, you note. You can’t really keep your hands off her waist, or stop touching her tits - because who would ever let something so delightful pass them by? Not you. No way. "Want to hear a story?"

"If it's coming from you," she whispers, a little smile, a lot of entendre, "I’ll listen to anything."

"Do you see the wall over there?" You nod to the window. She follows it with her gaze, her chin jutting towards your shoulder, her long neck arching. It's hard not to kiss it. There's a clear stretch of drywall beside her desk. She nods. "When I came here with Sana and Mina last," and your nose presses into her hair, inhaling her, the way she smells like something tropical: vanilla and citrus. Something far from here. "I put up a few paintings. I'm handy sometimes, a hammer seeking a nail sorta thing."

Tzuyu almost snorts, and sways a bit in your grasp. You tighten your hold, not wanting to drop her. "Oh?” she teases out, suggestive. “Show me."

-

(You shouldn’t. You can’t stop, frankly. Fucking Tzuyu is in its own category: the luxury, the treasure, the extravagance; feeling between your fingers the finest silk, the richest cashmere.

Her palms slide higher up the wall, fingers splayed. The curve of her back, the pull of her hair. Tzuyu kissing you like the world will end and the moon will be the first to know, her fists curling into your back, a furious, frantic urgency - Tzuyu fucking you. Well. Tzuyu always, always kissing you; it's the universe resetting, it's a timeline rewritten, it's trading everything sweet for salt, giving you teeth and tongue, the insides of her lip rubbed raw - she tastes like 80 Proof, a sticky, melting liquor, and it goes down too easy. "Why are you making this hard for me." It's not a question, her face in your neck - then she says, like there's a hundred other things, a hundred thousand ways you can ask:

"What makes you think I want to make this easy?")

-

The power goes out early in the morning.

Which means you're in the dark. But, it's alright. You consider for a moment the omen-like timing, if such an idea is ludicrous in the first place. This could be a metaphor. After all, what is Tzuyu if not a classic trope? It isn't fair to judge anyone based off their flaws. For starters, you have more than you can count. You consider a moment longer, that the timing isn't metaphor-worthy. After all, if this was a punitive force, you're certain that it would've been more apparent, more explicit, if the electric panel had burst into flames or the cable box was shot-out; something bigger, flashier, less like something that you'd play up for theatrics. And it probably would've been when you had the girl on all on fours, your handprints seared into the round of her ass-

Or, when she got on her knees. The snap of darkness setting in as you slipped your cock out of her lips and spilled a rope of hot cum on her face, in her hair. The way she just relaxed into it, a reverence to her being baptized, kneeling. “Oh, Tzu,” you said, with a fist around a cock, and jerked the rest right out on her tongue. You probably would have heard her sniffle after, still recovering from her choking a bit.

Or, when you had half a mind to kneel down between her legs in the shower, suck her clit until she was dripping, fucking her open with your tongue; you could taste her sweat, her slick, and imagine how hard it must be to put up that front: biting into a washcloth, trying not to fall apart.

(Karma arrives late, or it doesn't arrive at all. Or, something. Who knows. It doesn't matter. The outcome would have remained the same.)

Tzuyu opens the sliding glass door to the balcony.

You watch her from behind - there's a small pile of snow at the edge. The whole mountain has gone into complete darkness. No moon, no lights, no light poles, or blinking bulbs or strobe signs or house lights - just night. How eerily romantic, that. And if there was an excess amount of snow before, it only got heavier, thicker, now weighing on the steel bars of the railing.

Tzuyu rests her hands there, leaning her hips a bit forward, so far that her knees lock. Her back bends. "It's so weird," she breathes out, and you can see your exhales, both of yours. "I feel like you and I are the only ones here right now. Everyone else is probably taking shelter. Maybe the power went out for everybody."

"Maybe."

"It's all a bit spooky. Or creepy. But, exciting too, yeah?" She turns, just enough. Her fingertips run along the side of her face. "In the mountains, yes." She doesn't even need to say the rest, doesn't need to ask: does that appeal to you? All this isolation? I could scream and scream and nobody would ever hear it. I'm yours to fuck, to have, to own, to do anything to-

"It'll probably be fixed in the morning," you tell her. "Who would turn it back on tonight. To this place. They'll start at the closest areas to town and go out from there."

"Mina has a generator," Tzuyu supplies helpfully. "No living clue where."

"Want to look for it?"

She lets her head tilt, as if to follow the expanse of trees leading up into the rocky ground. "Would it kill us to wait for tomorrow?" Her bare toes curl into the floorboards. The blanket stays wrapped tightly around her shoulders, and a single line of her wrist can be seen when she tilts her arm a certain way. "We won't die or anything."

You wouldn't die, not before being smitten with a different death, falling headfirst and in love; and that's what you've felt since the start, since the beginning: you've always wanted more. It was always inevitable, her letting her weight fall backwards, in the living room - all your filthy secrets falling out. It felt like the sky had dropped. All over the bedroom floor.

"Then let's get some sleep," you say, but still step closer, as you do with anyone, to brush aside the strand of hair over her ear.

-

It feels like the temperature must have dropped dramatically. Not that it bothers either of you very much, you note, when you move under the blankets together. Some might feel embarrassed by the necessity, but then, most aren't half the people that you both are.

Tzuyu presses her fingers under her thigh to keep her legs shut. To avoid the cold, she claims, but you can hear the slippery noises that her cunt makes as her body shakes with each thrust of her fingers. You almost suggest that you heat her up in an entirely different fashion, but the smile, her smile, gets the best of you. Instead, you let yourself touch and trace, and feel her wherever it may land. There's no sense in pretending either, so you tangle yourself into her: a finger between her legs. Another in her palm, resting against her hip. When you press your thumb against her cunt, she begins to smile, too, as if to show you exactly what kind of person she is. That is to say, completely insatiable.

You let your free hand slip under her chin. Tilting her head up, exposing the faint pulse-points. You wonder if she's imagining the things you'd do if the snow never cleared: toying with her hair, petting the top of her head, speaking pretty and dirty and pressing kisses against her bare back, in a rhythm, as you fuck her without care - something close and tight like the little noises she makes and how they die off, finally, when you push your cock deeper, still.

There are no words between you anymore, maybe - but she's not laughing, and you're not angry, and it's only one second before your mouth is on her neck, kissing the column of her throat. It's easy to sleep with her - so, so simple, if not anything else.

"I don't have anything in the morning," you murmur to the top of her shoulder, barely moving as not to break the moment. To tell her it's fine to leave her body or keep it forever. Either way. Both, if it's an option.

She smiles. Her eyes are still closed. "It'd be weird if you did."

She can be a tease - a complete brat - sometimes. Like now. But then again, who would you be if not the person who falls for exactly that.

And that is a weakness: you have a very specific kind of hunger, that won't fade, that can only be sated. She knows it, and yet her coy grin remains. It's a habit, not a mistake. "Yeah, well," you lean up onto your forearm, pressing the knuckles of your right hand against her soft cheek. "This is the most inconvenient of all places, but- don't worry about it."

"Meaning?"

"I don't think they sell birth control or morning after pills or anything up here," you explain, lightly. Your gaze passes from her eyes to the pink of her bottom lip and back, again.

"Do I look like I'd care?" Tzuyu sighs and takes your wrist, pulling your arm over her body. "I know what I'm doing," she adds, which might actually be a lie. "Obviously. You don’t need to pretend you’re like, responsible, or whatever."

Yes, obviously. As if it was all as easy as pulling strings, deciding exactly which points to tease, to stress. You should know. You just kissed and held down and fucked and fucked your cum into this one: you know how to move her strings better than any.

-

You flip the switch in the kitchen. Up, down, up, down: except, nothing. The electricity is still decidedly off by mid-morning, and you and Tzuyu end up having actual, quality, conversation. 

You sit her on the kitchen counter - though it’s not fated to last long, because her legs loop around your waist, and she tugs your sweats down as you try to fix the two of you lunch - Tzuyu gets what Tzuyu wants, of course - so you're standing there fucking her while her head leans back on the cool marble, her silky dark hair tumbling off the end of the counter.

She ends up propped up on one elbow. Eyes hazy and half-lidded, fixed on the glide of you into her creamy folds, spreading her wider, wider.

Tzuyu asks questions - all innocuous, at least to the ear. About your past. Who you were before all this. Whether you want kids, when, whether you were religious, once. She gets personal before you have her cumming and incoherent: how you sleep, in what positions. How often you jerk yourself off. What you're thinking of when you do. How you'd use her - not the lewd version, the spitting, filthy iteration, just the you and her and her being yours part. And she gets specific about that. She'll slide up to you and bury her nose in your throat, wrap her arms around your shoulders, mumble about wanting you closer - you feel her, maybe more than you should - but every few seconds you're sliding home into that pussy and her chest heaves out a deep breath-

"I want what's in here," she finally says, her delicate palm cupping your balls. She's pulling you into her on each stroke like the fucking sun's gone out and this is her last chance - she's magnetism, gravity, a blackhole you'd give up the rest of the universe to. She's got one fist on your shirt, and the other hand on your sack, and her pussy's fluttering around you, and she's watching you watching her, and it's infinity:

"The idea of you." Tzuyu smiles at the way your eyes narrow, the way the word turns itself over and over on your mind, her. She tilts her face to look at your expression. "Like, in here. All your cum. There's so much. Can I please have it-"

You swear.

"Pretty please, baby," Tzuyu's asking if you'll fill her up, if you'll make her your cumdump, keep fucking her even with all your cum inside her, asking what the worst of your fantasies are - you fuck harder, deeper, and she nods eagerly, tightens that fist in your shirt. "Can you give it to me? Please, it's the only thing I need, and we both know I always need something, please."

"Jesus fucking christ," you tell her, helpless, and it's never felt better: her cockwarming on your lap, her teasing and teasing until your self-control's paper thin - won't you? won't you? fucking breed this slutty little cunt? won't you cum until I'm so full it's spilling out-

The snap. Like falling, it’s something you notice right away, but only ever understand a long ways down. 

"Yours," moans Tzuyu, half in an accusatory fashion - fuck - she's almost gasping: "fuck - just use me, use your cumdump, 'cause you'll never have a tighter cunt than this."

God. Damn. Her. You cum so hard it aches, and there's no hesitation:

"My cocksleeve, my good girl, shit-"

"You could leave a baby in me, even, just like that. Couldn't you. Isn't that hot. And nobody could do a fucking thing." Tzuyu’s tits are spilling out the sides of her camisole and she looks like pure porn, in person. Your cum is dripping out of her and you watch as it spills on the marble.

"Is that what my girl wants? 

She smiles, again, so prettily.

“You wanna be full of cum, is that it?" You grab Tzuyu's hair; pull just enough to get the point across. "Is that it? You're a perfect cumslut who needs all that fucking cum, huh? Wants it pumped deep? You like being full of it, right Tzu? This needy little cunt loves the thought of getting bred? Knocked up? Goddamn, Tzu."

"That's me," agrees Tzuyu, in the afterglow. Dimple dug deep. "Yeah. Your personal cumslut, sir."

She just grins when you reach between her thighs, pressing your fingers into the cum you've fucked into her, before you decide that the wet warmth is yours and you’re going to fuck her even further into delirium.

Her hips come up off the granite, desperately.

"Uh-huh," she mumbles, already drifting - you put her off her balance, for real. "God, yes, please," she's whispers, as if all the ways you'd ruin her were prayers, like she wants to start a new religion all her own: you're a god, and it's all about Tzuyu - just you, and her, asking, again, the questions piling on top of other ones, the sweet drawl, the sinful want, the curiosity-

Fuck. She wants everything about you, your dirty secrets and your nice manners - the stories behind your scars, your funny little quirk of raising just one eyebrow at a time-

You turn her around. She's made for this, intelligently designed: her tiptoes just touching the floor, the delicious curve of her lower back, your cock sliding effortlessly into her and hitting a spot she arches into like it's divine intervention and that pussy making its first church of your name. The cum you'd already left in her cunt is making everything wetter, making those obscene sounds echo in the space around the two of you. It's rapturous; you let her feel it slow, and deep, and it’s bliss.

“Tighter,” you growl into her ear, and her cunt clenches like you own it.

The girl's figure is pristine, an ass that belongs under spotlights, on camera; those thick lips, the curtain of her hair when she tips her chin down. It's all been in magazines, billboards, it's been idolized - she is the icon and you're the follower, but, this weekend, here and now-

"So. Fucking. Good-" she gasping, falling apart. She’s collapsing and it’s not even noon.

"Oh, the world knows." You pull her up, hold her body in yours and snap into her cunt. Her skin's hot, feverish, the light that filters through the blinds and the snow slows outside.

It all happens without a moment’s notice - Tzuyu reaches behind and clutches your thigh, as if she could ever pull you deeper, like it wouldn't tear her in half. But you find yourself in a position to grab the edge of the counter; your phone buzzes. It's Sana, probably asking what's up. You want to ignore it and keep fucking Tzuyu from behind. You want to hold her hips, be mindful of the marks, the bruises, sink your fingers into her hair, her tits - you end up murmuring things like please and fucking perfect and if we were a little more religious then you'd be a sin to remember-

Fuck, you're cumming again. The writing’s on the wall as soon as your cock makes her breath draw short and her eyelids snap shut. She’s exquisite, a masterwork - you’re painting in broad strokes, all over the beautiful curves of her ass - not only because you’ve needed to see it cast in hot streaks of white, all debased with your cum, but simply to prove a point; to say that you can. You cum on her cheeks, her cunt, you pump your fist around your shaft and cum in the crotch of her panties too.

"That's it, Tzu," you croon, "look at that," your spent cock twitching against her plush thighs, her dripping pussy lips, and she's sagged forward, onto the counter, your thumb running through a particularly thick rivulet. Her face dips down, pressed to the cold surface, and the words coming out aren't coherent, are just filthy and true; but they're there: she's taken you and kept you, all for herself.

(Thank you, she says, for making me into your little cockwarmer, your toy, for breaking my fucking cunt, baby - thank you, please, thank you-

You could end your career tomorrow, it wouldn't matter. Just saying, man. This girl, fuck.)

There’s a beat, the strained breathing, the panting, the disbelief. She ends up kissing your chin after sliding back to her feet, a saccharine imitation of chaste. Pulls up her shorts without a second's consideration. Her panties, still sticky with your spend - well. She puts those back, too, grinning dreamily. 

Oh, how is a woman like Tzuyu even real, huh? You really do need to find out, somehow.

"Your imagination is…" you say, your tone flat. “I swear.” But you don't deny that the sex isn't. You don't think of her that way. She doesn't ask you for your hopes or your dreams or the full gambit of life, as some people might. She asks about what you think about at three am when she's got one hand on her tits and one on her clit and one finger in her mouth:

"Anything we can think of," she corrects, her long limbs squeezing her tighter to your front. Her grin bright, so perfect she's beyond believable, and how can such a dissonance exist in something, someone, you're holding on to? "I mean, we can if you want."

-

"Maybe we'll talk about that - how you can handle me," is what Tzuyu rasps, softly, tying her hair up afterwards: and you realize this is her post-coital. For her, sex makes her nice. Sweet.

You've already fixed her lunch; Tzuyu comes to sit down at the table with you. "Like, for future reference." You're raising an eyebrow. She grins at that, kicks her feet. Her hips don't do the same, though - no doubt still a little sore, like her lips. She's worn out, finally. She won't try to slice off and claim any more of your aching soul.

“You have no business thinking about babies.”

“Tell that to my ovaries.”

"You have a breeding kink, is what it is, really. I’m being completely serious."

"Well, am I pregnant yet?" Tzuyu flutters those lashes, puts those big pretty eyes on full display. "No? Then I'm getting off on something else, clearly, isn't it obvious, like maybe there's something about being on the other end of someone so big. Have you considered how wet you make me when you-"

"Tzuyu, cut it out," you chide her. The little brat's giggling. You aren’t going to let her know how pretty the noise is.

"Fine." She reaches across the table, puts her small hand on your larger one. "Like I said - how to handle me." Her tone is placating, the sharp edge to her personality blunted. It's different with Tzuyu - after sex, she gets like this: playful, easy, fond. The mess you've just made, the cunt you've stuffed full, that's another Tzuyu altogether. "For your... benefit."

"My benefit, really?"

"Aside from getting my brains fucked out," she explains, "is what I meant."

"Not making this easier, babe."

Her mouth curves a slow smile. She likes when you call her names, cute shit like that.

"I need to call Sana back," you explain, finally.

Tzuyu nods.

"In a bit," you add. "Also," you're saying, leaning forward. Her head tilts toward yours.

She's receptive, her whole body pliant and lazy, after that, well, marathon - she'll roll with whatever you're suggesting. This has always been a dream to her, she's mentioned. (Who has dreams like that? Someone so young, that innocent - well, yeah.)

But you kiss her temple, lightly. "Gimme a minute."

Tzuyu blinks, in that catlike way she has of staring, intent. Her mouth slightly pouty.

"Then you get your turn," you offer.

"Deal," she nods.

And that makes her beam - your beautiful, very good, very perfect, little toy.

-

"You're going to have to slow down," you tell Sana over the phone. "I have zero reception up here, sorry."

"The highway is shut down, I literally can't get to the other side of town," she yells over the sound of tires rolling on snow. Sana does not sound in the best spirits. If anything, she sounds slightly desperate. "Part of the mountain collapsed on a cliff somewhere. Fuck's sake. The weather is still terrible and they're shutting everything down. Literally shuttering every road off the base of the mountain."

"You sound good," you deadpan, and when Sana grumbles, say, "try the next exit, head around and take a back road-"

"Yeah, except it's snowing like nobody's fucking business right now - I'm not going to risk exposure to try to get there on my own."

"What should I do?" you try, a bit helpless. "Stay here?"

"Why are you even asking," Sana scoffs, "yes, stay there, stupid. Tell Tzuyu you can't drive in snow, that she can't possibly expect me to deal with any of you leaving a safe situation." There's another brief pause. "Ah, seriously, there is not a single living human being near here that can be helpful - and they're supposed to bring us new tires? Here? No, fuck's sake."

"Oh," is all you say.

"Don't worry about me." Sana's voice goes up a notch. "Just be there, alright? Stay warm, okay?" A crackle, more radio waves or distance.

"Text me," you urge. "Tell me you're getting in safe."

"Of course, of course," and that's when you get the click, the abrupt disconnection. You stare at the device in your hand and consider the possibilities, and the outcomes, and how to stay sane while alone with temptation incarnate for a couple nights.

Maybe this really is hell. Or it's a trial. There’s the storm, and there’s your angel, contextually out of place. You're incapable of controlling yourself, clearly.

You sigh, let your gaze slide. The lights are still out, and in their absence, Tzuyu has dragged every available blanket or bed sheet within her reach into the living space, spread a dozen pillows across the sofa and is now occupying one of the corners: there's a book, opened onto her lap, as her nails run circles down the blanket draped over her lower back.

"Tzu, what exactly did Mina mention to you about the generator," is the first thing you blurt, upon entry, and Tzuyu smiles, holding up the page against the fading daylight - which is currently hardly much. "Better question: how are you able to read in the dark?"

"Takes a lot to shake me off, honestly,” she says, which you already know to be true. “Also my eyes aren't old like yours, so."

"Wow."

"What?" Tzuyu grins, tilts her chin. "Do you want me to say that you're ageless? Thirty, flirty and thriving. So impressive, your youthful vigor, that sort of deal? How attracted I am to your experience," the insinuation, this sudden intimacy. She laughs. "Seriously. Let me read."

"Apparently we're going to be stranded for a few days."

"That's cute." She pauses. "Sucks for Sana."

"You don't know what sucks for Sana."

She peeks over the corner of the page, then, grinning, the teeth of a joke. "What's on the menu, then? Hm? So far, the best part was waking up beside you," and you almost grin, at how honest she manages to be without seeming conceited. How shameless Tzuyu has become in the ways of liking you, and maybe a bit of who she thinks you are. And why that's dangerous, really, and it makes the guilt burrow down beneath your ribs a bit: "my ass hurts," she's complaining now, which is only going to encourage the teasing-

"As it should," you comment, then watch her eyes sharpen, glint with mischief. "Oh," you realize, with a shrug, "do we get to cuddle again."

(Let's hope, for a moment, this isn't really karma. Because really, it'd just be an uncalled-for injustice: Chou Tzuyu delivered down on all fours, head tucked into your thighs as a fist grabs a handful of her hair, a slow push and pull - your cock sinking into the velvet warmth between her lips, again, again, and again until she's ruined and crying and still swallowing you whole - as she, not the universe, forces a massive dose of her own medicine down your throat. You see how that might not be quite fair.)

"But I'll have to leave again," you're protesting - no heat, no vitriol. "There's, like. Stuff I gotta grab."

"Then grab me," she sighs, pats her lap, "read over my shoulder. Make out with me. Just keep me warm. That'd be very helpful, and I would be so grateful."

Well, fuck. You're not one for inflating egos - at least not anybody else's - especially when, unchecked, that tends to do the exact opposite of keeping them grounded.

"Fine," you're muttering, and you clearly have a habit for capitulation wherever Tzuyu is concerned, the quirk in her lips, the quiet pride in her dimple, the cadence in her speech - which she's already smug about.

"Wonderful." She taps the back of her fingernail against a book page, waits, just a few more seconds, her grin spreading as you begin to fumble around. "Please," she says, flicks her gaze back down, a tease, "take all the time you need."

-

The thing about mountain air is it has a way of clearing your head, cooling down the frenetic thoughts of indecision and uncertainty and moral conflict.

Well, maybe that's a slight overreach, the mountains also have a way of getting you killed, but the intention was to look upon the white caps and ponder. It didn't work.

-

You eventually find the generator. You hear the clicks of metal and electrical wiring, the roar of the motor kicking on, a steady hum. Then, Tzuyu pokes her head out from behind the shed, her cheeks tinted a warm pink; her eyebrows rise up a beat.

"Yes?" you prompt.

"Is it working?"

"Does it look like it's working, miss?"

"Looks a-okay to me," and she presses the heel of her mitten into her teeth, tries to bite it back down her wrist; she stumbles, a moment, slightly clumsy in the snow. You instinctively reach out. Your hands brush the outer seam of her pajamas, the heavy fabric of her coat - "oh," you can feel the instant the shivers start, "fuck, I'm cold.”

“We’re both probably pretty due for a hot shower,” you say.

"Yeah, you came in my hair. Er, sorry, I meant, we both need a hot shower."

"It was really adorable when you were rutting back on my dick like some horny animal," you snort. "Admit it."

"No comment."

"So shy."

Her smile cracks open, and her breath is a white plume. "Fuck you."

"Sure, babe," you're agreeing, the tone almost saccharine. "If you insist."

She blinks back in mild surprise, the blatant answer - and god, her fucking eyes: soft, dark, her eyelids barely lift up. Even when they should've narrowed. That was another thing to learn. (Maybe, god - who knows, maybe she's still learning how not to care.)

She runs a hand through her hair. The scarf around her neck is fluffing up. There's white clumps settling on the fibers, slowly dissolving into a damp mess.

"Listen," Tzuyu murmurs, wraps an arm around yours to help herself up. 

Your palm settles on the round of her thigh. She shifts, her hand dropping lower - tugs at your arm until she has an elbow in hers. The backs of her knuckles settle against your hip bone, her fingertips sliding across the waistband: you walk backwards through your snowprints, gently - the side door to the cabin is unlocked - Tzuyu's stumbling toward it.

"Going to the shower, we're turning the water on," she explains. You grin, feel your own arm, a slow drag around her lower waist; she tilts into it, steps closer. Presses a finger to your chest: "dinner's gonna be in half an hour," she announces, "and before you ask, I've been craving those boxes of instant mac & cheese in Mina's pantry."

"I haven't had one of those in ages."

"Me neither," and with her heel, she kicks the side door shut; Tzuyu yanks on a cord, pulls the blinds closed. It's pitch black. You're chuckling low, turning around - one of Tzuyu's hands smacks over a nearby light switch, illuminating the room just a shade lighter than it was prior. She presses a hand to your chest, a single-minded goal to your front.

You put your hands on her hips.

"It's the kinda thing that makes me feel like a kid again," you hear her say, just slightly; that, and how the white fabric of her sweater twists, pulled to a single point.

"Happens," is the best explanation you can give. She slaps the lightswitch again. Kisses you. You shove a leg forward. She whines. "Be good," you're chiding, though you both stumble until her back is pressed against the wall. "You were just complaining that you're still sore."

"Maybe I can't help it, maybe that's all on you," the end of the sentence fades. Her nails slide up the sleeve of your arm. There's the soft hitch of a moan. "It's just you. So unfair." She rubs up. Swallows like it's instinct, at the slightest hint of friction. You curl your hand, your thumb grazes the waistband of her underwear; her fingertips tighten, her blunt nails sink deeper - press like she means something else, wants something more.

It'll be a few days, at least, more likely a week; and by then, this girl will have you right where she needs you. She's proven, time after time - you can never just say no.

-

The days bleed together after the snow.

You fuck her, but slower; sometimes softer, a little less raw, the hurt. Not that you'd ever try to take too much: the thought is unthinkable, un-imagined. Infinitely impossible. You'll pull out and empty everything you have, paint her skin, make her ache, fuck until you know exactly where the bruises are and how to touch them, how to breathe the hurt down from her ribs.

But some mornings: she rolls over onto her side, opens her eyes and smiles. Brilliant like the sun, something that would warm your heart even without trying. Some afternoons, you put the fire on; read something aloud from Mina's bookshelves, and watch the red-orange flames turn Tzuyu's cheeks and neck pink and honey. Evenings, especially the colder ones, you're wrapping her up, blankets, sweatshirts, pulling her close: into bed with the lights turned off. She wants the touch, she craves it, she'll almost whimper when you get near her - and it's you, whispering words against her ear; tracing fingertips lightly against her temple, down the nape of her neck, her lower lip-

"How come you don't kiss me, hm?" She sounds sleepy. "Baby. Don't pretend you're a stone. Like, an unfeeling brute."

"I have my limits, princess."

"Like not kissing someone you're fucking." Her face drops from your sight, and Tzuyu turns over: she curls into her comforter, and her legs nudge the back of yours. "That's so fucking cruel," her voice a little whiny. "But okay, okay - tell me the reasons. Just so we can keep going."

"Keep going, huh. Even though I'm mean."

"Well, yeah, I've done much, much worse," the worst, if you think about it; and it's almost true. Maybe her morality was on the rocks long before yours. "Obviously."

You drop a kiss into her hair. "We both know what that mouth of yours is capable of."

She grins into your skin. Presses her lips, like a sign, and stays.

-

A girl like her inspires the worst in a man, and that's just about it: you think a man would burn the world down for her, with her, and maybe that would be how all things end, someway, somehow - not because of him or her, the full spectrum of his intentions, all the intricacies and subtleties, and hers too. You're both complicated creatures, sure; both very capable and wanting. Of big feelings, deep attachments: the overflow of your good hearts, perhaps; or, rather: the deficits.

She appeals to your worst impulses, in the plainest terms.

"Jesus Christ," you hiss, hands firm on her lower back; your voice breaking; Tzuyu has shed the bedsheets and climbed into your lap, one leg bent at the knee, digging the other into your ribs - her shirt hitches up and over the curve of her spine and then pools at her neck.

"Tell me that's good," she murmurs, hips gyrating, rocking her pussy along your cock. "Like that - right?"

"Fuck- yes," your cock slides into her, your entire length, the rest of the world fogged out: even the fire is quiet. "God, tzu. Feels amazing."

Tzuyu rolls her body forward, rides you with ease, and puts one small hand against your mouth. Her shirt hitches up and over the curve of her spine and then pools at her neck.

"I want to make you cum," she says, all quiet determination and wily confidence, "only you." She rolls her hips in your lap and then finds it: the steady, rhythmic grind down, down. Her ass crashes into your balls; the first telltale sign of that wonderful orgasm to come. "Is it wrong to want this? Like, you and I? Fuck. It feels like your cock was made for me."

"Yeah,” you grit, “fucking you feels - like it's meant to be, huh?"

"Sir," she says with an unhealthy smirk. She’s loving this more than you are, and you can’t really blame her for it: there’s no other sound quite like the slick, wet noise that her pussy makes as her body drops to yours, your cock filling her completely. It's music to your ears.

You grab at her ass, her hip, and pull her closer. She smiles, tilts her face down to you.

"Me too, you know, me too," she murmurs, kissing you softly; when you cup her breasts her breath hitches. "God- fuck- just-"

When she does cum, it's with the faintest little groan; a small, intense quiver in her thighs. You kiss her to swallow down the sound; and feel yourself tip over, and when she fucks you through your orgasm - her smile is dark, wicked, totally satisfied.

-

And everything else follows, because you're weak: because she makes you want to say no, even while simultaneously being your very favorite yes. You warm your cock inside her with some slow, gentle rhythm, her nipples hard against your shirt, her cries as sweet and earnest as all the best promises; a slow grind down, her fingers scrabbling for the headboard, you lean and lick her breasts, roll her nipples on your tongue - she gasps, tenses, digs her nails hard into your nape.

You'll have her again in the morning, she's adamant.

Her hands find your back, her legs circle your hips. The taste of her sweat. The taste of her nipples; her chest flushed, hair disheveled, pupils blown.

"Not letting me go." She whispers. Her cheeks are a lovely pink. "Even after this?"

You kiss the corner of her mouth, inhaling, wondering what to say.

"Good," Tzuyu tells you, tilting her jaw: "that's really-" She catches her lips with her teeth. "That's so fucking good."

-

(Her pussy grips your cock like it's the home she's always missed, her lifeline, her safe harbor. And it's dizzying, it's heaven, hell; and, in the morning - when everything is sepia-warm and sleepy - you fuck her again.

A promise, a hope, a plea. It's what makes a girl fall for a guy, in theory.

It's what makes her heart beat. )

-

"My phone's charging," Tzuyu sniffs the next morning: you're brushing out her hair. The sheets are warm.

You continue combing.

"Sana told me she would be texting, or trying to call."

"Well, that's nice," is all you can manage.

"Babe-" she leans back a bit: turns her gaze to the ceiling, exhaling sharply, "what if she got caught in a whole different avalanche, or fell from the top of a mountain, or something-"

You let go, letting her rest her weight against your thigh. "Honestly? Would serve her right. A little cold, a little damp-"

"If you don't take that back-"

"Alright. Alright. I'll send an apology prayer when I get around to it."

"No you won't." She curls in further, and you stroke her neck, shoulder blade; down the ridges of her spine, across the width of her back.

Tzuyu shudders slightly under your touch.

"Haven't I earned enough good faith, or a clean conscience?"

"Sir, don't pretend."

"Let's pray for Sana, then," you mutter. "Wherever the fuck she is."

"With respect," Tzuyu pipes up, eager: "bitch ain't found."

"Jesus.” You laugh out loud. “At least your brain isn't fully turned to mush, yeah?"

"Give yourself some credit. I can hardly fucking walk. You really pounded the feeling in my legs away."

"Too bad."

"Sorry." And she noses at your collarbone, tugging the waistband of your boxers; "feel free," the drawl of an old, forgotten song, "to make me repent. Baby. Do your thing."

"Right, I forgot that I could convince you to do anything by sliding my dick in your throat. Yikes."

"Baby, just, uh- do whatever." Tzuyu grabs hold of your cock through the thin fabric: one light tap of a finger, "my lips are numb," the suggestion. You really could be her everything: and maybe if you said, stop, please, you won't. She'd pause; look at you like you're insane and maybe spit out what the actual fuck is wrong with you. Like the reality:

This doesn't have to end, no?

"Sorry about your phone battery," you tell her, brushing out the knot at the base of her skull. She exhales, goes soft; lets you tug lightly. "We’ll figure things out when Sana can actually text you, okay?"

"Dumbass. When it's warmer and you drive down to meet her."

"You're not jealous," you tell her. You’ve decided for her.

Tzuyu rolls, leans down on her back, smiling prettily-

"Nope," she agrees, pulling your cock out: already hard, ready to cum down her throat. Her fingers pump soft, slow, the anticipation- "just not done."

"Crazy."

She shrugs and lets the silence calm the world around the two of you; at least for a little while. "Takes a certain kind," she agrees.

"Permissiveness. Like what I'm seeing. Your brand or whatever."

"It’s straight from the heart." She shoots up, making a face you want to kiss. "Honestly."

"Absolutely sincere," you deadpan, and she ignores the jab.

"Tie a bow with my hair," she chuckles, the laughter light, and your fingers graze her temple. "Come on. I'll make you so proud. So pleased. Sir. Let me, let me-"

"Only if I can finish down your throat," you retort - half-joking, but, her eyes grow warm, molten, the lust is immediate - you tip her head, lower it gently - she bites down onto her lip, nods a bit.

-

You don't take her right away. Not at first. You’re trying to show some restraint, trying not to think about how Tzuyu wears clothes like a vice. She's that kind of girl. Like an accident waiting to happen. She's moving around the kitchen later, poking about the cabinets. She's slid into some jeans that fit her a little too well, and one of those obscenely thin t-shirts.

You watch her back muscles work, how the cotton bunches as she leans, arms extending. Her chest's flat against the counter to grab whatever item's out of her reach. You catch the ribbon in her hair bob slightly back into place when she stands back up. The hairline on the nape of her neck catches a long highlight of a morning, the thin strands a brilliant brown, a spark of warmth in the midst of a muted winter morning - and it's honestly amazing to look at.

(Her ass hangs out in the open like an invitation. Your eyes are running down every curve of denim like they can't help but search.)

"Tzu," is the warning, and she flashes a grin; turns, the expression shifting, wide. "I can literally see everything you have."

"Hm." The front of her shirt lowers, too - her black bralette, barely a scrap of lace and string, visible through the thin fabric. "If I'd known you'd like that so much, you could've told me earlier."

"It's not your job to figure me out."

"Well, I'm not sorry." The words are sugar sweet, with an almost fake concern: her feet pivot, her ass filling your vision- Tzuyu spreads her hands down her outer thighs.

"Be nice," you reiterate. "C'mere."

Her legs snap to you quick.

-

You are careful, tentative and slow. You leave the ribbon in place and everything; just your mouth, like you have a right to lick down her breasts, her stomach, her clit - like you deserve the faint marks where your hands pressed down onto her waist.

The slow licks, the soft kisses; you could eat her out until the sun sets and Tzuyu was left sobbing through the overstimulation. Her fingers rake your hair like it’s exactly what she’s hoping you’ll do.

When Tzuyu does let go: she doesn't drop. There is no shame, nor shameful whimpers. Instead, she fucking screams, so high and clear it doesn't seem possible: a singer's wail.

"Sir!" she's crying, you can feel it through every tremble. "Oh my god, please-"

You get her to climax twice before the tears fall, your fingers tracing her spine, pressing deeper, a knuckle, then two-

She looks at you in abject reverence, "God, you don't know," is the gasp, "how perfect you are," and you're sure. You'll never get it right again: at least, not without her.

She cums a third time, shivering, collapsing: her eyes wide, glossy, breath shallow, limbs giving in. The sweat clings to her like a lover, a life she doesn't know how to leave.

So, you ask:

"What now, doll?"

Her tongue sweeps the corner of her mouth, a tiny wrinkle.

"Whatever," Tzuyu exhales. "Fuck, whatever, seriously, that was like- amazing- but my throat is actually going to murder me."

"Was the screaming really that necessary."

"Not sure- about anything," is the groggy admission, "like, honestly. Too horny to care, but." She pauses for a second. "You," she finally decides.

"I," is the immediate reply.

"I’ll let you do - anything, but I- can I, like, get a breather? For a minute. Can you wait, like, just."

Her arms open: you settle against her side, and a shaky hand starts combing through your hair. Her other palm lifts to rest against your cheek, cupping it. The nails tap gently along your hairline. 

"Been waiting so long, Tzu, honey," and it doesn't sound as cruel or glib as the slip up should be construed - doesn't even bother to count on forgiveness, either. Maybe you're beyond all of that, honestly, and more or less in love, as a result. It’s kind of fucked. What’s a minute more?

She laughs softly, a cough catching up and sounding pained. She's lost her voice, the poor thing, she’s cummed herself hoarse and ragged and you’re proud of your handiwork.

"Honey," you hear her say, and she shakes, pulls herself closer, kisses you back: like the old, gentle motion can ever fully cure the fever of desire that grips the two of you. It's a pipedream, and you're kissing her. It's a pipedream, and you know it.

-

The calls start coming in after the sun sets and the cabin grows cool with the dark: you feel, faintly, that it's inevitable. That the snow would clear and time would start marching on, a predetermined cycle. (That, maybe, something in the universe - at this stage, almost a hundred years of weather, tectonic plates, astronomical phenomena, interconnected - knew the two of you needed that bit of seclusion.)

"I dunno, just some bog-standard hotel, holiday suites or something. The point is: the roads don’t open until tomorrow and I've been holed up for a while." Sana sighs into the phone. The static pops. "Oh my god, I'm bored out of my mind. I've had like, three full bags of crisps in one sitting, which is just plain wrong."

"You're basically living off carbs." You say this from in front of the fireplace. Tzuyu is sitting on the opposite side of the couch paging through a stack of magazines, wearing a big jumper and sweats and socks pulled up to her knees. Her hair is falling around her shoulders in soft waves, and it makes her look small and domestic and a bit docile - she’d re-tied the ribbon in her hair after you’d fucked it off her, and that more or less completes the look.

"Yes, I have gone off the deep end. A tragic, awful spiral. Because you're not here. Fuck, you have no idea."

"Ah- Sana." You stop. Take a deep breath.

"Do you have any idea? The state of me right now? seriously. I packed so many fucking condoms and the idea of bringing them back home is more defeating than anything else." She lowers her tone a little, then adds, "because, not to be weird, I was kinda sorta hoping we might use them when I got up there."

You blink. Tzuyu isn't even pretending to look anywhere else. Her whole face is shifting into a satisfied expression, and when she catches you looking, she winks.

"Right. Now this might sound like a surprise," Sana is continuing, her voice full of amusement, "but when I get stuck somewhere, alone and thinking about the weather- I'm often in need of a fuck. Please be prepared to service, because god damn, I've got nothing and it's gonna have to be the battery."

"Is that Sana?" Tzuyu interrupts, the tone hushed, but lofty.

You make a face, like: who the fuck else - but that makes her smirk; Sana sighs, then laughs.

"So if you like, you know. If you feel like the vibe is there. I'd appreciate the hand out."

Tzuyu walks over: sets herself down between your feet and kisses your knee. Just to fuck with you. Because she wants to. She holds the kiss, the bow in her hair, done up tight and shiny, visible. You want to tug the stupid thing until it unravels; all your fingertips, her lips, and she sighs-

"Oi," Sana's saying on the line. You can hear her crash onto her bed. "You still there?" 

"I'm sorry," you say, "are you uh, asking for phone sex - or did I totally read that all wrong."

"Nope. Pretty direct." Sana laughs, and the sound should make it easy to close your eyes, picturing it: a silver smile, the low slung skirt and a stretch of stockinged leg, the twinkle of a drink as the ice hits her mouth. It’d be easy, y'know, if your gaze wasn't pinned on the girl who's settled at your feet.

"Oh, jesus, okay," you manage to breathe. Tzuyu hums a little: reaches for your fly. "Is there anything, anything that you want me to do?"

Sana's laughter drops to a murmur: the air goes heady as Tzuyu parts the zipper and rolls down the waist of your pants- "ask me what I'm wearing, duh."

"Boring," Tzuyu breathes into the air. Because apparently Sana's defining trait is being loud. The kiss to your clothed cock is hot, teasing - her eyes never lift away, "always, always start with, 'darling, sweetheart,' or something stupid, sweet." Her tone is pure syrup: you can feel the warm, the wet; a fucking tease, all the way to her core.

"What are you wearing, darling?" you ask, dryly. Tzuyu rolls her eyes.

Sana's grin widens and you swear it's audible, "oh, just these boring pajamas." She draws it out slow and sexy and completely aware. "It's all loose cotton, and it doesn't hang off me, just folds."

"Is it the type that comes down to the mid-thigh? The white kind, where you can see through to the skin?"

"That's a little presumptive, don't you think? A bit on the nose? Yeah, fine, I'm wearing the kind, if you absolutely insist. These legs, bare. Maybe you'd want to bite. Y'know. Mark 'em'. Whatever."

Tzuyu is kissing the outline of your shaft. Pulling your hard-on out from its confines - all gentle and tentative. Her pretty brown eyes dart upward, gauging: okay, just do your thing - you shrug - but it'd be so helpful if you could scoot to the end of the cushion for me, can you-

"Yeah," you're agreeing into the phone, somewhat vague - to no one in particular. You don't give Tzuyu just an inch; instead, you lift your thighs toward her. Sliding, Tzuyu pulls your pants down: enough. There's a delicate pressure applied at the bottom of your cock, right at the base, right where Tzuyu drags her nails. "Let's have that show off a little," your breath comes shallow, "then. Strip, real slow. We can try for something sexy I guess."

"You," Tzuyu kisses the base and shuffles up the rest of your shaft, "just love bossing people around," then her lips part: the slightest graze, then warmth, the faint suction. “Don’t you?”

"Uh-huh," says Sana, and then the rustle of cloth: and you could imagine her, really, lifting the shirt up, off, sliding it along the inside of her ribs, over the tips of her breasts - she'd cup them, lean into the contact. Sana's hands are always on her tits, or the spread of her hips - she likes the shape of her body more than anyone else. "Sometimes, that's the best way," she tells you. Her breath is hot, full of sex. "Being told what to do. Isn't that true, hm?"

Tzuyu tilts forward, lets your cock drop over her bottom lip. It leaves a smear of spit in its wake, the sensation electric. Her head falls, swallows the whole of the tip: her tongue immediately swirls. A hot little pulse. Her cheeks hollow.

"Yeah. Some could probably argue," your breath catches, the weight of the sensation, the fullness, your hips arch, your spine straightens. The electricity goes through your stomach and down your spine; you can feel the wave rolling along. Tzuyu giggling into the stiff line of your cock-

"Telling us both?" Tzuyu smiles again, running her lips slowly up and down the sides, teasing with her breath and her fingers running down the ridges. "What you want." She hums low, into the hot air.

You press your phone to your neck. "Can you, like-

Tzuyu pulls her mouth off your cock. Just sits there blinking. “Hm?” she asks, tugging a strand of her hair from the corner of her mouth.

“Just please stay quiet, or something- this is already harder than I thought it would be," the joke is as unsubtle as they come, "jesus, okay-" and put the phone back to your ear, "shit, Sana- can you, like-"

Her fucking mouth. The seal, the press - the tongue swirling around your head. Fuck.

“Yeah, babe? What do you want to know?”

The words aren't coming and a very obvious swallow is, Tzuyu leaning closer, and her fingers tangle with yours - guiding you closer, guiding your hand to the ends of her hair.

"Explain," is somehow where you land, shaky. You stick the landing just enough that Sana might buy it. "What are you doing now?"

"Slow circles. On my nipples, pinching," her voice strains, then settles,"yeah, the tip's so sensitive. Jihyo was laughing that guys always obsess over her tits. Always wanna suck, or nibble and I'm like, girl, what the hell are you complaining for?" - Tzuyu inhales a huge breath, and then another: her lips, those eyes - open and glossy, every movement steady like she knows just how to make the wait worth it - "or, or maybe I'm just weird, because the first time I felt someone's teeth and their tongue. Fuck, like, I almost screamed. Or, cried. Literally."

"Hah," and Tzuyu brings her lips lower. Moves her hair gently out of the way to take the rest of you into her mouth: bobbing up, her lips puckering in some rhythm, and her tongue darts, swirls the edge of the cock. Tongue at the slit. The pressure. Fuck, your head falls back. Every breath sounds heavy, loud. "Fingers,” you huff, “are good too I'm sure. I’d be paying close attention. Making you feel good."

"Mhm." Sana agrees. "The little pinches, ugh, I could die happy if you did just that, it's that fucking amazing."

"Baby," you half-moan. You’re struggling. The mouth stops, then sinks: down, all the way. Fucking amazing. Fucking hell.

"Oh?" Sana laughs airly, "are you touching yourself, hm? No fair, are you going to leave me all lonely here-"

You can see that smirk. The fuckery that would come: Sana's version.

"Sir," Tzuyu mumbles, sounding muffled. Her mouth is a tight vise of warmth, and your hand threads through her hair again. You hold, tighten the ribbon a bit, and Tzuyu stares at you through half-lidded eyes: you don't think she'll blink until you make her cry, and by then-

“Fuck,” Sana says, totally flat, "I'm actually pretty wet," the emphasis, "so I'd like some real advice, y'know-"

You see her legs. The tops. The bottom, all the way down- and you inhale sharply, too much and too hard.

Tzuyu has her fist at the base of your cock and her palm is sliding down the slick flesh and, a moment later, up, meeting her mouth at the top of its stroke - and, without a goddamn care, she hollows her cheeks - puckers her lips along the surface.

You were right. "This is hell."

Sana hums a laugh. "Need me that bad, huh? We're missing each other by just a couple days."

You stroke the top of Tzuyu's hair, her bow bobbing in a nice little bounce. Sana would know better than to wear her hair up. To even go near this, her throat - you hold her jaw steady, maybe a second, the moment of recovery to make Tzuyu slow and careful: her tongue does a pass at the sensitive, rigid underside of the crown, the sudden movement - before she speeds up.

"Picturing your hand." She tells you in a languid tone.

"God," you half-say, half-moan, and Tzuyu is good. So fucking good, and the mouth is too damn eager and it's difficult to think.

You barely get your hand free to switch to speaker, then let it clatter to the side. Tzuyu grinning, her lips flushed red and wet and dragging over your cock, sliding down, her tongue doing another pass, swirling at the center, the flare-

"Thinking about you, actually, fuck," Sana has a hitch to her breath that wasn't quite there before. "Doing those things, that mouth all over, Jesus Christ - ah- my legs, my breasts, fuck- are you jerking off right now? You sound, well, pretty uh, yeah."

"Just saying," you breathe, as the shock and the sensations rise and fall; Tzuyu's edging you in her mouth, her own head starting to shake, her chin bobbing up and down the full, long line of your dick - she's never done anything by halves. "It's getting- I'm thinking about you, Sana, of course, and your- pretty cunt, god, of course, so- ah, close- you said you were wet?"

"Huh? Of course, dripping. Imagining you - your thick, your cock," Sana sorta giggles, out of it then-

Tzuyu moans. Her body is pliant and her shoulders roll; she sucks, her cheeks dip, her back arches, and all of the noises hit the air thick, all while Sana's voice sharpens - both girls, two. You're slipping off the cushion, and probably out of your mind. The ache builds and burns and yearns for some sort of release- 

"-how wet and tight I would feel, after so fucking long. Please, fuck, fuck-" you hear Sana, "would you, fuck, c'mon, how I would look, on top of you? Could feel- the stretch, your cock deep inside. The, fuck- friction."

There’s this beat, where it’s just Sana’s stiff breathing; you can picture her wrist between her thighs, the pump, the twist as her fingers run over and over again through the sound of her slick. You’re left wondering if she can hear too, the mouth trailing kisses along your balls, tongue gliding back up and swallowing your length whole.

“Mnph.” Tzu chokes down a little.

And you look down, you have to eventually - to see the steady stare. Tzuyu's brows pinched and her eyelashes fanning out over the hollowed curve of her cheekbones. Pretty, fuck. Beautiful. So sexy: she looks up, swallows you back, like a fucking slut. Her mouth, wet, messy, hot, and her body-

"Third finger, by the way," Sana strains, "'cause- fuck, my pussy - my tight little hole would be swallowing your cock so damn good."

"Mmm, fuck." You're reduced to your base instincts, pulling Tzuyu's hair, dragging her wet, velvety mouth onto your shaft - she follows willingly, no question of her pace slowing, but - more, and more, and you could probably cum in her mouth if her hands weren't clasped firmly over your thighs and you weren't brushing away the tears pricking the ends of Tzuyu's lashes- you won't tell. Not with your fingers. Fuck. Her nails bite at the skin of your bare legs. She looks angry, insistent. Choking.

Sana sounds just as out of sorts, out of breath, "you would feel so fucking good. Look so good. Let me have it- whatever I need, yeah?" And you think she's close: it's that keen edge, a faint, broken whine. She's never going to finish any way except- "would you, inside me? Y'know- make me cum, real full. God- are you close? Would you make a mess out of me? Of my pretty pussy?"

“Okay, holy fuck-" and the question barely even hits you. 

Tzuyu is glaring now, shaking: she wants you to lose it, and she looks furious, holding her fingertips, her thumb on the base of your cock: a new pressure, a new feeling, a new pulse, a new high- she wants you to forget about Sana, maybe. What she sounds like, how she looks. Her legs wide, her bare, slicked skin on display. For you, yes. Fucking her until she- "uh, baby," and this time, your voice makes her smile, and her teeth drag. You wince. Her pupils are blown out, and there's a flush building in her chest. "Where are you?"

"Laying down. Flat- god. Where I'm always-" and you imagine a plane of soft, tanned, toned legs, her wide hips, "I'd, yeah, in a second. Pressure at my back- it would feel so fucking good, y’know, if you were here."

You have no doubt in your mind: Sana would be gorgeous. Even from the back, she'll be hotter, fuck, she always is, especially like that - and the movement of Tzuyu's fingers tightens against the straining, needy ache, and- 

"Please, fuck, fuck- need to-"

"Would cum- a lot, that's it- over my back. Oh, yes, all over my back. My ass. Messy. fuck that's actually so good, jesus christ-" and then Sana lets out another soft keen and a shout - and it's so sweet and high-pitched and familiar, almost musical; she's cumming, hard. You're only a second, a third behind and-

Your balls draw tight and a coil in your stomach unfurls-

Tzuyu sees you, grins, your eyes trained on the pink of her mouth and her perfect, wet lips and the deep brown eyes - her dimpled cheek is the softest fucking thing - but the rest, her mouth, her wet heat: it's pure sensation. The tight vise of a throat swallowing, the taste on the flat of her tongue. You've got your cock shoved deep in her mouth, and you're not easy to take. Fucking Tzuyu's face, thrusting and the throbs of your cock pumping out a hot, heavy spill. More and more: sticky, filling, spreading out from the corners of her lips. Tzuyu gurgles, struggling - fuck, finally letting go with a weak pop, falling back, and the white mess runs hot over her mouth. Your release smeared across her lips, dripping off her jaw - fucking christ - her tongue, her eyelashes - a wild mess of fluid. It splatters against her pale skin - runs down the hollow of her throat to the edges of her chest. She has her fingers working fast still, a squelching tight fist: you cum all over the stupid, cutesy bow too. It's all you see, the only thing-

“Fuck,” Sana says, oblivious. “That’s good.”

-before your eyelids shutter close, a ringing in your ears and your heart racing; and, not far, another sigh, followed by the slide of your phone down the couch.

"Aw, you done already?" Sana says. Lazily. You can see the look on her face, probably rubbing her pussy and thinking about more - if there’s any two ways the girls compare, it’s this allergic reaction to anything like temperance or moderation. You need new friends, new lovers; this can’t last.

"Uh-huh." The back of your head digs into the couch cushions. Fuck. Sana. Phone. On speaker. Oh. Right. Shit. "But I was- mnph. Uhh." Your brain has lost a lot of blood. It's doing nothing. Nothing but losing blood. You wish it’d stop. “I’m here, Sana, talk to me.”

Sana giggles at that, delighted, "don't tell me you're in such bad shape I need to save you-"

"The uh," your voice slurs. Then you're pulling the phone to you, closer. Fuck. Yeah. You're an idiot. Your breath is heavy: "I could go for more, yeah, how’re you feeling?"

"So fucking tired." Her breathing sounds less ragged. A full breath. A pout: a poor me.

"Hmm." Tzuyu crawls onto you. Slides the fabric of your shirt between her palms, up and down your ribs. She pushes the sweater and tee away. Bares your stomach- then kisses there. Lower, and then rises, looking through her lashes. It's clear: a demand. She'll be insisting, pressing down on you, kissing, running her teeth along the edges of your shoulders, your neck. She’ll kiss you right now if you let her - until she sinks into a promise at the center of your body. Your back is arching off the leather from the sensitivity, and Tzuyu has her lips all over you - smiling when your hands tangle with the long strands of her hair.

She pauses. You drop a hand to Tzuyu's waist. Pinch.

"Ow-" she says, coming across slightly betrayed. 

And, satisfied with the expression her face, the phone cradled between your chin, her lips warm over your ribs, her head tickling the edges of your jaw, you keep laughing, or you want to, but Tzuyu takes you between her thighs, lifts a little on your cock - her eyes widen: she's testing your flexibility. Trying to drag this out, trying for teasing. She’s good at that (a verifiable truth), but you’re you - you see right through it: she likes how it feels, the thickness and size of you. Tzuyu keeps sliding slowly down the full length, letting you fill her inch by inch - her slick heat feels unbearable.

“God,” she mutters, and she’s making the dreamiest expression - the blush in her cheeks, the eyelids hung low, the mouth slightly agape - she lifts up, then slams all the way to the base, flush. You grab anything you can to hold onto. Her legs. Her ass. Her thighs. Her jaw. That perfect little fucking waist.

She’s sublime. Your cock is bathing in her slick, the wet heat, the throbbing pulses - she's gasping in your lap, like she can’t believe how good you feel filling her cunt.

"Sana," you grit, "there's- nothing else in the world I'd rather do right now than shove my cock-” 

“Ugh,” Sana sighs in agreement, in imaginary bliss. “In my little fucking pussy- you’re making me miss you, or something, jesus-”

You squeeze her thigh and her lips quirk, just barely, a challenge.

"Want put a nice thick load" - the hand on Tzuyu's hip brings her down in your lap, fucking up hard as her chest racks with breath - "in your slutty little cunt" - you fuck her faster, the sounds of flesh against flesh obscene - "fill up your pussy, princess. Would cum in it until" - and the last inch of your cock, filling Tzuyu’s cunt, you've no control - "you're a mess, you're dripping in it-"

Tzuyu's movements still. A pause. Her hips. Your own, and all the rest, every nerve in your body is on fire. 

She moves with the most graceful slide, her wet lips gliding - gripping - up your cock. Then, down. The quiet. The lull. The pause before she does it again. She has cum all over her face, and she’ll kill you. You’ll let her.

"God. We'll have to get around to it," Sana finally tells you, dryly, "when this fucking snow clears. Say hi to Tzuyu for me won’t you?"

-

You're not a bad person. 

(The reassurance that you aren’t - or don’t want to be? - is probably still not super convincing. There's some line drawn there, blurred, crossed, and thoroughly annihilated by your actions, you think, vaguely, but maybe it's better if no one sees, hears, finds out. The finer details matter a lot less at that point.)

You're like anybody else: you get desperate to hold onto something, somebody, even for just a moment. Sometimes you don’t even need a reason at all.

Tzuyu is stepping out of the shower, her head bobbing: it takes everything in you not to drag her back in there. She’d let you. She wouldn’t even complain.

You can hear the catch and the slide of a bath towel, the wisp of water hitting the bottoms of her feet and trailing, an exaggerated moan - a gesture, meant to entice, a suggestion: fuck her right back in the shower until her hair is plastered to her cheeks, and she's panting. Or the steam lifts her breasts in a gentle, humid press. That mouth on the tiles - sobbing.

“Tzu,” you call out, and she just continues humming some indifferent tune. 

You pull a thick sweater over your head: it's gray wool, and it's all clean and good and new. When she wraps her arms around you, a deep inhale: a grin, then a shiver. She's naked and dripping everywhere, wet hair leaving a trail in its wake. She burrows her face in the folds of fabric at your spine - and if you turned, the slightest movement, the smooth line of her torso would be exposed, and your fingers could trace down her belly button, the tips dipping between her legs-

The window is fogging at the bottom, the steam slipping out in tendrils - but the heat can't compete against the girl all wet and dripping, and it does nothing but give way to the cold, seeping in.

"I still think it's funny," she says, all matter of fact. "It's weird that this isn't awkward."

“What’s that?”

She's at the doorway.

“Us. Being here.”

You turn, and Tzuyu pulls at your sweater: looking for attention, always seeking out the easy praise. Her hand automatically slides beneath the cloth of your collar, drawing your jaw up for a short, hard kiss.

"Okay," and there's a small nod, the line of her throat pulsing as she breathes, "yeah," her chest rising and falling.

"Look at you,” you tell her. “All dry and tidy. Cute. "

A dumb comment earns you the tiniest smile, then she's leaning back, taking her hands to her hair and wringing out the water, pulling and tugging at the tangles - the towel wraps around her waist again and again, and she looks good, clean: it makes you think of what comes later. Not having to give a fuck - at least not for a little while.

"Jeez," she's shivering, still, and rubbing the tops of her arms, "and Sana is gonna be, like, all over you once she gets the chance. Wants a nice lay too, from the sound of it. Was being honest about that. Seems pretty pent up."

“Maybe you can help,” you offer, a bit flippant. She smiles - but in all seriousness, it’s a resounding: no.

There's something else, too, as she runs her fingertips, absently, through her hair - it falls flat on her neck and around her bare shoulders, dark against the lightness of her skin, but somehow you get the impression that she's not entirely preoccupied. "Y'know, I had a really good time and all, but I'm not the homewrecker type, yeah - it's not worth the stress," a slight shrug, like she isn't certain, her mind a little more tangled than usual, and for good reason, too, "probably won't hook up ever again."

"Gloomy," you tease.

"Don’t act like you're not going to miss it," she says, conspiratorial - and Tzuyu plants herself where you can feel her in your space - but she doesn't press. "Even when you're keeping busy, you'll have the smallest reminder, like - aha, Tzuyu would've really liked this, or that - when, y'know - you're stuck somewhere, thinking about the weather," and her cheeks are heating with color as her tongue forms the syllables - and the meaning is clear now as it always was.

“Even if you’re like, totally smitten, or whatever with her,” she adds, smirking.

"Sana will be back to her usual antics in no time. Being annoying and forward and whatever," you reply. "Won't miss much."

The girl's expression flickers a little - a slight twitch - but otherwise, a flat look.

She fixes the lay of her towel across her wide hips. You reach for her arm: pull at it, pulling her toward.

"I mean- Sana and I have a few things in common, anyway. Something in common. Can both be a spoilsport. Dull. Can be a bit, uh, territorial, if you you know-"

The rest is cut off, the words running into a kiss, deep and desperate; there's no place like her mouth: soft, eager, hot.

"And our usual antics?" she asks.

She leans into you, the chill starting to set, a fire burning nearby: something clandestine that maybe shouldn't last as long as it does. A log settling against the others, another plume of heat, and you say, a touch solemn,

"Dunno if we've ever been in common about anything, babe."

"Jeez. You don't have to spell it out like that, do you?" Tzuyu laughs lightly, holding the bath towel at her hips - her breasts are bare. They fall without support, her nipples, the slope of her ribs, everything. "I mean, how cruel."

(It isn't really. Because, here's the thing. In the grand scheme of things, Chou Tzuyu was never really supposed to happen at all.)

-

The snow clears, like all things you suppose, slowly and with a sigh: with the change in winds and a promise for a gradual spring. Tzuyu steals a shirt. Doesn't seem inclined to return it, says she's good at letting her imagination do half the work in lieu of the actual sex. (The nip is like a sting: it'll last longer, apparently. The bruising at the edges of her waist is more abstract.)

You’re in the driveway. Tzuyu’s leaning back on her luggage.

She kisses you like she wants to make you lose something: her lipstick, her mind, her heart or soul. And when her arms slide, her mouth parting - her tongue darting and sweeping, taking - Tzuyu knows a good many things about herself. She knows you, too. What makes her wet, what gets her off. What part of you will always come back to her. But her hair falls heavy: so much silk. She's laughing - a grin and she's licking the pink right off her teeth and she's beautiful and you think you'll want this always:

A girl like her, kissing so eager for you-

"You can totally say it first," she tells you, that mouth at the edge of your ear.

"Um," you say, and she settles down a little further, her wrists locked behind your neck. "You are so: clingy."

The look she gives you is adorable. All dimple, no worry. “Yeah, so?”

“How is that fair?”

"I don't really care if it is or isn’t. We’d be good together - and that’s a fact. So say something good, or I'm getting in that cab right now."

So you do. You do. The first word, the syllable, the way you ask her, the sound that is something like: mine, and the way it dries the edge of your throat; you kiss it away and she giggles because maybe this means, after a while, you really are as terrible as she always hoped.

She'll give you everything. She says, yours, and it would always be you; she halts a bit, and says it like she’s thawing a revelation, one that’s been there since the start - says she loves you and she always has. You laugh and she says it again: always.

-

Sana ends up standing in the cabin a day later. The same place you stood, watching Tzuyu lick yogurt off her spoon. Her coat looks expensive. There's her purse. The boots. That red-painted mouth. Her eyes are fixed, and she sees nothing out of the ordinary. Which is probably, you think, ideal.

"That's funny," her face betrays nothing.

The cabin smells a little like burning wood, vaguely: peppermint tea. An electric kind of heat and the warmth of the sun. It had smelled like evidence prior, the way a girl gets with her underwear missing, hair a tangled mess, body sore and aching, a wet bed. You'd looked like a pair of kids caught in a terrible storm, a lovers' quarrel in a small space - or, just: well-fucked.

"What's funny?" is how you finally manage.

"I just mean," she starts again, "she used to have like. The craziest crush on you. It would’ve been cute if it wasn't sorta sad. Did you know? You couldn't, I guess." She shrugs: a heavy lift of her shoulders, a release. The tension is leaking everywhere. "Must've been torture for her to get stuck here with you."

"Huh," you say, like you were missing something, which is exactly the wrong tone and definitely the wrong sentiment. “Oh, the crush. That. Sure.” You’re suppressing a smile. “Torture, yeah. Hey. Don't worry about it. I’m sure we’ll be fine."

-

(You can’t stop running it back through your head, her long dark hair disappearing into the cab. She loves you and you love her, and it’s got this beautiful caveat of being something simple-complex. Like, who would ever believe any of this? Like, who else even matters? 

You say, you belong to me, and she agrees without even thinking. 

“You always knew, though. From the start, you always did. I was never going to be anyone else's," and then she pouts. "Wouldn’t hurt telling me, from time to time."

And the mountains have a way of feeling like the end, sounding like the closing score, the credits - you look out at the white caps and reflect: maybe you shouldn’t have let her go. Maybe you should chase after her. Maybe you could still make it work. Maybe you should consider that a promise.

You look up at the sky, the pale blue - and maybe you can afford to let her go. 

You know you’ll only find your way back.)

[lanasblood]

HOW DO I MAKE YOU LOVE ME | neteyam x reader

pairing: neteyam x f!omatikaya!reader (no mentions of y/n)

summary: you remember all of your attempts to make Neteyam fall in love with you, using various methods, experiencing numerous failures, and you finally come to a conclusion or the five times you failed to win neteyam’s affection and the one time you succeed.

word count: 10k (!!! damn)

warnings: actually none but let’s say hurt/comfort, reader is a simp, 5+1 prompt, confessing, mutual pining, mention of blood, requited/unrequited love, !!adult neteyam!!, flashbacks to childhood and teenager years

note: inspired by the five love languages and the weeknd’s song mentioned in the title.

* gif‘s not mine.

The soft rustling of the teal leaves falling silently to the ground, as light as an ikran feather, is one of the most soothing sounds heard on the still night. The wind touches them gently, as if caressing them, before whirling them up again in a powerful gust, starting the cycle all over again. The moons stand high in the sky, and the stars sparkle like little gems that can beautify anything. The night is quiet, and the soft breeze seems to calm everything down and lull it into a deep sleep. The bright light of the bioluminescent plants lays gently on the moist meadows, illuminating the darkness. It is like a magical tale, perfect and without blemish. Yet, there is one who can't sleep in this harmonic time: you. With your arms and legs stretched out, you lie on your back, feeling like hours have passed since you started staring at the night sky without moving a muscle. You have even decided to sleep outside your hammock to hear and feel the sound of the wind, hoping to finally sink into the dreamland. But, as you know, this has done little to help. 

All because of him. You sigh in annoyance.

For as long as you can remember you've had this crush on the eldest son of the Olo'eyktan, you don't know when you developed it, let alone how it really started. You just know that it might have been cute at first – a nice girl from a small clan who has feelings for the older boy next door, but as time went by, it wasn't cute at all; on the contrary, it robs you of precious sleep and will most likely cause you to age prematurely. 

Despite not knowing how and when exactly this crush thing has started, you know that it has gotten worse the more time has passed, and the more time passes, the more failed attempts to get his attention you have behind you. However, there's one event you categorize as time zero - the starting point of your attempts - that you remember vividly: 

You were a mere child and couldn't take your eyes off Neteyam, who was only slightly older than you. Confidently clutching the stem of the rare flower you had been searching for days, you made your way through the lush forest, searching for Neteyam. As you thought about the plan you had concocted, your heart beat rapidly in your chest. You had heard from a reliable source that Neteyam was a lover of rare flora, and you hoped that this gift would make him see you in a different light. 

When you spotted him in the distance, his tall figure was moving gracefully through the trees. Taking a deep breath, you approached him, holding out the flower to him.

"Hey, Neteyam," you said, trying to sound casual. "I found this and I thought you might like it." 

Neteyam stopped in his tracks and turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. You held out the flower a bit higher, hoping to see a glimmer of appreciation in his eyes.

"Thank you," he said simply, slowly taking the flower from your outstretched hand. Looking at the flower now in his hand, the corner of his lips turned upward, causing your heart to flutter.

You told him happily, "It's a very rare flower," beaming a bright smile at him. 

And the next thing you knew, you were holding your breath as he bent slightly forward to your height and patted your head in praise, "It seems you're already a careful gatherer, baby neighbor. Keep it up!"

You felt your heart sink faster than a prey could run when he turned and continued on his way, leaving you standing there alone in the forest. You had hoped that your gesture would be enough to make him see you in a different light, but it seemed that it had made no difference at all, or even worse for he had called you the worst possible nickname to exist in all na'vihood. 

As you made your way back to the village, you couldn't help but feel a sense of disappointment and frustration settling in you, the deep frown on your face mirroring your inner world. You had tried so hard to get Neteyam to notice you, but it seemed that he was simply not interested.

How do I make you love me?

After a few cycles and many more failed attempts in between, you realized that your little crush was not so little after all. Especially after Neteyam passed his Iknimaya at such a young age, your admiration for him grew every day. The feeling was almost unbearable as you found yourself constantly near him but not receiving the acknowledgment you wished for.

That was until one day, you decided to change that because your hormonal teenager brain had this glorious idea to spend some alone time with Neteyam. You had observed that he enjoyed hunting during his free time when he wasn't bound by his duties as the Olo'eyktan's firstborn. This is why you eagerly joined him on his next hunt, determined to impress him with your own hunting and tracking skills. Looking back, you now realize that your confidence may have been misplaced for your skills were basically non-existent at that time, but back then you were convinced that you were able to hunt.

So, you followed Neteyam deep into the forest, crouching right beside him in the underbrush, watching the herd of talioang grazing in the distance. Their blue and orange skin glinted in the sunlight, and you could hear the low rumble of their voices as they communicated with each other. 

"Do you thi—" Neteyam's hand swiftly covered your mouth, halting your words before they escaped, his touch gentle yet firm. It was electrifying, sending shivers down your spine. He motioned for you to be quiet and directed your attention towards the herd. As he removed his hand, you couldn't help but feel a thrill of excitement in your blood. This was your chance to prove yourself.

Neteyam slowly and silently made his way towards the herd, you right on his track, moving from one piece of cover to another. Your eyes followed every movement of the muscles on his toned back, you felt your heart pounding in your chest, and your palms were slick with sweat. Even though you had never really hunted before, you were determined to succeed but Neteyam's captivating presence proved to be a distraction that made it difficult for you to concentrate on anything else. 

As you got closer to the herd, you could feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Neteyam signaled for you to stop, and you froze, trying to make yourself as small as possible. He reached out and brushed a twig aside at your feet.

"Watch your steps," he whispered close to your ear, and you could feel the warmth of his breath on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. Your heart raced as you realized how close he was to you, and you wondered if he could hear it pounding in your chest. Longing to feel his lips against your skin, you couldn't help but turn your head slightly towards him, but you knew you couldn't let your desire distract you from the hunt.

"I do," you whispered back. Trying to calm your racing heart, you focused on the task at hand, scanning the ground for anything else that might make noise. But when you moved, you felt Neteyam's body shift slightly against yours, sending another jolt of electricity through you, and you wondered if he felt it too.

"No, you constantly step on something," he told you, still whispering, but voice stern. 

Feeling caught because there was a high possibility that he was right for you hadn't paid attention to your surroundings in the last couple of minutes, too busy doting on him, you couldn't find arguments to defend yourself, "I do not." 

Neteyam firmly pressed his finger on his own lips, signaling you to be quiet yet again. Your heart beat faster as you met his intense gaze, and you felt a rush of desire wash over you.

"Too much noise," he mouthed, his voice barely audible, and looked back at the herd. Following his gaze, you saw that the talioang had picked up on something, and they were starting to look nervous. You and Neteyam held your breaths, waiting for the right moment to strike. 

Suddenly, Neteyam gave the signal, and sprang into action. You just weren't really ready when he gave the signal, so with the first step you took, you stumbled on something growing on the ground and fell over with a short cry. Neteyam who had darted towards the nearest talioang, already drawing his bow and arrow, stopped right in his track when he heard you fall. You looked up at him when he quickly turned to you and then back at the herd but it was too late, the animals already reared up in surprise, and scattered in all directions. However, you were too shocked by your fatal mistake to pay them any attention. You were frozen in place, lying in the dirt, watching Neteyam looking back at you with a slightly agape mouth. The blood rushed to your head and you could hear your heart pounding in your ears. 

You ruined it. 

Neteyam's disappointment was tangible. You could feel his eyes on you, and you knew that he was angry. You would be, too. Struggling to express your remorse, the words got caught in your throat as you attempted to apologize. The weight of disappointment were heavy on your shoulders, and you couldn't shake off the feeling of letting him down.

After a long, awkward silence, Neteyam turned to you with a deep sigh. "You need to be more careful," he said, "When you're hunting, you have to be aware of everything around you. One mistake can ruin the whole hunt."

You nodded, feeling ashamed, you were sure your face was as purple as a yovo fruit. You had wanted to impress Neteyam, but instead you had embarrassed yourself in front of him, had blown any chance to show him that you were capable.

How do I make you fall for me?

Over time, you learned from your previous mistakes. Wanting to impress him proved to be harder than anticipated, but having a conversation with him was easier than expected. You needed to show him how much you appreciated him for who he was. As a result, you began to pay closer attention to the way he interacted with others, especially his younger brother Lo'ak, and you started to incorporate some of those phrases into your conversations with him.

One bright day, you nervously approached Neteyam, hoping to strike up a conversation with him using your newfound knowledge:

"Hey, Neteyam," you greeted tentatively, "Whatcha doin'?"

You left out the bro on purpose, fearing it would be overkill. Even so, the words coming out of your mouth sounded strange to you, and for him apparently too, as he rapidly looked up from his task upon hearing your voice, and his otherwise neutral face looked at you with a slightly frowned forehead and attentive eyes, studying you for a moment before he was quick to collect himself and greeted you with a slight smile.

"Not much. Tuk asked me to repair this old basket for her," he said, motioning with his hands on the basket between his legs, "And I'm trying." 

You nodded, trying not to seem too eager, "That's really kind of you. I bet she'll be thrilled once you finish it," you said with a smile. 

Neteyam simply hummed in response and went back to his task, his concentration returning.

"I mean, I would, too. Tuk is very lucky, it must be nice to have a brother like you," you complimented him.

"But you do have a brother," Neteyam reminded you matter-of-factly, "We used to attend the same training sessions so many times."

"Yeah," you continued, feeling your cheeks flush with embarrassment. "But, uh, he is not as skilled as you are." Good save. "And he never did such kind things for me when I was little. The only thing he did was teach me how to fight." 

"That's a valuable skill," Neteyam commented.

"Well, what I mean is, he's an ordinary brother, while you are one of a kind, Neteyam. Your siblings are incredibly lucky to have you," you said, emphasizing your point.

Neteyam smiled to himself, his canines slightly showing, as he went back to working on the basket. You couldn't help but feel a flutter in your stomach at the thought of him noticing your flattery.

"I appreciate that," he said, acknowledging your compliment.

After a few minutes of silence, you took a deep breath and you mustered up the courage to ask him a question, "May I say something?"

He looked up at you again and nodded. "Sure, what's on your mind?"

You decided to take the chance, "I just wanted to say that you always seem to know just what to do and say, and that's very impressive. You're responsible, always respectful, and very patient. Not just with me but with everyone in our clan. And I want you to know that I really appreciate it, Neteyam." I appreciate you.

Neteyam's expression softened as he listened to your words. "You have a kind heart to express that," he replied, a hint of a smile still playing at the corner of his lips.

You took a deep breath and continued, "I know you don't share much about your personal life, but if you ever feel comfortable talking about it I would love to learn more about you."

Neteyam's smile reached his eyes. "Thank you, I will keep that in mind."

You felt a warm glow of happiness in your chest as you realized that your words affected him. You were willing to put in the work to get to know him better.

Encouraged by his response, you asked, "So, do you have any concrete plans after your Uniltaron?"

Neteyam's expression faltered a bit upon hearing you mention his upcoming Dream Hunt, he seemed almost reserved all of a sudden. "I do have a few, but they are personal," he replied, "I prefer to keep them to myself."

You felt a pang of disappointment. "Oh, I understand," you said, trying to hide your dejection, "I'm sorry. It was not my place to ask."

"You don't have to apologize," he responded, "But some things are best kept within the family."

"Yeah, I get it," you smiled weakly, feeling like you had hit a wall, "Thanks for talking with me, Neteyam."

He nodded and went back to his task, leaving you feeling deflated and uncertain about how to get closer to him.

How do I make you want me?

The previous attempts to win Neteyam's attention had proven unsuccessful: The gifts you gave him didn't have the desired effect, your attempts to impress him by spending time with him backfired (you want to forget that memory of the hunt so badly), and the conversations you had with him remained superficial, never delving deeper into meaningful topics. It was clear that you needed a new approach, a fresh idea to capture his interest which brought you back to point zero.

You walked through the forest, scanning the undergrowth for any signs of the flowers you had been studying for quite some time – the kind you gifted Neteyam when you were little. It turns out that the rare flower wasn't that rare after all, it only bloomed a short time a cycle, which is what made it so valuable. However, if they were dried and powdered, very useful medicines could be made. At some point you had started collecting this flower, as well as other herbs and plants for Tsahìk, and in return she had taught you how to make rich creams and pastes from them. And you could also consume this flower in meals if you let it cook over the fire for a long time. Pondering if it would evoke nostalgia within Neteyam, while you plucked them carefully from the ground, you wondered if he ever remembered the day you gave him that flower in the first place.

Gathering a variety of edible flowers, aromatic herbs, and other nourishing ingredients from the village, you spent all morning helping the women in your clan prepare a wholesome and delicious meal for the warriors. In anticipation of Neteyam's training session, you decided to take this thoughtful approach to show your support and care.

As the aroma of freshly cooked food filled the air, you volunteered to bring the full basket of handmade food wraps and lovely cut fruits to the training area. 

The warriors were engrossed in their practice, their movements fluid and powerful. You scanned the crowd, searching for Neteyam among them.

Spotting him in the midst of the intense training session, his lean muscles glistening with sweat under the warm sun, you couldn't help but feel a surge of admiration. His movements were powerful and precise, each strike displaying his skill as a warrior. His strength and determination did something to you, feeling a magnetic pull towards him. 

Balancing the basket of food in your hands, you approached the outskirts of the training area, careful not to interrupt the warriors' focus. You set up a blanket and arranged the food on it attractively. Your intention was not only to impress Neteyam but to show your support for the entire group.

"I swear, Eywa send you here," you heard someone say next to you, a bit out of breath, while impatient hands reached into the basket and helped you place the food, "I'm starving!"

"Lo'ak, are you allowed to end your training like this?" You questioned, and turned your head in the direction of the warriors — the training was obviously still in full swing, but it was precisely then that you met Neteyam's gaze who was already looking over at you, a mixture of surprise and curiosity evident in his eyes. 

"Not really but it smells so good, I'm ready to be skinned for these delici— Oh, I'm taking this one, yeah?" He started unwrapping one of the food wraps and hastily bit into it. 

"Hey, wait for the others!" you admonished him, but his wrap was already half eaten.

"Mm, das bom!" you heard him smack loudly, "S'rusly, yur da best."

"I'm glad," you responded, suppressing a laugh. Lo'ak acted like he hadn't eaten in days. 

Noticing the spread of food, the warriors collectively ended the training session, and the men started approaching the nourishing dishes, including freshly grilled meats, vibrant vegetables, and flavorful herbs.

Sensing an opportunity, you went towards Neteyam, a food wrap in your hand, and a warm smile gracing your lips. "I thought I would spare you the long way, in case you're starving like your brother," you joked, gesturing with your head towards Lo'ak behind you, who was taking two more food wraps and calling dips on the rawp.

Neteyam's gaze shifted from the feast you had prepared to the food in his hands and then at you. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than necessary, and a soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips. 

"That's thoughtful of you," he replied, his voice carrying a subtle warmth, "It's been an intense training session, and this is a welcome surprise."

You stepped back, allowing him to enjoy the meal with his fellow warriors. Observing from a distance, you noticed the camaraderie and laughter that emerged as they gathered around the spread of food, indulging in the flavors that were carefully crafted.

Throughout the meal, you found yourself drawn to Neteyam's presence. The way he spoke with passion about his experiences, the way he listened attentively to others, and the way his eyes sparkled with a hidden depth — all of it only fueled your growing attraction.

As the training session continued, you lingered nearby, engaging in conversations with other warriors, offering encouragement and companionship. While your initial intention was to impress Neteyam, you found joy in connecting with the community as a whole, so much you almost didn't realize that the day's training had come to an end.

"Thank you for the meal and your company," Neteyam said softly as he walked next to you back to the village, carrying the basket for you with a genuine smile gracing his face. "It meant a lot to all of us."

Your cheeks warmed at his words, "I didn't do much, the others—"

"You are here, that alone is more than enough."

You nodded, a sense of satisfaction washing over you. "I'm glad I could contribute," your voice was filled with sincerity, "Supporting you and the clan is important to me."

A surge of hope welled up inside you, but as the conversation continued, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was missing. Despite your efforts, the romantic tension you had hoped for seemed to elude you. The conversation remained pleasant yet distant, and it became clear that Neteyam saw you more as a friend than a potential partner. With a heavy heart, you realized that your attempt to catch his interest had once again fallen short.

And make it last eternally?

For quite some time now, you have firmly believed that you have left those days behind you, imprisoned in childhood memories, overlapped by numerous teenage embarrassments. After all, now you are an adult with serious duties and commitments to attend to, and there's neither time nor room for such childish infatuations. Crushing on the future Olo'eyktan. Please. Plus, once you found out how many other girls in your clan, both older and younger than you, adored him, you figured it is best to move on. You were frustrated at times, but you resolved to carry on, cherishing the friendship you shared with Neteyam while silently letting go of your unrequited feelings. At least, that's what you thought...

… until three eclipses ago.

Mere moments before the eclipse, the all-too-familiar soft light danced in the room,  casting a golden hue that revealed the tiniest pollen floating around inside Tsahìk's crowded tent. It had been a long time since so many people had been injured at once, yet no one was ready to explain or report what had happened.

As two new figures entered the tent, one of them supporting the other, you heard a familiar voice speaking calmly, "Focus on not getting blood all over grandmother's tent rather than worrying about my wounds."

"Nah, I'm just- Ouch! Careful, bro!"

"Sorry, brother, but you have to cooperate with me here," Neteyam uttered while carefully helping Lo'ak onto the mat made of woven grasses that Kiri had prepared for them with blankets. 

"I'm just saying—Ahh," Lo'ak hissed as Neteyam applied pressure to his open wound with his bare hands, while Kiri hastily tied together any available cloths for his wound care. "-it's not very mighty of you, you know."

"What is not very mighty of him?" Kiri wanted to know, now taking over and applying pressure to his wound as well to stop the bleeding. As you shifted to Kiri's side, you handed her more cloths that she could wrap around Lo'ak's leg.

"His wounds, of course," Lo'ak grinned when he saw you and gave his older brother another amused sideways glance, before continuing, "but I'm sure he will be in great hands now. Right, bro?"

Just a quick glance at Lo'ak was enough to see that he was far worse off than Neteyam. While his wounds did not appear to be life-threatening, he was bleeding profusely from his thigh.

Tsahìk had already rushed to the four of you, throwing a disapproving look at Lo'ak, "Oh, my boy, let me have a look." With her expertise, she quickly got the situation under control, ordering Kiri to get more cloths while you stood by her side to assist her.

"My child, attend to his wounds," Tsahìk instructed you, but to your surprise she nodded towards Neteyam instead of Lo'ak as she pushed a bowl of fresh water into your hands. "My granddaughter and I can handle this young clumsy man here." Her stern gaze was once again fixed on Lo'ak, who, in turn, only grinned at her.

"Grandmother," Neteyam began soothingly, ready to protest, "there is no need to—" but her piercing eyes silenced him, causing him to follow you wordlessly to the other side of the tent.

And that's how you found yourself sitting in front of Neteyam, tending to his wounds with the gentle touch of your hands, caring for each cut and bruise.

"You need to be more careful," you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence as you wrung the cloth in the water that had already turned a muddy reddish color.

"I'm content with the present circumstances," he replied, his voice laced with a touch of amusement. You gave him a sarcastic look, which he reciprocated with a warm smile.

"Well, I suppose then you'll be content with this as well." Pressing the damp cloth into his hand, you stood up and leisurely made your way to Tsahìk's supplies to fetch some healing ointments, and you took your time doing so.

Upon your return, Neteyam watched you attentively, his eyes tracing your every movement, and you wondered if he had been watching you the whole time. There was a newfound curiosity in his gaze, a glimmer of something more. 

"My words came out wrong," he said when you sat back on the ground in front of him. The air was filled with a mix of anticipation and unspoken emotions, a subtle tension hanging between you. "You're right, I should be more careful. I always strive to be. It's just that there's little one can do in the face of an ambush."

"An ambush?" you asked with big eyes, "Oh, Great Mother! That's what everyone's been trying to conceal. And I was wondering the whole time what could've possibly happened to cause so many injuries."

"They probably didn't want to cause an uproar." You listened to his words, sensing the weight they carried. The mention of an ambush brought back memories of past dangers and harrowing encounters. The gravity of their lives was never far from their thoughts, and you understood the weight that rested on Neteyam's shoulders.

"You don't always have to be the strong one, Neteyam," you said softly, voice carrying reassurance, when you continued cleaning the cut on his chest, noticing that he tried not to wince under your touch, "It's alright to lean on others, to let them care for you." 

A flicker of emotion danced across his face, a fleeting moment of vulnerability before he regained his composure. His hand reached out to touch yours resting on his chest above his heart, the contact gentle yet charged with unspoken emotions.

"Thank you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, and in that moment it felt like the boundaries between healer and wounded blurred, "Thank you for being here, for tending to me." His eyes locked with yours, an unspoken promise passing between you, turning your cheeks in a light purply color.

"Now," you cleared your throat with the intention of changing the subject, fervently hoping that he wouldn't notice your flushed cheeks, "here comes the actual healing part."

Gently, you dipped your fingers into the jar of ointment, scooping out a generous amount. With deliberate movements, you applied the soothing balm to his wounds, careful not to cause any further discomfort. The ointment glided smoothly, creating a soothing sensation that seemed to envelop him in a healing embrace.

"What I meant before is that I am glad that you are the one taking care of me," you smiled upon hearing those words, feeling his gaze on you as you concentrated on his upper body. A gentle warmth radiated from his wounds as your fingertips grazed his skin, mingling with the tender touch of your hands. The ointment possessed a subtle fragrance, hinting at the natural remedies it held within.

As you continued to apply the ointment, your fingers delicately tracing the contours of his chest, exploring the intricate landscape of his injuries, a comfortable silence settled between you. The rhythm of your ministrations became a quiet conversation, a wordless understanding of care and compassion. With every gentle caress, a subtle shiver passed through him, a reaction that spoke of both vulnerability and an underlying trust in your touch. There was a closeness in this shared moment, a connection forged through the tender act of healing.

Neteyam's gaze remained fixed on you, his eyes revealing a depth of gratitude and something more profound. It was as if the vulnerability of his wounds had peeled away a layer, exposing a vulnerability of the heart. The strength he embodied as a warrior was softened in this vulnerable space, allowing a snippet into the depths of his mind and soul.

"It never stings when you patch me up, why?" Neteyam asked, his voice laced with wonder, tilting his head slightly.

"The secret is to mix yalnabark with 'omsyul," you replied, your voice gentle yet filled with a hint of playfulness.

"Care to share this secret with my grandmother? And Kiri, too?" Neteyam's request was teasing but also genuine, and you couldn't help but be touched by his thoughtfulness.

"Actually, Kiri is the one who taught me this," you admitted, a fondness in your voice.

Neteyam's forehead furrowed slightly, "Then why does it always burn when she patches me up?"

With a twinkle in your eyes, you playfully suggested, "Sibling love?"

A mischievous smile curved his lips. "Or perhaps your touch is blessed by Eywa?" His words hung in the air, filled with a newfound flirtation that took you by surprise. 

"Oh, come on now, exaggerate much, do you?" you responded, attempting to brush off his words with a hint of irony, not fully realizing the impact they had on you.

Undeterred by your sarcastic retort, Neteyam looked deeply into your eyes, his voice filled with sincerity and a touch of vulnerability. "The caress of your hand weaves a tapestry of enchantment, casting a spell that captivates my very soul."

His words echoed in your mind, resonating with a blend of tender affection and longing. You wished he had said those words when you were younger and so in love with him, meaning every syllable coming from his kissable lips. What you would have given to hear him say it.

A blush spread across your cheeks as you struggled to find the right words to respond. The air around you seemed charged with electricity, the tension between you both palpable.

"You said I should exaggerate," Neteyam added, a witty glint in his eyes, as if to remind you of your earlier banter. 

Your younger self would have etched his previous words into a tree to make them eternal — words you longed to hear from your crush, words that felt like a dream.

"Crush?" he asked with interest, and your eyes widened with the realization that you had spoken your thoughts aloud. "On whom?"

"Um," a jumble of thoughts flooded your mind at once, too late for an excuse, "You?" 

Your confession left him momentarily speechless, and your heart pounded in your chest. 

It's in the past, so it's okay to admit it, you told yourself, trying to calm down a bit.

"You have a crush on me?"

"Had," you corrected quickly.

"You had a crush on me?" he asked again, as if needing confirmation. It seemed to sweep him off his feet, a revelation he hadn't expected.

"Everyone did, everyone does," you confessed, trying to downplay the significance.

"Everyone except you?"

You shrugged, unsure how to answer, "I guess I'm… over it."

"Why?" he inquired.

"Come on, Neteyam," you sighed, trying to mask the bitterness in your voice, "don't act like you didn't know."

"I swear by Eywa this is news to me… I have never…" he hesitated briefly with his words, "It doesn't even make sense."

Make sense?

"Don't make me regret telling you," you said, your voice tinged with frustration, "It's not about making sense, and it's not a big deal either, don't you agree?"

"Yes, but I try to understand."

"What is there to understand?"

"Why would you even crush on me in the first place?"

Oh. 

"You're right," you tightly gripped the cloth, forcing a smile, "why would I."

Even though you reluctantly admitted it, it hurt you and scratched at your ego. You were now more than grateful to have never openly communicated your feelings. As an adult, you could handle it, but you know exactly that this reaction would have devastated your childhood self. You were not accustomed to this insensitivity from Neteyam, considering he always maintained a noble and respectable demeanor. This showed you even more how repulsive the idea of having you by his side was to him.

"Also, I'm sorry," you turned around in a swing, your voice filled with sadness, disappointment, and above all, anger—anger at him for acting like a skxawng and anger at yourself for being a skxawng by confiding in him, "that the thought of me being attracted to you disgusts you so much. It won't happen again, rest your mind."  

He seemed lost for words, blinking once, twice, and opening his mouth only to close it again, processing your words. Part of you yearned for him to say something, to prove you wrong, but nothing came. His gaze lingered on you for a long moment, altering between your eyes, the unspoken words hanging in the air. 

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm needed elsewhere," you said, your voice tinged with resignation. You prepared to turn away, ready to retreat from the turmoil of the moment. But just as you began to pivot, a sudden, gentle grip on your arm stopped you in your tracks. It was Neteyam, his touch both unexpected and tender.

In that instant, conflicting emotions surged within you, caught between the instinct to push him away and the captivating gaze that held your attention. Without uttering a single word, he drew you closer, wrapping you in a tight embrace that left you completely defenseless, your body momentarily frozen in surprise against his bare skin.

Your initial response was to resist, your mind still reeling from the whirlwind of confusion. Yet, as his arms enveloped you, a scent as enchanting as the forest's vibrant essence and the serenity of sacred woods wafted into your consciousness. It was a harmonious blend that stirred your senses, mingling the fragrant allure of nature with the grounding whispers of sandalwood.

Inhaling deeply, the captivating aroma cast a spell upon you, dissolving the remnants of anger and frustration that had once consumed your thoughts like a distant memory as he held you firmly in his strong arms, the warmth of his body seeping into your very core.

In this suspended moment, time appeared to lose its grip as the only audible sounds were the rhythm of your synchronized breaths and the rhythmic beat of your hearts.

"I'm sorry too," you heard him whisper in your hair as he pulled away from you and left the tent, leaving you confused.

It was in that moment, surrounded by the fading light and the soft whispers of the forest outside the tent, that you realized the painful truth: nothing would be the same between you and Neteyam because

no matter what you did, you would never be able to make him love you.

And exactly this is the reason of your sleepless nights, which is why, in the middle of your melancholic nostalgia, you decided to take a little walk to the lake nearby to pass the time until daybreak which leads you to the lake. You currently sit on a mossy tree stump above the shimmering water allowing your feet to hang freely just above the glistening surface of the lake, instead of sleeping safe and sound like the rest of the village. The purples, greens, and yellows of the bioluminescent flora and fauna smile at you but you fail to smile back. Your heart heavy with a mix of emotions and your mind full of questions, you try not to think of more memories, each one feeling like a dagger, piercing your already fragile heart. 

You try to understand, yet it's difficult for you.

After so many failed attempts and moments of acceptance in between, he still manages to confuse you with his mixed signals. The moment, when he hugged you, replays relentlessly in your thoughts as if burned in your mind, a vivid recollection that carries the weight of his proximity, the tempting linger of his scent, and the electric touch that ignited a fierce tension within you. It was an encounter that left an indelible mark, an irresistible dance between desire and restraint, etching itself into the deepest recesses of your longing soul.

You groan into your hands. You want to hate him. So much.

Three eclipses have come and gone since then, way too much time to think between that and the part where you made the decision to distance yourself from Neteyam. This time for real. You wake up earlier than everyone else, dedicating yourself to your work, skipping communal meals and shared gatherings entirely. You complete your tasks and retreat back to your home, like a ghost in the clan, yet living unscathed within your own space, seeking solace in the sanctuary of solitude.

Almost every hour, you find yourself battling with conflicting emotions. On one hand, you long to see him, to be in his presence, and to feel that familiar connection. But on the other hand, you remember his last words and the way he looked at you when he learned about your past feelings. Distance will be best for the both of you. The ache in your heart hasn't subsided, but you know the step is necessary for your own well-being, it's a shield you've built to preserve what little strength remains within you.

Yesterday, your changed behavior was noticed by Tsahik, so she confronted you directly, but she neither questioned you nor expected any form of explanation. Her words still echo in your mind, partly because forgetting the moment will be difficult with the way she looked at you with her kind eyes, as if understanding the depths of your heartache.

"My child," she laid her hand gently on your shoulder, her voice carrying the wisdom of the ages, "Sometimes the tides do not turn in the way we hope but that does not diminish the beauty of the love within your heart. Always remember that Eywa has woven the threads of affection and devotion. Thus, have trust that the stars will align one day, for love, in all its form, is a gift to cherish."

The words resonate deep within your soul, as you sit by the tranquil water, the soft glow of the plants casting an ethereal light around you, a gentle breeze rustles through the verdant foliage. In these moments of isolation, you reflect on the times you've spent with Neteyam, the moments that sparked the flame of attraction within you. You question whether those were genuine or merely figments of your imagination, the doubts swirling in your mind, clouding your judgment and feeding your insecurities. 

The stars above seem to mirror the twinkle in your eyes, a bittersweet reminder of the unfulfilled desire for you can't comprehend why your heart continues to long for him despite your mind trying to move on. Your thoughts are deep in contemplation when—

"Can we talk?" The voice startles you, and you flinch sharply, almost letting out a scream. Your heart pounds heavily in your chest, the fright taking hold of you. Quickly, you turn around, only to see that out of everyone, Neteyam approaches you, his figure blending seamlessly with the natural surroundings.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," a crooked smile forms on his lips.

You look up, meeting his gaze with a guarded expression, unsure of what to expect from this encounter. His presence catches you off guard, causing your heart to skip another beat. The sight of him stirs a mix of emotions within you—longing, uncertainty, fear, but also a flicker of hope.

"You didn't," you lie, your voice tinged with coldness.

He nods his head towards the space beside you, "May I?" 

Neteyam's eyes hold a certain earnestness, a silent plea for understanding. You just shrug your shoulders, and he interprets it as a yes. He takes a seat beside you, his movements graceful and measured, his tail gently swaying in the air, your shoulders and thighs nearly touching. 

The silence between you is tense, charged with unspoken words and residual feelings. You let your feet dangle above the water. As you wiggle your toes, you feel a gentle coolness from the air mingling with the refreshing touch of the water below.

He clears his voice, "I've noticed your absence these past few days."

"Oh?" Your ears perk up with curiosity, surprised that he has noticed, "I was busy."

"You were missing from the meal servings as well," he notes, his words carrying a hint of concern.

"Yeah, I haven't had much of an appetite lately," you reply, sounding detached.

You aren't sure if you have misheard, but it seems like Neteyam has whispered softly to himself, "Me neither," although it can also be your mind playing tricks on you.

"You see, I, uh..." he pauses, seemingly struggling to find the right words which is so unusual for him, "Can I speak openly with you?"

"Don't you always?" Your voice still laced with a hint of coldness.

"Indeed," you noticed from the corner of your eye a brief tension in his hands that gradually relaxes, "I just wanted to let you know that there is no need for you to feel obligated to skip communal gatherings because of me." 

You can't help but scoff at that, however, he remains undeterred by your reaction.

"It's okay if you don't want to see me — I will keep my distance if that is what you want, but, please, don't avoid the clan in an attempt to avoid me. Don't isolate yourself."

"Funny," you say bitterly, your gaze still on the water, "that you think you have that much power over me."

"That's not what I wanted to say, it's—"

"It's fine, Neteyam," you interrupt him, turning your head to him, your jaw clenched, "I get it. If the future Olo'eyktan says so, I'll comply. See you at the morning meal."

You attempt to get up, but he gently grasps your wrist, halting your movement.

"I can sense that something has changed between us, and it weighs heavily on my heart," his voice carries a hint of vulnerability.

"Things change," you respond as he loosens his grip, but you refrain from attempting to get up again, waiting for the conversation to end, "Is there anything else?"

"Yes," he shifts, causing your thighs to briefly brush against each other, "I've had time to reflect on our last conversation."

"Actually, let's not—" you try to interrupt him, but this time he doesn't let your words stop him.

"Let me say this one thing and after that you don't have to talk to me again."

You meet his gaze, which is filled with honesty and a touch of guilt. You nod and look at him, noticing how he rubs his hands on his thighs and takes a deep breath.

"I was caught off guard," he admits, his voice softer now, "When we talked, I mean; and when I learned that you used to feel an affection for me — I didn't handle it well. I'm sorry for the way I reacted and for the pain I may have caused you."

You remain silent for a few seconds remembering the unpleasant conversation from last time, before you speak, "We don't have to talk about it, it's okay."

"No, it's not okay!" You notice the tension in his muscles. "You see," he takes a deep breath, "I didn't understand why you would crush on me."

"You made that very clear," you remark.

"I regret my poor choice of words, and for any offense it may have caused. I immediately noticed that my words had an impact on you, but I was too overwhelmed to correct myself in the moment," he admits, a hint of regret in his voice, "Please know that the idea of you being attracted to me never has and never will disgust me," his eyes lock with yours as his voice gets quieter when he adds, "It scares me."

Upon hearing that, your features soften slightly, a flicker of empathy crossing your face, and the question leaves your mouth before you can think about it, "Why?"

Now he's the one shrugging, "Everyone has their own doubts and fears."

You're not satisfied with that response, and you want him to open up to you for which you are willing to meet him halfway. So you begin an attempt to make him elaborate on his statement, "I'm scared of many things." you watch him intently as you speak, "Accidentally plucking poisonous plants instead of the usual herbs, falling down the hallelujah mountains, being eaten alive by nantangs." And most of all, rejection. "I can't help but wonder what fears could reside within a mighty warrior like yourself."

His mouth twitches slightly upwards when you say that, but is quickly replaced by a neutral expression. "The possibility of someone seeing through my façade," Neteyam admits sighing, his voice laced with a mix of confusion and self-reflection, "Of someone truly knowing me," he holds your gaze, a certain vulnerability in them, "That terrifies me."

You are left speechless, completely caught off guard by his answer.

"But," you stammer, trying to find the right words to express your thoughts, "you're Neteyam, you're... perfect in everything you do. I never considered the possibility that you might have these thoughts."

He shakes his head, disagreeing. "No, definitely not, I am far off from being perfect. That's why I couldn't understand why you would have feelings for me," he confesses, vulnerability shining in his gaze. "Because I never saw myself the way you did. But maybe, just maybe, this is why I've been blind to the possibility of something more between us."

"If you're only here to make me feel better about myself..." you start, your voice trailing off.

"No," he groans in frustration. "That's not it."

"Then what is it?"

He chuckles at your reaction, "I get nervous when you look at me that way."

"What do you mean?" You are the one getting nervous because of his statement for he doesn't look nervous at all, on the contrary, he looks very relaxed and almost overconfident. 

"Yeah, can't you tell my hands are all sweaty?" he lets you know with a smirk while he studies your face.

"Neteyam," you blink in confusion, "Are you okay?"

"You're not listening," he sighs, his smile dropping slightly.

"Then talk openly," you urge impatiently.

He takes a deep breath and looks you directly in the eyes. "I've come to realize that you mean more to me than just a friend."

Your features falter and your eyes widen, as the realization dawns upon you that your feelings have not been unrequited after all. "No."

"I have a crush on you, too," he whispers euphorically, confirming your thoughts.

"No, Neteyam, not now," you shake your head quickly, your mind filled with way too many thoughts and too much confusion. Instantly, you stand up as if stung by an insect, trying to maintain your composure.

"It didn't start now, it was always there," he admits, standing up as well, now towering over you and studying your face and your reaction again. "But I fear that I've missed my chance. And now, it seems like it's too late."

Ignoring his words entirely, you fixate your serious gaze on him, "You can't do this to me."

"What?" he blinks, seeming to comprehend your words, "Why?" his gaze momentarily shifts from one eye to the other with a swift glance, reflecting his confusion.

"Because all my life, I did everything to try to make you notice me. I went beyond my comfort zone, I did everything I could. But from you," You look at him, gesturing towards his entire figure as if the reason were obvious, "there was nothing. Not one single acknowledgment from you. I accepted it. I moved on. I made peace with the thought of just knowing you and supporting what is good for you," You find yourself almost breathless, your words tumbling out rapidly, but each one carries sincere meaning. "You can't come now, years later, and pretend that you have a crush on me. I can't go through that again."

He takes a step forward, clearly taken aback by your outburst. "I... I'm not pretending to—"

"And I'm so tired," you interrupt him, your voice faltering, "Now that I've finally let go of you, you can't say things like this."

"Let go?" he repeats, his voice filled with disbelief, "Of me?"

"Yes, Neteyam," you persist firmly. "Let go of you. I don't want you anymore."

The night air feels heavy with unspoken regrets and unfulfilled desires as the silence underlines the shared acknowledgment of the chasm that has opened between you. Neteyam's expression shifts from disappointment to determination, a flicker of hope dancing in his eyes. "How do I make you love me, then?"

It feels ironic that he's asking you that question, considering you used to be the one who always wondered how you could make him love you whenever you saw him. You groan in frustration, feeling overwhelmed by conflicting emotions. 

"I worked so hard to accept things as they are. That is not fair, Neteyam." A mix of sadness and anger can be heard in your voice.

"Please listen," he pleads, reaching out to touch your arm. You close your eyes, turning your head away. "I've been blind to your feelings, consumed by my own worries and obligations, and I didn't see what was right in front of me, hurting you in the process. I'm sorry I caused you pain. If I had known sooner…"

"What then?" you interrupt, your voice filled with bitterness. "Do you think everything would magically change, and we'd be deeply in love with a family of our own by now?"

Neteyam pauses for a moment, processing your words, and a hopeful smile crosses his face. "Yes, that's a possibility."

You groan in exasperation and attempt to push him away, your frustration boiling over. "No, Neteyam. I can't keep living in this cycle of uncertainty." 

As you push him away from you, your heart heavy, you walk away with determined steps, wanting to bring as much distance between him and you as possible.

"I love you!" he shouts after you, causing you to freeze in your tracks and turn around in utter shock. "I love you. And if that's not enough, then so be it. But I would rather be damned than let you go now, heading who knows where in the middle of the night. If you don't want me, I won't approach you, I won't come near. But don't run away from me."

Desperation visible in his voice, his words reach deep into your heart; the intensity echoing in the air, leaving a profound impact on both of you.

"I've been waiting for your love for far too long," you respond bitterly.

Taking cautious steps in your direction, trying to close the physical and emotional distance between you, he asks, "Why waste more time?" It feels as if an invisible force draws you together, intertwining your fates in this pivotal moment but you remain stubborn, too exhausted and clouded from the painful burn in your heart.

"I don't want you," you declare, the words slipping out uncertainly, as if trying to convince both him and yourself.

"Then look me in the eyes when you say those words," he challenges, his voice stern, gaze unwavering.

"I don't want you," you repeat, louder this time, trying to emphasize your resolve. However, instead of looking into his eyes, your gaze fixates on his face, tracing the patterns of his glowing freckles that your mind has memorized long ago.

The moonlight bathes the scene in a gentle gleam, and you both stare at each other in complete silence, the space between you filled with suffocating tension.

A knowing smile suddenly forms on his lips. "I don't believe you."

"I don't want you, Neteyam!" you exclaim, raising your voice even more, repeating the words over and over, in a desperate attempt to convince him, "I don't want you, I don't want you, I don't want you!"

He studies you intently for another moment, his eyes filled with hope.

"Your tail gives you away," he says triumphantly, his smile growing. And that's when you finally let go of your suppressed emotions. Your lower lip begins to tremble, and before you know it, you find yourself in his warm embrace, his strong arms pulling you impossibly closer to him.

"I want you," you confessed against his chest, your voice barely audible and filled with so much vulnerability, "After everything, I still want you." 

"Shh, you have me," he whispers, his voice soothing and reassuring.

You sob, the weight of your emotions finally breaking free, and he tenderly pats your head, his fingers gliding through your hair. His touch brings a sense of calmness to your racing heart and gently dries your tears.

"I'll make up for all the time lost, I promise," his voice reaches your ear, soft and full of sincerity.

His words continue to soothe you, and at one point, he hums a faint melody that resonates deep within you, gradually bringing an end to your sobs.

"Do you recall the day you asked about my plans after my Dream Hunt, and I hesitated to provide an answer?" He asks after you calm down, his voice carrying an infinite sense of solace.

Your arms still around him, you nod against his chest, every word of that conversation etched into your mind.

"That day," he continues, "I have sworn to myself to admire your eternal beauty from afar, to cherish your body, mind, and soul until the end of my days," he whispers softly in your hair, "with the hope that one day I will hold you close and claim you as my very own."

You take a deep breath, feeling overwhelmed by his words and the emotions swirling within you. Slowly, you lift your head from his chest, your teary eyes meeting his with awe.

"I... I never imagined you felt this way," you whisper, your voice hoarse and fragile from your sobs. "To think that you've carried these feelings for me all this time, it's... I don't know what to say."

"Interesting," he comments, eyes with a gleam, lips playful, "You were just as oblivious to my feelings as I was to yours, so I guess that makes us even." A mischievous bunny-like smile plays across his face, transforming him into the youthful version of himself that you have fallen deeply in love with, no longer the mighty warrior following in the footsteps of the great Toruk Makto, but the young man who has captured your heart long ago.

You can feel tears welling up in your eyes again, overwhelmed by the weight of his words and the intensity of your own emotions. With a shaky breath, you reach to your waist, gently intertwining your fingers with his.

In the warmth of his arms, you find solace for your burning heart. His arms hold you tightly, offering a sense of intimate security that you've always wished for. But then, something shifts. 

The intensity of your emotions begins to wane, and as you look up at him through tear-filled eyes, you see his gaze fixed upon you with unwavering love, trying to read you as he cups your face with his large hands. His thumb gently brushes away a lingering tear on your cheek, his touch delicate against your skin. A soft, affectionate smile graces his lips as he leans forward and presses a gentle kiss against the place where your tear was mere seconds ago. The sweetness of the gesture stirs your heart, a silent affirmation of his loving nature. He continues to kiss away your tears, each touch a soothing balm to your wounded soul.

A powerful desire burns between you then, as his soft lips linger near yours. His eyes meet yours again, seeking permission, and you respond with a silent nod. Right then and there, the world around you fades into the background, and all that matters is the connection you share. With a surge of passion, his lips meet yours in a fervent kiss, the longing coming to an end, hearts intertwined. 

The tender touch of his lips against yours feels like an electric jolt that sends shivers down your spine. You both pull back slowly from the passionate kiss, breathless yet connected. Your eyes meet, gazing into each other with a depth of love that words can never describe.

His eyes hold unwavering sincerity as he caresses your cheek with his thumb. "You've captured my heart in ways I can't fully express," he confesses, his voice filled with affection. "And if you'll allow me, I want to show you every day how deeply I love you."

A deep blue blush tints your cheeks as you struggle to find the right words to respond. He doesn't seem to mind as a soft smile spreads across his face. He leans in, his forehead resting against yours, adoring the tranquil moment between two souls.

Enjoying each other's presence and your newfound attraction and happiness, you spend the rest of the night hand in hand wandering around mindlessly, exchanging loving gazes, talking about everything and sweet nothing's at once like two fools in love.

"Do you remember that day?" You hear him ask cheerfully as his free hand wanders to the songcord attached to his loincloth. You follow his movement and your eyes widen as you recognize the dried petals, intricately woven into one of the beads. "It was so unconventional, going against tradition. Who has ever seen a girl giving a flower to a boy? No one. But you didn't care. You were true to yourself, and you gifted me your favorite flower, and it meant so much more than just a little gesture."

Taking aback by his words and the bittersweet memory you can't help but smile widely as you inspect his songcord but confusion grazes your face at the same time.

"Wait—What do you mean? Lo'ak told me it's your favorite flower."

"No, he told me it's your favorite."

"Well, it became my favorite after I learned that it's yours."

A boisterous laugh escapes him as he throws his head back, his chest almost vibrating, and it is so contagious that you can't help but join in, the air filled with heartfelt laughter.

"It's gonna cause quite a scandal, but Lo'ak definitely deserves a good punch when he wakes up." You laughed, knowing that he meant that half-heartedly.

He delicately cradles your hand back in his, your fingers intertwining as he brings them up, his lips softly brushing against your knuckles in a loving kiss. The touch sends a warmth through your body. 

"Speaking of scandals," you say sheepishly as you reluctantly let go of his hand, "maybe it's better not to enter our village hand in hand just yet?"

He chuckles at your suggestion.

"Maybe," he agrees, his eyes filled with adoration, his face leaning slightly forward, "Can I have one last kiss before that?"

You look at him challengingly, he mirrors your expression, a playful glint in his eyes, coming closer to your face. 

Your lips almost touching for the second time this night, you whisper, "Only if you catch me." 

With that, you run off, your heart blooming with excitement, and his laughter follows you through the enchanting forest as the sun rises, casting its warm rays across the sky, and you know that the future holds nothing but love for the both of you.

for anyone asking, neteyam does in fact catch you and gets his kiss(es) <3 thank you for reading, liking, commenting, reblogging 🤍 btw, what is your love language? 💕

[sailorrhansol]

ok ok requesting a treat for all of us, honestly

sleep demon seungcheol. extra sprinkling of nasty if possible. i want you to out-zaddy you know who.

>:) ok smooch smooch have fun!!!! I LOVE HALIWEEEEEN

❀ Pairing: Incubus!Choi Seungcheol x afab reader

❀ Summary: You can’t seem to sleep, but the strange man in the bar that you can’t visiting promises he can help. 

❀ Word Count: 6,239

❀ Genre: Supernatural

❀ Type: Smut, PWP

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Mentions of insomnia including side effects like exhaustion, dysfunction, derealization, feeling out of it/in weird headspaces, time is not supposed to feel linear in this and it’s supposed to feel kind of liminal-space in places, reader is often confused/thoughts are a little scattered and feels out of it because of proximity to an entity, there are creepy vibes in this, Seungcheol doesn’t always appear the same/mentions of feeling like in danger or on edge around him instinctually, explicit language, sexually explicit content including unprotected vaginal sex, fingering, a lot of spit and cum, nipple play, reference to subspace or an adjacent, choking, oral (f. and m. receiving) multiple orgasms, biting and scratching, I wouldn’t categorize this as explicit dom/sub dynamics but there are power dynamics in some places, mean Seungcheol in spots, like very light humiliation if you squint in one section, overall just…. Weird ass vibes and reccouring scenes/reader not remembering things. 

❀ A/N: Hi Jolene Wolene Folene - thank you for requesting this thing that we totally didn’t talk about before I started Haliween and definitely maybe sort of giving me the outlet to write this weird little liminal space demon that I love doing so dearly. Pls enjoy spooky ooky kooky Cheol and his weird little obsession with reader :) 

❀ A/N 2: This fic is a part of my Haliween writing event that I’m hosting September - October. 

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

Main Masterlist ❀ Tag List Request Form ❀ Ask ❀ Haliween

Nothing feels real. Your eyes burn as you stare at the computer screen, the letters and the buttons on your email becoming blurry as they swim out of focus. The dull sounds of your office feel as though they’re several rooms over, faint hums heard through walls of plaster. 

Pushing away from the desk, you head to the break room, in desperate need of coffee. You know drinking caffeine this late in the afternoon will only further exacerbate your insomnia, and yet you need it if you’re going to get through the next three hours at work.

You’ve hit the point in your endless nights of no sleep where everything feels off, like you’re experiencing things in the third person. You’re there but you don’t feel like it, navigating your day knowing that it’s you doing and saying things at work without really registering that you’re doing or saying those things. 

Coffee hisses from the machine into your cup. You stare at it, vision going unfocused again as the smell wafts up to you. Time passes. You stand and stare. 

Someone walks into the room, bringing you back to reality as you look over your shoulder and see your coworker come in to fill up their water bottle. They raise their brows at you as though to ask if you’re okay, and you grin, gesturing to the coffee like that’s some sort of answer.

Really, you’re not okay. You have ventured past the threshold of tired into something else entirely. Something that is lesser than, something base and nearly inhuman. 

Derealization. It’s a word your doctor had used when you described what it was like for you after so many nights without sleep, the disconnected feeling to the world around you. Even as you walk to your desk, it doesn’t feel real. You logically know that it is, that you exist in a specific time and space.

And yet… you remain buoyed in that space, totally untethered from everything around you. Floating. Lost. 

Back at your desk, the words on the computer screen blur again. Come into focus. You type and email. The keyboard makes sounds, but you don’t really register them. 

At some point, the day ends. 

-

A bright neon sign burns against the darkness of the alleyway. You blink rapidly, holding your hand in front of your eyes to block out some of the light. Looking around, you don’t see anyone else. The sound of the city is muted and far away, but you smell the burning of fuel and the smell of stagnant water under a dripping window air conditioning unit. 

You don’t remember walking here. You lower your hand as your eyes adjust to the burning pink above the door. Looking down at your clothes, you’re at least relieved to discover you put on jeans and a t-shirt before going out on an adventure out on the town.

Police sirens wail in the distance. You pull your phone out of your back pocket, thankful you brought it. 

“Fuck,” you swear, flashing the time. It’s 3:33 in the morning and you know immediately you’ve sleepwalked your way to this strange, unfamiliar alleyway. 

It’s a vicious circle: go days without sleep feeling like you’re a step away from death, or take just enough sleep medication to knock you out but make you sleepwalk. 

Shoving your phone in your pocket, you look back up at the neon sign, reading it for the first time. Hush. A shiver goes down your spine at the name, eyes flicking to the blue crescent moon attached to the pink cursive. 

There’s a magnetism about the sign. Your eyes dropdown to the door under it, a nondescript metal entrance to what you think is a bar. There’s nothing to indicate that it is a bar, just a gut feeling. Your gut feeling is also whispering at you to go inside, to open the door and step into the cool space of Hush. 

Licking your lips, you take one hesitant step forward. The tingling in your spine increases and you feel static in the air. Heart racing, you take another step. Then another. Before you realize it, you’re at the door with your hand on the knob, cool to the touch.

With a deep breath, you pull the door open and step inside. 

It’s even darker inside than the alleyway. Gentle piano music plays somewhere in the room and you swivel left and right, trying to gain your bearings as your eyes adjust. When they do, you see a very small room with a single piano in the corner, two booths, a bar at the back, and three stools pulled up to its counter.

A single person sits at the bar. You hesitate in the entrance, drinking in the stranger. It appears to be a man in a dark purple suit, his broad shoulders hunched over where he leans against the wooden bar top. You can’t make out much else beyond the wide shape of his shoulders and narrow taper of his waist, but you can see the crimson hair that glows like flame underneath the dull, flickering light above his head.

“You gonna stand there all night?” His voice is soft, a gentle pur. He turns his head to the side, his profile shadowed. “I don’t bite.” You hear the smirk in his voice when he tacks on, “Not often, anyway.” 

Carefully, you approach the bar. There doesn’t appear to be a bartender of any sort or anyone else in the bar, for that matter. You realize that there’s piano music but no pianist, but decide not to focus on it as you enter the man’s line of focus. 

When he looks at you, the world stops. It’s like stepping into a bubble, everything else ceasing to exist. The hair on the back of your neck stands on end and you feel your pulse hammer in your throat as you stare at him, unable to take your eyes off him.

He’s beautiful but it’s not that. His eyes are dark, but there is something more there. Something swimming in the depth of the darkness that you cannot place, something ancient and curious and awake. You feel pinned under his gaze, eyes darting to drink in the rest of his features: soft, pouty lips the color of berries, sharp jawline, thick, angular brows. 

Stunning. Dangerous. Alluring. 

“Hi,” he says, mouth stretching into a grin. His teeth aren’t sharp, but you have the distinct feeling that they should be. “You’re a pretty thing.” 

“Um, hi.”

“Can’t sleep?” 

“How can you tell?”

His grin spreads, wicked and cutting. “I have a feeling about those things.” His dark eyes drop to the seat next to him. “Have a seat. Maybe I can help.”

Tentatively, you sit down next to him. “You can help me sleep?” 

“What if I said I can?” 

Sitting next to him is oppressive. His presence weighs down on you, a physical entity that you can’t see. Static buzzes in your mind and your thoughts feel a little sticky, like just being close to him disrupts your frequency. 

He smells like jasmine, immediately soothing. You feel your eyes grow heavy as you blink a few times, settling on the stool as you angle yourself toward him. 

You’d misjudged his size when you walked in. He’d seemed broad when you first walked in, but you don’t think you fully understood the width of him. The weight of him. Or maybe it just feels that way when you look at him, your perception of him flickering like a bad TV signal. 

“Tell me about your sleep problems.”

You shrug. “They’re like any other sleep problems.”

“Not all sleep problems are the same, Pretty.” 

“I suppose that’s true. I don’t really know what causes them. I just… can’t fall asleep and then I start getting worried I won’t sleep, so it makes it worse. I want to sleep so bad but it’s like… wanting to sleep only makes it avoid me more.”

“Mmm. Sleep is a fickle thing, isn’t it?” 

“My doctors give me meds but the normal dose doesn’t work and the stronger dose… makes me walk around.” 

He pouts. “You poor, sweet thing.” 

Something about his sympathy makes you flush. You sulk, looking down at the countertop as you pick absently at the peeling varnish on the wood. “I know,” you murmur. “I just want to be normal.” 

“I can help. If you want it.” 

You glance at him. His eyes are dancing dangerously. Half of you screams yes while the other screams run. You’re only vaguely aware that you’re in a bar alone with a strange man who knows you’re sleep deprived. No one would help you if you screamed. You don’t know where you would run.

His dark eyes seem to read your thoughts and he laughs, shaking his head as he turns to pick up his drink from the bar. “I’m not that sort of creature.”

“How would you help me sleep?”

“Are you accepting my help?”

His question hangs in the air between the two of you. The piano music has stopped, but you don’t remember when it did. Overhead, the light still flickers. On. Off. On. Off. Onoffonoffonoff-

“You’re under no obligation to accept.” His voice is kind. Warm. Soft like your blankets, cozy like your bed. “You’re always free to make your own decision.” 

“I want help,” you agree slowly. “I really do.”

His red mouth curves into a smile and again, you’re struck by the thought that his teeth should be sharp. “Good. I’ll help you, Pretty.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“You can call me Seungcheol.” You give him your name and he tilts his head, drinking you in. “I know.” 

“How are you going to help me sleep?”

Seungcheol finishes his drink. You watch him swallow thickly, suddenly fascinated with the way his throat bobs as he does. The smell of jasmine is overwhelming as he leans in, stopping an inch away from you.

The static increases. You feel your blood buzz pleasantly. 

“Close your eyes for me,” Seungcheol murmurs, looking at you through silky lashes. “I promise everything will be okay.” 

For a moment, you stare at him, the air charged. He doesn’t hurry you along, content to study your face with that same uncanny darkness swimming in his eyes. 

Taking a deep breath, you do what Seungcheol says, and you close your eyes. 

-

Sunlight wakes you up. You roll over in your bed, squinting up at the window. Your blackout curtains are open, letting the morning beam in on where you’re tangled in your comforter and sheets. 

Sighing heavily, you close your eyes again, content to lay in the warm sun. Just as you start to drift to sleep again, you recall a pair of dark eyes and fiery hair. You jolt upright, heart hammering as you remember the exchange. 

Snatching your phone from your nightstand, you open your walking app to look at where the hell you went last night, but there’s nothing there. Frowning, you pull the sheets off your body. You’re in pajamas and fuzzy socks that you don’t remember putting on. 

Hauling yourself out of bed, you lean halfway into the laundry basket to claw through your clothing. None of the things you wore last night are there, so you go to your closet to wrench the doors open and search. 

The shirt from last night and the exact pair of jeans are hanging, completely unworn. Your frown deepens as your confusion rises. Turning away from the closet, you open your phone again and try to get any sort of sense of where you went last night, but there’s no text threads. No signs you used public transportation. Nothing in any of your tracking apps that indicate you left at all. 

“Was it a fucking dream?” you mutter to yourself, perplexed. 

Sitting down on your bed, you try to look up Hush on the internet. You can find nothing in your city that indicates a bar or establishment like the one you discovered Seungcheol in. You even try social media to look him up - Reddit, neighborhood pages, anything to try and find the stranger from last night.

It seems Hush and Seungcheol don’t exist.

And yet… you don’t remember going to sleep last night after he agreed to help you. And you feel rested today. 

Puzzled and a little freaked out, you give up your search. A dream is a dream, and you’re content that you finally feel a little less exhausted and a little more awake. You’ll take the win, getting up to start your day with a little bit of pep in your step. 

By midday, you’ve mostly forgotten about the bar and the man in it, only remembering those dark eyes and that red hair. 

-

Heat creeps up your spine. You nuzzle against the warmth behind you, the smell of jasmine coaxing you deeper into the embrace. You feel the vibration of laughter against your back, your nerves tingling as you feel feather-light fingers brush up your thighs. 

“Tired?” 

Immediately you know it’s Seungcheol’s deep voice, that same velvet purr whispered right in your ear. You shake your head no, suddenly not wanting to sleep at all. You press into him further, feeling the way his arms tighten around you as he chuckles, mouth pressing chastely against the spot under your ear. 

“Liar,” he teases. 

You pout. It might be true, but he could have the decency to pretend it’s not. You open your eyes and look up at him. His hair is like spilled blood in the dark of your room. The curtains are closed, blocking out all light from the moon and street, but your salt lamp still burns in the corner. 

Seungcheol looks like the devil in the low, orange light. He’s in a black t-shirt, which is somehow more deadly than the fine cut suit. Your stomach flutters and you squeeze your thighs shut when you realize his hands are brushing up and down your thighs, touch slow. 

“Thought you were a dream,” you mumble, words a little thick. “Thought you weren’t real.”

“Dreams can’t be real?” That makes you frown and he laughs, jostling you against his chest. His hands squeeze your thighs and you let out a breathy sound as he nudges you with his nose. “You don’t know anything about dreams, Pretty. Can I show you?” 

More than anything you want him to show you. Suddenly your desire for him outweighs any sort of sleepiness, your nerves sparking and coming to life as you nod helplessly against his chest, trying to lean as close as possible. 

“Needy,” he chides. He presses a wet kiss to your jawline and you preen, your head falling back against his shoulder. “I’ll go easy so you remember this time, alright?” 

“Cheol.” 

The nickname sounds familiar. Intimate. Like you’ve said it before - something tells you that you have said it before. You don’t remember where or when, but it’s with familiarity that you moan the nickname again as he nips at your neck, one hand drifting between your legs to pry them open. 

He murmurs praise against your ear when your legs drift apart, spreading to accommodate his seeking touch. You’re wearing shorts but it feels entirely too hot under the blankets pooled around your waist. You kick at them and whine, managing to get them down to your knees before he huffs and presses forward, temporarily bending you in half to toss them. 

When he settles back against your headboard, you follow him, turning your head to press your mouth to the corner of his. His lips twitch in a smirk, shifting to catch your mouth fully with his. 

Seungcheol kisses you like he knows how you like to be kissed - devouring, consuming, hungry. His tongue brushes against yours as he drinks you in as his hand presses between your leagues, applying pressure to your clothed cunt.

You whine into the kiss and he grins against your mouth. A line of spit connects your lips when you pull away panting, looking up at him through half-lidded eyes. His fingers circle your clit gently and your hips buck in his hold against the stimulation. 

“Not enough,” you whisper. You grip his wrist with one hand, the other gripping the sheets to bunch them in your fist. “Cheol, please.”

“Hush,” he scolds, biting your jaw. His free hand comes up to your neck, gripping you under your jaw to angle your mouth back to his. “Kiss me.” 

You melt in Seungcheol’s grip. His tongue tastes sweet, his grip on you making you dizzy. Your thighs squeeze around his wrist as he works you up, his touch teasing and not enough through layers of fabric. 

He knows it’s not enough, content to string you along until you’re writhing against him, back shifting against his chest as you squirm. His kisses drift from your mouth to your jaw, open-mouthed and spit-slicked as his tongue darts out to taste your skin while he goes. 

Seungheol’s grip on your chin slides down toward the base of your neck, his fingers pressed tight against your pulse. You can feel your heartbeat slamming in his grasp as he bends your head away from him, lips attaching to the softness of your throat. 

His name escapes your lips in a whisper. He hums a pleased sound, tongue dragging up your neck to your ear where he nibbles. “So good for me,” he whispers. “I’ll reward you.” 

You follow with an urgent nod, pleased when his hand slides down the waistband of your shorts and underwear. When his fingers brush against the flushed, sticky folds of your cunt, you keen loudly, unable to keep it together.

“So needy.” You can’t tell if it’s an insult or not the way he growls the word against your ear, grip on your throat tightening. “Need my help that bad, huh?” 

“Yes, god.”

“I am not god,” he grinds out, voice dark. For a second, the illusion shatters and you glance up at him. His eyes are endless, an ancient thing looking back at you. You freeze in his hold, a prey caught in a trap. Then he softens, pressing a kiss to your brow. “Tell me what you need, Pretty.” 

“Hands. Need your hands.” 

A bolt of pleasure goes through you when Seungcheol’s middle finger circles your clit. Your nails dig into his wrist, leaving little crescent moons behind. His ministrations are leisurely, giving you what you want but not as fast as you want it. 

That’s Seungcheol’s game. He’ll give you what you want, only when he feels like it. You feel a sense of deja vu, realizing that you’ve been here before. Snatches of memories flash through your mind. They pass through your grip like sand, none of them firm enough to grab onto. 

“Missed you,” you mumble. “Can’t sleep without you.”

“Ah, there it is.” 

Seungcheol is pleased with your recollection. You can tell when he relents his teasing touches, fingers drifting down to press a single digit into your heat. Your stomach flips when he does, relief sweeping through you as he shallowly fucks you with a single finger.

It’s not enough but it’s better. You shiver in his hold, going a little slack in his arms, hips twitching. He’s content to have you like this, working your cunt slowly, watching your reactions as your breathing catches and restarts. 

“Feel good?” 

“So good.” You can barely get the reply out, words faint. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you, Pretty.” 

His kiss is soft against your cheekbone, at odds with the grip he still has on your throat. You feel his hand like a comforting weight, loving the feel of it resting against your pulse. He doesn’t squeeze or choke you, content just to hold you against him. 

Seungcheol pulls his fingers out, the wet squelch obscene. “Take this shit off for me,” he tells you, pulling at your shorts. 

His heavy hand rests on your collarbone as your hands shoot to your shorts. Hooking your thumbs in them, you shimmy down, lifting your hips with his help to kick them down your thighs and legs to the floor. 

Cool air hits your heat as you settle against his chest again. He nestles against your neck, fingers resuming the task of peeling you apart as he sinks his pointer and ring finger into you. You clench around him, loving the stretch and the feeling of his fingers pressing against your g-spot as he slowly strokes you, breath hot against your ear. 

Being unable to remember your previous encounter with him feels cruel. Seungcheol knows exactly how to work you toward your high. The slick sound of his fingers between your legs accompanied with his lips pressed against your neck drives you insane. 

Unable to keep still, your hips come up off the bed to meet his hand. The hand not fucking you to insanity slides under your shirt. Heat trails his touch. He traces the curve of your breast and your breath stutters, catching in your throat. His nails scrape against sensitive skin, moving higher until he drags his touch over your nipple. 

The heel of Seungcheol’s hand presses firmly into your clit. You mewl, thrashing against him, closer and closer to your peak. His strokes turn harsh, finger-fucking you at a brutal pace while his other hand tweaks your nipple, the pleasure-sting making you quake. 

“Come on,” he urges, voice deep. Sharp teeth scrape against your throat. “Come for me, Pretty.” 

Everything turns to static as you clench around his fingers. You squeeze so tight he can barely continue stroking you through your peak. There’s a high-pitched ring in your ears as you pant through it, vaguely aware that Seungcheol is muttering something against your ear that you don’t understand. 

As your orgasm fades, so do you. The world becomes soft at the edges. You feel Seungcheol’s heartbeat against your back and smell jasmine, but you slowly drift away from him, barely able to catch his growl of remember me next time before you’re gone. 

-

Cold granite countertop digs into your knees. You barely register the pain, one hand pressed flat to the counter, the other reaching behind you to tangle in Seungcheol’s hair. Your hot breath skates across the surface, the cool stone not enough to combat the heat of your skin. 

Seungcheol’s face is pressed as far as he can go into your cunt, the flat of his tongue dragging from top to bottom. You’re nearly catatonic, eyes rolling behind your eyelids as he fucks you with his tongue. 

He grunts when your fingers tighten in his hair, holding him close as he sucks harshly at you. He’s loud as he eats you out, his hunger something more demonic and fiendish than you’re used to. You don’t care, pressing back into him as he mouths at you. 

His hands firmly pry you open, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass. You can feel the bruising way he holds you, uncaring as he works you toward another high, so desperate for it that you’re begging. 

Begging for what, you don’t know. None of the words that fall from your mouth really make sense. You’re a rambling disaster under the mastery of his mouth, and as you tiptoe the line of your high, it feels like you’ll never unscramble your thoughts again.

You come again, feeling the way you flood his mouth. He doesn’t care, growling low in his throat as his mouth becomes more insistent, fingers pressing into you even harder. Something takes over him in that moment, his grip on you so fierce that you think you might break.

But you don’t. You never do. 

-

“Pretty,” Seungcheol murmurs, cocking his head to the side. Your mouth aches where it’s stretched harshly around his cock, spit leaking from the side of your lips. His thumb brushes across the spilled fluid, grinning as he leisurely pops it into his mouth and sucks. “Such a pretty thing, mouth full of cock.”

You hum around him eagerly, shifting back and forth on your knees. He’s got you on the floor of your bedroom in front of your bed, hands linked obediently behind your back while he stands in front of you. His stomach ripples as he flexes his hips forward, driving himself deeper into your mouth.

Your throat seizes around him again and you feel yourself gag. He pouts and pulls back, letting you gasp for breath. Your mouth is a mess of saliva and cum, wet and sore and battered. You don’t care, looking up at him with watery eyes and sticky lips.

“So important to me,” he whispers, nodding as though to assure you. Your stomach flips and you shuffle toward him eagerly, mouth open. “So perfect for me.” 

Instead of using words, you stick your tongue out, eager. Seungcheol grins and the room darkens. There is a buzz in the back of your mind that you can’t place, ignoring the feeling in favor of watching him slowly slide back in, letting your tongue scrape the bottom of his shaft.

Seungcheol sighs, tilting his head back as he sets a slow pace, using your mouth as he pleases. He’s beautiful like this, all tan skin, heaving chest, sweat sliding down his neck, red hair damp. His eyes are closed but his mouth is open, cherry lips parted sweetly to show his sharp little fangs as he pants. 

So pretty, you think. Even with teeth sharper than they should be.  

-

You’re standing in front of a bar named Hush. The pink neon burns bright against the gritty night, hurting your eyes. Turning around in a circle, you notice there’s no one else in the alleyway. There’s a certain charge to the air, a hum that you can’t place, but grows stronger when you turn to face the bar again. 

A single door sits under the sign, closed and waiting to be opened. Chewing your bottom lip, you stride toward the door, unsure what’s waiting for you on the other side. 

With a hard yank, you pull the door open and step into the darkness of the room beyond. It takes a second for your eyes to adjust to the single, flickering light over the bar, but once they do, you see it’s a tiny room. A single piano sits in the corner near two booths, and there’s only one bar top in the back, a few stools in front of it. 

A single man sits at the bar but he’s facing you, leaning back on his elbows as he drinks you in. He’s in a purple suit that would look ridiculous on anyone else, and his red hair is bright enough to light the night like a flame. 

He cocks his head to the side, a wicked smirk on his lips. “Hi,” he greets. “Can’t sleep?”

“How can you tell?” 

“I’m familiar with these things.” 

He looks like a devil. You can’t place your finger on what exactly about his face makes you think so. His eyes are dark as the depths of the ocean and when he smiles, you swear his teeth are sharp. “Need some help?” 

You do need help sleeping. The doctors can’t help you. Therapy doesn’t help you. Something tells you maybe this stranger can help you. 

“Please.”

“It would be my pleasure, Pretty.” 

-

“Seungcheol,” you gasp, hand flying to his wrist to grip him. “Fuck, holy shit.” 

Fuck is absolutely right. His hand tightens around your throat, placed just right to make it harder for you to breathe. Your thoughts swim as he fucks into you, his sweaty chest sliding against your back as his strokes grow harsher. 

Your knees slide on the bed under the strength of his thrusts. He growls at you to keep up and you whimper, flexing your thighs to remain upright as he drives his cock into you at a pace that sends you hurtling toward your peak. 

“So fucking difficult,” he grunts in your ear. His teeth nip your ear lobe and you whine, intoxicated by the smell of jasmine and the tightening knot in your stomach. “You’re always so difficult.” 

You don’t know what he means by that, but you don’t think it’s the first time you’ve heard something like that from him. Your thoughts turn to liquid you come around him though, feeling the way you grip his cock like a vice, seizing in his hold.

Everything turns to nothing. You can’t hear, see or feel anything but static. Can’t breathe. Can’t do anything but squeeze and squeeze and squeeze.

And then you're gasping for air, lungs burning as you gulp it down. Falling forward, you crash into the sheets and into complete darkness. 

-

“Why do you come and go so often?” 

Seungcheol lifts his head from the bed to turn and look at you. He’s still naked and covered in a sheen of sweat, crimson hair clinging to his forehead. He’s on his stomach laying opposite of you, his head by your feet. 

Something sparks in his eyes at your question, his heavy brows pulling together, cherry lips downturning. “I only come as often as you let me.” 

“What do you mean?”

His face twitches in what you think might be annoyance. “You have a complicated relationship with me.” 

“We have a relationship?” 

He snorts and turns away from you, resting his chin on his arms as he settles back down, closing his eyes. He reminds you of a cat - a particularly dangerous cat, you think. “I suppose. Most people couldn’t say they have a relationship with me, and yet I keep letting you invite me back.”

“Invite you?” 

“Hush. Stop asking questions.” 

“But I don’t… understand.” 

“Good,” he quips. “Because every time you do, you send me away only to invite me back in.” 

-

“Come on,” Seungcheol teases. “You wanted it, so do the work.” 

Your thighs ache. A pitiful sound leaves you as you nod, putting your hands on Seungcheol’s shoulders as you lift your hips, legs shaking. You’re exhausted and burned out, but the ache you need filled as you slowly slide up his cock drives you to keep going. 

Dropping back down in his lap, you feel sparks. Your movements are slow. Seungcheol’s hands are tucked behind his head where he leans back on your pillows, fathomless eyes watching you as you ride him, a little uncoordinated and weak from the exertion he’s put you through all evening.

“Cheol, my thighs,” you protest, instead trying to grind into him. He raises a brow and you pout. “Please.”

“No. Come on, Pretty, you can do it. You can fuck yourself on my cock and make yourself come. Come on.” 

“Cheol.”

“No. Do it yourself.” 

Gritting your teeth, you let your annoyance fuel you. Anger burns right alongside pleasure as you find the strength to do exactly as he tells you. Leveraging your hold on his shoulders, you continue to spear yourself on him at a steady pace and slowly, your anger is replaced with bliss.

Seungcheol feels incredible. He’s hard to take, stretching you to the max and at this position, he’s so deep that you swear you can feel him in your stomach. You keep going, nails biting into his skin and drawing blood but you don’t care. 

Fire burns in his eyes as he watches you. You stare right back, seething at the way he’s making you do it yourself, a little bit of humiliation stinging the edges of your pride. You can tell he thrives on this, satisfied that what you want outweighs any sort of desire to be stubborn.

Somehow, he always wins like this. Always manages to get you to do what he wants. He’s sneaky like that, knowing just what button to press to get you where he wants you. 

Sometimes you feel like you’re a puppet whose strings are connected to his fingertips. 

Either way, you manage to drive yourself to an orgasm, shuddering around him as you seat yourself fully in his lap, throbbing around him. He lets out a long groan, eyes fluttering shut as he struggles to keep his composure.

Leaning back against his knees, you catch your breath. He’s still painfully hard inside of you, and when his eyes open, you see his hunger isn’t sated. Your heart lips when he surges forward, fast as an adder. His mouth crashes into yours hungrily and you let him have you, eager at the flutter in your stomach as he shifts, altering the angle. 

“I’m not done,” he mutters, kisses turning into sharp bites. “So hush while I take what’s mine.” 

-

Something wakes you up from sleep. It’s too dark in your room to see, but your heart is hammering and your hands are quivering. Leaning toward your nightstand, you search for your phone. All you feel is cool wood, no device anywhere.

The dark is oppressive. You don’t remember your room being this dark, the blackout curtains serving as a good device to keep out the city and streetlights, but never so much that you feel swallowed whole. Lost. Devoured.

A tingle buzzes at the back of your neck. You freeze in bed, looking into the never ending darkness. Silence roars in your ears, the outside world completely removed. You can’t even hear your own pulse or breath, the quiet so heavy that panic starts to rise in your throat.

You can’t see but you know you’re not alone - can feel the solid press of something else in the room. 

Too afraid to make noise, you resume the search for your phone, fingers moving slowly across the top of your night stand. You can’t find it. 

Something presses into the mattress at the end of your bed. You feel the dip under its weight but can’t hear the creek of springs. You give up the search for your phone, snatching your hand to your chest and squeezing your eyes shut.

It’s a dream, you tell yourself. It’s a dream it’s a dream it’s a dream it’s- 

The thing in your room moves closer. A scream works its way up your throat where it gets stuck, lodged and unmoving. You squeeze your eyes shut harder, fireworks of color exploding behind your eyelids as you do. 

“I know you’re awake, Pretty.” The voice is so low you can barely make out the words. They scrape against you like claws. “You can’t keep doing this,” it says, almost a sigh in its voice. “You know what this is. What I am.” 

“Go away,” you whisper, voice weak. “Leave me alone.”

“Don’t do this again.” 

“Go away, Seungcheol.” 

There’s a low growl that you can feel as it vibrates the air. “As you wish.”

-

The neon sign above the door says Hush. It burns bright and pink against the night sky. You look around, unsure how you got here. Sighing, you pull out your phone to check the time. It’s 3:33 in the morning, which means you’re probably a victim of your sleep walking again. 

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, you look up at the sign again. There’s a little blue moon to accompany the pink cursive neon, and though you don’t think you’ve ever seen this bar before, there's a magnetism about it that draws you in. 

Curious, you walk up to the door and go in. The lights are dim and you have trouble seeing at first, but you can make out that there’s a piano in the corner, two booths and a small bar with some stools. A man sits at the bar, his back turned to you. 

“We’re closed,” he grumbles without turning to look at you. You frown, cocking your head as you drink him in. 

The purple suit he wears is an odd choice. His hair is the color of blood, slicked back and a surprisingly nice contrast to the bright color of his suit. A single light flickers above him, painting him in a gold hue.

“What is this place?” you ask, ignoring the fact that it’s closed. 

He doesn’t answer for a second. You think he’s going to ignore you, but finally he says, “Do you have trouble sleeping?” 

You’re surprised by the question. “Yes, actually.” 

“I can help.” 

“Really?” You step further into the bar, watching as he turns to look at you over his shoulder. He is painfully pretty, the kind of beauty that reminds you of old paintings of Lucifer. “How?” 

“Are you accepting my help?” 

Without hesitation you answer, “Yes.” 

His cherry red lips twitch and he shakes his head. Picking up his drink, he polishes it off before standing to turn you fully. The weight of his presence presses down on you like an invisible blanket, weighing you down.

“Of course you do.” He strides toward you and though your instincts tell you to run, something else tells you to stay. He looks down at you with a pair of eyes that threaten to swallow you whole if you let them. His lashes are silky and long, a delicate balance to his heavy gaze. “You always need me, right, Pretty?” 

You nod, a word - a name - buzzing on your tongue as he looms over you. “Please,” you whisper, thoughts a little cottony, a little dizzy. “Seungcheol.”

He grins, revealing sharp teeth. “Hush,” he murmurs. “You’re mine.” 

-

TAG LIST

@ddaddunugu @ourkivee @tie-nn @cherrylovescheol

@cookiearmy @thesunsfullmoon @stray-bi-kids @ldysmfrst

@thepoopdokyeomtouched @avochele @eoieopda @onlywon4u

@hopeless-foolery @iamawkwardandshy

[resi4skz]

THE CONTEST (Pt 1)

Synopsis: you discover skz in 2023 and you life hasn't been the same. You enter a contest and your life takes an exciting turn.

Pairing: idol!Chan x fem!Reader

Warnings: none for this one!

It had been just over a year that you had become a STAY. And you had loved every new things about Stray Kids. To their smiles, their handsome looks, learning their names and who was the oldest to the youngest, and watching all of their music videos. You tried to catch up from their pre-debut but there was so much content to watch that you had to put a pause on the watching and mainly focused on the new content.

You also changed your twitter into a fan account, sharing, reposting and posting about how hot or cute the members were. You found their music healing, in a way because a year ago, you weren't in the right state of mind. You were mentally exhausted by life giving you shit, so much that you were actually thinking about ending it all. Even your life at one point.

Last year in April, you were crying one sunday early morning and decided to browse youtube because that's what you did when nothing else worked. You were going down the live broadcast list when someone caught your eye. 'Chan's room ep. 208.' A young man sitting on a chair with a black couch in the back, looking very handsome as he talked to, what seemed like were his fans. You immediately picked on the language he was speaking because of the amount of korean dramas you had watched.

You snuggled back into your blanket, his words of encouragement soothed your heart as you watched him through your laptop screen. Your eyes lit up as you heard him talk in english. And was that an Australian accent? You watched him talk about the next comeback him and his group will have, sometime in June. You were curious to find more about the group and luckily one of the comments displayed 'Stray Kids.'

You picked up your phone and searched for the name. Immediately, a group of 8 men popped up as one by one you searched each of their names to know who was who. And for some reason you went from youngest to oldest without realizing. So when you typed Bang Chan in the search bar, the same man popped up from the youtube livestream. "It's him," you said, flicking your eyes on the laptop screen just as he smiled and laughed. Your heart skipped a beat and it has never done that.

And then you watch as he stands up, saying 'big hug' hugging the screen. It tugged at your heart as he sits back down. "Bye stays, baby stays, see you next time!" He holds up a peace sign by his eye, does a winky face and clicks his tongue before the livestreams ends.

Fresh tears flow down your cheeks as a sob escapes your lips. That hug felt warm to you and yet distant which the thought of it now had you bawling your eyes out. You search up Stray Kids on youtube and start watching a bunch of videos.

An hour later, you were clutching your stomach from laughing so hard. How did you ever go about your day without knowing these boys? You even watched their music videos which blew your mind at each one. You went on your twitter and searched up the name and a bunch of posts about their upcoming comeback and where to buy the albums.

Your eyelids fell heavy and soon darkness enveloped your mind. This time no nightmares occurred, except a certain black haired man with dimples.

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

There had been a rumour going around that for their second comeback for 2023, they were going to be doing a contest for a lucky STAY (while others did fancalls). The only requirements was how many albums or merch you had of Stray Kids. But you had done neither which put you in a tough spot.

You had very badly wanted to participate but you were a 23 yr old trying to save up for a solo trip to South Korea. Maybe even scout areas for a permanent move. So far you had saved up about $2500 and planning to save up more. As for the contest, you had put your phone number down in the category of being picked randomly in case you got a call.

You were on your lunch break at work when your phone rang. Putting your sandwich down, you glance at the screen as it showed up a number you didn't recognize. "Hello?"

"Hello, is this Y/N?" A female voice asked.

"Yes, who's this?"

"This is Yu Won from JYPE."

You blinked. "Sorry?"

"You put your phone number to get licked randomly for a fancall and for the contest?"

"Oh my g...yeah, did I get picked?!" Excitement filled your veins.

"Yes. We would like to invite you for a fancall with one of the Stray Kids members and at the end of the call, you will be asked which option you prefer to do."

"Okay! Thank you!" You smile.

She gave you instructions over the phone plus sent you an email too. The fancall would happen after the comeback in November. It was end of October so maybe you didn't have to wait long.

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

You sat waiting patiently in front of your phone, hair in loose waves and light makeup. Your dog whined at your feet. "Nora, not right now, okay? I'll take you out later." Your dog, a golden retriever, laid down beside your feet. You rolled your eyes. "Okay, drama queen. Come on," you tapped your lap and she excitedly jumped in lap.

You look up and see Chan beaming, a smile on his lips. Your eye widen. "Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't realize-"

"It's quite alright. I just came on and you were talking to your dog, I didn't want to disturb."

"Sorry, she gets anxious if I'm doing something that doesn't involve her," you nervously explain. You notice his hair was turning into a copper color.

He laughs. "It's quite alright. My dog is the same."

"I've seen Berry from your vlogs and she seems such a nice and obedient dog. Very cute."

"That she is."

"Just like her dad," you giggle.

He covers his mouth, giggling also. "Thank you for the compliment."

"Congrats on the comeback! I love all of your songs!"

"Thanks! Which was your favorite?" He asked, genuinely curious to know.

"Hmmm, if I had to pick, I nwould say all of them but if I had to choose, it would have to be Cover Me."

"Why that song?"

"The melody is quite soothing. Plus the vocals are top tier," you replied.

"Yeah? I think my vocals could use more work."

You gape at him. "Are you kidding? Your vocals are very exciting to hear! Those high notes aren't easy to do."

He chuckles. "Alright. I'll take your word for it, Y/N.'

Y/N. He said your name. It was like hearing it for the first time. Your heart tugged again and you mentally scolded your brain to shut up. "Ever been to Korea?"

"No. But I'm planning to save up for a solo trip!"

"Solo? Oof. That's going to be difficult especially if you don't know the language."

You smirk. "Dangsin-eun naega ihaehaji moshandago saeng-gaghanayo? (You thibk I don't understand?)."

"Oh, wow. Neohante yeogijeogi boyeojugo sip-eoseoyo (I would love to show you around)."

"That would be lovely but it's not happening anytime soon."

He nods and you suddenly feel bad. "Maybe next year I'll see."

You say your goodbyes and end the call and go into your email. You pick the "buy a plushie" option and choose wolf-chan. Smiling widely, heart content to the max you finally smile to yourself. Maybe life wasn't bad after all.

Your phone pings and without looking, you unlock it and you scream briefly upon seeing the screen.

XX-XXXX-XXXXXX: hey this is bang chan. I stole your number from my manager.

Y/N: did you just commit a crime?

You save his number as Chris.

C: i would never

Y/N: uh huh...

C: hey give me a break here :(

Y/N: are you....being cute?

C: is it working?

Okay. Who is this guy?

Y/N: .... are you the same bang chan I know from my laptop screen?

C: wait you watch us? 😱

Y/N: yeah, i do. 🤨

C: i meant it you know

Y/N: what

C: showing you around seoul

"Is he being funny or actually asking me out? Is that even allowed for him?" You wonder before typing an answer.

Y/N: right now, i'm saving up for the trip

C: well you have my number so just holla at me when you're here

What the absolute fuck?

A/N: this was sitting in my folders and thought why not? Hehe. Pt 2 may be delayed by whole lot as I'm working of 4-5 stories at a time. But do lemme know how ya'll like this one?

[jade-gemstone]

Danganronpa Ultimate Categorization

Welcome back to another episode of: Jade is a nerd about something absolutely useless! Today's topic: Talent classification in Danganronpa/Fangans.

In the process of making my own fangan/s, I've created a classification system for the types of talents you can give characters. These classifications are...

Arts: Talents that are involved in the visual arts, performing arts, or fashion. Encompasses performers of all types, any type of visual artist, or anyone involved in fashion. (Ex. Actor, Abstract Artist, Model)

Practical: Talents that focus on a specialized skill or work with your hands. Also includes any talents that are religious or spiritual in nature. (Ex. Mechanical Engineer, Detective, Shrine Maiden)

Academic: Talents that are recognized by how much knowledge or experience a character has in an academic field. Covers most science, literature, math, and research based talents. (Ex. Chemist, Theologian, Archaeologist)

Sports: Talents relating to athletic skill. (Ex. Footballer, Kickboxer, Bowler)

Novelty: Talents given to a person who is special simply by existing. Can also be given to characters who win a contest for their talent. Includes Lucky/Unlucky Students, royalty, and non-human characters. (Ex. Lucky Student, Student, Princess)

This system of classification was based on my experience in the community over about three or four years, seeing many other people's original characters as well as creating my own. I found many fell into these categories. My "perfect" ratio, which my friends and I used as a guideline for making our fangan casts, is 4 arts : 4 practical : 4 academic : 2 sports: 2 novelty. I felt this ratio kept things even and grounded.

A few months ago, I began to wonder if my "perfect" ratio was more of my own creation than an actual pattern I saw. I thought, in the event it was, that I would come up with a mathematically accurate ratio that better represented the talent distribution of Danganronpa and its fan projects. This was my attempt at doing just that.

Data Collection

For this, I tried to collect as varied of a sample as possible. I included the three mainline Danganronpa games and sixteen fangans, ranging from very popular ones to very obscure ones. The fangans sampled for this analysis were...

Danganronpa Another

Super Danganronpa Another 2

Danganronpa Despair Time

Brave Danganronpa Coward's Paradise

Project Eden's Garden

Danganronpa He(art)less Deceit

Danganronpa Hushed Whispers

Danganronpa Muave

Danganronpa Despair's Revival

Danganronpa Re:Birth

Danganronpa Twisted Truths

Danganronpa Survivor's Guilt

Danganronpa Despair's Flame (my fangan! also the one where the talent ratio originated)

Danganronpa Cyberspace

Danganronpa Akeda Amusements

Danganronpa Lost Paradise (my other fangan that isn't released anywhere but I'm counting anyway)

I figured out the talent ratio for each individual game by looking through their casts and sorting them with my classification system. Ultimate ???'s were thrown out if possible (such as in the case of Akeda Amusements, where Hanari was thrown out due to the fangan having seventeen participants) and if not, they were counted as novelty.

Also, shout out to Yuki Maeda and Teruya Ōtori for managing to count for two different data sets despite my best efforts at finagling a way to keep them confined to one.

Observations

The first thing I noticed in looking at the ratios for canon Danganronpa was that Academic ultimates are underrepresented compared to what I initially remembered. It had been a while since I revisited the mainline games, and it was a shock to be reminded of that. I was also reminded, but not quite as shocked by the greater emphasis on practical ultimates.

In fangans, the focus on practical ultimates continues to be heavy, with none having less than two. There was also less focus on sports ultimates, with the majority having only one or two compared to the three that the mainline games had a majority of the time. They also tend to have more academic ultimates.

I think that this could be explained by looking at the types of people who make fangans. The majority of people I know who make fangans have very particular knowledge about certain fields due to experience or heavy research, and more often than not these fields do not include sports. They are more likely to make characters based on their experiences and knowledge that they can then insert into the story to make it seem more authentic.

I also, unsurprisingly, found that my "perfect" ratio was not reflected in many of the fangans I looked at. There was only one besides my own that followed that ratio.

Now, if my "perfect" ratio is not the mathematically perfect ratio, then what is?

According to the data collected for the canon games, this is.

This just so happens to also be the ratio for Trigger Happy Havoc.

According to the data collected from the fangans, this is the perfect ratio.

The only fangan that followed this ratio exactly was Akeda Amusements. V3 also had this distribution.

When considering both mainline and fan made games, the perfect ratio was this.

Ironically, not a single mainline game or fan game followed this ratio.

Out of curiosity, I also calculated the standard deviation for each data set.

Canon Danganronpa has little to no variation, conveying that talent ratios are quite consistent between games. The biggest variation would be in the novelty category, making sense as V3 scaled down the amount of novelty ultimates compared to the other two games.

The fangans are shown to have a much larger variation. Though I can't be surprised by this, as perhaps it is an unfair comparison. The mainline Danganronpa games were written by mostly the same team and had less to sample from, while the fangans have not only a larger sample size in which to deviate, but many different writers that think differently about talent distribution.

Final Thoughts

In putting this all together, I found that my classification system, while not perfect in any sense of the word, has some validity to it. If I wanted to, I could definitely make some improvements to it (especially in distinguishing between certain academic and practical fields from novelty), but as of now it works perfectly fine as an aide in cast creation for me.

My ratio is also not perfect, which was an expected outcome. Really none of the ratios I found are perfect, with none of them representing more than one or two of any mainline or fan made game. While ratios like the ones I found can be good for making sure you have a balanced distribution of talents, they aren't required to make a good cast. Personally, I'll continue using my personal "perfect" ratio as a baseline for any cast I make in the future.

I also had a lot of fun making this, and hope I can find a way to make more posts like this in the future. Thank you for reading this.

[versegm]

Fate's take on its trans characters isn't always perfect but man I do gotta say I love how it fucks with gender. It's probably more that I'm not looking into the right places rather than a widespread thing, but often when I interact with queer shit which remembered that trans people exist, I find that they do it in a way that is really... categorizing I guess? "this is the trans woman who presents very feminine and this is the trans man who presents very masc and this is the non binary person who uses they them and has a gender neutral name and presentation." And none of these things are bad ofc but I gotta say I fucking love seeing shit like "this character is a woman who is a king, this character never states their gender so you can go with whatever, this character has a very complex relationship with gender and different people use different pronouns for them with no comment on their part, this character is tits out but only has the male valentine scenes," ect ect. I think characters should fuck more with gendered titles and pronouns I think it owns.

[lover-of-mine]

Okay, this is a very random framing meta that started as an "it's interesting that even though Oliver is a pretty big guy they pretty much never use Buck's size for intimidation" and it evolved to something buddie from there. It actually started because the one instance I could think of where they highlight Buck's size, that being the "what's your problem, man" conversation.

Because here's the thing, Ryan is what? 2 inches shorter than Oliver? But they really made a point of making Buck look bigger in this scene because Buck is mad and he's trying to be intimidating, and it makes Eddie looks smaller even if he's not small by any definition. So I went to the other fight they had, the grocery store scene, they actually frame it so Eddie looks bigger even though he's not because Eddie is the one whos mad. And even though we can see Eddie when the focus is on Buck, we can't see Buck when the focus is on Eddie. It's all very Buck is seeing Eddie, Eddie is not seeing Buck.

So I went looking for all the Big Conversations to look at the framing choices and I'm gonna type out thoughts I guess.

I separated this into categories, the first one being Conversations About Christopher. The thing with the talks about Chris is that they are always sitting down for them. They're on the same level.

When Shannon comes back and Eddie is confused about what to do about it, the close-ups actually don't try to make it seem like either of them is bigger, but the wider angle puts Eddie in the center and Buck angled in a way where Buck looks smaller, obviously because even though Buck has a place on Eddie's life, his space on Christopher's isn't that established.

Then we have the skateboard discussion. At this point, we know that Buck loves Christopher and that he is a established as part of Chris' life. And it's interesting that they are talking here where none of them is highlighted and Buck actually comes up with a solution for a parenting problem while Eddie is spiraling.

Then we have everyone's favorite conversation about Christopher. Yes the discussion of the will is very layered but it is about Chris, and again, they are on the same level, none of them is highlighted and even the close-ups leave them about the same size and showing roughly the same amount of the other at all times. This is Eddie making it clear that he also understands Buck's space on Christopher's life.

There's also when Eddie is struggling with the fact that Chris is scared and missing Shannon, again, they are always shown at the same level while Buck tries to help Eddie and we are always seeing both of them while working the problem.

Then we have the Buck Needs Reassurance talks. During this type of conversation, Eddie is always standing up and Buck is sitting down, making a point of having Buck look up at Eddie. Those scenes being when Maddie leaves and Chim punches Buck and the conversation after Buck's death.

I think it's interesting here too that they made a point of having Buck in comfortable clothes because he's in a vulnerable place and but he is comfortable enough in looking up at Eddie (literally and figuratively).

Then we have the Eddie Needs Reassurance talks. Those are very interesting because they usually start with them being at different levels, but equalizing once they start talking.

The most intense example of this is the talk about the panic attacks, Buck approaches Eddie when he's laying down and Buck's standing up, but once the conversation actually becomes a conversation not just Eddie avoiding the topic, they are both sitting down and being shown as the same size as they work it out.

Same with the aftermath of Eddie's breakdown, they start with Buck standing up but once they start talking, they are both sitting down and on the same level.

Then there are the Intense Conversations That Feel Somewhat Unresolved. (I'm not sure how to categorize this one, coincidentally they are talking about Buck almost dying in both)

It starts with Eddie dropping Christopher off at the loft before the tsunami.

They're on the same level but they are not seeing eye to eye, Eddie is trying but Buck refuses to look at him. Something that's interesting about this one is that Buck is usually in very tight shirts and Eddie's are usually looser, but since we are supposed to think that Buck is wasting away, Eddie's shirt is very well fitted, even the seam on the shoulders are in the exact right spot but Buck's is on the looser side (seriously, most of Buck's shirt look like they will rip off his arm if he flexes a little, the fact that there's space in that sleeve is crazy lol). Something important here I think is the way they are on the same side of the screen during close-ups, so they never try to make it seem like they are looking at each other and the other one is not shown, and the wider angle they are facing different directions, so they really aren't on the same page here.

I think the grocery store scene kinda fits into this category, but it's a bigger blowout and there's more at stake since it's in a very public setting with an audience. But they are facing each other, they are just not on the same side of the conflict.

And there's the cemetery scene, where even though they are talking and on the same level, they are NOT seeing eye to eye, and it's interesting because they pretty much never look at each other at the same time in this scene. They are having an important conversation, but there's tension and they are not agreeing on what's going on here. Even the close-ups make a point of cutting the other one from the frame.

Something else I think it's interesting about this particular scene is that when they do show us them looking at each other when the focus is supposed to be on Eddie, they show us Buck's face, but when the focus is supposed to be on Buck, we don't see Eddie's.

Then we have Conflict Resolution Talks.

In contrast with the talk they have before the tsunami, the talk they have after, they are finally looking at each other. And even though both of them are centered on both scenes, they are finally facing each other, so, they are finally getting on the same page.

Then we have them making up after the lawsuit.

The framing of this scene fascinates me. There's a literal obstacle between them. They put something physical between them to show how much this conflict was in their way and they put them both on the edges of the frame. But the way the scene progresses is also interesting because we see a lot more of Buck when the focus is on Eddie than we see of Eddie when the focus is on Buck.

They go as far as to make Eddie look smaller, making more of a show of the distance between them when the focus is on Eddie and it shows that Eddie sees Buck's side but Buck is not really seeing his. But that equalizes as they talk, Buck being the one that starts closing the distance between them, coming to be resolved when they both meet in the middle. In a quite literal representation of the way this gets resolved (It started because Buck didn't reach out leaving Eddie unsure of his space, Buck reaches out to close the gap, they meet in the middle because they're a team <3)

And there's our favorite kitchen scene.

Something interesting here is that we see Eddie when the focus is on Buck but we don't see Buck when the focus is on Eddie. Even in the wider angle, Eddie is closer to the edge of the frame and Buck is pretty centered. Buck is doing all the moving in this scene, Eddie leans into the sink when he starts drinking and Buck is the one closing the space between considering Eddie is still in the same spot he started when the scene ends. It kinda shows that while Eddie is willing to talk, Buck is gonna have to put in some work. Eddie is also in a headspace that might need some more reaching out and it shows.

I don't really have a category for this scene, the point here is Buck giving Eddie hope. What I think it's interesting here is that even though they are facing different directions, they are always on the same side of the screen in the close-ups. Buck's in Eddie's space and Eddie is letting him and in the context of this scene is the first time in a while. Even the wider angle has them to the side. Buck is trying to step into the mess with Eddie, and Eddie is finally letting him. (Hoping we get a mirror of this scene in the future tbh)

This is all for now.

[k0nstanta]

with the recent influx of trans fem discourse on twitter (which i won’t bring here) i find myself coming back to your sasha posts so much. being a hairy, larger, and more masc woman myself, i feel comfort in her and how she is. thanks for making her and for making me feel seen, it means a lot. (more than you think)

hi! sorry, your message was so touching that i felt like being very earnest in response, so under the cut is a little piece of my heart and mind that i wrote out in one go.

i often say that i do not draw my characters the way they are for the purpose of representation, but i find it very heartwarming and flattering that people keep telling me that they can see themselves in my art.

i suppose the reason i make such believable characters is because at some point in my life i have unlocked shrimp gender and have since been... very nonchalant about it. i'm of the opinion now that any combination of appearance and identity can be possible, and that every person has unique feeling about who they are and what makes them who they are, and because of that it would be weird to try and neatly categorize it all, and even more so to imply that one must conform to something to be something. or look or act a certain way to be something. for me just knowing you think you are that something is enough.

do you understand what i mean? like i could have drawn a completely different looking character and they could be a masculine trans woman, too. it's really not about the visual clues to me. i just believe they are who they feel they are regardless of how they look and i suppose that bleeds into my art.

it's hard to put it into words but what i'm trying to say is that i see my characters as people first and a list of characteristics and / or labels second. but at the same time they are not separate. they make up a single important whole.

when i draw them i don't think "ah, if i add this detail people will understand that they're [this thing]" ("if i add body hair / masculine clothes people will understand she is masculine"), i add those details because they make sense for that one particular character. in my head they are just people who happen to like dressing a specific way, or have specific habits, or a specific personality, or specific opinions about themselves, or any other thing, and what's most important to me is to just draw that person. who just also happens to be, for example, a masculine trans woman.

there are so many different people in this world that for every character that you come up with there is at least one person out there who looks the same. or acts the same. or dresses the same. so it always delights me when people tell me that they relate to my characters a lot. i'm glad that, even if incidentally, i made you feel seen. it's a big honor to bring that kind of comfort to people.

i think it's very cool when that happens. it's also very bizarre, in a good way. what do you mean you hated yourself but seeing my art made you feel better about your body (real thing someone once told me)? i can have that effect on people? art is so crazy. when people say art can be powerful and moving usually you'd think about massive gorgeous paintings, or something deep and profound, but it turns out that any little thing can strike a chord in someone's soul. and sometimes i'm the one who made that little thing. i will never stop being amazed by it.

with all of that being said, i know that labels and purposefully crafting a certain look are very important to some people, but i'm not one of those people, so all of the above is just my very subjective thought process while drawing and designing characters.

sorry if none of this made sense. i hope you have a wonderful day

[tornrose24]

A ghostly theory that connects Gravity Falls and The Ghost and Molly Mcgee.

There’s a huge part of me that wants to believe that Gravity Falls and The Ghost and Molly Mcgee take place within the same universe, and I came upon some interesting ideas that support just how close that could be, as well as what could happen if Scratch (as a ghost) ever came to Gravity Falls.

So let’s get the obvious out of the way–the way ghosts are depicted in the shows are completely different. GF ghosts retain a somewhat human appearance, while TGAMM ghosts only have slight elements of their original human forms.

So there’s no way they could be in the same universe, correct?

Well, I want to add another factor into this–the Haunted Mansion.

The Haunted Mansion is not only confirmed to exist in TGAMM thanks to Ollie mentioning it in the season 2 premiere episode but in a Disney’s Random Rings short, Scratch is shown to be calling the residents in the mansion in an attempt to secure a place of residency.

But here’s the thing–HM ghosts don’t resemble the TGAMM ghosts. Much like the GF ghosts, they retain a human appearance (Constance) or at least keep a humanoid appearance (The Hat Box Ghost).

(Notice how Constance looks a tad closer to the ghostly couple from Gravity Falls in retaining a more human form, compared to Scratch. You only have a few clues to what he looked like as a human).

This begs the question as to why the hell is that possible.

So here is my theory.

Gravity Falls has already been established as a ‘weirdness magnet’ thanks to a history of paranormal events–a sort of gateway between dimensions even–and was a place that Bill Cipher (a very powerful, dangerous entity) was especially attracted to. Unsurprisingly, it would be a magnet for ghosts.

As for the Haunted Mansion, its main location (New Orleans, Louisiana) has had a long supernatural history to begin with. It’s likely that all the ghosts gathering at this one mansion (combined with its own history) turned it into a weirdness magnet, like Gravity Falls. However, the mansion is NOT as powerful as Gravity Falls given that the land around the town has been attracting a lot of strangeness ever since the time of the dinosaurs and a UFO crashed into the area.

Now recall when I said that the ghosts in that HM short and the GF ghosts retain a somewhat human appearance? Well here’s my theory–

The amount of paranormal energy in Gravity Falls and the Haunted Mansion is what allows their ghosts to keep a more human form, compared to the TGMM ghosts. Not even the Ghost World has whatever this energy is. It’s also likely that these places are safe havens from the Ghost World since having to work for The Chairman binds you to an eternal job that you cannot get out of due to the eternal consequence of getting sent to the Flow of Failed Phantoms if you screw up.

Furthering the connection, GF also has concepts of corrupted ghosts, unfinished business, and even wraiths. (By the way, this took a bit of rewatching and looking through the books to confirm some things).

The most obvious corrupted ghost with unfinished business? None other than the ghost lumberjack Archibald Courderoy (who may be Wendy’s ancestor). A ghost who (along with his men) was screwed over by the family they bought a house for and even placed a curse upon them that could only be lifted if one of their own allowed the common folk to enter the mansion during one of their parties. Does any of that sound slightly familiar? Especially the curse bit? Dipper categorized this kind of ghost as a Category 11: Demonic Vengeance Specter in Journal 3. Someone even more dangerous than a category 10 (where the Grim Reaper is placed).

The convenience store ghosts? Again, supernatural powers, the ability to curse people, etc. As for their unfinished business…. Did Dipper dancing in that costume count? I don’t know on this one. In one of the GF books, Dipper talks about the concept of unfinished business when discussing that incident and he does mention that this is when a ghost is obsessed with something that they were unable to accomplish in life. For a TGAMM fan, this makes the lumberjack ghost comparable to Howlin’ Harriet, (who was far into corruption and obsessed over getting new toes) or Blair and Sonya (who were obsessed over an unreturned video and practicing a routine).

Ok, now the big one–as my friend @jackie-gremlin-ghost  and I have discussed, the concept of wraiths (the ghost of a person who is still alive) also applies to GF because Dipper himself became a ghost-like being when Bill took over his still-living body and forced his soul out of it. Bill tells Dipper he’s ‘basically a ghost’ and Dipper himself confirms this in the collection of bedtime stories. And Bill was free to possess Dipper’s body–as well as Ford’s–much like Scratch possessed Molly’s body in the body swap episode of TGAMM.

(Bill posessing Dipper's body while Dipper is basically the GF version of a wraith. However, GF wraiths seem to retain their human coloration to a degree....)

(....Meanwhile, in TGAMM wraiths look no different than regular ghosts. There's no way to spot the difference.)

But wraiths in TGAMM are visible, so why isn’t Dipper? Because Bill didn’t WANT him to be visible and also Bill is far more powerful than a mere ghost. However, Dipper’s spirit is still able to take on a human appearance–more so than the actual ghosts of Gravity Falls. He’s still able to do things like possess objects, but it’s likely Bill would have depowered Dipper severely.

And of course, if Bill succeeded in his plans and killed Dipper’s body, its confirmed that Dipper’s soul would have been still wandering around in some form. Dipper could have also been prone to corruption (as hinted at for one timeline in The Book of Bill). But if Bill kept Dipper’s body alive, and the consequence of staying as a wraith for too long applied to Dipper? Oh Dipper would have been SCREWED big time. (And as shown in The Book of Bill, Ford could have ended up with those same fates too, given how toxic his relationship with Bill was getting).

So now back to Scratch.

My guess is that if he went to Gravity Falls (or the Haunted Mansion), then he’d be subjected to the weird energy that surrounds it. In turn, this could potentially change his appearance from resembling a floating blue ghost to taking on a more human–but still ghostly–appearance. And…. Well… let’s just say that he’d be in for one hell of a surprise if that happened.

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

Do you have any advice for designing a three-biological-sexes system where none of them clearly map to male or female? I've been working on some concepts, but it's surprisingly challenging and also I have *no* idea how it would work genetics-wise.

whoo boy this one is a doozy! I'll preface by saying that I am not a professional biologist so, I don't know how much more research and ideas I can come up with that you haven't already tried yourself!

but let's just start with "what the heck is Male and Female anyway"

when people refer to any living thing as Male or Female they usually mean it like this: Male produces fertilization material, Female produces offspring material. eggs and sperm, seeds and pollen. someone who studies this for real would have a much more complicated answer, but this is like the most basic ground floor level understanding of those terms.

so by saying you want three biological sexes and you don't want any of them to line up with Male or Female, you are in quite a tricky corner! especially since I don't know what creatures you're doing this for. mammals? birds? some sort of invertebrate? plant creatures? that could change a lot! invertebrates, plants, and various other things like fungus, have very different methods of reproduction than vertebrates do. fungus especially. my goodness. I don't think even fungus experts fully understand what's going on there.

so what does it mean to reproduce without any specific biological sex being exclusively selected to carry specific forms of gamete? maybe they're like slugs or snails and they can all carry the sperm/eggs and they have other ways to distinguish their sexes? we sometimes categorize animals as a distinct sex just for having specific appearances or behaviors, like birds that have a second type of male that looks and acts different from the first type. it's still a male! but it's different from the other male type, so we consider it a distinct sex.

I think if you just dig deeper into how you want their reproduction to work, you can come up with some good ideas! maybe research various invertebrates and non-animal-lifeforms like fungus (good luck)

it's a really cool idea!

[transmultiphobia-discussion]

I'm so pissed off right now

My mutual reblogs a post disrespecting genderfluid people who don't identify as trans. I'm not looking at the post so I might get some things wrong but the wording was approximately this:

"not all genderfluid people are trans" ...are you smoking crack? No one's AGAB is genderfluid. If you don't exclusively identify with your AGAB, you are trans. That's all the word means. By definition, all genderfluid people are trans. Stop being stupid.

Now, I'm not genderfluid, but I'm bigender so I share the multigender community and larger nonbinary/genderqueer community with them. I am also not trans. I'm isogender and I'm cisgender. I reblog with a long takedown of their claim, explaining why some genderfluid people (and why I, a person who doesn't exclusively identify with my AGAB) may not identify with being trans. I went over why personal identity matters more than the definition of transgender, that it's inclusive so people are welcomed into it if they wish to identify that way, but it's not an enforced identity. That they have to respect the identities of genderfluid, multigender, and nonbinary people who are not trans. I thought this person might just be meaning well but needing some opposition, but this bitch responds with (approximate wording again:)

So, just to be clear: You, a self-identified cisgender woman, come onto My (nonbinary and been out for 10 years) post about MY community to call me stupid for saying trans people are trans? Cool. #transphobia #enbyphobia #cis people shut the fuck up challenge

I just. That really showed their transmultiphobia. I am the gender that better suits their argument. The way they contrasted me being a cis woman with them being nonbinary, then calling it "MY community" very implicitly is degendering me, stripping me of my nonbinary/aporagender identity because it's easier to feign a point by saying I'm a cis woman, therefore an outsider who has no right to argue with them, a nonbinary person, on the topic. Also the fact they accepted my identity as a cisgender woman despite the fact their post that I replied to would have categorized me as transgender.

I am not a fucking outsider in the discussion! I don't identify as trans but that's irrelevant because the post wasn't about the trans community. It was about the nonbinary community. It was about the multigender community that I share with genderfluid people. IT WAS ABOUT NON-TRANS GENDERQUEER PEOPLE. MY COMMUNITY. NOT THEIRS. MINE. The post was blatantly disrespecting my identity, even if naming genderfluid people. I had every right to respond! I had every right to be in the discussion! I had every right to defend genderfluid people who might identify in the same way I do! Or the way *I* identify!

Clearly they didn't have a real response but they didn't want to read my response with an open mind. Didn't want to consider that there are non-trans genderqueer people. So I'm degendered, for the purpose of painting me as an outsider instead of acknowledging that I am a fellow genderqueer person who just doesn't identify as trans

classic example of "multigender people are whatever gender category that is most convenient to the person" folks!

jeez that makes me so angry. make a post about how all people like yourself are trans no matter how they actually describe themselves, and when you say something, suddenly you are, in fact, cis to them. may seem contradictory, but this happens to multigenders all the time. I've been called a predatory male, a confused trans man who won't fully accept is transness, and a cis woman invading trans spaces just by being a bigender lesbian. none of it is consistent nor makes any sense! but since I exist in multiple gendered categories, people refuse to accept them simultaneously and put me in whichever one fits their worldview. is convenient to their argument, by how much they like me and tolerate me.

and it is very telling that they view genderfluid as a gender in of itself, rather than a descriptor for someone's genders- the same way people go "multigender women/men aren't women/men, they're multigender!" The case of not seeing multigender people's identities as legitimate as monogender people's and having to settling for just "multigender," or else you're an invader or a predator to those monogender people. because if they did, it would make total sense why a genderfluid person might call themselves cis- some only switch between genders closely aligned to their assigned gender, for an example. like it's totally up to the person to describe their experiences with their gender identity and if cis more closely describes that than trans, even if they're not perfectly binary, that's fine!

I feel like messing with the cis/trans dichotomy and blurring the lines a bit is necessary is normalizing transhood and dismantling cisnormativity. like they're built off of the phenomenon of assigned gender at birth and forcibly assigned gender roles, "cis" being the default and "trans" considered divergent. if they're no longer assigned to people, is the gender binary is no longer relevant, then what significance would those terms really have anymore? if there is no "cis" or "trans," just people that exist as they please right from the get-go? isn't that what we want? why strictly enforce them onto anyone?

[snarp]

Bad sentences I have to beat in order to become Tumblr champion of bad sentences

"Mr. Rogers WAS punk because he practiced punk ideals"

"I am trying to work towards saying faggot more often but it’s been so stigmatized that it’s a little hard for me"

"mr. krabs eyestalks probably sensitive af"

"i like boys who dress like icecreams and ignore me for video games and get food all over their face so i can wipe it off and spoon feed and baby them esp when they are mean to me it’s garbage i know but i can’t help it"

"THIS ISNT AGERE BUT A BUNCH OF MY LITTLES ARE SHARED WITH THE HAZBIN CG BLOGS!!!"

"i watched a video where a heterosexual guy celebrated his sexuality in a way diametrically opposed to the rigid, objectified ways het men are socialised to only know."

"Also a not so casual reminder that you can report people like OP for election interference."

"A full birth chart, which is what the OP suggested, is an incredibly powerful parenting tool."

"None of this is to minimize the very real health effects or addictive properties of tobacco and nicotine - if you are truly addicted, struggling with addiction, or were addicted in the past, you probably can't just look at cigarettes as some interesting cultural artifact to experiment with or occasionally partake in."

"Dragon Age fandom discourse is training wheels for real life politics."

"And no, it's not some wYt thing; it is universal and many international lightworker communities in Taiwan, Japan, France, S America etc pray with Violet Flame in mind, among many other techniques that I cbf going into rn."

"heckin her doggostyle with my wholesome chonker"

"Actually, she’s not really going to be in for that much of a surprise, because while yes, labor can be painful and uncomfortable, it’s no worse than menstrual cramps, really."

"It’s one thing to want someone dead, it’s another to destroy them so much that they kill themselves"

"if you don’t remember this man abused his wife to the point where she was so mentally ill she decided to pee for hours on end and starved people to the point where they ate their neighbors kids… maybe"

"No I reblog everyone's takes even if I don't particularly like them to add activity to the fandom."

"Disclaimer: As an Indian, I find the caste categorization of nakshatras to be very icky ngl but that said I do find that it does aid in the understanding of the nature & behaviour of nakshatra natives."

"Is there any franchise in the world with as much concentrated drip as Arknights?"

[sashi-ya]

𝐓𝐎𝐗𝐈𝐂//𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐋𝐘 Jugram x Arrancar! F! Reader x Virgin! Adult! Uryu. [+18]

⋆ au: some years after the war, where the Quincy have won. Uryu is +20 y/o ⋆ tw: mdni. threesome. virgin Uryu gets a lesson from Jugram. oral. cum swallowing. humilliation. cream pie. fingering. ⋆ taglist: @hohoooowhy @cyberdazetragedy @stygianoir @tsuukichan

“Haschwalt, Uryuu… when will you two cooperate to make me a little bit happier?” “ Your majesty, I am always open to do so”

White capes blowing against the sordid winds of the Silbern. Purest black strands and blonde ones, imitating the motions. Your image reflected on those glasses, and the shine of a sword that seems to balance the weight of the world on its edge.

The hollow in your chest, so dark as the void you feel in what once represented your heart. Who are these people? Why are they here? Why did they do the things they do to your people? What do they want from such arid lands, where the sun is never up and a moon shines eternally on a dry sky?

“What is this woman doing here?” the glasses wearing man asks. Your muffled gasp still audible gets to his ears.

That young adult has eyes as blue as a deep sea, and the finest face expressions you ever seen.

“Your Majesty has brought her to you as a gift, appreciate it. A true King needs to have fun sometimes too” the blonde one says, his face is barely visible underneath the Sternritter hat and the long strands popping.  

“Is not just for Uryu, Haschwalt. Share her, get along. I need you two cooperating for the greater good of the new world” the man that has brought only pain and destruction to your endless lands of sand says. And those words make you shiver, the way the blonde man gasps and how he takes off his hat… showing underneath a beautiful masculine depiction of perfection.

It won’t be admitted, until that king looking man leaves, that none of the guys standing in front of you wanna hurt you. However, you can see it in their eyes.

But your work there was, in order to have your fracciones and your life forgiven, to please the Quincy…

And just about two or three seconds after the maroon caped old man flew out of the place, both men came closer to you.

“Don’t worry, we don’t need you to do anything” the one, apparently named Uryuu, says. He assures you, in all honesty that nothing will happen to you as long as you keep it quiet.

However, the blonde one, refuses to follow Uryuu’s sayings.

“Your Majesty said we have to use her” he categorically says, so impassively it’s almost scary.

“Use her? What do you think she is, Jugram?” the dark-haired youngster says, almost bumping heads with the blonde one.

Jugram’s turquoise eyes fix on the deep blue ones that so morally are judging him, and sighs.

“You are gonna be the king, aren’t you? Why are you afraid, Ishida Uryu? Do you regret taking our Majesty’s blood? Are you sure you are on this side?”

The hate in between both men grows stronger every second it passes, and it feels like your knees will collapse soon. You need to stop them, but most importantly, make sure you will do your work… if not, there is a lot involved that you might lose.

“Jugram-sama! Uryu-sama! I’m here, willingly offering my body for you both to take as many bites as you desire from it!”

Silence takes over, their noses almost touching and their frowning so very serious now takes a glimpse of your subduing posture on the ground.

On your knees, covered by white clothes that you slowly unzip to reveal the purest form of your Arrancar body.

“Please, use me. I wanna please you both” you purr, in hopes of luring them into your trap of honey and lust.

Uryu swallows; pale cheeks blushed, sprinkled with reddish shame. Jugram tilts his head, slowly to the right. His blonde bangs softly caress the bridge of his straight nose, and an almost visible smirk garnishes his lips.

“Go ahead, future King… dig in” he murmurs, pushing Uryuu to be the one to take the first taste. Out of pure courtesy, perhaps. Or who knows why.

You nod, fixing into the deep blue eyes of the future ruler of the Quincies. “Come… sir, please” you whisper, stretching your right hand to him.

Wary steps are taken towards your submissive persona; is not that Uryuu isn’t interested in the bouncing motion of your breasts, or the fresh flesh displayed for his only enjoyment, but right now? This way? He is already an adult, but he has never… not after winning the war.

“May I ask, future King… you wish to be guided?” Jugram asks, as keen as always, when noticing Uryuu’s doubts come from inexperience.

The dark-haired man isn’t able to look you nor him in the eyes, but rather to the side. His lips semi open, the accelerated breathing, the warmth on his lips and in between his legs… a body so desperate, a mind so confused, a soul so naïve.

“Yes…” he sighs.

“Very well, then. Should I show you how to please a woman?” Jugram asks, lifting you in one swift swing up from your hand.

Uryuu fixes his glasses, using his left index to move the frame upwards. “Hnn…” he nods, this time adopting a position of a younger brother. What it takes for him to finally be taught something so basic, instead of being required to rule a new world with the blood of his friends still dripping all around.

Jugram takes a good look at your body proportions with squinting eyes. He is probably calculating where and how to touch for his motions to be the most effective. He still needs to show the future king the perfect way this is done.

When he finally positions himself behind you, a shiver runs through your back. You were there because of different reasons, but you couldn’t blame yourself for experiencing real desire for those two men. The experienced teacher, and the virginal pupil, both about to enjoy a new lesson based in your body…

When the cold hand of the blonde comes from behind, and places it over your breast, you squirm a little.

“Stay still, we are here to show our future king how to please a piece of meat like you” he murmurs, right in your ear. It makes you bite your lip; it makes you moan when he finally pulls from your hardened nipple.

Jugram shows his pupil how rock and erect your pleasure points are in between his slender delicate fingers. You look to the side, but still, you are able to see how Uryuu fixes his eyes into the turgor of your chest.  “I’m sure you know about erogenous zones; you’ve been studying the human body. This is one of them. You need to pull, touch, and if you feel fancy enough… use your mouth to do it. In fact, you could use your mouth all over… even your teeth”

The blonde, turns you to the side with no mercy. And with no mercy he also sits you over the huge white table in the centre of that cerulean lights room.  

“Never, ever you should kneel. Is the woman who should be lifted if it’s small enough for your lips not to reach her breasts” Jugram sentences; he takes it very seriously; he is raising a true king.

He cups your chest with one of his hands as his pale lips reaches for your nipple. First, the tip of his tongue. Then, the wet sensation of it, dampening your hardness. And ultimately, the sharp surface of his teeth, nibbling on them, making your head to be thrown back in total pleasure.

“See? She likes it. Now, if you want it to be faster so that you can use her insides you need to prep her” Jugram says, as if you were non-existent, like a piece of meat, like a doll to use…

And you couldn’t care less; as Jugram’s fingers open its way inside your sex. He didn’t take much to undress you, the white skirt wouldn’t cover much either way.

The pumping motions start slowly and from there the rhythm increases. Reflected on Uryuu’s glasses is the image of your body reaction to such blissful movements, going in and out, always hitting up so that you feel like you are about to burst.

“See how she retorts? It is exactly because she wants more… right, you slut? As a Quincy we should kill you, but first this hole should be useful” the blonde spits, so indecently fingering you while he does nothing but degrade you.

Uryu, who fights a moral battle inside himself, focuses on the way his white pants are now tightly crushing his erection. Why is he hard to such humiliation… when did he become the way he did? Why he is moving on his own, right now?

You whine louder as the glasses boy is also all over you in a blink of an eye. His delicate hand grab you by your cheeks, pressing hard with violence he never knew he had.

He swallows, letting his cape fall to the ground while cracking his neck. Your pleading eyes, and your opened lips are like a beautiful trap in which he had fallen.

Jugram has now added uncountable number of fingers inside you while pulls from your hair back to show your neck to his friend. Like the Devil presenting temptation to the young apprentice, he invites him to carve his teeth on your body.

And that’s exactly what Uryu does. He bites, as if he was trying to retrieve blood from your carotid, leaving marks in your skin. He takes the time, next, to smell the scent of your sweating sex flesh.

His soft lips travel up and down, the tip of his tongue too.

Jugram finds it fascinating; it doesn’t matter how much of a virgin Uryu could be, a man’s instinct can lead the way perfectly fine. And he notices, also, the way his pupil slowly kisses down your belly towards your already about to burst sex.

The blonde stops the masturbating pumps and allows Uryu to reach your folds as he can see his avid need to drink from it.

“Guess I don’t have to explain how to do that, huh?” he kinda laughs, something weird coming from the balanced man. And while Uryu gets lost in the perfume of your dripping core, he makes sure you spread your legs as it is proper.

And after slapping your inner thighs Jugram enjoys the way your eyes turn white when the tip of his next king’s tongue reaches for your salty taste.

Your belly spasms, your back arches but even if you wish you could lay on it over the table, Jugram won’t let you. His hand hasn’t stop pulling from your hair, and it’s both painful and pleasant.

“Do you think we are here just to please you? Open your mouth” he commands, moving your head towards him while he lets his zipper down.

You swallow, knowing that saliva will be the last thing you will have before his hardness hits your throat. And indeed, he lifts one of his legs over the table so that his crotch could reach your mouth, and guiding his sex inside your mouth, he makes you gag.

The frame of Uryu’s glasses carve into your thighs, as you involuntarily close your legs. He is not worried; he is actually enjoying the warmth of your skin against his blushed cheeks.

Your juices drip from the lips that once were tinted in blood, to his chin as if he was devouring a fruit. Uryu eats you out desperately; his senses have been overly stimulated and he swears he could cum by just this.

His eyes sometimes scan the way his blonde teacher makes you gag, with all of his length buried in your throat. He can only think of doing the same next. The tears running through your cheeks, the way you run out of oxygen, the protrusion of Jugram’s dick showing on your throat… why is he enjoying this? why the more you plead for mercy the more he gets harder, and harder?

In any case, the sudden explosion of your breathless climax amazes him. Uryu can feel your inner walls clenching to his fingers, and your orgasm invading his tongue.

Drop by drop, he feeds well off you. While Jugram grunts, because your mouth tries to close on its own as you come.

“Don’t bite, you bitch!” he protests, slapping your cheek hard enough to feel it but still soft enough not to hurt you. He might speak that way, but he is indeed very delicate on its own. He won’t go deeper for an inch more; he knows how not to cause you damage.

Uryu stands up, watching Jugram about to reach his own orgasm with the wetness of your mouth around his dick. He looks at his glasses wearing “little brother” with a smirk.

“I know you wanna fuck her, go ahead. Fill her cunt, I will stuff his stomach with my cum” he says, in between breathy pants. Words that surprise Uryu to no extent, where is the sophisticated Jugram he knows?

You give him a look, with blurry vision and a needy broken sight. You wanna tell him to do it, you want Uryu to fuck you and fill you up as Jugram said. You hope that your looks will be enough for him to understand, because you can’t use your mouth as it begins to get flooded with warm, sticky, white release.

He gets the message, clearly. But he is still inexpert; he thinks he knows what to do, but he doesn’t really.

Haschwalt sticks his dick out, pumping with his hands the last drops of his orgasm onto your lips. His seed drips from your lips to your neck and into your breasts, and it’s ok.

“Come on, fuck her… or should I show you that too?” he mocks his dark-haired companion while coming closer to him.

Jugram stands behind Uryu, grabbing a fistful of his straight hair. In other situation he could have been killed for doing so to the future king, but Uryu didn’t mind; he was too lost in pleasure to even think about it.

The blonde Quincy whispers on his ear, pushing him against you slowly and dominantly. “remember what our majesty told us… use her, now”

Reddish cheeks and warm breathe kissing Uryu’s lips, his eyelids sloppily falling down as he fixes his eyes in yours. His white pants fall to the ground, and the wet spot on his underwear grows bigger as his hardness does to.

You can only wait for his intrusion, eagerly to be penetrated, panting, and cleaning the still rests of Jugram’s cum off your lips and chin.

Uryu’s pale hand pump his never used sex, getting him ready to slide right in as Jugram spreads your legs surrounding Uryu from behind, leaving him in between you and him.

“Go…” he murmurs, ordering so sweetly. “Ye-yes” Uryu stutters, getting ready to fix all the time lost.

He is delicate, but it feels amazingly well. He slides in, resting, as Jugram grab him by his hip for a moment, right by your entrance. “Calm down, do it slower at first”

It’s so perverse to see Jugram believe he is the right of taking the lead, but it’s even more depraved that Uryu seems to be enjoying it even more than both you and Jugram.

“Now, begin moving… fuck her rough” the blonde finally says, while smiling so corruptly towards you as if he wanted to warn you of something. Perhaps, he was happy to find the perfect hollow to use on and on.

Like a total slave of desire, with no humanity left whatsoever, his glasses get foggy, and you take them off his beautiful face. Jugram allows you to close your legs, trapping Uryu with them around the waist.

You lift your hips up, allowing for him to go even deeper in that steady rhythm he has so easily learned to maintain. Carving nails like claws into his soft back, allowing for him to moan into your mouth, as you do the same.

Sometimes you take a look at the man who taught him; Jugram is sitting on one of the couches, ready to continue once his pupil is over.

But the one who is almost over, is you. And the grunts and moans become louder and faster. Your insides clench, milk your lover desperately. Uryu can feel it, he shakes, he bites your lip pulling with no mercy from them. You fix your eyes into his deep blue ones, mumbling something similar to an “I’m coming” and “please don’t stop”.

Of course he won’t stop, he can’t even if he wanted to. And soon after you carve your heel into the small of his back as you climax, he does to.

Uryu slams the table right next to you, as he is sweating and filling you up. What a beautiful façade of pure extasy and delicious desire…

More, I want more. From the regret to the need. Hollows might be toxic to Quincy, but Quincy aren’t toxic to Hollows… only deadly.

[kaibutsushidousha]

So does Minase joins Meteo of being a writer that picked a figure from regions that aren’t as used as much in TM with the Trung sisters belonging to him?

This one is just a self-answering yes-no question, so I'll instead use it as a platform for the Minase thoughts I've been having since the wombo-combo of the new mats, the anniversary interview, and the Dubai event. It's probably what the anon wanted out of it anyway.

My inner ramblings start from something Nasu said in last year's interview and made a point to reiterate this year.

Ordeal Calls are meant to be each writer's best and most emblematic piece. Their artistic identity taken to its peak. That's something I believe Sakurai accomplished and Minase didn't. That obviously raises one question: what would a real Minase masterpiece look like?

By the Ordeal Call's premise, it would still need to be something that gave the supplementary information we were missing about the Alterego class, but let's ignore that angle and focus only on the goal of expressing Minase's personality in the best way possible.

What works with Minase and what doesn't? Compare his worst and best pieces. Agartha sucks because it focuses on his opinions about women and those are categorically rancid. Yuga Kshetra succeeds because it focuses on his opinions about ableism, which are far more poignant and agreeable. Minase has enough care about the subject to ensure that the plot is a series of arrangements where the characters triumph not despite their so-called flaws but specifically because of them.

So an ideal Minase Ordeal would focus on a different subject that Minase recurrently displays passionate, empathetic, and agreeable opinions about. So what can we find in his roster of character? Minase made Servant versions:

Zenobia, whose historical significance is entirely about resisting Roman colonization, although she failed. Minase portrays as someone who literally wears her failure and tries to conduct herself with dignity regardless to prove the point that the Roman conquerors couldn't truly defeat her Palmyra spirit. I think this one is a bust execution-wise, but it's significant that the idea is there.

Lakshmi Bai, whose historical significance is entirely about resisting English colonization. Minase portrays her as someone who can't help but disdain the innocent English civilian Holmes and acknowledges the irrationality of it, but the entire surrounding cast including Holmes himself assure her that she is entitled to her feeling because colonization is that gruesome and traumatic of a process.

The Trung sisters, whose historical significance comes not exactly from resisting colonization, but from leading an independence war, which is similar enough in spirit.

Columbus, whose historical significance comes from being a colonizer. I don't need to tell you how Minase chose to portray him.

With Fate/ drawing its action cast from history books, it's inevitable that we get a decent amount of characters whose bulk of their offscreen backstory was spent conquering, slaughtering, and assimilating other cultures. Some certified colonizers, like Richard and Takeru, are very self-critical about it. On the opposite end of the spectrum, we have Iskandar, who gets flak from Faker and Ptolemy for his stupid decisions toward the Diadochi, but the journey of conquest and domination gets framed as the fun adventure no one is critical of. Either way, none of other characters not written by Minase get irredeemable treatment that Columbus gets.

The franchise's most prominent colonizer is, of course, Arthur(ia) Pendragon. Both versions are defined by the regret that comes with ultimately failing their kingdom, but their failings are never credited to the notion that violently conquering the British tribes and unifying the isles is an inherently bad thing. That's the image of greater good they fought for, and that part remains unchallenged. The closest Nasu got to criticizing Arthuria for being a colonizer is by showing the Round Table's brutal treatment of the Arabs in the Sixth Singularity. I'm mentioned this specially because this is Percival's first reaction to eating a mixed breakfast buffet in the current Minase-written Dubai event:

Minase's Percival is strongly defined by his respectful interest in foreign cultures and, fittingly enough for a knight who opposed the Lion King, he's maybe the first character to directly criticize Arthuria on her disregard for the traditions she trampled in the unification of Britain. That's a thing I'd appreciate more of and can only imagine Minase daring to touch on.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

aita for dividing up my sideblogs by fandom and not being clear about the fact that theyre all the same person?

this has never landed me in any kind of drama or arguments yet, but its been on my mind for a long time so i want some second opinions. basically, i have a good handful of sideblogs and each one is for one specific fandom (or sometimes a few interconnected fandoms). the reason is not only for categorization (i really like keeping things categorized) but also because… i dont want to get called problematic and for every single sideblog to get that label too.

i dont think id get called out for the stuff i ship, because none of it is that uncommon or problematic. but its the fandoms im in specifically. there are some fandoms im in that some people really, really hate, most often because of rumors/assumptions about certain contents of the source being problematic, or a generalized annoyance at the people in the fandom. if i like someones art or writing in one fandom, i dont want them to have to know im in a fandom they hate for a stupid reason. im not guilty about that.

what ive been considering though is that some of the fandoms im in people hate or cant stand for pretty valid reasons. like, some of the fandoms im in do have actual racism, misogyny, and other shitty ideals in their sources, and while i understand how these things are harmful and dont agree with or tolerate these ideals in my fandom experience, i understand that there are some people who just dont ever want to be near that fandom or someone in it for those reasons. i understand that some people have had shitty experiences with certain fanbases and cant tolerate interacting with someone in those fanbases.

i think its reasonable to say that i shouldnt be interacting with people if they say they dont want to be interacted with by certain fandoms. theres no fandoms im personally uncomfortable with, but if there were, i dont know if id necessarily be okay with being circumvented without my knowledge just so people could look at my posts. and, despite saying earlier that im not guilty about interacting with people who hate fandoms im in for stupid reasons, i also dont know if im qualified to judge what a stupid reason is or not! someone saying they hate a certain fandom and not saying why isnt "not a good enough reason".

but also… what they dont know wont hurt them?? its not like im befriending any of these people. i barely talk to people directly online (its just not my thing, im not a very social person), i basically just reblog and leave compliments on art and writing. its not block evading, because ive never been in a situation where someone tells me on one sideblog to not interact with them and then i interact with them from a different sideblog. since the sideblogs all only interact with the same fandom, nobody from other fandoms even knows they exist.

sidenote that this is purely about fandoms themselves, not about shipping problematic things or specifically engaging with problematic fandom content, because thats really not my thing.

tl;dr i have a lot of sideblogs, and sometimes ill interact with someone who says they hate a certain fandom despite being in that fandom. they never know im in that fandom and im not befriending them. aita?

What are these acronyms?