#I have the beginnings of a fic in my Google docs

[walmart-miku]

wake up babe new crane wives song just dropped

[sechsviciado]

i know its 3am and the tokyo ghoul re black reaper era was like nearly 9 years ago now but it still kills me inside everyday knowing what couldve been if ishida somehow reconnected reaperken and touka ... im not sure if it wouldve been slowburn or heartbreaking Angst but i just wish there was at least ONE interaction between the two outside of cochlea and not just right before that persona died off

[booksandberries]

the good news! i'm tired of my youtube addiction

the bad news! i'm back on fandom addictions

[newdejavuu]

.

[sincerelyneo]

hiiii will you repost your old haechan frat boy fic 🫣

i'm not sure if this is the one you were talking about, but it's the only google doc i had of haechan in a college au.

all bark no bite | l.hc

❯ summary: Lee Haechan is the most annoying man you’ve ever encountered. But that doesn’t mean you don’t find him hot; and maybe that’s why he has you flat on his mattress one night at a random frat party.

❯ pairings: haechan x fem!reader

❯ genre: college!au, rivals, smut.

❯ words: 2.5k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, angst, hate sex, oral sex (female receiving), unprotected sex (wrap it up !), pet names, excessive use of the name ‘baby’ and ‘princess’, begging, dirty talk, reader uses she/her pronouns, haechan is very cocky, haechan 1000% has a crush on the reader.

Lee Haechan is an asshole. A condescending, irritating asshole who knows exactly how to get on your fucking nerves and—

“God — fucking — dammit—!”

— is currently the asshole pressing you against his mattress.

Truth be told, you don’t even know how you got here. You remember being shoved in a closet with him for Seven Minutes in Heaven at some random frat party his friends were throwing, but you for sure as hell remember absolutely refusing to kiss him.

“Why not?” He’d sneered, folding his arms. “You scared you’re gonna like it, Princess? Promise I’ll take real good care of you–"

"Oh, please,” you’d scoffed right back. “Let’s not pretend you know your way around a girl’s body, Hyuck. I doubt you could even find my clit–"

"I would obliterate your pussy if you’d let me, and you know it,” there was a glint in his eye as he looked you up and down, “And we both know you’d like it.”

You were so fired up that you hadn’t even noticed how close you’d gotten to each other; you could feel his breath on your lips, his chest against yours. So irritated by his cockiness, you hardly even registered what you said next until it was too late:

“You’re all bark no bite, Lee Haechan.”

For the last three years you’ve been at college, you and Haechan had both been walking on eggshells around each other. There’d always been tangible tension ever since you had shut down one of his rants in class and essentially destroyed him — and from there it’d been a competition to one-up one another. You hated him, he hated you… but doesn’t the line between hate and lust wear oh so thin when it’s someone as hot as him?

The answer is yes, evidently.

After the seven minutes we’re up, Haechan wastes no time dragging you out of the closet and to his bedroom, earning him a matter of gasps and ‘ooohhhs’ from the rest of the players.

Next thing you know, you’re lying on your stomach, hands pinned at the small of your back as he thrusts into you so deeply you swear you can feel him in your stomach. His sheets rub against your clit with every body-wrecking slap of his hips against you, your throat hoarse from screaming. And for a moment you’re really, really, really fucking sorry for even doubting his abilities so much — because God can he fuck.

But you’d never tell him that, you don’t need to. His ego is already massive, he’ll live without validation from you — or so you think.

A hand crowds underneath you, before seizing your neck and pulling you up. The shortness of breath makes you pant, pulsing around him instinctively and you hear him laugh in your ear.

Fucking asshole.

And as if he hears you, his fingers find your mouth — and you gag, because his fingers are fucking thick and he’s shoving them down your throat. And the worst part is you love it, your mouth swallowing them the minute they push past your lips like it was just instinct.

"Oh, baby,” he laughs breathlessly, “Next time you do that, make sure it’s on my dick."

"You fucking wish—” you grunt, because he’s laying into you real deep now, slow, languid thrusts that have you refraining from shuddering all over– “as if there’s going to be a next time, you dick."

"Oh?” his hips still.

Then, almost thoughtfully, they begin again. Slow and teasing and not nearly enough to have you writhing in pleasure. His pace is tortuous, and if he didn’t have your arms pinned behind you, you’d claw at his back to make him speed up.

“Really? You think one night of the best sex you’ll ever have is enough?"

"Please, your dick game isn’t that impressive,” you say flatly. “Just make me cum and get this over with.”

You feel the heat of his breath as he dips his head again, placing kisses on your jaw so gently that for a moment you’re taken aback. “Don’t get impatient now, baby. I told you I’d take care of you didn’t I? Just…” His hips still again– “I think I’d like you to ask for it.”

“Ask?” You scoff, incredulous.

He nibbles down on your ear, before brushing past it with his lips low enough to whisper, “You're right. I meant beg.”

“What, you get off on girls begging for your permission–?"

There’s a rough snap of his hips into you and you have to bite hard down on your lip to stop yourself from whimpering.

"Not just any girls,” he mutters, so quiet that you almost don’t hear. “Only you.”

You’re going to pretend that your heart doesn’t flip when he says that, partially because of how sick it is that that gets you off, and instead focus on what the fuck is going on.

Did Lee Haechan just admit he wants you to beg for him? The same man who’d made it his college mission to torment and tease you at every given opportunity wants you.

If you weren’t lying on your stomach and taking every thick inch of him you’d be running in shock horror. But you find the idea isn’t quite as horrifying as you’d imagined.

“… Maybe we can fit more than one round in tonight, but that’s all I can offer you,” you say after a moment. You can feel him freeze up behind you. “I’m a busy girl with exams, Hyuck, I don’t have time to be running around with strange men–”

“Strange men?” His laugh is really nice. Sweet and dorky — the opposite of the usual mischievous chuckling he did when he knew he had gotten under your skin — and you only manage a huff of your own laughter yourself before you’re caught off guard by his steadily increasing grinds. “And after those exams? Got any time for a strange man like me?"

“…I’d have to check my calendar.”

He hums, and you swear to God if he stops again you’ll take back everything. "But for now… What’s your calendar open to, baby? Three? Four rounds?”

“Bold of you to assume you’ll get me to cum more than once,” you mumble, but you’re beginning to lose your breath as he picks up the pace once again. “I’ll warn you, though – I get loud after two.”

You don’t have to look back to know he’s sporting a smug as fuck grin. “You better muffle yourself with a pillow then, because I’m not stopping.”

“You’re so fucking sexy when you do that.”

Okay, so maybe the whole ‘waiting until after exams’ bit is getting to Haechan. He wouldn’t wait until your calendar cleared up, he couldn’t, his testosterone wouldn’t let him.

It’s been a whole three days since he got to fuck you; and God was it driving him insane.

You glance up at him now, unimpressed. You knew studying with him was a bad idea, but he’d been so insistent; and you had to admit, knowing he had made you cum four times made his presence all the more tolerable to hang out with.

“When I what? Do science homework?"

"No, no – I mean, yes. When you concentrate you get this small… crease between your brows…” He reaches forward – concentrating himself – tugging the plush of his bottom lip between his teeth as he reaches out to poke between your brows. “You look fucking sexy.”

“Alright, Casanova, hands to ourselves” you snort before you return to your reading.

The silence doesn’t last long, and the second he opens his mouth you swear you’re two moments away from taping his lips together.

“Lemme eat you out.”

“Wh– no!” Horrified, you peek around to see if anyone had heard him. But the library is virtually empty – it always is after 11 PM on a Friday.

And also, you’re both tucked away in a table at the back behind the History books that no-one ever takes out.

“You should be studying.”

“Don’t worry about me, I got this exam in the bag.”

You glare. “You’re awfully confident.”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, slumping in his seat again. “You’re my only competition, and, well…”

“Well, what?” You demand, setting your book down.

This was the usual dynamic you were familiar with when it came to Lee Haechan.

“You saying I’m not good enough competition, for you Hyuck? If my memory serves me correctly – and it definitely does – I beat you by 10% on our last exam.”

His own eyes narrow.

Oh, you just hit a nerve.

“Just for that,” he begins slowly, pushing his chair out, “I’m gonna suck your clit ‘til you go dizzy.”

“What part of no don’t you understand?”

But the promise is enticing and you part your legs anyway as he shimmies underneath the table.

“You’re such a fuckboy, I swear–”

“I am not!” He objects incredulously from beneath you. “I just like how you taste, baby.”

A fuckboy, you swear. But he’s got a way with words (and a way with his fingers, and a way with his tongue, and a way with his di—).

You feel your skirt being rucked up and your panties being pulled to the side – seconds later, his face ducks up from the table, grinning wolfishly.

“You’re kinda wet down here, baby. Are you sure you’re okay?” He teases.

“Shut up before I scream,” you grunt, folding your arms.

“Wouldn’t that be a dream?” He sighs. He retreats not two milliseconds after, though, and you hear him whistle lowly to himself. And then, so quiet you almost don’t catch it: “Fucking hell, baby.”

You make a promise that if he calls you baby once more you’re going to kick him because it makes your stomach flutter and your palms sweat — but then he licks a rough line up your pussy and you decide that maybe you’ll allow him to call you whatever he pleases.

Your head falls back as he does it again, and again, and again, as if he’s trying to clean up whatever mess you’d made in your panties. And normally you’d be irritated — wanting him to just move onto your clit already — but he genuinely sounds like he’s enjoying himself.

Quiet groans in his throat and passionate movements of his jaw, and his hands grasp your thighs so tightly you know there’ll be bruises. He smacks his lips wetly and you jolt, peeking out from behind the bookshelf to see if anyone had seen.

“Calm down,” He says, words muffled against you. “Nobody comes behind here on a Friday night. We’re safe.”

And as if to punctuate his point: a finger pulls back the hood of your clit, and true to his word, he sucks. Quickly, you shove your fist into your mouth and begin to gnaw on your knuckles, squeezing your eyes shut so hard that you see stars.

“H-Hyuck,” you whimper, “Unless you want me to get us caught–"

"I know, I know,” he says, sighing. His face comes out from underneath the table again. “I’ll be good if you pull your top down.”

“W-what?” To be fair, you’re still delirious off pleasure because his thumb hasn’t stopped grinding against your clit. “Why?"

"So I can play with your tits,” he says easily, shrugging. “C'mon, Princess. Show me your boobs.”

You stare at him for a moment, disbelief written on your face. “You’re such a man.”

“And you’ve still got the limp to prove it, haven’t you, baby? Don’t think I haven’t noticed the way you can’t walk straight.”

“Whatever.” You pull your top down, tug your breasts out of their cups – only to appease him and get him to shut up. Immediately he takes one in his grabby hands, all warm and rough as he tugs and pulls at one nipple.

So, okay, maybe he does know what he’s doing. Sometimes. Who are you kidding? All the time.

“Hm, you like that, don’t you?"

"Shut up,” you hiss, “if you get us banned from this library because of your dirty talk I’m never fucking you again—shit."

“We both know that’s not true.”

A steady stream of suckling on your sensitive bundle of nerves calls your attention elsewhere; at the same time, your nipple is rolled between his index and thumb. You feel like you’re buzzing all over, and it’s not because you’ve had five cups of coffee in the last three hours.

You don’t realise that you’re panting – fucking close – until Haechan releases your clit with a pop. He ducks underneath the table to peek up at you again. "Are you trying to get us caught?"

"I’ll be quiet,” you promise through gritted teeth, shoving your top into your mouth. You restrain the urge to curse him out because you could feel the beginning flutters of your orgasm on the tip of your tongue, and you know he’ll draw it out as much as possible if given the chance. “Just keep going."

He’s wearing a victorious, shit-eating grin when he gets back to it, energy increasing rapidly. He eats pussy like he’s competing for a trophy, and truth be told, you don’t mind being his prize if he makes you cum as hard as you did a few days ago. His tongue moves eagerly, tracing letters and numbers and fucking his name on your sensitive skin before sucking again.

No noise. You try to coach your brain into silence.

You never usually have a problem keeping quiet for the first orgasm. But as much as you hate to admit it, the act of being eaten out in a public library is a different kind of turn on.

And it really doesn't help that Haechan knows exactly what he’s doing.

Maybe that’s why when you cum, you have no problem with clinging to any part of him you can get your hands on — his hand on your chest, his hair between your legs. A weak whimper follows as you contract around nothing, hips bucking gently into his mouth, and he takes it all in.

Fuck.

He slides back from under the table and resurfaces a metre away, grinning widely. You know the image of you looking so ruined because of him is doing wonders for his ego — so as quickly as possible you pull your top down and readjust your skirt, panties irritatingly rough against your skin.

"Good, huh?"

You don’t want to give him anymore satisfaction, but you know with the orgasm he had just given you so publicly, there was no use in lying. In fact, you’re certain lying to him would only make his cocky ego flame even more.

“Whatever, Hyuck. You give good head, I’ll give you that.”

He hums, leaning backwards. “Thanks, baby. Now, bend over."

”Excuse me?“ You say.

“C’mon, you can’t just let me eat your pretty pussy and not expect me to get hard. You’re blue balling me here, Princess.”

You’re so genuinely shaken by his unfaltering confidence that you just stare.

“And don’t pretend you don’t love my cock.”

“Hyuck—”

“Bend over, I’m not kidding.”

You’re in a library. Letting him eat you out was already a reach — but you can’t deny that you do love the feeling of him inside you. And he did take good care of you last time. And —

You sigh in defeat, standing. “Remember what I told you last time?"

"You get loud after two. I’ll keep that in mind, baby.”

[aster-go-brrr]

my fic ideas battle to the death in my brain and then at the last minute, the personification of the concept of time (or the lack thereof) shows up and dunks the whole thing into a wheely bin

[luxcuriousao3]

Fevered Mistakes

Summary: Ghost, a formidable Alpha, is captured and dosed with rut inducers. You are the omega he's tossed into a cell with. WC: 3429 Warnings: a/b/o, graphic nonconsensual sex, nonconsensual drugging, unprotected PIV sex, referenced torture/experimentation, blood, vomit, death, hurt no comfort, background ghoap, POV switches denoted by triple asterisks (***) Notes: Based off the first half of this post that I made a bit ago. Ngl, I don't really like how this one turned out, but y'all were begging for it so, so I feel bad just letting it rot in my google docs lol. There are two scrapped versions of a second chapter that would make this fic farrrrr less angsty, but idk if I'm ever gonna continue this, so I'm treating this like it's a one-shot with the warnings. If I ever do post a continuation, it will be linked on my masterlist, so you can check for it there. And hey, maybe if y'all share your thoughts about this in my inbox or whatever, it might entice the brainworms again lol. Taglist: @captainsherlockwinchester110283

There was a girl in the cell.

She was small and soft in the way that almost all omegas were, though it was her scent that really gave her status away. Sweet and alluring but soured by fear, it invaded his nostrils and made him all the more dazed. The blow to his head, the one that had landed him in this situation, would have been hard enough to kill him, had he not been an Alpha.

He’d been sloppy. Let his feelings for Johnny get in the way of procedure. But seeing his beta, laid out on the floor, bleeding from his head, still as a corpse… he couldn’t have controlled himself if he tried. And at that point, he hadn’t wanted to try.

He’d gotten distracted, and he’d paid the price.

It had been three days since he'd been captured, by his best estimate. It was hard to measure, between the head injury and being kept in a room with no windows. All he had to go off of was how often someone came in to torture him for information. He never gave any up, of course. Even compromised, he never would. He'd been trained far better than that.

Still, he wasn’t in very good shape. Beaten to hell and back, his head scrambled… his feet dragged uselessly as he was pressed up against the bars, one of his captors unlocking the cuffs on his wrists while the other two kept him restrained. The fourth jammed a syringe into his neck, injecting him with some unknown substance. Ghost tried to break free, to throw a punch or a kick, anything, but his reflexes were sluggish, his thoughts painfully slow. All he succeeded in doing was annoying them, and he got an elbow to the back of his neck for the trouble.

He was no omega, couldn’t be immobilized by a simple scruffing, but fuck if that shit didn’t still hurt like a bitch. He collapsed to the concrete floor of the cell with an animalistic howl, and the sourness in the omega’s scent spiked, her heart rate speeding up. Ghost couldn’t find it in himself to care—the very last of rational thought was beginning to abandon him as the pain spread from the back of his neck throughout his entire body, growing unbearable as it reached his groin. He felt like there was fire raging just beneath his skin, and his senses sharpened as his dark gaze locked onto the wide-eyed omega curled up in the corner, neck cracking unsettlingly with the speed at which he turned. He had time for only one more thought before instincts took over, his heart dropping out his arse as dread turned the blood in his veins to ice before it began to boil all over again.

Rut inducers.

***

When you woke up, you were escorted to the cell in which you spend your heats. That confused you, since your next heat wasn’t supposed to be for another month at least.

It also terrified you.

Though you didn’t remember much of what happened during your heats, you did remember the pain. The desperate, burning need for an Alpha’s knot, and the aching, gaping emptiness when you were denied it, the only thing that could bring you any relief. This cell held nothing but bad memories, and you didn’t want to be anywhere near it.

But you had no choice. For as long as you could remember, you did as you were told, the way a good omega should. In your sleep, you thought maybe you saw glimpses of a time when things were different, when there were no scientists in white coats and men and women in military uniforms controlling your life. But you knew those were just dreams. None of it was real.

You sat on the thin mattress in the cold, dank cell for hours before something finally happened that could explain why you were there. A man was brought in—massive and with a terrifying skull mask on his face—and you barely had to take a whiff of him as he was shoved into your cell with you to know that he was an Alpha. There was that familiar smell of damp, scorched earth after a lightning strike, and you knew from the intensity of it that he was angry. No, not just angry. Furious. The very air reeked of electricity and burning plastic, overwhelming any hint of his natural scent. This was an Alpha that was ready to rip, rend, tear, kill. And you were stuck alone in a cell with him.

“Не сопротивляйтесь,” one of the uniformed men told you, expression entirely unsympathetic. It was almost worse than the look of sadistic, scientific glee on the face of the white coat next to him. “Ты сделаешь только хуже.”

Don’t fight back. You’ll only make it worse.

Your eyes widened, and you barely had a chance to shake your head before the unfamiliar Alpha was on you, grabbing your ankle in a brutal grip and dragging you away from the corner you’d curled up in. You screamed in pain as you felt the bone snap like a twig under his large palm, instinctively hitting your hands against his broad chest as you tried to fight him off. If you had been in heat, you wouldn’t have cared, wouldn’t have even felt the pain from him breaking you, would have spread your legs and begged him to knot you. But you weren’t, and so your survival instincts overtook those of your omega. You knew you would be punished later for disobeying, but at the moment, you didn’t care. Anything was better than being knotted by the feral Alpha on top of you. He would maul you to death while he fucked you, you just knew it.

The Alpha grabbed your wrists in one hand, pinning them above your head. The other ripped your shirt off, causing your back to arch and your tits to spill out of your bra. He buried his face in your neck, inhaling deeply and letting out a satisfied growl. You tried to headbutt him, and he snarled in your face, wrapping a hand around your throat and squeezing tight enough to make your vision go black around the edges in less than ten seconds. By the time you caught your breath and were able to think again, his hands were busy yanking down your pants and underwear in one harsh tug. You let out a hoarse shriek of fear, flipping onto your belly to try and crawl away, ignoring the searing pain in your shattered ankle. But that was your fatal mistake. His beefy palm met the back of your neck, fingers digging in as he lifted you slightly by it, his other hand coming around to roughly grope your breasts.

And you stopped.

You stopped moving, stopped screaming, you nearly stopped breathing. You were limp as a ragdoll as he scruffed you, utterly and completely paralyzed. You could do nothing but take it as he shoved your face into the dirty concrete, pried your legs apart, and forced himself inside you. You could feel the agonizing pain as his cock practically tore you in half, could feel the ice cold fear freezing every cell of your body, could feel his blunt nails digging into the ultra-sensitive skin of your nape. You could feel everything. But you couldn’t do anything to stop it.

It seemed to go on forever, and yet take no time at all. One second, you were pliant and supine beneath the Alpha as he pounded into you, his weight constricting your lungs and making it difficult to breathe. The next, the restrictive grip on your neck was gone, replaced by a sharp pain at the junction of it and your shoulder as his teeth sunk into your flesh. Into your mating gland. Your own screams were echoing in the tiny cell, now, no longer confined to your head.

“M’sorry, M’sorry, M’sorry,” a rough, wet voice chanted in your ear. It was the Alpha, speaking to you in English. You could understand it, even if you couldn't speak it. He was still on top of you, still inside you, his knot stretching you far beyond your limits. And yet he was… apologizing? You stopped screaming in your confusion, the terrified screeching replaced by the sound of your heaving sobs.

“M’sorry, M’so sorry, they dosed me, M’sorry,” the Alpha continued, voice slurred. You struggled to focus on his words, distracted by the liquid you could feel dripping down your thighs. It was probably blood, you realized distantly. His knot wouldn’t have let any of his seed escape. That’s what it was there for.

That, and to keep you from running.

The Alpha’s voice grew more and more gravelly as his knot began to deflate, his apologies interrupted by grunts as he began to move his hips again, thrusting in and out of you shallowly. You whined, clawing at the floor, trying to wriggle free, but he just settled nearly his entire weight on top of you.

“Don’ fight,” he growled, and you could tell from the strain in his voice that he was at least trying to resist his instincts. It didn’t make you feel any better, especially not when his fingers inched closer and closer to your nape again. “Don’t, or m’gonna have to— fuck, I don’t— fuckin’ be a good omega an’ take it— m’sorry, fuck— don’t fuckin’ fight me—”

You were still sobbing, shrieking like a dying thing with every quick, brutal snap of his hips against yours. Too out of it from being scruffed, you missed the warning in his jumbled plea threat, continuing to struggle underneath him. You felt your ribs crack as he pressed the rest of his considerable weight onto you, and the strangled, stuttering gasp that left your throat was the kind of sound that belonged in a horror film.

The Alpha seemed to think so too, as he moaned in a horrid mixture of pleasure and abject misery before he scruffed you again. You went still, once more trapped in your own body. It was the worst sensation you’d ever felt, worse than the experiments the white coats ran on you, worse than your punishments, worse than your heats spent alone. Worse than the shattered ankle or broken ribs, worse even than the feeling of him ripping you apart from the inside. You were always helpless and vulnerable, being an omega, but this… when you were scruffed, you were no longer a person. You were just an object, to be used as your Alpha saw fit.

Your Alpha.

The man on top of you—who was knotting you for the second time now—was your Alpha. He’d claimed you, the pain in your shoulder was proof of that. You would wear his mark forever, now. You would belong to him for the rest of your life.

You prayed that it was short.

Your Alpha released his painful grip on your nape again, but you didn’t try to get away this time. You were far too disoriented. Being scruffed once was bad enough, but twice in as many minutes? You could easily go into shock from that. You probably were in shock, but you didn't panic, feeling too distant and floaty. The ice in your veins was numbing you from the inside. That was nice… you leaned into it, letting your blankly staring eyes flutter shut—

“Omega!”

Your eyes snapped back open and you whimpered, trying to curl in on yourself. That only caused pain to flare up all over your body, the burning between your legs as you tugged on his knot pulling another scream from you.

“Stay still,” the same harsh voice ordered, and your instincts forced you to obey. The command was a little more collected this time, a little more coherent, even if he was still groaning and slurring.

“Don' move,” your Alpha panted, each word sounding like it was dragged out of him. He started to fuck you once more. “Don’— don’ wanna scruff you ‘gain.”

You didn’t have it in you to be grateful. Didn’t have it in you to be sympathetic to his situation either, not while he was still rutting into you like an animal.

They dosed me, he’d said. You wished they’d dosed you. At least then you wouldn't feel the pain…

***

Simon had never hated being an Alpha more than in that moment.

Bollocks deep in a pretty little omega, one already stuffed full of his come and wearing his mark… he wished fervently that this was just another of his nightmares, the ones that stuck with him like a bad smell even after escaping Roba.

Between the disorientation from his forced rut and the nasty head injury, he almost let himself believe that it was. If it was a dream, he could give in, and he wouldn’t actually be hurting anyone. He could just ride it out, come in trousers wherever he was sleeping, and hopefully, it would end faster.

But her screams were far too real.

She wailed like she was being flayed alive as she struggled underneath him, and his Alpha—after being denied a partner for his ruts for over a decade—was brutal and swift in its response. Scruffing her like a scrappy mutt, growling in pleasure at the way she submitted to him—the way she was forced to submit to him.

It was nearly impossible to think around how fucked his head was—by instinct and injury both—but after he'd knotted her for the second time, he was able to act a little more like the trained soldier he was, and not like a panicked civvie.

He didn’t argue with himself any longer. He accepted the reality of the situation as it was. He was in rut. He was trapped with an omega. He had brutalized and claimed her. If he kept focusing on trying to stop himself altogether, he was going to kill her. He needed to give up on that and instead just try to minimize the damage.

Starting with stopping her from going into shock, and then stopping her from fighting back. It only made his Alpha all the more eager to dominate her—by any means necessary.

It sickened Simon that that part of him existed. Deep down, he feared that it always had. That Roba hadn’t created it, back in the desert. That he’d just unearthed it. All of Simon’s evilness, all his wicked desires…

It was why he’d never taken an omega before. Never even let himself date one, back when that was something he did.

Johnny was perfect, in that way. In many ways, really, but him being a beta—it soothed Simon’s fears. The fears that were being proved true.

He didn’t know how long passed before the rut inducers wore off. It had to have been hours. The omega—his omega—was still facedown on the ground when he pulled out of her for the last time. She was bleeding from where he’d bitten her, and where he’d bred her, his cock drenched in her blood, her own thighs stained with a mix of it and his come.

Simon threw up at the sight. He told himself it was just from the head injury.

He was naked, except for his mask, which was pushed up past his nose. He didn't remember taking off his trousers, though he recalled that his shirt had been cut to shreds the first day of his captivity by his torturer. He didn’t remember a lot of his mini-rut, as was common when it was induced. But the evidence of what he’d done was right in front of him. The omega—not mine, not my omega, not mine—was clad in nothing but the scraps of her clothes. Her side, hips, wrists, and the back of her neck were bruised. Her ankle was bent at a funny angle. A small patch of hair near her nape was missing, leaving her scalp red and raw. Simon looked at his hands, and found the strands woven between his fingers.

She didn’t move.

Simon pulled his mask into position and Ghost took over. He moved towards the girl, feeling for a pulse. She flinched violently when he touched her neck, and he felt relief—and guilt—reverberate through him. Ghost was good at ignoring his feelings, though.

“S’over,” he told her, voice gruff. “S’done now. Promise.”

The omega didn’t acknowledge his words, just kept her shoulders tucked up by her ears, guarding her neck. Ghost didn't protest, simply felt along her spine for any breaks. He didn’t find any, so he carefully rolled her over.

Her breasts were red and raw, nipples bleeding from being scraped back and forth across the floor. There was a hand shaped bruise around her throat, and petechiae in the whites of her glassy eyes. Ghost ignored his horror at the sight, and began to palpate her ribs. She inhaled sharply when he touched the eighth and ninth ones, a pitiful, pained whine escaping her.

The ribs were probably fractured, if not broken. The bruising above them was clue enough. There was another massive bruise low on her belly, and Ghost swore. Internal bleeding. He may have actually fucked this poor omega to death. There was no way she survived the night if she wasn't treated soon.

He got his pants and trousers on, hoping it would help her believe the worst was over, and then got to work doing what he could—wrapping her ribs with the dirty blanket in the corner, and holding the scraps of her shirt between her legs to try and stem the bleeding there. It wasn't enough. It wasn’t nearly enough. He didn’t even know if it was really worth the discomfort it caused her—but he couldn't bring himself to just let her die. She was his omega.

Not mine, not mine, not mine.

He talked to her as she faded. Tried to keep her awake with the sound of his voice, though he knew it was probably the last thing she wanted to hear. He told her stories from his childhood—the few good ones there were—told her the plot of the last film he and Johnny had watched, told her about Johnny. That was the topic he lingered on the longest. It was far easier to talk about his beta than himself. And by the time her eyes slipped closed and her shallow breathing stopped, it was Simon that was holding her, not Ghost, despite the mask on his face.

It was Simon that watched her die.

It was Simon that realized he didn't even know her name.

And it was Simon that howled with grief and rage, clutching the broken body of the omega—my omega, my omega, mine—against his chest.

Footsteps rapidly approached the cell, and Simon snarled like a rabid animal as he turned towards the bars. He barely had a second to pull his omega—dead, dead, dead, she was mine and I killed her, she was innocent and I killed her—behind him before a familiar voice rang out. The only voice that could have possibly reached him in this state, that could stop him from giving into his instincts completely and going feral.

“Simon?”

“Johnny,” Simon growled, sounding desperate and broken. He felt broken. This little omega had managed to do what Roba and a hundred others had failed at. And she hadn't even tried.

“Let us help her, Si,” Johnny coaxed, moving closer while Price and Gaz hung back. Wise, because Simon could barely keep himself from baring his teeth at his own beta. Johnny didn't back down. “Si. Let us help her.”

Simon hesitated for a long moment, fighting his overwhelming instincts, before moving away. Johnny rushed in, immediately checking the omega’s pulse and starting compressions when he couldn’t find it. Simon tried to struggle to his feet, but he nearly fell over, Gaz and Price catching him. He snarled, weakly pulling away from them, but they held fast.

“We got you, soldier,” Price’s deep voice rumbled in his ear. “Stand down.”

Simon slumped, unable to hold himself up anymore, all his injuries catching up to him.

“I killed her,” he whispered raggedly, eyelids falling shut. He felt Gaz shake him to try and keep him awake, but he simply didn't have the willpower, anymore. “She was mine and I killed her.”

The mantra rang in his head even as he lost consciousness, and her screams of pain and the look of fear on her face as she lay dying followed him into his dreams.

-

less angsty ending

[justaaveragereader]

Ice On My Teeth Or Ice In My Mouth

Pairing: OT8 x Reader

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: Switch Reader, Dom!Hwa, Dom!Yunho, Noona Kink, Everyone Else Is Subs, Bukkake, Name Calling (Good Boy, Darling, Slut..) Breast Play, Oral, Cum Eating, Dirty Talk, Mentions Of Reader Taming Woo, Spitting, Slight Exhibitionism, Reader Loves Being Watched, All Of Them Love Readers Grill, If I Missed Anything…Lemme Know👀👀

A/N: This comeback good lord…all my villain Yunho enthusiasts stand up with me! BC HOT DAMN, there is so much to talk about but when I tell you I rannnnn to google docs to punch up this fic, I swear the MV was so scrumptious I thought we would have a part 2 of Hwa ina grill, or any of them but it’s alright🙄😒, I made the reader make up for the lack of grills in the MV. Also Dom!Hwa and Dom!Yunho they 🤪, I will die on the hill that Yunho, Jongho, and Hwa top three doms in the group. Fic wasn’t entirely proof read so�� Hope yall enjoy😚

Masterlist

All Ageless, Blank, and Bot Looking Blogs Will Be Blocked.

“You wanna what!?” You exclaim, sweaty back against the floor, heaving with deep breaths as teaching all 8 members the choreography to their upcoming comeback was draining you more than it was draining them.

“It’s just a thought..” Seonghwa said silently while patting the sweat off of your forehead with a small towel.

“You really wanna share me? With all of them!?” You say, pushing his hand away slightly, leaning up on your elbows. With a smile I’m his face and a careless shrug he nods his head. Clearly he has thought about this before, it just was finding the right time to bring it up to you. Seonghwa was a lot of things but selfish when it came to sex was not one. He’d be lying if he said he hadn't thought of sharing you with his own members, he saw the twinkle in their eyes when you paid them a compliment, or even when you all sat for movie night brushing against one of the other members thoughtlessly.

“I think it’ll be fun, imagine that, you covered in their cum. While you swallow mine, just think about it princess.” Seonghwa hums out, continuing to brush away the sweat on your forehead, nodding your head lightly. He begins to hum with each wipe, your mind goes straight to the thought of you being a cum dump for all of the members. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about each and everyone one of them in that way, they were all attractive men, it was no secret their looks were second to none. A group of 8 visuals, with amazing personalities to match. You sat and thought about what Seonghwa had said for weeks on end, coming towards the end of the month right before the comeback began you took him up on that offer.

~

“You can cum on her but no one is allowed to touch her.” Seonghwa says, his hand firm on your hip while your eyes flicker through each members expression. Immediately nodding his head Mingi stands up, beginning to fiddle with his belt. Grabbing his arm Jongho pulls him back down, furring his eyebrows at him.

“That doesn’t seem entirely fair.” Wooyoung says, keeping his legs crossed tightly not wanting to show his hard cock through his pants. Per usual this bratty personality arises. Making you cock your head slightly to the side, eyes swirling with dominance wondering what it would be like to tame the Jung Wooyoung. Seonghwa notices your eyes swirling with excitement, patting your hips, he grabs a soft pillow from the couch tossing it in the middle of the room. The soft item hitting the floor with a silent thump.

“This isn't about us, this is about him.” Yunho says, eyes twinkling with his own lust, man spreading loud and proud. Your eyes flicker down to his cock that’s standing at attention in his sweatpants. Raising his eyebrow, Seonghwa looks at Yunho impressed, nodding slightly, he looks at the man mentally applauding him for putting two and two together so quickly.

”What can I say?” Seonghwa says with a shrug to his shoulders, eyes twinkling with pride, patting the top of your thigh you let out a quiet sigh.

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen her with other men.” With a shrug to his shoulders he leans back against the couch. Your eyes flicker over to Mingis jittery figure. Biting his polished nails with anticipation, he didn’t care how it happened, he just wanted it to happen. Choking on his spit, Hongjoongs eyes double in size, side eyeing Seonghwa, clearly he had known of your and Seonghwas sex life but he didn’t think cuckholding or swinging would be something he’s into.

“Fuck it, I’m in!” San says, brushing his sweaty palms on his pants. With all the boys coming around slowly, they all begin to stand in a circle, surrounding the pillow. With a firm squeeze to your hips your eyes float to each man. Anticipation, nerves, and hard cocks.

“How do you want me?” You say loudly, eyes continuing to flicker between each man, yet subconsciously they all knew you were speaking directly to Seonghwa. With a small smile cracking on your face, the light catching the silver grill lining the top of your teeth. Making all the men in the room let out soft groans of desperation.

“Naked and on your knees, darling.” As you begin to stand, hands clutching the bottom of your shirt to pull it off of your head you hear a small whimper leave Yeosang and Mingis throat. Before you can continue taking your clothes off, Seonghwas hand stops you as your fingers come up to unclip your bra.

“Make it worthwhile for them, they look like pent up college boys.” He says with a snicker, leaning back against the cushions once more. Watching as your naked figure makes way towards the pillows. As your knees hit the soft item, your shoulders jitter slightly with excitement. Chin up, head on a swivel you turn your head to look at all of the members as they stand before you. Cocks hard, some biting their lip, others with their hands balled into a tight fist, trying to hold back their orgasm. Just seeing you kneeling before them was enough to make them blow their load.

“Well…are you going to pull those pretty cocks out, or am I going to have to beg some of you for that.” You say matter of factly, voice laced with a slight innocent tone. You hear a small whimper to the right of you, head turning to look who it’s from your eyes grow with darkness, eyelids hooded as you seek out your first member.

“Look at wet patch on your pants Mingi, someone is excited.” With a heavy blush to his cheeks, he shifts from foot to foot. Fiddling with the waistline of his pants. With a soft coo you beckon him over with a lift of your finger, moving like he’s in a trance. His feet move swiftly, bumping Hongjoong as he makes his way towards you. Standing in front of you with his large stature. You place a hand on his waist and on his pants, tugging at the material slightly, as the air hits his cock he lets out a whine, his large cock smacking the bottom of his stomach before standing at attention in your face.

“I thought you said we can’t touch her..” Wooyoung says, eyes deeply boring at the sight in front of him.

“He never said I couldn’t touch you..” you say, eyes darting over to Wooyoung who doubles over in moans as your eyes cut to him. His bratty ways make your body break out in goosebumps. Saying a silent prayer to yourself, hoping this wouldn’t be the last time that you all did this. Your itch to tame Woos bratiness was at an all time high, gripping Mingis cock firmly, your eyes traveled back to him.

“You're going to cum on me, baby.” You moan to Mingi, fingers dancing along his length. With an eager nod he bites his lip, staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky just for him.

“You got such a pretty cock Mingi.” You whisper while placing a small kiss on the base of his cock. His body jerking instantaneously, knees buckling he clenches his hands in a tight fist, nails digging into his palms.

“N-noona please..” Mingi begs, chest beginning to heave, thighs twitching with each soft kiss you place on his dick. Your eyes cut into a seductive look, eyelids growing heavy as you begin to hear the big man begging for you.

“Are you going to cum for me Mingi?” You say though each small kiss, fingers brushing lightly over his tight balls. His knees buckle as you continue to talk to him. Voice as smooth as silk flowing in and out of his ears.

Tugging down his own pants San wraps a firm hand around his cock, groaning at the sensation of his warm hand wrapped around it. Eyes shut, titling his head back, he imagines it's your hand around his hardened length. Eyes squeezing with each sweet, filthy word you speak. Each member starts to slowly grab their own cocks, bodies twitching with excitement as your naked frame sits in the middle of the room.

Your eyes float from Mingis face down to his lower abdomen, bringing your other hand up to brush over this lower stomach. Brushing your lips over the tip of his cock, he lets out a small, high pitched whine. Jerking his hips slightly, you watch as his hands flex tightly.

“You are such a good boy for me Mingi.” You whisper out, lips continuing to brush over his leaky tip. His knees buckle once more, lower lash like filling with tears that are meer seconds away from being shed.

“I’m a good boy?” He whimpers out, gripping the lower fabric of his shirt. Wet eyes shooting over to Seonghwa, eyebrows furring in a pleading look. Your hand that was rubbing across his lower belly moves to his balls once again, giving them a firm squeeze making Mingi jump, his eyes dart back to you.

“Ah, ah, ah. You look at me Mingi, you are my good boy, not Seonghwas.”

With a loud moan, Mingis hand gripping the lower half of his shirt tighter, head tilting back as you feel his cock pulsing in his palms.

“Who's my pretty boy?” You ask through a moan, tongue swiping between the slit of Mingis cock.

“Me..” he whimpers out pathetically.

“Look at me Mingi.” As he prys open his eyes, looking down at you. The sight before him has him teetering the edge of orgasm.

“Who's my pretty boy?” You ask seductively before slipping your tongue between the slit once more before kissing the tip, and giving his balls a squeeze.

“M-meeee!” He groans out knees practically giving out as he cums with the firm tug you give his balls. A loud whine leaves his throat, doubling over your kneeling form as he shoots his milky load all over your warm skin. His cum splashing on your lower lip, getting on some of the grill, and face. As he finishes you give him one firm squeeze before he jerks his body back. Swiping some of the cum off your lower lip. You let his flavor dance on your tongue as you look up at Mingi, who looks like he’s just ran a marathon, tongue darting out to lick over the shining piece in your mouth, with weak knees he wobbles his way over to the far end of the couch. Tossing his limp body on it.

As your chest grows sticky with Mingis dripping cum you look up at the others, eyes dancing to figure out who's next. Your eyes instantly land on Wooyoung, beckoning him over with a flick of your finger he follows as well. As he makes his way forward you call out for Yeosang, and Jongho. With Wooyoung standing in front of you, Jongho on your left, and Yeosang on your right. Your head swivels between the three men. Swiping the cum off your chest you lube your hands up in his cum, firmly grabbing Yeosang and Jonghos dick. Both of them let out a loud hissing noise at your warm hands wrapped around their lengths.

“Touch yourself, now.” You say to Wooyoung, his hand slowly snakes itself to his member. Wrapping a hand loosely around it, he pumps himself to the same speed that you are pumping Yeosang and Jongho. Alternating between suckling on the tip of their cocks, you keep your eyes on Wooyoung.

“You are such a brat you know that?” You muffle out, popping off of Jonghos dick, before going to spit on Yeosangs, as the cool spit hits his cock you watch as Wooyoungs cock bounces slightly in his hold.

“Look at you, stroking your cock all because Noona asked. What a slut.” You say through a slight chuckle, biting his lip he racks his brain for a slick comeback yet he comes up short. Biting his lip he steps closer to you, cock brushing against your warm cum coated skin. Gathering all the spit in your mouth, you spit it on Wooyoungs cock. His back arching slightly at the sudden feeling. Jonghos hips stutter in your firm grasp. Your thumb coming down to roll over his reddened tip. Releasing your hands from both men on your sides you tilt your head back slightly..

“Who wants to be the first to come in my mouth?” You ask, eyes growing heavy as you stick your tongue out, with your mouth wide open.

“Oh fuck…” Jongho whispers out before standing by Wooyoung, his hand wrapping around his cock as he begins to stroke himself quickly. Yeosang remains where he is. His eyes glued to your form, as his hand comes down to wrap around his cock. You swipe some of Mingis cum off of you before swiping it on Yeosangs member.

“Such filthy sluts I have around me.” You moan out, with each word you degrade all three of them with the closer and closer they are to their release. Yeosangs attractive flushed face twists in pleasure milking his leaking cock for all that it’s worth. As he pumps himself two more times, he’s letting out a loud cry. Head tossing back in pleasure as roles of cum dance along your skin. Shooting all over your shoulder and the side of your breast, it sets off a chain reaction. Eyes dancing along Yeosangs figure, as he groans with each final pump. White teeth sinking into the bottom of his plush lip, Jongho tries his best to keep his hands off of you. Watching your sly reaction as Yeosang paints your skin has his toes gripping the carpet below him, watching Yeosangs face contort in such pleasure has his body jerking, the final line snapping as he hears Yeosang whimper your name out quietly. Triggering his own orgasm, he clenches his shirt tightly, hips jerking forward as the tip of his cock brushes the side of your mouth.

Quickly turning so he can paint the inside of your mouth with his release, wanting to leave his stain on the studded jewelry in your mouth. Wooyoung grips his cock tightly once more, applying heavy pressure to the tip before he’s spilling into his own release. His warm cum dances along your skin, mixing with Jonghos as they paint the inside of your mouth. While both men retreat back to their seats, Seonghwa stands up, making his way towards you. With your cheeks squished between his thin fingers, he watches as your cum coated mouth is swimming in both men’s release.

“You are going to suck me off while the other 3 boys have their turn with you. Lay down.” As your eyes twinkle with excitement. You lay on your back, mouth still cum coated, studded jewelry still shining under the light with each smile. Waiting for Seonghwa to tell you when to swallow, you watch as Yunho, San, and Hongjoong approach you slowly. As if they were a group of lions walking about their feast for the night.

Kneeling down, Hongjoongs cock ghosts right above your face. His hand firmly wrapped around him, with your cum stained tongue rolling out of your mouth he can’t help but let out a low groan. Yunho continues to stand, his large figure swallowing your small frame on the ground. Standing over your stomach Seonghwa kneels down both of his legs trapping the sides of your body, while San stands directly between your legs, that you’ve hiked up, feet planting on the ground so he could get a good look at your cunt. With Seonghwa kneeling over you to get a perfect shot at cumming on your tits. Your eyes flicker to each man standing around you. Your body grows with excitement. Thighs slickening up with arousal as you hear the panting of men, as they pump firm hands up and down their cocks. Inching closer to you, Seonghwa slowly pushes his cock between your lips. As your tongue instantly darts out over hardened length you lock eyes with Yunho who is standing over as if he’s in charge of this whole thing.

As you sucked on Seonghwa harder, making sure to swirl your tongue around the tip of his cock, tongue hugging against the throbbing vein that runs on the underside just how he likes it. The sight before San has him in a trance, his grip on his cock eases up as he’s too enamored with the way you suck Seonghwa in your mouth. With spit pooling around your lips, and dripping down to your naked chest, he gets lost in his dirty thoughts. Your eyes flicker over to his large frame, eyes growing heavy, and seductive with each suck you give Seonghwa. As one of your hands comes up to rub the base of his cock, you continue to lock eyes with Yunho. A battle of dominance between you both, one that you know you will lose. As Seonghwa rubs his thumb across the bottom of your jaw. Eyes flickering to your scrunched face, eyes heavy in concentration on Yunho, that your sucking begins to speed up. As Yunho watches you inhale Seonghwas cock, his own jumps at the sight. The small groans leaving your mouth, the clenching of your thighs. His heavy gaze is too much to bare, you break eye contact with Yunho, eyes fluttering to the man on top of you who's looking at you with a wild look.

“Usually she’s such a brat..” Seonghwa groans out, his eyes never leaving your concentrated face.

“First person I’ve seen her so easily submit too…” he says through a low moan, before pulling his cock from your mouth. The cool feeling of the grill makes him groan, the piece of jewelry hugging your teeth has his knees buckling.

“Isn’t that right, pretty?” He replies in a airy voice, your eyes wet with unshed tears from coughing slightly, you look at the four men hovering above you, a small smile creeping onto your face. Feeling too close to blowing his lid, he moves from kneeling in between your thighs to move on the side of you, directly across from Hongjoong making sure not to take up the space Yunho was standing in.

“Yes..” you whisper out before reaching up to touch Sans throbbing cock, that was twitching in his hand, eyes wide, with his pupils blown. Collecting some of the spit from the corners of your mouth, you rub your moist thumb over Sans tip, a loud mewl leaves his throat, knees buckling almost instantaneously. Your other hand comes up to run across the base of Hongjoong, his precum beading at the redden tip of his cock. With his large hand wrapping around his own member, he pumps himself while watching your every move. Yunho always carried a heavy presence, it practically made you wanna melt.

“Fuck…you are so heavy Hongjoong..” you whisper out, finger tips dancing along his tightened, heavy balls. A small whimper passes through his lips, pulling his head back as you give them a firm squeeze, he makes a move to stop your hand, not wanting to blow his load so quickly yet he remembers the rules. No touching you.

Seonghwa reaches up to crush your boobs together, creating the perfect crevice for him to stick his dick between. Hiking up your chest further, he lets out a loud groan at the feeling of your warm side flesh hugging his cock, with swift movements he begins to rock forward, making sure the tip of his cock taps your chin.

“She’s taking it so well..” San says through a small cry, your thumb still rubbing around his tip. Your eyes leave Hongjoongs..

“You are taking it so well to Sannie..” you whisper out, licking the top of your lip, eyes growing dark as you feel him and Hongjoong pulsing in your hands.

With your heavy gaze on the men above you, biting your lip, the silver shine from your grill has Yunhos hips stuttering in his firm grasp, with Seonghwa letting out a small mewl on top of you, sweat slowly rolls down his temples, eyebrows furring with trying his best not the cum so fast. Licking the top of your lip, your eyes grow heavy at the feeling of both men throb between your hands, pulsing with need. Letting your tongue roll out slowly, making sure to slide your tongue over the shining jewelry coating the front of your teeth, all four men above you look like they are on the verge melting right into you.

“Come on..” you moan out quietly, gripping Hongjoong and Sans cocks a bit firmer, eyes darting to all the men above you..

“Cum on me..”

DO NOT REPOST.

[totalswag]

how much did you drink? — RAFE CAMERON

authors note hi loves!! i know i disappeared for awhile, my personal life got extremely busy and i never had time to write on my computer. i'm so excited to be back and writing for you guys though. this fic has been in my google doc for small minute and i got a request from an anon somewhat similar to this fic too, lol.

summary y/n getting a little too drunk at a party and rafe has to come pick her up

warnings drinking, swearing, smoking, sexual tension, implied smut?

Lets face it, you were drunk, like really drunk.

You made the decision to come out on a Saturday night with Sarah to John B’s. People dancing, making out everywhere, smoking, drinking, along with loud music.

As the night progressed you were on the table dancing with your best friend with bottles of tequila in your hands, everyone cheering you two on as you continued dancing.

“I’m having so much fun tonight” your words are slurring at this point. 

“Me too,” your friend giggled.

Topper and Kelce shook their heads while they stood near the kitchen. Rafe, your boyfriend, told Topper and Kelce to watch you simply because he wasn't at the party.

“She's about to do something dumb” Topper murmurs, and Kelce nods in agreement.

Kelce replies, "I think it's time we called Rafe."

Topper calls Rafe, while Kelce tries to get you off the table but fails when you say no and to go away so you can drink more. Kelce turns around, sending Topper the clear message that Rafe needs to arrive as quickly as possible.

"Yo, Rafe, sorry for bothering you, but Y/N is really drunk and dancing on the table, and she won't listen to us" Topper scratched his chin, glancing at Kelce, who was attempting to get you off the table.

"Are you being serious?" Rafe must have been in a deep sleep based on the sound of his voice. 

"Yeah, could you pick her up?" He begs.

Topper can hear Rafe's end shifting, "I'll be there soon, just keep an eye on here, please." Rafe sighs and hangs up the phone. 

Meanwhile, Topper and Kelce were eventually able to get you off the table by claiming a drinking game was about to begin, which was correct. You stood in the kitchen with the guys and few other friends watching while others set out the red solo cups on the board.

Your friends came into the kitchen to see what you were doing and they were worried about you because they couldn’t find you.

"These two have me on lock down so I don't drink anymore but oddly waiting to play a drinking game," you add, staring at the girls before wandering your gaze over to Kelce and Topper, who are in the middle of a conversation with a few of their buddies.

Your friends laugh, shaking their heads, telling you, you should still be drinking and having fun.

"I'm so drunk right now, it's not even funny," you hiccuped as your body swayed back and forth, almost knocking you off your feet.

Topper leaned over the counter, grabbing you before you fell.

"Y/N, please drink the water," he says as he puts the water bottle out to you, you look at him, shaking your head as you push it away with your hand.

"Drink the water now, Y/N, we're going home," your boyfriend said, filling your ears. You circle around, placing your arms around his waist, excited. 

"You guys are no fun," you scoff.

"That hangover isn't going to be fun in the morning," Rafe responds. 

“How much did you drink baby?” he asks, lifting your chin up, making eye contact with you.

“I drank a lot and smoked too” you answered truthly, hiccuping.

"You are so hot, I could just fu-" you run your hands down his stomach, removing his shirt a little and gliding your hands on his exposed skin. Rafe stopped you before you could complete your sentence.

Usually when you drink too much and Rafe’s around you get very touchy with him and start saying unholy words from your mouth which leads to fucking or you need to really sober up. You can’t stop but think of how good he looks right now.

Rafe comes to these types of parties with you but tonight he wasn’t feeling it. He trusts you going to parties with your friends or the guys cause he knows you would never do anything that can hurt your relationship.

"All right, that's enough for the night. "Seriously, drink the water," he says, twisting the cap and handing you the water to sip. You realized nothing else would work, so you drank the water.

Rafe watched as you drank the water. When you get this drunk no one else can handle you unless it’s Rafe because he’s been around you enough to know. Your best friends get drunk with you so them being drunk trying to help you too doesn’t make the situation better.

When you finished the water, you wrapped your arms around Rafe, nuzzling your face in his chest mumbling words. He took it as a sign that you were ready to leave the party.

“We’ll walk you two out” Topper suggested to Rafe.

“Yeah that would be helpful, thank you” picking you up in braid style.

You lifted your head from Rafe's chest, confused as to why he began guiding you from the kitchen to the front door. "Why are we leaving?" you asked as you pulled away. "I want to stay," you protest, pointing back to your friends. 

Rafe sighs, closing his eyes, "baby you are drunk and have been drinking a lot" he pauses, "you need to rest too" you pout.

“Say goodnight to them real quick,”

When you walk back to the kitchen your friends eye’s light up but faces drop when you tell them you were saying goodnight. They told you to be safe and see you tomorrow.

“I better get dick out of this” you sarcastically state, making the girls laugh.

“I love you girls” you wave as you leave the kitchen.

You flip Rafe off as you walk past him, giving him a blank stare. He throws his hands in the air, shaking his head, then follows you out the door.

The car ride to his house took five minutes. You were knocked out in the passenger seat curled up in a ball. You woke up when you felt the truck come to a complete stop. Rafe opened the door, carrying you inside.

You start singing a song from the party when you enter the Cameron household. Rafe chuckled as he locked the door then came behind you.

“You need to stay quiet because everyone's sleeping,” Rafe whispered softly.

“Oh my bad” you quickly stop, putting your hand over your mouth.

He lays you on his bed and goes in his closet for clothes for you. He comes back with sweats and one of your favorite t-shirts of his. Before you could lift your shirt, he stopped you.

“Let me do it please” he kisses your cheek.

He led you into the bathroom to remove your makeup and then dab water on your face to freshen it up before taking you into bed. When you spent the night, there was Advil and ice water on your side of the bed. 

Rafe could tell you were still drunk by your facial expressions.

In your drunken state, seeing the Advil and water on the nightstand warms your heart, "Thank you baby," you look up, then pop the Advil in your mouth and take a long sip of the water. 

"Need to make sure my girl is okay," he grins.

"How about we get into bed and sleep?" He then pulls you both into bed.

You quickly close your eyes when your head makes contact with his chest.

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[it-happened-one-fic]

Sleep Well - Vil

Author Notes: Just based on this and the fact that I have the entire vampires series it looks like I have a serious Vil issue. But, in reality, I've had this written for a bit and it's just been gathering dust in my google docs while I occasionally polish it. This fic was written and edited while I listened to the acoustic version "If I Lose Myself" by OneRepublic. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender Neutral Reader/ sfw/ fluff/ romance

Word Count: 1243

Everyone had a safe place that they liked to lose themselves in. This was a simple and true fact. And for Vil, that place was you. 

But, to be honest, he really didn’t know who or what your safe place was. Though he couldn’t entirely deny that he would like for it to be him. 

Though it hadn’t been immediate by any means, you had become his safe place after you accepted him even when you’d seen him at his worst. Not just the pretty face, not just the poised person, and not just the fame.

Him, in his entirety. Everything that was and would always be Vil Schoenheit. 

You weren’t daunted by his fame or sometimes less-than-pleasant demeanor, and you hardly seemed to demand any bizarre expectations of him that so often came along with anyone who was a fan. Instead, you just existed and allowed him to exist in that same way. No real expectations beyond him being himself.

But since the moment Vil had realized that about you, you’d always been in Vil’s world. Even when it wasn’t always obvious.

Sometimes you were just on the outer fringes of his life, attending the very same school he did, but from another dorm. And at other times you would appear in his peripheral vision, laughing alongside your friends and waving at Epel as he walked over to join your little group. And if your eyes met Vil’s then you would always smile and wave at him. 

Joyful and welcoming of his presence even when others were whispering about how Pomefiore’s Housewarden was in this corridor and about what he might be doing.

It was refreshing and even a little startling. Rather like splashing water in one’s face after a lengthy and tiring day. It would surprise him, and then he would immediately relax before raising a hand in a return greeting.

If he was totally honest with himself, Vil far preferred the moments when you were close to him, though.

Even if it was just the two of you sitting side by side as you awaited some sort of class activity or for Crowley to explain his new grand scheme to the entire school, there was something relaxing about your presence and the way you always greeted him with at least a small smile. 

Even when you were perfectly exhausted, just as you obviously were today.

None of you knew exactly what Crowley wanted, and the headmage simply would not get on with his speech. You, Vil, and everyone else of any real importance were assembled here and had been seated for what felt like hours. 

You’d approached the young man and sat down next to him, a slight smile and a weary, “Hello,” on your lips before you’d turned your gaze to the dais that Crowley had appeared on. And that had been at least an hour ago.

Vil hadn’t been able to ask how your day had been or if you knew what Crowley wanted this time. But he’d been content to simply sit by your side as the two of you listened to the exuberant headmage prattle on about this, that, and, of course, the other. And at this point, even Vil’s attention was beginning to stray as the headmage continued on.

But Vil stiffened as suddenly he felt a light weight rest against his shoulder. 

He didn’t have to glance to know what it was, but he still found himself looking down and immediately seeing your peaceful, sleeping face.

If it were anyone else, Vil probably would’ve woken them up and even felt slightly miffed. But it wasn’t just anyone. It was you, and you were exhausted. And even if he might never admit it, Vil knew perfectly well that he played favorites when it came to you.

So Vil relaxed, not drawing attention to your relaxed, slumbering position as he continued to listen to Crowley’s droning speech.

A droning speech that lasted for at least another thirty minutes.

Thirty minutes during which Vil carefully slipped an arm around you to better support you as you rested so that you wouldn’t wake with any soreness.

It didn’t take long for everyone to file out of the room after Crowley finished. Everyone filling the area with muttered complaints and sleepy yawns until the room was empty except for two people.

You and Vil.

Your eyelids fluttered as the clatter continued as people finally finished exiting, and Vil felt an amused smile cross his face at the motion. Idly wondering if you were dreaming about something that somehow explained the racket from just moments ago.

Through the window the sky was an exquisite painting of reds, yellows, and oranges. The death of the lengthy day that had seemingly drained you. 

But Vil wasn’t complaining. Instead, he carefully woke you with a gentle squeeze of your shoulder.

You mumbled something unintelligible that had Vil’s smile spreading as your eyes slowly opened. A bleariness to your gaze that clearly revealed exactly how well you’d been resting as you blinked groggily. 

“Vil?” You slowly lifted your head, frowning as you slowly focused your gaze on him. His name was mumbled, but he could at least understand you this time, and he dipped his head in a half-nod to better meet your eyes.

“Did you sleep well, Tater tot?” There was a teasing lilt to his tone that seemed only to make you frown more until realization began to dawn in your eyes as you abruptly finished waking up.

“I-” You glanced around, almost frantically, as you began to register exactly what had happened and where you’d been napping.

“Crowley’s speech is already done. Don’t worry. You didn’t miss anything important. He managed to not say anything in all that time that he spoke,” Vil reassured you in a dry tone as he watched you scan the room with wide eyes before looking back his way, this time with a flustered expression.

“I’m so sorry; I really didn’t mean to-”

“It’s fine, Tater tot. I didn’t mind.” Vil could practically hear the smile on his face in his own words. And if this were a conversation he were overhearing, he probably would’ve rolled his eyes at how soft his voice sounded. 

But here he was, doting on you and losing his usual chilly demeanor as he smiled fondly at your embarrassment.

“I do recommend that you work on getting more sleep during nighttime hours, though. Not resting is horrible for your skin, your mentality, and your entire body.”  He paused, tilting his head as he scanned your face before he smiled and dropped his scolding tone, “Take better care of yourself, Tater tot. You’ll worry those who care for you.”

He watched as you visibly relaxed, a half-smile appearing on your face as you nodded, “I’ll try.”

You looked out the window towards the slowly darkening sky, “I guess I should let you go though. You’ve got better places to be than sitting here next to me.”

Your words made him frown, simply because of how wrong they were. But he didn’t object as you stood, raising your hand in farewell as you smiled fondly down at him, “I’ll see you tomorrow, Vil. Sleep well.”

A half-smile worked its way onto his face at your well wishes, and he found himself standing and grasping your hand in his. Startling you as he gave it an affectionate squeeze, “Indeed. Sweet dreams, my sweet potato.”

[slytherinshua]

⟡　MY JEWEL 　( 휴닝카이 )

genre royalty au , forbidden romance , fluff , servant!fem!reader x prince!kai   cw not proofread   wc 787   request @jihyokat for kai + gleaming gemstones for the 3k event   note this fic being the first event one kinda broke my writers block id say??? it's been a while since i've even touched my google docs and written a sentence, but this was super fun to write and these tropes are always some of my favs to work with hehe. i hope you enjoy lexi!!   net @kstrucknet @moadiarynet

You were no princess. Growing up in poverty, you were always detached from high society and royalty. Riches, luxury, exquisite food and elegant clothing— all were foreign to you. But it changed when you were hired by the royal palace as a maid and ran into Kai almost immediately by accident. 

Being so unused to the winding hallways of the castle that seemed to never end, you quite easily got lost on your first day at the job. What was supposed to be a simple task of delivering a basket of fresh fruit to the kitchens turned into a 30 minute tour of random halls on probably the opposite side of the palace. How else would you have ended up in the prince’s quarters?

Despite your rocky start, you seemed to have extraordinary luck that day, running into the prince himself who found the whole ordeal quite amusing (and you, quite adorable). Prince Kai kindly offered to show you the way to the kitchens, and anywhere else in the palace until you memorized the routes yourself. And you, eager to not endure the same embarrassment again, took him up on it. 

Not a single thought crossed your mind on how inappropriate such a thing might be, talking and walking casually with royalty so soon. Kai didn’t seem to mind, and you didn’t begin to question it until much, much later. Six months to be exact. After that first meeting, you had gotten quite close with the young prince. It was only when you started to feel strange fluttery feelings whenever you were around him that you realized just how bad the situation was.

You were staff. Kai was legions ahead of you in status. Not even taking into consideration the opinion of the public, just by maintaining a relationship with him, you were certainly breaking basic code of conduct. There was no future with him to be seen, whether as a friend or lover. So, you decided it would be best to cut it off before it became more painful.

Unfortunately, you were already in too deep. So was Kai.

“It’s a gift,” Kai explained quietly. “For you,” he added as clarification, as if it wasn’t already obvious. It shouldn’t have been, given the circumstances. 

It was late in the night and Kai had summoned you to his chambers. Privately, of course. He knew the repercussions you might face if people found out, and he was mindful of that. You were grateful for his precautions, although in the back of your mind you were on edge by all of it. How beautiful Kai looked, moonlight shining across his face. The delicate silver necklace with a shining precious sapphire set in the middle of it resting in the palm of his hand. The way your heart was thumping in your chest, the urge to fall into his arms getting stronger by the second.

How much you loved him was dangerously growing each day. Your mind reminded you of how little hope there was to be with him, but your heart did not care. You were sane away from him, but as soon as he was in front of you, no thought or reason reached you. Your heart behaved autonomously, and Kai directed every decision it made.

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, truly mesmerised at the sight of the gem. It almost glowed with its clarity, and you could see the light of the moon reflected off of its polished edges. Kai moved closer, wrapping the chain loosely around your neck. He carefully fastened it, securing the precious stone to its rightful place: decorating your neck. 

“There. Just as I thought. You look stunning, Y/n,” he said earnestly, taking a hold of your hands. The warmth of his palms made your heart jump, and his words gave you feeble hope.

“I love you.”

You had said it before, and you decided you would say it again. A million times over if you could. No matter how wrong. No matter how forbidden, or unheard of. You were uttering those words to the prince of the nation. You. No one else. And that gave you a sense of belonging that only Kai could bring out of you.

As long as he trusted your place by his side, why should you let the arbitrary rules of the world tell you otherwise? He was the only thing that mattered, and you would only take his thoughts into consideration.

For once, you fully accepted the flurry of feelings; the connection between you and Kai that was so unexpected but felt so right. Your hearts beating in sync, fully devoted to one another. 

He was your jewel, and he shined his brightest only for you. 

txt taglist (bolded could not be tagged): @kangtaehyunzzz,, @eternalgyu,, @90steele,, @ddeonudepressions,, @cham3li,,

@wolfmoonmusic,, @98-0603,, @weird-bookworm,, @candewlsy,, @blossominghunnie,,

@amara-mars,, @wccycc,, @seunghancore,, @ujisworld,, @sobun1est,,

@bananabubble,, @talkingsaxy,, @sxmmerberries,, @talking-saxy,, @nicholasluvbot,,

@cupidslovearrows,, @50-husbands,, @hursheys,, @stannwjnss,, @gong-fourz,,

@nonononranghaee,, @forever-atiny,, @stantxtforabetterlife,, @loserlvrss,, @lexeees

[dariaslookalike]

Building Houses and Burning Bridges Pt 11: Teasing and tit Jobs

Summary:

It seems, oddly enough, that Gregory House lives to annoy you. He takes 'arseholish boss' to the next level. Wake up in the morning, ready to have breakfast, and drive to the hospital where you both work? Nope, you're getting a text that says you're late to his impromptu 4:30 AM meeting where he's had the 'breakthrough of the century' on the team's latest case. Get your hair cut and walk into work, for once feeling confident? Nope, he's saying that he would have done a better job blinded, hands tied and going through Vicodin withdrawals. Finally, 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, prove him wrong and attempt to wipe the cockiness off his face? Nope, you're simply slow because you didn't get to your diagnosis quicker and weak-willed because you didn't fight him for it in the beginning. Everything House does infuriates you, and it seems everything you do infuriates him. No wonder you end up pinned to the wall of your apartment and groping him like your life depends on. And knowing House, it very may well.

Warnings: Adult language, mature themes, eventual smut, female protagonist, no reference of y/n

Rating: 18+ MDNI

Current Status: Ongoing

A/N: An update! Lol, this fic has been rotting in my google docs for too long. so i'm procrastinating my uni assignments due tomorrow, and i'm updating here. hope to get chapter 13 out by the end of may but we'll see how that goes lmao

Masterlist: Building Houses and Burning Bridges

Next Chapter: Pt 12

Word Count: 4.2k

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

You’re off the medication, finally. 

That’s what your rational brain should have thought when you woke up, and no longer saw the white pills on the bedside table. No more gulping them down, no more harsh cough or aches. You were better.

You’re not thinking that however.

You’re staring at House while he’s sleeping; which is odd, you can admit. Maybe creepy. You don’t admonish yourself, however. How could you? He’s entrancing. You wish you had some paper here, hell, even a napkin or tissue, so you could scrawl and sketch, to have something tangible to look at later. 

You feel your heart twist at the notion. You might not wake up next to him again or ever; He might decide that just sex was horrible with you, and he never wants you in his bed again. Or he might have seen the way you looked at him last night, when you were rubbing his leg and easing his pain, and decided it was too much, too soon- decided that he was right at the start, and that there was no way you could ever stop your feelings for him from interfering with just sex .

Was he right? You knew that things had shifted in your heart after sleeping with him. Before, you could sidestep around the topic and push off any feelings as a simple whimsical thought, a school girl’s fantasy, and nothing more. Now, you want to kiss his lips and bite the apple of his cheek and suck his neck and tell him he’s yours and no one else's. Too much, too soon. You couldn’t do that, couldn’t tell him that- because House wasn’t yours. Sure, he seems intent on having more fun with you. But that was it. Just sex . He would never share the way you wanted him, he would never look at you with much else besides lust. 

But you don’t have paper, or a napkin, or a tissue. So you lay there, and as you stare at him, in the back of your mind you think this will do. If I can’t have him the way I want him, this will do.  

He looks at ease, for once. You know his leg is still bad and that even in his sleep, he’s probably scheming. But there’s no analysing gaze. He’s not staring down at some patient with mistrust and he’s not rolling his eyes at you and he’s not snapping at one of the ducklings. The notch in his brow isn’t so prominent and his mouth is open slightly as he breathes deeply. He’s relaxed, beside you. This will do.

His alarm goes off and you clench your eyes shut. 

You hear him shift, fumbling to hit the clock and finally flicking the right button to silence it’s blaring noise. He lays back against the mattress and settles with a sigh. You listen to him breathe and the overwhelming stillness of the room.

“How long have you been awake and watching, newbie?”

You flick open one eye, and he has his arms tucked behind his head as he gazes up to the ceiling. “How’d you know?”

“I felt psychically attacked by you- or should I say ravaged?” He looks at you from the corner of his eye. “Also you snore when you’re sleeping.”

“I do not!”

He smiles at the ceiling. “Yes, you do. You sleep talk too.”

“No! You’re lying.” You swing out an arm, landing a light blow on his chest. He recoils from it with exaggeration and twists himself to face you.

“If it’s any consolation, you only say random things when you’re sleep talking. Like ‘House just like thaaaaa’.” He trails off into a high pitched moan.

You scoff, but bury your flaming face in your hands. You peek out, briefly. “Are you serious?”

He smirks. “Yep. You’re all over me, even in your sleep.” He reaches out a hand, brushing a strand of hair from your face. His hand rests on the side of your face, and his thumb smooths over your cheek. “But don’t worry. I’ll only tell Wilson.”

You laugh, but move swiftly and twist yourself to lean on your forearms and knees. House’s eyes flick between the dangling neckline of his shirt that you’re wearing, where your cleavage is showing, and your arse that you stick in the air. 

“You’re not gonna tell Wilson anything.”

“Oh, yeah?” House cocks an eyebrow, flopping onto his back once more. He smirks at you. “What makes you so certain I haven’t already told him everything?”

“Because you were the one who had to stop a blowjob so you wouldn’t be a one pump chump. You can’t act like you didn’t want it just as much as me.”

He tilts his head, and tuts. “Yeah, I can. Last I checked, you were the one screaming- the one who lost the bet.” His smile drips with an overly sweet honey. “You still need to pay up, by the way. I take cash or checks.” 

You sit back and his cool eyes track your movements as you sit on your heels. “I want a rematch.”

“Not a chance. I won, fair and square.”

“You won because you didn’t let me suck you off like I wanted.” You say bluntly. “You won because you were able to hulk out and keep me under you.” 

His eyes darken at your words, but his lips still tilt up. “I’m a cripple and you’re playing the “you overpowered me” card?”

“No, I’m playing the “you had to top otherwise you would have been a goner” card.”

“Still not happening.”

“Double or nothing.” You clench your jaw. “But this time, I’m in control and you can sit there, and look pretty.”

House bats his eyelashes. “You know I’m the best at that. But trust me, you could tie me up and you’d still be the first one begging.”

You smirk, shifting on your knees slightly. “You wanna bet? Yesterday was a fluke on my part- I’ve been cooped up in here for weeks. It was cabin-fever induced touch deprivation.”

He scoffs, sitting up and crossing his arms with a level of self-absorbed-assurance you couldn’t master. But there’s a glint in his eyes. He knows what you’re getting at, but he’s letting himself play right into your hand. 

“Tie me up. You won’t win.” He moves, leaning up to whisper in your ear. 

You laugh, placing your hand on his shoulder and shoving him back against the bedding. “Let me find your belt first and you won’t be so sure.”

You scooch past him and his hand snakes out, pinching your arse as you stand up from the bed. You shoot him a withering look and he just grins. 

When you return, he cocks his head slightly. “I didn’t think you were serious about the belt. Gonna whip me too?”

You give him a pout dripping with fake sympathy. “Only if you beg.”

You scan the bed with a disapproving eye and he tracks your gaze to the solid headboard. “I can’t really tie you to that. So turn around.”

His eyes flick down you. “Just because we’ve committed the most unholy of sins together doesn’t mean you’re my boss now. Don’t go on a power trip.”

“Ohh, you’re so right, House.” His lips tilt up even though it’s obvious you’re mocking him. You lean forward, ghosting your lips against his in a smile. “Now be good for me, please, and turn over.”

You see him swallow, but he laughs you off and gives in, twisting around. You shuffle closer to him on the bed, and move his hands softly behind him. You loop the belt in on itself and place it around his wrists before tightening it. He hisses slightly when the edge digs into his skin, and you press your palm into his shoulder, spinning him back around.

He sits with his back up to the headboard, arms twisted behind himself. House glowers at you from beneath his brow. “I didn’t think you were serious .”

He stretches his legs out in front of him, and you see him already twitching in his boxers. You smirk. “You just don’t want to admit how much you like it.” 

His jaw clenches. 

“But,” you say, your voice dropping in tone. “If you don’t want this, at any point, tell me. No hard feelings.” You cross your fingers over your heart in a promise.

“I’ve known since I saw you that it would end with one of us tied up.” He tilts his head, raising his eyebrows up in an obvious fashion. “Next time, it’s your turn.”

Sitting beside his thigh, you pat it with mocking comfort. “Sure thing.”

He scowls at you but it’s quickly replaced by a sharp inhale when your hands reach out, pulling down his boxers. He’s half hard and you spit on your hands the same way you did last time. The action makes him tense. You reach out ghosting wet fingers across him and House hisses beside you. His attention is torn between your hands and your face. Eventually, you feel him decide to glare at you, and you look at him, a sweet saccharine smile in place. 

“You doing alright, House?”

“Not exactly. Feels like you’re trying to tickle my dick.”

You laugh, and the mask of power slips for a moment when you tuck your chin to your chest in a giggle. You look back at him coyly, and his jaw ticks. “‘M sorry. I don’t have to touch you there.”

House opens his mouth to protest when your hand abandons him, but the words are lost when you siddle in close to him and let your fingers dance across his chest. You lean in closer, face next to his and your lips ghost across his cheek. He says nothing, no cocky retorts or snarky remarks to be heard. You kiss his cheek, and trail down to his jaw, your hand making smooth shapes across the plane of his chest, his shoulder, his neck. You tug his shirt up and it stays wrangled up, showing the smattering of hair leading down his lower belly. You plant kiss after kiss on everywhere you can reach, soft and gentle. 

You find a spot on his neck and bite it softly before you continue across the smooth column of his throat, leaving wet kisses and marks wherever you can touch. Your other hand sneaks up behind him, entangling itself in his hair. You scratch against his scalp as you bite down on the junction between his neck and shoulder. He’s breathing heavily above you, and you finally abandon your own resistance, and lean closer, skating your lips across his. He leans into the kiss awkwardly, unable to support himself with his hands tied behind him, but he still pushes forward to you. You push him back, chasing after his lips and deepening the kiss. It’s intoxicating and feverish and your hand reaches down, this time firmly grasping his cock. He’s not half hard anymore, instead pulsing against your palm with heat. He gasps into your mouth and you smile against him.

You pull back, setting yourself beside him again. 

You pump him with your hand firmly, and he groans, hips bucking softly into your hand. You pull back, and he shoots you a confused look. 

You just smirk, staying silent. You pump him again, and pull back once more when he moves. He catches on quickly, hissing. “That is not fair.”

“Says who?” You tilt your head at him. 

“Me.” He scoffs, indignantly. 

“I don’t listen to crazy, tied up men.” You say, pouting sadly.

“Untie me then. I’ll prove I’m not crazy.”

“Nice try, House.”

You pump him again, and like the quick learner he is, he just grits his teeth and stays still. 

“Good job, baby.” You say sweetly, pressing a kiss to his neck. You stroke him again, this time tightening your grip each time you reach his head. You kiss at his neck, pumping him up and down, loosely and then firm in your fist. 

He swears beneath his breath softly. Not admitting defeat, but he’s getting there. 

You spit down onto your palm, swiping your thumb over his head. You pump him again, and again, your other hand reaching down to softly cup and squeeze his balls. 

He rolls his head back, leaning against the headboard with shut eyes. “Fuck, Newbie. The brothel teach you that trick?”

You hand tightens to the point of just-uncomfortable around his cock, and his eyes snap open as he groans. You snicker. 

“I’ve had a lot of free time- you’ve got so many pornos in your apartment.”

His eyes snap to yours, and even though he knows that he doesn’t own one porno that could have taught you any of this, his eyes get glossy with the thought. “Yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.” You pump him in your hand, faster, quickening the speed. “You’d be gone for so long and I got so bored.”

He can’t even respond to you, and you let out a breathy, just for show, moan, face scrunching as you keep talking in a breathy tone. You pump him, bouncing on your calves slightly with the movement. “Had to fuck myself in your bed while you were gone. Did it when you were in the lounge room, sleeping on the couch.”

He’s enraptured, mouth open slightly and blue eyes pinned to yours as you continue. “Wasn’t enough. Just kept thinking I should go and wake you up and beg you to help me.”

His throat bobs. “You should have.”

You lean closer, running your mouth along his jaw. He just tilts his head back, giving you better access. “I will be.”

You pump him faster, the sound of his cock fucking into your hand obscene and filling the room. 

“Fuck.” He says, voice breathy. “I’m close.”

“Just gotta beg for, House. C’mon, you can use your words.” You mumble against his skin. “I’ll swallow it all.”

Maybe a small part thought that would break his resolve, but he shakes his head and you grin against him.

“No.”

You lean back, smirking at him. “Then you don’t get to cum.”

He glares at you, his nostrils flaring, but he says nothing, fine to be blue balled if it means you don’t win so quickly.

He expects you to stop your movement but you don’t. You keep pumping him, faster, harder, smiling softly at him. 

“W-what are you doing?” He asks, voice shaky, his hips stuttering into your hand- you won’t punish him for that right now. 

“Nothing.” You look at him innocently. “Just don’t cum.”

“Well, sweetheart.” He spits, still managing to sound like he has the power here. “I don’t have the willpower of a buddhist monk, if you keep jerking me off like this I’m going to cum.”

“I know.” You smile sweetly, pumping his cock up and down with your fist. 

He glances to your face, confused at what you’re playing at. He won’t understand until it’s too late, and so his gaze rips back down to where your hand is wrapped around him. 

“I’m-” He stutters. “Fuck, I’m going to-”

He can’t finish his sentence, as you keep jerking him at a brutal pace, his head lolling back. He groans, throbbing in your palm. 

You wretch your hand back at the last second and watch with a grin as his dick falls against his stomach, his cum splattering against his bare stomach. His voice is wrecked as he calls out, swearing. His breath is heavy, shuddering up and down. 

His dick is still hard and red, and his eyes fling open, glaring at you as you smile back at him.

“What the fuck did you just do , Newbie?”

You cross your finger over your heart. “A magician never tells her secrets.”

He opens his mouth to protest or cuss you out, but falls silent when you reach out and wrap your hand around his still hard cock once more. 

“Fuck! Fuck that’s so- fuck.” He groans, shaking his head. He lets out a wrecked sound from the back of his throat as you smear his cock in his own cum, using it to stroke him up and down once more. 

He’s oversensitive, but ruined. You look at him, jutting out your bottom lip. “You alright House? D’you want me to jerk you off again?”

He shakes his head and your movements instantly still, but then he nods. “No, yes. Fuck, that just feels so much more .”

Your hands resume their gentle movement as you grin wickedly. “That’s the point.”

 You pause, moving to nudge his legs apart and you resettle, kneeling between them. He sighs, relieved when your hand falls from his cock, giving him some reprieve. Instead, you spread your own legs, hand tracing down your soft stomach circle at that spot between your legs. You’re so wet, and you use the slick to run messy circles over your clit. You moan, your other hand falling to his non-injured leg for support. Your fingers dig into the skin as the pressure builds up in your core. He says nothing, and your eyes flick up to his, moaning out his name as you start to shudder. When you make yourself unravel in front of him, he doesn't say anything, but his cock bobs, neglected weeping at the head. 

You use your free hand to tug your shirt up, over your head. You spit into your messy palm, and reach up smearing both yourself and him against your breasts. 

“C’mon. Untie me.” 

Your eyes flick up to his, which are glued to your chest. “Beg.”

“No.”

“Then no.”

You shuffle backwards on the bed, and pat the mattress in front of you. “Move it, House.”

He rolls his eyes. “I’m a tied up cripple. Did you think that one through?”

You shoot him a look, and he sighs but shuffles closer until he finally lays flat against the mattress, head still propped up by the pile of pillows. You settle between his spread legs, placing a kiss to his thigh. “See? Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He scowls. “I got rope burn from my own belt.”

“Aw, you poor thing.” You look up at him, doe-eyed. “I’ll make it better.”

Your hand dips down to the apex of your thighs and once more you smear your slick against your chest. You spit into your hand too, and massage your breasts, squeezing them. 

You lean down, until you’re positioned perfectly over his cock. It bobs at your attention, and you look up, grinning at House. He still scowls at you, but there’s an excited glint in his eyes.

You nudge his cock between your breast, and move yourself, back and forward. You have to find a good rhythm first, but soon you’re guiding your slick breasts up and down his cock. 

“Shit. Fuck, Newbie.” He gasps, and you bat your lashes up at him, quickening your speed. Soft, wet slapping fills the room and you moan quietly.

He groans, cock still overstimulated. You just let drool pool onto your breasts, squeezing them tighter as give him a tit job. 

You hear him shuffle against the sheets and you look up once more, still guiding his cock in and out. 

He looks like he could murder you, but sucks in a sharp breath. “Please, let me cum.”

You tsk. “You call that begging?”

He groans as you keep fucking him, his own weeping pre-cum making it messier. 

“Please, Newbie.” He growls, voice drawing out into a groan. “Please, fuck, make me cum.”

“You lose.” You say softly. 

He nods, desperate, cheeks flushed, stomach tensing. He’s close, wrecked after his ruined orgasm. He needs this. 

You take pity on him, and still your movements. He whips his head up to look at you, aghast, but he curses when you quickly straddle him, nudging his cock closer to your centre, and sink down on him. 

You sigh as he bottoms out, while he groans loudly. He’s big, but with how wet and ready you are, you take him easier this time. He stills nudges up against your cervix, and you feel so full when you sit fully down on him. You don’t have it in you to play him any further, and instead begin bouncing yourself on him. It’s not harsh, but his moans have a desperation in them that coil that feeling in your stomach once more. 

“F-fuck.” He gasps, cursing when you angle him deeper. “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

“Or vicodin.” You say, teasing.

He shakes his head, face scrunched up in pleasure. “You. It’s going to be you.”

“Yeah?” You breathe shakily atop him.

“Yeah.” He moans. “You feel so fucking good. Fuck, you’re such a good girl for me.”

You lean down, pressing your chest to his, kissing his neck softly. “Mmhmm. Just for you, House.”

“Just for me.” He growls, beneath you. At this angle, his cock nudges against that spongey spot inside you. Not having to ask for permission or be the one to beg, you hold that angle, fucking yourself on him, making his cock hit that spot again and again. 

He holds out well, but when you whine against his neck, and your orgasm rolls over you, clenching you against his cock, he lets out a loud groan. He bucks his hips into yours, and you sit back against him as he keeps cumming. He groans, and you feel his cock pulsing in you, throbbing against your walls. 

When he finally stops, he lets out a heavy breath, his chest falling and rising rapidly. 

“Fuck.” He says. 

“Fuck.” You agree, chuckling.

You swing your legs off him, his cum dripping out of you. You don’t care about ruining his sheets, and instead help him sit up, untieing him.

Even with his spend dripping out of you, and your slick smeared against his crotch, when his arms are untied he wraps them around your waist and pulls you closer, drawing you into a deep kiss. 

You smile against him. “Glad you’re not a sore loser.”

“‘M so glad you are.” He teases, lips tugging up.

[lotusarchon]

I had to make a whole google doc to sort my thoughts on this, that's how mad I am tbh. My friends have made explanations which you can find here, and here. And while I told myself that after that post I was done, seeing my friend receive a comment like this was the final pushing point I needed.

I'm both going to ramble about Nezha here again, and I'm going to try and explain this in a way that'll get people to understand, as someone who once followed an Eastern religion too + I'm going to be stating my basic thoughts here so maybe some things won't make sense.

Mild info about me: I'm from Trinidad. My family is described with East Indian descent but clearly, I'm not from India itself. My knowledge of Hinduism is rather basic because I quit religion thanks to traumatic experiences related to it, however not lacking fully. From my father's side, specifically his mother, they practice Hinduism and can even be considered devout Hindus (if I'm to believe all the statues and pictures of about almost every single Hindu god). Though my knowledge is basic, understand that I'm not Hindu nor Indian, so of course these are my opinions and my experiences with Hinduism, and I do not advise you taking my word fully to heart. I'm only trying to explain something to the LMK fandom in the best way I know how too, by referencing another Eastern religion that isn't half as popular as Daoism/Buddhism.

There's only one show I know where Hinduism is portrayed, and it's an anime/manga series called Record Of Ragnarok (Shuumatsu No Valkyrie), and from what I know it's not well liked by others (and even banned I think?) because of the fact Shiva is weaker than Zeus and the supposed sexualization of Parvati, Kali and Durga? It's been a while so I could be wrong on this though.

Why am I bringing this topic up to a rant about a lego character though?

#1) Fiction vs Religion and Reality

While one half expresses discontent and discomfort, I've seen others who clearly don't mind because Shiva is still badass and cool. I myself had some qualms about his appearance in the beginning because while I did quit religion, this was a god I used to worship, and seeing him in an anime/manga and be sexualized and simped for was…uncanny, to say the least. Overtime I grew numb to it though because it was genuinely funny and even I, an ex Hindu, found him attractive, and had not much hesitation writing smut about him in past fics. 

Similarly, I can imagine this is how Daoists and Chinese had originally felt about Nezha in Lego Monkie Kid [Only referencing LMK with Chinese deities. I'm aware there could be other media where they're in.] A bit weird at first but then overall got used to it because there's genuinely no harm done, as it's not meant to be an educational retelling of a god, but a fictional portrayal of him.

Returning to the point I mentioned with Shiva. When I first came across this series in 2021 (?), I did not feel too happy and comfortable with the image of a deity I've grown up worshipping as a child. I quit religion when I turned 13, so it's been nearly five years since I've had nothing to do with the main religion of my household; Hinduism. Still, I practically grew up worshipping this god I was taught to fear, and seeing a potrayal of him (which honestly in my opinion) didn't seem like a good thing at the time. 

Why did I eventually stop being bothered? Because this wasn't supposed to be retelling of Shiva. This was just a character with similarities to the god I worshipped, but wasn't the god. The series I watched wasn't even intending to teach audiences about any of the religions and real life figures they portrayed, they simply used them as inspiration to tell a story. They weren't accurate representations, but that was the point. It's a story about gods vs humans from history; of course it wasn't going to be accurate nor stay true to the figure they took inspiration from.

You can imagine then for a cartoon series meant to sell Legos. Lego Monkie Kid contains several characters that are known in Chinese myths and legends/religions. Of the most popular mentioned, there is Sun Wukong, one of the main characters in the series, Tang Sanzang otherwise known as Tripitaka and the Great Monk, Lady Guanyin mentioned in season 1, the one the fandom argues about, Nezha, the Jade Emperor in season 4, and most recently, Nuwa, and Heavenly Pagoda King, Li Jing. There may be others but these are the ones that are most known within the fandom. 

Mind you some of these figures are still very much worshipped now, but, point remains: the series was never intended to be a retelling of these characters stories, nor were they intended to be educational for audiences. They took inspiration directly, gave their own twists, and hence you have the story of LMK, meant to originally promote Legos and then eventually gave way to the series that this fandom belongs too.

These characters are not their source material, nor the origins of which they came from as religious figures. Sun Wukong is a Buddha within JTTW’s ends and if I'm right is still worshipped as such sometimes (?). He didn't hide away into a mountain at the end of his journey. His companions didn't die, nor were they reincarnated, but instead also acquired titles and became Buddhas as well. (Or gods? I frankly don't remember). Tang Sanzang as we've in season 4 was not some sort of brave, astute man in the book but rather a crybaby coward. Need I even point out that Nezha wouldn't have a giant mech to fight people, nor would he have such close deposition with the Jade Emperor? Or the fact that the Jade Emperor would be bested by someone like Azure Lion?

Not even counting Journey To The West and the Fengshen Yanyi, the real Tang Sanzang that Wu Cheng’en took inspiration of most certainly did not have a monkey, a pig, a water demon and a dragon turned horse with him on his journey. 

Why speak of all this?

To make my first point; religion and fiction are two very different things. Religion has existed for who knows how long, and fiction has recently decided to include fictional potrayals of these gods into stories and cartoons. From a writer's perspective, it's really interesting taking something that is a part of religion and writing it into your own works, with your own take on it.

And of course, brings me to the topic of Nezha.

Lego Monkie Kid Nezha is, according to an official writer within the show's team, an adult. Although many fans have their objections about this, supposedly because Nezha in other sources is a child god, and think that the writer only abruptly pointed out Nezha's an adult to save her own skin.

Taking all my points in consideration; let me humour the Nezha is a child god idea. What, exactly, does this have to do with Nezha in Monkie Kid? 

If Nezha, the god within Daoism and Buddhism, is supposedly a child deity, what law says that any other potryal of Nezha has to abide by this? 

By this logic. Shiva in the anime I mentioned above shouldn't be weaker than Zeus. He also shouldn't even be agreeing to fight mortals, as he's a deity far above such petty behavior. Zeus shouldn't be portrayed in books like PJO as a lecherous cheater, because in reality, Ancient Greece consisted of multiple kingdoms and thereby different interpretations of Zeus were merged together which is what consists of the myths we know of him today which is highly disrespectful, and Sun Wukong shouldn't be a mentor to MK, because he's supposed to be a Buddhist, and thereby wouldn't be entertaining fighting nuances.

Fiction doesn't not adhere to reality. The fact I need to say this astounds me because should this not be obvious? Lego Monkie Kid is a cartoon set in some sci-fi futuristic world with lego people walking around, where gods somehow need mechs to go around fighting, and there are animal-like demons/yaoguai walking around here and there. There is literally an arcade in the show with zero gravity. Do you possibly believe for a miniscule second that anything that goes down in a fictional setting will adhere to our reality??

And, even then, humouring the Nezha being a child deity concept > what law says that he has to be portrayed as a child in other pieces of fiction?? Especially when the fictional setting is not meant to be a retelling or for educational purposes, but rather to carry a plot. 

There is nothing, no law, no rules that insists that a religious figure must be portrayed as they are in a legend/myth for a fictional world.

Lego Monkie Kid Nezha is not the deity Nezha. He is a completely different character, which many of you should have realized from the exact moment he was brought into the show. They are not the same person. Never was. 

“Oh, it's disrespectful―” From a writer's perspective, I personally don't think so. If I wanted to make a story that involved a god, I wouldn't keep everything that makes that god who they are. There are some key points I would keep to make the story, but I would ultimately create an OC that shares some attributes to this religious figure, but it wouldn't be him. The show Record of Ragnarok does a good job with this in my opinion, because while many characters share some attributes to the real figures they're inspired by, the writers changed several things to create a proper story, and thereby making these characters OCs and not the actual gods themselves, and of course that logic applies to Lego Monkie Kid.

In the instance, again, Nezha the god from Daoism, is in fact a child deity, Nezha in LMK isn't. Nezha in LMK is someone who's entirely different from the god himself. 

So, the logic this fandom uses confuses me a lot. Do you not understand how to seperate fiction from religion?? Do many of you not understand media literacy, and what a writing process is like?

Sigh. Moving to another point―

#2) Character Designs

Sometimes, when it comes to character designs, anyone could just throw them into anything and think, “Yeah that's good.” Not much thought is given to a character's appearances depending, which I don't really blame as someone who's 1) done literature as a hobby and has seen my fair share of character designs, 2) creates characters myself. It's too hard thinking of a character's appearance, and even then when making them there normally wouldn't be any significance.

Nezha's design in LMK seems to be a huge source of debate when arguing about his age. It was actually brought up in my previous post, specifically that his hairstyle was often used by children at the time. 

I have a bone to pick with this point.

This is Nezha from Lego Monkie Kid:

However, this is Mei from the same show:

Before anyone starts, allow me to point out as a history geek that likes religion and pointless facts over politics: I am aware that there are different hairstyles to show certain things, including one's age and status and sometimes even personality. Do not bring up any points about the differences in these characters hairstyles with an excuse, “Oh, but you should know―”, because I know how hairstyles could be treated within history. 

However. Look at Nezha's hairstyle, and then Mei's. I've never seen the LMK fandom complain about Mei's age, because it was generally believed that MK and Mei are both at least 18 if not older, as the legal age for a driver's license in China is 18. 

Both Nezha and Mei are wearing a ‘bun’ type hairstyle. Mei's is arguably more of twin ponytails (?), but I'm not a hairstylist, so I don't know what they're called. To me they look similar, that's all I'm trying to say. And even if they weren't though―through a modern lense, a hairstyle isn't reserved for just any specific age. Anyone can wear a hairstyle they want. Keep in mind that the creators of LMK are also Western(?), and they chose a hairstyle for these two characters based on personality and appearances. 

A hairstyle is not reserved for any age. Grown women including my aunts have worn hairstyles similar to these just for fun.

That's point one.

Point two; Nezha is a very popular deity, much like Sun Wukong. In terms of recognition, Sun Wukong is very easy to recognize because of his staff and his overall cocky personality. 

Nezha however is an entirely different case. Most media potrayals of him always has the two-bun hairstyle of him, which is what makes Nezha recognizable. If you remove that specific hairstyle of his, you won't recognize him. It's iconic, and pointed out in this scene (The Legend of Hei) where Nezha makes an appearance as well.

[Characters sitting together. White haired boy (Hei + MC) looks at the older, dark haired boy (Nezha). Nezha looks back.]

Nezha: What? You want an autograph?

Hei: You're a boy?

Nezha: Yeah?

Hei: Your hairstyle is cute.

[Nezha looks in front with an annoyed expression.]

Nezha: If it weren't for the recognizability, I'd have changed it long ago.

Hei: Recognizability?

[Nezha removes the buns(? some form of them?) from his head. Three older figures glance at him.]

???: Who are you?

[Scene returns]

Nezha: See?

Aka, point being made: those buns are what makes Nezha recognizable. If he doesn't have that hairstyle, unless it's specifically pointed out, I'm certain majority would not recognize him. 

Some hairstyles are meant to be done for some form of meaning. But sometimes, as is the case with designs, they're just there just because no one wanted to make the characters bald. Using the excuse about Nezha's hairstyle to justify his age as a child is by far the lamest and dumbest excuse I've ever heard of, because the creators did not give him that hairstyle for the sake of some meaning anymore than MK was given his current hairstyle either. It's his logo at this point, ignoring his color scheme aside.

Even then, if the creators of Lego Monkie Kid intended for Nezha to be a child within the show, he would not appear as he is. Lego Monkie Kid has made children models, which we can see here (used from s3 and up in case someone tries to excuse the differences in seasons): 

And of course, Nezha's model;

Despite the perspective and low quality though, he's at least the same height as Red Son here:

If Lego Monkie Kid truly intended for Nezha to be a child, his appearance and model would be similar to the children's in the show. Perspective is difficult to find but you can clearly see he's about the same height as the other adult characters if not taller, and is not small like the child figures we see.

Pink isn't a children's color, and nothing about Nezha's clothing indicates a child. He very much looks like an adult and doesn't exhibit childish behavior as we see Red Son, Mei and MK do.

I've seen fans use his voice to point out he's an adult, but I'm not sure that's a valid point. I say this as someone who has a 13 year old brother and was recently a minor myself. 

Allow me to clarify: a voice isn't a clear proof of age. My father is a 45 year old man but sounds very much like a woman/teenage girl. My brother is 13 and sounds more of an adult than his father. My classmate in highschool was one year older than me and his voice was very high-pitched. 

The voice actors in LMK are directed to speak a certain way for a reason…in English. I'm not sure about Mandarin. In my opinion, Wukong's voice sounds like Son Goku's because it's a reference to the fact Wukong is what inspired Goku. Nezha's probably sounds deep and brooding not because he's a child but because it almost represents his own personality, and probably is a reference from another shonen protagonist Ichigo Kurosaki. MK's voice in the beginning sounds really childish to me but slowly as the events of s3, 4 and 5 happen it gets more deeper almost as a reference to show how his ‘innocence’ is slowly fading. 

Or, I might be looking to into it. Regardless, tdlr, don't use Nezha's voice in your argument. I've seen grown ass men have high pitched voices. 

Returning to my original point however; if you have an ounce of media literacy and understanding, you should be aware that some character designs are chosen for a reason. Nezha's icon is those two bun hairstyle, and the writers purposely chose it so old fans/readers of JTTW and FSYY and maybe other Chinese/Daoists would be able to recognize him and go, “Hey, that's Nezha from―”

Before I got into LMK, I read JTTW and also saw The Legend of Hei and the Nezha 2019 movie, so I knew him because of the hairstyle. And my first instinct of course was to point out, “That's the dude from TLOH!!” when I saw him. So, the hairstyle was chosen for the recognizability, and I highly doubt as a sign of age.

Even then, LMK Nezha aside, moving on to a different point.

#3) Sources Of Inspiration

The 21st century isn't really the first era where people are taking inspiration from other cultures. As a matter of fact, it's been happening for decades, and it's very prominent in religion, which someone of you would know if you both a) actually did proper research, b) gave a shit about what you're researching and c) studied history.

Hilariously, I have done all three of the above. 

I'm going to use a popular example here with Sun Wukong and Hanuman. Hinduism is supposedly largely considered one of the oldest religions in the world. If you truly think about it, certain Daoist deities are loosely inspired or are versions of Hindu gods, which I'm going to use here with a popular example (and provide a link too).

― Sun Wukong and Hanuman. The earliest Vedic records mention one of the supposed known monkey gods, and their similarities make scholars suggest Hanuman inspired Sun Wukong. Specifically his figure in JTTW, where it's speculated that the author must've had a copy of Vedic (?) hymns. While Sun Wukong does predate JTTW, Hanuman definitely has had some influence on him.

Much, much similarly, the deity known as Nezha, is also loosely inspired/based off the figure known as Nalakuvara, who appears in Hindu and Buddhist mythology, and often appears as a sexual trickster figure in Hindu and Buddhist literature.

Historically speaking, when it comes to religion and myths, something many people fail to understand is that before there was the idea of writing to tell a story, there was the process known as sharing from mouth to ear. Not in a literal sense, but rather that people often preferred to tell stories via word of mouth back then, and as things always go in history, there will be changes. The proof is literally right there. Nezha was originally known as Nalakuvara, yet when transmitted through Buddhist texts, he became known as Nazha, then Nezha. And as such, the Lotus Prince and Chinese god known as Nezha was created. A combination of Nalakuvara and the child god Krishna.

A lot of people will want to jump on that specific point that mentions Krishna being a child god, so allow me to immediately put you down right there.

Ex Hindu here; I did not even know there was a portrayal of Krishna as a child. Up until I stopped practicing Hinduism, I used to worship Krishna as an adult figure. In the paintings and statues my aunts had for Diwali as a child, he was always showcased as an adult.

Ironically, doesn't this apply for the actual god Nezha too? 

When it comes to religion and myths, many of you forget something very important; there is no such thing as a canon iteration. These aren't shows, these are stories from the past told through different people, and passed through many hands. There is no such thing as a canon version because almost everyone had their own version of a myth or story. Terms you may typically apply to fandoms don't apply to fucking religions and myths, and some of you are so chronically online that you forget it.

#4) The LMK Fandom's Chronically Online Attitude

I'm an ex Hindu who still faintly remembers some bits and pieces from my childhood while practicing this religion, especially during the Diwali period, where little me managed to get new information from library books about the gods my family worshipped. I personally didn't like sitting during the priest's (forgot what he was called) chanting though but the funny white thingy we used to have to wear was fun. 

There are some Hindu gods I'm familiar with, like Lakshmi, Kali, Durga and the other versions of her (I still can't recover from the one statue with her in a fish..) Parvati, Shiva, Vishnu, Hanuman (yaah), Rama and Sita, Ganesh (also yah) and of course, Krishna.  I also have watched my fair share of childhood movies and cartoons where the gods were mentioned or present―Karan & Arjun specifically struck the fear in me with Kali 😭😭 holy fuck that movie scared me with the creepy edits jeez T-T. There was also that one cartoon about Rama and Sita”s story specifically Hanuman, and this Indian TV series where this little girl was a loyal devotee to Ganesha (I had no idea rats were one of his uh signature animals holy shit).

I'm rambling here a bit because the childhood memories were fun, but the point I'm going for is though….

I am familiar with these gods I grew up with. And I know about them, maybe not enough but certainly enough to know how to properly respect them from back then. 

And, using Krishna as a prime example; if someone came up to me, or I came across anyone, who argues that the god I know is an immortal child, even though I have worshipped and adult version of him, I'd be so fucking pissed. Krishna is seen as an adult, I worshipped him as an adult, but there are cases where he's a child god, and that's fine! But to have someone tell you that you're wrong about the god you know about because they got some basic information off the internet, undoubtedly, I'm going to be pissed. Especially when it's from a Western fan who has no fucking brain.

So, of course, imagine how devotees of Nezha and Chinese people must be feeling every single time this fandom fucks about with Nezha's age. I saw it myself; people told my friend that a) she was lying and b) her statement is irrelevant just because “I did my proper research, and even if you're Chinese you can still be a proshipper, Nezha's a child deity.”

It's genuinely so fucked up to me how the LMK fandom act towards Nezha's age. You guys will ignore the people who are willing to provide accurate information for the sake of being in the right and accusing people for being a proshipper over a deity they have more experience with than you, a Western fan who has no knowledge of Eastern religion.

It's insane. There are actual Daoist and Chinese who are pointing out the fact Nezha isn't an immortal fucking child. 

You're not only disrespectful, you insane, childish and most importantly chronically online. Nezha the god isn't a fictional character, there's nothing ‘canon’ about him. He's a god who's lived for decades longer than you, and his existence predates yours. People have long sinced worshipped Nezha, and the fact that you can so boldly tell someone they're wrong about the god they've worshipped is so disrespectful.

Do you not realize, as Nezha is worshipped as a child, he's worshipped as an adult? Do you not take into account how absolutely disgusting and horrible you are telling Daoists and Chinese who have stated time and time again the information of Nezha being an immortal child is factually incorrect that they're wrong and know nothing??

I'm repeating my statement; I'm an ex Hindu, but if anyone told me that Krishna's an immortal child too and then point out I'm wrong and my point doesn't matter, I would be seething. And I don't blame my friend who's losing their temper about Nezha's age. 

What amazes me though, somehow, is the fact that. If anyone who was Chinese + Daoist agreed with your claims, as Cole from Twitter once did, none of you would've spoken that way to my friend. But of course, once she points out she's Chinese/ex Daoist and disagrees with you, majority of the opinions switched because, she wasn't agreeing with your headcanon, right? So even though she's Chinese, she's bad because she disagreed with you.

You're all disgusting and fucking weird.

And the fact y'all in this fandom will habitually prove yourselves as hypocrites by attacking people, and then ignoring the ones who are capable of proving you're wrong to cling to a false idea is insane. You guys need some actual help, holy fucking shit. 

Nezha isn't an immortal child. That's a god. If he was intended to be a child in LMK, there would've been statements about it. 

Seperate fiction from religion, and seperate your headcanon from canon and the actual god. If you think this biased headcanon is okay and attacking people that point you out for being wrong is somehow okay, I sincerely ask that you take a break from the internet, and read a book.

No, don't just read a book. Read a history book. Pick up some knowledge, understand how religion and history works. 

Furthermore. The research some of you guys are doing is actually shit, by the way. You guys aren't researching properly if you can pull up with Nezha is 12, thing. If you actually cared about his age, you'd put more effort and actually stop being disrespectful to the people who are giving you the proper information. You only research surface level so you can attack people.

And additionally, stop playing the Devil's advocate. Most of you are just Western fans who think you know everything from reading one book or watching one show. You read JTTW or watch OSP’s videos and suddenly, you know more than an actual Chinese person or Daoist. You look up Wikipedia and think, “Oh yeah, I'll go with this!” And that's it. Most of you at best can provide only three websites at most, and I can bet my ass that these websites with information about Nezha's age was written by a fan who got their information from a shit source.

I love History, and most specifically, I love religion. Not so much the divine aspects as it is about the myths that surround it. Whenever I get into a fandom, I need to find out more about their religion and history. Getting into JTTW, and eventually, LMK, pushed me into a rabbit hole of Chinese myths that I really enjoy learning. But dealing with idiots who think they know more?? It's sickening as shit.

I'd like to think I'm good at literature things because once it's a religion or myth I want to learn everything about it. But I know I don't know everything, and I know especially I have more to learn. I'd never tell someone who is a part or worships the religion/culture I'm learning that they're factually incorrect about it just because I have an opinion and I learnt my info from a random source.

You guys in the LMK fandom are incredibly entitled. The Nezha is 12 controversy is a headcanon, which became worst by that asshat Cole on Twitter. And because so many of you don't want to learn the truth, whenever someone tries to point out and help you, you ignore them or attack them, and deny their heritage.

And honestly?? You guys suck. 

And this is coming from me!! Some of y'all are grown ass adults too!! And yet I'm childish and immature!?!

Brother I literally turned 18 a few months ago, yet I'm 100% certain I'm not throwing a blasted hissy fit over a fucking god the way some of you all who are most definitely adults are doing.

And finally, the one thing that actually does make me laugh is because I'm pretty sure most of you didn't do History classes. One of the most important things my history teacher taught me is; don't use Wikipedia as a source of viable information. Thousands of people are capable of accessing Wikipedia and changing information as they want, and so it's much better to find book solid resources from libraries. I did in fact use Wikipedia too (hypocritical of me yeah) so of course I wouldn't advise using the screenshots I provided from Wikipedia as evidence to the argument, because anything on Wikipedia can be changed. If I'm feeling extra petty I could change something myself to be in the right.

Furthermore, if you dare to bring up only JTTW and FSSY as a plausible argument about Nezha's age, I'm genuinely going to throw hands and fuck your mother. I think my friend also mentioned it in their posts but I'll mention it here too; JTTW does NOT state Nezha's age. I've read JTTW, and aside from Wukong vs Nezha there's nothing else that states Nezha's age. For all we're aware of, Wukong called Nezha a kid just out of spite, and I do it too when I'm arguing with someone. FSSY is the Investiture of the Gods and the ORIGINS!! Do you THINK a book about the ORIGINS of the gods would focus on other aspects about them!!? No!!

I expect some of the arguments I might get are;

"Oh, Nezha [appearances] could be wearing a glamor!" That is a headcanon, as we see nothing in LMK to refute that. Macaque's scar is canon because it's shown within the show. Nezha's appearance has NOT fluctuated since he was introduced. The idea of him using a glamor or illusion is a HEADCANON unless proven by the show. And headcanons are NOT vital.

"But you use Wikipedia too :(" Which I pointed out and made aware of, which is I also doubt that source myself. If any of you did History, your teachers are supposed to INFORM you that using a website is NOT a good idea for backing up information, and it's much better to use books or other trusted sources. In the case of Nezha, I'm trusting actual Daoists/Chinese who knows more about him than I do. It's because I did PROPER research that I even came across a good source of information, aka @ruibaozha, who I'm sure can share more light on this than me! The fact that some of you guys won't even acknowledge them is almost proof that...you're clinging to a headcanon. Jackass.

"But Nezha in JTTW/FSSY are 7/12 and that's where LMK takes it's inspiration from so obviously―" We've seen for a fact LMK does NOT follow JTTW to the letter. Jade Emperor beating Wukong?? Lady Bone Demon being a powerful foe and being trapped in a bunker? Azure even being able to kill the Emperor? Majority of the LMK fandom likes to point out that LMK Macaque and JTTW Macaque are two different people, especially when you claim that Macaque is a bad character because he cannibalized the monkeys. So then, with this logic, JTTW Nezha, FSSY Nezha, and LMK Nezha are also three seperate figures. I swear someone made a post about the differences JTTW and FSSY Nezha have too, but I can't find it so meh. The point still remains though. LMK Nezha are two different people, you're not making any sense to me about that argument. Even then, LMK isn't taking direct inspiration and putting their own twist. Who says anything needs to be accurate??

"The writer only said Nezha's an adult to ship lotuspeach!" Are you faintly aware people, actual Chinese people, have shipped these characters together? Proshippers can come from anywhere but I genuinely doubt every single person is a proshipper because of course, they're aware their god isn't an eternal child. On top of that, in a situation like this another writer would point out that Nezha ISN'T an adult. No one has argued against this claim, so why persist? Where's your logic coming from if not entitlement?

I want this to be the last time I have to talk about Nezha, because I made my blog to write porn and me smooching my favorite LMK characters. I kinda don't really like making discussions like this because that's not the point of my blog.

However...I do like rambling. A lot :)))

Anyways, point blank. LMK fandom needs to grow out of this entitled mindset and stop ignoring the facts from experts. You guys are just being annoying at this point.

My argument isn't really valid tbh, just pointless rambling because I only know basic information. I think you guys should find proper information from accounts online.

Also, if you're gonna argue: don't bring be albeist, racist etc etc. I'm capable of cussing you out without bringing up your mental health, race or identity :)))

[waterfallofspace]

Allergic To Concepts

Is anyone else still into the M/agnus Archives? Maybe, maybe not, but I have had this fic sitting in my google docs for months, and I just finally managed to get myself to finish up the last bit, so here is part one of a possible two part fic, if I can ever manage to get myself to write the next part!

So, if anyone wants, please enjoy a little Allergic to concepts Jon. aka, Jon is so allergic to dogs that just the idea of them gets him a bit worked up~

I'll never be over this podcast, and I might start sharing small (tiny) drabbles of these guys if anyone would be interested <3 or even just to start coaxing myself back into writing~

Characters: Jon, Martin, Tim, and Sasha Word Count: 2.7k

“-so to conclude, we absolutely, most certainly, cannot do that,” Martin finishes, hands woven into his hair. Seems to happen more often nowadays; getting a job you’re not exactly qualified for tends to bring on a touch of added stress. What brings even more stress, however, are the faces staring back at him, twin smiles painted across worryingly calm canvases. Seems once a poet, always a poet, even in your own thoughts. 

Tim chuckles, mischief running through his eyes. “How do you even know that? You been stalking our new boss?” 

“W-well no, it’s just that…” Martin starts, beginning to study the floor as his rambling starts to take over. “Well there may have been an… incident, of- of sorts, with a uh… well it was, I was trying to open this door, but see I was holding files, and there was this dog, and they kinda just- well I was trying to stop it but it got in and- so I went to Jon’s office and he was just kinda… and then I-” 

“So what?” Tim interrupts, mercifully saving Martin from his own tongue. “Why should his issues stop us from havin’ a good time?” With a snap of his fingers, Tim casts Sasha a devious wink. The colour seems to drain from Martin’s face as he holds up a shaking finger, aiming somewhere behind Tim’s shoulders. 

“Ah, speak of the devil,” Sasha mutters, her smile never wavering. 

Spinning on his heel, Tim turns to greet the newest arrival to the hallway. “Fancy seeing you here, boss! Burning the midday oil?” 

Jon pauses, papers nearly spilling from his crowded arms as he fumbles with some keys. “That’s not an expression. And what are you all doing cramped in the hall? Don’t any of you have work to do?” 

Martin nearly keels over as Jon’s glare settles against him, seemingly deeming him responsible for this lapse in progress. As if! In fact, he’d been the one begging them to get back to work. Honestly, Jon should appreciate the fact that he talked them out of-

“Actually, we’re thinking of heading off for the day,” Tim cuts in, leaving Martin’s mouth nearly hanging open. Had they not just gone over why this was a horrible idea? As if to answer his unspoken question, Sasha joins in with support for Tim’s cause. Martin’s pretty sure there’s actually a gap between his lips. 

Jon, having opened the office by this point, merely stops and stares. Seconds pass, though it feels more like minutes. There appears to be some sort of staring match between the three of them. 

Finally Jon breaks the silence with a short… well, it’s hard to call it a laugh, more like a huff. His posture tightens as he attempts to pull himself to his full height, casting Tim a wary glance. “You can’t be serious.” 

“Quite serious in fact! See, me and Sasha have been thinking,” Tim pauses, gesturing to the aforementioned with a sickly sweet smile. Merely performance charm, which given the eye-roll she shoots back, Sasha’s well aware of. “All of us here need a chance to bond.” 

“Bond, you say,” Jon’s monotone voice offers no insight to how he’s taking this suggestion. As Martin’s mouth begins to dry, his hands start working their way back into his hair. 

“Indeed!” Tim continues, seemingly oblivious to Martin’s rapidly increasing heart rate. “We’ve all been stuck here together, figured we should become more of a team, you know? A team-building exercise you could call it. Something to get us more on the same page.” 

“And what is this ‘team-building exercise’ you have in mind?” 

Well, his heart may have been racing before, but it’s not anymore. In fact, he’s almost entirely convinced it’s just stopped completely. Jon’s eyes meet his own, and Martin drops his gaze fast enough to leave him dizzy. 

This time Sasha speaks up, her coy tone doing nothing to alleviate the heart attack symptoms Martin’s now convinced he’s feeling. “An animal rescue cafe. They rescue dogs and cats, the ones that need rehoming, and bring them there so you can get to know them before you adopt. One opened just down the street from here, and me and Tim have been looking into going. We figured, might as well drag you and Martin along with us.” 

Jon’s glare narrows further, a single hand coming up to rest between his eyes. The movement is completed by pushing up his glasses with a sigh. “And how exactly does drinking tea in a room full of animals qualify as team building?” 

“You can tell a lot about a person from the way they treat animals,” Tim offers. “Not to mention the fact that there’s a whole study about how psychopaths are more likely to hate cats, which is mostly due to the fact cats have willful behaviour.” 

Martin can almost taste his heartbeat at this point, a fact he’s finding quite alarming. Still rummaging through papers, Jon steps into his office. Much to Martin’s chagrin, they all seem to be following him. 

“Are you suggesting someone working in this office is a psychopath, Tim?” Jon continues, huffing out another sigh as he notices the entourage entering his office. Jon’s glare lands on Martin once more, something he’s almost gotten used to at this point. 

Laughter begins to flow from Tim, Sasha joining in with a mild chuckle. “Of course not, but hey, this job’s all about researching things that probably aren’t true. Better safe than sorry, right?” 

Seemingly the only one noticing Jon’s growing apprehension, or maybe just the only one that cares, Martin can’t peel his eyes off their boss. Unaware of the scrutiny, though perhaps expecting it nonetheless, Jon pushes up his glasses again. Martin doesn’t miss the way he lets a single finger brush against his nose during this action. Nor do his eyes skip over the light scrunch forming at the bridge of said nose. 

Oblivious as always, Tim’s still going on about the cafe. Something about which animals are available, what tea they serve, scones, and more useless information. Sasha’s typing something in her phone, apparently fact checking his current ramblings. Still, all of that fades into the background as Martin’s attention is drawn to Jon once more. 

At first, he can’t figure out why he’s watching. Jon didn’t speak, and from his posture he hasn’t made any significant gestures. There doesn’t seem to be anything specifically that should have caught his eye, and yet-  

And then it happens again. Jon’s brows tighten, his eyes begin to flutter shut, and his lips part just enough for his tongue to peek out between them. There’s a beat of silence, then a single breathy inhale, barely noticeable above Tim’s monologuing. 

“ihh-” 

Just as quickly as it began, Jon crushes it back once more, a hand roughing swiping against his nose. There’s a quiet feeling of– perverse excitement as Martin watches him. Why? No earthly idea. It’s not as if there’s anything specifically… exciting about the action. There’s no physical stimulation beginning, to phrase it politely. 

Still, there’s something… almost electrifying, about bearing witness to a moment so personal and private. As if the only person in the room is Jon, and he’s opened the door for Martin to join him in his world. Which, as you think about it, just becomes more and more– creepy as hell! Damn it! 

Pulling himself from his thoughts, Martin manages to peel his gaze away from Jon. Zoning back into Tim’s rambling, he just barely catches the tail end of a rant about different toppings on cinnamon buns. His silence was entirely unnoticed. Understandably, given only Tim had said anything in minutes. 

“Personally, I’m a fan of the regular cream cheese icing,” Martin offers, forcing himself to keep his eyes on Tim as another soft sniffle sounds behind him. The others don’t notice it, Sasha rolling her eyes as a light begins to dawn in Tim’s. 

“Well, interesting you say that Martin, they actually have those at the cafe down the street! Isn’t that such a wonderful coincidence?” Tim swirls his body towards Martin, casting a playful glance back at Jon as he continues. “Wouldn’t you like to stop by and get yourself one of those delicious buns?” 

Martin feels his face begin to pale again, and barely manages a meek, “W-well… I don’t need to… get one right now… but if you want-” 

Thankfully he’s saved from himself as a gasp sounds out from the desk. Everyone in the room turns, Martin included, just in time to see Jon duck into his wrist with a tight, “ih’nGXt–uih!” 

“Bless you!” Sasha calls, Tim and Martin echoing the sentiment. A flush begins to spread over Jon’s cheeks, but it’s brushed off as he waves a hand, continuing to scribble on some papers. Casting a glance over to Tim, Martin sighs as the mischief floods the other man's face. He’s very clearly not letting this go. 

“Was that actually a sneeze?” Tim laughs, mimicking the sound as Sasha suppresses a giggle. 

Jon keeps his head down, pen still moving across the paper in disjointed movements. “It was in fact a sneeze, yes. Happens to everyone from time to time, no need to make a big deal out of it. Now, I believe you were going to a cat and do- hiHh! rescue cafe?” 

The hitch manages to escape from Jon’s tight grip, his posture shuddering slightly with the force of continuing the sentence. It doesn’t go unnoticed by Martin that just the word dog seems to leave him breathless. 

“A dog cafe, yeah! You’re coming too, right boss? Come see all the adorable little puppies?” Tim offers, gesturing towards the door. Apparently it didn’t go unnoticed by him either. 

An audible gasp sounds out, and all eyes turn back to the rapidly hitching boss. Jon manages to stifle the first one almost silently, only a rush of breath escaping at the end. 

“Bless you, boss.” 

Jon waves a hand, wiping away the water beginning to flood his eyes. “Was just sihh… sighing, Tim.” He finishes the statement with another stifle, this time his whole body jerks along with the rough exhale.  

“Really? Because that sounded like another sneeze,” Tim taunts, poking a finger towards Jon’s face. “And given the way your nose is twitching, you seem far from done.” 

Jon seems to consider debating, but another frantic hitch decides it for him. Giving up the ruse, he ducks into his shoulder with another, “eh’tNGxt–uh! ih’NTchhuh!”  

“Bless yo-” 

“eH’DGZSHhh –uu!”  The volume makes everyone jump, seeming to surprise even Jon. 

“Oh- mby apologies, I seeb to be… hiehh–” Jon trails off, one hand frantically searching for a tissue, nose visibly trembling behind the other. In a move of uncharacteristic pity, Tim pushes the box within reach. Jon mumbles out a thank you, before swinging his chair around for a touch of privacy. 

The silence is almost deafening, cut up only by the rustling of fabric as Jon attempts to subdue the onslaught. “eh’nGNt –oo!” And fails miserably. 

“Do- maybe do you want… well possibly we should, actually I think you might- I mean he might want–” Desperately trying to find a way to fill the space, Martin rambles on, gaze bouncing between all three of his coworkers.

“Martin,” Jon cuts him off, “just say it.” 

The annoyance Martin’s come to expect seems unaffected by the breathy quality of Jon’s words. Unless you notice the flushed nature of his ears, which… is kinda hard to miss when his nose is starting to match. 

“S-sorry! I just figured you may want a touch of uh… privacy..? You seem… itchy,” Martin offers, already beginning to back out of the room. 

Jon glares, lining up a retort before pausing as the first syllable comes out muffled with congestion. A sharp sniff and quick rub later, he continues in an easier tone. “I’m quite alright. No need for such concerns.” 

“I mean- If… if you’re sure…” 

Tim interrupts this time, draping an arm across Martin’s back. “You heard the boss, he’s fine. Now, onto that cafe?” 

Before Martin can get a word out, Jon stands from his chair, dropping the tissues in the wastebasket next to his desk. Sasha chuckles out her approval, sticking her phone into a pocket and beginning to exit the office. Tim follows suit, leaving Martin standing alone with Jon. 

There’s a beat of silence, Martin watching, horrified, as his body refuses to move an inch, silently waiting for Jon’s approval. 

“Well?” 

It’s not exactly an invitation, but it’s more than enough to send Martin scrambling for the door, muttering more sheepish apologies under his breath. If Jon heard them, he gave no indication, busy rustling through a desk drawer. A few more muffled stifles make their way through the noise, no indication given they were heard either. 

As Martin makes it into the hallway, he catches Tim waving from the door. He’s propping it open with one foot as Sasha waits outside, once again on her phone. Martin waves back his acknowledgement, before gesturing towards the kitchen. Tim simply shrugs, calling something about ‘not waiting around’, before joining Sasha in the crisp autumn air. 

Making his way back to the kitchen, Martin pauses at Jon’s door. He’s not eavesdropping, just… listening in, to see if Jon’s alright. It’s his boss after all, and he’s an assistant! He’s supposed to… assist! Perfectly natural thing to do, isn’t it? 

A harsh double pulls him from his spiralling, Jon’s voice coming through audibly in the groan that follows. Alright, enough listening in, this is starting to feel more creepy than curious. 

With what little confidence he can muster, Martin works his way through his plan. The mugs are where they always are, but the water in the kettle was a bit more cold than a proper cup of tea would allow. Flipping the switch, Martin began heating it, and hurried out of the kitchen to his desk. He picks out a fairly bland tea, Jon seems the bland type… right? 

Another few sneezes sound out from the boss’s office, and Martin almost starts to feel guilty for still being in the office. It’s obvious Jon assumes he’s alone, if not from the sneezes themselves, from the groans that come after them. Ever the stickler for a Professional Appearance, he’d never allow himself to be seen or heard in such a state willingly. 

The kettle sounding pulls Martin from his thoughts once more, and he pours the water over the tea bag. Moving carefully, as not to spill, he makes his way back to Jon’s office, knocking softly on the door. 

“Yes?” The reply is sharp, a frantic sounding shuffling occurring as Martin begins to slide open the door. 

“Hey, yeah sorry I just- you sounded like… I just thought that maybe you’d want… you might need some…” 

“Spit it out, Martin,” Jon sighs, giving his nose a subtle swipe. Unfortunately for him, this seems to have been the wrong choice. His nose twitches, eyes beginning to unfocus, and Martin finds himself pausing for the interruption. At least, until Jon gestures at him to continue. 

“Well, I just ma-” 

“ih’tNGT–uu!” 

“Bless you. I just made you some tea, it seemed you cou-” 

“hHUh’dNT–uh!” There’s a pause, Jon’s breath catching dramatically, before he swivels around in the chair and aims a harsh, “eH’dZSHH– eih’DSCHhhh–oo!” at the fistful of tissues he managed to grab. 

It wasn’t exactly quiet, and Martin finds himself flinching against the noise, but holds it together as he places the mug on Jon’s desk, hurrying through the rest of his sentence. 

“Seemed you could use some tea, bless you again by the way, anyways I’m gonna head off with Sasha and Tim, I’ll see you there I guess! Or, well- not just me, we’ll all see you there, as a group, if you choose to come that is! Which of course you don’t have to, though we’d lik-” 

“Martdin,” Jon, mercifully, cuts him off, congestion seeping through his words. With a deep sigh, he finishes his sentence. “Thagnk you. You mbay go ndow.” 

Taking the out, Martin gives one last nervous smile, sliding out into the hallway. Another desperate sneeze leaves him wincing, Jon’s vocal groan sounding out yet again. The poor guy sounds miserable, and Martin almost considers going back in and telling him not to come. If he’s this bad from just the thought… well… 

But he’s embarrassed himself enough for the day, and, albeit hesitantly, Martin heads off to meet Tim and Sasha at the cafe.

[bcdaily]

An Influx of James/Lily...stuff

So, this is the first week in...lol, a year?...that I haven't had mountains of freelancing to finish or grappling with utter burnout or just...yeah lol whatever life. So I'm at Starbucks now with the freedom to ~~write whatever I want~~ which has left me dazzlingly undecided, which lead me on a little foray into my Google Docs.

And the thing is...I've started so many one-shots or stories or somethings or another that are not going to go anywhere because I don't even remember what they were. And I'm too sad to delete them, so I thought I'd just...throw them up here under a cut?

So enjoy, these random paragraphs of the graveyard of Bee's Fics That Never Were:

Something AU? About Lily house/petsitting?? There are fish??

Everything was going swimmingly well until Lily almost killed both the fish and the heir.

"Whoah—whoah!" the latter had been shouting as Lily had been shrieking, the tidy bowl of fish in her hands rattling and sloshing water over its rounded rim as bodies collided inside the posh townhouse foyer, and Lily's instinctive reaction had been a sad attempt at weaponizing paltry plastic. Blindly, mid-shriek, she'd shoved the fish bowl like a battering ram the intruder's way, endangering both innocent marine life, most eardrums within range, and Euphemia Potter's pristine hardwood floors.

Also, Lily realises approximately twenty seconds too late, Euphemia Potter's similarly pristine only child.

Not likely to be keen on the destruction of either, Euphemia.

Hands down, Fleamont would care most about the fish.

"Jesus—shit. Shit." Lily jerks the bowl back, lifting it up to inspect the damage, her frantic gaze bouncing between the man she's just attacked and the tiny sea life she may have just murdered. "I'm so—are you—are they—are they alive?"

"Is this a burglary? Are you stealing them?" asks the heir, the hefty armful of papers and books he'd been holding now mostly scattered by his feet. A few industrious, aerodynamic pages are still floating down, lapping leisurely by their legs. He'd dropped them, back during the shrieking and colliding and shame. Now, he is standing very still, but nodding very specifically at the fish. "If so, I will not stand in your way."

"What?"

"Take them. Please."

"The fish?"

"Yes."

"I'm not stealing fish," Lily responds dumbly, eyes shifting from the heir back to the precious cargo he is honestly being a bit too generous in looking to offload. Her mind has quit whirling enough to concentrate on the contents. Immediately, she begins to tally up fish. Four, five, six...fuck, were there two of the blue ones? Is the orange one moving? Is that a death float?

One fish, two fish. Red fish, slew fish.

The heir is still talking.

"More of an art thief, then?" he asks. His hand lifts, elegant-looking and long-fingered, moving to straighten the trendy specs sitting upon his patrician nose, which had gone askew in the scuffle. "There's a bloody ugly statue of some tragic Greek in the dining room. Worth loads. Grab and go. I'll assist hefting, even. No charge."

"What?" There are eleven fish. Eleven, glorious, wonderful, still somehow living fish. Relief is a drowning tidal wave nearly pulling Lily under. Her knees go fair weak with it. She attempts to shake the remnants of shock and panic off like a sodden dog, but hasn't quite managed it when she gives her attention back to the man in front of her. He's quite tall. His hair is dark and haphazard, like Fleamont's. "That's not how burglary works."

"Are you certain?"

"Not from personal experience, but a woman can take some educated stances."

"So you're not a burglar."

"No." This is a ludicrous conversation. From the smile playing at his lips, Lily reckons the heir thinks so, too. She's trying to remember his name. Fleamont had told her it at some point, maybe even multiple points. It's something traditional, one syllable. She'd had some worry about that, with parents called mouthfuls like Fleamont and Euphemia. Fleamont's favorite fish was called Jeremiah Rumplestiltskin. "I'm Lily. The housesitter."

"The housesitter." He says the word with the flourish of a brightened lightbulb, ah yes, there it is. He bends, beginning to gather his belongings from the foyer floor.

++++

Something canon?? I actually think this might have been a sequel to a one-shot? Maybe??

It's become a game now, and they are both very, very good at it.

“What are you staring at?” she baldly asks that very first Monday morning, barely twenty-four hours after what James had quickly begun to refer to in his head as The Age-Old Snogging Incident (subtitle: Wildest Dreams Defined).

They are eating breakfast in the Great Hall, and save for the seven seconds it had taken James to thrust the wrapped Brewing Cauldrons record at her yesterday with a hurried “Happy birthday, Evans,” before scurrying off in the most pathetic of manners, this is the first time he’s encountered her. She looks much the same as she always does (brilliant), and he’s doing much the same as he always does (eating lathered toast, subtly watching her, hoping no one realizes he’s subtly watching her), but this time, she calls him out on it.

She’s seated across the table and two seats over. They are surrounded by people, but they may as well be alone. Noise buzzes in James’s ears as he stares fixedly at her smugly arched eyebrows, her tellingly quirked lips (the same ones that had snogged him). He is moments away from stuttering out an embarrassed, evasive response, likely flushing and bumbling at being caught, because she's right, he is staring...

But then he realizes something.

He is not the only one.

Lily Evans, that coy conundrum, is staring fixedly at him, as well.

More specifically, she is staring fixedly at his mouth.

Fucking hell, she’s thinking about it, too.

It's sudden, stunning awareness. It's wild, uncontrollable confidence. It's unproven, untested, unmitigated victory and arrogance, a feeling James is not entirely unfamiliar with, but never--never--in regards to her.

“I’m not staring at anything,” he somehow finds himself answering, slowly biting into his toast like it's a token power move. He takes his leisurely time swallowing. “What are you staring at?”

“Me?” Her eyebrows have arched even higher. She licks her lips. “I’m not staring.”

“No?”

“No.”

“My mistake, then.”

"That's right."

"Cheers."

Neither of them breaks eye contact. Neither of them even moves. It is a battle of pointed, heady, bloody fucking hell flirtatious wills, and now that James has realized she is not the only one with power here, he is damn well not going to give it up.

"What are you two doing?" Hestia Jones eventually asks, regarding them with vague suspicion. "What's going on?"

James bites his toast.

Lily stirs her tea.

"Nothing," they both say.

But ten minutes later, as James is somewhat giddily taking his time in exiting the Hall for Charms, Lily slinks up behind him, grabs his arm, and yanks him back as their mates sail unassumingly though the Great Hall toward lessons.

"You're so obvious," she hisses. "Control yourself."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," James returns loftily. "But for shame, Evans--can't you keep your hands off me for even a moment?"

James nods down to where her fingers are still curled around his biceps. He expects her to drop it immediately like a scorching hot pan, but instead she gets a wicked sort of gleam in her green eyes, curls her fingers around even further, and squeezes.

"Mm. So tense." The quiet husk in her voice sends a string of shivers straight down James's spine. One of her fingers has begun to stroke. "I know a few helpful ways to remedy that...but I'm afraid you're just a bit too young to hear them."

"Corrupter of youth," James accuses, though it mostly comes out as a choke.

Cruel, cruel witch that she is, Lily gives a jaunty shrug, lets loose his arm, and with nothing more than a conciliatory pat, stalks off past him.

The point, admittedly, goes to her. But James is nothing if not a sportsman.

Later that same afternoon, Marc Darndis spills an entire beaker of uncooked Brinstin Brew down his front in Potions, and James takes a moment in the ensuing chaos to turn around to the workstation behind him. He watches Lily as she diligently keeps working, then leans his elbows against the table top, sighs heavily, and says, "Poor Darndis. He'll be in the shower for ages trying to scrape that off. Unfortunate, I suppose...but then again, I am personally a very firm advocate for a nice, long shower."

Lily doesn't even glance up at this comment. Maybe her eye twitches a bit, but mostly she just continues chopping up her beetle parts.

"If you don't turn around and mix in your daffodil root," she says eventually, "you're going to need a nice, long shower. When your cauldron explodes."

"Nothing beats a good shower," James continues, like she hasn't spoken. "You know, when the steam starts to billow, and you take your first step in, and the hot water hits your skin, dripping down..."

James manages to get through a good thirty-five seconds of discussing raunchy bathing habits before Lily's face has gone so completely red, it very nearly matches her hair.

(Truly, if James's bothersome cauldron hadn't chosen that exact moment to go on and explode, he reckons he may very well have cracked her.)

(Still, it's worth the detention Slughorn gives him, and the victorious look Lily shoots him. Overall: Point Potter.)

That Monday sets the tone for the following weeks, unleashing this new, maddening dynamic wherein James is now not only allowed to flirt shamelessly and ruthlessly with Lily Evans...it is quite simply expected. The pair of them are both so grossly over-the-top with it, it is very nearly laughable.

She shows up to breakfast one morning with an extra shirt button undone and glossy lips, and James has to squint at the ceiling for a good three minutes before he's in a dignified enough condition to rise from the table.

He "accidentally" leaves his Charms textbook in his dormitory, inquires if he can look on with hers, and spends the entirety of the lesson invading her personal space to her ever-obvious reluctant delight.

They cross paths in the common room, where she promptly begins to read aloud from a Witch Weekly article entitled "The Sexy Art of Snogging" (with charade accompaniment).

James arrives back from Quidditch practice one afternoon, sweaty and still in-kit, and finds her gawking at him by the portrait hole. He loudly hums the chorus to "Mrs. Robinson" as he passes her by, and hears her muffled laughter as the Fat Lady swings closed behind him.

Somehow, they're sitting together during History now, and spend nearly every lesson shooting hurried, sloppy notes between them:

It's so sad how badly you want to kiss me, Evans.

I could weep with how much of a projection that is, Potter.

Shoot those lusty looks elsewhere, I will not be seduced. (how long did he just say this essay was meant to be?)

If I wanted you seduced, you'd be seduced. (I don't know I wasn't listening, go ask Remus.)

I'm too young for these types of conversations. How dare you. (two scrolls)

I guess I'll go find someone else to have them with for the next thirty-two days, then. (thks)

Speaking of mates...the lot of them know nothing. Or at least, James hasn't told his--he can't be certain what Lily has divulged. As far as the lads are concerned, James and Lily are merely engaged in a mysterious, extended battle of wills, their hushed conversations never disclosed, the prize an unconfirmed puzzle. Peter finds the anomaly entertaining. Sirius is primarily disinterested. Remus likely figured the whole thing out on day two, but is much too polite to intrude.

So on it goes, just the two of them--tempting and toying and teasing and TK.

James loves his birthday. He has always loved his birthday. It's the one day of the year when no one's allowed to tell you off for being utterly self-involved, and James has always been keen on that type of lenience. He fancies cake and presents and embarrassing traditions. He doesn't shy from attention or parties or mugs of beverages clinked in his honour. But this birthday...

January quickly shifts to February. February fades into March. James has never been so keenly aware of the days of his youth ticking by as he is at this particular moment. Last week, Lily had cornered him in the library stacks, had used that sad, predictable old ploy of reaching for a book beyond his shoulder in order to brush her body full against his, and James had very nearly threw the whole game and timeline out the window then and there. He was losing his mind. She was keenly enjoying it. If he wasn't very nearly certain the tricks and teasing were getting to her too, he'd likely have put a stop to them ages ago.

But Lily Evans is not the sort of girl who would even vaguely entertain a bloke if she wasn't interested. James, of all people, ought to know that. Yes, their blatant harassment of each other these past eight weeks has been so wildly extraneous in every way...but that doesn't mean there isn't something lying beneath. There is for James, in any case. And really, she'd started it. He doesn't exactly know what any of it means, but he reckons he can't be be castigated for counting down the hours until 27 March with bated breath.

It's Thursday, three days until his birthday. 

+++++

Some canon smut that never was??

"This," James mutters, as her mouth peppers his chin, "is an insulting cliche."

She hums a vague acknowledgment at this comment—or is that a groan?—but continues undeterred in wrestling apart the buttons of his shirt. The sharp half-moons of her nails scrape his chest in a scrambling kitten's scratch as the paltry buttons of his cotton school shirt pop. There is a cool June wind drifting in from the mooncast evening outside the nearby doorway, leading out onto the ramparts. It hits his now exposed skin in soft, brisk billows.

Her teeth bite down on his pulse point. James teeters to the right, nearly tipping back down the steep spiral staircase.

He grabs her around the waist, swinging them around until her back is pressed against the cold stone wall.

She gives a light oomph...then continues to nibble.

"The Astronomy Tower," James snarls.

She has made work of half his shirt buttons. Sighs. "James."

"Really. 'Meet me,' she says. Then drags me to the Astronomy Tower. I feel cheap and tawdry."

[sinnoman]

The Dummy's Dummy

Once again, possessed by the spirit of Macaron (is that their ship name?) I have dumped 5773 words into a google docs and created a fic dedicated to Mammon and Barbatos.

Please sit back and enjoy how stupid these two are... stupid in loooove~

This is cross-posted on my ao3 which I will link here if you prefer to read long fics there.

Summary:

Mammon, although everyone liked to make fun of his intelligence, was somewhat sensible. He was able to mate for life! Although his mate doesn't exactly know it. No matter, he's sure Barbatos will get the hint someday.

Or alternatively,

Mammon unbeknownst to Barbatos, has mated him. Barbatos learns the crucial lesson of being mated to a crow and how to fall in love with Mammon all the same.

— 

It begins with a song. 

Mammon is surprised to hear a slow clap after he finishes singing. Whipping around, Mammon watches as Barbatos descends the steps of the house and enters the planetarium of the House of Lamentation. The royal steward gives him a small smile and Mammon can feel the heat rush up to his cheeks. Most of it was from embarrassment but a bit of it was flush from the praise he received. 

He doesn’t know why Barbatos was even in his home. Barbatos doesn’t visit often. When he does it’s usually because Lord Diavolo had demanded a change of scenery and wants to hole himself with Lucifer in his brother’s office. Even then Barbatos is often glued to Diavolo’s side tending to his every need as it’s required of him. 

“I did not know you possessed such a voice, Mammon,” Barbatos says smoothly. Mammon can feel his heart beat a pace too fast in his ears. “It was beautiful.” 

Mammon, who feels his brain and nervous system shut down, stands in silence as he stares down Barbatos with a shovel and plant nutrient in his hands. The praise does far too much for how vague it was but Mammon is sure it is not entirely his fault. Relying on instinct alone, he tries his best to make sense of the situation. 

Singing is a vulnerable language for him. Singing carried depth for him unlike how little meaning it has for everyone else. Depending on how he sang, it was very important that he received appropriate recognition for his performance. The last time he sang was to lull Belphie to sleep when he was sick with devil flu. Mammon had been singing this time to the plants in hopes they’d grow steadfast without any problems.

So when Barbatos praises his singing, the small thought of “mate?” that rings in his head makes Mammon consider the steward. 

Barbatos is about the same height as him, only an inch taller. He’s slim, but he makes up for it with amazing posture and honed skills in other areas. Mammon’s sure, from what he’s seen from Barbatos’ bare hands when the steward washes dishes, that Barbatos was well-toned. Under a faux golden moon and diamond stars, Mammon can almost imagine a life of both of them together. 

Yes, Barbatos will do. 

It takes him two whole minutes of standing in awkward silence to process the words before he flushes completely red. “Oh. T-Thanks.” He managed to stumble out. 

Scratching the back of his neck, Mammon lowers his head a bit to hide his face before looking at Barbatos, “Would you like to hear another song?” Mammon whispers as if anyone could hear them. 

Barbatos nods and gives him a look of expectancy. Mammon bends down, placing his shovel and spray bottle down, and slowly walks over to Barbatos closing the gap between them as best as he can without making Barbatos uncomfortable. 

Fiddling with his fingers, Mammon takes a deep breath before he starts to sing softly. This time, it’s not a song with words but rather a tune that Mammon forms precisely just for Barbatos. The melody conceals coos and clicks, as customary of a courting song. Once he’s done, Barbatos claps once again and Mammon feels giddy all over. He’s done it. He’s succeeded in mating with Barbatos. 

“Well done once again, Mammon.” Barbatos praises, putting his arms down once he finishes clapping. “Before I forget, Lucifer is looking for you. I believe you told him you would help him understand a banking transaction.” Barbatos informs him, turning to walk away. 

A clicking sound causes Barbatos to pause before turning back to Mammon. “Did you hear that?” 

“Must be the telescope.” 

— 

In the late hour of the night, after he frees himself from hanging from the ceiling, Mammon shakes Lucifer awake. 

Discombobulated, with spit running down his cheek, Lucifer’s eyes blink one after the other as he sits up looking at Mammon with the hardest look. But Mammon couldn’t care less. 

“I did it, Luci,” Mammon whispers excitedly. 

Groaning, Lucifer runs his face, “What have you done?” 

“I found a mate,” Mammon tells him, grabbing his shoulders and shaking back and forth. 

“Excuse me?” 

—

Mammon spends the next two weeks embroidering black silk gloves with thread mixed with hues of green and blue. While his sin and instinct urge him to quit wasting time on this one thing and hurry to present many valuable items to his mate, Mammon takes the time to craft his gift to perfection. 

Of course, no matter how much his brothers make fun, Mammon isn’t entirely stupid. It would be taking Barbatos for granted if he didn’t uphold his side of the relationship. So, like a good mate would, he sent his crows to drop off smaller gifts for him. His last gift was a tea bag worth half of what he got paid for his last modeling gig. Sure, it wasn’t anything valuable but his closest familiar (that he named Luce, after Lucifer) said Barbatos did not have it in his cabinet of tea. 

And who is Mammon to deny his mate what he loves?

When he is ready to give Barbatos his gift, he catches him in a partially secluded area of R.A.D. 

“Did you commission this?” Barbatos asks, hands tracing the stitching in awe. There is not a stitch out of place and every teal stitching is practically symmetrical down to the curls of its design. “Or..?” 

“I embroidered the teal parts of the gloves,” Mammon says looking away with a blush. “S-Sorry I gave it t’ya late. Embroidery takes time.” There’s silence as Barbatos fiddles with the fabric in between his fingers. He aimlessly watches as Mammon also begins to fiddle with his fingers as they both linger in the awkward silence between them. But Mammon, as his reputation prevails, is quick to break it. “I noticed yer white gloves get dirty easily. These would be better, right?” 

The hallway they were standing in was practically empty unless you counted the few lower demons who were rushing to get to class before the final bell. A small part of Barbatos, the most logical part, wants to give it back to him. If Mammon had truly meant to give him this gift he would have done so at a better time. Causing him to be late to class is nothing but a hindrance to him and his perfect attendance. But the bigger portion is grateful for it. 

“It would… This is extremely thoughtful, Mammon. Thank you.” Barbatos says, giving him a saccharine smile. 

Another click leaves Mammon’s mouth, causing him to slam his hand over his mouth. 

Barbatos’ eyebrows furrow as he makes the connection, “That clicking sound. Are you the one making it?” 

Mammon blushes hard. “I can’t help it.”  

“What is it?” Barbatos asks, a bit curious. He really should be going now. 

“An angel trait thing. It’s supposed to mimic chirpin’ but since I’m a demon it mimics the clicking of crows.” Mammon explains, not looking Barbatos in the eye. 

“It’s cute,” Is the only thing that Barbatos says as he walks away from Mammon toward his designated classroom. 

The sound of clicking echoes in the hallway before the final bell. 

—

There’s a chair in the middle of his room. 

Barbatos immediately pauses once he sees it. It stands out as Barbatos rarely kept any furniture in his room of many doors. With red mahogany wood, the chair is polished to the point where Barbatos can see his reflection. The golden cushion of the chair is plump enough to deem it comfortable to sit in. And while Barbatos does like the aesthetic, it makes him panic. 

Someone was in his room. 

Taking a few steps towards the chair, Barbatos uses his magic to check for any curses or hexes placed on it. He finds none. Looking around, Barbatos can’t see anything suspicious that has changed about his room. Keeping it in mind, he moves on with his day. 

Coming back to his room, he finds more furniture. This time, there’s a rug, a couch, and a bed fully covered in sheets and pillows. Barbatos notices the shiny theme that the furniture all share. Nothing important of his is missing but rather is moved around to make space for the added furniture. 

The culprit shows himself as he drags a bureau into the room. Barbatos watches, mouth slightly open at the audacity Mammon has to come and redecorate his room. 

“What are you doing?” Barbatos snaps, making Mammon pause his antics and look at him. 

Mammon gives him a toothy smile, “Putting furniture into the room.” 

“Mammon,” Barbatos says exasperated. “You cannot furnish my room without my permission. Take it out.” 

“H-Huh?” Mammon gives him a look full of hurt and Barbatos is nearly on his last nerve. In what timeline would Mammon care so much about the state of his room when Mammon has his own. 

“Take. The furniture. Out.” Barbatos emphasizes, watching Mammon bite his lip as a whimper escapes him. 

“Okay.” 

And Mammon does remove all the furniture from his room by the end of the day. 

He also doesn’t see Mammon for the rest of the week. 

—

“No matter how many times I perform a correction spell, my eyes still end up needing glasses,” Solomon said irritated, his eyes squinting at the paper as he leaned closer to it. In his hands was a packet of evaluations that were going to be discussed at the R.A.D. meeting this afternoon. Barbatos can’t help but chuckle at the banter in front of him. The man had a whole week before going over this packet but, Solomon wasn’t known to do things the moment it was presented to him. 

Simeon hums, “Try pulling the paper away from your face.” He placed his teacup down on its appropriate plate. 

“I tried that!” Solomon exclaims, slamming the packet on the table before he pushes it away. Crossing his arms, he pouted leaning back in his chair. “Do I really need to read this evaluation? It’s not like Lucifer is going to pick at my brain for the information.” 

“What if he asks you questions?” Simeon countered, a playful grin on his face. 

Solomon caught Simeon’s glance, “It’s Lucifer. Chances are he’d end up making the entire meeting just himself talking.” Solomon’s lips flatten into a straight line. “He won’t notice.” 

They fell into a comfortable silence and a small smile fell onto Barbatos’s face. It wasn’t the first time the residents of Purgatory Hall came a few moments early to a RAD meeting. Like his master, Barbatos enjoyed watching the relationship between all of them grow. It was nice to see how awkward small talk could develop to childish quarrels. 

Barbatos places his cup of tea down before clearing his throat. “Simeon, I’ve been meaning to ask you something.” The angel perks up at the sound of his name. “Are angels similar to birds?” 

Simeon nearly choked on his tea. “W-What? What brought this on?” 

“Just humor me for a bit,” Barbatos responds, not exactly wanting to dwell on his experience with Mammon. He considered that Mammon’s actions were based on angel habits that he couldn’t quite shake off despite being a demon for centuries now. “Are there certain things that angels do that are similar to birds? Perhaps gifting? Collecting and gathering?” Barbatos says, trailing off once he sees the flabbergasted expression on Simeon’s face. 

It only takes a second but Simeon is quick to answer him, “Any behavior that a bird has, us angels had it first!” He corrects, finishing the rest of the tea.

Beside him, Solomon laughs. “They’re pretty much the same species, Barbatos. You don’t know how many times I’ve caught Simeon and Luke bringing in blankets just to cover the ones they already have on the couch in Purgatory Hall.” He informs smugly, dodging Simeon’s hands as the angel tries to shut him up. 

“Nesting is essential, Solomon.” Simeon huffs. Pouring more tea into his cup, Simeon sucks his teeth, “There is nothing wrong with a comfortable home.” 

“So it isn’t unusual for angels to… nest as you put it,” Barbatos confirms, his mind wandering off to his interaction with Mammon. If Mammon was nesting, why in his room? 

Simeon hums, “Well it depends on the stage of the nest. When either Luke or I bring in new things like blankets it’s for maintenance of the nest we already made. In the beginning stage, we bring in things like—“

“—furniture.” Barbatos interrupts catching Simeon and Solomon by surprise. 

Nodding, Simeon continues, “Well yes, but it ultimately it depends on the angel. Some angels like comfortable things, or colorful things, or even—“

“—shiny things.” Barbatos finishes, almost breathlessly. He looks down at his cup, tracing the rim of it with a gloved finger. He then lifts his head, “Is there a specific reason for one to nest?” Barbatos asks, sounding a little more urgent than he would like. 

Simeon simply shrugs, “Not every angel nests, and not every angel has a reason to nest. I nest because Luke is still a fledging and he needs a safe space or else his development will suffer. However, there are other reasons an angel might nest. For comfort, protection, or to show off.” Simeon finishes, going to take a bite of the dessert Barbatos had made for the meeting. 

“Show off?” Solomon echoes in confusion. “Show off for what?” 

“For who,” Simeon corrects after swallowing his sweet. “Some angels build nests to court other angels.” He informs as if it were common sense. 

Solomon’s face contorts to a shit-eating expression. “Have you ever tried to show off for me?” He says as sweetly as possible. Simeon rolls his eyes. 

“Don’t you have seven hundred wives? Can’t you flirt with one of them?” 

The residents of Purgatory Hall continue to bicker back and forth but Barbatos tunes them out. Simeon’s words repeat in his head over and over again. Courting? Mammon has been courting him this entire time? With a sense of dread, Barbatos goes to stand. 

He has made a grievous and heartless error. And he must fix it immediately. 

— 

When he finds Mammon, the Second-Born hands him a random bottle of wine that he accepts gracefully. 

“When you were bringing furniture into my room, Mammon. Were you nesting?” Barbatos asks bluntly. He watches as the Avatar of Greed stiffens at his words and nods slowly. 

“But ya didn’t like it,” Mammon whispers sadly. A small sad trilling noise escapes him and it pulls at Barbatos’ heartstrings despite him not showing it. 

“I didn’t know,” Barbatos whispers back. “I didn’t know you were courting me.” If he had, he would have at least let Mammon down gently. 

“I wasn’t courting you,” Mammon states, slightly annoyed. Barbatos’ head is practically reeling at his words. None of Mammon’s behavior has made sense and the little bit of information he was able to gain just appeared to be useless. 

“Ah,” Barbatos responds, unsure of what to say next. 

“We’re already mated,” Mammon informs him.

“Oh.” 

—

Being Mammon’s mate is… something. 

Mammon had explained that Barbatos complimenting his singing was in fact Barbatos agreeing to a relationship with him. How those two very separate things correlate with one another Barbatos isn’t sure. What he does understand is that it is frankly dumb. 

He expected much more attention and disturbance in his day-to-day routine. Furthermore, he expected this whole courting and mating thing not to last long due to arguing on his part but surprisingly none of that happened to be true. What ended up happening was Mammon treating Barbatos as if they weren’t mated. Nothing truly changed except the weekly gift-giving that Mammon said was absolutely necessary whether he liked it or not. When Barbatos brings it up, Mammon is able to explain. 

“Y’don’t like PDA. I’m okay with taking things at your pace.” They’re hushed away in a corner of the ballroom, watching as everyone celebrates the current event of the season. Mammon stands close to him, but not too close to draw any suspicion to either of them. 

Barbatos frowns, “I feel guilty. As if I have led you on.” He does genuinely feel bad. Mammon has devoted his time to planning each and every second he spends with Barbatos. If he cannot see him, Mammon makes sure to spoil Barbatos with thoughtful gifts such as the gloves he wears tonight. 

And here Barbatos is, not reciprocating anything in return. 

Mammon shakes his head, “Yer not. I’m not expecting anything special. I already know ya like me back.” 

His words make him freeze. “W-what? Mammon, when have I told you that I reciprocated your feelings?” Barbatos’ questions, eyes flickering between him and the guest of tonight who seemed too busy distracted by Lucifer and Diavolo dancing the night away. 

“Ya don’t have ta. I can see it through yer actions. Like when ya compliment my choice of gifts, or when ya let me put my nest back. If ya didn’t like me, wouldn’t have let me do that. You don’t let things like that carry on for long.” Mammon explains, raising his hands to clap when everyone else does. 

Barbatos follows suit, not caring what is going on publicly. Remaining silent, he thought hard about it. What he thought was being a good samaritan, apparently wasn’t clearly translated to Mammon. While he had let Mammon put his nest back and continue his bird mating habits, it was simply because he did not have the heart to shut Mammon’s shenanigans down. 

But now that he really looked at it from Mammon’s perspective, did he truly have feelings for Mammon? 

“We could start small.” Mammon continues, his eyes averted from the dance floor and linger on Barbatos. “In private, I mean. Hand holding, hugs, we could practice touching until yer comfortable to do it in public.” 

Barbatos feels like he’s suffering from whiplash. How has this conversation gone from explanations to talks of progressing their romantic relationship that he has just been made aware of? 

But instead of saying no or even breaking up with Mammon, Barbatos lets his curiosity get the best of him and nods. 

“Okay.” 

—

In the privacy of Barbatos’ room, Barbatos and Mammon sit crisscrossed in front of one another. They’ve been sitting on the rug that Mammon had put back in his room for about half an hour now and Barbatos thinks he should probably say something before it becomes too late to do anything. 

“Mammon, do you want to try holding hands?” Barbatos asks softly. 

Mammon hums, chuckling a bit, “I wanna do more than hold hands, sweetheart.” But despite the sexual innuendo in his words, Mammon blushes. “But yeah, we can hold hands if ya want.” 

Shuffling on his knees, Mammon moves closer to Barbatos until their knees are touching. Slowly, he grabs Barbatos’ wrist with one hand, and with the other, he digs a finger underneath the cuff of the gloves he gifted the older demon. Steady, he slides the glove off and watches as the fabric falls onto the carpet with a plop. 

Although it is simply Mammon taking off his glove, Barbatos can’t help but think about how lewd that was just now. With the way Mammon practically undressed his hand, Barbatos sure that if anything serious were to happen he wouldn’t last very long. 

Mammon grabs his bare hand with his and holds it firmly. “Is this okay?” 

Not trusting his voice, Barbatos nods. Mammon nods as well and then focuses back to their hands. Shifting his hand, Mammon goes to intertwining their fingers, holding his palm firm with his. 

“Is this okay?” Mammon whispers, red sitting pretty on his cheeks. Barbatos would tease him about it but he’s sure he is just as red as he is. Whatever composer he had left has been long gone. 

Barbatos nods vigorously, “It is more than okay.” He whispers back. 

They hold hands for what seems too short of a moment between them. The constant cheering and laughter coming from the ballroom seems to remind them that they should probably return to the festivities of the night. Neither of them makes the move to leave though. 

“So did’ya figure it out?” Mammon asks after a while of them sitting in silence. “That ya like me?” 

The words leave Barbatos before he can even think about it. “May I kiss you?” 

Mammon’s eyes widen and he pulls back from their space but he relaxes with the softest smile on his face. As gentle as a midnight breeze, Mammon places the quickest peck on Barbatos’ lips. 

In awe, Barbatos watches Mammon sit back with a grin. “Another one?” Barbatos asks. 

Mammon scoffs playfully before rolling his eyes. He raises himself on his knees once more and leans into Barbatos’ space and places another kiss on his lips. This time it’s a bit more of everything. A bit longer, a bit more passionate. 

A bit too short for Barbatos’ liking when Mammon pulls away. Barbatos, gripping Mammon a bit tighter, damn near whines. “Again?” 

“You could kiss me as much as you want, Barbatos.” Mammon smiled, “It’s practice.” 

It’s all the confirmation he needs to pull Mammon down with him and lock him in place. Taking one hand to hold Mammon’s chin, Barbatos presses his lips to Mammon’s. Instead of pulling away, Barbatos does the opposite and deepens the kiss further. 

He only parts from Mammon once he hears another round of cheering coming from the ballroom. “We… should head back Mammon,” Barbatos states, taking in Mammon as he fails to cover the flush in his face. 

This is ridiculous, absolutely stupid. He shouldn’t be entertaining any bit of this but instead going to stand he continues to do everything but go back to the party. He holds Mammon’s cheek and lightly plants kisses along his jaw before moving up to his cheek and then relatching to his lips. 

Mammon calls it “practice” but Barbatos doesn’t understand what they’re practicing for. It’s now Saturday morning and they’ve spent the last five hours of the night glued to one another just kissing. 

Their current position was rather promiscuous. Moving to the bed, Barbatos hovers over Mammon, his thighs spreading Mammon’s legs apart as Barbatos lays on top of him. One of Barbatos’ hands rests behind Mammon’s neck and his arm is curled under Mammon’s back holding him close. Mammon doesn’t lock Barbatos down with his ankles but does let his fingers run through green locks of hair. The most memorable part of their position was the kissing. 

Barbatos’ lips have come across every inch of Mammon’s face and neck by now. The only time Barbatos has parted from Mammon for more than 30 seconds was to change them both into something more comfortable. 

Even now, as Barbatos pushes their bodies together, tongue slipping past Mammon’s lips, groaning at the way Mammon moans into his mouth, all he can think about is how he wants to continue this until he has to get up to ready the castle that was supposed to be serviced an hour ago. 

Barbatos pulls away, looking down at Mammon who smiles back at him. The clicking sound comes back along with a few happy-sounding trills and it pulls a smile out of Barbatos. Pushing away the hair that has stuck to Mammon’s forehead, Barbatos gives him one more peck on his puffy lips before moving completely off of him. 

Panting, Barbatos watches as Mammon huffs along with him as he sits up. “This was not at all what you meant by touching was it?” Barbatos laughs breathlessly. 

Mammon laughs with him, “Nope! But s’greatly accepted.” He chirps, trilling away in the comfort of the pillows he bought for Barbatos. Barbatos’ lips twitch upwards at the sight. Mammon slowly blinks desperately trying to stay awake. With his hair a mess and clothes all wrinkled Barbatos can’t help but coo at the sight of him. 

He had to admit Mammon did look adorable. 

“I am extremely late for work.” Barbatos mumbles, picking up his D.D.D. and looking at the time. The countless messages from Diavolo and even some from Lucifer scold him for his lack of attention to his position. 

“Ya didn’t sleep,” Mammon tells him. Lazily, Mammon pulls the comforter down and shuffles over making space for Barbatos. He pats the spot beside him. 

“I have a job that I am committed to, Mammon,” Barbatos responds. He hopes that Mammon does not begin to argue with him about it. He’s always known that Barbatos was a busy demon. The time demon was not going to change his ways simply because Mammon had imprinted on him or whatever it was he’d convinced himself of. 

“I never said yer weren’t committed,” Mammon whispers. “But ya can’t be the best if yer fallin’ asleep on the job. Come lay down.” He orders gently. 

Pulling all-nighters is nothing unusual for him, but with the way Mammon opens his arms for him inviting him for a cuddle he can’t help but let the tired wash over him. As he crawls through the wrinkled mess of sheets and curls up in Mammon’s arms, he can hear the left and right sides of his brain argue over the decision. 

A quick text of not feeling well is sent to Diavolo before his phone is thrown aside. 

As he contemplates the past ten hours of his life, Barbatos allows the soothing melody of Mammon’s voice to lull him to sleep. 

— 

Mammon turns out to be a distraction. 

The week rolls by before Barbatos knows it and although it is completely peaceful, the itching of his greed gets the best of him. There’s a slight decrease in effort to perform his duties as steward as perfectly as possible, his attention in class cannot be accounted for, and there is a lack of care for anyone speaking directly to him other than his mate-sorta-not-mate. In short, Barbatos is a mess. 

He supposes that it is somewhat his own fault. Barbatos never truly let his greed run rampant as long as it has now. Whatever item caught his eye was quickly retrieved whether it was from this timeline or another. His greed was almost always sated immediately. He’s never experienced deprivation like other greed demons have. 

And unfortunately the apple of his eye this time happens to be Mammon. 

He’s all Barbatos thinks about as of late. What Mammon might be doing? Is he causing trouble or was he relaxing? Is he currently suffering from one of Lucifer’s punishments? Has he eaten? Would Mammon like his baked goods? Should he try preparing spicy foods? Would Mammon prefer a dish made by him? Does Mammon miss him? Is Mammon thinking of him? 

Dear all things sinful, this was getting pathetic. 

But the more he thinks about Mammon, the more he wants to be near him, holding him, kissing him—

The kitchen door bursts open and surprise, surprise Mammon strides in with a giddy look once he spots him. “I’m not here for long, I promise.” He says, practically skipping over to him. 

He pulls out a goodie bag and slides it to him over the counter. His fingers pat the edge of the kitchen counter excitedly as he watches Barbatos open the goodie bag and a smile forms on his face. 

“Ya like?” Mammon asks, desperately waiting for Barbatos’ approval. 

Barbatos hums, “I do, Mammon. Thank you. But may I pry, where do you get these? Some of these tea bags are not in season.” The last thing he wants is to be enjoying tea that has been stolen. 

Mammon gloats in the praise, “Haha, of course, ya like it. I am the Great Mammon and my gifts are the best!” He says. He pauses once he’s realized that he’s been asked a question. “Oh. I go down to the ports. One of the lower demons gives them to me in exchange for free labor.” 

Barbatos pauses before giving Mammon a disbelieving look. Not only because Mammon is doing manual labor just to bring Barbatos four tea bags that will soon be put on a shelf.

But because there’s some lower, not worth mentioning moron, is giving things to Mammon. His mate-positively-sure-mate! 

Just like that, a flare of Greed overwhelms them both, and Mammon’s lips split into a shit-eating grin. “Are ya jealous?” 

“I am not.” Barbatos lies. Mammon disregards his words as he walks away giggling but not before letting Barbatos kiss him. 

If the lower demon down at the port randomly goes missing, Mammon doesn’t say anything. 

—

Barbatos figures that he doesn’t really like Mammon, he just likes playing his role as the Avatar’s mate. 

Simeon tells him otherwise during their weekly tea. Luckily for him, Solomon is too busy bothering Asmodeus after being nagged by Simeon for shamelessly flirting with anyone in sight. When Barbatos catches him up Simeon’s jaw drops. 

“That’s why you asked me all those questions?” Simeon said, a happy glint in his eyes. “Who would have guessed you and Mammon?” 

“It is not as if I like him, Simeon,” Barbatos says, taking a sip of his tea. 

Simeon scoffs, “You just spent the past half hour telling me how nice it was to kiss Mammon.” He sets his teacup down on its designated plate. “Not to mention you called out sick just to cuddle with him.” 

“Kisses are nice in general,” Barbatos says automatically as if he were reading from a dictionary. He was not even going to address the other part. 

Simeon’s eyes narrow. “Alright, would you kiss Solomon?” He asks cautiously, analyzing the look on Barbatos’ face. 

Barbatos looks disgusted. “Absolutely not.” 

“Why not?” 

There is a beat of silence before Barbatos speaks. 

“Because… he’s not Mammon.” 

— 

When Lucifer stands in front of him arms crossed with a hard look, Barbatos can’t help but feel numb. He had forgotten that if he was dealing with Mammon he was also dealing with Lucifer by extension. To make matters worse, Mammon happens to be Lucifer’s favorite no matter how much the eldest brother denies it. 

“Mammon tells me..” Lucifer begins, unsure how to start the conversation. “That you, the both of you, are involved… romantically.” He finishes. Red eyes look him and down expectingly. 

Barbatos isn’t sure of what to say. To be frank he’s still making sense of the fact that he and Mammon are involved romantically and have been apparently for the past three weeks. 

“We are?” Barbatos says although it comes out more like a question. 

“Are you not sure?” Lucifer asks him. He then sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Please do not tell me you have let yourself be coerced into a relationship.” 

“It is only coercion if I am unwilling.” Barbatos mumbles, catching them both by surprise. There’s a pause of silence before Barbatos continues, “He tells me we’re mated.” Barbatos informs him. 

His words were true. After a long consideration of what others might deem make-outs and cuddles, Barbatos came to realize that he did enjoy Mammon’s company. He didn’t hate the idea of being Mammon’s mate at all. 

“And you are okay with that?” Lucifer presses, looking for any sign of displeasure from the royal steward. “Let me illiterate, do you understand what that means?” 

“It means,” Barbatos trails off trying to come up with the words, “that I am involved with a bird.” 

A gargled noise escapes Lucifer. “I just want to make clear that I value you as a friend Barbatos. But I am not above choosing Mammon over you at any point in time.” Lucifer tells him sternly. 

Barbatos ignores the way it sounds more threatening than basic shovel talk. He’s sure that the rest of the brothers will come to him one by one and present him with threats but he will deal with that later. Instead, he hands Lucifer a teacup on top of a matching plate. 

“Yes, yes. Aren’t you a devoted brother,” Barbatos teases before pulling a stool in front of Lucifer and sits down. “Now tell me, will I have to perform a dance or gift your brother a rock?” 

—

The night comes soon enough and Barbatos finds himself being pampered. Mammon suggested that he help get him ready for bed. What Barbatos thought was going to be a quick change of clothes and a tuck into bed turned out to be quick exchanges of kisses and nuzzling. 

Now Mammon has Barbatos sat in a chair as he brushes his hair. Barbatos sits contently, eyes closed, as he indulges in the way the brush softly strokes his scalp. The sounds of soft trills and clicks fill the room. Barbatos pulls away for a second before turning to Mammon, “Is this another of your bird traits?” He asks the younger demon. 

“Uh,” Mammon says, “I dunno. It just feels right. You could see it as preenin’.” 

“Preening,” Barbatos echoes. He summons all the knowledge he’s read about bird behavior on his phone last night and comes up blank. 

“Yeah, but ya don’t have wings so I’m just pamperin’ ya.” Mammon explains simply, going back to brushing Barbatos’ hair. 

“Ah.” Barbatos responds dumbly. He looks at Mammon through the mirror and figures this is an appropriate time to say what he is about to say, “I like you.” 

Mammon freezes, “I know y’do.” 

“I did not say it,” Barbatos tells him a bit sadly, “When you asked me the night of the event.” 

“S’okay,” Mammon smiles at him, “We have the rest of our lives to tell each other we like one another.” 

Barbatos gives him a look of confusion and Mammon kisses his temple, “They didn’t tell you?” 

“Tell me what?” 

“That angels' mate for life,” Mammon responds looking Barbatos straight in the eye. “We wouldn’t be mates unless one of us dies.” 

Barbatos, although he should be shocked or angry, isn’t. He simply grabs one of Mammon’s hands and kisses his knuckles. “Good thing we are immortal then.” He says, looking up at Mammon. 

“Yeah,” says Mammon. “And it’s not like we’re in danger.” He adds, giving Barbatos a saccharine stare back. 

“Who knows when we’ll ever be,” Barbatos tells him, dragging Mammon towards the mattress. Once the younger demon is tucked in, Barbatos allows himself to be nuzzled by the trilling fallen angel beside him. “Could be years.” 

“Centuries.” 

“An eternity.” Barbatos finishes. He plants one passionate kiss on Mammon’s lips. 

He’s rather glad that this dummy chose him.