#It had been a long time since I had made a drawing that contained blood.

[mel-loly]

-(click for a better quality!)

[sailorrhansol]

Blood & Popcorn | l.c (m)

❀ Pairing: Lee Chan x f. Reader 

❀ Summary: Fridays are reserved for watching Buffy the Vampire Slayer and stuffing your face with popcorn and pizza. It’s been like that for you and Chan since your freshman year of college. But when he skips your Blood and Popcorn night for a date, things take an unexpected turn. 

❀ Word Count: 11,315

❀ Genre: Friends to Lovers, Angst, Fluff

❀ Type: Smut 

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging in and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: Literally so much misunderstanding and repressed feelings, pining, light themes of jealousy, recreational drinking, recreational weed use, bad communication skills, some mild insecurities, explicit language, explicit sexual content including unprotected vaginal sex (do not do this lmaooo), nipple stim, light teasing, oral (f. receiving), clumsy/playful sex, jokes/banter while fucking. They’re both down horrendous. Joshua as an almost love interest. Jeonghan is both terrible and great at advice. Alternating POVs and some time skips. 

❀ A/N: This is another work coming from a conversation with @daechwitatamic who at this point, I think had been the driving force behind all three random one shots I’ve written. I apparently can’t say no when she asks for something :) so anyway, here is simp Lee Chan and simp reader because ???? And yes I'm posting this at 11:30 pm at night who cares there are no rules!!!!!!!!

❀ A/N 2: Also thank you to Jo for reading this before hand because it would be otherwise largely illegible. King Julian is on the way, bestie.   

❀ Disclaimer: Disclaimer: All members of Seventeen are faces and name claims for stories. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios. Moreover, none of my works accurately reflect, represent or take a stance on the nuances of Korean culture, cities, people etc. Seventeen members are not Seventeen culturally, intellectually, physically, or representationally in my stories, and should be considered name and face stand-ins for made up characters.

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“So why not Blood and Pizza if pizza is always involved but popcorn isn’t?” Mingyu eyes the french fries on your plate. You give him a warning glance, pointing the sharp tines of your fork at him. He retreats, leaning against the cracked vinyl of the booth, pouting. “Also, the title sounds gross.”

“Good thing it has nothing to do with you then.” 

“Wow, you’re not even going to invite me?” 

“No,” you chirp, popping a shoestring fry into your mouth. You savor the saltiness, humming delightedly. “It’s for me and Chan. Not me, Chan and you. Plus, you know nothing about Buffy.” 

“Isn’t that a magic dragon? And are you sure you two aren’t dating?” 

The look you send Mingyu makes him hold up his hands in surrender. It isn’t the first time someone has asked if you and Chan are dating, and you know it won’t be the last. You don’t want to start down that avenue tonight, trying to navigate the questions of why and well you seem to be a good match. 

If romantic relationships were started over simply having things in common and matching a vibe, you and Chan would have started dating a long time ago. But you’re not, and you’ve already gotten over the fact that you’re not dating and that you will not start dating.

Mostly. 

The bell rings above the diner door, drawing your attention. Like he’s been manifested by Mingyu’s dangerous question, Chan spots you and lifts a hand, a smile splitting his face as he heads over. You scoot over in the booth, dragging your plate along with you to make room for him. 

Chan is dressed in jeans and a green sweater, your favorite color on him. He sits down next to you, cushioned seat dipping a little as he leans over to kiss the top of your head and steal fries off of your plate. You let him, feeling heat flush up the side of your neck as you look anywhere but Mingyu’s accusatory stare.

“These are so good,” Chan says around a mouthful of fries. “Thanks, Bambi.”

You grin at the nickname, trying not to flush too hard. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Mingyu says pointedly. You ignore him, shoving your burger in your mouth. “Apparently I’m not allowed fries or to attend your movie night.”

“Order your own fries,” Chan says. 

“Ugh. I already ate mine.”

“So order more, idiot. And of course you’re not invited to Blood and Popcorn. That’s our thing.” 

Our thing. 

The corner of your mouth twitches as you glance at Chan. He doesn’t notice, catching the eyes of the server and waving happily, giving her a broad smile. She gives him a thumbs up in return, confirming she’ll put in his usual now that he’s there. 

There are a lot of things that belong to you and Chan. Studying at the very diner you were sitting in during freshman year had been one of them, though now in your final year there’s not as much of a need to study and you’ve incorporated other friends in your late night trips for grease and calories. 

You also shared trivia nights on Tuesdays with Vernon and Seungkwan, football Sundays with Seungcheol, Mingyu and Jeonghan, once a month family dinners with everyone, and most importantly, Blood and Popcorn. 

Chan steals another fry off of your plate and you let him, leaning back in the booth. Mingyu glares daggers at you, dark eyes flicking from your plate, to you, to Chan. You grin around a mouthful of cheeseburger and he scoffs before looking away. 

Behind you, Chan’s arm stretches across the back of the booth, just barely brushing against the top of your shoulders. Your stomach flips a little, momentarily elated at the contact before you swallow it down with Sprite, pretending it wasn’t there in the first place. 

The two boys immediately fall into a conversation about their shared engineering class. You tune it out easily, a learned habit over the last four years of having to listen to Chan tell you the functions of a bridge and the best way to design one. Instead, you focus on the rise and fall of Chan’s soft voice and the way it lulls you into a state of calm. 

When the server brings over his order, he pulls his arm from over the back of the seat. Immediately you snatch one of the onion rings from his basket, popping one into your mouth and hissing as the crispy snack burns you. He shakes his head, laughing as he gives you a napkin while you sputter.

“Careful, Bambi,” he murmurs. “They’re literally steaming.” 

Mingyu reaches for an onion ring, only to be threatened with the blunt end of Chan’s steak knife. “Don’t even think about it.”

“But she-”

“Bambi has special privileges,” Chan quips. “Order yourself some more fries for the love of God. I’ll pay for them.” 

Mingyu immediately stops whining, mood improving markedly as he orders fries, wiggling in his seat happily. Chan cuts his burger in half, asking, “Why were you talking about Blood and Popcorn anyway?” 

“Shua asked Bambi out on a date,” Mingyu answers around a mouthful of fries. “She told him she couldn’t go because of Blood and Popcorn.”

Chan stops eating and looks at you, brows creasing. You feel your heart rate speed up as you kick Mingyu under the table. He yelps, knee jerking upward to slam against the underside of the table. The salt and pepper shakers rattle in place as Mingyu bends over to rub his shin. 

“He didn’t ask me out on a date.”

“He asked you to dinner!”

“As friends!”

“Oh yeah,” Mingyu snorts, rolling his eyes. “Friends take friends to fucking prime steakhouses. He asked you out on a date.” 

For a moment, silence envelops the table. You stare at your fries, watching Chan out of your periphery. He looks away from you, wiping the grease from his fingers onto the napkin. The air feels pregnant with tension suddenly, your anxiety bubbling as you open your mouth to assert once more it wasn’t a date.

Chan beats you to breaking the silence, “We can skip this Friday so you can go!”

You open and close your mouth a few times, heart dropping to your ass. “What?”

“It’s totally fine if we have to skip. I don’t mind.” 

Chan picks his burger back up, not looking at you. Heart pounding in your chest, you can’t help but watch him in total silence, trying to string together a response. Sure, maybe Chan doesn’t mind if you miss your weekly solo hangout. But you care. 

The ache of the implication cuts you suddenly, a delayed reaction. You feel your throat tighten painfully, reaching for your Sprite to try and swallow past the sudden tension. It does nothing to quell the way the casual dismissal of your tradition keeps cutting you long after he’s said the words, sawing down to the bone. 

“I wasn’t aware that we could just skip Blood and Popcorn, I guess.” 

“I mean if you’ve got a date.” 

That’s not the point, you want to scream at him. 

Chan is a lot of things. Perceptive isn’t one of them. If he had been, you know he would have sniffed out your feelings for him a long time ago. Luckily for you, he’s remained completely oblivious over the last four years of your friendship, and you like to keep it that way. Keep it safe. 

Nothing ruins a friendship more than unrequited romance. You know that from more than just the media you consume - you’ve seen more than once first hand when one friend catches feelings for the others but the desire isn’t mutual. 

It isn’t mutual here. It’s always been very clear where Chan’s interests lie, and you’re totally fine with that. You accept the relationship that you have happily and quietly, and thought moments like are a brutal reminder of where you stand, it’s alright because you also love your friendship. More than you love him - at least, you think so. 

So when Chan so easily suggests to go on a date, to cancel your thing with him to accommodate, you know it isn’t because he doesn’t care. He just thinks that you should go on a date because it doesn’t occur to him that the real reason you don’t want to is because your interests are somewhere else. That you don’t want to cancel Blood and Popcorn because it’s for the two of you and no one else. 

“Yeah,” you rasp, unsure what else to say. “Um, maybe.” 

“Shua is a good guy.” 

“Yeah. Yeah he is.” 

Mingyu and Chan go back to their conversation about class. You finish your meal in silence, leaning back against the seat as your thoughts wander listlessly. You gaze around the diner, drinking in detail as their conversation becomes background noise and you can no longer understand what they’re saying. 

Rounders Diner had been a staple in the college community long before you were born, and continues to be the center for academic life. Students fill the booths sipping on milkshakes as they cram for exams or homework, night shift workers sit at the countertop and order coffee before heading to work, and the jukebox in the corner glows neon, only offering a selection of music from the 50s. 

Behind the countertop is an open scratch kitchen, the sound of sizzling grease and yelled orders bracketing an Elvis song you know the words to but don’t know the name of. Black and white tile flooring with years worth of scuffs reflect the canned lighting in the ceiling. Over near the entrance is a wall covered in pictures of students of note throughout the years. 

You remember the first time Chan had hauled you to Rounders. It was the first day you’d met, two freshmen absolutely terrified of the world after experiencing two back to back intro courses together. The dining hall was on the opposite side of campus from your classes, but Chan had insisted there was a diner just off the corner that everyone said was a necessary experience. 

He was the first real friend you made. Your roommates had become your best friends too, Lorna and Mai splashed across almost every memory you have of college. But that first day is only colored with Chan, who had slid into the seat across from you and looked around the diner with a bright grin like he was suddenly at home. 

Wanna start coming here after class? 

You did. And you had. 

A hand waves in front of your face, making you blink several times before Chan’s face swims into focus. Your thoughts are a little delayed as you drink him in: dark hair framing dark, angular eyes that turn molten brown when the sun hits them just right, a jawline that has turned sharper as he’s aged, though his cheeks still have a youthful softness that you adore, and a grin that makes the world dim. 

“What?” you ask him, totally at a loss for words. 

He laughs and you feel the corners of your lips turn upward, an automatic response to his mirth. “I asked if you were ready to go.” 

You look up to see Mingyu at the register, passing over the bill and a card. “I think I spaced out. I thought you were buying him fries?”

He snorts. “Never fear, it’s my card. Everything okay?” 

You hesitate. Not for the first time, the urge to spill your guts to him grips you so forcefully that you almost do right in the middle of Rounders. Almost tell him everything from start to finish, the feelings, the reason you don’t want to date Joshua, how beautiful you think Chan is-

Mingyu starts heading back and you force a grin on your face, bumping his shoulder with yours. “Of course. A little tired, though. Thanks for dinner.” 

“You know I’ve got you.” He gets up from the booth and holds his hand out to you. “Always.” 

-

Chan is the stupidest fucking person he knows. He lets out a loud scream into the warmth of his pillow, squeezing his eyes shut as he lays face down in his bed. His arms are shoved under the pillow, fisting in his sheets as the long-winded scream finally begins to die out. 

“Yes, that is healthy,” Seungkwan calls from Chan’s desk against the window. “Let the pillow know everything that you’re feeling.” 

Scowling, Chan lifts his head up and looks over his shoulder at where Seungkwan is sitting. His roommate is hunched over Chan’s laptop, a document open on the screen as he clicks around rapidly, cursing under his breath. 

“Why are you in here again?”

“My literature professor is a dinosaur,” Seungkwan answers. “And only accepts printed essay submissions.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

“No, I mean you don’t have your own printer?” 

“No, and I will not be paying thirty cents a paper for an essay that is almost thirty pages long.” 

“That’s like, nine dollars dude. Also, why is your essay thirty pages long?”

“Ask the dude who wrote Beowulf.” 

“Isn’t that like… a movie?” 

Seungkwan mutters something under his breath. The printer chimes, followed by a mechanic whirring as the paper feeds into the machine and starts printing. Spinning in the chair, Seungkwan looks at where Chan is still laying stomach down, face squished against his pillow as he cradles it. 

“Speaking of movies - are you having Blood and Popcorn here or at Bambi’s?” 

Chan can’t help but smirk at the nickname. It had stuck ever since your freshman year when you’d called Rin Hartford a bambi-eyed bitch for saying nasty things to Mingyu. He thinks that night might be the night he realized he was absolutely head over heels for you, even if he had only known you for two weeks then. 

Despite your quiet disposition, you’ve always been the epitome of bravery. He can’t recall a time that you haven’t said what you meant or meant what you said, and defending your friends and speaking up has always been paramount to you. 

For someone like Chan who was often the youngest and the softest spoken in any group he was in, you were a breath of fresh air. And you’ve taught him to speak up for himself, letting him grow comfortable pushing back with people - especially his friends - and how to give back what he gets. 

Corrupted, Seungcheol joked once. She corrupted him and taught him how to bully us back. 

“I’m not really sure,” Chan says slowly, thinking about your conversation at the diner, the exact source of his pillow-scream. “We might not be doing it.”

“Uh-oh. Trouble in paradise?”

“There is no paradise. We’re just friends.” 

“That’s the trouble I’m talking about, brother.” Seungkwan turns around to start collecting the pages out of the printer. “Is the Blood and Popcorn cancellation the reason for your pillow screaming?” 

“I don’t know that it’s canceled.” 

“That really clarifies the issue.”

Chan scowls. “Did you know Shua was into her?” 

“Uh, yeah.”

“He asked her on a date.”

“Joshua must have got tired of waiting for you to make a move on Bambi. I guess he decided you weren’t going to.” 

Chan frowns and sits up. He didn’t realize Joshua remotely had a thing for you, and while Chan adores the older member of their larger friend group, the thought of him taking you to dinner - a date - makes his stomach tighten. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Seungkwan clarifies. “That you have had the last four years to nut up or shut up. Everyone has waited for you to make your move on Bambi and you haven’t. If you’re not going to do it, someone else might as well.” 

“I mean, anyone could ask her out. It’s not like I have-”

“Don’t you dare say you didn’t have dibs. Dibs can be unspoken, Chan. You’ve been in love with that girl since freshman year, if you think people - especially our friends - cannot tell and don’t respect you enough to give you time to ask her out, you need to wake up.” 

“It’s that obvious?” 

“Not to her, clearly.” Seungkwan stands and grins at Chan placidly, his essay collected in his hands. “Fortunately for you, the only person who is as dumb as you are is Bambi. Match made in heaven, really.” 

Chan chews his bottom lip. That offers a little bit of relief. He doesn’t like knowing that his feelings are so obvious to everyone else, but at least you don’t know. He cannot imagine how uncomfortable it would make your friendship dynamic knowing he was mooning over you while you just saw him as a friend. 

“Well, she doesn’t feel that way about me. I’m not going to confess my unrequited feelings and put her in that position to deal with them. It wouldn’t be fair.” 

Seungkwan gives Chan a slow blink, smile turning plastic. “Like I said. Match made in heaven.” 

Heaving a sigh, Chan throws himself on his bed, staring up at the ceiling. Chan was certainly an idiot for a lot of reasons, but the biggest reason has to be the way he has let his feelings for you fester since freshman year. Instead of implementing preventative maintenance, he’s let the problem grow to the point that his friends are no longer waiting for him to do something about it. 

The window of opportunity is gone. 

Not that there was a window of opportunity to begin with. Chan has seen what it looks like when you’re interested in guys - dazed eyes, a little flustered, a tiny grin on your face. You’ve never looked at him that way. At least, not really like that. You smile at him all the time, but it’s different. 

If he had the slightest indication you looked at him like you were interested, he’d have spilled his feelings a long time ago. Hiding this from you feels almost like a violation of friendship, but in order to preserve the friendship and keep you comfortable, he does what he must. 

The memory of him telling you to go on a date with Joshua makes him  groan in embarrassment. He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes, seeing stars explode behind his lids. It had been a knee jerk response, something to distract you from the immediate jealousy and panic he’d felt that moment that Mingyu had dropped that bit of information at the table.

Mingyu. That motherfucker did it on purpose - not to rile Chan, but to try and  give him a kick in the ass toward the right direction. But like everyone else, Mingyu doesn’t get it. If Chan told you how he felt just to get it off of his chest, it would be putting his burden on you. You’d be the one who had to feel guilty for it being unrequited, you’d be the one who would inevitably feel uncomfortable or out of place. 

No. It would be the highest form of selfishness he can think of, offloading the heavy weight of his feelings just to give them to you as a reprieve from carrying them around so long. 

Chan blinks away the swimming colors, staring up at the popcorn ceiling of his bedroom again. He can hear Seungkwan singing somewhere in the apartment, liquid voice calming even in Chan’s mild state of distress. 

Joshua is a good guy. Honestly, there are only a few guys that Chan knows who would make a suitable partner for you, and he begrudgingly acknowledges that Joshua is at the top of that list. And yet he still feels a twist of self-loathing that he had pushed you so quickly towards it, the regret like bile in his stomach. 

The last thing Chan wants to do is skip Blood and Popcorn this week. It is the one guaranteed day of uninterrupted time with you, and he waved it away like it meant nothing to him, which could not be farther from the truth. The nights of watching Buffy and eating pizza and sometimes popcorn mean everything to him. 

He just wishes he had been brave enough to stand his ground. 

-

Maybe Joshua Hong is the worst person ever. Chan dismisses the irrational thought as soon as he has it. Joshua isn’t awful at all. It’s just that he’s leaning in toward you and saying something into your ear over the loud din of the party, and Chan watches the way you nod. 

Crack. The plastic cup in his hand splits and immediately spills rum and coke all over the kitchen floor. Jeonghan starts yelling at him, ripping paper towels off of the roll and throwing them in Chan’s direction. He mutters an apology, gaze drifting over the kitchen counter to the living room where you’re laughing, head tilted back, warm light splaying across your throat-

“Ya! Don’t just let it pool at your feet!”

Jeonghan’s screech brings Chan back to life. He snatches the copious amounts of paper towels Jeonghan has thrown at him and starts to soak up the drink. The tile floor is already sticky and Chan cringes. No way have either Jeonghang or Seungcheol cleaned this floor any time recently. If anything, Chan has done it a favor. 

The party is in full swing around him. He stands up with the soaked paper in his hand, tossing it into the trash and grabbing more while Jeonghan digs underneath the counter. Chan finishes soaking up the spilled drink and comes eye to eye with a new set of paper towels and spray cleaner. 

Chan gives Jeonghan the soaked papers. “Jeonghan, your floor is already disgusting.”

“Then you should have no problem cleaning it!” 

“Sure, Mom.” 

“Don’t call me that!”

He rolls his eyes but does what Jeonghan says, spraying the area quickly and pressing down the paper towels. They come away sticky and black, making him cringe in disgust before tossing them out and washing his hands. As he turns off the faucet, Jeonghan has the decency to hand him a new drink.

Chan takes it without comment, the image of Joshua leaning into you a little too much for him to deal with right now. He drains the cup, sputtering a little. Jeonghan is a heavy pour and the spiced rum goes down rough, his eyes tearing just a little as he finishes the drink. 

“Well, that’s one way to stop from spilling.” Chan shoots Jeonghan a look before reaching for the mixer and handle of rum again. “You do normally drink like a fish, but anything in particular driving tonight’s thirst?” 

“Nope.”

“Right, so it’s not tall, dark and handsome hanging out with Bambi?”

Chan feels his eye twitch as he heavily pours the liquor into his cup. “Nope. And Joshua isn’t even that tall.” 

“Taller than you.” Chan shoots Jeonghan a venomous look. His face is beatific, grin a little bit dangerous as he holds his hands up in a white flag. “You look pretty bothered. If only there were a way to fix that.” Chan looks at Jeonghan with wide eyes, hope surging for a moment. “Just tell her you like her.” 

“Why is that the only advice any of you have?”

“Because it’s the only advice I have. Either tell her or get over your feelings. Those are your options.” 

“And I’ve already told you, it would just make her uncomfortable. It’s not her burden to bear.” 

Jeongan taps his fingers on the countertop, studying Chan. Chan pouts into his cup, taking long draughts, trying not to cringe at the strong taste. He can already sense the oncoming buzz and he welcomes it, needing a little something to distract him from the obvious elephant in the living room. 

“Alright,” Jeognhan relents. “Then deal with the consequences and get over your feelings.” 

And he will. Chan has always been good at dealing with the repercussions of hiding his feelings, and he does them well. So he tips back the cup and rejoins the party, nerves steeled and ready to deal with the consequences like his friends keep telling him to. 

-

“What?” you asked, lifting your voice to be heard over the rowdy game of cards at the coffee table. Joshua had asked you something but the words had been lost on you as your gaze drifted to Chan where he was leaning against the wall, talking to a girl you didn’t know. He was leaning awfully close. “I didn’t catch that.” 

Joshua smiles. He really is handsome, and everything someone could want in a partner. He’s kind and gentle, has a little bit of an insane streak, and he is incredibly intelligent and loyal. So why do you feel nothing when he grins at you or laughs? 

Your eyes drift over to Chan again and you feel your stomach flip. The alcohol turns to lead. The girl Chan is speaking to is so close to him, both of them turned toward one another as he ducks his head down to say something to her. She laughs and he smiles, looking her up and down.

Jealousy swallows you whole. It roars so loudly in your ears that you almost miss Joshua’s question again. “Did you give any thoughts about dinner on Friday?” 

Dinner? Friday? Oh right. He had asked you to dinner on Friday, but you’d declined due to your planned Blood and Popcorn night. With Chan. Who is flirting with the girl next to him, who is flirting back. 

The jealousy feels like a raw, rotten thing. It turns the alcohol in your stomach sour, makes the sweat on the back of your neck feel too much, like the room is too loud and too full. Even as the envy rears its head, an ugly beast ready to unleash, you turn to Joshua and say, “I really can’t. Friday nights are really important to me.” 

Joshua looks disappointed, but he’s polite enough to nod and smile. “I understand. Maybe a different night?”

“Um, maybe. Would you excuse me? I really need some air.” 

You stand abruptly, starling the people next to you. The cup in your hand shakes a little and your throat constricts and oh god. You cannot cry in the middle of a party just because you’re a little buzzed and the boy you like is across the room with another girl. 

“Do you want me to-”

“No!” You quip, shaking your head. “Totally fine, I’m so fine, I just need some air. Please! Sit! Stay!” 

Joshua raises his eyebrows at your frantic commands and you give a laugh that is a little on the hysterical side as you step over the legs of people sitting on the floor and on the couch. Joshua calls after you as you make the escape but you don’t turn around, eager to get out of the room. 

You trip over someone’s foot and nearly launch into a passerby as you go. Strong hands steady you before you totally topple over, though your drink sloshes over the edge of your cup, spilling it on the carpet. 

“What is it with you and your other half?” You look up to realize that it’s Jeonghan who stabilized you. “Spilling drinks all over my damn floor!”

“It probably helps. Your floors are disgusting.”

“Ya! That’s beside the point - why do you look like you’re about to die?”

“I feel like I might. I need fresh air.”  For a moment, Jeonghan looks confused. You watch his dark brows pull together and he looks over your head, dark gaze scanning for something. For Chan, you realize. It’s usually Chan who leaves with you if you need air or need to stick your head in a bucket to vomit. The realization hits you like a brick. “Not him,” you whisper. “I’m fine.” 

Your words land at the same time Jeonghan focuses in the direction you’d last seen Chan. He holds you there, suspended in time for a moment as his eyes dart between you and back to where you know Chan is still leaning against the wall. 

There is a flicker of something that you cannot place in Jeonghan’s gaze before it softens and he nods. He pulls you toward him and helps guide you around the groups of people. “Fresh air it is.”

“You don’t have to come.”

“I don’t know, crying alone is kind of lame, Bambi.”

Cool air hits you the second you step onto the porch. Soonyoung is sitting on the railing with Jihoon and Vernon leaning next to him. He waves enthusiastically when he sees you, breaking out into a grin and lifting the joint between his fingers, an offer. You shake your head and he shrugs, passing it to Vernon who lifts a hand in salute. 

The smell of weed chases you down the grass slope of Jeonghan’s backyard. It’s not so much a backyard as it is open to the apartment community’s lake. The spray of the fountain grows louder as the sounds of the party fade. 

Jeonghan sits down in the grass, leaning back on his hands. You join him, cringing at the dampness from the dewey grass. Taking in a deep breath you close your eyes and lean your head back, letting the wind cool the sweat on your overheated skin. The breeze mists the fountain, tiny specks of water tingling on your face as you sit in silence. 

Behind your lids, you can see the image of Chan leaning in toward that girl. The intimacy of the space. You hate how you can recall it in such detail - you’d always been able to remember details where Chan was involved. Like the way he was wearing a black, long-sleeved tee that pulled against his chest and arms perfectly, or the way the necklace you bought him two years ago glinted in the light of the living room, or the way-

“I did it to myself, huh?” you ask, feeling the first tear collect on your lash line. You tilt your head upward, trying to blink it rapidly away. “I could have just told him a while ago.” 

“Well, I don’t think you’re entirely responsible,” Jeonghan mutters. “Look, putting your heart on your sleeve is really scary, especially when it’s to someone you really value. But you have to decide what to do. You can either tell Chan you love him or you can decide to get over it. You can’t cling to unspoken feelings, though.”

“I just… I don't feel like he returns the feelings and I don’t want to ruin what we have.”

“Then get over him.” You snap your gaze at Jeonghan, who is looking at you with the cool and calm you wish you felt. “If you’re unwilling to be honest with him, then your option is to get over it.” 

“Do you think he would… react poorly?”

“Of course not, but I will not speak to all of Chan’s feelings. Those are his to share, not mine, and I believe in the sanctity of acting on one’s own.”

“You sound so… saintly.”

“Dealing with all your problems has turned me into a saint. Do you know what it’s like being therapy to all of these damn people? You all take ‘door open’ a little too seriously.”

You laugh, feeling a little lighter. Pulling at the grass, you sigh. “You’re right, though. I either need to just tell him or let it go. I can’t just… suffer.”

“If only you’d come to that conclusion a while ago.”

“Bleh.” 

Fresh air and the weight of Jeonghan’s words weigh down on you. You know that he’s right. Though you’re confident that Chan doesn’t return your feelings, you don’t explicitly know because you’ve never asked. And if you never ask, you’ll never know. 

Calm settles over you as you decide your course of action. Blood and Popcorn is in two days - you can bring it up then. 

Nodding to yourself, you pluck more grass out of the ground. “Alright,” you tell Jeonghan, heaving a sigh. “Thanks, Mom.” 

“Ugh, you two! Don’t call me that!”

-

Hands shaking, you stare at your phone. You’ve had two days to mentally prepare for this evening and yet when you look at your phone, you think two days was not remotely enough to prepare for this evening. You haven’t spoken to Chan at all about what time you want to have your weekly hangout, but that’s not unusual. 

The only thing unusual is your hesitation to hit the call button and ask what time he wants to come over. It’s such a simple thing - you don’t need to confess your feelings to him right now. But the anticipation of what inviting him over means and the possible disaster it can bring makes your fingers shaky. 

Instead of hitting dial, you take one deep breath and let it out slowly. In slowly again, and-

Your phone starts ringing before you can finish the exhale. Your heart pounds in your throat when you see Chan’s name flash across your screen. For a few seconds there is pure panic, but you manage to collect yourself and slide your thumb across the screen. It takes a few tries, your hands clammy with anxiety as you answer. 

“Hi!”

“Don’t kill me,” Chan immediately says on the other side of the line. You pause, cocking your head. 

“Why would I do that?” 

“I have to raincheck on Blood and Popcorn tonight.”

“Oh no, are you sick? Do you need me to bring anything over? Is Seungkwan-”

Chan laughs on the other side of the phone and your stomach flutters helplessly. You hear the creak of bed springs and you know he’s sitting on his bed. He has the world’s creakiest bed. “I’m not sick.”

“Oh.” 

You frown, sitting down on your couch and folding your legs. There’s nothing else you can think of that Chan would cancel Blood and Popcorn for, so illness had seemed like the first rational thing. You feel a little embarrassed at immediately trying to take care of him, but push it away to ask, “What’s up?” 

“I have a date. Tonight is the only night she was available for like two weeks. She’s in her first year of law school so her availability sucks.” 

It feels like the air vanishes from the room. You lean back against the backrest on the couch, deflated. You hold the phone to your ear, but don’t feel the weight of it in your hand. The TV across the living room becomes a blur, the muted program in the background unrecognizable. 

A date. Chan has a date. That he’s willing to cancel your night for. 

You think back to that night at the diner when he told you to just go out with Joshua instead of doing Blood and Popcorn. How easily he pushed it aside. Like it was unimportant. Easily missed. 

“Bambi?” Chan’s voice sounds distant through the roar of your emotions. “You there? The cell service in your apartment is so shitty.” 

“I’m here.” 

“Oh good. Sorry to miss, please don’t kill me. We can add two days of Blood and Popcorn next week to make up for it?”

“Yeah. Uh. Yeah.” 

There’s a pause. “Are you okay?”

“Definitely.” Lie. “Sorry, I just woke up from a nap and I’m a little spacy.” Lie. “No problems here. I’m not mad. Enjoy your date.” Lie. 

“Thanks, I’ll let you know how it goes after!” 

“For sure.” 

When Chan hangs up the phone, you think that Jeonghan was right. Crying alone is lame. 

-

Chan can’t do this. 

Sol isn’t the problem - at least not directly. She is beautiful and funny, sharp as a whip and has an edge to her that he loves in women. She is successful, has goals, and she’s sensible. And she’s into him, which is perhaps the biggest plus of all. 

But she isn’t you. Sol’s biggest problem is that she’s not you, and it’s not really her problem at all. It is Chan’s and Chan’s alone, and he cannot sit through this date anymore. He’s tried for the last hour already, asking all of the right questions and laughing at all the right places, but he cannot stop the way he wonders if you’re watching buffy. He cannot help but wonder if you’re in those expensive pajamas you like, drinking inexpensive wine from the corner story, his favorite contrast. 

Chan cannot stop thinking that his button up is a little too tight on his chest and the uncomfortable way his new shoes rub his ankle. He’d rather be in a tee and shorts, freshly showered and stretched out. He cannot stop blinking his eyes, hating the way one of his contacts is irritating him, wishing instead to be in glasses and the lowlight of your apartment. 

From the moment he ended that call with you to cancel Blood and Popcorn, all he’s felt is dread. Dread for the upcoming date with someone he should be excited about, dread for telling you how it goes, dread for having to be in public with people and to get to know someone, dread at what happens at the end of the date, does he have to kiss her? Does he have to go get ice cream? What does he do-

“Are you okay?” Sol’s raspy voice draws him from his thoughts - not for the first time that night. She’s leaning back in her seat, dark eyes pinning him to the spot. She is as sharp as she is beautiful, and normally someone like Sol would make him trip over his feet. “You zoned out.”

“I apologize, that was rude of me.”

“It was,” she agrees. She swirls the wine in her glass, looking him up and down before giving him a sympathetic smile. “I won’t be offended if you want to call this off early.” 

“What?”

“You’re not interested,” she asserts. Confident. Self-assured. “It’s totally okay if it’s not working for you.” 

Heat crawls up the side of Chan’s neck. He runs his sweaty palms over his slacks. “I am so sorry,” he says earnestly. “This sounds so stupid to say, but it is me, it isn’t you.”

“No offense, but I know. You’ve been distracted since we got here. You obviously have something or someone else on your mind.” 

“That easy to read, huh?”

“Open book. I have some pride, though. Let’s pay the bill?”

“I’m sorry.”

Her grin is polite. Understanding. “Don’t be. You’re cute and nice, but I cannot suffer knowing your mind isn’t on me.” 

“Understandable.” 

Chan knows he’s lucky. Anyone else a little less level-headed or less confident might have made him suffer. As it is, Sol does let him suffer a little, sliding the bill over to him with a knowing grin. He likes Sol - not like he likes you, but she’s good people. 

“Promise me one thing?” Sol asks before ducking into her Uber. “It’ll help my pride.”

“Sure.”

“Go spend the rest of the evening with whoever it is and make sure you tell them how you feel. It’ll be worth it, that way.”

Chan grins. “Alright. I promise.”

And he does intend to hold to that promise. Something about tonight is different. He can feel it as he walks quickly to his car, undoing the top button of his shirt as he goes. The air is crisp and there are still a few streaks of orange in the night sky, the sun long gone. 

Chan calls you as he turns his car onto the road, heading toward your apartment on the northside of down. He drums his fingers along the steering wheel, buzzing with nervous and excited energy as the line rings. When you don’t pick up, he ends the call. 

Jeonghan was right - he usually is. Chan could either tell you how he feels or live with the consequences, and he’s decided he cannot live with the consequences. He cannot sit across the table from someone who isn’t you and pretend that he isn’t wondering what you’re doing. He cannot look at the curve of someone else’s mouth and wonder what it would be like if it were yours. 

The date had been spurred by the intense wave of jealousy and inadequacy he felt at Jeonghan’s party when he saw you sitting on the couch with Joshua. He has no idea how else he would have had the confidence to start chatting up someone as commanding as Sol, but he was powered by rum and a wounded heart. 

Stupid. It was stupid, he realizes now. He has been stupid so many times regarding you and for long enough that even Joshua, the most polite of his friends, felt like they could respectfully intercept you, now. 

Well, perhaps you will choose Joshua instead. Chan is fine with that. What you want has always been paramount to him. But if you choose Joshua, it will be with the knowledge that Chan loves you and he always has. 

Steeling himself, he gets out of the car at your apartment complex and looks up at the building. He can see the lights on in your living room, confirming you’re still home and probably watching Buffy. The thought sends a thrill through him and he smiles, shaking his head and taking a deep breath.

“You’ve got this, Lee Chan,” he tells himself. “You’ve got this.” 

-

A loud knock on your door startles you. You finish blowing your nose in the issue, trying to suck up the rest of your tears. Pulling the sleeves of your sweater - Chan’s sweater - over your hands, you wipe your face with sweater paws, trying to erase some evidence of your tears before having to face the delivery person. 

Grabbing the bills on the counter, you wonder how many people delivering food have seen people answer the door while crying or immediately after crying. Honestly, they’ve probably seen all types of strange situations, which makes you feel a little bit about answering the door after very clearly sobbing. 

Unlatching the top and flipping the deadbolt, you yank the door open, prepared to not make eye contact to make it a little less awkward for you and the person just trying to hand you pizza and soda, except- 

“Chan?” 

It is Chan standing outside of your door. You blink in surprise, giving him a quick once over. He looks really nice, dressed in slacks and a black button up shirt that is a little too tight across the chest - not that you’re complaining - and the top of the buttons undone to reveal the necklace you gifted him. His dark hair has styling product in it, pushing it out of his face, save for a small rebel strand that hangs over his eyebrow. 

Chan looks… beautiful. You’re suddenly very aware that you’re in his sweatshirt and sweatpants, face swollen from crying, nose a little snotty and looking worse for wear. 

“What are you doing here?”

“Why are you crying?” 

Chan pushes his way into your apartment and you let him, dropping your arm as he passes by. He shuts the door for you, flipping the latch and lock out of habit as he turns to you. He reaches out to grab you by the shoulders but you back up a little, suddenly terrified of his touch. 

He notices. “Why are you crying?” he asks again, dark brows knitted and mouth twisted in a frown. “Talk to me.” 

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?” 

“Left early, wasn’t working. What’s going on?” 

You swallow thickly, realizing you’re at a crossroads. Silence stretches between you as he waits for your answer, looking at you with so much concern that you begin to crack. The tension in your throat returns, the telltale sign of tears and you ball your fists, nails digging into your palms.

A torrent of feelings bombard you. Anger. Hurt. Desire. Relief. Hurt again. 

“You canceled Blood and Popcorn.” 

Chan opens and closes his mouth, head cocking to the side a little bit. He looks mystified, trying to put together the pieces to the puzzle. “I don’t understand.”

“You canceled Blood and Popcorn for something else. For someone else.” 

“I-” 

A series of emotions flit over his face. You feel your heart pounding wildly in your chest as you watch each one, trying to catch them as they go. Confusion. Thoughtfulness. Confusion. Realization. You watch as he drinks you in, the tears, the wet stains from crying on the shirt, your words. Slowly, Chan puts the pieces together for the entire picture, and his face becomes so soft that you nearly cringe. 

“Oh, Bambi.” 

“You can date whoever you want, you’re not mine,” you punch out, wiping a tear as it escapes your eye. Feeling small, you back away from him a little, breaking eye contact. “But it hurts when you shove me aside like that. Look, I know we’re friends, but-”

“Bambi,” he says gently. You’re not looking at him, but you know that tone. The pleading. He’s begging you to stop, you think, but if you don’t get this out now you never will. 

“Blood and Popcorn is important to me. You’re important to me. I know you’ve never seen me as more than a friend, but Chan-”

Chan interrupts you again. This time though, it’s by crashing against you. You nearly topple over onto the coffee table with the force of it, but you cling to him, digging your hands into the meat of his biceps to hold yourself to him. His hands press into the small of your back, sending a bolt of electricity to you that you can’t pay any attention to, because Chan presses his mouth against yours softly, stealing all of your thoughts.

For a second, your brain goes static. You’re so stunned you don’t do anything but cling to him, vacantly aware that the softness of his lips are on yours. Tentative. Questioning. 

Chan pulls away and your eyes flutter open. He is only an inch away from your face, his minty breath fanning your lips as he begins to apologize, panic on his face. You interrupt him this time, surging forward to crash your lips to his, far less gentle than he had been the first time. 

The box you’ve shoved every feeling for Chan cracks open. You feel everything pour out of it, a steady stream of want as you press into him. He smells like teakwood and mint, hypnotizing you. His mouth is soft and eager, sucking gently against your bottom lip. 

Everything feels lighter, like gravity has lost all meaning. Chan pulls away from your mouth a little, close enough to brush your lips against his in a feather-light kiss, but enough to gaze down at you through half lidded eyes. 

“The date didn’t work out because I kept thinking of you,” he whispers, voice shaking. You feel your breath stop as he speaks, each word sinking in. “It was stupid to ask her out. I was feeling insecure about Joshua asking you out, and it was stupid and petty-”

You kiss him again. He smiles into the kiss, letting you lead him, slow and lazy. You feel his tongue brush against the seam of your lips and you eagerly let him in, toes curling as he licks into your mouth. 

“I just want you,” Chan admits, breaking away for a quick breath of air. He presses his lips against the corner of your mouth, your jaw, your cheek. He peppers your face in them as his hands skate up your back, hot even through the material of his sweatshirt. “I have for so long and I’ve been so afraid to tell you.”

“I was afraid too.” 

“I have wasted so much time.” His hands cradle your face, turning you to look at him. 

Chan is so earnest. Raw honestly glitters in his eyes. Deeper, hiding beneath the surface is something a little darker and more intense. Want. Desire. Something that lingers, waiting for you to call it forward. You love him so much that in that moment you almost cry more, feeling overwhelmed with everything you’ve buried down for years. 

“I want to make up for it,” you whisper, stealing a kiss that is more teeth than anything. He makes a noise in the back of his throat. Your hands sink to his waist, gripping at the fabric of his shirt. “I was actually going to tell you tonight, before you canceled.”

“What a stupid man I am.”

You smirk a little. “Yes.” 

“Let me apologize,” he murmurs, voice low. You feel yourself shiver as he pushes you toward your room, connecting your mouths again. The kiss is messy and needy, so different than the one moments before. You tangle together, stumbling toward your room. “I’ll make it up to you.” 

“Oh?” 

The crash landing onto your mattress is not graceful. Chan’s full weight falls on top of you and your foreheads smack a little. You yelp in paint and Chan groans, burying his face in your neck. You can’t help the laughter that bubbles to the surface, exploding out of you as your hands press flat on his back, soothing as you hold him to you.

“First step of apologizing,” you wheeze under him. “Give her a concussion.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, burying his face further in embarrassment. “I’m a little eager.” 

His breath tickles your neck, making you squirm under him. He seems to notice, opting to press open-mouthed kisses against your throat. You hum, eyelids fluttering at the stimulation. “It’s okay,” you breathe, fingers turning to claws against his back. “It’s cute.”

Chan leans off of you, properly supporting himself with arms on either side of your head, caging you in. His knee slots between your legs, making your stomach leap in excitement as he scoots it up a little, almost pressing against you. 

“You’re cute,” he notes, kisses getting messy as they go up your neck toward your ear. He nips your ear and you let out a sound. His laughter is warm against you and you shiver. “You’re in my clothes.”

“I wear them all the time.”

He groans. “I know. Fuck I know.”

“Is that what does it for you?” You move your hands from his back to his waist, pulling the tucked shirt from the waistband of his slacks. His hips twitch forward, excited. He busies his mouth with pressing wet kisses to your jaw. “Me in your clothes?”

“Everything does it for me. I am down horrendous for you.” 

“I really didn’t know.”

He moves a hand to pull at the collar of his sweatshirt, exposing more of your collarbones to him as he kisses. “Everyone else did,” he assures you. You hiss when he bites down and licks over the sting, looking up through dark lashes to gauge your reaction. You nod a little and he grins, doing it again. “Biting. Got it.” 

With trembling fingers, you work the buttons on his shirt. You steal touches as you go, greedy for him. Too long have you hidden what you want in the shadows, too long have you resisted this. Now, you take. 

You brush your fingers against the flexing muscle of his stomach as you pull at the shirt, making him moan deep in his throat. His skin is like fire as you brush your fingers across its warmth, shoving his shirt off. He leans up, letting it fall from his shoulders, rippling to the ground.

The light from your hall glows behind Chan, haloing him in golden light. Your breath catches in your chest as your fingers press to his skin, brush over his shoulders and chest, down his stomach. You feel him twitch beneath your hands but he lets you explore, breathing hard under your reverence. 

Golden boy, so full of fire. It’s all you can think of as you stare up at him, equal parts light and dark in your bedroom. Your hands drop to his belt and you tug him to you, desperate for him. 

“Kiss me,” you beg. 

He does. His mouth is greedy, stealing your breath. A thrill shoots through you when he slides his knee up higher, pressing it between your legs. You breath the kiss to gasp at the barest amount of pressure and Chan grins, watching your reaction through a heavy gaze. 

“Take this off for me,” he asks, voice raspy. He pulls at the hem of his sweatshirt on your frame. “Please.”

You lean up, pressing your mouth to his collarbone in a sweet kiss as you pull the shirt over your head. He helps you, tossing it somewhere else. His hands go to your sides, fingers tracing up your curves as he pushes you back down, claiming your mouth again. 

It feels like you might go crazy. Your bare chest presses against his, the friction turning your blood to liquid fire. His knee is firm between your legs, and when his hand slips to your waist, squeezing you and urging you to roll your hips you can’t help but let out a moan in the shape of his name, helpless.

“Fuck,” he swears, dropping his forehead to your shoulder as he helps you move against his thigh. “If you say my name like that again I might bust in my fucking pants.” 

“Chan.” 

“Don’t,” he laughs, biting your shoulder. “I want this so bad.” 

“I want you.”

“I might pass out due to sheer joy.” 

“I have some ideas on how to revive you.” 

He lets out a swear and you laugh. “You’re going to be the death of me.” 

“Maybe.” 

Truth is, you think he might be the death of you. You’d die happily in his arms, completely swept up in the feeling of Chan’s tongue as it skates across your skin and up the swell of your breast. When he pauses, you look down at him. He smirks, happy to have your attention before he flicks his tongue lightly over the peak of your nipple. 

You squeeze your legs around his thigh, back bowing off the bed. He lets out a chuckle, repeating the flicking motion as he watches you with dark, satisfied eyes. It drives you insane, the way he watches you with equal parts reverence and determination to find out what makes you squirm. 

Chan is a fast learner. His teeth scrape against your nipple and you whine, thrashing under him as he teases you, pulling gently. The sting feels so good, making you melt into the mattress underneath him. He makes a sound of appreciation, sucking gently and sending you to the moon before trailing his mouth toward your other breast. 

The hand on your hip squeezes you, reminding you why it had been there in the first place. “Keep going.” His breath fans against your skin and you tremble. “I like seeing you worked up.” 

“God,” you whisper, trying to roll your hips against his leg again. It feels so good but it’s not enough, and as he sucks greedily at your chest you feel like you might rip at the seams. “Who knew you were so… this.” 

You feel his wet grin against you, tongue flicking against your pert nipple. Your head falls to the side as you pant, trying to catch your fucking breath. 

Of course he can reduce you to nothing so easily. No one knows you better than Chan, the two of you like twin flames. Every touch of his tongue, every press of his fingers into your skin, every breath of your name on his lips were made to unravel you because it’s Chan. Your Chan. 

Your Chan who gently pulls the sweatpants from your hips, groaning low and slow when he sees the way your panties stick to your folds. Your Chan who kisses and bites the softness of your thighs, breath ghosting across sensitive flesh, fingers prying your legs apart when they start to twitch shut. 

You’d always been made for him. To think otherwise was folly. You know that now, hand gripping his bones tight as he pulls your hands to the side, the cold air hitting your aching cunt. He lets you squeeze his hand, not caring that your gripping is bone-breaking. 

“Hmm.” He looks up at you and you look down at him. His eyes are blown and he grins, shaking his head a little. “This for me?” You nod, your thoughts banging around the near empty space in your head as you do. “Fuck.” 

And then his tongue presses against you, flat and warm and fuck fuck fuck. You can barely function as Chan drags his tongue slowly up your pussy, avoiding your clit entirely before dragging it back down. He makes a sound in his throat that sounds like a whine and you nearly lose it there, driven insane by him. 

Chan takes the hand he has linked with yours and rests it on your hip, pressing into you to keep you still. You buck under his mouth and he laughs, unbothered as he looks up at you. The vision of him between your legs makes you dizzy, his hair mused, tongue pressed between your folds, eyes starving. 

Your other hand grips his wrist where his opposite hand holds you open. You cling to him, thighs twitching as he licks you at his leisure. His mouth is a weapon, bringing you to the edge of insane easily. When he closes his lips around your clit and sucks gently, you fear you might break. 

He can sense it too, setting himself to the task of pushing you over the edge. Chan learns you so quickly - maybe just knows you intuitively - alternating between circling his tongue around your throbbing bundle of nerves and sucking on it gently. 

“I am going to die,” you gasp between ragged breaths. “Your fucking mouth.” 

“Yeah? Feels good?” The buzz of his words drive right into your lower stomach where your orgasmed has so much compacted pressure you know you’re going to snap any moment. “Taste so good. I could eat this pussy all fucking night.” 

“Fuck, Chan. I’m gonna come.” 

He gives a harsh suck to your cunt, the wet sound obscene. “Good.” 

“Like that.”

“Yeah?” he asks, panting. He does it again, following your instruction. Your mouth falls open as you nod, unable to string together more than. “Mmm.” 

Chan doubles his effort, the wet sounds of his mouth making it all the harder to keep it together. He keeps you in place as best as he can, but his little hums of pleasure and the combination of his mouth and tongue send your orgasm slamming into you. 

You think you say his name. You have no idea if anything comes out at all. You come hard, thrashing against the bed as he licks you through it, uncaring. Every nerve in your body is on fire, limbs tingling as you float in the momentary high of your peak before you start to come back down, breathing raggedly. 

A cramp throbs in your fingers that are still twisted in Chan’s grip. You loosen your grip a little bit, feeling a little bad about almost snapping his fingers. He doesn’t seem to mind, head still between your legs, tongue gentle and pressed against your twitching entrance. He avoids your clit, letting you catch your breath.

“Chan,” you mumble. He lifts his head, your arousal spread across his mouth. He is a mess, spiking your need for him. You pull at him, wild. “Kiss me.” 

He doesn’t hesitate. He scrambles up to you, letting go of your hand in favor of cradling your face. The kiss is hungry and wet, your heady taste on his mouth as you drink him in. You don’t care, desperate to have him close, pulling him into you. 

One of your hands snakes between your bodies, pressing against the firm outline of his cock through his pants. He lets out a whine, shaking his head as he breaks the kiss, breathing heavy. 

“Don’t,” he begs. “I will cum right now.” 

“Oh?” 

“I’m so serious, I almost came untouched.”

“Wow, I really do it for you, huh?” 

“You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that.” His sincerity makes you flush and you peck him on the lips. “I cannot promise I will not come apart after a single stroke.” 

“Don’t care.” You undo his belt, pulling. “Want it. Want you. Please don’t make me wait.” 

He curses. “I can deny you nothing.” He sees your wicked grin and shakes his head, laughing as he pulls away to kick out of his pants. “You like having me wrapped around your finger, huh?” 

“You’re not the only one whipped.” He looks at you, doubtful. “You think I share my fries with anyone? Be so real, Chan. That’s something only you can do.” 

“Got it. French fry privileges, what else can I weaponize?” 

You don’t answer his question, distracted by him as he peels his briefs off and fists his heavy cock. You lick your lips, drinking in the length and thickness of him, the sticky, swollen tip, the way he pumps himself when he kneels on the bed again. 

“Hmm?” he asks, noticing you're distracted. “Everything okay?” 

“You have a nice dick,” you blurt. He pauses, raising his brows, thighs pressed to the back of yours. You fold your lips flat, a little embarrassed by your outburst. “Thank you is the proper response to a compliment.” 

He bursts into laughter and you can’t help but join him, covering your face as it heats up. “Don’t hide from me, wanna see you,” he teases, grabbing your hands and pulling them from your face. He pins them above your head. “And thank you.” 

Chan runs the head of his cock along your sticky folds, both of you moaning in unison. His hand still pins yours above your head, making you feel open and vulnerable. Your knees squeeze his hips as he ruts against you a little, eyes focused while he uses his other end to guide himself to your entrance. 

“Mmm,” the sound escapes you as he presses in, the ache in your core doubling for a second as he sinks further. “Fuuuck.”

“Okay?”

“Very. Just- slow.”

“You got it, baby.” 

The term of endearment hits you low in the stomach. Between him whispering baby and sinking into the hilt, you don’t know what drives you crazier. The easy answer is just Chan. It’s simply Chan who does this to you, who turns you inside out, who reduces you to a whimpering mess. 

Chan lets go of your hands and brings it to your face. He leans down, supported by the other hand as he kisses you gently, letting you adjust to his girth, pussy spasming around him as you try to keep it together. The kiss is slow and sweet, in contrast to the feral kiss you shared earlier. 

“Fuck,” he breaths against you mouth, laughing. He presses his forehead against yours. “You’re fucking squeezing me. I might die.” 

You do it on purpose this time and he hisses, all of his muscles clenching. “Like that?” 

“Doonnn’t. If I come right now I’ll be so embarrassed.” 

“Why? It’s just me.”

“I don’t want to one-stroke my dream girl, are you serious?” 

“Dream girl, huh?” He pulls out a little before shallow thrusting back in. “Mmm yeah. That feels good.” 

Instead of answering your jest, he kisses you slowly. His strokes are slow but deep, making you sigh. He feels so good, having him like this. Chan presses his body against you, melding the two of you. You wrap your legs around his waist, squeezing to keep him as close as possible. 

Your name falls from his lips as you move in sync. You can feel his heart pounding in his chest, feel him shake in your hands. He buries his face in your neck, mouth pressed against your skin as he breathes heavily. You cling to him, as though you could press your love into him, as though you can transfer it through touch. 

Chan slides a hand between the two of you, reaching down to circle your clit gently. You whimper in surprise, squeezing around him and drawing out a low sound. “I’m gonna come soon,” he murmurs. “Do you have another one, baby? Can you try for me?”

You nod. He presses his lips to your temple, driving his hips faster, fingers firm. You feel yourself wind up again, desperate to catch up to Chan, to give him what he wants, to come undone together. You’d do anything for him - anything he asked. You always have.

A glint of metal catches your eye. You see the necklace you gifted him hanging around his neck, tapping his collarbone in time with his movements. The sight of it makes you possessive, your desire for him surging. Gripping the back of his neck, you bring his mouth to yours. You don’t kiss him, but your mouths are pressed together as you mutter, “I love you, you know?” 

He groans, hips stuttering, fingers firm. You’re so close, you feel yourself right on that edge again. “I do know,” he admits, his cock pressing that perfect spot inside of you that has the room spinning. “I love you too, you know?”

You feel him smile against you. The kiss he gives you is so gentle that it sends you over the edge. You hold him tight, coming undone around him as he groans into your mouth, unraveling with you. When he stills, you keep holding him to you, his embrace warm. 

Chan nudges your nose with his. You open your eyes to find his dark ones peering at you. You smile, lifting a hand to trace your fingers along his jaw, the gentle slope of his nose, the roundness of his cheeks. You note the faint freckles under his eyes, his long lashes, the way one side of his lips lifts before the other when he smiles. 

“Hmm?” he asks.

“You’re so pretty.” You trace your finger to his nose and then flick it. He frowns and pulls away, making you laugh. “There is cum leaking down my leg to my ass.” He thrusts once sharply and you whine. “Chaaaan.”

“Hmmm?”

“Can we shower?” 

“We?”

You grin. “You speak French?” 

“I speak pussy.”

“Ew, get off of me!” you laugh, hitting him in the shoulder. He laughs too, rolling off and pulling out. “Take me to the shower, you loser.” 

“Oui.” 

“Then I want to watch Buffy - oh no.”

“What?” He stands and reaches a hand out to you, helping you up. “Are you alright?”

“I ordered pizza and they probably tried to deliver.” 

“That’s okay.” He pulls you toward the shower and smacks your ass lightly, making you yelp. “Start the shower, I’ll call and get it re-delivered.”

You pause, looking at him, unable to bite back the smile. “I love you.”

“Mhmm. Love you too, Bambi.”

-

“I know I’m good looking,” Chan murmurs, eyes on the screen. “But you’re staring very hard at me.” 

You’re laying against his chest, head tilted up to look at him. You can’t help it, watching the blue light from the TV dance across his face, reflected in the glasses he put on after the shower. His hair is still damp and fluffy, skin glistening from the skincare post-shower. 

“You are good looking.”

“Damn. Only like me for the looks?”

“Well your jokes aren’t very good.” 

He levels you with a glare and you laugh, kissing him quickly before settling down in his arms again. His embrace is warm and he smells like your shampoo. You press yourself into him further and he grunts, letting you. 

“Can we do Blood and Popcorn forever?” you ask, watching him fondly. He smiles and kisses your forehead, flooding you with warmth. “Please?”

“Anything you ask, baby. Blood and Popcorn forever.” 

-

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[hollandroos]

Liar / Spencer Reid

Paring: Spencer Reid X Reader Insert

Words: 900

Warnings: Angst Angst Angst. No happy ending

A/N: Now I know what you're all thinking.... Soph, since when do you write for criminal minds? well.... what do you think I watched religiously during my very painful pregnancy and the last five months post partum?

Your packed bags fell against the door to what was once your shared home. Now it just felt empty. Empty draws, followed by an empty bathroom cabinet that once contained items that were now packed away tightly in a suitcase. Followed by an empty bedside table, and an empty mug cupboard because you bought every single one of those prized mugs - and you’d be damned if he expected you just to leave them behind. 

Spencer stood before you, eye bags partnered by the suit he must’ve worn home on the jet - the same one he left in three days ago. The same one you had ironed just five days ago, and snuck a loving note in the front pocket. You wondered if he got it. If he had, he hadn’t mentioned it. 

Be safe, I love you. Please eat. 

You’d thought it’d be cute if you sprayed the paper with a spritz of one of your perfumes… the one he used to compliment you on every time you wore it. Somewhere down the line he must’ve grown tired of it. He’d stopped complimenting your perfume long ago.

Come to think of it, he hadn't complimented anything about you in a long while. You merely felt like a side gig in Spencer Reid's busy, ever chaotic life.

“What are you doing?” He asks softly. His eyes rack your bags before landing on your tear stricken face.

You swallow, however the lump in the back of your throat refuses to budge. 

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

“It looks like you’re leaving me.”

Spencer shoves his hands into his pant pockets, gripping tightly onto an old lip balm and a foreign hair tie. He looks exhausted. You want to crawl into his arms and beg him to get some well deserved rest. Rest that you needed too. God you needed rest.

“Spenc-”

“And considering it’s just gone two am, I’d assume you were trying to slip out before I got home because you couldn’t tell me yourself.”

“You’d assume correctly.” You straighten out, feeling your eyes well up with tears that were so goddamn close to spilling over. “I’m sorry.”

Maybe if you cried he’d beg you to stay, promise to fix it and try harder. You imagine he’d beg you to crawl into bed with him and sort it out tomorrow when you both weren’t so sleep deprived. You’d both shimmy under the covers and get that sleep in you’d been craving. The reality is however, you’d probably wake up and the space next to you would be cold again. And you’d be alone once more. 

Truth be told you didn’t sleep very much while Spencer was away. Your bed felt so much colder, and the genius wasn’t all that good at using his phone so you’d wait and wait for a text from him, just to let you know that he’s okay and before you knew it the sun would be coming up and your phone hadn’t pinged once.

You wondered how often you crossed the man's mind while he was away, because he crossed yours plenty. It seemed as though you were a foreign thought. 

“Are you?” He raised a brow, not much emotion crossing the man's face. It made your blood boil, because if he did love you as much as he once claimed he wasn’t very good at showing it.

You tried to remember when you first noticed his love for you fizzle out. Maybe it was when he stopped opening doors for you first, or complimenting your new outfits. Maybe it was when he started to sneak out of bed in the morning without giving you a kiss and a feeble I love you. Or when rereading the books he’d already ingrained into his memory became more enticing then a shower with you. 

Despite this, you never stopped your attempts at sharing your love with him. Dear god - you had so much of it to give, and he had been at the receiving end of it all. 

“Are you sorry?” You spit back, definitely harsher then you had intended. 

“Am I sorry?” He questioned, seeming awfully confused about the whole ordeal. If he wasn’t confused then he was just acting dumb. “Why would I - You’re the one trying to leave me in the middle of the night, why should I be sorry?”

“When did you stop loving me?”     

Spencers poker face finally breaks, however instead of breaking into a look of sadness, remorse, or anything of the sort it’s just confusion.

“I never stopped-”

“You’re not a liar, Spence, don’t start now.” 

With a heavy heart, tears now spilling freely down already damp cheeks and tight fists you grip the suitcase handles and haul your entire life out the door of your previously shared apartment. 

It’s crazy how you could pack up your entire life into two raggedy old suitcases. 

You wondered if it’d break Spencer's heart to find little pieces of you around the apartment - pieces that hadn’t been important enough to take with you. If maybe he’d cry when taking down photos of the two of you or miss your presence in your designated barstool at breakfast.

Tonight, Spencer would be the one sleeping in that cold, lonesome bed down the hall, while you cuddled up in some overpriced hotel sheets feeling heartbroken, yet equally proud for finally allowing yourself to walk away.

[gaycragula]

Cold and Complacent

Pairing: (MK1) Bi-Han/Noob Saibot/Male Reader Warning(s): NSFW/18+ under the cut, spoilers for the end of the Khaos Reigns DLC AO3 Link Account Navigation Word Count: 3179

Warning(s): Mildly dubious consent at first, restraints/light bondage, blood licking, pain kink, bi-han intentionally drawing blood, bottom reader, top noob saibot/bi-han, bi-han used throughout in place of noob saibot, spit as lube, not beta read

Bi-Han. Your former Grandmaster. Your former lover. 

After his betrayal to Liu Kang, the truth of his father’s demise, the truth behind his greed for power, you no longer considered him either of those things. You’d gone with Kuai Liang when he and Tomas had fled. 

Sometimes you regret it. Memories of your time with Bi-Han, sharing a bed, meals, bathing together make you miss what used to be even though you know you won’t ever get it back. He made his decision, you made yours. You doubt anything could ever repair that bridge that had long since burned to ash.

Or so you thought, at least.

After the situation with Titan Havik was resolved, you were put in charge of the former cryomancer’s holding container. It was an honor to be trusted by Liu Kang to the point that he’d trust you with a task of this magnitude. Or maybe it was the god’s way of testing you.

Though Bi-Han no longer looked like himself, you knew his mind was the same. Liu Kang had cleansed that much.

Sometimes you sit next to the container and look at your ex-lover, looking over the changes his body had gone through. The graying skin, the green glow that resonates from his chest. He still holds some features without that hood on.

His face was the same shape, his nose and lips. He was still pretty. 

It’s been a few months since then. Liu Kang comes every day to find out if he can figure out a way to properly restore Bi-Han. You’re lucky enough to be able to watch him do so and get live updates on the progress. 

Today, however, Liu Kang is away. He’d be away for a few days, not that you were worried. You had plenty of help at your beck and call if you needed it. You sit at the small desk in the room, your laptop open to keep yourself entertained for a few more hours until you were summoned for lunch. 

It’s quiet in the temple, peaceful. You can hear rain hitting the walls outside and it just adds to the overall peacefulness.

You let your guard down. Perhaps a foolish thing on your part, getting too complacent with how peaceful things have been. Bi-Han had always warned you about getting complacent. 

So you don’t hear the creak of the container behind you as it shifts. Or the quiet clanking of metal as someone comes up behind you. 

A hand covers your mouth and you reach for the panic button under the desk. Your hand never makes it, a black tendril wrapping around your wrist and stopping it just centimeters from the button. 

“What have I told you about getting complacent?” A voice growls out next to your ear. The tendril wrapped around your wrist continues to coil around your arm, traveling further up before it wretches your arm back and forces it behind the chair. 

The position was uncomfortable to say the least and you try to tug your arm free from the tendril. It doesn’t work. In fact, it gets you claws digging into your cheek and you can feel just the slightest bit of blood begin to trickle down your cheek.

“Do not struggle.” A second hand closes around your neck while the first uses its grip to tilt your head back so you were looking up at the being behind you.

Bi-Han. Or rather, what’s become of him now. 

Fuck.

You don’t believe he’s going to kill you. He would’ve already done so if it was his goal. You hope. 

The hand around your throat squeezes and your body tenses on instinct. “We have a lot of catching up to do,” Bi-Han growls. You don’t like the tone of his voice.

A second tendril wraps around your other wrist and, despite your struggle, it’s forced to join the first one behind the back of the chair. Two more wrap around your legs, keeping you completely pinned in place.

Bi-Han’s hands leave you but, before you can curse him out, a fifth tendril replaces them, coiling across your mouth and around your neck. It allows Bi-Han to pull your chair back so he can stand in front of you. 

White eyes stared at you for a moment, almost like he was inspecting your restrained form. You wonder for a moment if the tendrils feel pain. Your jaw shifts minutely and Bi-Han is grabbing your jaw in an instant, his claws finding gaps between the tendrils to do so. “Don’t even think about it.”

His claws dig into your skin hard enough to draw blood again. “Do you understand?”

You can find it in yourself to nod and he lets go on your jaw, pushing your head back in the process. Adding salt to the wound already. “Good. You still know how to listen.”

Prick. He plants his hands on the arms of your chair and leans over you. The tendril around your mouth twitches before it slowly unravels from your mouth. You stay quiet for the time being. You can tell your decision pleases Bi-Han just from the growl he gives.

“Tell me boy,” he starts, leaning in closer to you. His breath is still cold even after the physical alterations to his body and it has you unconsciously leaning away from him. “How long did you think it would be before I found you?”

What? You barely stop yourself from scoffing. “You hardly found me,” you say, hiding your laugh with a cough. You’d been watching over him for months. The little bastard just broke out of his cage.

The tendril around your neck tightens and you can feel your throat begin to close. Air struggles to reach your lungs and you can feel parts of your face begin to numb as your vision begins to spot. A choked groan escapes your mouth and the tendril loosens just enough for you to breathe again.

“You still don’t think before you speak,” Bi-Han growls, watching gleefully as you struggle to regain your bearings. “You look so much better when you’re like this.”

He grabs your jaw again though it’s almost gentle this time. He tilts your head side to side before prying your mouth open with his thumb. One of his claws tap against your teeth and all you can do is allow it. He runs his thumb over your gums, then pulls your lower lip away from your teeth before forcing your jaw shut again.

It takes everything in you not to snap at him for treating you with such blatant disrespect. But you know you’re in no position to do as such. “Liu Kang left you to keep guard?” Bi-Han scoffs, finally letting your jaw go and taking in your restrained form once again.

“From outside threats,” you correct with a low huff. You were already upset being restrained and Bi-Han chastising you was of no help.

Bi-Han gives a cold chuckle in response. The tendrils around your limbs undulate over your skin. It feels.. strange. 

Your hands flex, wrists twisting to see if the things would loosen up at least a little. They don’t. In fact, they tighten a bit more. 

The ones around your legs, however, force your legs to spread apart even as you try to keep them closed. Holy hell, they were strong. What were these things made out of??

Another tendril pops up between your legs, immediately making itself comfortable and pressing against your groin, pushing and kneading against it. “What are you-?” You start to say but your words trail off into a quiet groan as the tendril begins massaging you through your pants, encouraging your cock to respond to its touch.

“Still as easy to please as ever,” Bi-Han says, stepping between your legs to take your chin in his hand again. He forces you to look up at him as the tendril begins to apply more pressure, massaging more intentionally. How the hell did he still remember what made you tick?

And why did your body still respond to it? It’s not long before the tendril moves away, revealing the lovely tent in your trousers. 

Bi-Han tears his gaze away from your face to look at your crotch. His eyes narrow and you can only assume his face has turned into a sneer. “Pathetic,” he chuckles.

Your heart jumps, breath hitching. You swear you can feel your cock twitch too. You were always embarrassed how your body reacted when Bi-Han called you pathetic in that low growl of his. 

His claws dig into your cheeks again while he brings his free hand to palm you (quite roughly) through your pants. Gods forbid he’s ever gentle with you. And gods forbid that you don’t respond to it.

You grit your teeth but your body betrays you. Your hips twitch and jerk as much as they can against the tendrils. Choked breaths manage to slip through your teeth, your eyes fluttering as you struggle to keep quiet. You couldn’t give in.

Cold lips find your jaw and that’s all it takes to do you in. Your back arches away from the chair, your head falling back against the chair as Bi-Han kisses along your jaw. His lips feel the same. They’re the same cold, chapped lips. It surprises you. 

They trail across your jaw down to your neck. Where he bites you. “Fuck-!” You stop yourself before you curse him specifically. To his credit, he licks over the mark in a poor attempt to soothe the pain.

His hand never stops moving against you, palming and groping you through your pants. You can no longer stop the sounds spilling from your lips. You don’t know if you care at this point.

The mix of Bi-Han’s hand on you and his lips against your neck is making your head go fuzzy. You don’t even register the tendrils around your limbs loosening until Bi-Han hauls you out of your chair. Only to bend you over your desk. The panic button is long forgotten as you use your arms to cushion your head.

You’re watching him over your shoulder, watching as he takes in your form with hungry eyes. He looks like a man starved.

You swallow when Bi-Han begins to push your shirt up your back, goosebumps rising to your skin with the action. A claw traces up your spine before it drags back down. You hiss in pain, your body telling you to pull away from the pain while your head begs for more. You can feel the warmth of your blood against your cooled skin as it seeps from the scratch.

Then, Bi-Han bends down, his tongue running over your spine, licking up the blood he’d drawn out with his claw. “Bi-Han!” You gasp out, a shiver tearing up your spine at the feeling. 

He simply chuckles against your skin, his tongue lapping at your spine until he’s got you squirming, your hips trying to push back against anything they can. “Words,” he growls out against your back.

Of course he’d make you say it..

“Please.. fuck me,” you manage out, still trying to hold onto at least a sliver of your dignity. No response and no extra movement. “Bi-Han, please,” you plead, trying to push back against him. 

You hear him click his tongue dismissively before his hands are grabbing at your hips, forcing them to keep still. You could’ve sobbed.

You know exactly what he wants. You swallow the last bit of pride you have. “Please, Grandmaster,” you force out. 

“Good,” Bi-Han basically purrs in approval. His fingers hook in the waistband of your trousers and slowly tug them down your hips and thighs to sit at your knees. Embarrassingly, you’re wearing a pair of his boxers that you ‘stole’ from him when you were dating. It’s got his name embroidered in the waistband.

And you know he knows. He plucks at the elastic, letting it snap back against your skin a few times before your boxers join your pants at your knees.

You let out a quiet gasp as the cool air of the temple hits your heated cock. You for sure feel it twitch this time. 

You’re pulled from your thoughts when something cold drips onto your ass. He spat on you. Go figure. A glove lands next to your head and you just barely register what it means before two fingers are circling around your hole, smearing the spit around. At least he took the damned clawed glove off.

The tip of his finger teases you, pushing against your taint a few times without breaching. You’re about to open your mouth when he finally pushes a finger inside. You can’t bite back your groan. 

Bi-Han loved the sight before him. Having you on your stomach under him like this was like honey to him. Something so.. addicting about being in control of your pleasure. Watching you try to stay still to please him. 

His finger pumps in and out of you and he watches how it disappears inside you, listens to the sounds you make. The quiet hisses, the soft moans and keens don’t escape him. 

A second finger joins the first and you let out another kiss with the stretch. It had been a while since you’d last gotten intimate with anyone. Considering the last time you’d gotten intimate with another person, the person had been Bi-Han before he betrayed Liu Kang.

He’s surprisingly gentle with you as he scissors you open, prepping you meticulously. He finally allows you to begin to meet the movements of his fingers. And you take full advantage of it, pushing back against his fingers, matching his movements.

A third and a fourth are quick to join after that. The stretch is pleasant after a few moments and it’s not much longer before you’re wanting more. You voice as much to Bi-Han. “More.. please,” you rasp. “Grandmaster,” you add quickly.

You hear him growl behind you but his fingers are quick to leave you clenching on nothing as he pulls them out. Metal clinks behind you as Bi-Han undoes his belt and you feel more spit drip onto your ass. Then, you feel the head of his cock push against your taint. 

You take a deep breath to brace yourself. Bi-Han does not grant the time to do so, his hips pushing forward and breaching you. It brings a pained gasp from you and your body tensing around him. It does little to deter Bi-Han who continues pushing into you until he bottoms out, his hips flush against your ass.

One hand grips your hip, the other pressing against your upper back to keep you still as he pulls out a little, just to push back in slowly. He continues doing as much, pulling out a little more each time until your body relaxed enough for him to pick up the pace. 

He’s not gentle about it once he’s sure you’re not in too much pain. Bi-Han fucks you hard and fast, his hips slamming into yours, the sound echoing between your choked moans of pain and pleasure. 

He grunts and huffs above you, calling you pathetic a couple more times just to hear the embarrassed whines that leave your lips when he does. The hand on your back moves and you’re just vaguely aware as it wraps around your neck.

Bi-Han hauls you up, your back now flush against his chest. He holds you in place by your neck, tilting your head back just enough to kiss you. God, he needs chapstick. His tongue pushes into your mouth when you moan, tasting you. What used to be his.

You grip the edge of the desk for dear life. Until his hand starts squeezing around your neck. You grab his wrist, not yet pulling it away from you. Bi-Han parts from the kiss, watching you pant as you catch your breath.

His fingers press against your pulse points. He can feel your heart racing underneath them as he slowly starts applying more pressure. He gleefully watches as your eyes lid and unfocus. A light squeeze around his wrist, however, makes him lessen his grip again, letting you gasp for breath.

“Good boy. You remember,” he praises against your ear. Your breath hitches and your cock twitches with the praise. Your head still felt fuzzy, your vision swimming. But god did you love it. 

His hand remains on your neck as he continues to fuck you, his hips becoming more and more erratic as he chases his orgasm. His lips meet your neck, the hand on your hip moving to wrap around your cock and jerk you off sloppily. You pant Bi-Han’s name like a mantra, begging for release from your Grandmaster.

A choked gasp tears from you when Bi-Han starts choking you again. He doesn’t ease you in this time, squeezing your neck to the point you’re sure you’re going to pass out. The edges of your vision begin to fade and you know you’re treading a thin line.

 He lets you go completely when you squeeze his wrist a second time and you fall forward against the desk again. A hand lands by your head as Bi-Han steadies himself against the desk. His hand continues pumping your cock, using your precum to make the glide easier.

Your moans mix with his grunts as you get closer and you can barely warn him before you’re coming, shooting spend onto the front of the desk. Bi-Han feels you go limp under him when your orgasm hits you and he pulls out, pumping his cock until he’s making a mess of your ass and the backs of your thighs.

You’re vaguely aware of the feeling of cum sliding down your skin. It’s not until a rag touches your skin that you come back a little. 

Bi-Han cleans you up quickly before pulling your pants back up for you. He leaves you leaned against the desk, watching you try to regain your bearings. Your chest is heaving as you try to catch your breath.

He’d put his glove back on at some point, two clawed fingers gripping your chin and forcing your head up to look at him. “Your Grandmaster is the only one who can make you feel like this, do you understand?”

You nod at first. The grip on your chin tightens and you groan quietly. “Yes, Grandmaster,” you manage to rasp out. 

Bi-Han lets out a content huff and tilts your head back to admire the big bruise around your neck. That won’t be going away for a while. “Now, tell me how to get out of here,” he demands.

You shake your head and, for a second, Bi-Han gives you a look of utter confusion before the look disappears. Before he can respond, however, you can hear the door to the temple creak open. 

Bi-Han glares at you and you just smile weakly as you bring your hand out from under the desk, the button underneath dimly flashing. “Apologies, Grandmaster.”

[reviewsthatburn]

THE WITCH KING by Martha Wells is excellent and I had a great time reading it. The worldbuilding is nuanced and well-developed, with factions and history in a way that implies much more going on, but not getting bogged down in little details that don’t matter to this particular story. It deals with colonization and empire from the perspective of a quasi-immortal character (Kai) who has not been around forever, but has been around long enough that things which are part of his culture and history are now details that would fascinate only historians. The narrative shifts between two time periods in his life. This means that some events are mentioned before they were actually shown, but it was generally in a way that made the whole thing easier to follow. The two timelines are connected, as the main characters are trying to figure out whether the plan they were working on when they were betrayed is still salvageable. 

Full Review at Link

[lacefedora]

Sleep: Devil's Minion/ Armandaniel

@its-a-moral-gay-area

Armand has a nightmare about marius, daniel comforts him

<got a little stuck on this one a few days but I like the result. Contains references to marius and all the baggage that comes with that>

-

Armand rarely slept. He didn't need much sleep and to Daniel it seemed like Armand felt he was wasting his time if he slept away the hours instead of using them to do something. Read or buy art or whatever the fuck he kept doing that utterly destroyed Daniel's blender and garbage disposal. The man kept busy.

So it was an odd thing, to find Armand asleep. Even odder to find Armand in Daniel's bed doing it. Daniel was pretty sure they'd had sex in the past, some moments Armand has erased from Daniel's mind. He had caught glimpses of it when he had tasted Armand's blood. Glimpses of a life that Daniel had no memory of. He planned to go digging on that. But they hadn't shared a bed since his return.

He takes a moment to just watch him. Armand looked younger in sleep somehow. Too young. Daniel reaches out, about to brush some dark curls from his face. But then he sees Armand's brow furrow. His face twists like he's in pain. He starts to speak. Daniel can't understand the words… he knows enough French to get by but this isn't french… but not quite Italian either. He seems to be… pleading though. Trapped in a nightmare.

Perhaps this was the real reason Armand avoided sleep.

"Armand." He calls to him when he starts moving and twitching. Finally he reaches out, brushing his hair back and trying to wake him gently.

The response is immediate. Armand shoots straight up, cringing away from Daniel's hand. Daniel draws back his hands, holding them up. Armand's eyes are wild as he looks around the room, more panicked than Daniel had ever seen him.

"It's me Armand… just me." Armand's eyes come to rest on him.

"Daniel…" He says, like he's coming back from far away. Daniel sees Armand start to reach for him, then he stops, hands falling back to the bed. "Forgive me. I was dreaming." He says slowly.

Daniel has never been particularly hesitant. He moves across the bed and grabs Armand, pulling him against him. It's… bizarre how Armand fits against him immediately. He buries his face against Daniel's shoulder and he feels a shuttering breath against it.

"I'd say you had a nightmare, boss. It's okay." Daniel says and he puts his hand on Armand's hair, petting his curls. "You want to talk about it?" He asks. He doubted he would. Armand simply… didn't talk about things if he could help it. He was a volatile ball of constant repression. Right up until he exploded.

Armand seems to somehow burrow deeper into his embrace, clinging onto him.

"It was about Marius. Just… an old punishment." Armand tells him in a halting voice. Daniel's honestly a little touched he even got that much out of him.

"Marius… your creep Maker that used to pimp you out to his other artist friends?" Daniel asks and he keeps petting Armand's hair, feeling him start to unwind and relax under the touch. "Can't say I'm surprised he did shit to give you nightmares. Guy seems like a real peach." Daniel says flatly.

"He was not always… I was a wild thing then." Armand says, almost in defense.

"I don't know how to break this to you, but you're a wild thing now." Daniel tells him. He liked it about him actually. Which probably made him completely fucking insane, but here they were. "Don't really care how wild you were. Didn't deserve that shit, And you didn't deserve whatever it is that gave you nightmares 500 years after the fact, okay?"

Armand is silent for a long time after that. Daniel starts to think he's fallen back asleep. Instead after an age of silence Armand turns his head and presses a kiss to Daniel's shoulder and then tightens his arms around him.

"Thank you…" Armand says quietly. Daniel just smiles and pulls him to lay down together on the bed.

[jaegonsmoon]

Omega pregnant Aegon: *is married to Alpha Aemond and gives birth to a dark haired beautiful baby*

King Viserys: *is oblivious and just happy have more grandchildren*

Rhanyra: *freaking out over being an aunt and grandmother at the same time and also trying to spin this situation in way where this won’t end in war or death*

Aemond, Otto, Alicent and Baela: *absolutely furious and ready to draw blood*

Luke and Rhanea: *not looking and anyone and edging out of the room to avoid any fallout*

Daemon:* smirking and leaning against the doorway with popcorn*

Jace:*sweating bullets and debating on running to the free cities to keep his balls in tact*

Aegon: *ignoring everything and just holding /in love with his new Baby*

THIS IS GOLDEN!!!!!! I love it!

Aemond, who has fucked Aegon probably two to three times out of duty since they wedded. Aemond who has been fucking unbonded omega Lucerys since he presented as one not long after his and Aegon’s wedding. Aemond who, after his and his brother’s coupling, looks the other way and pretends he does not see when Aegon downs moon tea like a cup of the finest westerosi wine. Aemond who is in love with Lucerys and curses his and his own existence every day for the omega not presenting sooner so they could’ve been bonded against all odds instead. Aemond, who knows where Aegon’s heart lies since they were kids: *Fake offended gasp at the babes dark hair*

Lucerys, who forgot to take his moon tea last time and drank it a tad too late, way past the 24 hours cycle, physically sweating: *gulps*

Baela, Rhaena, and Helaena, who have always known what’s stirring inside the pot and have all come to a silent agreement because they’re all young and craving a love of their own, not one forced upon them: *trying to contain their smirks and compostures*

Jacaerys, who has loved Aegon since he learned the meaning of it. Who’s first kiss, first time, first everything he shared with his uncle. Jace who was denied Aegon’s hand when his mother, who knew all along, tried to arrange their marriage. Jace who couldn’t steal Aegon away because Alicent, suspicious of it all, wed him to Aemond privately, before anyone could make a move. Jacaerys whose chest was swelling with pride at the sight of what they made together. Their babe. It was his seed the one to blossom in his womb, it was him the one that put it there, and now were all gonna possibly be beheaded for it, but in truth there was only one person in the room who gave a fuck about it, and no one would listen to her. Jacaerys who couldn’t be more obvious right now if he could help it: Gevie.

Aegon, who had only eyes for Jacaerys his entire life, ever since he had been born, till the moment present where he knew, the moment he became pregnant. He felt it. Aegon who spent his entire pregnancy sneaking out on rides where he and Jace would meet halfway in a small island they had found as an escaped in their early youth. Where they would curl up in between their dragons and talk, kiss, touch and fuck and hold each other for hours. Ageon, whose babe was restless when their sire was away. Aegon who wished this would happen, that his baby would inherit their true sires features for the world to see. For his mother to see. The inevitable, how they were meant to be from the start and no faith and costume of the Mother or The Seven could come between the ways of Old Valyria, of the dragons. Aegon who was in love with what he and his nephew had created out of love and passion, couldn’t stop staring at the beautiful creature in his arms: I would burn the seven kingdoms for you.

And much like with Rhaenyra’s first three children, King Viserys would have the tongues and eyes of whoever dared to speak ill against his grandchild.

And when a couple of months later, unmated omega prince Lucerys gave birth to a beautiful silver haired baby, then what—

[a-killer-obsession]

Wavelengths [Killer x Reader, Heat x Reader]

🔞 Minors DNI 🔞

A search for a rumored Vegapunk weapon leads the Kid Pirates to an unexpected new crewmate, with a bloodlust that rivals their own and an incredible power.

CW: Please check AO3 for all current warnings, but general warning for smut, slow burn, serious gore, and really dark themes. AFAB reader, she/her pronouns.

Masterlist || AO3 || Chapter 1

Chapter 7 - Trust

You help Mohawk give the crew their annual medical checkups.

WC: ~4k

Taglist: @h0n3y-l3m0n05 @tremendoushorsepatrolgoth

Apparently the Kid Pirates took their health more seriously than Yin would have guessed, because during dinner it was decided that tomorrow Yin would start her new job in the infirmary by assisting with annual medical checkups. Apparently Mohawk was adamant that the crew have regular health assessments, though to be honest only the top dogs ever usually made it through more than one annual checkup. Henchmen and cabin boys didn't often survive that long. Regardless, he kept well organized records of everyone currently on the ship, with manila folders containing sheets of information, from medical history to blood types to work he'd done himself. They were all kept in careful alphabetical order in filing cabinets that sat in the infirmary, organized by first name since many of the ship's occupants didn't have a surname.

With the addition of Yin's skills he was determined to add a new sheet of paper to each file, documenting old bone breaks, as well as any current internal issues that he might not have been able to catch without scanning equipment. The crew wasn't due for their annuals for another month or so, but he was excited to test out her abilities, so he'd convinced Kid to bring it forward.

She followed him to the infirmary after breakfast, where he gave her a quick tour of the room before performing her own checkup. He usually liked to do an initial interview when a new crewmate came on board but there hadn't really been the opportunity to do it till now. Anytime she'd been free, he'd been busy.

She gave him the short version of her life, he wasn't shocked to hear how the marines had treated her. They discussed contraceptives for a short while, but in truth he didn't really know much about them, since he was used to working for a crew of only men. She told him she had some sort of implant the commodore had forced on to her, so he made a note to look in to it, but left it be at that. The entire female reproductive system was something he was going to need to study now. He at least didn't need to inquire about her last cycle, or how irregular her period was, since he'd heard from Heat what happened during her initiation. He'd been unsurprised to discover the slave mark burned in to her skin in the middle of her back, it was long healed since it had been probably twenty years since she was branded.

“Any old injuries to note?” He asked, pulling out the new page he'd whipped up yesterday and photocopied a million times. It had a simple outline of a human, duplicated and labeled ‘front’ and ‘back’, with space around the edges so he could make notes and draw arrows to mark notable injuries.

“I broke my left ankle when I was learning to moon step, when I was about fourteen,” she said, tapping her lip with her index finger while she tried to recall past injuries, “oh and I dislocated my right hip when I was eight”

“How'd you do that?” He asked, making quick notes on the page.

“Got raped by a man too big for me,” she said plainly. He paused and put down his pen, letting out a heavy sigh. She seemed indifferent, like she'd just told him she'd fallen from a tree or something. You know, something normal for an eight year old to have done. He didn't pry further, she'd already given him her life story, he didn't need more information.

“I just need to check your eyes and ears and we can start calling the crew in for their checks,” he said, wheeling his stool over to sit in front of her. She was sitting over the side of the examination table. The infirmary wasn't large, but it was big enough for a decent size desk, an examination table, and a couple of more comfortable beds for those who needed a quiet place to recover, or required observation. The walls were lined with cabinets, many of them under lock and key, bookcases containing medical journals, and several tall filing cabinets. The room didn't have any windows, since it was smack in the middle of the building that sat above deck towards the back of the ship, and it smelt heavily of medical grade disinfectant.

“Can you remove your mask for me?” He asked politely, otoscope in hand.

“I can but you have to be quick, did Killer explain how my mask works to you?” She asked.

“He did, you won't be able to hear or see me properly, correct?” He said, “I'll be quick, just look straight ahead and stay still, I'll put your mask back on as soon as I'm done”

“Okay then, I think I trust you,” she slid her mask off and placed it on the bed beside her, sitting as still as she could, “okay, go ahead,” she couldn't make out her own voice, but she hoped she was speaking.

He gasped as he looked at her eyes and saw the grey-pink, no whites or iris or discernable pupil visible on them. He pushed it aside for now, he had to check her ears first. He moved quickly, knowing that every second he took was another second for her to become overwhelmed. Killer had warned that in the past she'd been known to become feral when she was without her mask, and he didn't feel like getting bitten today.

Her ears looked healthy, so he swapped his otoscope for his ophthalmoscope, rolling his stool to be directly in front of her and gently pulling her eyelids away to see more of her eyeballs. It was useless, he couldn't make out anything remotely human on her eyes other than the shape - whatever was going on with them was outside of his skillset. He sighed and gave up, putting the tool down and picking her mask up to slide carefully over her head. She felt it starting to touch her, so she quickly took over and shimmied it into its usual comfortable position.

“All done?” She asked.

“All done, thanks for not biting me,” he half laughed as he scribbled notes in her chart.

“I only do that to men who ask nicely,” he assumed she winked after that but he couldn't tell past the visor.

“Right,” he tried to brush it off, he wasn't one who was comfortable or who knew how to react to open flirting, “so, with the others. I'll do all my usual examinations, and when I'm done I'll have you scan them. I want to hear about any current or old injuries, and any abnormalities you see. I've never had access to scanning equipment so it'll be mostly new information for me.”

“Okay, can do doc!” She replied, moving from the exam table to the desk, sitting on the edge and kicking her feet.

“One last thing,” Mohawk said as he stood to go find his first patient. Most of the crew thought medical checks were for pussies and would no doubt be unwilling victims, “everything in this room comes under doctor-patient confidentiality okay? You're my nurse now, everything you hear is to be kept private. And keep it professional, you may be surprised how many of these men have STIs. If I hear a single laugh while I'm looking at someone's dick I'll have Killer drown you, got it?”

“Genitals don't phase me, most of the showers in the marines were mixed gender,” she shrugged, “you may be surprised to hear how many dicks I've come face first with to check for UTIs”

“Okay, good, we should have no issues then,” he said, “get off the desk, it's not professional. Sit in my chair till I need your assistance. I'll be mostly on the stool anyway”

“Roger that, doc,” she gave a mock salute and slid off the desk as he left.

Yin really was surprised at how many henchmen had STIs, and by the time they were done she was sure she could recite Mohawk's safe sex spiel of the top of her head, word for word. A few henchmen had been suffering in silence with bad constipation, and one had a badly broken toe. The cabin boys were all relatively healthy, but Mohawk gave them all the safe sex talk anyway, since it wouldn't be long before they started getting curious about the women, and he desperately hoped he could keep them from turning in to disease-ridden henchmen. Some of them were already partaking, but had been lucky enough to not catch anything.

It was well in to the afternoon when they got to the officers and commanders. The officers were all healthy, being that they'd been on the ship long enough to have regular checkups and knew well to follow Mohawk's advice. Yin had to stand on the examination table to check Wire's head, since he was just so damn tall.

She was surprised to find during Heat's examination that he actually had several hidden piercings that she could see through his clothes while she scanned him. She didn't ask why his dick was pierced, it didn't seem like an appropriate medical question. Kid wasn't happy about being examined, and complained the whole time that he was too busy for this shit. Mohawk gave him a long, stern talking to about drinking less beer and more water, if he didn't want a repeat of yesterday. She hadn't realised that the metal arm didn't have a real arm inside, she'd just assumed it was some sort of cover. She bit back a gasp when he removed it so Mohawk could check the stump of what used to be an arm. The base had metal embedded in to it, assumedly to help the prosthetic stick. She did her best to not gawk.

Last up was Killer, who they had to wait quite long for since he had been busy with some new recipe he had wanted to try that required being cooked slowly for many hours. He smelled of freshly cut herbs and bread when he entered, mixed with his usual scent of musk and spices. He locked the door as he entered, and Yin came to the jarring realisation that he was probably going to need to remove his mask. Mohawk went through his usual line of questioning before standing in front of Killer, he was too tall to examine from the stool. He did the same flexibility and grip strength tests he'd done for everyone else, and tapped his knees with a little hammer to check reaction times, before picking up his otoscope and turning to Yin expectantly.

“Right, sorry,” she said, turning and facing the wall. She heard something click and hair rustling as Killer removed his mask. “Hey um.. should I examine his head while the mask is off? I can't see his face if I'm scanning him, I promise”

“My head is fine,” Killer said flatly.

“I'm making notes of old injuries as well though, its important for my records,” Mohawk explained, “she's fast, it'll only take her a moment to check your head if nothing is wrong”

“Fine,” he sighed, “as long as she can't see”

“If my visor is dark green or red, I can't see you, just your insides,” she said, “to be honest I can only make out faces when its purple or like a neon green”

“Neon green is what you had when you killed the seaking right?” Killer asked, “is that some sort of night vision?”

“Yeah,” she explained, still awkwardly facing the wall, “and I can see pretty deep in the water as well, thats how I saw the seaking. I'm gonna turn around now, okay? I'll only be able to see your bones”

“Okay,” he replied. Mohawk finished checking Killer's eyes and stepped aside for her. She couldn't see well, but she'd spent all day in the room so she knew there was no furniture between them, and she could see their skeletons, the metal base of the examination bed, and Killer's mask sitting on the bed bedside him. She used what she could see as a guide to carefully make her way over, but she couldn't see the floor so her steps were awkward and she tripped.

“Woah, careful,” Mohawk said as he caught her, “what's wrong with you?”

“Can't see the floor,” she laughed, “I can only really see your bones and the metal things in the room, like Killer's mask and the base of the bed. Hard to walk without a floor”

She righted herself and stood carefully in front of Killer, who was definitely too tall. “You're too big, I'm gonna need to get on the table,” she climbed up on the side of him that didn't hold his mask, thankful that the base was metal and the mattress was thin so she could even see what she was doing. In her mind she was adding thickness to all the things she could see to account for what she couldn't.

“Ah- my hair-” Killer growled and pulled away, she'd unknowingly knelt on his long blond locks that had been resting against the bed.

“Fuck, sorry Kil,” she said, kneeling behind him, “I couldn't see it”

“It's fine, just get it over with,” he muttered, pulling his hair over his shoulder to the front so she couldn't catch it again.

“Is it okay if I touch you?” She asked as professionally as she could, “I need to turn your head”

“That's fine,” he replied.

She put her hands gently on either side of his head, carefully turning it and moving her hands around as she examined. It felt like he had thick bangs over his forehead, which definitely surprised her.

“Fuck you have a lot of old fractures for someone who wears a helmet,” she noted, “I can see… seven, Mohawk, if you want to note that down”

“Got it,” he replied, scribbling in his notes.

She turned Killer's face to look at her, her thumbs tracing his cheeks as she inspected them. She didn't even realise how intimate she was being, it was a natural process for her. His jawline seemed strong and his cheekbones looked prominent, if she had to guess she'd say he must have a sharp, attractive face. It looked symmetrical at the bone level, but who knows what kind of scars or deformities he might have on top that caused him to wear a mask.

“Old fracture on the left cheek as well,” she said, “I'd bet good money Kid did that”

“It'd be a winning bet,” he replied, suppressing a smile. Mohawk was busy with his notes, and she couldn't actually see his face, but he felt exposed anyway, and he didn't want anyone to see his ugly smile - the real reason he wore a mask.

“I'm gonna switch to red now okay?” She said, removing one of her hands from his face to fiddle with her mask. The visor turned red and her hand returned to his face, “Nothing of note on the front, eyes look healthy, frontal lobe looks fine,” she turned his head and made her way around, checking the side, then the back, then the other side. She paused, holding his head firmly in place. “Mohawk?”

“Mmm?” He looked up from his notes.

“There's something here, on the outside, towards the base of the neck,” she said, running her hand through Killer's hair and pulling it gently aside to clear the area she wanted Mohawk to check, “right here,” she pointed as she saw the bag of organs and veins that formed Mohawk stand beside the bed.

“It looks like a small cyst,” he said, prodding it with a gloved hand, “Killer I thought I told you to let me know if your mask did shit like this, it looks like it's about where the edge would rub”

“It's nothing,” he pulled Yin's hand out of his hair, entirely ignoring how nice her delicate hands felt woven through his locks, “I was just gonna deal with it myself”

Mohawk sighed and returned to his desk, “you're staying when she's done checking you over, so I can deal with that. It needs draining”

“I have shit to do,” Killer grumbled.

“Will you stop being a baby and let him do his job?” Yin scowled as she slid off the bed carefully, “now stand up so I can finish the scan, you can put your mask back on but I still have to check the rest of you”

He sighed and put his mask back in place before unwillingly standing, she tugged his arm to pull him further from the bed so she could walk all the way around him and quickly went about her scan, checking his bones first, then switching back to the red mode. She lifted his left arm as she checked his side.

“Your heart is beating a little fast Kil, you okay?” She noted.

“His heart rate was fine before,” Mohawk mused, quirking an eyebrow at Killer, who scowled under his mask at the clear insinuation.

“I'm just pissed off, now hurry the fuck up and quit touching me,” he growled.

“Anddd mister grumpymask is back,” she smiled, “relax, I'm done. He's all clear, doc, fit as a fiddle”

“Good, thats everyone then,” Mohawk said as he made a few last notes and stood to start collecting the supplies he needed for Killer's cyst, “you can go, Yin, thank you for your help. It won't always be this much work, I promise”

“Its fine,” she replied, unlocking the door to leave, “this was fun, I was happy to help. See you two at dinner,” she sung as she left. Mohawk gave her a weak goodbye, and Killer remained quiet.

Dinner wasn't far off, in fact by the time Mohawk was done with Killer it was time to head to the dining hall. Everyone else was already there, and Killer quickly finished off the special recipe of slow cooked beef and beer stew that he'd been working on earlier, with several fresh loaves of sourdough he'd made earlier to go with it.

“Anything of importance to report from the annuals?” Kid asked Mohawk as he dipped his bread in the hearty stew.

“Just that your henchmen need to keep it in their pants if they can't learn to use a rubber,” Mohawk sighed.

“The usual then,” Kid laughed, “dirty cunts”

“Oi, Yin,” Wire interjected, “I've got a question for you”

“Hit me,” she replied with a smile, inhaling another mouthful of the delicious stew - Killer's cooking really was the best she'd ever had.

“How did you know anything about us or our reputation if you've been locked away for the last five years?” He asked in a serious tone. It felt like an integration, like he was about to crack open that everything she'd told them was a lie, “you knew who Heat and I were, you knew the Captain and Killer, you said you knew you'd fit in here. But you've been in a cell for the last five years, and we only got our first bounties a few years ago”

Eveyone else turned and stared at her, and Kid stopped eating entirely, mulling it over in his head and coming to the same realisation Wire had, that the dots didn't connect. “How did you know about us?” Kid was almost growling, it felt like a threat.

She sighed and put down her spoon, looking across the table at Killer's expressionless mask, like he could offer some sort of support. “You really want to know? You're not gonna like the answer”

“Answer the fucking question,” Kid said sternly, grinding his teeth.

“Okay, fuck, don't bite my fucking head off. I'd been with the commodore you found me with for most of my imprisonment, and I guess you could say he was a fan of yours,” she explained, careful to speak to Kid directly, so as not to incur any further wrath from him, “when you came on to the grandline he started getting a bit obsessed. Every time he came to… visit me… he would tell me about your crew, and the big promotion he was gonna get when he took you down. Which is ironic, in hindsight. Anyway at some point he started bringing in your bounty posters, the four of you, mostly Kid's, and he'd use them against me if I wasn't obediently letting him have his way with me. He'd say shit like ‘you're so lucky you have me here to protect you and make you feel so good’ and then he'd wave Kid's poster in my face and say ‘this cunt would rip your legs off just so he could fuck the bloody holes left behind, he'd rape you to death and then he'd keep going. His whole crew would rape your dead body till you were nothing but a pile of rotting bones’. Sometimes he'd leave the posters in the cell with me, to remind me of my place, so I got familiar with your faces. Of course I never believed that shit, it wasn't hard for me to see that the marines are the bad people in this world, I've seen pirates as the good guys for a long time now. The second Kid let me go the day you found me, I knew I was right and the commodore was full of shit. Not that I think there aren't pirates that rape, I just knew for sure that you guys didn't. Anyway, yeah. That's how.”

Kid was visibly angry, not at her but at the commodore, as he tore a huge chunk of bread from an untouched loaf and dipped it with a little too much force in to his stew, making liquid spill out around the edges of the bowl, “Fucker…” he said through a full mouth.

“I did say you wouldn't like it,” she grumbled, looking mournfully at her stew. She no longer had any appetite but forced herself to keep eating anyway. She didn't want to offend Killer by not finishing the food he'd made them.

“Sorry,” Wire said solemnly, “I shouldn't have pried”

“It's okay Wire,” she forced a smile for him, “I get it. I'm a stranger, you don't trust me, and things didn't add up. You were just protecting the crew. I hope you'll come to trust me, in time, like I'm trying my best to learn to trust all of you”

“Trust is hard earned,” Killer added plainly.

“You think I don't know that?” She almost yelled in clear annoyance. Heat spooked a little as she slammed a closed fist on the table, “You think its easy for me to be sitting here on a ship full of men when every man who has every touched me has raped me? You think I don't know how hard it is to learn to trust someone? Cut me some fucking slack, Killer”

“Sorry,” he mumbled.

“I'm not very hungry anymore,” she said, frustrated and angry. She felt like she was being treated like the enemy, and she'd done nothing to deserve it. She'd been working hard every day to earn their trust, and she felt brushed off. “Sorry, the food was delicious Killer, I'm just… not hungry anymore”

“Leave the bowl, I'll finish it,” Kid told her. He grabbed her hand before she left, “you'll have our trust, Killer's is just a little harder to earn. You're doing good work here, just give it time. I hope I can earn your trust as well, as your Captain”

“Thanks, Kid,” she sighed as he let her hand go. She didn't say anything more, and they watched as she quickly disappeared out of the galley and the doors swung shut behind her.

[NEXT CHAPTER]

[morganas-pendragons]

Fruits Of My Labor | Aemond Targaryen

I was blasting Fruits by Paris Paloma when I wrote this and came up with this idea in the shower. This will contain MAJOR MAJOR MAJOR SPOILERS FOR WHAT WILL HAPPEN IN HOUSE OF THE DRAGON. IF YOU DON’T WANT SPOILED, DO NOT READ IT. I did change two things in this as compared to Fire and Blood. 

Enjoy! I’m excited to see what you guys think. This is my first time writing for this universe other than for Jaime Lannister! 

Edit: This literally took me over a week because having a full time job is so time consuming lol 

You should have known better. You were a true born Velaryon, a daughter of the sea and a fearsome dragon rider. You were smart. Fierce. Deadly. 

But you were also a child. A child who had lost her older brother and sister and mother. 

Your cousins. Your life. 

Your family had been your livelihood for so long that you didn’t know how to live without them. Your mother’s comfort, your sisters compassion, your brothers steadfastness, your father’s loyalty. 

You’d take them in all their faults for even a moment if it took your focus off of what fueled you when they were no longer around: Your anger. 

And oh.. you were so prone to your anger. 

***

Blood and Cheese 

When word got back to you about the atrocities committed against Helaena Targaryen, you were furious. Fuming. It had been a long time since someone had been able to provoke you to such rage. 

You understood, and yet you didn’t. A son for a son. Did Rhaenyra not give any considerations to her half-sister? Aegon may be the subject of her ire, but Helaena Targaryen had done nothing to provoke being witness and victim to such levels of cruelty. 

You couldn’t imagine it. So you made Rhaenyra imagine it for you, while your mother stood in the back of the room and bore witness to the dragon fire that lay deep within you. 

  “The gall you have..” You murmur, drawing Rhaenyra and Daemon’s attention where they stand by the fireplace. “Do you realize what you just did?” 

  “They took my son.” Rhaenyra snaps, harsh and cold, the eyes of a grieving mother staring back at you. “Which is something you could not begin to fathom, seeing as how your betrothal ended so abruptly.” 

Oh. That’s wonderful. So now she’s going to use Alicent breaking off your betrothal against you as well? 

  “No, no I didn’t. But at least my children would have been legitimate,” You snarl. Daemon steps forward to intervene, as he always does when it comes to Rhaenyra, but you slamming your fist against the painted table stops him in his tracks. “Did you even consider the ramifications of this, Rhaenyra? Jahaerys was innocent!”

 “The Greens took Visenya and Lucerys from me. They killed my children. It is only fitting that retribution be paid through the loss of their own son!” 

  “Helaena will never be the same again because of what you took from her! You took your vengeance upon a girl who did not deserve it. She was sweet. Sweet, and good, and loved by the commoners. One of my dearest friends.” You jab your thumb at Rhaenyra angrily, eyes lit by the firelight of the candles around the painted table as the two of you stand off against one another. “You took her child away and ruined her. Whatever blood falls upon us now? That’s on you.” 

Rhaenyra is left to hear one final curse before you flee the room, Daemon’s hand resting upon her shoulder to prevent her from following you. 

Things are never quite the same after that. It’s only days later that Meleys is paraded through King’s Landing and your mother’s body lay broken and unmoving after the Battle of Rook’s Rest. 

There’s no one left to temper your anger. 

So, for the rest of the war, that is what fuels you. Your anger and your grief. 

If it gets the job done, who cares what it does to you? 

Anger always wins. 

***

The last time you saw Rhaenys Targaryen, she’d bid you goodbye with a kiss to your forehead and tucked her favorite cloak around your shoulders. It had always been two sizes too big.

She’d whispered affirmations about your future and how proud she was of you in your ear before she walked out the main doors of Dragonstone to Meleys.

You never saw her again.

***

She died less then 24 hours later.

Rhaenyra was the one who told you about Aemond’s involvement in it.

He’d played a hand.

He’d killed your mother.

***

You spent the days following your mothers death weeping, clutching the fabrics of your favorite cloak she often wore when you were a child in trembling fingers. You mourned her presence. Her comfort. You often wished you could join her just to be free of the Dance. 

To be free of him. 

You were a child, and children are impressionable. That was why you loved him. Even when you truly, deeply loathed him for all the pain he caused you and your family. 

  “My Lady? Are you well?” 

You don’t hear your Lady in Waiting call for you from across the room. There you sit beside the window, frail and well beyond your years, eyes cast upon the waters outside the castle while you linger inside the recesses of your own mind.

The Dance of the Dragons ended a long, long time ago. 

You are the only living survivor.  

Your memories are far more pleasant to live in because they are in all of them. Your family is not reduced to the ghosts you now know them as, but are flesh and blood and so very, very real. 

  “Forgive me, Theah... I was just remembering.” 

  “Remembering what?” 

You smile sadly. Something lingers in your eyes as you meet her gaze - she’s so young and so eager to live a life she hasn’t had the opportunity to greet yet - and you see the same lingering within her own that calls to you. It’s familiar. 

It was the same thing that drew you to Aemond. A desire for adventure, for freedom, for life. 

And well... The Dance kept you confined to your duties and kept you from being able to pursue it. 

  “Remembering a better time, sweet girl.” 

*** 

You remember it vividly. Watching from the scorched beaches while Daemon and Aemond take to the skies above Harrenhal, otherwise known as the God’s Eye, to engage in a fearsome battle neither will emerge from. You know it in your heart of hearts. 

A more innocent part of you that still lingers deep inside aches to go to him. To make him see reason, to convince him to surrender to Daemon and Rhaenyra and just... stop. 

To just let it go. The Green’s haven’t been able to do that once since the Dance started, to submit to the succession of Viserys the First would mean abdicating the throne. 

Otto would never let it stand. His lust for power and influence over Alicent had gotten Aegon the throne and plunged the realm into war over the true successor of the Iron Throne. 

The battle descending from the clouds above you is beautiful, in an incredibly tragic and devastating way. 

Daemon and Aemond are locked in a terrifying battle as they plunge from the clouds, Caraxes and Vhagar desperate to bring the other down first. You watch the dragon’s stomach be torn open. The other ripped at the throat. You can’t bring yourself to look away. These two had been friends once. 

You know there’s nothing you can do to prevent what is about to happen. They both brought it upon themselves. Aemond Targaryen brought this painful, agonizing end upon himself with his involvement in the Dance. 

Your breath catches as Daemon rises from his saddle and lunges across the gap to drive Dark Sister into Aemond’s other eye. There’s nothing you can do. You weren’t even permitted the ability to take part. 

The commoners had seen to that themselves.  They'd mercilessly killed all the dragons who remained in the dragon pit. The numbers were dwindling, growing fewer and fewer as the Dance progressed. Four had fallen. Tyraxes, Morgul, Dreamfyre, and Nightshade. 

When Rhaenyra wailed over the death of Joffery - barely a boy, thrown from Syrax for trying to flee to the dragon pit and rescue his birth right - you were simultaneously crying over the agonizing pain that seared through heart, body, and soul at the loss of your dragon. 

By that time in the Dance, you’d lost nearly everyone within the Blacks. All that remained was your father and Rhaenyra, who were at odds anyway. They had been ever since Rook’s Rest. 

Was this your curse? The last of your House, destined to outlive all the others? Is this what the fruits of your labor as the youngest child of House Velaryon had gotten you? 

It’s over before you realize it. 

This was where they fell.

***

  “What time could have been better? You spent so much of your life engaging in war. You are practically a veteran to it,” Theah absently remarks from your bedside. “I do not envy you. War is-” 

  “Debilitating. Agonizing. Crippling.. suffocating. War tore my Houses apart at the seams and took away everything and everyone I loved,” You interject. “I was thinking about when I was barely a woman grown, not longer after being betrothed to Aemond Targaryen.” 

  “Anything specific?” 

It’s always something specific with your memories with Aemond. They usually take you to the same two places: A little run down shack on the cliffs above the sea, not too far from Driftmark. 

The other is a field of endless wildflowers. 

  “The first time Aemond ever took me away on dragon back was not long after he’d claimed Vhagar. We’d disappeared in the middle of the night from the guards posted outside my door, and I’d guided him back to Driftmark to this little house my mother spent a lot of time in before she married my father. It was very out of the way.” You twist the ring on your finger as you speak, the fading memory of your mother’s face flashing in front of you as you do so. The ring is the last thing you have of Rhaenys. “We spent the night there. I told him I wanted to do it forever. That I wanted to leave behind duties and obligations to experience something I never really got to have. Not like my sister and brother did. My mother doted over me far too much.” 

  “And what was the thing you never got to have?” 

You smile wryly. “My freedom, sweet girl. As I am sure you well understand.” 

Theah goes quiet for several minutes. She was brought to you by Aegon the Third not long after the two of you had met. Once he’d read his mother’s last testament - found in her former chambers in the Red Keep after her death - and found your name written within, he’d sought you out and gave you a Lady in Waiting. It had been freedom for Theah. Being your Lady had gotten her away from the brothels. 

You’d thanked both Viserys and Aegon profusely after that. She may be the only soul left in this world sympathetic to your plight.  

You’d never anticipate them traveling from King’s Landing to Driftmark to see you.

  “Did you think it would last? Your betrothal?” Theah asks. 

 You did. Aemond didn't. He knew the Targaryen customs, he knew his duty. He knew Aegon didn’t want to marry Helaena. 

Alicent had also seen how much you meant to her son.

And that could not stand.

  “I would’ve burned down the world to hand its remains to Aemond Targaryen if he’d asked me to,” Something shifts in your gaze then, something cold and hard and unyielding that most have not seen in you before. It was something you’d only learned to embrace during the Dance of Dragons. “And then he betrayed me.” 

Theah furrows her brow in confusion. “What did he do?” 

Lucerys’ innocent face replaces that of your mother. Another soul lost to the war so many years ago, the first of many. Lucerys’ death had been what catalyzed the beginning of the Dance. 

All at Aemond’s hand.

  “He killed my sweet, innocent cousin. He killed him. Then he played a hand in killing my mother and I never forgave him for it.” You shrug. “That was the beginning of the end for something we’d never get to have anyway.” 

***

The minute Rhaenyra received news about Lucerys, you were quick to have the Maesters write a note that you would be hand delivering to Aemond yourself. You would not give him the satisfaction of being able to speak to you in person after the atrocity he’d just committed. 

Poor Luke. He was a boy. So good, so innocent, desperately trying to do his duty and do right by his mother. 

He wasn’t a warrior. He was a child. 

And Aemond had killed him anyway. 

You leave the note pierced through the center by one of your daggers inside of the shack overlooking Driftmark. When Aemond bursts through the door several hours after fleeing Storm’s End, he finds it and frantically opens the letter to reads the words written upon. 

Aemond, 

You have brought what follows the death of Lucerys upon yourself.

Kesan ilimagho līr iksin dōrī  āzma ezīmagon bisa vys.  Se kesan daor ilimagho ao skori aōha hoskagon maghagon aōha ropagon. 

He swallows the knot in his throat and presses his forehead to the paper.

I will not mourn that which was never born into this world. And I will not mourn you when your pride brings your fall. 

Aemond wishes he was brave enough to tell you like he did in this little house on the cliffs all those years ago. 

But just like the dreams of things that will never come to pass, his harbored desires for you die as he flees the cliffsides to Vhagar. 

The house on the cliffs is never occupied again. 

***

You know when you do find what little remains of him that this is what he wrought. There was nothing to be done. 

Nothing, you think, as you remove Dark Sister from Aemond’s other eye and throw it into the water. 

You don’t unchain him. His body will be found years later still confined to the chains that held him to Vhagar’s saddle. 

It’s... quite fitting, really. Aemond Targaryen - the one who sought freedom - dying confined to both his physical and metaphorical chains made quite a lot of sense. 

The thought of it almost made you smile, despite the tightness in your chest. 

You had wept profusely for your mother. For Laenor, for Laena. You refuse to give Aemond that same satisfaction, despite that part of you from your childhood that still wants to chase him forever. 

The childlike spirits of you and Aemond Targaryen run far away together in a field of wildflowers. Far away from war, from pain and suffering, and.. happy. You’re happy. 

Oh how you wish you could be there. 

You grimace and bend down to cup water in your hands. The air is thick with smoke and difficult to breathe in, but you’re more focused about keeping yourself together then falling apart as realization falls upon you. 

Aemond is dead. 

You should be fine with it. He hurt you irreparably. 

So why does looking at him hurt? Why does thinking about all the things you should’ve gotten to do, to be - as his wife, Aemond would’ve let you be anything you wanted if it meant you were free of your duties and obligations as a Velaryon - cut deeper then the sharpest knife? 

   “I would’ve brought this entire country to its knees for you,” You murmur. The water at your feet is tinged red now. The dragons corpses had been settled in it long enough to stain it red. “But you never could have done the same thing for me.” 

It will be quite some time before either is pulled from the water. You are quick to leave - unable to do so on dragon back, since almost all the dragons have been killed by now - by horseback to Driftmark. You and your father are the last Velaryons, and he had made it clear you were to not be directly involved on the fronts of the war anymore. 

It didn’t mean you wouldn’t send Alicent a parting gift first. 

***

  “Were you there when the Dowager Queen died?” 

  “Oh no, but I sent my regards. She got what she deserved. You reap what you sow.”

The regard in question: Aemond’s sapphire eye, taken out with your own fingers, and his sword - both recovered from the body that you left chained to Vhagar. 

You hadn’t been present for most of what happened after the God’s Eye. You’d gone straight back to your father in Driftmark, where he forced you to remain until the end of the war. Corlys was not about to let anything else happen to his family like it had Baela, Rhaena, Rhaenys, Laena and Laenor. 

He’d pass peacefully in his sleep some years later. 

When Alicent Hightower died around the same time, you lit a single candle and placed it in your window. You didn’t mourn her. You hoped she was suffering the same way she’d allowed you and your family to suffer. 

The flame flickered out, and the last of House Velaryon stood. 

*** 

Someone else has entered the room. You’re not sure who, given that your chambers are mostly off limits, and Driftmark is scarcely occupied these days. You pay no mind to it when Theah stands in the midst of your conversation to go and greet your guests. They must be important if your guards let them pass. 

It was only recently that you’d been declared unfit to rule Driftmark. It was never supposed to be yours anyways, but with the lack of heirs and the death of your House, it had gone to you anyway. 

With your passing would also be the end of House Velaryon, never to be remembered as anything other than the House dragged into the darkness with House Targaryen after effectively tearing each other apart. 

  “My dearest one,” Your eyes snap open. It’s been so long since you’ve heard that voice. “The years have been kind to you. You look peaceful.” 

  “The years kept me from you, Mother.” You whisper. “Especially when I needed you most.” 

Rhaenys is the one you keep seeing, both in your waking and dreaming moments. It’s cruel. It’s cruel knowing she’s the only family member to appear to you when so many others could be the the ones to guide you home. Out of this darkness and into the waking light. 

It would be so much better where you were going. 

  “I have waited so long for you to come home to your family.” Rhaenys murmurs, and you find yourself unintentionally leaning outward in search of her touch when her hands extends toward you. “I’m sorry to have left you behind.” 

It didn’t matter. You had sought vengeance for your mother’s death once and for all when the list of living Targaryens dwindled and left so few alive. 

No one ever did find out who poisoned Aegon the Usurper. 

In the corner, Theah stands frozen at the sight of who lingers in the doorway. “Your Grace,” She murmurs in shock, clearly unsure of what to do. “This is a most unexpected surprise. For both Targaryen brothers to be here-” 

Aegon the Younger holds up a hand. He’d only just recently been granted the time to read his mother’s last testament. After being present at the time of her death, it had taken decades for him to gather the courage to even go near the document she’d left behind for her sons. 

That was why he’d let Viserys read it first. That was what led them here. 

  “My Hand and I have come to express our thanks to the last Lady of House Velaryon,” Aegon remarks. “As our mother had asked of us. According to her last testament, she is also the last survivor of the Dance of Dragons who fought on the front lines of the war. We wish to extend our gratitude for all she's done since.” 

Behind her stands Rhaenyra. She’s the same age as she was when she was killed by Aegon, wearing your favorite hairstyle and dress that you’d thought always complimented her so well. You want to think her stare of longing is directed at you. 

It’s not. 

She’s looking at her sons. 

  “My boys. My beautiful boys,” She whispers, coming to stand beside Rhaenys. “Tell them I’m proud of them.” 

So you do. You tell Viserys and Aegon that you can see their mother, as clear as the last time you ever saw her, and that she is sorry for all the suffering they endured during The Dance of Dragons. That she’s proud of who they became and how they honor their family. 

You miss the single tear that falls down both faces at the confession. 

*** 

  “It’s coming.” Viserys the Second murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest as both he and Theah watch you from the side of the room. Aegon is quietly murmuring to you from your bedside. Ever since you’d told the brothers that their mother was proud of them, Viserys had known deep within him that you were not long for this world. 

  “What?” 

  “The end.” 

Aegon feigns a warm smile as he squeezes your hand. “Our mother spoke highly of you, My Lady,” He whispers. “I hope now that you can find some peace of mind.” 

You don’t answer him. You’re too busy reaching, reaching, reaching for your mother’s hand that you’ve so longed to ache for the last several decades that have passed since the end of the Dance. 

  “My love.” A whisper echoes in your ear as you sigh softly, the rise and fall of your chest slowing as Aemond slowly appears in your peripheral. He’s still the same age he was when he died. “Come home to us. Let me make it right.” 

A single tear rolled down your cheek.

  “Can we go to the wildflowers?” You whisper. “And the cliffside overlooking the ocean?” 

  “It’s beautiful here. There’s no pain. No pain, anger, no blood, no suffering... No obligations to our duties.” Aemond extends his hand. “Your mother is waiting for you in the house on the cliffside. A field of wildflowers awaits us. There’s so many to choose from. Come home.” 

  “Aemond...” 

  “I’m ready to love you the way you always desired. I just never knew how. I do now. And I regret every moment that has passed since I cast you aside.” His eye softens. There’s something about him that just seems... gentler. It’s an odd contrast to how you knew him when he was alive. “Come home.” 

Hm. You’d thought that the fruits of your labors over the last decades had rotted and died, leaving you with nothing. No legacy, no heirs, no one left to remember your name. There had been no point to all the fighting for you because you’d lost anyway. There was never a war to be won because it was always going to be lost. 

The Dance of Dragons had effectively torn apart House Targaryen at the seams. 

Maybe your fruits were ripe and you just didn’t know it. You know that all the people you love are waiting for you. That the current king on the Iron Throne knows you well - because his mother had taken careful care to write about you in her last testament - and his brother holds you in high regard. That your Lady in Waiting knows your story and all the horrors that fall upon it. About how you endured and survived, how resilient you became, how you spent the rest of your days ensuring people would not forget the name Velaryon. 

Your last wish for Westeros was to make sure people remembered. Not your name, but your mothers name. Your fathers name. 

They deserved the credit and legacy far, far more than their headstrong daughter driven by the anger that came from duty. 

  “I’m coming, Mother.” You whisper once again, eyes falling closed. “I’m coming, My Love.” 

Your hand falls limp in Aegon’s. No one will admit it, but something dies in both of Rhaenyra Targaryen’s sons that day. They’d had so much still to learn about the mother they barely remembered. To have someone who knew her first hand and had cared deeply for her had prompted them to pursue a relationship with the Heir to Driftmark. 

You knew their story, their mother, better than they ever would. 

   “The Realm has lost quite a woman today,” Viserys murmurs, swallowing the knot in his throat as he presses his hands to Aegon’s shoulders. Theah can’t help but shift uncomfortably. She feels like she’s intruding on a private moment she cannot comprehend. “May the Seven bring her the peace she was never able to find in this world.” 

When the Silent Sisters tend to your body, a single crown sits upon it at completion. 

People would know the Heir of Driftmark died today. 

And so the last of the Sea Snake’s line would cease. 

[angelst4re]

this is for my beloved @jamiesdarlin who came up with this idea and it made me feral so i did what had to be done... and rewrote it about 5 times &lt;3

Like a Villain- Jamie Campbell Bower/Henry Creel x Reader

summary: your boyfriend gets a haircut in preparation to play henry again and decides to surprise you when you come home...

warnings: NSFW!!! contains smut!! don't read if this makes you uncomfortable my love!

notes: i intended for this to be a male reader fic but i think it's more gender neutral :)

As you were driving home from work, you remembered Jamie was going to get his haircut today. It had grown out quite a lot since the last time he had it properly cut, and you thought the look really suited him. You liked running your fingers through his long hair, shampooing it when you would take showers and baths together, and just playing with it when the two of you would be watching a movie and he’d rest his head on your lap. You asked him to send you a picture after he had it cut, but he said no, he wanted to surprise you when you got home. 

Shutting the door behind you, you kicked your shoes off and put your car keys by Jamie’s. It seemed a bit quiet, you wondered if your boyfriend was even home. 

“Jamie? I’m home!” You called out before going into the kitchen to get a glass of water. 

“How was work, darling?” Jamie asked, and as you turned around to face him you almost choked on your water. 

Jamie leaned against the door frame, his hair had been cut a lot shorter, it had been lightened, and it appeared to have been slightly curled. Only one thing came to mind.

Henry.

And that was when you noticed what he was wearing, the white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the white trousers… It was clear he had done this on purpose, as he knew how you felt about this particular character. 

“...” You were too shocked, perhaps even stunned, to answer his question. You didn’t know where to look, or how to react. 

“It’s rude to stare, you know, darling.” He chuckled, his voice appearing darker, and he began to move closer to you, until he was looking down at you, a playful look in his eye as his hand came up to stroke your cheek. 

“Jamie-”

“Shh,” he hushed you, placing his finger over your lips, “we’re going to go upstairs, love,” he said, his voice now slow and almost gentle, “and Henry is going to fuck you, just like you’ve always wanted. Okay?”

You were silenced, almost frozen in utter shock and undeniable arousal. You eagerly nodded your head, and Jamie smiled, winking at you before taking your hand, leading you to the bedroom. 

───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ─────

Once upstairs, Jamie shut the bedroom door behind the both of you before sitting down on the bed, his back against the headboard. He ordered you to undress, and he then patted his lap. 

Once you were left in just your underwear, you joined him on the bed, straddling his hips as his hand came up to the back of your head, pulling your face closer to his and crashing his lips into yours. This took you by surprise, and you felt your heart skip a beat. He was being so much rougher with you than usual, and the way his other hand had a hold of your hip made you wonder if he would leave bruises on your skin, the way he bit down on your lip before he slowly pulled away from the kiss had you wondering if it was enough to draw blood… 

“Jamie-” you were cut off as his hand sent a gentle slap to your face, before he took your jaw in his hand and moved your head, so you were looking at him. You couldn’t believe how turned on you were from the way he handled you, which usually would be with care, but you loved to see this rough side of him, and you were willing to see how far he would take it.

“Sweetheart…” He sighed, shaking his head as his eyes lit up with a devilish spark, “Jamie treats you so well, doesn’t he? He’s gentle, he can be slow and passionate when he fucks you, but you seem to be forgetting something…” His breathing began to get heavier as he spoke to you, it’s quite clear that he’s been waiting to do this for a while, and that he seems to be enjoying it more than he would care to admit, “Jamie’s not going to fuck you, baby. Henry will.” 

You could feel the throbbing in your most private areas becoming harder and harder to ignore, and you were sure- given the position you were in- that he could feel it too. 

“Say my name.” He demanded, a smirk creeping up on his face at how flustered you had become, watching as your cheeks redden at his words. When you didn’t answer him, he removed his hand from your hip, and it came down on your ass with a slap.

“Henry…” You said, it came out as almost a whimper, trying to avoid eye contact with the man that was making you feel this way. 

“Say it again, love.” He teased, his hand now massaging the flesh of your ass, loving the effect he had on you. 

“Henry.” You said, more confident this time as your eyes met his, seconds before his lips were back on yours again, and your arms came up to wrap around his neck, involuntarily grinding down against his hardening cock through his white trousers. 

He bucked his hips up, sending shockwaves through your body, and you couldn’t take it anymore. Your hands came down to where your bodies met and your fingers fumbled around with his belt, but you quickly became frustrated, frowning against his lips as you struggled with it. 

He was seemingly as needy as you at this moment as his hands quickly swatted yours away and he took his belt off, placing it beside him on the bed…

He wrapped an arm around you, flipping the both of you over so you were now beneath him, looking up at him with lust filled eyes, and your lips slightly parted as you caught your breath. He unbuttoned his trousers, but never fully undressed. Your hand reached down to wrap your fingers around his cock, needing to touch him there- but he took your wrists in one hand, his belt in the other, and he tied you up, wrapping the belt around the headboard to keep your arms in place, acting like handcuffs. 

He then slid his hands down your body, hooking his fingers into the waistband of your underwear and pulling them ever so slowly down your legs before throwing them to the side. The velvety head of his cock was pressing into your thigh as he angled his head slightly and let a drop of spit land onto your area. He used it as lubrication as he pressed the tip of his thumb into your hole, grinning as he watched the sudden change of expression on your face. 

He eased you open, preparing you to take his cock. You bit down on your lip as he switched from his thumb to two fingers, easing in and out of you, pleasure running through your body with each curl of his fingers as they pumped into you.

“Eyes on me.” He reminded you after your let your eyes fall shut. You angled your head to look at him, and he had the most devilish look upon his face, everything about Jamie was gone, from the way he held you to the way he spoke, his whole demeanour switched, and you were loving every moment of it.

He took his cock into his hand, and you gasped as you felt the tip nudge against your hole. Your hips bucked up, and he placed his other hand on your lower stomach to keep you in place as he teased you, pushing the very tip of his cock into you before withdrawing it again. You continued to squirm beneath him, arching your back as you tried to move your hips, needing him to fuck you and stop teasing.

“Please, I need you.” You whined, screwing your eyes shut, “Henry, please!”

You didn’t even notice he had untied your arms until you’re flipped over again. He ties your hands behind your back using his belt again and wraps his hands around your hips to pull your ass into the air whilst pushing your face down into the pillows.

“Not a sound, pet.” He tells you, “or I won’t let you finish. You don’t want that, do you?”

You shook your head.

“That’s what I thought.”

He holds onto your hip with one hand as the other positions his cock at your entrance, and he begins to slowly fill you up. You bite down on your lip as you feel your walls being stretched around his length, and he brushed against every spot inside you that made you want to scream his name.

Once he was settled inside you, you felt his hand stroke your back, before he began to slowly move his hips, sliding inches out of you to pound back into you. You gasped as his hand moved again, between your bodies, and you wanted to scream out. But you fought against the urge, burying your face further into the pillow.

The impact from his thrusts, the feeling of his pubic bone hitting your ass, only pushed you further into the pillows. When he noticed, he snaked an arm around your upper body, pulling your back to his chest, all whilst continuing to fuck you mercilessly.

His hand crept to your throat, his fingers wrapping around as he kissed the side of your neck, his freshly bleached hair tickling your delicate skin.

“You feel so good, darling. You’re doing such a good job. I can feel you getting close, just hold on a bit longer, okay?” He whispered, although it was more of a pant. His breath was warm as he spoke, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin, and the raspiness went straight to your core. “Just a bit longer.” He reminded you.

You tried to hold back the feeling that was slowly approaching. But as you felt his cock hit deeper and deeper inside you as his pace quickened, you worried you couldn’t hold out for him. However, your knees buckled when you felt him twitch inside you, you knew he was close too.

“Who’s fucking you like this, huh? Who’s making you feel this good? Say it, honey. Use your words.”

“Y-you, Henry.” You stutter, your half-lidded eyes making contact with his, “just you.”

“That’s right, baby,” he tells you, burying his face in the crook of your neck, placing a kiss there as he twitches inside you again, “you want it inside you, pet?”

You nod your head, a ‘please’ falling from your lips, although he could’ve mistaken it for a moan. However, with one last thrust of his hips, you felt yourself coming closer and closer, until it hit you all at once. The warmth of his seed made your belly tingle as you lost control of your limbs, falling back onto his chest. He held you up as he gave sharp strokes inside you, and you contracted around him, milking his cock of all it had.

"Fuck-" He said with a groan as he stilled inside you, feeling his heartbeat against your back as it began to beat in time with yours as you began to catch your breath.

He placed a final kiss to your neck before he released your wrists from the makeshift tie, placing a kiss on each of your wrists as he laid you down on the bed. As you laid down, he noticed his cum was already beginning to drip down your thighs. He parted your thighs again and leaned down, collecting it with his finger and pushing it back inside, causing you to hiss from the overstimulation. He patted your thigh as he spoke,

“Let’s keep it all where it belongs, darling.”

You could only wish this is how he would continue to fuck you as he prepared to play his character again.

[t00nyah]

If you could make your own video game (think of an idea l and it just snaps into existence somehow) what would it be about and what mechanics would it consist of? What platforms would it be available for? Who's the target demographic? Or anything else you want to ramble about... I like to think of creating my own games sometimes.

haha they dont know i have a joke rpg game i made in a day to test my abilities.

in all seriousness though, i actually did have bigger projects that i never finished... so, just gonna drop that i'm a big fan of RPG maker games, horror ones, PSYCHOLOGICAL horror ones for even better score. and i am kind of a liiiittle experienced with rpg maker.

warning!!

this answer ended up containing a lot of sensitive topics(in my opinion??) and i tried my best to make sure to include them in tags AND before each idea's explanation, please check the tags and not proceed if those topics are sensitive to you personally!!

i had a project that i started making as a vent. that's the closest i had to actually making something. it was called zepphire's lair. zepphire is my sona from 2015 that had very bright neon colours that were probably UNBEARABLE to look at, then i tried redesigning her years later into something pastel. and then, umm... in 2022 i had issues with my style because i used to be VERY caught in 'oh,,,this one line is weird,,,how do people even like my art there's a stray pixel there...god.' and decided to do something about it. this 'something about it' was changing my art style to PURPOSEFULLY unpleasant to look at, messy and annoying. it was bright, i didnt care, and honestly i think it helped with being that critical to myself. anyways. sorry im rambling but it is important

so in 2022, when i had a giant relief of drawing in the most unbearable(and stunning at the same time) art style, i reused zepphire. FUCK PASTEL said me. NEONS ARE GOOD. it was a great decision.

so zepphire's lair was meant to be an rpg game where you play as zepphire. who in her head is still her young self that doesn't have to think about what happened. but in reality, her magical world she was meant to become a god of was destroyed and ruined because she wasn't responsible enough with powers granted to her. she is now the only resident of the Forbidden Location, an alternative world that people could get into by just clipping randomly. like you know when you find a spot in a videogame that doesn't have an invisible wall and you go OH. that. i wasn't sure how to continue working on it because it lacked story to tell as present. it had a past story to unfold, but i had no idea what would happen now. i had a thought of someone getting into FL somehow after long time and zepphire trying to solve this because they're clearly not meant to be there while in her head she's still stuck struggling with herself.

i want to put a little bit of assets i made for zepphire's lair, but since it's all very bright toxic neon i think i'm gonna place them at the veeeery end so you don't have to look at them if you can't stand it.

CW: cartoon blood!! a little bit of it!!

next up is my cool idea of a fangame! so, purrfect apawcalypse is one of my favourite game series. and i've been following it since first one and i have a LARGE fanmade setting set in the same universe! (in fact, two! i also made a reference for kitsune high which is set to be in an agricultural town inhabitated by foxes! it was a cool project)

the game idea was to make an rpg (because, again, that's all i know, lmao) that follows the Chatting club - a school interest club literally dedicated to rumors and just having a good time - as they unveil the secrets their school holds. cats and dogs disappearance cases? rumors of ghost around? who the heck lives in the garden and what're they up to? what is up with the Detective club's president Seraphima? there are many mysteries. it would have an overall vibe of the original novellas' series - a cutesy game about very cute furries and weird magic stuff happening, while also having a little bit...darker tone. like i was actually going to explore a very dark topic with this one but honestly? right now i really don't like the way i wrote it back then. if i were to pick up the idea again i deffo would try to rewrite it and make more sense into it. i like the detective vibe it had going though!

here are some references of the characters that are important to the plot! a lot of twists were planned for this story and i'm not going to tell them all because it's a secret tee-hee.

also as i searched for the refs i found that the working title of the game was 'purrfect meowting'

another concept for a game i had...which is a lot.

CW: contains themes of child neglect, probably abuse, general cat mistreatment, probably a bit of ableism(im unsure about this one) and maybe a bit of weird racism because one of mc's character's parent is weird and very stupid and we are allowed to hate her for that...i hope i mentioned it all.

i have a little ocs setting with three main characters that i refer as 'kitty girls' this story is tragic and is based on idea i had about making a story...about girls...but put them into life situations that would reflect what cats sometimes have to go through bc some humans are trash, but put it through a human lens, although not exactly. it also ended up a story that portrays children who've lost their childhoods for various reasons. idk how to explain.

these are Snowwhite, Rouge and Patches. their names were meant to be reflecting what another one's kitty sona is, but i fucked up, lol.

Showwhite is a picture perfect girl for her parents who's mostly been treated as a prize all her life, making her feel sick of herself. Rouge was neglected by her mom because 'she wasn't born red'(as in orange...like a cat...i used cat allegories every time i explained it but i think the implications are clear enough - her mother wanted her to look different.) and she lived a happy life with her grandparents. and Patches...is a deaf girl whose parents just couldn't take care of her properly so she ended up in an orphanage. she has awful attachment issues.

i won't explain the whole plot but their stories were meant to be kind of a portrayal of how some people treat animals as just objects, things they can just get rid of. a cat of specific breed, bred for specific traits which may be hurtful to it, a cat whose owner just threw it away after it not meeting the expectations, and a general theme of people not wanting to take in cats with injuries that make them 'not pretty' for them. i don't know why im tearing up right now but these make me so upset and i smh wanted to portray these issues though human characters, and while adapting them i realized that those awful stories ended up overlapping with how neglectful parents end up treating their children.

in the end they end up in cat heaven, where they all meet and get to be happy and be themselves. snowwhite learns to love herself for who she is and find out hobbies there, rouge just finally gets friends she lacked. also patches doesn't magically start hearing in cat heaven, she was given an option to but she felt overwhelmed a lot and ended up sticking to being deaf but not treating it as a bad thing, just a different thing.

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BONUS SECTION

i also have this unused character and concept art that i just made bc i finally felt like i could do something back in the day

her working name was 'vogel'

so. returning to zepphire's lair. one thing i forgot to mention earlier is that i also even made OST for it (didn't feel like it would fit the text above). this one is just the theme that plays in the first playable area

main menu theme...is too heavy for tumblr apparently. huh. it's a very simple tune it just goes on for very long (bc there's an easter egg if you listen to it for too long!!!)

next section contains bright images that im gonna put even deeper below!!

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title screen!

intro cutscene! small baby zepphire, and then zepphire acquiring her godmode key, and then ending up becoming a photoshooter!! the camera is important .

here she is!!! the cat herself!!!

a photo that she has in her inventory!! it's mewtona, her sister!

gameplay-wise i was gonna make it so you can collect random photos zepphire made and have to learn the implications of that and what it has to do with 'the photoshooting incident'. it would be somewhat close to omori - part of story is in reality and parts of it in headspace that explains the story.

I THINK that's all. sorry this took so long that was a lot of yapping!!!

[prouvaireafterdark]

Bury Me Deep Inside Your Heart

When Claudia gets her own coffin, it’s Lestat’s turn to share.

(AKA the very explicit coffin sex AMC never gave us in 1x04)

Also on AO3! (full tags listed here)

***

Lestat was in the parlor playing one of his favorites of Bach’s Goldberg Variations at the piano when he heard Louis’ unmistakable footsteps behind him. He felt Louis’ hands on his shoulders next, and Lestat could not contain the smile that broke across his face. Louis had been freer with his affection since Claudia’s arrival into their lives and Lestat was eagerly soaking up every ounce of it he could get.

“Can I help you with something, mon cher?” Lestat asked as he leaned back against Louis’ frame and turned his face upward to look at him, his fingers still dancing delicately over the ivory keys. 

“I’ve been thinking…” Louis started, and Lestat watched as he moved to sit beside him with preternatural grace, his thighs spread distractingly wide as he straddled the wooden bench to face him.

“Rarely a good sign,” Lestat teased, and his smile widened when Louis rolled his eyes.

“I’ve been thinking,” he repeated, and Lestat could finally see a hint of that beautiful smile of his as he continued, “that maybe it’s time Claudia got her own coffin.” 

Lestat’s fingers paused abruptly over the piano keys, those words music enough for his ears. 

“Oh?” Lestat asked, his voice dipping with interest. “Tired of sharing?”

“Mmm, not quite,” Louis replied, voice just as low. “I was actually hoping someone else might keep me company for a change.”

Lestat felt a warm hand high on his thigh then, Louis’ fingers curling around it with intention. Such a simple touch it was, but intimate and more than enough to spark a fire low in Lestat’s belly. It had been a torturously long time since they’d made love, after all—their beloved but impulsive Claudia in need of minding nearly every minute of every night, it seemed—and the idea of finally having Louis to himself again made Lestat’s blood run hot.

“I believe that can be arranged,” Lestat purred, reaching up with one hand to cradle the side of Louis’ face, eyes focused on his mouth as he lightly traced his full bottom lip with the tip of his thumb. 

Louis’ hand twitched where it rested on his thigh and Lestat’s lips curled into a smile once more as Louis leaned forward and kissed him. Louis’ mouth was as soft and intoxicating as ever, the barest press of his tongue against Lestat’s lips all he’d needed to coax them willingly apart. 

As Louis dipped his tongue into his mouth, Lestat groaned and turned his body toward him, drawing one leg up onto the bench so he could face him properly, kiss him properly. Their knees knocked together awkwardly, but Lestat hardly noticed, too lost in Louis’ warm, hungry kisses to care about much else.

In fact, he was just entertaining the thought of climbing into Louis’ lap and putting the integrity of their piano bench to the test when suddenly he was rudely ripped from the moment by the sound of Claudia bounding down the stairs with all the poise of an elephant.

“Daddy Lou, Daddy Lou!” she called excitedly, stopping midway down the flight from the sound of it. “Come here, I gotta show you something!”

Louis broke the kiss and Lestat huffed dramatically as he tipped forward to rest his forehead in the crook of Louis’ neck, his fingers desperately clutching at Louis’ suit. 

To his credit, Louis gave his own quiet sigh before he answered her.

“Just a minute, little miss!” he called back. 

The sound of feet hitting the stairs followed and then faded as Claudia went, presumably, back to their shared coffin room. 

“Sorry,” he murmured regretfully into Lestat’s hair. Lestat felt him press a kiss there before resting his cheek against the side of his head for a moment in a quiet apology. 

Annoyance churned in Lestat’s gut along with his sexual frustration, but he had learned the hard way that any attempt to pull Louis from Claudia was unlikely to get him what he wanted. Besides, it was difficult to be angry when Louis was being so sweet to him. In the end, Lestat only sighed and forced a smile.

“Don’t be sorry, mon cher,” he said, leaning back to look at Louis as he ran his fingers under the lapels of his suit jacket to straighten it back into place. Then he let his voice return to a deeper register, the one he knew would make Louis weak at the knees, as he leaned in close and continued,“Just promise me that after we take her to the coffin shop tomorrow night, I will finally have you all to myself. My hunger for you has grown quite unbearable in these long months of deprivation, Louis.” 

Lestat watched with delight as his words and the tone of his voice reeled Louis back in, his pupil’s going wide once more before catching distractingly on Lestat’s lips. Oh, how he loved it when Louis wore his desire on his beautiful face. 

“Tomorrow night,” Louis agreed, licking his lips unconsciously. “Tomorrow night, I’m all yours.”

Lestat grinned triumphantly. “I’m looking forward to it,” he said, and thanked him with a brief, biting kiss before he turned back to the piano. 

Louis sat there next to him on the bench for another few seconds before, as if shocked back to reality by the music once Lestat resumed his playing, he jumped to his feet and started for the stairs.

The next night, Lestat idly picked the last of the coffin seller out of his teeth as he drove them all home. Biding their time for the streets to grow quiet enough to surreptitiously load Claudia’s new coffin—with the evidence of their crime carefully wrapped inside it so the soft pink satin wouldn’t stain, of course—had been a dull but necessary affair. The wooden box it had come in was not nearly as subtle as they might have hoped, sticking almost comically out of the back seat where they’d secured it best they could, but in the early hours of the morning, the only witnesses remaining in the streets were beggars and other miscreants too drug-addled and delirious with hunger to be credible. 

Claudia sat in the middle of the bench between them, grinning as she recalled the moment she saw the coffin seller’s confusion turn to shock and then to fear. Lestat couldn’t help but be charmed by her as she spoke—his little Infant Death, already relishing the kill without any instruction at all. There was hope for her yet.

His enjoyment of her blood lust soured slightly, however, when he caught sight of Louis’ grimace over the top of her head. This topic of conversation was not to his tender-hearted lover’s taste, it seemed.

Lestat held the wheel steady with his left hand as he moved his right to rest along the back of the seat, his arm stretching just far enough for him to brush his knuckles against the back of Louis’ neck. 

Louis startled slightly at the unexpected touch before their eyes connected and, realizing where it had come from, he relaxed back into it. Lestat held his gaze for just a moment before he looked back to the road and interrupted Claudia as she was mocking the coffin seller’s feeble cries for help.

“Ma petite,” he started, reluctantly pulling his hand from Louis’ skin to tug gently on the end of one braid to get her attention. “Why don’t you tell us what you want your new room to look like, hm? I can have someone come to begin drawing up plans tomorrow night, if you like.”

Claudia was all too happy to do just that, considering it was the first thing on her mind the moment they told her where they were going this evening, but it was the grateful smile Louis gave him that Lestat was really after. 

Lestat winked at him over Claudia’s head before he let his eyes return to the road, his right arm still stretched along the back of their seat, far enough that his fingers brushed Louis’ shoulder.

Later, while Lestat and Claudia argued over the placement of her new coffin—“Non, chérie, you are not going in between us. It will be too crowded. By the wall over there will do just fine, I think.”—Louis disappeared for a long bath. When he returned, he smelled of bergamot soap and was wearing the red silk pajamas Lestat had bought him the previous year. 

Lestat froze on the spot as soon as he saw him. Louis was always beautiful, but he was a vision in red. The mere sight of him wearing it never failed to set Lestat’s blood on fire and now was no exception, his heart beginning to race the moment their eyes connected. If the playful wink Louis shot his way was any indication, he knew exactly what he was doing to him. 

For himself, Lestat chose a white set of sleep clothes, an ironically angelic counterpoint to Louis’ fiendish crimson. Lestat usually never let a single drop of Louis’ precious blood spill, but if Louis let him drink from him tonight, Lestat hoped his shirt would stain with it—just a little, a sweet reminder of how much of himself Louis was willing to give him.

They all turned in for the morning soon after. Lestat’s eyes locked onto Louis with such a fine focus that he nearly walked straight into Claudia on his way to his own coffin. With a gentle touch to her upper arm, he moved her out of the way and continued on his path unimpeded. 

As he slipped by Louis, Lestat couldn’t resist the opportunity to brush his hand teasingly against the curve of his ass, and he took quiet delight in the responding smile Louis threw at him over his shoulder as he climbed into his coffin. Lestat followed suit shortly thereafter. 

He lied there in the dark for a brief but agonizing moment of anticipation before he could no longer tolerate the charade. If he focused, he could still hear the faint scratching of Claudia’s pen across the pages of her journal, but patience had never been a virtue of his. He refused to wait even another minute to have Louis in his arms, and so again he lifted the lid of his coffin as quietly as he could manage.

As he climbed out of his coffin, he saw Louis raise the lid of his own to welcome him. Lestat’s movements were silent as the grave, but the creaky hinges of his old wooden coffin gave a quiet groan as he closed it. 

“Shh, shh, shh, shh,” Louis hushed as Lestat crossed the short distance between them, one finger pressed to his grin. 

“Don’t you shh me,” Lestat admonished playfully, lowering himself into the narrow space Louis left for him. 

Once again, Lestat was moved by how radiant Louis looked tonight. The bright crimson silk of his pajamas stood out beautifully against his smooth brown skin and the dark green satin lining of his coffin. On his face, he wore a fond smile meant just for him. 

“I missed you,” Louis said as Lestat shifted closer and rested his head on his arm, hand already outstretched to caress his cheek.

“You missed me?” Lestat asked, awe in his voice as his hand moved down the side of his neck to slip under the collar of his shirt. It wasn’t often that Louis voiced such sentiments aloud and to hear him say this so plainly made Lestat’s heart ache in his chest.

“Mhmm,” Louis nodded, bringing the lid of his coffin down and at last enveloping them both in darkness. He slipped his left arm around Lestat’s waist and snuggled close enough that Lestat could feel his breath fan against his cheek as he confided in a whisper, “I hated sleeping without you.”

Lestat swallowed thickly, overcome with love and struck speechless at the admission. And to think there had been weeks—months, even—before Claudia’s rebirth that Louis had spurned his every advance. Had he been secretly longing for this as much as Lestat had been as he’d slept through those long, lonely days without him, too driven by his anger and pride to allow himself this affectionate indulgence? 

The question lingered in Lestat’s mind until Louis finally leaned in to kiss him, nearly all his capacity for higher thought evaporating with that first touch of Louis’ lips. 

Lestat melted under his mouth, his eyes fluttering blissfully closed. He ran one hand from Louis’ shoulder to his back, the other pinned between their chests, just to feel the luxurious silk, warmed by Louis’ skin, against his fingers. They leisurely traded kisses for a long moment, simply enjoying the feel of each other pressed close,until Louis’ kisses began to take on that desperate edge Lestat knew so well. 

Lestat broke away from Louis’ mouth then, only to press more kisses along his cheek, then his jaw, before finally reaching his neck. He lingered over a spot just below the hinge of Louis’ jaw that had him gasping and craning his neck as if in silent offering. 

Lestat’s fangs ached as he caught the scent of Louis’ blood rushing through his veins beneath the bergamot soap he had washed himself with. The urge to pierce his skin and taste the immortal blood he himself had given him was nearly overwhelming, but instead of giving in to temptation without permission, Lestat merely teased the spot a little longer with his teeth and tongue before he spoke. 

“What will it be for us tonight, Louis?” Lestat whispered in French against his sensitive throat, his lips curling into a smile as he felt his beloved’s heartbeat grow even more erratic beneath them at the question. “Pleasures of the flesh?” he asked, pulling Louis even closer to him with a strong arm around his waist, until he could feel the hard length of Louis’ cock against his thigh. “Or the blood?”

Had Louis been sating himself on the blood of humans every night instead of the vermin of the street, Lestat might have been able to offer him both simultaneously. Now was decidedly not the moment to bemoan the limitations Louis’ vegetarianism imposed on their sex life, however—not with how Louis was tightening his fingers in Lestat’s hair and pulling him away from his neck and back into a proper kiss.

Pleasures of the flesh it is, then, Lestat thought, taking Louis’ redirection for the answer that it was. 

Lestat indulged his kisses a moment longer before he pulled away and pushed himself back up against the outer wall of the coffin. Louis made a soft noise of complaint at the distance between them until Lestat reached out to undo the buttons on Louis’ pajama shirt. Louis then began to do the same, his fingers fumbling with Lestat’s buttons in his haste to shove the garment off his shoulders. 

Once they were both free, the wiry hair covering Louis’ chest and stomach tickled Lestat as he pulled Louis close again, eagerly seeking out his mouth with his own. He felt Louis cup his face with his palm then, his thumb stroking gently over the apple of Lestat’s cheek as he opened his mouth to deepen the kiss.

Lestat let his hand wander with a purpose as he kissed him back, down the length of Louis’ flank, his hip, his thigh—until finally he could hook his fingers under Louis’ knee. He pulled it up and over his hip, nudging his own thigh into the space he created between Louis’ legs to give him something to grind on. 

Louis took advantage immediately, sighing into Lestat’s open mouth as he finally got some proper friction on his cock. He sank his teeth into Lestat’s bottom lip as he rocked his hips against him, his fangs emerging just enough to break skin in his impatience. It took effort for Lestat to hold back the moan building in his chest as Louis suckled at the wound, the sharp bite of pain and the taste of his own blood lighting a spark of pleasure he felt all the way down his spine on its way to his groin. 

Emboldened by Louis’ blatant desire, Lestat slipped a hand down the back of Louis’ pajama pants. When Louis made a soft sound in the back of his throat and shoved his hips back a little in encouragement, he let his fingers slip between his cheeks. He had intended only to tease Louis as he ground his cock against his thigh, but as soon as his fingers got close to Louis’ hole, he felt the familiar slickness of oil on his skin and realized what it was exactly that Louis wanted tonight. 

“Louis,” he whispered reverently against his mouth, pressing deeper until the pads of two fingers slipped roughly over his hole. He could feel how open he was, how slick and warm inside as he pressed just the tip of one thick finger past his rim. He couldn’t stop himself from asking, in French again, lest the walls have ears, “When? In the bath?”

He closed his eyes and pictured it—Louis hiding the jar of oil he keeps on the top shelf of his armoire in his pajamas as he went to the bathroom, scrubbing himself clean in their claw-footed bathtub, and then leaning over the edge of it to fuck himself open on his fingers so the water wouldn’t wash the oil away. Did he tease himself, drawing out the process while Lestat and Claudia bickered in the other room? Or was he quick and efficient as he stretched himself for Lestat’s cock, too eager for the real thing to waste any time getting back to him?

“‘M all yours tonight, remember?” Louis answered in kind, before letting out a shuddering breath against Lestat’s mouth as his finger probed deeper, just barely managing to brush that spot inside him despite the awkward angle.

“You’re always mine, Louis,” Lestat reminded him, that familiar possessiveness flaring up unexpectedly inside him. “Always.”

Louis cursed as Lestat pulled his finger out of him only to push back in with two. He opened beautifully for him, his body accepting the intrusion without much resistance at all, even as Lestat spread his fingers to test the give of him. Louis had been very thorough, it seemed, and it wasn’t long before Lestat had him writhing on three fingers.

“Lestat,” Louis gasped softly into Lestat’s neck, tightening his leg around his hip to nudge him closer when he could take no more of it—too overcome with desire to practice that restraint he so prided himself on. “Please,” he begged and reached down between them to rub wantonly over Lestat’s cock where it was still trapped in the confines of his cotton pajamas. 

The friction of his touch put Lestat’s own desire in the center of his mind, and though he could have joyfully teased Louisuntil the sun was high in the sky and there were tears of frustrated pleasure streaming down his cheeks, in that moment Lestat could not think of a single reason to deny him. 

“Turn over,” Lestat said at last, stealing one final kiss before gently taking his fingers out of him. 

It was difficult in such a tight space, but Louis managed it without issue. Lestat crowded up against his back and shoved his pajamas off his own hips as Louis did the same. He paused as he heard Louis fumble with something for a second before he passed him a small, familiar bottle over his shoulder. 

Lestat took the oil from Louis and used it to slick his cock, taking care not to spill a drop and ruin the lining of his coffin. When he was finished, he took himself in hand and nudged the thick, swollen head of his cock up against Louis’ hole. He teased him there for a moment, pressing just hard enough that Louis could feel the pressure of it, but not enough to breach him until Louis reached back to place an urging hand on Lestat’s hip and his own need became too much to ignore.

Lestat sank his cock into him in a slow and steady press, making sure that Louis felt every inch he gave him. As he carved a space for himself inside him, he listened carefully to the labored cadence of Louis’ breathing for any sign of true discomfort and ran his palm soothingly over his flank. When he was fully seated, he wrapped his arms securely around Louis’ waist and pressed soft kisses to his neck and shoulder as he gave Louis time to adjust to the intrusion, desperately trying to distract himself from how badly he wanted to move. 

He didn’t have to wait long. It had been months since they’d been together in this way, but Louis’ body remembered him, it seemed, because soon Louis was shifting back impatiently against him to let him know he was ready for more.

Lestat began to rock against him then, drawing his hips back and forth in a slow, undulating rhythm that drove Louis mad as much as it brought him pleasure—enough to build the heat between them, but not enough to fully satisfy.

“C’mon, I won’t brea—” Louis whispered, cutting off with a gasp as Lestat interrupted him with a sharp thrust, his cock angled to brush right up against Louis’ prostate.

Lestat could feel more than hear Louis’ sudden intake of breath as he did it and he couldn’t help but hide his smug smile in the dip of Louis’ neck. 

“Patience, Louis,” Lestat whispered as he did it again, slower this time, grinding his hips firmly against Louis’ ass and forcing him to take him as deep as he could get. Louis gripped helplessly at the arm across his waist, his fingernails biting gently into Lestat’s skin. “As much as I would love to make you scream, we don’t want to wake our little nightshade, now, do we?”

Louis gasped quietly at the reminder of Claudia, as if he’d forgotten she was still in the room with them. 

“Don’t talk about her when—“ Louis started, but then cut himself off, prudishness getting the better of him.

“When what, Louis?” Lestat asked as he continued leisurely fucking in and out of him, unable to resist the opportunity to scandalize him a little more. “When I’ve got her daddy sitting on my cock in the next coffin over?”

“Fuck you,” Louis shot back, but the expletive lacked heat given the tremble in his voice and the way he was still rocking back against him, his head tipped back against Lestat’s shoulder.

“Perhaps another night, my love,” Lestat sighed against the sensitive skin below his ear, his lips curling into a wicked grin that Louis couldn’t see. “I’m enjoying our current configuration too much to think of switching it now,” he continued, his hand snaking down Louis’ belly to finally wrap around his cock, still flushed and weeping pre-come from his slit, “as are you, it seems.”

“Fuck me like you mean it, then,” Louis demanded, desperation clear in his voice, and Lestat met that challenge with a grin.

“As you wish,” Lestat replied and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to Louis’ neck before picking up the pace. 

The soft, slick sounds of skin on skin were obscene as Lestat finally began to fuck Louis the way he needed, and the struggle to keep from crying out with pleasure only became more torturously difficult the closer to climax Lestat grew. He had always been a very vocal and enthusiastic lover, and it went against the grain to silence himself so. Louis, on the other hand, usually had no problem being quiet, still somehow able to cling to his self control even while he was getting fucked. 

Lestat noticed with pride, however, that with each targeted pass of his cock over his prostate, Louis was finding it harder and harder to stay silent, his panting breaths echoing louder and louder in the confines of his coffin. Under normal circumstances, Lestat would have taken it upon himself to make Louis lose his grip on that control, to make him shout as he found his pleasure. Those precious sounds were for Lestat’s ears and Lestat’s ears alone, however, and he had enough restraint left in him to wait until they have more privacy to hear them. 

Instead, he moved his hand from where he had been leaving fleeting bruises in the flesh of Louis’ hips and brought his fingers to Louis’ mouth. Louis seemed to get the idea and let his full lips part enough for him to slip two of them inside. 

He eagerly sucked on Lestat’s fingers, as if hungry for the weight of them against his tongue as they inched toward the back of his throat. Louis’ heavy breaths were muted, but now Lestat had the wet sounds of his mouth in his ear driving him to madness. He only wished he could watch him properly, see those beautiful full lips wrapped sinfully around his fingers, his cheeks hollowing as he sucked on them as if they were a replacement for his cock.

When Louis had had his fill, he reached up and grabbed Lestat’s wrist to pull his fingers free. With their hands joined together, Louis guided him down to his aching cock, begging without words for Lestat to finally touch him there with purpose. Lestat did so gladly, relishing the way Louis’ cock jumped against his palm as he wrapped his fingers, still wet from Louis’ mouth, around it and began to stroke.

Louis was close now, Lestat could tell. He could feel it in the way he tightened around him, the way soft little whimpers were making it past his lips unbidden, the way he could hear every movement of his hand over Louis’ cock from how much he was dripping. 

“That’s it, Louis,” Lestat purred in Louis’ ear, voice no louder than a whisper as he coaxed him. “Come for me.”

Louis shuddered as he came moments later, and Lestat fucked him through it, catching his release in his hand so it wouldn’t stain his bedding. The feeling of Louis tightening around his cock was so exquisite, Lestat had to fight to keep himself from following him. He watched Louis’ face hungrily in the dark as he fell apart instead, utterly infatuated with the way his brow drew together and his mouth dropped open on a silent moan. He committed every detail to memory as if he hadn’t seen and felt it happen a million times before. 

He moved to pull out as Louis’ orgasm subsided, intending to finish over his fist onto the curve of his ass, but Louis’ hand shot out to cover his hip and guide him closer.

“In me,” Louis begged him, voice rough even though he’d barely used it. “Please.”

“Are you sure?” Lestat groaned in his ear, rolling his hips forward once more until Louis was so full it left him gasping. “You’ll ruin your pajamas.”

“Why you think I wore red?” Louis rasped.

Lestat laughed, a shocked, elated sound, and Louis’ whispered admonishment for the noise quickly dissolved into bitten back whimpers of overstimulation as he started fucking him again. Lestat had half a mind to draw this out, to coax Louis back to hardness and make him come again before he found his own pleasure, but the moment he tried to take hold of his cock again, Louis grabbed his wrist to stop him. It was probably for the best—Lestat wasn’t long for it, anyway.

As Lestat chased the sweet release of his own orgasm, Louis brought his hand back to his mouth. It was with Louis wantonly licking his own come from between Lestat’s fingers that at last the rhythm of his hips stuttered and finally he came, burying his face in Louis’ neck to stifle his moan. 

Eyes still closed, Lestat felt his fingers fall from Louis’ lips as his pleasure faded and the world began to come back to him, bit by bit. The mingled sound of their labored breathing filled the air around them, along with the intoxicating scent of blood and sex and Louis’ delicate bergamot soap. 

Lestat held Louis close, his face still buried in his neck as he peppered his skin with reverent kisses. He could have fallen asleep like this, sated and warm in Louis’ embrace, still tethered to him in the most intimate way. It wasn’t long before Louis grew restless in his arms, however, and the need to uncouple became too strong to ignore.

Louis could not entirely cover his wince as Lestat slowly pulled out of him. If they had been in their bed, with the proper space, Lestat would have relished the sight of his spend dripping out of him, but instead he reached for the white shirt Louis had pulled off him earlier and used it to clean him up as best he could before discarding it. 

Had they been truly alone, the two of them would have simply ended up kicking their pajamas to the bottom of the coffin, but the last thing either of them needed was Claudia waking them in the middle of the day to find her parents naked. No, Louis’ mortification would not be worth the lesson that mistake would teach. Instead, they both righted their pants before at last Louis turned around to face Lestat and pressed close to kiss him.

“You made such a mess of me,” Louis whispered, still in French, in between slow, wet kisses, “I’ll need another bath.”

“I’ll wake you before dusk and we can take one together,” Lestat replied, knowing Claudia should still be fast asleep. It had been so long since he had joined him the bath and Lestat ached for the simple pleasure of Louis washing his hair again. 

“Mmm, I’d like that,” Louis hummed contentedly, his smile soft and hazy with both affection and exhaustion. 

Louis gave Lestat one final kiss before he laid his head on his chest, his left arm wrapped loosely around his waist. In that moment, the crushing loneliness Lestat had begun to feel creeping in on him the longer Louis had avoided him felt like nothing but a distant memory—a nightmare, even, banished by the light of Louis’ smile and the comforting warmth of his touch.

“I’ve missed you too, Louis,” Lestat whispered against the top of his head once Louis’ breathing had evened out. “More than you could ever know.”

He had assumed Louis was already asleep, but Louis surprised him then by tightening his arm around his waist and pressing a tender kiss right above his heart. Lestat felt tears prick his eyes, touched by Louis’ silent gesture of love more than words could say.

At long last, Lestat closed his eyes and for the first time in what felt like ages, with Louis’ head cushioned on his chest and their hearts once more beating in sync, sleep came to him easily.

[mintsbubbletea]

𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐭𝐨 𝐓𝐨𝐝𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐤𝐢 - 𝐒𝐤𝐞𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐁𝐨𝐨𝐤

Word Count: 1,173

Contains: Gender Neutral Reader,blood, ptsd,nude drawings, mentions of male private parts

Proof Read and Edited

Quirk user has a drawing tablet and stencil, can attatch to clothes or body parts. Can draw anything in the tablet and it will come to life, can be aniamls, weapons, items , anything as long as they can draw it.

You left your dorm room, clutching your sketchbook and a handful of pencils, in search of a peaceful spot to let your creativity flow. Weekends were your favorite time to draw and be alone with your thoughts. Although drawing was your quirk, you preferred it when it was freestyle and not too intense.

Exiting the elevator, you adjusted your hoodie and entered the lounge area. A few of your classmates were already there, the early birds who enjoyed waking up early. Momo greeted you "Morning Y/n," turning towards you as she waited for her tea to boil. You waved back, your mouth occupied with pencils, while your other hand held two bags of chips.

Taking a seat at the table, you placed your belongings down and let out a sigh. The lounge room was unusually quiet, especially for this time of day. Glancing around, you noticed the same five people who were always up at this hour - Iida, Todoroki, Koda, Tokoyami, and of course, Momo. Pulling your knee up to your chest, you immediately began sketching.

After a short while of doing your own thing, Momo placed a cup of tea in front of you, being careful not to disturb your drawings. You glanced up and couldn't help but smile at the girl beside you. "Peppermint?" you asked, bringing the cup to your nose and taking a whiff. "Y/n, I wouldn't be your friend if I didn't know your preferred flavor."

Recognizing the familiar scent, you took a sip eagerly. Closing your eyes, you savored the taste that brought back fond memories. Peppermint tea would always hold a special place in your heart. When you were around 7 years old, you and your parents would often sit on the couch, sipping peppermint tea on chilly days, snuggled up under cozy blankets, enjoying each other's company. This became a cherished routine until you turned 10, when things suddenly changed. Your parents grew distant, speaking formally and giving short responses. They only seemed to care about work, and one day, you woke up to find them gone. Returning home, the house remained empty. Since then, your family had never been the same, communicating in robotic, formal answers. Now, you struggled with any noise, as you had grown accustomed to silence.

Passing Momo one of your chips, you both sat there in comfortable silence. Unfortunately, your peace was soon interrupted as the rest of 1-A began to arrive for breakfast or their usual activities. Mentally sighing, you knew your tranquility was about to be shattered. "Here," Momo spoke up, offering a solution. You looked up and saw her creating earplugs from her chest. At this point, you were used to her quirks, so you didn't bother acting flustered. Swiftly, you grabbed the earplugs and inserted them into your ears, effectively blocking out most of the noise.

You did your best to ignore the rowdy bunch, but Bakugo's loud yelling and the rest of them talking loudly made it impossible. The noise was overwhelming, and you could feel the frustration building up inside you. Quickly, you packed up and stood up, giving a smile to Momo before hurrying away from the group.

"Y/n always leaves when we get here. Is it because we smell?" Denki asked, raising his arms to smell his armpits. Kirishima smacked the back of his head. "Don't be weird, bro," he said with disgust.

"It's because they have sensitive ears," Momo spoke up on your behalf. "We've been classmates for months now, you should at least know that much about them." Momo walked towards them, a smirk on her face. "Plus, you guys are just too loud. You're even making me leave." She walked towards the exit, munching on her chips.

"That's not our fault, Y/n barely responds when we try to talk to them," Denki mumbled, crossing his arms. "Even I knew that," Todoroki spoke up from behind them. Sero turned to face him. "Did Y/n tell you?" he asked. Todoroki shook his head. "No, but their body language did. They would cover their ears whenever you guys come in or when it gets too loud for them. And today, Momo even gave them earplugs." He spoke with ease. "As aspiring pros, we should know how to observe people," he added, his voice tinged with a hint of monotone.

-

The next day, you left your dorm and headed towards the lounge area to meet up with Momo, just like you did every weekend. You had your sketchbooks and pencils in hand, ready to spend some quality time together. Usually, everything was the same - you would sit down, the usual five people would be there, Momo would make you tea, and you would share your chips. But today was different.

As you started drawing, you felt a presence in front of you. Looking up, you saw Denki, Sero, and Kirishima standing there, with Bakugo a little further away. "Hey Y/n," Sero spoke up. You smiled softly and greeted them. "Hello. Is something wrong?" you asked, concerned.

"No, we just wanted to talk to you since we never really do," Denki replied, before noticing your sketchbook. "Wow, Y/n! I knew you liked drawing and it's part of your quirk, but I never knew you were this good," Kirishima exclaimed as he sat next to you, peering over your shoulder at your drawing. "You drew Momo so well. It looks incredibly realistic," he said in awe.

One thing you loved about drawing was capturing people's details and making them look realistic, as if someone had taken a photograph. "Thank you, Kirishima," you said gratefully, as the rest of the boys gathered behind to admire your work.

But then, in an instant, Denki snatched your sketchbook and started flipping through the pages. Panic washed over you, as you had some personal drawings in there. "Please don't look-" you pleaded, but it was too late.

"Whoa, they drew all of us!" Denki exclaimed, showing the group. "Denki, Y/n said not to look through them," Momo tried to intervene, attempting to retrieve the book. "I know, but these drawings are just too good!"

"Denki-" Sero began, but more of your classmates started to gather around, curious about the commotion. You sat there, feeling helpless as they spoke over you, not listening to your pleas. Denki continued to show the class your drawings, flipping through the pages as everyone spoke loudly.

Todoroki's voice broke the silence, "Denki, can't you see Y/n doesn't want you looking?" You kept your gaze fixed on your hands, avoiding eye contact with anyone, as the noise around you became increasingly unbearable. Suddenly, your attention was drawn to Denki, who exclaimed, "Look, Todoroki! They drew a picture of you!" Your face drained of color as you realized what the next few pages held, and you vowed to keep them hidden from everyone. Denki turned the book towards Todoroki, revealing yet another drawing of him.

"Please, stop," you softly pleaded, covering your ears. Mineta questioned, "Why are there so many drawings of Todoroki?" Todoroki chimed in, "We shouldn't be looking." With each page flip, more drawings of the heterochromia boy emerged, some of them quite spicy, causing chaos to erupt. Todoroki fell silent, his face displayed on every page of the book. As more people spoke, the ringing in your ears intensified. You removed your hands from your ears, only to feel something wet. "Y/n, your ears are bleeding," Momo gasped, capturing everyone's attention. Jiro, who could relate to the situation, offered, "Let me see." She examined your ear and grabbed a napkin to clean it up. Overwhelmed, you stood up, tears welling in your eyes. "I told you to stop!" you yelled, wincing in pain. "Didn't I tell you to stop?" Your voice resonated louder than anyone had ever heard before. The room fell silent, mouths agape, in response to your sudden outburst.

You found yourself unable to form any other words, so you turned away and made your way towards the elevator, heading back to your room. Once you were safely inside your dorm, all the anger you had been holding in came pouring out. Tears streamed down your face as your sobs grew louder. You had never felt so embarrassed in your life. You laid down on your bed, facing away from the door. After a few minutes, there was a soft knock. "Come in," you sniffled, wiping away your tears. You turned to face Momo, but to your surprise, it wasn't your best friend standing in your room. "Oh. I thought you were Momo," you spoke gently, looking down at your leg as your feet dangled from the bed.

"I'm probably one of the last people you want to see right now," he said before moving closer to where you were sitting. "Can I clean up your ear?" Todoroki asked. You hesitated for a moment before nodding, your eyes fixed on the floor. He gently pushed the stray strands of hair behind your ear as he grabbed an alcohol pad to clean up the dried blood in and around your ear. You winced slightly at the sudden action. "Sorry," he whispered softly. He finished cleaning and then taped a gauze pad on your ear, just in case it started bleeding again.

"You know," he began as he packed away the trash, "I actually enjoyed the drawings."

"You did?" you asked, feeling the embarrassment creeping back in. "Yeah, the way you captured my facial expressions turned out really well. Especially the one where I was naked," he chuckled, causing you to playfully push him. "Stop," you laughed. "No one was supposed to see them."

"I really like this one," he exclaimed, pulling your sketchbook out from behind his back. "The way the water drop is rolling down my abs onto my di-" You swiftly snatched the book and tossed it onto your pile of clothes on the floor. "That's enough of that, I'm already embarrassed," you blushed.

"Hmm," Todoroki pondered. "How about you draw me right now?"

"Right now?" you questioned. "Yeah, so you won't feel so flustered. And if you want, you can show the class a PG drawing of me," he chuckled. You nodded. "Yeah, that sounds good."

"Alright then, go get the book, my love,"

[lizard-shifter-noms]

Still Subject to Change Epilogue

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Hello everyone! i decided to repost arc 1 of SSTC

(the chapters were way too long and had a bunch of typos but hopefully this will make reading easier)

this Story contains Vore, Dont like dont read.

if there are still any grammatical errors i’m sorry.

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Continuing to stand here wouldn’t make that any better.

“Yeah, you are right, I’d better bring these to him, hey you wanna try planting one too?”

I separated about five of the plants and held them towards him as he nodded. 

He gently took them and started putting his tools away.

“Well, i’ll be off then, good luck with the plants and see you later”

He waved and put a few more stones around the perimeter of the garden before continuing to put his stuff back in the toolbox he got from Barsen.

Speaking of Barsen, where was he anyway?

While he had the habit of finding everything in the Garden it was a nightmare to search for him as he sometimes just disappeared into the greenery.

Well, I still didn’t want these to wilt so I’d better find him.

Going methodical might be best here, so I would go back and see if he was near the rock anywhere.

He’d been there last i saw him, and it was likely he’d go back there to collect the plants he asked for.

And I hoped that at this point he finally went to get the wheelbarrow repaired.

Ducking under a branch back into the unobstructed space next to the rock I could see him, so I had been right.

He did come back to collect the plants he asked for, and this time he was not carrying a wheelbarrow on his shoulders.

He turned to face me before i could draw any attention to myself, Once again a bit eerie but he was the gardener and probably knew what made the different sounds in the underbrush.

He smiled when he saw me and the bluebells I was carrying with me and I gently passed them along when I reached him, but instead of once again disappearing like he did so often he looked at me with a serious face.

Uh oh, did I do something wrong?

Did I step on some prized plant as an Ardua?

But it appeared that I was wrong in that aspect.

“There is someone in the main hall that knows your name, your entire name, and he asked to speak to you.

He’s waiting somewhere in front of the throne for you, you better hurry i have no idea how long he’ll actually wait”

Someone that knew my name? My full name at that?

The only ones who I had told that were Robin, Arthur and Rikaad.

So who the fuck waltzed in here with the knowledge of my name?

Well, there was only one way to find out, and I couldn’t deny that I was curious as to who this person was.

And also ask how they knew my name, because that was very weird.

I knew I had not told anyone my name as there really wasn’t much opportunity to since Fae blooded people were basically hunted for sport.

Maybe it was an estranged uncle or something?

After all, claiming to be related to a Fae Bastard was not something people would have freely admitted just a month ago.

Still wouldn’t really.

But if the guy wanted to freeload on the fact that i lived in the castle i would tell him to fuck off.

I now had people that liked me for who I was and not because I was rich or whatever.

I wasn’t even rich either, the only thing I got here was shelter and the occasional sweet treat from the kitchen.

Well, feeding something the size of an Ardua would get fucking expensive really quick so it was good that i could live off of sunlight.

But there were still things I could not resist, like cinnamon bread.

The loaves made by the Castle were really good though.

Speaking of Castle there it was, including the, at least in my opinion, stupidly oversized door.

So the guy that knew my name was in there, I briefly wondered what he would look like but since I was about to go see for myself that wasn’t necessary.

Going in I could see that the room was almost empty, safe for Norrin who was talking to Rikaad and a few other Guards in one of the corners.

And of course the man Barsen had said that he knew my full name.

He wasn’t facing me, he was facing the throne instead and I could see he was tall and had long off-white hair.

Since I couldn’t see his face I couldn’t tell how old he was, but he seemed to be fit, an archer perhaps? Or a dancer?

Maybe the off-white hair threw me out of the loop a bit.

But I could also tell that he was tall, very much so, taller than Rikaad even.

I’d guess he was at least six foot something and he was clad in a weirdly sewn green tunic that had leaves embroidered on the upper part of the sleeves and light beige pants with sturdy boots.

So that was the guy that knew my name and wanted to see me, Well, I’d better greet him then.

“Hello, are you the one that wanted to see me?”

The man turned around and suddenly I wished Barsen would have told me beforehand that this was an Elf, an actual one and not a Bastard.

His pointy ears were even longer than mine so there was no doubt about that, and now it made sense why he was so tall too.

The strangest thing about him however was that he was the palest person i had ever seen and possessed a pair of red eyes that looked like dull rubies.

An albino then, huh, but on top of that he looked eerily like one of those expensive porcelain dolls that Noble children sometimes had.

Something was off about him though, but I couldn’t say what, just an inherent sense that something was weird about him.

His movements were graceful, but seemed overly practiced and his face was like an emotionless mask even as he smiled.

A perfectly symmetrical smile that did not reach his eyes and seemed almost painted on with practice.

He opened his arms in what was probably meant to be a welcoming gesture but to me it still seemed strangely puppet like and practiced.

Then he spoke in a calm and melodious voice, still smiling that weird and a bit unnerving smile of his.

“Hello little Brother”

PREVIOUS / NEXT / OVERSIGHT

[shewasverynice]

Fandoms: 呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Manga)呪術廻戦 | Jujutsu Kaisen (Anime)  MAY CONTAIN SPOILERS

Major Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con 

Full warnings on Chapter links post

Major Characters: Original Characters, Gojo Satoru, Getou Suguru, Nanami Kento, Itadori Yuuji, Hakari Kinji

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ Chapter 23 ☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙

The night was dark and quiet, the air thick with the tension that had gripped the city for days. Itadori, Panda, and Inumaki moved silently through the shadows, their footsteps barely making a sound on the cracked pavement. The two women from Tenjiku followed close behind, their eyes wide with fear and uncertainty. They had bid tearful goodbyes to their friends back at Yaga’s HQ, knowing this might be the last time they saw each other. Now, their only hope lay in the boys who had promised to get them to safety.

Itadori led the way, his senses on high alert as he scanned the streets for any sign of danger. They had been careful, checking and double-checking that Gojo was asleep and that Geto was nowhere in the building before they made their move. The last thing they needed was to be caught by one of the two most powerful sorcerers in the city. They had seen what Gojo was capable of in his current state, and the thought of facing Geto was enough to make their blood run cold.

As they reached the edge of town, Itadori felt a small sense of relief wash over him. They had made it this far without incident, and now Todo and Okkotsu were waiting for them with a car to take the women the rest of the way. The Zen’in clan’s territory was just a few blocks away, and the boys knew they couldn’t afford to be caught anywhere near it. The Zen’in were always on the hunt, and if they found out about the escape, they would stop at nothing to capture the women and make an example out of them.

Todo and Okkotsu stood by the car, their expressions grim but determined. They had agreed to this dangerous mission because they knew it was the right thing to do, but that didn’t make it any easier. The Zen’in clan was ruthless, and if they caught wind of this, it could mean the end for all of them.

The women thanked the boys with tearful smiles, one of them placing a sweet peck on each of their foreheads as a token of gratitude. Itadori, Panda, and Inumaki watched as the car drove off into the night, feeling a sense of accomplishment but also a deep, gnawing anxiety. They had done what they could to help, but they knew this was only a small victory in a much larger, much deadlier war.

As they walked back through the empty streets, Itadori broke the silence, his voice quiet and thoughtful, “It’s strange, isn’t it? We haven’t seen any Zen’in around lately.”

Panda nodded in agreement. “Yeah, I noticed that too," he said, glancing around, "But it’s probably because we've been quiet too. They've probably been laying low, trying to avoid drawing any more attention since Megumi died.”

Inumaki hummed softly, nodding his head in agreement. The silence between them was heavy, filled with unspoken thoughts and unaddressed fears. They all knew the stakes were high, and that any misstep could lead to disaster.

After a few more moments of silence, Itadori asked quietly, “What happened to Hakari?” The question hung in the air, the weight of it pressing down on them like a lead blanket.

Panda was quiet for a long moment before he finally spoke, his voice low and filled with a sadness that made Itadori’s heart ache. “If Hakari’s still alive… he probably wishes he wasn’t," he said softly.

They walked in silence after that, each of them lost in their own thoughts. Inumaki sniffled quietly, wiping at his eyes before pulling out his phone. He typed a message and showed it to the others: “I wish we would have just called for backup that night.”

Itadori and Panda both nodded, their hearts heavy with guilt. They had been told time and time again that the war wasn’t their fault, that they couldn’t have known what would happen. But it was hard to shake the feeling that they had played a part in it. If they hadn’t gotten into that fight, Fumiya wouldn’t have died. If they had been more patient, Hakari wouldn’t have lost his mind.

Itadori inhaled deeply, trying to push the guilt down, to bury it deep where it couldn’t hurt him anymore. “It doesn’t matter now,” he said quietly, his voice firm but tinged with sadness. “The only thing we can do now is help save who we can.”

Panda and Inumaki nodded in agreement, their resolve hardening. They had to focus on the present, on the people who were still alive and needed their help. They couldn’t change the past, but they could still fight for the future. And that was all they could do.

━─┉┈◈❖◈┈┉─━

Nanami sat quietly in his dimly lit office, the soft glow of a desk lamp illuminating the meticulous work before him. Papers lay in neat stacks, each one carefully filed into a locking case beside his desk. Bank records, important documents, personal files—everything Nanami might need for the life he was about to embark on, far away from the chaos that had consumed his world. He shredded the rest, making sure to leave no trace, no remnants of the life he was preparing to abandon.

His hands moved with precision, each movement deliberate, but his mind was heavy. As the teeth of the shredder devoured the last piece of paper, Nanami exhaled slowly, almost as if the sound of the machine had mirrored the finality of his decision. He was leaving. For good.

As he reached for the locking case to secure the last of his things, a weight pressed on the room, one so familiar and overwhelming that it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He froze, his fingers tightening momentarily around the case handle, before realizing who it was.

Gojo stood in the doorway, leaning heavily against the frame, eyes glassy and distant. He blinked slowly, clearly drunk, his disheveled appearance made even worse by the half-empty bottle of whiskey he cradled in his hand. His presence was like a storm cloud, thick and oppressive, yet lacking the energy to burst.

Nanami straightened, turning toward Gojo, his face a mask of calm professionalism despite the pit forming in his stomach. "Do you need anything?" he asked, his voice carefully neutral.

Gojo stared at him for a long moment, his gaze unfocused, as though he was trying to decide whether to laugh or cry. Then, finally, he spoke, his words slurred but clear enough to make Nanami’s chest tighten. "Are you leaving too?"

Nanami’s first instinct was to lie, to protect whatever fragment of their strained relationship still existed. But seeing Gojo like this, so utterly lost and broken, he couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he nodded slowly, making the decision to speak the truth. "Yes," he admitted softly, the word hanging in the space between them.

Gojo took a long swig from the bottle, his eyes flickering for a second, but his expression remained unreadable. His sigh was long and drawn out, almost as if it carried the weight of an entire lifetime of regrets. "Yeah… figures," he muttered, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, "It is what it is."

Nanami's brows furrowed slightly as he studied Gojo’s face, trying to gauge his emotions. "Are you upset?" He asked carefully.

For a moment, Gojo didn’t answer. He just stared at the floor, the bottle dangling loosely from his fingers as if he was too tired to hold it anymore. When he finally looked back up, there was a faint, bittersweet smile on his face—one that made Nanami’s stomach twist with a sense of foreboding. "Nah," Gojo said, shaking his head, "I’m used to people leaving. You do what you gotta do, man."

He lifted the bottle in a mock salute, his eyes dim with a hollow sense of resignation. "Just fuck off, Nanami. Don’t come back."

Nanami’s heart clenched at the words, not because of the harshness of them, but because of the quiet pain hidden beneath. He nodded, accepting Gojo's command without protest. It wasn’t as if either of them expected much else. But even as he turned to close his case, the weight of unsaid things lingered, and for the first time in a long while, Nanami felt compelled to say something that mattered.

"I’m sorry," he said quietly, his voice softer than he expected. Gojo’s head tilted slightly, like he was waiting for an explanation. "I’m sorry that the two of us never really saw eye to eye," Nanami continued, "I always thought you were careless, too flippant, but... I know now that you’re more sincere than people give you credit for. It’s just… hard for me to see it through the way you act."

Gojo laughed—a bitter, humorless sound that cut through the tension in the room like a knife. He swayed slightly, the alcohol clearly taking its toll, but his voice was steady when he responded. "It’s not like I tried, either," he slurred with a shrug.

The two men stood in silence for a beat, neither quite knowing what to say. The weight of years spent misunderstanding one another, the years of standing on opposite sides of the same battlefield, felt suddenly too heavy to bear.

Gojo looked at Nanami, his expression softening just a little as he raised the bottle in a toast. "I hope you find peace," he said, the sincerity in his voice almost startling in its rawness.

Nanami hesitated, his throat tightening for a moment before he responded. "I hope you do too."

Gojo leaned in the doorway, eyes glazed with alcohol and a strange, distant sorrow. The air between him and Nanami was thick with tension, the kind that had built up over years of misunderstanding, of taking different paths and silently resenting each other for it.

Nanami moved to leave, but Gojo’s voice, unusually low and grave, stopped him. "Before you go," he muttered, swirling the bottle of whiskey in his hand, "how about one last drink together?"

Nanami paused, his hand resting on the door handle. He didn't owe Gojo anything—except maybe this. A drink. A shared moment, free from the weight of everything else. For all their differences, Gojo was still a man Nanami respected, and at this moment, something about his request felt like a quiet plea.

He turned back, walking to the shelf, and grabbed a glass. Gojo filled it with a lazy grin, the amber liquid sloshing slightly as he tipped the bottle. The room was filled with silence, thick and heavy, as the two men stood together, drink in hand, sharing something more profound than either could put into words.

After a long moment, Nanami broke the silence, his voice low and contemplative, "Do you think I’m doing the right thing?"

Gojo lifted his eyes from his drink, looking at Nanami as if weighing his answer. "Do you love Rin?" He asked.

Nanami didn’t even hesitate. "I do."

Gojo nodded, taking a long sip from his glass. "Then it’s the right thing," he said with a shrug.

They stood quietly for a moment, the sound of Gojo’s breath ragged from the whiskey and whatever demons he’d been wrestling with all night. Finally, Nanami turned to him, his brows furrowing in genuine concern. "What about you? The group’s fallen apart. What are you going to do now?" He asked.

Gojo tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling for a moment as if searching for an answer that had long evaded him. When he finally spoke, his voice was tired and flat, "I’m just waiting for Sarah to come kill me."

Nanami’s glass paused midway to his lips, his eyes narrowing in disbelief. "You can’t be serious."

Gojo chuckled, a bitter, humorless sound. "Oh, I’m serious," he said, "I know how much she hates me, Nanami. It’s crystal clear. She’ll come for me, and when she kills me, she’ll be happy. I’ll have finally done something good for her."

Nanami placed his drink down, the weight of Gojo’s words settling heavily on his shoulders. "It doesn’t have to be that way," he said quietly, but firmly, "Even if she’ll never love you again, that doesn’t mean you can’t save her. There’s still a chance."

Gojo’s expression darkened, his eyes half-lidded, as though he was already half-asleep or halfway to giving up entirely. "Save her? From what? She doesn’t need saving from me. She needs saving from this place, from this world, from all of us."

"Or maybe," Nanami said slowly, "she’ll regret it. Killing you, I mean. She really did love you when you were younger, or at least, that’s what I understood."

Gojo laughed again, that same hollow sound that sent a chill down Nanami’s spine. "Maybe. But it’s going to happen. So, why fight it? I’ve got nothing left anyway, Nanami. Nothing to hold onto. Might as well let her have her revenge."

Nanami stared at him for a long moment, wrestling with his frustration. He’d always had difficulty understanding Gojo, but this? This nihilistic, fatalistic approach to everything... it felt like a man who had given up long ago. A man who had lost his way and couldn’t find a reason to keep moving forward.

"I disagree," Nanami said softly, the weight of his words hanging in the air, "You’re obsessed with this idea of her killing you. But if you really want to make things up to Sarah, if you want to make peace with what happened, you should be doing everything in your power to save her. You want to make amends? Try to fix things. Not by dying, but by living and proving that you’ve changed."

Gojo stared into his glass, his expression unreadable for a moment, before he downed the rest of his whiskey in one swift motion. He didn’t respond right away, just kept staring at the empty glass, turning it slowly in his hand.

"Maybe you’re right," he muttered eventually, "But what if it’s too late for me, Nanami?"

Nanami shook his head. "It’s never too late. Not if you still care. And I think, deep down, you do," he said.

Gojo set the glass down on the desk, his fingers trembling slightly. "You’re wrong," he said quietly, but there was no conviction in his voice, only the echo of a man who had already decided his fate.

Nanami watched him for a moment longer, the room falling into a heavy silence once more. There was nothing more to say, no words that could reach Gojo now. But still, Nanami felt compelled to leave him with one last thought.

"Just… think about it," Nanami said softly, standing and grabbing his case, "For her sake. If not for your own."

Gojo didn’t respond, just kept staring at the desk, the weight of his choices pressing down on him like a boulder. And with that, Nanami left the office, leaving Gojo to wrestle with his demons alone.

Gojo stood alone in Nanami's empty office, the silence around him almost suffocating. The usual noise of the world felt distant here, drowned out by the weight of his thoughts. He stared at the glass in his hand, the remnants of whiskey swirling lazily at the bottom. Nanami’s words echoed in his mind, louder than they had been in the moment.

“If you really want to make things up to Sarah… try to fix things. Not by dying, but by living and proving that you’ve changed.”

Gojo let out a bitter laugh, rubbing the bridge of his nose. Change. Was that even possible for him at this point? He had spent years convincing himself that he was above everyone else, that nothing could touch him. He’d built walls around his emotions, using arrogance and detachment as shields. Now, standing here in the empty room, he realized how hollow that had made him.

His eyes drifted over to the bottle of whiskey, his constant companion since he was a teenager. It had always been there, numbing the sharp edges of reality. It had been the crutch he leaned on after all the battles, after all the people he’d lost. He thought of all the times he'd come back from a mission, blood still on his hands, and reached for that bottle instead of reaching out to someone who might actually understand.

But it wasn’t working anymore. Nothing was. The alcohol, the power, the bravado—none of it filled the void. And now, for the first time, he was seeing just how deep that void was. He'd been pushing people away, slowly but surely, without even realizing it. His own friends—Geto, Shimizu and even Nanami—had become more like strangers to him than the people he once trusted with his life.

When did that happen? He wondered, but he knew the answer. It had been happening for years, little by little, until one day he woke up and realized there was nothing left but the loneliness he’d created for himself.

The fact that Nanami had been the only one to ask how he was doing since Yaga died stung more than he cared to admit. It wasn’t like Gojo was completely oblivious. He knew Geto had been trying to get him to snap. Every word, every nudge—it was all intentional, designed to push him to the edge. And Gojo had played right into it, hadn’t he?

How pathetic, he thought bitterly. Here he was, the strongest sorcerer, and he’d let himself fall apart because Geto knew exactly where to press. It wasn’t just Geto, though. Gojo had been letting himself fall for a long time. He had just chosen not to see it.

He turned the bottle in his hand, watching the amber liquid slosh gently against the glass. This was the thing that had been keeping him company when everyone else had drifted away. This was what he’d turned to when he didn’t want to face the reality of how badly things had gotten. He thought about Sarah, about the rage she must feel for him. About how, in his darkest moments, he almost welcomed it.

She’ll kill me and be happy, he’d said to Nanami. But now, standing here in the quiet aftermath of that conversation, he wasn’t so sure anymore. Would she really be happy? Or would it just be another cycle of destruction, another life ruined because he couldn’t stop himself from self-sabotaging?

He set the bottle down on Nanami’s empty desk, the glass making a dull thud against the wood. His fingers tightened into fists, knuckles white as he stared at the bottle. He wanted to grab it, to throw it, to shatter it into a million pieces. But what good would that do? Breaking things wouldn’t fix anything. He was so tired of breaking things. Breaking people.

With a slow, deliberate breath, he unclenched his fists. His fingers trembled slightly, but he pushed the sensation aside. Walking out of the office felt like a small victory, though he wasn’t sure what for. He didn’t have any answers yet—just more questions.

But as he stepped into the hallway, something shifted inside him. For the first time in a long time, he wasn’t entirely consumed by the idea of letting go. Maybe Nanami was right. Maybe living was the harder choice, but the right one. Maybe it was time to stop running from the mess he’d made. Maybe it wasn’t too late to start fixing things.

━─┉┈◈❖◈┈┉─━

Rin stepped out of the courthouse, the crisp afternoon air hitting her face as she paused at the top of the steps. She breathed deeply, trying to shake off the weariness that clung to her bones. Courtrooms, meetings, endless paperwork—it had all begun to blur together. She was tired of fighting, tired of the weight of Tenjiku on her shoulders. A weight that had become more suffocating with every passing day.

She glanced around the city, her gaze following the familiar streets she’d walked a thousand times. The courthouse, the people going about their lives, the hum of distant traffic—it all felt distant, as if she were looking at it through a haze. Her mind was elsewhere, with Boe and Sarah, wondering where they could be or if they were even still alive.

She hated thinking like that, but the truth gnawed at her. Boe and Sarah had always been the more volatile ones, driven by anger and revenge in ways Rin never could understand. They hadn’t built a new life at Tenjiku like she had; they were still clinging to the past, to the hurt and betrayal. Rin had accepted long ago that their parents didn’t want her, that they had abandoned her to a world she’d had to survive on her own. It wasn’t easy, but she’d found her place. She’d made her own family within the walls of Tenjiku.

But Boe and Sarah… they were different. Rin wasn’t blind. She saw the rage that fueled them, especially Sarah. The same rage that had torn through the Gojo clan and now had her hunting down the last remnants of them like a woman possessed. Rin had tried—God, had she tried—to find them, to stop them before they went too far. But they were always one step ahead, always disappearing just before she caught up.

And now, as much as it hurt to admit, maybe they didn’t want to be found. Maybe they had already burned themselves out, consumed by their own hatred. Maybe they were already dead. The thought made Rin’s stomach churn, but she had to face it. If they weren’t dead yet, then maybe that was still where this path was heading. She couldn't save them if they didn't want to be saved.

The truth was, Rin was tired. Tired of the endless war, tired of the shady deals, tired of the constant cover-ups. It had started to drain her soul in ways she hadn’t expected. Nanami’s offer—his plan to leave it all behind and start fresh—was beginning to sound like the only real option left. She wasn’t sure if she was truly ready to leave Tenjiku, the only home she’d ever known, but the idea of getting away with Nanami felt like the closest thing to freedom she could imagine.

No more war. No more crime. No more covering up lies. Just the two of them, leaving this broken world behind.

She shifted her weight, glancing down at her phone, checking the time. Nanami was supposed to pick her up any minute now. Her heart fluttered in her chest at the thought of seeing him again, of knowing that he had been preparing for this escape for months, just waiting for her to say yes. Rin was still torn—Tenjiku had been her sanctuary, her family—but as she stood there, waiting on the street corner, she felt a small sense of relief wash over her. She didn’t have to carry the weight of it anymore. She didn’t have to be responsible for holding it all together.

Let it all go. The thought echoed in her mind, both terrifying and liberating. If she could just let go of the need to control everything, to keep everyone safe, maybe she could find some semblance of peace. Maybe she could finally move forward with her life, with Nanami.

The sound of a car pulling up caught her attention, and she saw Nanami behind the wheel. He gave her a small, knowing smile as he rolled down the window. There was something comforting in his presence, in the way he seemed to have everything figured out, or at least a plan to get them through this.

Rin’s heart swelled with affection for him. She knew that leaving with him was the right decision. They had both been through enough. It was time to let go of the past, to leave behind the war and the endless cycles of pain. Time to start anew.

Without a word, she walked over to the car, opened the door, and slid into the passenger seat. Nanami glanced at her, his expression calm but resolute.

"Are you ready?" he asked quietly, his voice steady but filled with a sense of finality.

Rin looked out at the city one last time, feeling the weight of everything she was leaving behind, but also the lightness of everything that lay ahead. She turned back to Nanami, nodding.

"Yeah," she said softly, "I'm ready."

And with that, they drove away, leaving the ghosts of their pasts behind.

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[driftward]

Title: Terminal Calculations Characters: Zenos viator Galvus, Nyx Blackmoon Rating: Teen Summary: Nyx reaches end of line. End of a hypothetical Nyx versus Zenos fight at the end of Endwalker. Notes: What if Nyx was the Warrior of Light? How would their story end? This has sat in my roughs for a while, from back when I was outlining Nyx as the Warrior of Light. I have since chosen other paths, and this has sat in my roughs for a long time. I've decided to post it - an answer to many questions I am unlike to ever commit to asking.

Nyx saw Zenos approach, that manic expression with his mouth, and that look of a kind of human insanity in his eyes. He was here, he was completely here, he was perhaps the most real thing out in this realm beyond reality, and right now, that made him the most dangerous person in existence.

They had just clashed with an energy of cataclysmic proportions.

It should have stopped him.

It would have stopped anyone else.

But he was back on his feet, drawing his fist back, and charging in hard.

They saw the faint flickering of possible futures, and all of them converged in a spot just in front of them, where they would have to meet him.

They steadied, getting their feet under them, and focused.

This would have to be it.

Release limiters

There would be nothing else after this exchange, they decided.

A warning was felt.

Core unstable

They felt what faint wisps of aether remained to them open up and align as they charged in, drawing their fist back.

Thresholds exceeded

In cases of uncertainty, in situations where there was no calculation that led to their desired outcome, when all possibilities terminated in failure, when there appeared to be nothing that could close the gap, there was but one recourse available to them. They decided on a future they wanted, projected that into the possible futures, and then they would simply have to close the distance. The difference between probability and possibility was a differential they could only solve blind.

Blind, but not unseeing. In their mind, they picked the result they wanted that was closest to the plateau of futures they could foresee, and simply decided to form a new path to cross the gap.

They would hold nothing back.

Their energy reserves shot downward as reality slowed down, as they watched him carefully, making minute adjustments on their approach, watching his form, watching every muscle movement he was making and was going to make and would never make again.

Another warning.

Containment failing

That didn't matter.

All that mattered was ending this, and protecting the fragile future the Scions had secured.

There would be no ever again.

Every onze of them was propelled, pushed far beyond any possible limits.

Zeno's swing came in high, his whole body glowing red, blood spilling from the edge of his lips, his eyes red with resonance.

Nyx ducked in low and came up.

Lightning struck, booming three times, rolling across eternity. A bright flash of dynamis seeming to ignite, and lit the great plain for an instant. Thunder rolled from their fist down their arm and into their spine, with a deep rumble that they felt in every ilm of who they were.

Zenos's body flew backwards through the air, his charge broken, his assault ended, and his essence shattered. He landed a few feet away, and rolled on the ground, eventually coming to rest on his back. They watched. He landed roughly. He was not moving to get up, but his chest still yet moved with the exertion of his breathing.

The difference between possibility and reality was almost closed.

Nyx stood where they were, arm still extended into the punch they had thrown. Their forearm was bent in a place it shouldn't have been, and their shoulder blade had settled back, far out of its usual position. Their spine was a spiral lattice of ice and fire. In one of their legs, they could feel nothing except the rhythmic flicker of lightning arcs inside of its mass.

They had gained three major breaks in that exchange, and the force of the feedback from the impact had blown out almost all of their major internal supports. Muscle anchors were torn out. Linkages had snapped. They were on life support, now, leaking blood and fluid and aether and life.

Core failure

They stood, barely, watching Zenos' form. They watched as, with great effort, he began to lift a single arm towards the sky. They tensed for new action as his body trembled, as he attempted to get up one more time, and they tensed too hard, too hard by far for their weakened state. Feedback signals were not matching status correctly. Their leg buckled, and they fell down to one knee. Systems were going dark, flesh was seeming to grow cold. A cascade of fresh failures rippled through their body, and the arm that had hit him with such overwhelming impact on the last punch dropped to their side, useless.

And yet they were still ready and willing to take what action might be needed to finish this. They waited.

Fortunately, Zeno's arm also dropped, and at last, he was down. He was still breathing, but he was down, and though their vision was flickering and their aetherometers were filled with static, the important parts of the signal came through.

Possibility became reality. It was finished. Nyx had accomplished their desired objective.

Zenos was down. And he would not be getting back up.

And then so was Nyx. Unlike Zenos, they did not fall to the ground, but rather instead, they began to slowly fold towards it, as though the pressure that was their existence that had allowed them to keep going this far was finally being released.

Which was true. Interstitial pressures were dropping, and they were leaking a lot of working fluid, and few of their cutoffs were operational.

Zenos lay there, his breath only coming out in wheezes.

"That I should lose again, " said Zenos. They thought he might have tried to laugh. It was hard to tell. What he definitely did was cough blood, on to the ground, before steadying his breathing and continuing to speak. "How disappointing."

Nyx's mechanical eye locked onto and fixated on him. Through the static in their sight, they could still see his vitals. They would watch until he was dead.

He kept talking.

"Never have I understood those around me. Understood their obsessions. Besieged by their banality, the world was a mire of tedium and trivialities."

His voice was quiet. They tried to boost their hearing, but there was no reserves to do so. They would have to make do.

"But in these fleeting moments, there is... a spark. Blinding, brilliant... gone... too soon..."

Fresh warnings were still coming in. They ignored them. It did not matter. Their aetherochemical eye wandered, a bit.

The plain was interesting. That there was somehow a sun here to either rise or set was interesting.

"What of you, my mirror? Born into this world, bestowed name, bid to seek out strife and adventure... Was this life a gift...or a burden?"

Nyx wanted the opportunity to share these experiences with others.

Unfortunate that it seemed their probability trees would not extend that far.

They shuddered as pressure continued to lower, as they sunk lower to the ground. The flow of their blood thinned to thin rivulets. Their working fluid was no longer coming out in a flow but in spurts as the force of the remaining pressure approached the force of opposing fluid friction.

"Did you find...fulfillment?"

Zenos took one more shuddering breath in. Through the haze of static and fuzz of malfunctioning instrumentation, Nyx could nevertheless observe as his aether passed below a threshold.

"I..." he rasped.

And then he had leaked out, and there was no more him.

Just the collection of parts that used to be a man.

The task was complete. Nyx considered their objectives, and realised there were none left.

They released all remaining processes.

Their flesh was cold. Their systems were dark.

All that was left was the thin running state of their gestalt, that hybrid of modified Omicron circuitry tied in with aetherochemically adjusted Miqo'te biology tied together with Allagan ingenuity to drive a chimeric life form across time and space to here.

Nyx was only aware of themself. The entirety of existence now just beyond them, and shortly, they too would be beyond it.

Their mind was blank for a time. Just darkness and dim awareness.

An impossibility occurred to them.

I would like to continue to share experience with others, they thought, at last.

Core containment re-established.

Unexpected.

Gestalt online.

One task on the task list.

Hear, feel, think had been completed. Now...

Experience.

Continue system restoration?

Continue.

Their sense of the outside returned to them. It was still full of static and noise and false readings and fuzzy signals and just so much, but they could just barely hear a faint beeping noise, not so very far away.

And then a chime, and they were riding aetheric currents away, and towards the continued shared experiences of life unending.

Zenos' body remained. It had reached the only terminus that had ever been available to it.