#I hope they’re treated kindly | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

saintslewis · 4 months ago

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❝ 𝐊𝐄𝐘𝐒 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐃𝐎𝐌 | 𝐋𝐇𝟒𝟒 ❞

pairing: sir lewis hamilton x princess of zamunda!reader

summary: after many years, your father has left you to sort your love life out before you have to rule the kingdom. what you didn’t expect was to find love within your father’s favourite sport.

warnings: outfit links, smau, just read 🤭 (sorry for any typos!)

saint’s team radio 🎀: listen, i love ‘coming to america’ just as much as lewis and this being a 3 am thought made me too excited to write it. enjoy it, love ya! 🫵🏽💗

tags: @mauvecherie-writes @httpsserene @exotic-iris13 @motheroffae @purplelewlew @arshiyuh @alika-4466 @non-stop-imagines @hopefulromantic1 @vile-harlot @emjayewrites @yeea-nah @henneseyhoe @saturnville @greedyjudge2

pls like, comment and reblog!

fc: nomzamo mbatha

palaceofzamunda

liked by f1, mercedesamgf1 and 574,356 others

palaceofzamunda Her Majesty Princess Y/n will safely depart from Kigali, Rwanda to Montreal, Canada with the rest of the Royal Family for a motorsport event per the King’s request. We wish them safe travels!

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f1 very excited to host the royal family this weekend!

user i hope they will treat our glorious family well as the royalty they are

user princess y/n is so gorgeous

user so glad she gets to be our next queen

user sky sports and f1 have announced their arrival and have hyped it up so much…there’s levels to this kinda thing

user craziest thing is that they never say anything about prince harry or the prince of monaco whenever they’re there 😭

user i wonder which team the king supports

user fun fact our king loves ferrari but his fav drivers are 1644 and ofc other older drivers as well

user he’s just like the rest of us fr 😝

mercedesamgf1 extremely honoured to be hosting the Royal Family of Zamunda in our garage!

user i would risk it all for Princess Y/n

user it would be iconic if Princess Y/n gets together with a driver

user girl wdym, isn’t she married?

user no she isn’t, homegirl is extremely dedicated to her work as a humanitarian and as a country, we’d be surprised if she was romantically involved with anyone 😭

user what a woman

“Father, were the rose bearers necessary for the trip?” You huffed out, watching as rose petals were being tossed out on the tarmac before your father stepped out on the jet’s stairs.

“You know it is tradition, my child. Now, have you gathered everything before we leave this plane?” Your dad answered, waiting for you, your mother, and your sisters to exit the plane after him.

Holding onto your carry-on, the Canadian air breezed past you as you descended from the plane’s steps and gave the media a polite wave, wanting to get to the comfort of the hotel already. Given the warmest welcome from the airport staff, you and your family safely made your way to the official cars and drove to the Four Seasons.

Upon arrival, another warm welcome was given along with a bunch of staff issued to you at your every call and you did not want to say no as they kindly offered.

Laying down on the incredibly soft bed, you appreciated the aesthetics of your suite and took photos that you knew you couldn’t share with the public due to safety reasons so that just ruined the mood so to bring it up again, you called your royal advisor/childhood friend just to update her on your journey.

“And let me guess, the media was all over you guys.” Ama chuckled through the phone. “When aren’t they ever. A lot of them were from Baba’s thing we’re going to.” You said, rolling your eyes as you recalled the flashing lights from your landing.

“Oh, the formula thing. You’ll be fine, Y/n, just remember to interact with other human beings and don’t bring up work.” Ama spoke, squinting her eyes at you. “Don’t you have faith in me? I’ll be as chilled as I can be.” You said.

“Y/n my dear, should I remind you how you ran away from that one rapper because he wanted to take you out on a date?” She laughed in between her sentences and you wanted to scream in embarrassment. “Ama please, let’s not speak on that, it was enough to scar me for days.”

Holding her hands up, Ama spoke again. “Okay okay, I’m sorry. Look Y/n, I have to go now and I promise i won’t speak on it again.” She laughed once again and you just shook your head at her.

“Bye Ama, say hi to everyone back home for me.” You sighed out.

“Byeee! Don’t forget, listen to sexyy red before you go. She’ll give you confidence.” Ama winked then dropped the call.

Feeling your hunger slowly come back, you ultimately decided to drag your two younger sisters to get dinner with you. You knew the next day was going to be incredibly long so you wanted to do everything early to prepare yourself.

You made no effort to research a single thing about the sport that you were going to watch.

Your father had sent staff to hand deliver your passes to each of you, there were only two and had specified that it was from Mercedes. Luckily, they went very well with your outfit choice for qualifying that day.

As for your journey to the track, a clearly nervous Mercedes employee was assigned to you along with all the other members of your family having their own guide. Her first thought was to compliment you and you couldn’t have thanked her enough, with you starting to like the experience.

Sitting in the car was not awkward at all, you had asked several questions about the sport and what exactly was happening so that you would not be confused in the garage. A tour would be put in place before qualifying for your family then you’ll get to meet the drivers however most of the fun stuff will happen on Sunday.

“Tell me, is my skirt too short? I made a bold move with this outfit today.” You asked, the younger girl already shaking her head in disagreement.

“It’s a very cute outfit, Your Majesty. It’s quite unsuspecting unless you’re going to wear a sash.” Maddy joked. “Oh no, we stopped that practice three years ago. Another thing, you don’t have to call me that. Y/n is just fine.” You smiled and you could see her sigh out of relief.

The conversation had went on until you arrived to the paddock gates and quite the crowd had gathered and obviously they had to be for the drivers and other important f1 personnel. Maddy had informed you that you and your family would enter through a much more private entrance to avoid crowds.

As soon as the door was opened, you could hear the loud atmosphere of the track. From fans to the cars, it was buzzing and that had you looking forward to the rest of your trip. Following close behind, you could spot your parents and sisters walking slightly ahead of you and they were admiring the beauty of the scenes behind the sport.

However, the weather did not accommodate your outfit all with goosebumps rising on your skin so quickly. “We’ve got some hoodies in the hospitality.” Maddy reassured with a smile.

After a warm welcome upon arriving at the hospitality and the overly excited team principal had showed you around, you finally received the hoodie and completely unaware of the ‘44’ etched into the material but at least you were now warm.

Your father was at his happiest, over-explaining everything to your curious sisters and your mom was in deep conversations with the barista who was from Zamunda. The paddock club was lively with different people wearing colourful merchandise of their favourite teams and only then did you realize you hadn't seen any driver or their face even though they were planted everywhere.

Before you could pull out your phone to research, Khosi, the youngest, ran up to you whilst laughing. "I made a joke to Baba that you'd find someone here and the face he made was priceless." She wheezed out, plopping down on the couch you were sitting on and lightly smiled at her antics.

Looking over at your father, he couldn’t be more excited, his smile growing larger and larger as the Merc personnel continued speaking. “Toto will be here soon with the drivers and a few photographers from Mercedes. We’ll then head to the garage and pit lane for a tour.”

Without a moment to spare, several people entered the space including photographers, the very eager team principal and what you would assume were the drivers. The taller one walked in with his hands clasped together with a large smile on his face, his style could be described as preppy.

The next driver, however, his presence could be felt with just a step in the doorway. The first thing you noticed about him was his confidence followed by his outfit, a black tracksuit with simple red lines around specific areas. After being mesmerised by each detail about him, you got to his eyes which locked in with yours.

A shiver ran down your spine as the both of you maintained eye contact with each other, a slight smile on his face whilst chewing on some gum and you truly could’ve melted on the spot. “George, Lewis. Meet the royal family of Zamunda. King Akeem and his family have been long time followers of Formula One and we’ve had the honour of hosting them in our team.” Toto expressed, quite literally unable to stand still.

Introductions began and butterflies were flying around your stomach the closer you got to him. You could tell that he was your father’s favourite driver as he spoke for quite a while and even made a few jokes but you couldn’t hear anything, not when the man in the designer tracksuit was staring you down.

“Your Majesty, i’m Lewis. It’s lovely to meet you.” He finally introduced himself to you as you were the last of your family to greet everyone. You held out your hand to him and he gladly accepted it and you prayed that he wouldn’t feel the warmth of your palms. “Likewise,” You cleared your throat. “Y/n is just fine.”

The sound of your name falling from his lips felt like heaven, pronouncing it correctly on the first try just added to the attraction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Y/n.” He spoke lowly and you could barely keep yourself together in your head. You wanted to find more words to say to him, anything, but your chance fell short as the eager team principal pulled you out of your head to introduce the next driver to you.

The next few minutes were brutal. Your family stood opposite the faces of the team and you could feel his eyes glued to you, unmoving.

In typical Zamundan fashion, it’s in your father’s blood to brag about how great his country is and all its beauty. “And onto my eldest daughter, she’s quite the superstar. All her humanitarian work has brought eyes onto Zamunda. Y/n, aren’t you working on the STEM school project? She’s also a professor!” The King spoke with pride in his voice, making you want to hide in a corner.

A humble but nervous chuckle left your lips. “It was just a week of me teaching lectures, Baba.” Your words made the whole room laugh but his smile was the brightest. “But yes, the STEM project is still in its early days but a lot of students are interested which makes me happy.” You concluded with a small smile.

Lewis looked impressed. Wait. Since when did you care what anyone thought of your hard work? Especially a man that you knew would be a major distraction to the single lifestyle you’ve lived all these years. You had much to focus on and becoming Queen of Zamunda was at the top of your list.

But why not let loose a little? ‘Live a little’ as your sisters often say whenever you come back home exhausted.

“Is that so? Lewis here has his own foundation for kids in STEM, specifically for motorsport!” The tall team principal smiled and it took everything in you to look into the man’s eyes as you felt them on you.

“I could tell you more about it if you’d like.” Lewis spoke in a calm, low voice. You wanted to walk closer so that you could hear his words travel through you, wanting to listen to every word he had to say to you, every action he wanted to do to y-

Taking a breath and putting a soft smile on your face, you nodded. “I’d like that, thank you.” Talks of hot laps and tours started flying around but you couldn’t hear a word that was said. What was wrong with you? All this man had done was look into your eyes and you felt like you could melt. Lewis clearly used this gentlemanly charm to persuade everyone around him, including your father.

Watching him converse with your family had unleashed a new swarm of butterflies in your stomach, something you hadn’t truly felt in a long time. You had been with one or two people casually but none had ever satisfied you, only caring about your status as Princess. However, you had a gut feeling about something but you didn’t want to dwell on it yet.

“Shall we go for the tour now?” Toto’s voice boomed around the room with a clap of his hands.

Feeling a nudge on your arm, you turn to look at your mom as your attention was on the screens around the garage. “Are you going to bring him to Zamunda?” Your mother teased with a smile. Your eyebrows furrowed before you realised who she was referring to.

“Mother, I’d rather not talk about that now. Let’s just enjoy where we are now.” You put your hand on your mom’s then turned to look at the screen.

“He’d make a lovely prince. It’s okay to separate yourself from work, you know? I want you to live a little, my angel.” She continued, enveloping both her hands around yours.

You opened your mouth to speak but she beat you to it. “Don’t worry about your father. He’d be ecstatic if you brought this one home. You still have a lot of time left, Y/n.”

Knowing your mother was right, you breathed in and refocused your attention to qualifying. Lewis seemed to be doing well, even his driving looked attractive to you. Okay, calm it down girl.

After quali, the Mercedes hospitality was buzzing even though the skies were ever gray. Munching on a piece of cake, you offered a smile to those who would walk past and gawk at you. It was evident that F1 had made quite the big deal about your family merely attending a race weekend but you never expected this attention much on you.

A camera crew stayed outside and continuously took pictures of you sitting by your lonesome and you hoped for something to distract you from the feeling of being watched. Surprisingly, the crew began walking away after looking behind you for a split second and the cologne that suddenly surrounded you made it very clear who did it.

“Sorry if they were bothering you, your highness.” Lewis spoke, eventually standing in front of you yet not taking a seat across. Chuckling a bit, you looked up at him. “I thought we spoke about the title, Lewis.”

“Yes we did but I can’t let the media know you like that, only I’ve received the honour.” He smiled and there were the butterflies again. “If you’d like to sit down, you may.” You offered with the sweetest smile. Taking your offer, he never took his eyes off you.

It was quiet as he observed you. “What?” Looking like a deer in headlights, you placed your spoon down. “You’re a powerhouse. I’ve seen you represent your country and how much love you have for it. It’s admirable.”

You were taken aback. You hadn’t received such compliments from someone you were interested in. “Well, now I feel terrible because I’ve got no clue about your sport.” You spoke, covering your mouth with your floating hand.

“That’s okay, Princess.” All he did was say those words and you felt like a puddle all over again. “You’re doing that thing with your eyes again.” You pointed out, wondering if he could see right through your demeanour.

“What thing are my eyes doing, Y/n?”

“…I’d rather not say it in public.”

Lewis’ smirk widened as you said that. He thought it would be a challenge to try make a move on you as you seemed reserved unlike the rest of your family. “Why not? I’m quite curious to hear your thoughts.” He smiled, adjusting his arms to rest on the table.

“Not in your team’s hospitality suite.” You quickly replied, your eyes darting everywhere but him.

“Y/n.” Lewis just said your name and just like that, your thoughts became improper. Locking eyes with him, you knew that he was teasing you, something that you were never able to experience others.

“We can speak about our foundations over dinner!” You quickly suggested, barely registering what just came out of your mouth. “Dinner sounds perfect however that was supposed to be my line.” He joked and you couldn’t help but laugh.

Everything felt chaotic. You had returned to the hotel from the race which was extremely exhilarating and he had gotten a relatively high position which made you proud.

As you were leaving your seat in the garage a few hours ago, Lewis had approached you knowing very well that the cameras were watching the exchange between the two of you. “I forgot to mention how gorgeous you looked earlier.” He said as he was standing relatively close to you.

“Lewis! You can’t say that, the cameras are watching.” You whisper yelled, looking at the cameras pointed at the scene before them. All he did was laugh and turn on his heel before turning his head to you. “I’ll see you at 7 pm , your highness.” He winked and just like that, he was gone.

And that whole memory ran through your mind as you paced up and down your hotel room. You were all ready for the dinner but you were feeling something…different. It was normal for you to have dinners but this one had a certain tension hanging over it. You smoothed out your dress with your hands as you paced.

Another thing that drove you crazy was that you had no clue of what exactly was happening. You always knew the time, setting and guests of everything you did but now you were completely out of the loop but you had trust in him, as insane as it sounds.

The knock on your door pulled you out of your thoughts and you took a breath before turning the doorknob to reveal Lewis standing there with a bouquet of flowers you couldn’t recognise but your heart grew at the sight of them. Your eyes glided over him as you looked at his outfit, a white cardigan with black slacks and designer chunky shoes. He smiled and you almost fell to your knees just looking at him more relaxed and sexy.

“You look absolutely beautiful, Y/n.” He complimented, his own eyes moving all over your body. He couldn’t help but admire your beauty as you stood before him. You were the embodiment of a princess and you never failed to exude such energy as you did.

“Uh, would you like to come in? I just have to get my heels.” You spoke as you opened the door a little wider. The room smelt of a scent he couldn’t quite grasp but he definitely labelled it as an aphrodisiac because Lewis began feeling his hands getting hot. He made his way to the couch right by the large window as you closed the door.

You stood in the middle of the room with your fingers pinching your lip in nervousness. The tension could be cut with a knife with the way he was watching you. “Um so, how’d you plan this?” You asked, finally looking at Lewis but you noticed his eyes were slightly lower.

“Your sisters are quite the wingwomen.” He spoke, adjusting his body to sit comfortably.

“Right, right……”

A beat passed before he leaned forward. “Princess, is everything okay?”

“Do you think we could skip dinner? I never usually do this but I don’t think I can go another moment.” You blurted out, too afraid to see his reaction to your raunchy suggestion.

Another moment of silence passed and you felt defeated. You felt like you’d gone on too strong and that’s not what you envisioned at all.

“Y/n.” He called and you picked your head up to look up.

“C’mere.”

saint’s notes: you thought I was going to give you smut???? no 🤭 hope you enjoyed though! 🫶🏽

505 notes · View notes

lorelune · 8 months ago

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dreamer's envy

|| dan heng x reader || E/18+ || first time, comfort, lore || wc: 13.4k || ao3 ||

Dan Heng is haunted by the memories of a man he no longer is. You are all to willing to help him.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: ahhh!!! beloved dh... df... yx... this fic is a bit of a love letter to reader insert character studies and ship fic. making my two faves kiss on the mouth fr. thank you so much to @yinyuedijun for beta reading along the way!! hope you enjoy 💗

CW: reader is referred to with they/them pronouns and afab anatomy, previous dan feng/yingxing, descriptions of gore, descriptions of intimacy issues, author-created lore (plot crafted prior to penacony release), interpretations of HCQ lore, multiple characters experiencing post-trauma

NOTE: this piece is written in two points of view. one is from dan heng’s perspective, where the “you” he is referring to, is you, as in the reader. the other perspective is second-person pov where the narrator ('you') is dan feng. in these portions, 'you' have a cock and the assorted anatomy. these portions are written in italicized text.

Your hands shake. Your thighs tremble. Yingxing lays between them, your cock nestled in his mouth. It’s not sizable enough to hit the back of his throat, but Yingxing, ever the sensitive man, still has tears pricking the corners of his eyes. You stifle a moan into your hand, hastily slapped over your mouth.

Yingxing will not have it.

A strong, calloused hand grabs your wrist and yanks it. He pins your hand by your side, intertwining your fingers. He pulls off your cock with spit-slick lips and smiles.

“Beloved,” Yingxing speaks in a purr, soft and gentle and comforting against your ears. “You know I love to hear all of those sounds of yours. You’re not getting shy on me, are you?”

There’s a hint of mischief to his voice. You huff and kick at his back.

“Hurry up,” you snap at him. There's a bite to it; you mean there to be. Yingxing only looks amused by your tone— the only one on the entire Luofu who could possibly look joyful, when met with your distinct ire.

“Can’t I take my time?” Yingxing asks, licking from your balls, to base, to the head of your cock. You’re— wet. Leaking pre down your shaft. “May I undo you, my flower?”

“You’re an awful man. I will have you imprisoned.”

“You’d never.”

“You’re right, I’d do worse.” You have so many ideas brewing behind your eyes— ways to punish this wretched man for toying with you. Treating you so kindly and with such humor and wit. There is no one else like him— no one else in your many, lonely years who has lanced you in the way that Yingxing has. How treacherous of him, to steal your heart.

“You’ll have to tell me all about the ways you’ll punish me,” Yingxing hums, pushing the tip of your cock against his lips. It’s obscene. The skin at the corners of his eyes crinkle. “After you cum down my throat, though.”

Yingxing, that bastard of a man, takes you into his mouth against, bobbing his head, sucking and running the flat of his tongue over the bottom of your cock. It’s too much, all at once—

And how prettily you moan when you become undone (again) under this wonderful, awful man—

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

Dan Heng wakes up with such a start, he nearly vomits. He does dry heave, snatching the conveniently placed trash can nearby and dropping his head inside to sputter. Spit dribbles off his lips and falls in globs to the bottom of the basket.

He sets it aside and rubs the heels of his hands over his eyes.

Again.

Again, again, again— he has these dreams all too often. Of a life that is not his, of a lover that couldn’t possibly, ever be his. They’re visceral, vivid— as though Dan Heng is experiencing them in real time, and they’re not some awful figment that clings from a past life.

They plague him, simply. He hates every moment of them.

The pleasure of them feels poisonous. That man is not him. Yingxing— is not his. The body that writhes and gasps is not his own. He’s an onlooker, a distant stranger looking in on something intimate and dead. It’s torture, really, but Dan Heng is an expert is quiet endurance, so he copes.

He stands, still wearing day clothes, and drags himself from his sleeping bag on the floor. His companions on the Astral Express all stated their initial concern with his choice of lodging and lack of a bed, but they’ve since calmed. Everyone on the Express has their quirks. It’s like how March sleep walks, Stelle occasionally glows from her chest, and you only sleep once every few weeks and never in your own room. Dan Heng enjoys his spot in the Archives due to the various motors and machinery that lay under the floor. It’s warm, far toastier than any other room, or bed for that matter.

(He is not Dan Feng. However, Dan Heng cannot deny that his more draconic instincts are somewhat intact.)

Dan Heng throws on his slouchiest sweater, threadbare and worn, and wanders to the parlor car. An hour or so of pacing usually cures him of any antsiness, and he can nurse a cup of tea while he walks too.

This night, however, you sit in the parlor car as well. Dan Heng slows as he sees you.

You’re— an enigma to him really. Everyone on the express is a bit of a misfit, but you are a newer addition to the bunch, and he and the rest of the crew are still grappling with your oddities.

Dan Heng has, since the moment he first met you, accepted he would never fully understand you. He made peace with it, moved on and has kept his distance except when necessary. It is better this way.

You’re staring, side-long, out of one of the wide windows of the car. Your chin is perched on your palm and your perpetually blood-shot eyes are half-lidded. Dark circles are punched beneath them. You look like shit. You always look like shit, and you have assured the crew that this is normal, despite March’s initial fretting.

When you notice him staring, a kind smile curls on your lips and you wave, good-natured.

“Hey there, sleeping beauty. Are you doing alright?”

“I’m fine.” It’s not the first time you two have met like this. The Parlor Car is empty, except the two of you and the dimly glowing whale fixture that hangs from the ceiling. It feels familiar, much more comfortable than the... unwelcome familiarity of his own dreams. “I’m just fetching a cup of tea.”

“Ah, a night cap?” You hum, and crack your neck. “Sounds needed. That last dream of yours was wild.”

Dan Heng frowns, “I’ve asked you before to quit that, please. It’s invasive.”

“I would if I could,” You shrug. “But, I can’t. Besides, your dreams are loud, Dan Heng. I’d be unable to ignore them even if I was at the back of the train.”

“Can you at least not mention them?”

“I mean, I can not. But... they clearly upset you, don’t they?” You tilt your head, eyes soft. “Would you like to talk about them at all? I don’t mind listening.”

“They aren’t your concern.”

“I’m aware of that, but that doesn’t stop me from caring. I know they’re distressing.��

“You’re prying.”

“I’m asking, Dan Heng.” You sound a little desperate. Standing, you pass by him, in the direction of the passenger car. “You can say ‘no, my fellow Nameless, I would like you to never speak of me and my upsetting sex dreams,’ and I won’t ever mention them again. I don’t mean to be a thorn in your side, but the past is easier to bear in the present if you can lean on folks.”

Dan Heng is silent, stewing and stirring under his skin.

By the time he has a reply formulated, you have left the parlor car. The only sign that you’d ever been there to begin with is a patterned knit blanket left where you were sitting.

Dan Heng snatches it up before he can convince himself not to and returns to his room to add it to his ground-bound nest.

...

Welt had found you outside of a space station, idling around a refueling station. You’d been wearing a dirty utility jumpsuit with the emblem of some IPC-owned subsidiary screen-printed on the pocket. Your eyes had been glassy and far away. When Welt asked if you were alright, you had smiled and told him, “Actually, I’ve never been worse.”

The Express loves strays. It’s ultimately what he, Stelle, and March are. Welt to some extent as well, especially considering his several layers of mystery. Himeko has the disposition of a kind leader and the heart of a mother, and for all of Pom Pom’s fretting, they are always interested in a new face aboard the Astral Express, for however long they choose to be there.

It’s sensical that you were given a shower, a hot meal, and a room before you even fully understood what you were signing up for with the Express.

Dan Heng was, notably, wary of you. It was the way you looked at him after the first night you slept on the Express (one where he had predictably been plagued with images of a body that wasn’t really his being fucked and loved in a way Dan Heng couldn’t conceptualize his actual self receiving). There was clear concern etched in your expression, however you never voiced it. Not at first.

It was only after a few weeks that March pointed out you hadn’t slept since your arrival that you revealed your hand.

A bloodline blessed by the Aeon of Dreams, Sacha.

Dan Heng had heard of the Aeon, distantly. A seldom-traveled path, one for those with imagination run wild and a penchant for long naps. There were whispers that the Aeon was asleep, constantly. Otherwise, dead. Regardless, you bore the Godbeing’s blessing in some way.

You revealed this during a routine coffee break, just before Welt, March and Stelle descending to a little sandy moon. Perched on a chair, legs curled over your chest, you’d laughed when March pointed out your lack of good sleeping practices.

“I don’t need to, so I tend not to. It’s a difficult habit to break.”

You had explained to Dan Heng and Himeko that you and your kin, a race descended from a small planet from a dead solar system, all bear this blessing. No need for sleep and—

“I perceive the dreams of others.”

Dan Heng had questioned, immediately— “Perceive?”

“That’s the best way to put it.” You meet his eye and you look slack in your shoulders. Unbearably calm and tired. “What you dream, I experience along with you. The more I focus in, the more vivid it is.”

(Dan Heng is horrified and doesn’t speak to you for a week.)

After some significant, quiet panic, Dan Heng had politely asked you to not perceive his dreams if you could help it.

You’d told him you’d do your best.

And Dan Heng— appreciates the effort. Even if it's clear it's not working. You are so often up when he rises for his customary tea and jaunt, and tend to prod him a little. At least stop him to chat for a moment or tea. You’ll sneak in a cheeky comment or two, usually, but they’re so quick Dan Heng can’t do much more than blush and stumble over his next sentence.

You look highly amused and soft, those nights.

You never ridicule him, which he appreciates. More often you look pleasantly neutral, as if trying to emulate the aura of a familiar house plant near a skittish black cat.

(Dan Heng knows he is the skittish black cat.)

It’s— too much really. Dan Heng would rather bear it alone, take his cup of tea and do his laps, but he also can’t find it in him to tell you off too harshly. You tend to favor the parlor car, anyway. You get lost in the stars and galaxies they traverse easily. It would feel cruel to ask you to sequester yourself to your room simply so Dan Heng can brood more effectively.

Dan Heng does not know what to do about his own haunting (arousing) dreams, nor does he know what to do with you and your unfazed smiles.

...

You straddle Yingxing’s lap, thighs tense as you roll your hips. Your lover’s length grinds inside of you, stroking something small and hot and so good you could get drunk on it. You chase the sensation, selfish. Your hands are braced behind you, on Yingxing’s thighs as he is sprawled below.

His cheeks are flushed and his hair is a knotted mess. A hastily ripped piece of fabric binds Yingxing’s wrist together and secure to the stained wood of the bed frame. You were kind enough to carefully pull out his favored hairpin (a gift, one you commissioned him to make... for himself. Without his knowledge. Yingxing was moderately huffy about it until you tucked it into his hair yourself.) and set it aside.

Yingxing is not a weak man, but you are a Dragon, and therefore keeping him restrained and tethered is not difficult. Usually, you allow Yingxing the privilege of carving out your insides at his leisure and pace. There’s a sweet torture to it you have found yourself having grown fond of.

There is no other soul, mortal or otherwise, short-lived or long-lived, that you would allow to exert such control over you. Yingxing is an exception for you in so many ways. How dear this (foolish) craftsman has become to you.

“B-Beloved,” Yingxing’s voice is tight, strained. There’s sweat beading on his temples. “Might I persuade you into moving?”

You hum. Your tail wraps around his leg, from ankle to thigh and squeezes. The feathered tail flicks at Yingxing’s tense muscle and he jolts under you. A glittering laugh leaks from the corner of your mouth.

“Persuade me then.”

“Y-You’re not making this easy, are you?”

“I told you I wouldn’t. And you still agreed.”

“I thought the great Yinyue Jun would grant me some mercy at least. Excuse my wishful thinking. I thought that my dearest husband would forgo being a brat for at least a single night—”

You scoff.

You roll your hips, slow and deliberate. Yingxing’s words are cut off, killed in his throat as his eyes roll back into his skull. Keeping your core tight, you bury his cock in your hole to the hilt. You’re flush together, panting. It’s a tight squeeze, it always is. But the slight burn is familiar and welcome as you throw your head back and moan.

The sound is sin. If any of the Preceptors knew what this man did to you, he’d be drowned in Scalegorge within the day.

Yingxing curses in a tongue you don’t know— it’s his mother’s language, he once told you. He tries to buck up into your heat, but you hold him down and steady. Clicking your tongue and racking your nails down his chest. Thin welts rise in your wake. Yingxing lets loose a choked gasp as you slide down on his cock. The stretch is so, so good. You crave this ache. You fantasize about it when you surely shouldn’t. It haunts your—

Dreams?

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

Dan Heng wakes up so hard it physically hurts. He gasps, muffling a half-there sound into his pillow. It’s shameful. He feels out of his mind as he flips onto his stomach and ruts into his nest of blankets. The friction is dry, scratchy, and barely enough. However— the phantom sensations of a dead lover crawl over him. Nostalgic and tragic and nauseating.

He comes with a sob that he prays no one hears. He stains the front of his boxers as he grinds his oversensitive cock against the wet fabric. It’s too much. He’s too sensitive. It hurts, but Dan Heng doesn’t know what else to do.

He feels ashamed as he sits up and runs a hand over his face.

It’s usually not this bad. Usually he can will away any arousal with logic. Reminding himself that the pleasant touch and face he remembers is long gone and was never his to have to begin with. Only on a few occasions has he woken up disoriented enough to forget himself to actually get off.

He needs to shower.

Dan Heng blearily leaves his room with his towel slung over his arm. The showers are on the other side of the passenger car. Dan Heng turns the spray on the highest heat, cooking himself as much as he can bear. There’s a latent energy in him that always swirls, begging him to push and pull the water around him, harness it for even a moment—

Before Dan Heng can entertain such things, he exits the spray, flushed bright red with his towel around his waist.

As he exits the shower, he finds you.

You’re perched one of the plush couches, tucked into a nook in the passenger car. Your signature blanket is not with you. You look— like shit. Dark circles stamped but your eyes look alight.

Dan Heng freezes as you notice him.

“... You alright?” You ask him.

“I’m fine.”

“You sure, bud?”

“Yes.”

“Uh-huh.”

”You’re patronizing me.”

You stumble, “I don’t— I don’t mean to. That was just—”

“Please do not—”

“A lot.”

Your cheeks are flushed as you rub at them. Your gaze flits up to his then averts to the floor. You look... shy. It’s an expression he’s never seen you wear before, even when you were pulled onto the express filthy and in a heavily patched jumpsuit.

Something in Dan Heng’s chest squeezes. He doesn’t know what to say. He feels entirely too exposed. He’s not fully dry, and he can feel droplets of water dripping from his hair down to his shoulders. His throat bobs as he gulps you watch the movement with rapt attention.

He coughs.

“I asked you to refrain from viewing my dreams.”

“That one was loud.” You frown. “Incredibly loud. Like banging pots and pans, fireworks and explosives kind of loud. I couldn’t have ignored it, even though I very much want to. I’d love to give you your privacy, Dan Heng, but sadly the intricacies of your mind happen to make your dreams essentially unignorable.”

“Must you comment on them?”

“... I heard you crying after.” Your expression looks uncharacteristically torn up. Your lackadaisical smile and humor are nowhere to be found. “I was worried.”

“I can assure you, I am fine. You don’t need to worry about me.”

“I do, regardless. The whole Express does.”

“I appreciate it. Though, it’s unnecessary.”

“Of course. Sure. Because you’re the paramount example of ‘not needing care’.”

“I’m self-sufficient.” This time, he frowns.

“You are.” You stand up and walk toward him. “‘Sufficient’ implies adequacy, not prosperity.”

“What are you implying?”

Your hands ball into fists at your sides, “That you, Dan Heng, seem like you could use some help. I won’t pry at your past, I’m aware it’s not my place to do so— however routinely having uncomfortably vivid sex dreams about a man who you clearly have complex feelings about, probably isn’t good for you. There’s an inevitable amount of strain. One that I think that you’re ignoring.”

“What help do you think I need?” His voice remains level, but your proximity has him wriggling under his skin.

“... I— could be a decent listener. I have all the time in the world. I’m always around at night.” You struggle to meet his gaze, but after a moment, your usual, easy smile erupts on your face. “Or, would you prefer more... direct assistance? I could help with that too.”

“Speak plainly.”

“Was the last time you had sex with the man in your dreams?”

Dan Heng’s throat closes up. The cloudhymn that are under his skin thrum and encircle him, for just a moment. Your eyes widen at the colors and hum of it and jump back. You almost stumble. The surge of power and energy shakes the passenger car. The whale-shaped light fixtures dance above you.

Dan Heng swallows.

“And if it was?”

You look at him, really look at him, and your eyes soften. Your center looks wide and vulnerable despite the churn in the air, “Then, do you think it could, perhaps, be helpful to add some more recent, pleasurable memories for your dreams to play with?”

Dan Heng flushes so quickly, he feels faint.

The instinctual cloudhymns around him die in an instant. He retreats, a firm grip remaining on the towel around his waist to keep it in place. He mumbles out a hasty ‘goodnight’.

He is unsure if you hear him.

...

In the days that follow, neither Dan Heng nor yourself, bring up your proposition.

The next morning, you look expectedly exhausted, but do not prod or pry at him any further. You sit at the long table for breakfast and munch on a piece of bread and some jam while Himeko goes over your next destination.

The few times you look at him, your smile is lazy and easy, however you turn away quickly.

You continue to skillfully avoid him.

Dan Heng— feels a bit bad about it. Maybe a lot. If he enters common spaces like the parlor car or dining car, you quickly leave after a peripheral greeting. You must be doing so as to not tip off the rest of the crew that there’s some amount of… tension between the two of you. Under different circumstances, Dan Heng would have appreciated the purposeful discretion, however something about it irks him.

The Express’s next destination is a repurposed space station at the edge of a solar system. A false sun, powered by a Stellaron— something to that effect. Stelle’s bodily composition is of some intrigue to the scientists looking to craft a replacement, while other factions wish to harness the Stellaron more directly than a not-so-distant source of light and heat.

Himeko’s engineering expertise is being requested, along with Welt’s understanding of Imaginary energy. March wants to go due to the complex system of bioluminescent algae that teems in the space station’s plentiful aquaponics infrastructure. (“It looks so pretty! I need photos!”)

There are very few reasons for Dan Heng to accompany them; the party’s already full. There are even fewer reasons for you to join, who, despite all of your assurances, looks particularly haggard and worse for wear. Both March and Himeko mother hen you into staying aboard the Express to keep Pom Pom company.

Dan Heng should make an excuse to leave as well. Something in his gut tells him it would be best to keep his distance from you.

(It would be easier that way.)

However, Dan Heng finds himself waving goodbye to his companions as they dock at the small port. Pom Pom has requested at least a single treat from their excursion while they wave exuberantly from his side.

You stand on Pom Pom’s right, lazily waving as well. Your shoulders are slumped.

As Pom Pom aways to dust the fixtures in the parlor car, Dan Heng faces you and speaks without thinking.

”You should rest.”

You blink owlishly at him. “… That’s not necessary.”

”You don’t look well.”

”You’re quite the charmer, aren’t you?”

”I am being serious.”

”So am I.” You roll your eyes and shrug.

You attempt to walk away from him, but Dan Heng finds himself reaching out to grab your arm. His hand wraps around your forearm securely, firmly.

You still, wide-eyed.

”You can sleep, can’t you?”

”… I mean, yes?” You frown, glancing at his hand then back to his face.

“Would it help?”

”Help what?”

Dan Heng deadpans. “You’re exhausted.”

”… Dearest Dan Heng, I am always in this state. I apologize if my withered countenance has caused you grief. I am fine.”

You attempt to wrench your arm from his grip, but he doesn’t let you go. Your frown deepens.

“Being intentionally daft isn’t wise.”

You stare at him, “I’m not being ‘intentionally daft.’”

”I beg to differ.”

You mutter something in a tongue that Dan Heng doesn’t recognize. “What’s your deal? I apologize for getting into your business previously. I have been trying to give you ample space and shut out your dreams to the best of my ability. Is that not enough?”

”No.” No, no, no— that’s not really. It. Dan Heng isn’t sure what it is, but at this moment, his mood has little to do with your knowledge of his horrible, awful, persistent wet dreams, but something else. “I’m not upset at you for that.”

You stare and your hands ball into fists, “So, you’re really pestering me over my well-being?”

”Yes?”

”Aeons, Dan Heng.” You say his name in a croon and it makes him shudder. He wants to scream. “It really isn’t a big deal.”

”Is it straining you to not… perceive my dreams?”

Your expression goes blank. “I mean. Yes. But, it’s not a big deal—“

“You look awful.”

”You can’t have both.” You are clearly frustrated. Dan Heng’s grip is unrelenting. “I can’t— I can’t attempt to block out your silly sex dreams without a not-insignificant amount of effort. I’m either going to be very keyed into that pretty silver-haired man who you clearly wish was in your bed, or I’m going to look a bit more worse for wear. The latter, Dan Heng, does not bother me. Fretting over me isn’t going to make me less worn down.”

”And you just… don’t care that you’re tired?”

“I’m always tired.” You smile then, the same lazy, curling quirk of your lips that you so often wear, ever since the Express dragged you aboard from that rest stop. Dull-eyed and wearing a filthy utility jumpsuit. “I don’t want to cause you all any additional grief. I wish you wouldn’t worry about me.”

Dan Heng doesn’t know what to say.

“... That isn’t your choice.” The words feel paltry, half-there.

You pull your arm from his grip, thumbing at the spot where he held you. Your soft day clothes have rumbled under his grip, “That’s hilarious, coming from you, Dan Heng.”

“This is different.”

“How so?”

“Because—” Dan Heng clicks his tongue. Something— something simmers just under his chest. Something bigger than himself, salty like the sea and heavy like green stone that writhes as you stare him down. “Because my dreams are my business. The man— men— in my dreams are my ills to carry. They should not affect my present. You shouldn’t be affected by them.”

“Well, crazy, but I am—” You go nose-to-nose with him and huff. Dan Heng backs into a railing behind him, back curving. “Because I don’t like seeing you in pain—”

Something kicks Dan Heng’s shin and he hisses. You jump away from him with a stumble, looking down at a glowering Pom Pom. Their tail twitches.

“No fighting in my parlor car!” Pom Pom huffs. “Does Pom Pom need to get Miss Himeko’s ‘get along’ shirt?”

“That’s not necessary,” Dan Heng rushes to say.

You’re already walking away, out of the parlor car with a shake of your head and one last wistful look.

...

You tear your heart from your chest.

It is expectedly painful, even if you braced for it. Even if in your deepest meditations, you simulated the pain of such a loss with cloudhymn to prepare for this moment, on the off chance you would need to lose your heart from between your ribs and give it to your beloved. So few of Long’s scions retain the ability to rebirth with multiple hearts— only a handful of high elders, really. You can imagine what they will say about you, think about this act you’re committing.

Sin. And a painful one.

The blade in your hand clatters to the ground as you hold your heart in your own palm. It’s large— a dragon’s heart. It will not fit in the chest of a mortal.

(But, you will make it fit.)

Yingxing is— is— he’s dead. He’s a corpse on the ground below you. One of his arms is missing, while the other is twisted at a most unnatural angle. His star silver hair is a tangled knot in the dirt, Yingxing’s favored hairpin shattered somewhere in the foreground. The color is no longer pure. It’s a dirty scarlet. A mix of your beloved’s blood and Shuhu’s.

Yingxing’s eyes are half open and dull. Purple turned bruised-petal lilac. His lip is split and blood trickles from the corner of his lips,

This is not to say anything about his middle which is—

Not really there.

It makes inserting the heart easier. You think so anyway. Your hands shake (they never have before, not like this) and you cry (you have not cried like this before) as you shove the heart into Yingxing’s necrotic chest. You have to further break his ribs to shove your heart into him. Cloudhymn spins around you— a storm, a gale for you. It dulls the screams from your younger companion begging you to stop. A beast roars in the distance, above it all. The sound makes the air tremble and split. Your ears would bleed, were you a weaker species.

(A necessary sacrifice— she— she was already dead. Past saving. You only have two hearts. One which is yours and one which is now—)

Yingxing’s.

Your beloved flinches. Lurches as unnatural growth burgeons from him. He wails on the ground as magics spin within him. You are doing the most unholy thing to him. But, you must, right? You cannot lose him. You cannot lose Yingxing. You have given everything, always, as every self, to your role and its meaning— can you not have this one thing? May your beloved not stay by your side, however unfair and painful the circumstances?

Unblemished, ghostly pale tissue regrows from Yingxing’s body at an alarming pace. It rejoins his upper and lower halves together as he screams.

Yingxing’s hands wrap around your neck and you’re shoved into the dirt. You are not expecting the force and the impact, even less so. The air knock out of you and the cloudhymns shudder. The magics are thinner for a moment, you could see your other companions if you chose to. You could see how many Xianzhou cloud knights have fallen to the beast you created.

You ignore them.

You ignore them all to look up at your beloved. Eyes now a wild red, teeth glimmering white and stained with blood. His hair has darkened, silver turned dark, like it had been dipped in thick, viscous oil. Yingxing bares his teeth and screams at you.

“WHAT DID YOU DO!”

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE, DAN FENG!”

—!

✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶ ✶

Dan Heng awakens to a silent Astral Express. The trainship is still docked and it’s running on ancillary power in the meantime.

It’s entirely too quiet. All he can hear is the pounding of his own heart.

He scrambles to grab at his own chest— there’s no gaping hole. There’s no— there’s no blood on his hands (not real, material blood anyway . Various parties would beg to differ as to if he has any actual blood on his hands. But, the past is the past, isn’t it? These dreams are the afterimages of the life of a deadman. That’s all they can be. The man that chases him across the universe bears a different name and a younger face. The man who will always make time for him on a Godship, so very far away, may use his name ‘Dan Heng’, but is that who he truly sees when he looks at Dan Heng?)

Dan Heng dry heaves into his hands.

He barely manages to crawl to the little bathroom attached to his room to puke his brains out. He hasn’t had much of an appetite over the past few days, and most of what comes up is water, pile, and half-digested rice porridge.

By the time he withdraws and flushes, wiping his hand over his mouth, he feels winded. Disgusting. Sweaty and entirely too wet.

Shower.

Dan Heng methodically grabs his few supplies and walks across the silent Astral Express to the showers. He could take a bath— maybe it would help. March keeps minty bath products out and available that are so strong that they tend to pull any of the Express’s passengers out of a funk if used. There’s a little basket of them in the tiled common area of the baths. There’s a hand-written note in March’s perfect scrawl that says “Please take one❤️!)

Dan Heng snatches a few before picking his favored, individual shower. There’s a little atrium before entering the shower itself, where he sheds his drenched bedclothes and hangs them, along with his towel. He turns on the shower and idles for a moment, listening to the dull roar of it.

Water splashes onto him in droplets. There’s a (dormant. Dormant. He swears it’s dormant) instinct to ball the errant water up and toy with it with cloudhymn. The pearl that idles in the center of Cloud Piercer has many different ways to harness its power beyond a weapon of steel that—

(Isn’t his, is it?)

Dan Heng wants to vomit again. He steps into the spray before the nausea overtakes him.

The spray is cold— he usually takes cold showers, regardless of if it’s after a particularly intimate dream. He prefers cold water. He enjoys cold baths, but they’re a luxury he enjoys only once in a while, and usually for the better part of a day. He’ll stay submerged for what would be a worrisome amount of time (if he didn’t bear the spare parts of imbibitor lunae) and, despite his assurances, worries the rest of the crew. As sedentary and reclusive as Dan Heng can be, camping out in the baths for the better part of a day causes a stir amongst the express.

They’re a treat, a bothersome one.

Now, he washes himself thoroughly. It’s a mechanical and rhythmic thing. It soothes him. His breath comes steadier.

Dan Heng hasn’t had a dream that unpleasant in quite some time. He has always had the more gruesome— of tragedies beyond this knowledge. But, they’re rarer. He is haunted more frequently by memories of pleasure and that almost makes the shadow of Dan Feng more cloying. The gruesome are just that— gruesome. He has put together pieces of Dan Feng’s sin, though he refuses to touch the Archive’s documents ported from the Luofu on the subject.

Ignorance is bliss and Dan Heng feels knowledgeable enough. The breach between his own memories and Dan Feng’s is less solid than it once was. Dan Heng will more than likely find out with time.

It despairs him for a moment as he turns off the water and towels off. He feels— more lucid. Better.

He’s surprised that you haven’t sought him out.

There’s— no way you didn’t perceive that dream. Dan Heng can’t be entirely sure what you mean when you call a dream ‘loud’, but he knows the very real pain he felt during it could constitute as such. He listens closely as he dresses in new bedclothes. The Express is still quiet aside from machine hum.

Dan Heng could check on you. He thinks about it. Your room is just past Stelle’s and considering you weren’t in the parlor car, you’re probably there.

You shouldn’t have seen that. But, it’s not like Dan Heng can help it, right?

The tangle of feelings within Dan Heng writhes as he exits the showers. It grows even more unruly as he notes a change in the parlor car.

Resting on one of the plush seats is a hastily folded blanket, a still-steaming cup of tea, and a small, folded note.

Dan Heng approaches and reads.

i’ve noticed you like my blankets. take this one. it’s one of my favorites.

have some tea and rest if you can.

— [name] ╰(*°▽°*)

The penmanship is shaky, and clearly quickly written. None of the paper’s folds match up with each other. There’s a spill of tea on the coffee table that looks half-wiped away.

Something heavy settles in Dan Heng’s gut. He gathers the blanket, the tea, and your note and heads back to the archives with a pit in his chest.

Like he’s still missing a heart.

...

Things come to a head a few days later. The rest of the Astral Express crew is still sorting things on the space station, and you and Dan Heng only have so much space to dodge each other.

And, truthfully? Dan Heng stopped avoiding you the day before yesterday. Now, he is actively (read: passively but passionately) trying to seek you out. This involves listening keenly for when you leave your room, but lately, those trips are few and far between. And always occurring while Dan Heng is asleep. Pom Pom confirms this, looking increasingly uneasy at the clear tension between the two of you.

Dan Heng— doesn’t know what to do. He is good at running from his problems. He put Cloud Piercer through— Blade’s chest any number of times and hopped to the next planet more times than he cared to think about. He ran from the shackling prison, the Luofu, and its General without looking back even in a cursory way. Dan Heng finds sentimentality to be a new feeling, a new fixture within his person and does not know how to handle it. He does not want to run away from you— he wants to run toward you.

The blankets of yours (three in total) are in his nest. He paces the passenger car each night hoping you’ll reveal yourself. He hovers outside of your door, hand poised to knock, but he never does.

He does not know what he’d say.

Dan Heng does not have confidence in his words in that way. He can speak well— it’s an overhang from Dan Feng, and he is grateful for it, but on more than one occasion, March has (rather explosively) shouted at him for being so... blank-faced in the heat of an emotional conflict. The two of them occasionally do butt heads, usually when March is attempting to run headfirst into a situation without proper forethought, and those encounters have ended with March tearfully screaming at Dan Heng to just be “honest with his face!”

His lack of expression is also an overhang for Dan Feng.

No matter how well-crafted his sentences and well-spoken his words, Dan Heng cannot connect them to how he feels... effectively. It’s disjointed. Like armor made with incorrectly sized plates that cannot possibly be pieced together. Clothing created with a misdrawn pattern, never able to be sewn in a wearable way.

If he were to face you, he is certain he will not be able to voice how he feels.

He can at least— do something. Give you something, since you seem so hellbent on leaving him special tea blends you’ve stashed away and BLANKETS.

(Do you have any idea what you’re doing to him?)

Dan Heng stops trying to run from you. He resolves to do something or say something because it's better than the widening rift that’s currently being run through the Astral Express, between the two of you.

Dan Heng gets his opportunity in the late evening. He’d— feigned sleep. Intentionally. A deep state of meditation for long enough that you might think he was enjoying a dreamless night of sleep, however, he’d only be idle, waiting for sounds of any of your activity in the direction of the parlor and meal car.

Dan Heng hears your door slide open down the hall as he sits upright, cross-legged in his nest of many blankets and pillows. Your steps are quiet, the lightest pad against the flooring outside. He strains to hear you.

He does notice, however, how you move even slower as you walk past his door. So clearly intentionally trying to keep quiet for his sake.

Dan Heng waits a few minutes until he’s certain you’re either in the Parlor Car or Meal Car before uncrossing his legs and bounding from his room. He means— to be more put together about this. But, he’s nervous he’ll miss his chance, and you’ll retreat, and be gone for longer—

Dan Heng finds you in the meal car, poking over cold dinner leftovers with a sullen expression. Your brows are heavy, eyes dull. You look— awful. You always look awful, he’s sure you’ll assure him, but now you look bad. You look ill. Unwell. The oversized shirt hanging from your shoulders billows in an uncomfortable way. It has too many undone buttons, leaving a deep v, exposing too much of your chest.

You look up at him, eyes widening.

“I thought you were asleep.” You say softly, putting down the tongs you had been using. You didn’t bother picking up any food, your little bowl is entirely empty.

Dan Heng opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He snaps it shut a moment later.

Your eyes soften and you sag. You look like you could melt into the Express’s floor at any moment. Your eyes radiate... pity.

“Did I wake you? I try to be quiet.” You laugh, looking sidelong, out one of the many windows. “Sorry about the fuss. I’ll get out of your hair.”

Dan Heng is frozen.

You idle, only for a moment, holding your breath, before shaking your head minutely. It— it makes his palms sweat. You try to shuffle past him. Dan Heng is blocking your only exit, and you attempt to side-step him as he gapes at you, unmoving. Unsure.

Dan Heng grabs you by the forearm as you pass.

He holds you there. Steady. His grip is firm and unyielding. Maybe too tight, based on your sharp intake of breath as you wobble in place. Dan Heng steadies you with his other hand. Without— thinking, his palm lands on your ribcage and you jump with the contact.

You stare at him, wide-eyed.

And you face each other.

“You’re avoiding me.” Dan Heng speaks first. His words feel sure, but there’s a sticky feeling in his chest.

“... Perhaps.” You smile easily, despite how worn you look. “It seems like you have a lot on your mind. I didn’t want my presence and what it entails to burden you, dearest Dan Heng. I apologize if that wasn’t clear.”

“What do you mean by your ‘presence and what entails’?”

You look like you’ve been punched. Dan Heng feels ill.

“Exactly what it sounds like.”

“Please be straightforward.

“Kind Dan Heng, I am—”

“Please, explain yourself.” Dan Heng feels— frustration bubble up into the back of his throat. It’s acidic. He looks from the grip he has on your arm to your face, lingering on the chapped lines of your lips before meeting your eyes. “Why do you think you would burden me?”

You look at him sadly, “I thought we’ve been over this.”

“We haven’t, to my knowledge.” Dan Heng frowns. You look like you’ve been slapped.

“I apologize.” You shouldn’t be. “Dan Heng, don’t I know too much?”

He locks his jaw.

You continue. “You’re an incredibly private person. I don’t want to know about a past you’re clearly not comfortable sharing. I cannot help what I am able to perceive, however I can create some distance between the two of us, so as not to suffocate you with the fact that I know about your dirty laundry without your expressed consent.”

Dan Heng’s mouth is dry.

You’re an unbearably earnest individual. As mysterious as you make yourself, you don’t tend to lie. You’re blunt in a way that’s disarming, heart flayed open as if rended with a short, sharp blade, on display for anyone who would like to view and poke at it.

“I apologize for communicating that more effectively,” You add more softly. You place your hand over his, the one bracing your arm. You squeeze. “It must be hard to bear those things, and you’ve made it clear you wish to do so alone. I want to respect that and you, Dan Heng. My door is always open, but I thought it might be easier for you to not... be reminded so easily, by my presence.”

Your eyes are wet as you look away from him, to the floor. You take the smallest, most guarded intake of breath. It looks like you’re trying not to cry.

Dan Heng feels something cold and large in his chest. Big enough to swallow him whole.

He says your name, even and unwavering, with the weight of the sea behind it. You glance up at him, straining to give him your same lazy, forced smile—

And he kisses it off your lips.

It’s not an action Dan Heng thinks about. You’re almost close enough to feel each other’s breath regardless. One moment, he is staring at you with his own frown, and the next his lips are on yours, tilting his head to search for the best angle. The force of the action has you stumbling back into the wall behind you. The hand he kept on your ribs moves to your waist, bracing you.

It takes a moment for you to react. A startled little (whimper, a whimper) sound gets muffled by his lips as he cradles your jaw. Deepening the gesture. You react and— return it. Moving your lips against his, leaning into his grip.

Only to freeze, and shove at his shoulders a moment later, “W-Wait.”

Dan Heng pulls back, panting.

“You don’t have to do this,” you tell him. There’s an urgency in your voice like you’re scared. You nervously run your hands up and down his arms. Dan Heng doesn’t even think you’re aware you’re doing so. “I— I offered sex to you seriously, but— don’t just take my affection because you want to close the distance. There’s other ways to be intimate, you know?”

“I’m aware,” says Dan Heng. Your lips are just barely kiss bruised. He wants to make it worse. It’s an easier expression of the gulf in his chest that writhes with your closeness. “However, I want to fuck you.”

The dullness of your eyes is stolen as they widen. Heat rises in your cheeks. You’re stunned speechless.

...

Dan Heng wants to eat you.

As in, he wants to have you in his mouth, under his teeth and tongue, and get you in his gut so you never go away again. It’s— a draconic instinct. Something carnal and old that could swallow him alive. It is another overhang from Dan Feng. Such bloody impulses aren’t... uncommon for Dan Heng. However, he has learned to temper them with training, combat, and more recently, some expression of cloudhymn.

Never sex, however. Because your initial guess was correct. Dan Heng has not ever had sex, and the last time Dan Feng had had sex, he is fairly certain was a teary, bloody affair with a half-dead, bloodied Yingxing.

This encounter, however, is very different.

There is no swirling Scalegorge and broken, coral-lined streets. There is no sand grating against his knees over Yingxing's almost-corpse. There is no tempest of his own making, cracking the sky in two, and tearing the world asunder.

Rather, there is his nest of blankets and pillows, and your soft body below him. He straddles your waist, protecting the curve of your thighs with his own. The lights of the Archive’s room are dim, the machine hum below is lulling background noise and comforting. And you— you’re warm— not cold or bloodied. Your eyes are soft, but keen in a different way from the man in the echoes of memory. There’s no sharpness to you, not in your words or your presence.

You’re gentle as you cup Dan Heng’s jaw and drag him closer to kiss him.

“You’re thinking pretty hard.” You murmur against his lips. “Are you sure you want this?”

The question makes him— angry. He still doesn’t know how to voice it, so instead he pressed you down into the floor. A bodily expression.

Your hands tangle in his hair and stroke at the lower curve of his skull. It’s gentle, rhythmic and lulling. It’s nothing like—

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

Yingxing tears at your scalp, hands wound into your long hair. His cock is buried in your throat, bullied there at your request. He’s seated so deep that your nose is buried in the bristly, silver hairs at the base of him. His scent is intoxicant, musky and unclean. Instinct tells you it’s impure, but you have learned that’s conditioning.

You want to swallow him whole.

You swallow around his cock as Yingxing grinds into your throat. You gag, you always do, but Yingxing ignores you in favor of fucking your face with more vigor. The sounds that drag from you are obscene. Ugly things, guttural sounds. Tears drip down your cheeks, spit down your chin—

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

You kiss him softly, pliant beneath him and snake a hand lower, easily. It’s practiced. Like you’ve done this a hundred times. The rhythm of intimacy seems easy. You palm over his increasingly hard cock and smile against his lips.

“Does it feel good?” you ask, voice soft and curling.

Before Dan Heng can reply, you’re licking up his jaw, to his ear. You nip and suck and Dan Heng can’t help the way his eyes roll back in his head. He groans, rolling his hips against your hand. The friction is dry, but it’s something. Something new and different and not an arousing nightmare. But an arousing reality.

He moans at the contact. The sound startles him.

You seem pleased as you hum against his ear and kiss down from his most sensitive spot, lower, licking over skin with practiced motions. You nip at his collarbones, laughing under your breath when Dan Heng twitches with the pressure of it.

Dan Heng feels— thoroughly disarmed. The feeling grows more intense as you coax him to flip your positions in the next moment.

His back hits the mound of pillows softly. You cradle the back of his head as he moves and massage his scalp.

It’s— the care of it that feels different. There was clearly care between Dan Feng and Yingxing. Too much, in Dan Heng’s opinion— (they shared the kind of care that tore history asunder, love so brilliant and cloying that it could only bring sticky destruction). The kind you give him is different. There’s a warmth in your gaze which is foreign. Yingxing held passion and a brightly burning heat that would surely burn itself out too young. Branding heat.

Yours is tender, the warmth of a hearth you stacked and lit yourself. You beckon him closer with a smile on your lips and hands tangled in his hair. You tug on it, with the barest edge of pain. Dan Heng likes it.

Your knee slots between his thighs, something to grind onto. He can’t help the way he yearns for more contact, and seeks the friction. His pants are too tight, but he doesn’t want to remove them yet.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

Yingxing tears off your clothes. Your finest robes— the ceremonial ones, silks with intricate embroidery and beaded with perfectly cut crystals— are in tatters by your bedside within moments. Yingxing’s want is unyielding. The lips that move against your own are so much, and so good. You crave it. Yingxing licks into your mouth and you moan loud enough for your entire home to hear. Never mind your attendants and preceptors.

Let them talk. Let them gossip. You have never cared for legacy regardless.

Yingxing rips away your undergarments. Gossamer things, thin and mostly see-through. You’re already hard, leaking, aching for touch. Yingxing spits on his palm and strokes you. He doesn’t stop as you squirm. You’re not used to touch, especially not like this. No matter how often Yingxing takes you like this, your body cannot fully acclimate quickly.

It takes a moment.

Yingxing uses this to his advantage. He holds you like he has something to prove as he swipes away pre from the head of your cock and licks it off his thumb. He looks smug, smitten, vibrant, and enthralled.

“How many times can I make you come tonight?” Yingxing purrs, voice rough and silken all at once. You feel your cock twitch in his hand. He smirks. “What if I break you?”

“I’d throw you through a window.” You snap at him.

“You wouldn’t.” Yingxing rubs down to the base of your cock and plays with your most tender parts. You try to kick him and he catches your ankle. Yingxing, the bastard he is, presses a kiss to your ankle. Reverent. “You like it when I break you.”

“You’re terrible.”

“And I’m yours. And I’d like to make Yinyue-Jun cry tonight.”

It’s— humiliating the way he speaks to you sometimes. He adores you. He loves you. And for that reason, he knows he can get away with goading you on and shoving you around as he does. He knows intimately what it all does to you. The way your cheeks flush and your cock leaks down its shaft are enough of an indicator. No one sees you bare. Just— him.

Just him.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

Dan Heng starts to remove your clothes.

You seem surprised when he does. You try to take over the task yourself, but Dan Heng bats your hands away.

He wants to do this.

Dan Heng is methodical with each button and overly careful. He watches the rise and fall of your chest, noting how it hastens as he works on the last few buttons. The garment is pushed off your shoulders and discarded into his nest.

Seeing you bare is— vulnerable. Surely. You attempt to smile but— Dan Heng sees the cracks in it. As lax as you try to be, this is something different for you as well. Another mystery woven into you that Dan Heng wants to pick apart.

He rubs at your hips, up your ribs and to your chest. You gasp with his touch, leaning back to brace yourself on his thighs. It exposes you more, and— gives him more room to indulge. He cups your breast and steels his resolve when you whine.

Dan Heng has never done this. He wasn’t sure he ever would. It feels foreign and odd to touch you this way, but Dan Heng likes it. The heat that rises in your cheeks when he pinches your nipples. The soft puffs of breath and the sweat of arousal that’s growing on your temple. You roll your hips down onto his clothed cock, seeking the same contact he does.

There’s a tumble to it then. The task of disrobing continues, and you end up entirely nude on top of him, while Dan Heng is still fully clothed.

“... Is this more comfortable for you?” You ask. You aren’t... shy about your body. But there’s an unfamiliar squirm in your upper half that Dan Heng reads as discomfort.

You’re exposed. He is not.

“Somewhat.” Dan Heng lays his hand flat over his navel. He imagines what his cock would feel like inside you and he nearly blacks out.

“Why?”

Dan Heng thinks for a moment—

(It’s because Dan Feng liked power. He loved the games where he could have all of the power and control in his hands, and those where it was torn from him as well. He reveled in both. This— want is an afterburn. One that is not Dan Heng’s. Just like every other thought of intimacy and sex that Dan Heng has ever felt—)

“Dan Heng,” You breathe his name and pet his cheeks. You’re closer now, chest to chest. “Can you tell me why? It’s okay if you can’t.”

“It’s too complicated.”

“... Could you try to tell me, still? We have time.”

“I want to fuck you.”

“You can. After.”

Dan Heng frowns at you. He wants to tell you that— he wants it now. And that patience is something he has in spades but you are testing the limits of. Your poking and prodding, he wants to toss it aside in favor of the literal you in his lap.

He wets his lips as you look at him expectantly. You stroke over his cheek, soothing him as if he were an angry kitten.

“I like that—” Dan Heng starts, and his words die in his throat. What he wants to say—

(“I like that I can see all of you, while not revealing any of myself.”)

You seem like less of a mystery like this, bare and sweaty over top of him. There’s less of you that you can obscure. You’re not hiding from him, dodging him, or flaying him open with honesty while so much of you remains tucked away. You cannot hide your own arousal. Your cheeks are hot with it, your pupils dark and dilated, and your lips are licked and wet.

“Hm?” You hum, a devious smirk stretching over your lips. You grind down onto his cock, with enough pressure that it almost hurts. His eyes roll back into his head. “Can’t you tell me, Dan Heng? Why do you like hiding the way you do?”

Dan Heng stills, opening his eyes to blink at your incredulously.

“... Why do ‘I’ hide?” Dan Heng asks. His tone is rude. He internally slaps his own wrists then forgives himself, because in the next moment, you have your palm over his cock, gripping the length of him through the fabric of his pants. You flick your thumb over where the head is concealed and look smitten with the way his hips jolt.

“I am not a fool.” You toy with the button on his trousers. “Dan Heng, the Nameless, who hides and hides and hides. And feels so infinitely bad when a single card in his hand is revealed. The shame you carry, doesn’t it burden you?”

Dan Heng’s mouth is dry, “I—”

“You can hide like this. I won’t stop you,” You hum, still smiling, still lax in the shoulders. You run a hand up his navel, over his shirt, careful to retain his frail modesty. “Perhaps a bit bashful, yes. But, you’re hiding. How can you crave intimacy when you’re seeking it from behind a veil? Dearest Dan Heng, I will indulge you, because you are dear to me, but will it be fulfilling—?”

You prattle on.

Dan Heng is... seething. Quietly and carefully. Because, you are not wrong. There’s truth to your accusations. You speak no lies, yet the way you’re... delivering the truth is frail and in fragments. Your own eyes look hazy. Your touch grows shaky. Your voice is too soft around the edges for the sharpness of your words.

Dan Heng—

He knows that look.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

You have never had sex before.

You’ve read about it, because your Preceptors made sure you did when you were young. This was in the case that you were raped, that you would know what the experience was, so it could be reported in an appropriate and timely manner.

Your exposure to sex beyond that was minimal. Though Vidyadhara copulated, it was not for the sake of procreation. It was based in pleasure, supposedly. You had learned that the humans and foxians of the Xianzhou had sex for the sake of pleasure and power which... you cannot understand. You don’t endeavor to understand it, as you have all of the power that you need.

(You are naive for this, you will learn in time.)

The first time Yingxing implores you to have sex, you know the rote motions. You assume— that since he is a human, this is what he wants from you. You let Yingxing push you down on your own mattress, and you lay there. Yingxing speaks as he disrobes himself, then tends to you.

Each layer of clothing he removes from your body feels like you’re being cut with a knife.

You haven’t let any attendants dress you since you learned to adeptly use Cloudhymn to assist yourself instead. You frequently wear three, sometimes four, layers of silken clothing, even when you are around your own home.

No one sees Yinyue-Jun bare.

And yet, Yingxing peels back each garment without much reverie. He undoes metal and mother-of-pearl clasps with a dexterous flick of his fingers and a dashing, sharp-toothed smile over his lips.

You look down at his own chest when he pushes away the final layer. Your skin is milky, untouched cream. You’re too skinny, the muscle you have is wiry without enough fat. You watch your own chest rise and fall— so quickly. Too quickly.

When you look up at Yingxing, whatever smile he had worn is gone. He wears concern so transparently over his brow as he cups your cheek. His lips move, and you do not hear him. Your own lips still move, an instinctual reply even if you do not register your own words. You can predict what you’re saying.

(“I am fine.)

(“There is no need to worry about me.”)

(“You are foolish for worrying about me.”)

Yingxing softens after you speak, and thumbs over your lips. The pads of his fingers are rough. You can feel the heat callouses, born of friction and incidental burns. It’s so much different from your own flesh, constantly-healing, pure and so rarely bruised.

Yingxing deftly falls to your side, and scoops you in his arms. He smells like iron and smoke. You’re stiff at his side.

He speaks directly in your ear, nosing the shell of it, “As much as I would love to bed Yinyue-Jun, I can recognize when I need to be a gentleman about it.”

“... Pardon?” You swallow. Your voice is foggy in your own ears.

Yingxing’s hand settles on his hip. He pulls back just enough to look at you, nose to nose, violet eyes soft in the amber sway of candles in the room.

“Yinyue-Jun is very brave, for a virgin.” This time, Yingxing smiles like a menace. You punch his back and he seems unperturbed. “Let’s take our time. You have plenty of it, and I have enough to show you how to enjoy this well.”

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

Dan Heng understands, then.

In a smooth motion, he raises his palm to fit over your mouth. You stop speaking beneath it, and you snatch his wrist up in your own grip.

“If I am hiding, then so are you,” Dan Heng says. There is no waver to his voice anymore. “And you are terrified.”

You freeze above him.

It’s enough of an opening for Dan Heng to knit his legs with your own, and drag you down into his nest. He wraps his arms around you, chest-to-chest (covering you, hiding you himself, keeping you safe and sating that fanged, draconic howl in his chest that will never fully quiet). You remain stiff in his arms, eyes wide and you’re not smiling.

Your gaze flickers up to his and holds it, unrelentingly.

“I don’t mind doing things scared.” You tell him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“Will you enjoy it if you’re scared?”

“... Maybe less, but it’ll feel nice.” You shrug, nosing at his jaw. “I like you, Dan Heng. I wouldn’t have offered sex if I didn’t want to have it.”

Dan Heng locks his jaw. He noses down your jaw, down your neck, to the juncture where your shoulder meets it. The flesh is tender. You have your free arm draped carefully over your chest, covering your most exposed, vulnerable portions as he tries to do the same to you. Your breath is soft, bated as he hovers.

“I don’t want to have sex with you if it will only feel ‘nice’,” Dan Heng says into the hollow of your throat.

“How demanding.”

The bar is on the fucking ground. “I do not think so.”

Dan Heng slides a hand lower, between your thighs. You’re only wearing shorts, soft amiri-cotton that sparkles in the lowlight of the archive’s room. It’s a thin garment. It takes nothing for Dan Heng to cup a hand over your sex. With dexterity and focus, he presses his middle finger closer. The seam of your cunt is wet, even through the fabric.

“Are you scared or nervous?” He asks.

“Hm, what about you?”

“Do not dodge my question.” He squeezes over your cunt and you clutch at his shoulders with a gasp. “Just answer it.”

You consider his question, and open your mouth like you’re going to attempt to parry him, then close it again. Your lips are smooth, petal-soft as he thumbs over them, urging them to stay closed until you have an answer.

Dan Heng struggles with eye contact, but forces himself to stare you down.

“Both?” You ask behind his finger. There’s a hint of mirth behind your words.

Dan Heng frowns, “How can it... be enjoyable for you?”

“... That’s a good question.” You look far-off for a moment, not there in his nest. “Not quite sure, but I’m sure I can.”

There’s an implicit ‘I have before’ that you do not say. However, with the way your head falls limply to the side in his grip, Dan Heng immediately knows he hit one of your rare soft spots. He— he immediately regrets it. He’s in uncharted territory that he strong-armed his way into. And he— he doesn’t know the way out. He’s a sexless virgin who masturbates once every three months and his most emotionally (and sexually) charged relationship is with the living ghost of a man insistent on killing him.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

Yingxing does not remember much of his youth.

Dan Feng knows this intimately.

The short-lived have expiring memories that seem to muddle the old over time. Dan Feng cannot understand, as his memory is pristine and clear from the time he emerged from the ancient sea in a jade-colored egg.

Yingxing remembers the Zhuming, vaguely, and then remembers arriving on the Luofu. He vaguely remembers his first meeting with Baiheng, and sleeping on a little cot in her tiny apartment while he worked his way up in the Artisanship Commission. Lucidly, these are his earliest memories.

Outside of lucidity, Dan Feng knows Yingxing remembers more.

Occasionally, something will make Yingxing remember his unpleasant, smallest youth. The loud boom of the Luofu’s biggest fireworks. A snarling dog. Splintering wood. The scent of burnt hair.

It makes Yingxing stiffen, tense, and draw up in himself.

Dan Feng has done his own research early on. In his adolescence, Yingxing was nothing more than a scrappy refugee with nothing to his name.

Yingxing’s home planet, a lush-planet... abundant in jungle lands and river systems, was plundered by abundance. Borisins. Most of its population was wiped out. Yingxing escaped due to good fortune, luck, and no doubt sacrifices he couldn’t remember.

He understands Yingxing’s passion and revulsion much better after he learns these things.

It all enrages Dan Feng.

Yingxing’s fragmented memory, which continues to weather with time, can only give him the basest impulses when faced with something that makes him remember that frightening time. Even if he cannot remember in the mind, then he does in the body.

Dan Feng does not tell Yingxing that he knows. Yingxing is too proud a man— he’ll take offense and cause trouble. Dan Feng thinks it is better that he himself hold the knowledge, and soothe him how he can. Dan Feng can stew within himself, hone Cloud Piercer, and cut those who slighted his beloved.

It is something beyond duty.

An expression of care, one that tastes briny and bloody on Dan Feng’s fangs.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

“Can I help?” Dan Heng asks.

You blink at him. He strokes down your cheek. You hum and press your lips into his palm.

“Can you?”

“I— I will,” Dan Heng stammers. “How can I make this less... scary, for you?”

Can he?

Your gaze penetrates him. It’s something sharp, seeking. Looking for his weak spots for a moment. You’re searching for danger in him.

You soften and cozy up closer, a moment later.

“Just... take your time, and I’ll take mine.” You kiss him, and speak against his lips. “It’s easier if we both can ease into it.”

Dan Heng nods. He... he wants to fuck you. He will.

...

You pick each other apart. Bit by bit, piece by piece.

It is a slow affair, one neither of you truly lead. You spur Dan Heng on, and he follows.

He guides you when he can, when it feels natural and normal. You seem content in those moments, more relaxed and soft-eyed.

You do not wear a full facade all of the time, but Dan Heng now knows that you are careful to keep yourself skillfully hidden.

Dan Heng finds this out, intimately, while he is between your thighs, tongue against your slit. He laps at you, in the motions you describe. Your hands are buried in his hair, directing him with your grip and the gentle grind of your hips against his face. It is— heavenly. Your thighs around his ears, the scent of you. He left a few pointed bite marks on your thighs, which you had yelped at.

He enjoyed giving them.

You fall apart against his mouth in a way he hasn’t seen before.

It’s— so good to watch. When he looks up at you, you gasp, you whine, and throw your wrist over your mouth to muffle the sounds you’re letting out. Each gasp has Dan Heng earnestly trying to wring more out of you. He watches your eyes roll back as you crest. Your thighs clamp around his skull and a broken sound rips from your throat. He guides you through it, then moves to your hole, lapping at your essence until he’s sure he’s drenched in it.

You pull him up for a kiss, and lick into his mouth. Your hands shake as they pet over his cheeks and jaw. Against his lips, you tell him— “you did so well”, “that was so good”, “thank you” —

The praise is almost unbearable Dan Heng has to hide his burning face in your neck to escape the vulnerability of it.

You pay it no mind, and just laugh at him, smothering your lips into his mused-up hair.

It’s— it’s good. It’s good and soft and nothing like the dreams he’s carried with him for fair too long.

“Did you enjoy that?” You ask him, forcing him to look at you.

“I did.”

“Good.” You’re smitten with the answer and rub at his waist. You’d— clawed off his shirt at one point. Bare to each other. Dan Heng only has on his final layer of underwear that is increasingly tight and wet, with a growing patch of pre on the front.

“Do you want me to suck you off?” You ask. Your hand, gentle, slides down his front, between your bodies to rub over his cock.

Dan Heng— struggles to find words as you tease the head of it with the tip of a finger. The smile you wear is devilish.

“Maybe later—” He manages. “I want to— be inside you.”

He wants to be closer.

You look content with that, and pet him some more.

“In due time,” You kiss his cheek. “Will you allow me to be cruel, and make you wait a little longer?”

“It’s not cruel.”

“Okay, mean then.”

“You’re the furthest thing from mean.” Dan Heng frowns. He bites your cheek in retaliation without thinking and you squirm, pinned beneath him. A laugh bubbles from your throat, and Dan Heng can’t help but twin the sound.

“So kind.”

...

Time stretches out, between languid kissing and the feel of your bare bodies so close, the night and day cycles the Express regulates do not seem of consequence. It’s the most relaxed Dan Heng has been in recent memory. You make it easy to be so.

You have no expectations when you touch him, other than the easy exchange of heat and spit.

By the time Dan Heng has your legs wrapped around your waist, cock against your hole, he’s light-headed. He wants, so much. The image of you laid out before him, bare and covered in various marks of his, will be with him for years. There’s nothing lazy or unfocused about your gaze now, there’s only desire, so hot and needy that it makes Dan Heng’s throat feel tight.

You flex your hips, pushing the tip of his cock against your clit. You both gasp.

“Please, Dan Heng?” You say smugly as you play with the sweaty hair at the nape of his neck. “Whenever you’re ready.”

“I—” The words die in his throat.

He strokes up and down the flesh of your stomach. Your muscles are relaxed, soft. You’re no longer playing a role, he thinks. You’re here, wanting, edging toward begging him. The head of his cock is purple from strain and prolonged arousal.

He presses into you slowly.

You are stretched, and Dan Heng isn’t particularly large, so he does not see any strain cross your features. If anything, there’s relief. If you were relaxed before, you’re boneless now, taking as much of him as he will give you.

Dan Heng fucks you in earnest then, under the glow of the Archive’s many machines and fixtures. You grab at his shoulders and bury your face in his neck. Dan Heng didn’t think he shared Dan Feng’s proclivity for pain, however the way your nails wrack down his back has him throbbing from inside you.

By the time he spills inside you, he’s gasping, sobbing with each thrust because it is so much. Closeness— like this— that’s real and tangible and in his grasp and within his body (only his, no one else’s) feels so vibrant and violent, it cleaves him open. He comes with a broken sound muffled into your throat, sinking his teeth into the soft flesh there. You let him, spasming with the pressure and letting out your own half-cry with the pain. Dan Heng fucks you through his orgasm, until he can’t support his weight on his knees, and he falls on top of you.

You let out a little ‘oof’, and then laugh, wrung out and happy.

Dan Heng cherishes the memory.

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

You are most tired, but you must continue to move forward.

Despite your aching rear and scratchy eyes, there are duties to attend to. Never mind that your husband is in your bed, knocked out, regardless of whatever regenerative cloudhymns you could give him. Yingxing is mortal, and no matter how much of you he consumes (figuratively), it only slows his aging, never stopping it completely.

Yingxing will die, long before you do. And that is if he dies of old age and not the diseases and maladies of the short-lived. Or some violence that you and the rest of the Quintet will be unable to protect him from.

This will not do.

You enter your study with sweeping, loose robes. You tell your attendants to leave you be. Your ritual obligations are not until the evening. Until then, you will be confine yourself in your study and continue to pour over the scrolls, documents, and books you have been able to find. It has been hard to procure some of them— having Sanctus Medicus texts brought to the home of the High Elder would be treasonous. It has required careful planning to amass the library you have, and you are diligent in keeping it hidden. Even from your lover.

He would not forgive you, were he to know.

You have never been selfish, not once in your life. In any of your lives. You have lived for your people, the Luofu, and a dead Aeon that you remain the after-image of. You have played the part well, smiled when necessary and remained cold enough to rarely stir dangerous interests. You have healed many without complaint.

As you settle into your nest of pillows and blankets, and pick up your newest scroll, you don’t feel that guilty. You will let yourself have this one thing. If nothing else in any of your lifetimes, this one fucking thing will be yours.

You unfurl the scroll with a yawn. It’s a text, an old one, from the High Elder that followed Yubie. They lived a short life for a high elder, two hundred years. However, they were a prolific scholar. Most of their works have been hidden away with time, as some are downright blasphemous and utilize the Abundance in a way that both the Vidyadhara’s high council and the Luofu’s Charioteers could not tolerate.

This particular one has not seen the light of day since that High Elder’s time. It is titled:

[The Twin-Hearted Dragon Theory: The Permanence and Abundance’s Coalescing]

✶ — ✶ — ✶ — ✶

“What a weird one.” You say with a yawn. Dan Heng can hear your voice through your chest, where his cheek is pillowed on your bare chest. He— there’s a spot of drool that’s cooling unpleasantly. He blinks awake and rises off you, to rub the stickiness away, blushing furiously.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It was cute. You were sleeping good, for once.” You tell him and muse up his hair. “Besides, you’ve gotten me far messier than that.”

You both are messy. Dan Heng can feel the stickiness on his softened cock, and he imagines you’re leaking between your legs. He sneaks a hand between your body and gently feels along your thighs to confirm his suspicion.

You gasp when he grazes your core. You— you are dripping. Cold, too. It must be uncomfortable. Dan Heng frowns.

“Don’t worry about that.” You assure him, voice shaking. “We can clean up in a little bit.”

“Isn’t it uncomfortable?”

“Maybe,” you hum, unsure. “I don’t mind it, regardless.”

Dan Heng raises himself up off of you, and braces his hands on your inner thighs. He’s warmed with the combined heat of the Archives, his nest, and you. You’re chilled under him and— Dan Heng. Can’t have that. He can’t totally trace why, he pulls a blanket up and over your bodies.

You let him arrange you as he sees fit. He brings you to his chest, and fits your head under his chin. He tangles your legs, indulges in the contact and tries to transfer some of his volcanic heat into you. You look content as he does, nuzzling into his throat.

Your own eyelids droop.

“Are you going to sleep?” He asks.

“... Probably not.” You say with a yawn.

“You look tired.”

“I am,” You nod and push closer. “But, I don’t need to, and it’s hard to get myself to sleep. It’s more trouble than it's worth, trying to sleep.”

Dan Heng doesn’t think before speaking. “Has it always been hard?”

You pause, breathing even and slowly, “Not always.”

“Why did it get harder?”

You choose your words carefully then, despite your evident exhaustion. Your brow droops, and you rub at Dan Heng’s sides. Your thumbs skitter over his ribs.

“How much do you know about the Kin of Sacha, Dan Heng?” You ask. “It provides context. I’d hate to bore you.”

“... Very little. The databanks only has limited information.”

“Oh, you looked for me?” You nip at his jaw, playful, even as Dan Heng prepares a nervous rebuttal. You soothe his distress before it can get anywhere. “I’m kidding— and it makes sense there’s not much about us out there. There aren’t that many of us to begin with.”

“... How many?”

“I’m not sure, truthfully. Probably less than a thousand. Maybe half of that. Unless Sacha has... awoken to bless more. But I doubt that.”

You rarely mention the Aeon who provided you your sleeplessness and dream-seeing. You even more seldom mention anyone you knew prior to your time on the express.

You sign, “Typically, the Kin of Sacha work as mystics or laborers. Some societies we encountered saw the Aeon’s gifts as a psychic boon to be cultivated. Others, like the one I was raised in, saw the Kin as a well of infinite, tireless labor. You learn quickly under those expectations that even if you could sleep, it’s more ideal not to.”

Conditioning, then.

Dan Heng thinks back to when he first saw you at that rest stop. How you’d swayed on your two feet, eyes glassy and far away. How long they took to focus. How the embroidered logo on your breast must’ve belonged to whatever company you’d been under the employ of. Pieces fit together, and Dan Heng feels slightly sick.

“You don’t— need to be like that, now. You should sleep.”

With your hands braced on his chest, you lean back to look at him. Your gaze is soft, unguarded. You look almost plush with it.

“... I guess I should.”

(I guess I could.)

That’s all it takes, really. You nearly collapse back into the nest, and Dan Heng settled himself to be curled around you. If— If he still deigned to manifest his Vidyadharan tail, perhaps it would be curled around you both.

But, Dan Heng does not manifest any tail. You do not need to stay awake. You both rest under the filtered, soft light of the Archives, and that is all you must do.

#lore writes #dan heng x reader #dan heng x you #hsr x reader #SOUP!! COOKED!!#the format of this story was so fun to write hehe #enjoy loves <3

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tender-rosiey · 9 months ago

Note

hi hii (　；∀；) since its geto suguru's birthday today (03 february), could i pretty please with a cherry ontop kindly request something about it? can be suggestive or fluffy!!! bonus points if satoru's teasing him all the way through because we love an annoying bestfriend

in bloom — geto suguru x gn!reader

a/n: what’s with me writing hurt/comfort for characters’ bdays—forgive me anon, but I have decided to make him suffer a little first 🙏 and hey I am late again but what’s new 🧍‍♀️

suguru wouldn’t exactly call himself someone who views the world in a poetic way.

he doesn’t concern himself with the meaning of the sun’s particular position behind the clouds today or the darkness of the sky that seems to mesh with the rays of the sunset.

it all seems a little too complicated for his liking.

nature is to be loved, of course, he thinks, but he just isn’t the type to go into details about it.

he just lets out a small hum of appreciation and a thankful sigh about yet another day accompanied with a good weather and a sun that doesn’t burn his skin but warms it just right.

that’s enough he thinks.

but right now? he sure hoped that nature was the topic that occupied his mind instead of the incessant sound of clapping.

it plays on a loop, and when he thinks that it stopped—even for a second—he starts hearing it in the rhythm of anything around him.

he wants to rid himself of all this misery and being sentenced to relive this event in every time of the day. he desperately wants to forget it all, but he halts.

wouldn’t forgetting it disrespect those who have passed? disrespect the tears and blood spilled? disrespect the pain that his best friend had to go through alongside him?

wouldn’t mean that he is treating the friends who died along the way as a burden that he needs to dispose of? but if forgetting is disrespectful then the remembrance is devastative.

what does he do? does he act on it? does he forget it or not? or does he tried to find a solution, a way to rid everyone of this burden—but then he halts yet again. it feels too much. it is too much.

so he does what he thinks is best and he pushes it aside, neither forgetting or remembering it endlessly—as much as he can.

a bit of time passes, summer bursts through the door, and he has never hated it so much.

the sun is scathing to his skin, and the sweat makes him feel disgusting like those in the star plasma group. but the shower is a place that he fear? hates? despises? loathes?

the shower head never failed to let out drops in a rhythm that wickedly mirrored that of the claps of the people in that cult.

he notices the worried glances of his friends—those he sees anyway—and he appreciates those who ask about him when they get the chance to—satoru. still, he feels suffocated, and he keeps wondering just what will set him free from all of this.

in what form will salvation come in?

it came discreetly, that’s what he knows, but he doesn’t know when.

he doesn’t know when he started to seek the sun’s heat more, the darkness’ quietness, or the fields behind his school, especially the fields behind the school. flowers are nice, but what role do they play?

they simply just exist. they do nothing effective to help him with solving his inner turmoil, so why does he sit in the field, gently playing with the petals of an iris?

it’s a lot of questions. he knows. he is also searching for answers.

and salvation? he doesn’t expect it to come in the form of you.

he doesn’t know when you made your way into his heart, and he knows that he started looking forward to your “good morning, geto!” to transform into a “good morning, suguru?”

maybe because he cared about you, but why does he do that? then he remembers some stuff. they’re minor, but they are what he remembers at the moment, and he thinks they’re enough.

he remembers the worried glances of his friends—you—and he appreciates those who ask about him when they get the chance to—you then satoru.

he starts to remember how you followed him and never left him to his thoughts, always considerate of his feelings and asking him to convey what he truly wanted.

like that one time you going to buy meals for everyone. after you asked everyone their preferences, you went to him—leaving him for last and at the time, he remembers feeling a little offended because why?

you asked the same question that you asked to everyone, “what would you like to eat?”

and he replied with his constant at that time, “i am not that hungry, but satoru probably wants something sweet so you can get him kikufuku.”

“I already asked gojo what he wants. what do you want to eat?”

he stills for a moment, and he opens his mouth to speak, but no words come out. you roll your eyes with a smile, ignoring his malfunctioning, and ask him something else, “what’s your favorite food?”

he blinks before murmuring softly, “zaru soba.”

“see? that wasn’t so hard, was it?” you smile and ruffle his before running away yelling, “the best zaru soba is on the way!”

in that moment, he couldn’t help softening his expression and the small smile that appeared.

another thing that he had assumed is that this journey through these thoughts would be a solo one.

last thing he expected was you dragging him out to the roof of the school before asking him right away, “what’s on your mind?”

he resists. it’s not your burden to shoulder, and, frankly, it’s none of your business, so why should he tell you?

so he doesn’t and replies lightly, “nothing.”

for some reason, when your expression becomes ridden with sympathy and sadness and your hands gently hold his own, he feels something.

your thumb rubs his hand soothingly as you murmur, “it’s okay; you don’t have to say anything just—“ you take a deep breath “—just know that I am here for you, and I am trying to understand—“

“why?”

your eyes travel to his face, and he is barely keeping it together.

“why did she have to go through that? why were they delighted in her deaths?”

you listened to all his questions and thought of answers together. words never stopped flowing from him, and you never stopped indulging him. he remembers that first ray of sun that hit his eyes.

he had been spilling his emotions till sunrise, and you stayed. you weren’t talking to him like he is crazy either. you discussed it through and through.

you stayed, and you were trying to understand.

then he figures out that you frequent the fields behind the school. you tell him that you go there because sometimes you just need a break from everything that surrounds jujutsu and the school itself.

he finds himself agreeing that, yes, sometimes we need a break.

at some point, he finds himself going there with you. the two of you talked about anything, not just the thoughts that plagued his mind (plagued?).

satoru bugs him about where he goes after school, but he tells him nothing. he feels that letting the secret of the fields being known by anyone other than you two makes it lose something to him.

gradually, he starts going there before you. while he waits, he finds himself thinking about how the sky is brighter nowadays. maybe it’s the seasons or some kind science stuff that satoru is into.

he laughs off the thought then he begins to see your figure approaching the field, slowly but surely.

he takes in your shocked face then the smile that creeps up your face. suddenly, the sun shone brighter, but a small breeze kept him cool.

that’s when he realized that spring has entered, and the daffodils are finally in bloom.

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do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

#jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk imagines #geto x reader #geto x y/n #geto x you #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x y/n #suguru x reader #suguru x y/n #suguru x you #jjk x y/n #jjk geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen x you

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speakergame · 9 months ago

Text

Progress Update - 3/4/24

Hello and happy March!

It’s been a while, hasn’t it? 😅 Well, I finally have some good news for you this time: I have some actual news!

I'm happy to be able to announce at last that an update is on its way! I’ve still got some assets to make and code cleanup and testing to finish, but I should finally have something to show you soon.

I’ll put a cut at the end of this and go into more detail about the what and why of what I’ve been working on during this long and unintended hiatus, but the tl;dr is that I hope to have an update out by the end of the month, and that said update will break any saves made in Chapter 4. Unfortunate, but unavoidable, since Chapter 4 had to be recoded from the beginning 😞

I just want to thank all of you once again for sticking with me through my extended silence! Especially to my patrons who’ve put up with me putting everything on pause month after month while I dealt with my real life shit, and to everyone who’s sent me kind and supportive messages to let me know Speaker hasn’t been forgotten. It really means a lot to me.

Okay, enough of that sappy shit! I’m gonna get back to work finishing this up 😁 I’ll put out another update later this month once I have a more definite release date.

Thank you all for reading! I hope you’re having a fantastic 2024 so far, and that the rest of the week treats you kindly. See y’all soon! 💙💙💙

(For those who want a more detailed breakdown on what’s been happening and what to expect, hit the readmore)

I won’t go into the personal life stuff I’ve been dealing with this past year that has slowed down my work, but as far as the actual game goes:

To put it simply, I just wasn’t happy with it. Some of it could be because of how many times I had to reread the same section while I was coding the scenes that would’ve taken place after the last update, but no matter how much I edited or rearranged it, I didn’t like how that scene turned out. There was something… formulaic that had been happening with the way I always laid out scenes, and a bit of stagnation in the story, character, and relationship development that bothered me.

So I rewrote it. And when I still didn’t like it, I rewrote it again. And I still didn’t like it. I thought about scrapping the whole thing on more than one occasion as I struggled to get out of the corner I’d written myself into.

Inspiration finally struck at the beginning of this year, thanks in part to another interactive novel I follow, and I really like the direction I’ve taken it now.

Instead of the RO split scenes happening where the last one left off, Speaker, Seer, and Gavin are gonna have a chat about Things™ to move the next story arc forward. Then Speaker will get some downtime, by themself at first and then in an extended scene split with the RO of their choosing.

All the Big Plot Things that were going to happen in Chapter 4 will be moved to Chapter 5 instead, and 4 will be a bit more of a filler episode. A deep breath before the plunge, as it were.

This split won’t just be a quick conversation/reaction from the RO, but a full on different direction for the rest of the chapter based on who you choose. Most of them will involve leaving the house; all of them will involve actual one-on-one time (or one-on-two time, as the case may be) away from the others. And though romance isn’t required, all of them will have the potential to really move the romance forward if you so choose. One or two might even have a lock-in choice (maybe. I’m not 100 percent on that, so don’t hold me to it)

These scenes won’t be in the next update, because they’re all very complex, but the update will definitely have the Seer chat and at least some of the by-yourself stuff. The update after will have the rest of the alone time stuff (including the clothes/body CC you’ve all been waiting for), and then the one after will start the RO scenes. I think.

I may actually split the RO scenes into separate updates, and let my darlings over at Patreon vote for the order they’re released. That way I can focus on one at a time instead of trying to split my attention six ways at once.

Okay, that’s enough rambling for me today. Time to get back to work! Still got a lot to get done before this is ready, but it’s so close now.

#speaker game #progress update #so happy to finally have some progress to update about XD #maybe I can finally start answering some asks again too and fully resurrect this poor blog

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bluetimeombre · 10 months ago

Text

⭒❃.✮:▹Call it what you want to, part 4!

[finally!! Here’s part 4, sorry it took so long to get up, I’ve been working on many other things that I want to share. Hope you like this one, the next part will be the final FINAL]

liked by... tchalamet, florencepugh, zendaya, tomblyth, tayrussell & others

yourusername: happy birthday tchalamet!! one of these days you'll bring back lil timmy tim. see you soon!!

1.1m likes 603k comments

user: 'see you soon?!' they're happening!

user: yourusername being the biggest timmy tim fan is the best thing ever

user: i love them

tchalamet: thank you daisy, my daisy

yourusername liked his comment

tchalamet: can't wait to see you

user: ur honour, they're in live

user: HE CALLS HER MY DAISY LIKE THEIR CHARACTERS IN WONKA IM DECEACED

user: hate to be tom rn

user: catch up, they're not together

user: they're not!?

user: happy birthday timmy

user: she's so sweet, urg love her

user: parents

user: i LOVED WONKA

user: isn't timmy in new york and she's been seen alone in london? does that mean they're going to each other

user: we are being fed

user: i swear he was just with kylie

user: they're so cute, you can tell timothee is so in love with her

⭒❃.✮:▹

timothee chalamet is texting ... you

⭒❃.✮:▹

tchalamet posted on his story…

Caption, 28!

liked by … tomblyth, joshandresrivera, tchalamet, zendaya & others

yourusername: nyc, treat me kindly xoxo

903k likes 655k comments

user: cute!!!!

user: dying rn

user: they’re together for the new year!!! r u kidding me!!!

user: looks like we know what timmy has planned for new years

user: PLS THEYRE so cute

user: no hate to my parents or I’ll kill you

user: mom, I’m going back to dads house

tomblyth: is that my shirt?

yourusername: u mean the shirt you LITERALLY gave me, stfu

user: not together my ass!!!!

user: tomblyth and yourusername all the way

user: she went to new york for his birthday and for new years, she’s in love with him

user: tchalamet and yourusername >>>

user: her and tom are so cute but as friends

user: her and timmy are literal goals

⭒❃.✮:▹

user: GUYS!!! LOOK AT THEM AHH, tchalamet and yourusername at his apartment in New York! They’re so IN LOVE

101k likes 45k comments

user: WHAT

user: what about Tom :(((((

user: she basically just lied in her vanity fair to make herself not look like a whore

user: slut

user: awwww I love them

user: she’s leading tom on

user: she was literally making out with tom like two months ago

user: how could she do this?

user: timmy needs to leave her

user: save timmy!

⭒❃.✮:▹

liked by…. yourusername, tchalamet, rachelzegler & hunterschafer

tomblyth: if you don’t have anything nice to say about one of my favourite FRIENDS then kindly shut the fuck up

1.3m likes comments restricted

⭒❃.✮:▹

taglist: @darlingisntit @hazzapotter @gotta-go-now @lucy-loaf @drewskeyyx @ennycutie @sparklingsounds @hoely-maria @callsignwidow @kodzuvk @dangelnleif @coconut-dreamz @destrolid @hermionelove @popejar @yesimwriting @slytherhoes @peachesandmon @zunin-msty (thank you all for enjoying it!!!!!

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inanotherunivrse · 5 months ago

Text

In another universe, my mom and dad never meet. In another universe, my mother gets to fulfil all the dreams she saw as a bright and hopeful little girl. In another universe, my father is treated kindly in his childhood, and he doesn't feel the need to take out his resentment on others. In another universe, they both live the lives they wanted, separately. In another universe, they're happy. In another universe, I don't have to suffer because of their misery.

#submission

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yelenasdiary · 3 months ago

Note

What about something with Yelena dating reader and reader is a "cat girl", like, she loves cats so much and has 4 and yelena didn't know this till they were already dating ~ 🐳

Adorable Cat Lady

Pairing: Yelena Belova x Fem! Reader

Summary: You have Yelena over for dinner one your fourth date to which she finds out a new fact about you.

Fluff

Warnings: None | 1K

Translations: Detka (baby),

AC: Thank you for sending this!! I decided to use this as a little shout out to my own cat, Mazda, who does make an appearance in this! I hope you enjoy! x

You had just turned the store off when Yelena knocked softly on your front door. It was officially your fourth date with the ex-widow, and you had offered to cook for her instead of going out. As much as you felt more comfortable in a public setting, you soon realized just how much more of Yelena you wanted to get to know and what better way to do that than over a cooked meal in a place a little more quieter than a restaurant?

“You made it!” You smiled at the blonde, “I was starting to think you might have gotten lost in the neighbourhood” you added teasingly. Yelena chuckled, “We have these cool things called GPS’s now, if you didn’t already know” she replied making you laugh, “very funny! Please come in” you replied, opening the door more for her.

“I got you these, I wasn’t sure what to bring” she said, handing you some flowers and a bag of your favorite potato chips. You took them kindly, thanking her by placing a soft kiss on her cheek, “that’s very sweet of you, thank you” you replied softly.

You lead Yelena into your home, giving her a little tour of your small home before returning to the dining room. “I’ve cooked your favourite, but with a little twist!” You said happily.

“A twist?” Yelena questioned, taking off her coat and neatly hanging it over the back of her chair. “Let’s just say I hope you like spicy food” you hinted, giving her a cheeky smirk just as your eldest cat jumped up onto the chair you had just pulled out for yourself.

“Woah! You didn’t tell me you had a cat” Yelena said, looking up at you.

“Oh, I have four! This is Misty, she’s my eldest. Then there is Patches, Zuzu and Milo” you replied proudly, “they’re all rescue cats” you added. Yelena smiled softly, “I can’t believe I had to wait until our fourth dated for you to tell me this”

“I didn’t want you to think I was some crazy cat lady” you replied, chuckling. “I’ll be right back, I’ll feed them and then I can dish up our dinner” you added with another smile before dashing off to the kitchen. The sound of you opening a can of cat food soon had the other three of your cats running towards the kitchen, Misty following as you began to dish up their food.

While Yelena waited, she soon noticed just how much you loved cats, the two empty classes on the table had small cat paw prints printed on them, you had a few photos of your cats in frames on the wall, on the small display cabinet that Yelena could see; there was some small cat merchandise like items sitting proudly. She smiled to herself before she noticed you walking by the kitchen and into the living room, opening up the window and placing a small plate of cat food on the bench.

“You have a fifth cat I don’t know about?” Yelena asked sarcastically.

“No, I just like to feed the neighbour’s cat a little treat, her name is Mazda” you replied before making your way back to the kitchen. You dished up the hot meal you had just spent the last couple of hours making before returning to the dining room and placing a plate in front of Yelena.

“Thank you, adorable little cat lady” the blonde smiled making you chuckle, “you’re welcome little miss smart arse! I hope you like it, its one-pot chilli mac and cheese” you replied before taking a seat across from her. “Detka, I’m Russian. I drink straight vodka and not once have I thought about adding chilli to my mac and cheese! You’re a genius!” She complimented.

“I’ve never made it before, so I hope it’s good” you smiled softly before the two of you dug in.

After dinner and the countless compliments Yelena gave you on your cooking, you introduced her to your other three cats. Zuzu was a little more shy than the others and took a few moments to warm up to Yelena but once she did, she didn’t leave Yelena’s side.

“Which one did you rescue first?” Yelena asked with Zuzu in her lap.

“Zuzu actually! She was a year old when I adopted her, then a week later I adopted Patches. She’s a little older than Zuzu but they were good together, played all the time! Made an absolute mess of my house when I wasn’t home!” You replied, remembering the time the two cats were younger. “Then I got a call from a friend who works at a shelter, and she said that Misty was on basically on her last life, I couldn’t say no. So, I brought her home and she quickly became a mother figure to Zuzu and Patches. Then came Milo, my shy baby” you added, smiling softly.

“And the stray outside? You haven’t adopted that one yet?” Yelena questioned making you chuckle, “Mazda isn’t a stray, she lives next door, I just love giving her a treat every night” you replied.

“Did you name her after the car or?”

You shook your head, “no, that was the owner. Not sure why though but it suits her”

“Honestly, I knew you had cats, I would’ve taken you to the cat café for our first date” Yelena smiled softly, “and if you had of done that, I fear I may have scared you off with not wanting to leave the kitty’s!” You joked, the two of you laughing afterwards.

“Would you say these cutie would give the grand approval for me to take you to the movies on Saturday?” Yelena asked. You instantly fell for her even more as she didn’t treat your cats are just pets but pets that are your family. “You may need to butter Milo up” you joked.

Yelena chuckled once more, “well, Milo, my new found friend, we need to have a little chat” she replied, giving you a playful wink.

If you want to be on the taglist for my work, please click HERE.

#yelenasdiary asks #🐳 anon #fanfiction #yelena belova #marvel #yelena belova x reader

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mayese · 4 months ago

Text

A flower for a flower

Joel Miller x f!reader

Synopsis: Joel can’t help but think of you every time he sees a blossoming flower.

Note: I wrote this in like, 15 minutes 😭 it’s so rushed and bad, I’m sorry. I just needed to write something sweet!! I’m probably rereading it again and trying to fix some things tho, but I hope you like it <3

——————————————————————

“What the fuck are you doing?” Ellie growls in annoyance as her horse starts to grow uneasy for being stopped for too long, mimicking the behavior of the girl.

Joel sighed, feeling his back hurt due to the fact that he was leaning, his knee on the ground. “Mind ya business,” he shot back, but Ellie snorted.

“It is my business! We’re supposed to be killing infected, not-“ Her words and tone slowly died as Joel got up with a grunt, turning around with a few flowers on his hand which he kept carefully while he straddled himself on his horse again.

He had seen those flowers the other day on patrol, giving him an idea. Joel knew how much you loved flowers, how many hours you kept yourself working on the greenhouse talking care of plants like they were kids or something that needed your devoted attention. And he can picture the green book filled with pictures and drawings about flowers, herbs and plants that you keep on your bedside table, a rare find you picked up on one of the few patrols you had made these months.

Without even glancing at Ellie he kicked his horse softly, whooshing trough the girl whose mouth hanged opened. “Let’s go,” he shouted, and Ellie was quick to follow him, her horse quick to catch them both ahead.

“Are those a bouquet?” She asked, curiosity winning over. Joel kept his frown, not answering her question. It was odd to see a man like Joel carry flowers with him, treating them kindly and not wanting to damage them, almost like protecting it.

They were beautiful, Ellie thought. Joel carried flowers with various colors, some yellow and others red and light pink. Different shapes and maybe different scents.

But Ellie knows Joel is not a flower guy. And she knows why Joel had them on his hand. You loved flowers. Ellie remembers seeing one book in your collection about plants and flowers, opening it and seeing so many scribbles on the pages, some with plucked flowers squished inside the pages.

Ellie glanced again at Joel and the flowers. “You know those are not enough for a bouquet right?”

Joel rolled his eyes. “Can you stop?” He growled.

“It was you who stopped to pick up those!” She said. “Are those for her?”

For a few moments he didn’t respond, and wasn’t for the almost non-existent nod she would think he didn’t answer. “Then I will help you out!”

“Help me- What are you-“ Joel looked at her, confused.

“Help you pick up more flowers. And then you give those to her!”

Needless to say, their patrol basically consisted on Ellie finding beautiful flowers and plants while Joel followed around, keeping an eye out for danger. And even if he didn’t like to admit it, searching and seeing so many different flowers was beautiful.

Once they’re out of Jackson, they’re supposed to be serious, attentive to every threat lurking around the corner, easily making everyone forget about the hidden secrets and simple things that anyone would enjoy. Something as simple as flowers, that despite the end of the world didn’t stop growing and flourishing.

Back at Jackson, Tommy grinned at Joel once the man handed the horse to the guy in charge of the stables for the day. Tommy teased his brother about the flowers while Ellie joined Tommy. Joel just scuffed, getting away from them as quickly as possible before making his way to your house.

Of course that they were few. A flower for a flower. The most beautiful and kind flower he had ever met. The person that had changed him for the better, that tried to accept him and learned to love him the way he was, as he did the same.

Seeing those beautiful flowers had made him think of you, wanting to pluck them and offer it to the most gorgeous person he had ever laid eyes upon, your sweet smile and your kind eyes. Every time you talk about flowers of that book of yours that you can’t have because the world is to dangerous out there for you to explore and see. It made him want to bring it to you.

He knocked on your door, shuffling around for a few seconds before you opened it, that damned smile that made him melt like butter appearing on your face after you noticed him. And before Joel could say anything, the bouquet behind his back, you pushed him by the collar, meeting him with your lips on his, clearly satisfied that he was safe and sound back to you, even if now things appeared to be calmer on the outskirts of Jackson.

“I missed you,” you murmured, almost glued to him with your faces mere inches away.

He chuckled, grabbing your waist with his spare hand. “It’s been 6 hours,” he teases you with a smile, and you sigh dramatically.

“Six long and excruciating hours without you,” you say with a huff, making Joel smile even more. And before you could add anything, Joel extended his other arm, finally revealing the many flowers he was holding on his other hand.

Your eyes traveled down at the sound, glancing at the beautiful bouquet he gathered with Ellie’s help before you were screeching with excitement, quick to detach yourself from Joel to look properly at the flowers.

“Are those for me?!” You asked enthusiastically, missing his chuckle while you ogled the flowers, mesmerized. You’ve never seen those.

“Is there anyone else here?”

He handed you the flowers, attached by a red string he had on his pocket which he purposefully had taken with him that morning. You grabbed them gently, looking in awe before glancing at Joel, whose eyes softened at the sight of you.

“Thank you, Joel. Nobody’s ever offered me flowers. And you know I’m crazy for them,” you said coyly before you kissed him again, making his thoughts mellow.

“And I’m crazy for you,” Joel murmured, making you smile against his lips before you kissed him again, gluing yourself to him but keeping his flowers away from harm.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #ellie williams #ellie tlou #tlou #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #ellie williams the last of us #tommy miller #tommy miller tlou #tommy miller the last of us

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cupcakeslushie · 4 months ago

Note

I dont usually send asks, mostly cause im shy and don’t know what to say lol, but I wanted to share my appreciation for your Kendratello AU, cause it’s helped me recognize a toxic relationship in my own life.

I’ve never been a victim to SA or anything of the likes, so I can’t say I’ve been EXACTLY in Donnie’s place, but something that unsettled me early on when reading your AU was how…NICE Kendra would seem when alone with Donnie.

In a lot of media, especially in the media I saw growing up, the manipulative antagonist almost always had very obvious tells that show they’re evil when interacting with the victim. Maybe they’re talking about committing a very clearly villainous deed, keep the protagonist prisoner, something like that. But Kendra didn’t. Well, not always.

Kendra destroyed Donnie from the foundation up, and then rebuilt him back up to be who she wanted him to be, would punish him but then spin the situation around to be his own fault, but the rest of the time she would seem kind.

Only recently have I realized that someone very close to me has been toxic for most of our lives, and the reason it took me this long to realize it was because they would treat me kindly only until it became in their own interest to act otherwise. But I would take it, because I loved them and didn’t want to hurt their feelings, and I assumed that since they loved me, they wouldn’t ACTUALLY (emotionally) hurt me.

Spoiler alert: they did.

I’m not going to get much more into it, but your AU’s been very comforting to me ever since this happened, because it’s helping me come to terms with the fact that what happened wasn’t my fault just because our relationship seemed nice most of the time.

Your depiction of Kendra manipulating Donnie so realistically, and Donnie slowly but surely realizing that Kendra was hurting him is so powerful, and I thank you for that.

I’m so happy for you Anon 💚💚

It’s good to see these patterns, and depending on how toxic the relationship is, to speak up for yourself, or cut the person out, if they are unwilling to change.

Kindness is often a tool used by manipulators. But the biggest thing to ask yourself is exactly what you saw. Is this person only nice to me when they need something from me? And if so, then this isn’t real kindness. Good for you for knowing your worth!!

⚠️

sa related ask and discussions of very toxic relationships…

Personal experience rambling below. Toxic friendship and sa mention.

I’ll only be discussing this once, here, in this post. So I’m afraid if I get anyone asking for further info, I’m not going to reply /lh

I’m very sorry for what you’ve gone through. I hope you can find what you need to heal. Everyone’s traumas are so different, so please if you can, and haven’t already, speak to a professional that will give you help catered to you.

But I do want to immediately answer your question and say, yes, I have healed, for the most part. It took a lot of work and self-reflection that I didn’t want to do, because it was scary. But when I finally talked to someone, and realized I needed to take action in order to heal, that was when the process started.

For years, I thought my only options were to suffer in silence, and that what happened to me was my own fault, because towards the end, I was consenting. But I didn’t understand how my mindset and self worth had become so twisted.

My person (let’s call him J) was one of my best friends growing up. But as he got older, and more interested in…mature things, he changed. J would only ever agree to hang out together unless I offered to give him something to make it worth his while. Eventually I started to think these acts were all I was good for, as that’s all that made him happy to be around me. Pretty soon, J didn’t even have to push the ideas onto me. He only had to act uninterested or busy, and I would sit there and beg to do whatever he wanted.

The idea of rejection grew to be so painful and terrifying as he was one of only two friends that I had (the other being his sister. So if I lost one, I was so scared to lose the other). And I’d recently lost one of my closest childhood friends. Which he often used her cutting contact with us in his manipulations as well.

(It wasn’t until years later that she contacted me through Facebook and revealed that it was J that made her feel too uncomfortable, and as she already lived two hours away from us, and only visited once a year, it was just easier for her to cut off contact. I don’t blame her now, but without that knowledge, the thought that it was something I did, only helped J manipulate me.)

As I grew older, and I got better friends, I started to learn just how much I’d been pushed into only ever doing what he wanted, and how one sided of a relationship it was. He moved away, and that distance I was so scared of became a reality. But it was the best thing to ever happen. I still wonder what would’ve happened if he’d stayed in town. If we might’ve gotten married or if I would’ve finally stood up for myself. But all that matters is he is gone. There is always the danger of him coming home and me seeing him—we were neighbors, so his parents and mine still live right next door. Holidays can be kind of a high stress time lol.

That cafe comic is actually probably the most therapeutic piece out of the whole Kendratello AU I’ve done, as it’s always been a fear of mine that I could just turn around and he’d be in town visiting lol. Sending Kendra through that portal was highly cathartic. But even if that were to happen now, I have my coping skills, and I’m in a much better headspace. I think I would be able to handle myself.

I’m still a people pleaser, I don’t think that’s ever going to go away, even with all the work I’ve done. The biggest thing is, I know I’m worth more now. I can see real kindness, and catch the fake stuff much better by looking for those same toxic signs. The real friendships I’ve made have shown me what connection is truly like. It’s not a one-sided negotiation every time you get together. And if it is, then it’s probably not a healthy give and take. I’ve healed, but it is a constant effort.

Every new person sets off some kind of anxiety in the back of my head, but I don’t let that fear control how our relationship will develop. I’ve got the final say in what happens and what I get out of it.

#rottmnt #ask slushie #Kendratello au #tw sa mention #tw sa #tw sa vent #tw sex assault #tw toxic relationship #tw manipulation

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syoddeye · 5 months ago

Text

the warren part three - trouble

price x f!reader | 4.6k words part one/prologue - bait | part two - fix tags: alcohol, animal death (mentioned), animal sterilization (mentioned), weird and unsettling vibes. while this part is fairly tame, this is darkfic. a/n: it's been 84 years. banner by @/cafekitsune. 🔪

“Car trouble?”

You barely miss braining yourself on the hood, swiveling to catch John lumbering up the drive from the hill, pairing a smile with a concerned look.

“You’ve...” he trails, head dipping in appraisal.

Looking down, grime and grease blotches your dress and skin. “Shoot.” You mutter, throat achy with suppressed, frustrated tears. “Yes. Car trouble.” You wipe your palms on your thighs. The outfit’s ruined anyway.

John’s brow furrows. He stares at the engine and hums a ponderous noise before procuring an archaic brick of a phone from a pocket. Punching a number, he jerks his head toward the cabin. “Clean up and I’ll phone a friend.”

You hesitate, thinking of money. “Friend? Like a mechanic? Listen, John…”

“Nik? Got a minute?,” John stares, listening to whomever this ‘Nik’ is on the other end, nodding at the door again as if to say hop to it. Embarrassingly quick, you do.

Inside, the soiled dress goes into the tub, and you furiously scrub your arms and hands in the bathroom sink. The filth stubbornly clings to your arm hair, your nails gumming up with sludge. Over the tap, you hear John call from the front door.

“Mind if I come in? The house, that is.”

You check the lock in the mirror, and shout through the door. “Yeah, sorry. Stuff doesn’t want to come off.”

John’s heavy footsteps announce his path. “My friend Nik’s gonna pop by while we’re out and take a look.”

You rake your nails in small circles over a thick patch of muck. “I hope he’s only looking. I can’t uh, exactly pony up for a repair right now.”

He doesn’t immediately answer, and over the water, you listen to him move around the kitchen. “He won’t do a thing without my say so. Try this.”

Beneath the door gap, you see John’s shadow. This is the second time he’s in your house, first time invited, and you’re in your underwear. You grab a towel to cover up, and, with a breath, crack open the door. A green-blue bottle knocks into the jamb, his hand attached. Dish soap.

You take it, stifling a laugh.

“Heard it works on ducks.”

You glance at the side of his head. It’s sweet he’s looking away. “John?”

“Yeah?”

“Mind stepping into the bedroom and grabbing the orange dress? Should be on the corner of the bed, might be a few things on top of it. Don’t judge the mess.”

There’s a smile in his voice. “Back in a jiff.”

A minute later, the gauzy cotton appears pinched in his fingers.

“Thanks. I’ll be quick.”

“There’s no rush, not like we have a reservation. When you’re ready, we’ll walk down and take my truck.” His footsteps ferry him away, and you hear the swing and slam of the front door.

Despite his reassurance, you hurry, grabbing your bag and smoothing the dress when you emerge. John leans against your dead car and pushes off with a growing smile, clearly taking you in. He lets out a low, appreciative whistle.

“Think I like this one more.”

“Yeah?” you ask, adding a smidge more honey to your voice. It’s been a long time since a man’s admired you, even longer since one’s treated you kindly. “You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Wouldn’t say it if I didn't mean it. Sunset suits you.” John’s gaze takes its time arriving at your face. “And don’t fret yet. Nik’s got a way with machines.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

Early evening birdsong serenades the journey downhill, the slap of your sandals on asphalt punctuating it. The adjustment from living in the thick of it to the middle of nowhere was difficult at first, accustomed to the white noise of sirens and mystery booms, but here, silence prevails.

“How’re the kittens?”

John cracks another smile. “Bigger. Clumsy, but movin’ more.”

“Will they be fixed when they’re older? I saw the veterinary office. I was thinking I’d reach out regarding some of my feline neighbors.”

He huffs, the noise emanating deep from within his chest, as if your question is a personal affront. “They’re not hurting anything, are they?”

A nervous titter of laughter escapes. “The local bird and rodent population.”

You turn onto the road, his store within view. “Sounds like pest control and the natural order of things.”

He picks up the pace, approaching an older, red Chevy on a mission. You’re gobsmacked, with a few butterflies in your stomach dropping stone dead. Growing up watching Price is Right reruns over your mother’s shoulder, a woman who all but canonized Bob Barker, you’ve never met someone against animal sterilization.

Breathe. Not weird, just different.

“I suppose,” You wince at the angry creak of the door as he yanks it open, the sound too familiar. “I’m tired of scraping their work off the step.” You spare a parting glance at the makeshift shelter where the kittens live and climb in.

John snorts and starts the truck. “No reason to permanently alter the creatures. Hunting, killing, breeding. It’s all part of life.”

The certainty with which he says it gives you pause, the seatbelt’s tongue poised over the buckle. Your face burns, thrown by the shift in conversation. Reaching for the pleasantness from earlier, you remind yourself that John’s rough around the edges. You knew this when you accepted, or rather, suggested, the date. Gruff and blunt, yet possessing a homespun charm impossible to feign. You hope it shows itself again. He pulls out of the shop’s row of parking spots as you buckle in. It’s probably fine you’re in his car, not like you have a choice at this point.

You muster a belated response. “Natural doesn’t always mean correct.”

The notion diffuses John’s tension. He chuckles, shaking his head. “You say that now. Few months in the woods will set you straight. I used to think the same. Being out here changed me.”

You watch him search for a station between working the stick shift. “You said you’re retired, but you’re a little young for that, aren’t you? What did you do before running a store?”

“Military, medically discharged.” He says plainly as if that explanation’s enough.

And you suppose it is. Another sensitive subject, one he does not owe you divulgence. It’s not as if you don’t harbor your own secrets, but politeness doesn’t overrule curiosity.

“Right. How long have you lived in Grouse Bay?”

“Years. Where were you before this?”

It’s fair he returns the question. It’s why you rehearse. “Iowa.”

“Field of Dreams?”

“Yessir.”

“And what work lets you spend a summer holed up in a cabin?”

You briefly debate telling the truth and how much. John alluded to Kate’s loose tongue and hasn’t given reason for it not being a reciprocal feed. “I’m between things, but I’m a penny pincher.” You bite your lip to stop yourself from elaborating, taking a page from his book. A shiver of guilt still wracks you whenever you think about money.

“Is that why you haven’t been back to the store?”

“I paid the invoice for the light, didn’t I?”

“By giving Kate the–”

A big, defensive smile curves your mouth, placating in anticipation of anger. “She said she was going to see you.”

“Don’t interrupt.” he scolds. “I meant that you haven’t stopped in since you arrived.”

The way John speaks toes the line between kind and patronizing; maybe with practice, it’d be easier to put your foot down. If he only knew the amount of groundwork you put into this ‘vacation’. The nights spent car camping in parking lots. Rummaging for coins abandoned in vending machines. Sneaking small bills from the offering plate. “I brought some groceries with me. I’m not completely helpless.”

“I didn’t say that. It’s a small town. I’m worried about our newest resident.”

“Guest.”

“Guest. Which reminds me,” He lifts off his seat to fish out a billfold. Without averting his eyes from the narrow and winding road, he pries the old leather open and roots something out. “Been meanin’ to return this, found it on the floor of the shop the other day after fixing the light.” He pinches the corner of a card and holds it out.

Your face stares back at you, and your stomach draws to your spine in a deep, terrified breath. When did you lose your ID? Whatever ounce of pride you felt moments ago dissolves. Rationing your supplies and avoiding town to save money meant you hadn’t opened your wallet in days.

“Thank you.” You take the card, biting your lip at the last name printed next to your first. John must’ve seen it, and if Kate’s given him one name, he knows you by another now.

Worry thrums in your chest, settling into place like one would collapse into a favored armchair. You can hear it practically groan in relief, reclaiming its monopoly on your person.

“Know much about Ponderosa?”

You swallow the lump forming in your throat. “The basics.”

Before the move, you dug into the town across the lake and learned very little. Although founded roughly at the same time as Grouse Bay, Ponderosa’s the bigger, wealthier sister. The population drain following mine closures impacted both locales for the greater part of the century, but the cheap sale of land in the eighties led to a boom in tourism and development. You waffled between the towns, ultimately choosing Grouse for the lower rent and smaller population. Less chance of being found.

“Ponderosa’s a fine town, though folks are cowing more and more to greed. Greedy shits buying up and bulldozing pristine land to build mansions they call ‘cabins’.” He rants, chewing his words with a pinched expression like his teeth found the gristle. “Very few are decent. Though, you’d be hard-pressed to find better people than those in Grouse.”

It paints a picture you’re familiar with. Decades of architectural character and history replaced by boxy houses kissing property lines. It underscores John’s apparent, deep-seated opinions and judgment. How he wields them as a cudgel and gavel all in one. You’ve never felt strongly about one place or another, at least positively.

“Like vultures, huh?”

“Vultures have their use.”

The rest of the car ride, John fills in the gaps. When there were still children in the Bay, they attended school across the lake. He drives over weekly to retrieve inventory for the store. The single helipad for a hundred miles resides at their medical clinic, also the only one of its kind. It leads to a story. Last year, a hiker went missing for forty-eight hours from Ponderosa, but popped up on the summit of Mount Grouse. Dehydrated and delirious, claiming to have met angels.

“He scared the shit out of a hunter checking on traps,” John chuckles. “But he was alive. Got airlifted to civilization and last we heard, he’s recovered.”

You laugh uneasily. Once, as a kid, you were separated from a babysitter—but that was at the mall for half an hour. Alone in the woods, on a mountain? You shudder at the thought.

Eventually, the road evens out into well-maintained asphalt. A sign crops up around a corner, Ponderosa sticks out in big gold letters, flanked by meticulously carved trees. John turns the dial down, the crackling rock and roll station fizzling into silence. He cranks the manual window down and drapes an arm out. Not for the first time, you admire the muscle beneath his slightly tanned skin and hair.

The view of the main street steals your attention. John slows to cruise down the block. Like the vantage outside Grouse, downtown Ponderosa looks like a postcard, albeit hedged by construction and development. It’s the July spread in a calendar celebrating Americana. Barely June and ribbons and banners decorate pristine storefronts for the Fourth of July. Sunset paints the promenade in sherbert oranges and pinks while old-fashioned street lamps buzz to life.

If John finds your gawking amusing, he doesn’t mention it.

The sign for The Echo Diner gleams, a fresh coat of crisp white paint stylized with red highlights to make it pop. The building’s pristine, too, with symmetrical flower beds along the walls. It's nothing like The Foxhole, beyond its glory days. Ponderosa, it seems, is as moneyed as John described.

The entry funnels into the fairly crowded restaurant, a sea of capped heads and wraparound sunglasses tilt in conversation or up at the big screens mounted above the bar. A woman hunches over a jukebox. Nobody pays you any mind until John steps into the small space behind you, his hand finding your shoulder. It takes a gentle nudge for your feet to move, wary of the several sets of eyes suddenly pointed in your direction.

“John, good to see you.” A man cracking open a couple of light beers nods as you pass, attention bouncing off you as if you aren’t worth seeing.

“Likewise.” John rumbles, the single word breaking the spell, allowing the other patrons to return to their conversation and game.

He’s a regular. Ambling for an empty table beside a porthole-style window, you angle toward the side that looks out into the restaurant, but John’s hand flexes on your back.

“I’ll sit there. Can’t eat comfortably unless I can see the door. Old habit.”

Who are you to argue? You’re the outsider, and with the awkward tension brewing since you left for dinner, you’re eager to make nice with John. You take the opposite seat, offering a placative smile as you bump knees. He manspreads, bracketing your legs with his own. You try not to think of how much space he fills.

The familiar nostalgia you felt riding into town resurfaces. The diner is charming, from the tacky checkered floor to the billiard lights over the laminate tables. Classic. Not a hint of intentional curation. Even the cracked, boomerang-pattern vinyl booths inspire a strange fondness. It all speaks to its age, its lived-inness. What it’s seen and weathered. The name of the feeling arrives with the single-page menu John hands you.

Homesick. You’re a little homesick.

It’s ridiculous, the notion. There is no main street to recall. There isn’t a house to miss. What you have is a series of cheap apartments that run together in your memory, with leaky pipes, roaches, and thin walls. Yet you relish the borrowed sentimentality. It’s a balm. Raised on a diet of neglect like a dandelion pushing through cement, you reach for whatever good thing comes your way. It’s how you ended up in—

The waitress interrupts to take your order, just yours. She knows exactly what John wants, boredly reciting the tab, minding a crossword instead of the ticket. As she shuffles behind the counter, the bartender approaches, placing a pitch-black pint glass on the table in front of a pleased John.

“The usual.” The bartender hovers, his grin beaming beneath his mustache.

John’s eyes flick between him and you. “Thanks. Get my girl the cherry cider.”

You stiffen, automatically reaching for the bartender, and blurt a correction. “Wait. No, thank you. That won’t be necessary. Water’s fine.” Your fingertips graze the stranger’s elbow, and he jerks away as if burned.

The immediate vicinity falls quiet. You didn’t raise your voice or stand, but doubt blooms when the bartender freezes in place. The men at the counter closest to you peek over their shoulders, and another waitress stops refilling a napkin dispenser, watching sidelong. You scan the odd bystanders, whom you notice are not looking at you. They look to John. So you do, too.

That same intensity from earlier is plain on his face. Mouth drawn tight in a line, blue eyes flat but focused. You think he means to insist until he nods. “Water it is.”

The bartender’s chipper grin reappears. The others go back to their business.

“Great. One minute.”

The unease returns tenfold, smothering whatever daydream you entertained. The smile you offer is conciliatory. “Sorry, I don’t drink on first dates.”

It softens him. “First, huh?” John smirks. “That a hard and fast rule, the drinking?”

It is one of the only things your father taught you. Shy of fifteen, mistakenly mumbling a hope of attending a school dance. Sadie Hawkins. There was a boy, you don’t remember his name now—another blur, a collage of faces—who introduced himself on your first day and tempered your latest bundle of new school nerves. Your father set upon you like the Spanish Inquisitors you’d read about in history. You were in shock, too stupefied by his sudden interest in playing parent to remember anything beyond: Girls don’t drink on first dates, makes them loose. Surely, it came with a postscript, but that, too, is lost to time.

“I’m afraid so.”

John huffs a short laugh, the sound enough to flip your belly.

Heat spreads across your face, which makes the bartender’s timing especially helpful. Your requested glass of ice water appears, and relief creeps through palm-first. John introduces you, prompting a polite smile, only for it to swiftly fall. “...and she’s staying at the old Warren place. Darl, this is Alex.”

You nearly kick his foot. Telling a stranger, another man, where you’re staying?

Above, Alex finally acknowledges you, eyebrows lifting as if you suddenly materialize. “Really. Did you meet the cats?”

“The cats?” You blink, annoyance quelled in an instant. “Are you…Are you familiar with the property? Do you know how many there are? I’ve counted–”

“He’s heard stories from Kate. Isn’t that right, Alex?” John interjects, staunching the conversation.

Alex smiles sheepishly, already moving toward the bar. “Yeah. Stories. Heard it's pretty as a picture.”

You pivot to John for a follow-up, but he steamrolls ahead into a different topic entirely: The mystery of what you do all day.

“Nothing interesting.”

He hums, disbelieving. “You’re new meat. Everything you do is interesting.”

You search the ether for words, knowing he’ll badger something out. “I read, though I’m running out of books. I draw, poorly, so don’t ask to see anything.” A grin splits his face and jumps to yours, infectious. “I rockhound, swim, write, apply for jobs…”

“Any luck with work?”

Aside from filling out surveys for pennies and cobbling together speeches for strangers online, no. You tell him as much, leaving out the fact you spend hours each day, digital hat in hand.

John glances toward the door, focus stolen for a second before inhaling deeply through his nose. He straightens, arms folding over his barrel chest, puffing up. “Y’know, I could use an extra pair of hands at the store. Busy season’s here.”

You know you ought to jump at the offer, considering the state of your account. How difficult would it be to help mind a tiny store? Yet, the idea of working with John sparks concern. As an acquaintance, as a date, he’s—assertive, though that feels too weak a word.

“I don’t need an answer now, but if you’re interested, I’ll need to run a background check, given I sell ammunition.”

The world rapidly contracts. The one time you shopped, you focused on necessities. Tunnel vision. You didn’t see the entire inventory. The sip of water you take burns off fast, throat drying and excuses evaporating.

John’s face softens, reading your obvious panic. “Regardless of what turns up, the job’s yours if you want it.”

“That’s not–I don’t–John…” You try to focus on a break in the laminate, on the music drifting from the jukebox. A rich laugh from the bar about turns your head, but John’s hand darts, snatching yours in an unyielding grip. It’s like a bear trap, palm almost completely enveloping yours. It might as well latch into bone.

He lowers his voice, steadily pulling you to lean over the table. “I’ve got an eye for runaways.” His fingers squeeze gently when you flinch. “Sympathy, too. So whatever it is you’re running from—” He ignores your tug. “—you’re safe with me.”

John’s eyes shift, yours follow. A man stands at the bar, a holstered firearm on his hip, a business card proffered in hand. Clearly some type of law enforcement. Your heart stutters, a rock skipped over water, plunging when he, sensing your staring, glances over. You pretend to check the game, swallowing when the bartender takes the card and reclaims the man’s attention. The man dips his head, then wordlessly exists.

Air expels from your lungs in a full-body shudder.

“Skittish thing. Wonder what that was about.” John teases, rubbing a circle into your wrist before releasing it with a quiet chuckle.

There isn’t a chance to catch your breath as the waitress returns with a tray. Your face tightens with forced niceties, accepting your meal with a murmured thank you.

You eat in relative silence. A mercy. There’s more than food to digest.

John focuses on his meal, giving you time to think. Losing your ID was sloppy. Not checking your wallet sooner was sloppier. Yet if John’s kept quiet with his suspicions, maybe you are safe with him. It may not keep him from looking into you, but perhaps the job is worth the risk. He clearly likes you. You can’t bite every hand.

“I’ll take the job. If you meant what you said, about sympathy.”

He dabs at his mouth with a napkin. “Wouldn’t say it if I didn't mean it.”

“Then what would the schedule be?”

John’s eyes crinkle with a grin. “Thursday through Sunday. Noon to close.”

The uneasiness settles some, but not entirely. A lesson yet another man taught you echoes from the recesses: No kindness is free. Everything has a price. You feed him his own line. “And the background check? Is that…a hard and fast rule?” If your worthless car won’t take you anywhere, you hope flattery will.

He polishes off his beer with a contented sigh. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Better than outright refusal. John’s proven stubborn. He doesn’t bend, he gives. Your thoughts flit to the armed man at the bar. It’s probably nothing, probably just the local sheriff making rounds. Despite your mistakes, it’s too soon for the trouble you left across state lines to find you.

John excuses himself to settle the bill with Alex and tells you to get some air. You rest against the passenger door of his truck, mulling over the evening, too distracted to notice the man until a hand plants itself above your head. You jolt, clutching your bag.

“Pardon me miss, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” A voice drawls.

Sandy hair and blue eyes, paler than John’s. A short, straight scar on the cheek with a notched ear to match. His smile is a practiced thing, like he’s had to rehearse it in a mirror. “Name’s Phil. Couldn’t help but notice you inside. You new to town?”

Your expression naturally mirrors his, eyes going big as saucers, but the hair on the back of your neck stands. It takes control to not peek at the weapon on his belt. “Hi, um, yes. I’m new.”

His cheek bulges from his tongue, his stare jumping from feature to feature. “Thought so. Just visiting or are you the newest Ponderosan?”

“She’s with me,” John answers in your stead, coming off the short walk in front of the diner. “Across the lake, that is.”

Fingertips dance on the metal over your head. “Grouse, huh?” Phil smirks, chewing his lip in assessment. “And how’re you, sir?”

“Swell. Darling, get in the truck.” It’s the same tone he used when discussing the cats. It brooks no argument, an order tied with brittle endearment.

You tear your eyes away from John to meet Phil’s gaze, who, after a moment, chuckles and slides his fingers down the car. The tinny squeak of flesh on metal shoots down your spine, then tunnels to your stomach, churning dinner. Your body moves automatically when Phil opens the truck door, forcing you to duck his arm to climb inside.

“Have a nice night.” Phil says as he shuts you in, pivoting to dig out and offer a card to John.

The men exchange words, their voices too low to be audible through the truck’s solid frame. Phil rocks on his heels, enjoying himself; John’s stiff and humorless. The former isn’t small, but he’s dwarfed by your date. The card hovers between them in Phil’s knuckles and remains there when John peels off to join you.

John hoists himself into the driver’s seat, grumbling. You stare at Phil, who shoots winks as he pockets the card. He remains on the curb until The Echo is firmly in the rearview.

“Who was that?” You manage as the lights of Ponderosa disappear beyond trees.

“Haven’t a clue.”

It’s a warning. You’ve heard the line before from another mouth. Different tone, different voice—but the edge is the same. Don’t push it. Keenly aware of where you are, in the sticks with a man scarcely a hair above acquaintance, you don’t. You talk about nothing, instead.

The rest of the conversation is stilted, swimming upstream against a mighty current. John is firmly lodged into the silty creekbed, unmoving regardless of your idle chatter. The source of his ire isn’t clear, so you default to keeping things light. As your new employer and the town’s resident Jack of all trades, the last thing you want to be is on the outs.

By the time the truck swings slowly up the hill to your cabin, it’s pitch black outside. A dozen cats scatter as the headlights shoot over the short drive, landing on the familiar red walls. John idles the truck.

“Thank you for dinner, John.” You linger in your seat, uncertain if you ought to kiss him. It’s been so long, you don’t know the protocol, especially for dates you’d consider middling at best and turbulent at worst.

“My pleasure.” John makes the decision for you. A compromise. He plucks your hand from where it fidgets with the hem of your dress, bringing it to his mouth to kiss your knuckles. His mustache tickles and his lips quirk at the sight of your squirming. “I’ll let you know what Nik says about the car.”

“Right. My car.”

“And I’ll sit here ‘til you’re in.”

A second thank you ekes out of your mouth, and you hurry out. From the door, you wave, blinded briefly by headlights, as John turns around. His silhouette raises a hand in goodbye, and then he’s off, the truck disappearing into the dark.

You make quick work of readying for bed. Both dresses go into the laundry to be washed in the morning, and you hunt for your book with your toothbrush still in your mouth. The living room and bedroom turn up empty, leaving the screened porch.

Poking your head through the door, you hum, frowning as you cannot recall where you put the thing down. Just as you pull inside, you freeze at the sudden, low snarling of cats poised for a fight. Your blood turns to ice.

Gravel crunches across the yard, past the exterior light’s range. Your eyes bulge in your skull, trying desperately to adjust to the dark. The toothbrush slips out from between your teeth and clatters to the ground. Another crunch spurs a renewed chorus of hissing and growling, primordial fear straightening your spine. Then, something kicks up rock and dirt, skidding and charging across the crushed stone. The sound propels you backward, scrambling to throw the bolt.

Even through the walls, the sharp, sudden yowling chorus of cats pierces the air. Nails on chalkboard. Earsplitting. You hit the lights and shelter behind the couch, palms pressing to your head until the commotion tapers off.

The ensuing silence beckons like a siren. Tries to entice you back to the front door for a peek. But instinct prevails. You flee.

Only when you're shaking in a ball under the sheets, having barricaded the bedroom door with the dresser, do you remember your cell phone.

Which you left in your bag on the kitchen table.

Outside your window, something scratches at the cabin's walls.

#price x reader #price x f! reader #john price x f!reader #john price x reader #the warren

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