#My love of atmosphere is shining through again and I cannot stop it

[exaflux]

The more I mull it over the more I wanna see a Scarecrow comic that leans into subtle kinds of horror. Such as atmospheric horror and fear of the unknown.

Like imagine telling a Scarecrow story set in a small isolated community that Mr. Burlap himself has taken an interest in. You take everything from the perspective of one or two people there who keep seeing something from far away, keep feeling like they're being watched. People start hearing bumps in the night, some go missing, someone found an empty canister in a park bin the other day. A local dog went ballistic from terror and attacked their owner the week before. Police claim they find nothing and keep doing so. People's recounts of events become more unreliable as the story progresses, the stress and fear affecting them.

Have the protag piece things together, but even then leave some questions unanswered. Have nothing quite feel safe too- E.G. extra shadows being cast by things off-panel and background figures that shouldn't be there. Even when Batman intervenes and all is said and done, show how much sheer damage and distrust was caused by Jon's meddling. But also, never quite make it clear how much Jon directly messed with people. Perhaps a lot of it was in their heads?

[ssplague]

Benighted Beloved

Prologue

Dragon King Bakugou x Reader

Haven’t decided on the title yet, didn’t want to take even more time to get this out.

Warnings ⚠️ BRIEF Mentions of attempted assault, sex trafficking, & murder.

As the last of the moon’s ethereal, silver light disappears from the skies, a harsh wind begins to blow. This kingdom’s inhabitants are hidden away within the confines of their homes. The silence is daunting as the wind begins to howl through the previously bustling capital streets.

Within the dimly lit castle a woman stares through the her window before shutting the drapes tight.

The atmosphere within the fortress is riddled with tension; Murmurings of prayers can be heard from various servants pausing their duties as they move about. Her bosom heaves rapidly from panting breaths, she fights in vain. Stubborn to prevent the vision attempting to shine through, ignoring the now blurry edges of her eye sight. Ebony hair is sticking to her sweaty face, she’s only standing on shaky legs from leaning against the edge of her vanity table.The door of her bedroom swings open and immediately slams shut. A man has come to see her, he’s briskly crossing the room, before coming to a stop at her side.

“What ails you?” The tired man asks, helping the woman stand upright by allowing her to hold his arm. Continuing to assist, despite her uncoordinated shuffling to sit on her bed. “If you are to be given a prophetic message, why fight it? Her majesty wishes to know what you have seen”. The woman wraps her arms around her middle, sharp nails nicking at her flesh as she draws in a shaking breath, “This night is tainted by darkness, the goddess is unable to grant us her full protection while her light is repressed…if my body will hold out until the darkness recedes, perhaps tragedy will be prevented from falling upon our kingdom once again”. Light from the single lit candle casted half of her face in shadow. The oracle was ashen faced, her black bangs plastered against her forehead, droplets of sweat leaked down her face onto the floor as she rested her elbows on her knees, shaking hands massage her temples.

“You cannot alter fate Midnight, you are destroying yourself all for the sake of delaying a message you were chosen to deliver” Aizawa says with a heavy sigh, rubbing at his eyes “I know you continue to blame yourself for the death of King Masaru but even the queen herself told you that you were not at fault, you relayed the message, and it was something that simply couldnt be remedied..”.

A shuddering breath racks the oracle’s body and she begins falling forward, only for the exhausted man to catch her,

“Stop this! You are going to die!”.

Midnight knew she was on deaths door, her body would give out soon, unless she relents…

Once again the bedroom door opens silently, the snap of it shutting alerts the two occupants of a new comer entering the room.

“Do it for the sake of the child, if you wish to atone for the death of its father then guide it as it grows, inform the future leader on how to avoid whatever negativity may come beforehand, so that it can be properly dealt with” the stern but soft voice of Jeanist seems to have been able to break through the oracle’s stubbornness.

“Normally only one of you would need to be the scribe for this session…but I would prefer it if there were two perspectives on whatever I report, considering the situation…” requests Midnight as Aizawa allows Jeanist to help the frail woman sit up. Making one more request as the blonde man fluffs and rearranges the pillows behind her:

“Please light the ceremonial pouperie and hand me both selenite and tourmaline towers”.

At the beginning of her life Midnight had been gifted with the ability to predict small things such as who would win a foot race or what she would receive for her birthday. As a teen her visions changed into predicting who would find love and eventually how relationships would end. Life was not always kind to her, and once she reached her late teens she had been enslaved and forced into prostitution.

Luck had been on her side as an adult; One night as the ebony haired beauty made her way through town. She had come across a drunken man attempting to asssault a young woman. Her amethyst eyes catch the glint of an intact bottle neck laying discarded on the alleyway’s grime crusted cobblestones. Those muffled cries of the female being violated brought her back to when she herself had first been enslaved. Slinking up through the shadows in silence, the angry woman would later on be compared to a panther as she came flying out of the darkness. The brute didnt have a chance to fight back as loose shards of glass were shoved into his eyes, the jagged spikes of the bottle were repeatedly slashed and thrusted into his neck, face, and chest until the pig was unrecognizable.

The woman she had saved turned out to be the daughter of a duke, visiting from a completely different kingdom. “Please accompany me for my journey home, your bravery will bring you great favor with my family, im offering you a new life, a fresh start”. Once the dutches and duke had learned about the gift of sight their daughter’s savior possessed, it was only a matter of time before Midnight was called to advise the current king and queen of her new home.

The darker haired man uses the candle to light to light the bundle of herbs, the scents of sage, lavender, and jasmine fill the room quickly.

Both polished stone towers are pressed into her shaking hands, Each man stood at the oracle’s bed side with quills poised and ready. Only then does the ritual begin;

She always hated lowering the walls of protection that had been built around her psyche. It made her feel as though she were stripped naked, vunerable, about to have her dignity snatched away, and soul crushed. Of course those feeling were always what prelude a tainted and unfortunate vision. Her eyes buldge in their sockets as they widen, her plump lips fall open and an amplified emotionless version of her voice spews out the sacred information from her gaping maw.

In this realm,

a blessing descends,

a child of fate,

Whose power immense,

destined to determine

earth’s fate

Born beneath the moon's shadow,

a tale quite bizarre,

A beast hides within,

a spirit touched by mar.

Not at the outset,

but time's relentless flow,

Unveils a name in

history's annals to grow.

Victories numerous,

A heart encased in sin

With a chance encounter,

love's dance shall begin.

Strings of fate weave

a love, pure and oh so divine,

The dragon king seeking

a mate with whom his

Soul shall intertwine.

This love is true,

by impurity shunned,

Great Darkness out shone

by Celestial radiance

Who’s light could

Outshine the sun

Blessings abound

if the moon's grace prevails,

However her failure

unveils hate

as darkness assails.

The Earth shall quake in fright

silence descends in despair,

The dragon king ruthless,

his mate to ensnare.

Land soaked in blood,

tainted with gore

at that moment

T’will be decided

peace within this kingdom

will become a distant lore

Decay befalls living souls,

cursed evermore.

Oh how can one’s feelings

spin a tale so profound?

For only true love shall

Determine whether darkness

Or light shall abound?

In a wing located on the complete opposite side of the castle, a feminine shriek is permeated by the sharp wails of an infant.

“It’s a boy your majesty!” Exclaims a mid-wife who held the freshly delivered baby.

She is quick to clean off the continuously shrieking child, immediately swaddling him in a soft blanket. Queen Mitsuki held out her trembling hands to receive the bundle of joy. “He’s beautiful my lady, I’m sure the king is looking down from heaven with pride” stated one of the other servants as she took away the soiled linens. “Yes he is…my beautiful little boy…my precious Katsuki” the queen whispered, kissing the boy’s head. His tiny whisps of blonde hair tickled her face as she holds him close. A little fist slips out from the blankets, waving about as his wails grow louder. Another servant enters the room, her arms laden with fresh blankets and sheets, “The moonlight has returned!” She happily reports, setting down the bedding and drawing back the curtains some.

Soon as those first rays of the shining silver light landed on the baby, his shrieks cease instantly. Finally opening his small crimson eyes to stare up at his mother, a goofy smile appearing and soft cooing replaced his cries. Everyone in the castle seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as the dreaded eclipse had come to an end.

“My Katsuki, you’re going to grow into a strong, dependable man, eventually you’ll become the greatest king the world has ever seen…isn’t that right Masaru?” Mitsuki snuggled the baby, tears rolling down her cheeks. She wasn’t able to see the man standing beside the two of them, but Katsuki could. The spirit of his father placed its hand on his little head, and the baby began to giggle happily. “I cant do much in this form, but I’ll do whatever I can to help you make the right choice when the time comes…take care of your mother for me…I love you both so much”.

A/N: We’re starting a NEW series!

What did you think? Pay attention to that prophecy, any ideas on what it’s talking about?

[theflyindutchwoman]

Of course I'm scared. If we do this and it doesn't work, I'll have ruined the most important relationship in my life. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said, um -- No. Um… You're right. So we should just keep going the way we have been, right? It's not worth the risk. Unless it is.

| ANATOMY OF A SCENE - CHENFORD EDITION 5.08 - The Collar

Words cannot describe how much I love this scene… It's how different and refreshing this is… It's how Lucy has finally allowed herself to come to terms with her feelings for Tim, that he is the one for her… And now that she knows that, she can't brush it off or ignore it any longer. Just like Tim, who wanted to talk about it once he was aware of his own feelings for her. She has caught up to him, ready to be completely open and honest after their conversation in the shop...

It's how mature this feels. There's no need for unnecessary drama, for a shouting match or, worse, for one of them to play dumb. These two have spent years developing a shorthand and are pretty good at communicating, there is no reason for this to be suddenly any different. But most of all, they know each other, their character. They both understood what their willingness to sleep together meant, even if it was under the guise of undercover. They infered the same conclusion : for them to be ready to cross that line, there had to be feelings. The only thing that was holding them back, besides their respective partners, was the fear. The fear of losing the other, of losing this relationship that is so important to them… Of losing their person...

It's how, in the end, this scene feels like a breath of fresh air… Where the respect and love Tim and Lucy have for each other shine through. Where they both take that leap together. And it's how this happens in the parking lot, in front of the station… A place charged with history, where so much has happened lately. This is very close to where Tim fake-proposed to Ashley, with a heartbroken Lucy watching… To where they met the morning after their first kiss, both hopeful and awkward… To where he watched her leave with Chris, the pining and longing written all over his face… And yet, despite all of this, this feels like a brand new place… On the other side of the sidewalk, as they're crossing a symbolic threshold… With a much softer and romantic atmosphere, with all the flowers and plants around them, creating a colorful bubble just for them… Both sitting so close to each other, completely disregarding the chairs nearby… Forgetting the concept of personal space, as always.

It's how Tim was waiting for Lucy, as if they had convened of a meeting at the end of their shift, to end what they started in the shop. An idea that is reinforced when Lucy claims they need to talk as soon as she arrives : she knew where to find him. I'm a bit curious as to what she was actually planning to say before Tim joked about yet another listing and took over the conversation… Regardless, this part illustrates how they are still a bit out of sync. Lucy might have had her revelation, but Tim is very much in the dark in that regard. As far as he knows, she has at best realised that Chris isn't the one… She's one step ahead of him here. And it absolutely shows with the way he goes right back to where their discussion ended in the shop. Asking her again why she is staying with her boyfriend when it's clearly not working. And, while it might sound a bit judgmental, he's simply trying to understand what's stopping her, so he can help her. This is truly about her for him. I like how he zeroes in on her guilt because she did stay with Chris longer than necessary out of guilt and responsibility. For almost cheating on him. For what Rosalind did to him. And it was all the more obvious when she was trying to convince herself that she should love him back, implying that something was wrong with her… She deflects a bit - again - by calling him out for doing the same thing. And she isn't wrong : everything he told her in the shop fitted his relationship with Ashley to a T. He was settling, knowing full well they didn't want the same future, not arguing because it wasn't worth the bother (her retirement plans, the Whole30 diet…). If anything, this highlights how they were both denying their feelings, hiding behind a safe relationship. Not wanting to be alone.

And this is where their frustration boils over… Lucy because the conversation is not going the way she intended and they are getting off topic a little… And Tim because he is getting defensive. He's correct in his assessment : she definitely stayed this long because it was safe. But he couldn't be more wrong about the other part : this has everything to do about him. He is the reason she stayed with Chris (why she even went out with him in the first place, one might argue)… And, ultimately, why she could have never committed to a life with him either. Because he's not Tim. And so Lucy blurts out how she feels, why she is so scared… what she figured out in the shop. Out of frustration and out of nervousness. And because this is something that has been on her mind since their last talk. That's how intense those feelings are : she can't contain them anymore.

'If we do this, I would have ruined the most important relationship in my life'… It may not be a love confession per se, but the implications in this one sentence are huge. And in a way, it feels more powerful and true to them : it encompasses the entirety of their relationship, what he fully means to her. As I said earlier, she's not even questioning if he has feelings for her : she knows. She saw the looks, the signs, the reactions. Like when he was ready to talk about their feelings, something he usually avoids doing… or when he came in her apartment… When he didn't want her to worry about him… or when he said she deserved someone who's worth the bother and effort… What she doesn't know yet, is the extent of these feelings. But it wasn't really the risk of hers being unrequited that was scaring her the most : it was the fear of losing him, of losing what they have. Because their bond is already special, even without the romance. He is her person, the one she trusts completely and implicitly, the one whose opinion matters the most, the one who supports her unconditionally… And it's not like her fear isn't legitimate : she spent the last couple of months believing that she had already ruined everything, when Tim pushed her away (or so she thought). She was devastated in that hallway. And now that they're getting back to where they were, she doesn't want to lose him again.

And Tim… The magnitude of her statement is hitting him in full force. He was so focused on her relationship with Chris that he's completely caught off guard by her confession. He certainly never expected to be this important to her, this significant. To be chosen, let alone be her first choice. Because time and time again, he has been relegated to second choice. Told repeatedly, even if implicitly, that he wasn't enough. So Lucy, of all people, telling him this, is blowing his mind. The micro-expressions on his face are amazing. The editing is as brilliant, with this moment of stunned silence, both needing some time to comprehend what has just happened, emphasising in the meantime the lyrics in the background : 'I'm scared to go home'… And this epitomises what they are feeling so poetically. They are each other's home.

Lucy is the first one to recover, all nervous and terrified that she has said too much. That she has scared him away. But she hasn't. Even when he agrees with her statement, she still doesn't question his feelings for her. She simply takes it as his way of saying they should maintain the status quo and go back to how things were. That it's not worth taking the risk of ruining their current relationship. 'Unless it is…' Her confession is all the final push Tim needed : he has been ready to talk about this and risk everything since that second kiss. He knew what he wanted since then, he just didn't think it was in the cards… But now that she is opening the door a second time, he's not holding back. His sigh… He's gathering his courage before asking her out to dinner. And his grin! He is absolutely elated. And it matters so much that he's the one taking that first step… 'Rules matter, Boot'… But 'some things matter more'. She matters more. He told her earlier that she deserves a relationship that is worth the effort, so it fits perfectly that he would assure her that this one is worth the risk. That THEY are worth the risk. And how heart-warming is it that after all the heartbreak he went through, he doesn't hesitate to take that leap of faith with her… The fact that Lucy was the one who helped him heal along the way and get to this point, just makes all of this even more beautiful.

Her little 'yes' is so adorable… She comes off a little shy at first, becoming more assertive. Tim couldn't look happier, flashing his trademark Lucy Smile… Before experiencing the biggest whiplash when she suddenly says no. The way he's instantly shutting himself off, using his hands almost as a barrier between them, sitting a bit straighter and away from Lucy… How she reaches for his thigh to stop him and reassure him that she hasn't changed her mind… She simply remembered that she is still in a relationship - a detail they both tend to forget in the heat of the moment… And she's right : she needs to break up first. For Chris. And for them. They deserve to start their romantic relationship on a clean slate, with no regret, especially after almost jumping to bed together… While Tim agrees with her, it's clear that he isn't completely convinced either : it's like he is afraid she may change her mind. It's really when she tells him to ask her again, 'after', that he fully grasps that she is just as committed as him. Well, that and how she lights up. That last shot of them, with her little shimmy (the one she always does when she's excited) and his bashful smile while looking down is the cutest thing… It's so soft and full of promises and hope… and the perfect tone to end this scene.

[lost-letters-from-atlantis]

For a long time, I have been lying about my self, and the essence of my soul.

I say I am worthy of softness. But the truth is, I do not want it.

I have been offered soft affection, and love that doesn't hurt. But every time, I cannot help but back off and stare in horror at those cursed gifts.

Softness is not for me. I have never been soft.

At a young age, my mother has been lit on fire; and through all of her life, she has been burning. I was born from this fire, a young and wild ember, a testimony of the arson.

I have grown into a fire of my own, I am burning too. Turning soft cotton into ashes and over-heating the atmosphere around me.

Urgency is what fuels me. I can only love through it, searching for shelter and reassurance only when the wind menaces to put me out or water is pouring down too fast for me to fight.

Only then do I let you touch me. Only then do I allow you closer.

Soft love is consumed by me like the rest of the air around you. I will choke you if you keep trying to breathe out those gentle praises. I did not learn to spare them.

I only know how to love when it involves hurting. My warmth is good to cauterize open wounds and stop you from dying of the cold despair. I know very well how to shine enough to show the path in the terrifying darkness. My painful sting can make your enemies back off oh-so easily.

But what good am I of, in a pretty cottage house?

I would only burn the wooden foundations to the ground and destroy the furniture. I would turn everything that you cherish into piles of dust and leave you dry and exhausted.

I was not meant for gentle touches.

I flinch when you lean on me, because I don't know how to carry the weight of your smile. If you go to caress my hair, you better not leave too fast, you better stay here for a while. I am not easily satisfied.

Every proof of affection you give me combusts so fast, and I will demand more of them every time, and you will have to give me what I'm asking for, because without those attentions, I have nothing to keep me from burning out and turning cold.

I will take so much of you, I might hurt you if you don't know when to stop me. It won't even be intentional, only an accident, always an accident, I got too close to you again, I didn't know any better, I didn't understand the warmth was too much for you because I am so used to it I forgot that not everyone is burning as I am, and you didn't tell me to back off.

I don't know when it's too much. I don't know whether to give more or less of me. I never learn. I never learnt.

Don't you understand? I want to be experienced to my fullest extent! I want you to hold every single burning part of me! Why don't you want to see them? You can't bear it, you say? Well, it's only fair, I guess. Humans were never made to get too close to a fire. I'm sorry. I forgot again.

I am so scared, always. Scared of living in a world made of ice when I'm so hot to the touch. Scared of this kindness I'm offered that I mistake too often for pity. Scared of lighting everything around me on fire if I ever get a little too angry. Scared of being extinguished and left behind in the morning when you don't need me anymore. Scared of you pouring water on my core in an attempt to help me.

I am not made for softness. I was meant to burn and burn and burn. I was made for intensity. I strive for love that consumes you entirely.

But you, you're scared too. I can see it in your eyes. You don't want to be consumed. You don't want to risk it all by giving yourself away entirely.

You pretend that it's okay and that you'll make it work, but I already know the truth.

You don't want to be burning; and I don't want to be cooled.

I already know it: I will lose you again.

[kimium]

Earlier this week I made a personal post about how I'd love to talk about my KHR (Katekyo Hitman Reborn!) fics. So, here I am, making the post. I have a sizable collection of 10051 fics (24 works plus some snippets) meaning I have plenty to discuss! There isn't a formula behind these rambles, but maybe my ramblings can either stir interest to check out the anime/manga OR my fics.

(Note: 10051 is the ship name to Byakuran/Shouichi. KHR ships are simplified into numbers based on the kanji in the character's names. Example: The "Bya" in Byakuran can mean "100". "Shou" can be read as "5" and "Ichi" can be read as "1". Thus, 10051 is their ship name.)

Let's Start! This is long, so it's under a Read More Cut!

My Ramblings about my 10051 fics (In no particular order)

The Only One I Want

My first 10051 fic! I remember the time I wrote this I was into NBC Hannibal. That influence shines through as I explicitly wrote Byakuran killing someone and displaying the body to Shouichi in a manner that would make Hannibal proud. Truly a horrific sight. Even though this is my first 10051 fic, it holds a special place in my heart.

Would I ever redo the fic? Not directly, but I'd have no issue taking the core idea (Byakuran's jealousy causing him to murder someone for "getting too close to Shouichi") and reworking it.

Flawed Logic (It's True Because You Want It to be True)

I think this fic is where I truly hammered down 1) my interpretation of Byakuran's perspective on Shouichi and 2) Shouichi's perspective on Byakuran. A fixed point is the perfect way to describe Byakuran's perspective!

I also loved writing Shouichi hiding from Byakuran. If someone were to ask my opinion on the "bad" timelines and how Shouichi is living in them I'd point to this fic.

Personal Server

Honestly the entire time I wrote this fic I had a very specific restaurant in mind. Sadly, it doesn't exist anymore, but the vibe and atmosphere of the restaurant remains in my heart and has seeped a little bit into this fic. Though, to be honest, I'd love to redo this fic's idea. While I like the direction it went, it didn't quite hit some of the ideas floating in my brain. Perhaps, in the future I will take the core idea of this story and write another fic.

Monochrome and Lavender

Many times when asked "what is your favourite fic" I dart around the question with "I like all my fics". While that's not a lie (I think all my stories have their own merits or reveal my thought/head space at the time of writing) this fic is by far my favourite KHR fic.

Where do I even start? Magical curses are a trope Right Up my Alley ever since I was twelve and picked up volume 4 of CLAMP's Tsubasa. (I read the first four volumes out of order!) Next, the visual representation of Byakuran's obsession?? Shouichi truly cannot escape reality this time. In other fics he has the luxury of lying to himself. How can he lie here where his vision is black and white except for Byakuran's signature shade of purple? What about the idea of "love is blind" only Byakuran's love is blinding Shouichi? Just... the symbolism is endless.

The Unspoken "K" Word in the Room

My favourite part about this fic is how something horrible has happened (Shouichi being kidnapped by Byakuran) but the entire situation is treated as a "mild" inconvenience. There is humour yet underneath the humour is rotting, festering horror and terror as Shouichi is powerless to stop Byakuran. Easily one of my favourite dynamics between them.

An Unofficial Prize (The Last Extra Hours Spent Together)

At the time of writing this story I think this idea had been swirling in my brain for two full years. I am (still) obsessed over this fic's premise. Byakuran adding Shouichi as a "prize" to Choice? How could that idea not send shivers down my spine? Make my heart thump and beat rapidly? Send me daydreaming about the idea consistently? It's too perfect. There is a high chance I'd rewrite this story or the core idea again.

Though the only snag in this fic was my worrying I was writing "too close to canon" at certain moments. Whenever I diverge from a specific canon point I always bog myself down with "accuracy". I had to rewatch some KHR to get the lines and beats of the scene perfect.

Grounding the Sun

Another story I had circulating in my brain for years! I always wanted to write a story as Spanner! I love him so much and what's a better story than Spanner witnessing Byakuran and Shouichi's relationship as an outsider?? I remember this fic taking so much out of me though! It was a challenge but in the end I think I wrote a fun fic!

Can I help you?

TIME LOOP. TIME LOOP! Need I say more? This was another story I had circulating in my brain for years! Mostly because I wanted to write Byakuran with a more "supernatural" vibe. Also, the tone of this fic is easily my favourite out of all my KHR ones. I am always here for an unsettling tone... and a time loop. Big sucker for those.

You're Welcome, Byakuran

I love this fic because it's the result of an elaborate inside joke with @someobscurereference where it all started with "Okay but what if Kikyo runs a Beauty YouTube Channel in the good timeline?" The humour that comes out of it! Priceless.

The Blue Bottle (Warming Up in Snippets)

Probably one of my lesser known stories, this fic is Ch. 11 of my first Warming Up in Snippets collection. My favourite part of the fic was how I wrote it in present tense rather than past tense. I also adore the idea of Shouichi willingly keeping himself ignorant and Byakuran facilitating the poor decision.

Delivery

Once more a fic with a story that had been circulating in my brain for years. (I'm not joking when I say I am thinking of KHR fics all the time.) Anyways, there is something so compelling to me about writing Shouichi who just... goes to Byakuran of his own volition. No running or hiding, which as I said earlier, is my default "Shouichi" mode when dealing with Byakuran. This idea was so compelling I wrote it again in my newest story Total Percentage: 4%.

The Envelope

Mark my words: I will one day write a completely unhinged Shouichi who has fully given up on escaping Byakuran. I will write him in a dark head space where he decides "If I cannot escape Byakuran I will use his obsession and have him kill bad people. I will bat my eyelashes at him and tell him someone made me feel awful and without fail Byakuran will kill them. No questions asked."

Anyways, this fic was a slight dip into exploring that angle for a fic. This one softly dips its toes into the water and I love it.

And that's all I have to say! Was there a KHR fic I missed talking about that you want me to comment on? Feel free to send an ask and I'll gladly talk about it! I will be more than delighted to do so!

[warsawmountain]

The Ocean's Fury and My Own Instincts

Alive yet wholly dead, head filled with intense memories Punctured by the salt inhalation of land's terminal fury. Stirred, awash in my own simple instinct. I love deeply to love with care. Sleepless nights & heaving waves of sea sweet thrills & terror. Flooded passages & demonic captivity, pushed through waves & set adrift. Men running the beach gleefully pouring in the waste, introducing Again and again me to ancient & lost glories Spreading their magnificent stripes of suffering & greed.

I understand. I go inside my head, want I want I want I need to hold you And run away wild & sudden & ripe growing That quenches my dreading thirst and flowers a love That is ardently worth anything, worth anything, Worth everything, worth all I or money or hatred my deeper self it's ungraspable. The deadly exigency. The fire ants work in pairs, so independent yet so smoothly Covertly laid low. Wounded only by the water that feasts on them. That feeds On the pain. Alive yet dead. Those floating packs of leaflets Large sails listing in the tall surf, full of Crucial theories of everything Stolen, or failed flights of buttermilk tears, Stomach roiling like mughambas on half- Mast.

Gritty atmosphere thick as incense that lingers Overpassing the citron-scented flesh of fisherman Camouflaged with bare feet and hard-hatted barrels. Fog lowering from grim and hard concrete homes Great mermaids & impossible ships rolling across tide (Turning heads and muscles alive,) the doom Of moral success cannot clear From the blind yellow spin of a crass- Refrigerated profit center Seeking to crush instincts too tender to defend. Captive by global consensus' accountability, my own. Braving wild emotions watching myself submerge, Pierced by dissolving afternoon fury that falls From above & intoxicating all below as mercury drops. Pangs turn me frantic as soon as the pale winter- Bright sun burns them out, leaving a husk of past glory twisted Into bits and edges of promise & savage sunlight & blue Trace of silver & our trash turned void and ice- Haunted imperfections.

Pity me and think I can stop. Earnest on my shoulder in truth insecurities, channeled to the tips of my Fingers & bones, not only do I want, but know I could Never. The maleness (how could I be Controlling enough a protector /) is too strong for me

I choose It wholeheartedly every night in dreams. What do I know That she doesn't? What goes down the dry well? And there I remain Always at ease. An extra party favor & convenience, Just simply existing.

It's getting cool Early on Our shores Just before harvest, as the winds roar & the waves roll & the blazing Suns grant stars room to shine, imperious maws wash our own With smeared tinges of glory & gray trudging, bending Their teeth against the desire to destroy as they go. Let us not return only with mud on our faces We have promised you our entire life It hasn't been worth much, apart from messily learned Integrity, amazing luxuries & enlivening moments.

Beyond Milkwood Is where our soul burns Hard & simple & simple truths are awaiting what we Yes on heaven and earth

In this path, far from heaven, its existence today is a miracle among the organic and finally consider flesh the best of the gifts that are obscurantists. In its radiant bloom, sending greens and radiating eleticism, with it a world of shades, pits, miracles to swim in- ponds, a puna. At its well-emptying, we await your command: water, I'll hand over.

Going no farther down the caverns of guilt, peace, and release, defeated by passions that wrest from wellspring my dulling senses. Incredibly caught by my myriad facets, be it true that God said, watch, sense, protect and save. Ocean blues fading to be the dawn.

Flow with the perpetual, freewheeling of the tides and change directions as the urge to move takes over the current, just change. If the thirst lingers and grows, soak in everything. In this pond turn my feet into rivulets that flow or swim long, gulp every drop. Often instinct is smarter than brains.

When feeding the birds in the chambered perspective of the wheeled hatches when we too open new horizons, now is also the only time we sleep in the sky. If dark- stupid people whose brains are dead with disarray are always crowding the perimeter, we fly down into oblivion and once the surfaces do submerge come each unawares.

Say anything and return anywhere near us and we become your hunting tools in search of us. Pride rules over recognition, never it is an egoic liar to live in simplicity and truth of existence for immortality and live without me. From home I now roam at night in that sprawling void beneath the slivered, undulating radiance of the sinking sun.

Sometimes nature casts my thoughts like waves, yet I am grounded by search. If we refuse entry, a hand tight, yank one strong wing.

[vbsvartalf]

Audio Drama Sunday, 12/4/22

Yesterday was a long, big, busy Sunday, filled with some amazing audio dramas that I must share with all of you.

Dead Air, by Realm Media (created by Gwenda Bond) - If you like the true crime genre of podcasts, then a fictional version might just be up your alley. It's suspenseful, emotional, and filled with dark, dry humor. I've been devouring it recently, stopping just short of binging the entire thing in a single setting. I'm not a true crime fan, but I'm still hooked. If you liked Arden, I think you'll like this show.

Greater Boston, by Alexander Danner and Jeff Van Dreason - Humor, surrealism, quiet drama are all at the heart of Greater Boston. I know it's been around for a while and has a huge fandom but I'm excited that I get to experience this show for the first time six years after it started. Once I finish, I have a feeling I'll start the series over again without missing a beat.

A Ninth World Journal, by David S. Dear - The ultimate actual play turned audio drama, A Ninth World Journal episodes might be short but they are packed to the gills with content and keep you guessing as to what is going to happen next. David S. Dear is a fantastic narrator I've heard on several other shows at this point and it's wonderful to see him shine as the star.

Exoplanetary, by C. Christopher Heart - Managing to weave half a dozen sci-fi stories together in a nonlinear fashion without getting things too confusing is no easy task, but Exoplanetary as not only done just that, but thrived at it and keeps me coming back for new stories and new angles. It's filled with heart and emotion that stay with you long after the episodes is finished. From robotic love to colonialism to time travel, this show has it all.

Among the Stars and Bones, by Ungodly Hour Productions - Technically this will be my third listen but each time I get something more out of it, I feel more for the characters and understand their motivations. Telling a story from 8 or 9 limited viewpoints is a great way to employ the unreliable narrator, or as it happens, 8 or 9 unreliable narrators. I've seen recently that they are casting for season 2 and I cannot contain my excitement!

Old Gods of Appalachia, by DeepNerd Media - Folk horror, when done right, is better than any subgenre of any genre of literature, bar none. I will live and die on this hill. Old Gods does folk horror the right way. There's mood and atmosphere, a sense of place and a sense of dread. The show will have you jumping at shadows and creepy noises down by the creek at the witching hour.

The Town Whispers, by Cole Weavers - While similar to Old Gods of Appalachia, The Town Whispers takes cosmic horror and turns it up to 11 alongside all the folk horror that creeps around the edges of the Fort. The story telling is sharp and a sense of doom and dread purvey every word Mr. Weavers speaks. It's beautiful and chilling and leaves me needing more.

Malevolent, by Harlan Guthrie - It's a simple premise, guy wakes up unable to see with a creepy voice in his head that is not his own. Oh also there's a dead body, also there are monsters running around, oh also lots of creepy books, oh also it's set in the heart of Lovecraft Country. What could go wrong? I'm late to the party on the fandom for this show but as I work through the episodes I see why the fandom has exploded Hannibal style all over Tumblr.

Hi Nay, by Motzi Dapul - What if the Magnus Archives were less focused on Eurocentric monsters and fears and entities? What if there was a less organized group of people going after them? What if all of it was recorded lo-fi and given a health dose of Filipino folklore? Well, you'd have Hi Nay and you'd sweep the internets with a new, obsession worthy podcast that teaches as much as it entertains. Also they are working on getting 1000 subs on Youtube so get on that people!

The Kingmaker Histories, by Meg Molloy Tuten - Made by the same geniuses that brought us Less is Morgue, this audio drama gives us a glimpse at a steampunk world filled with magic. I enjoyed the first episode immensely. The acting, the script, the sound design are all top notch. Have to say I love this Ariadne character, she seems nice.

Moonbase Theta, Out, by D.J. Sylvis - Dystopian futures, corrupt governments, sinister warnings about the moon. Sounds like a typical day in 2022, right? Moonbase Theta, Out was and is ahead of its time in terms of storytelling, narratives, and characters. It's really a who's who in the world of audio drama with "famous" voices popping in and out to voice characters that will make you do the Leo pointing meme at least twice and episode.

WOE.BEGONE, by Dylan Griggs - Part surrealist sci-fi, part existential horror, WOE.BEGONE is a show that makes me want to run away screaming whilst at the same time binging more and more episodes. How deep does this creepy, deadly game go? What is the point of it all? Will Mike just be able to relax and have a nice time? I need to know!!!

And 195, by Guendalina Cilli - I just found out about this audio drama yesterday and I'm already a fan. I'm a runner with a bad sense of direction myself so the basis of the show is very, very familiar to me (aside from getting lost in other dimensions, that's not familiar but you never know in these days).

We Fix Space Junk, by Battle Bird Productions - Dystopian space dramas are a trope for a reason, but We Fix Space Junk manages to avoid the pitfalls and enjoy all the benefits of said trope. It's fresh, fun, and exciting. I've decided it was time for a re-listen to see what things I missed out on in the beginning that are integral parts of the show by the end. I'm already having a blast!

Care & Feeding of Werewolves, by Brenna Anderson-Dowd - What if True Blood were a sitcom, but far better than the sum of those two parts? What if it were funny and informative, silly and meaningful? You'd have Care & Feeding of Werewolves and you'd enjoy every single episode of this weird little show, and I do mean that endearingly. If it weren't weird, it wouldn't be nearly as fun.

[soupbabe]

hi i had seen you did the crusaders with a chubby s/o but i was wondering if you can do one with the duwang gang and a chubby s/o? please and thank you king!

Part 4 characters w a Chubby! S/O

Did I extend this to more than the Duwang Gang? Yea. Why? Because everyone in jjba would love and spoil a chubby S/O. Araki told me himself it's canon

Josuke Higashikata

He really isn't one to focus on looks in a relationship

The first thing he would love about you would be your personality, it's just a plus that you have a nice body !!

Literally you are so perfect to him omg he can't help but to smile like an idiot when you're around

On the weekends/during summer break when you're not in your school uniform and just a pair of shorts and a tank top he just melts omg

You look so good!! He's respectful with it and not roaming his eyes everywhere, but that won't stop his blushing when he sees your plush form walking over to him

He loves your thick thighs so much

Perfect pillows for when he's having a rough day

When spending time together he will do anything he can just so he can lay down on your thighs

Sometimes when you both are getting ready to go to bed he does it and lets you comb your fingers through his hair

Okuyasu Nijimura

I do headcanon Okuyasu as a bit chubby so in my mind he has no room to judge

Not that he would in the first place

First time he saw you he (not so subtlety) whispered to Josuke that he thought you were hot

He would want to hug you so much and be all over you

You're just really soft to him and like?? It's heaven

Dates to Tonio's is a must

You're a growing y/n he has to treat you right

Please don't be insecure about eating in front of him, he's literally the best at making an atmosphere more comfortable

His favorite part of you might be your chubby cheeks

He enjoys squishing them from time to time, lovingly calling them your "chipmunk cheeks"

Koichi Hirose

A lot of characters in this aren't the shallow type and Koichi is no exception!

You're just so nice and caring towards him it just makes his heart go fast around you

Absolutely loves holding your chubby hands they're just so soft to him and so comforting

Same with hugs he loves getting hugs from you

Yea it leaves him a blushing mess but it's so worth it

He loves laying on your big tummy so much

He could easily fall asleep, face buried in the soft flesh

Probably the best sleep he got, would recommend sleeping on a chubby y/n again

Rohan adores chubby bodies

Rohan Kishibe

Loves giving you designer clothes

Plus if you're more confident in yourself, it makes him like 3x more attractive omg

You look so pretty/handsome/whatever you prefer when the clothes he bought you bring out your favorite parts of your body and your curves

He loves drawing you so much

He calls you his muse a lot

If you're ever having one of those bad days where your body doesn't just "look right" to you, Rohan would simply tell you that you're very attractive and that there's nothing to worry about

Later on he would show you all of his drawings of you, capturing your beauty like no other

Hell, he could take a tiny insecurity like a double chin and make it look like the prettiest thing to exist in his artwork

He loves your stretch marks so much

When you two have the down time to just do nothing but be lazy in bed, he loves tracing them in silence

Yoshikage Kira

This man doesn't care what you look like

You only got his attention when your hands touch when he dropped something and you went to give it back to him

Yes, he usually went for slim, more feminine hands, but yours was just so soft and he thought your chubby little fingers were the cutest

Although you weren't a Mona Lisa, he still was a changed man

It was then when he saw the rest of you and thought that you were stunning

He checked his watch, mentally cursed himself for running late to work

He gave you a business card with his number on it and asked you out to lunch as a thank you

He loves having lunch with you

You two holding hands while you both talked about your day was the highlight of his

He loves giving you rings and watches, he thinks it just makes your hands shine through and he says that you deserve to be pampered

That being said he absolutely loves your hands

How his slender and somewhat bony fingers perfectly fit with your pudgy ones makes him smile

Yukako Yamagishi

Oh you're perfect to her!

So soft, you're like her personal teddy bear!

It's surprising if your self esteem hasn't risen even a little bit once you're with her

She loves complementing you so much

Will steal your clothes

And guess what.

She's another character I headcanon as plus size so you both are going to be stealing each others clothes

Best home cooked meals wow

Will make sure you get everything you need and aren't skipping meals

She would be so scary if she finds out that you aren't taking care of yourself

She cannot choose her favorite part of you

You ask her and she will say all of the above

Toshikazu Hazamada

He doesn't get out much tbh

I'll be honest anime/manga has definitely risen his expectations when it comes to appearance for a s/o

Gotta wait til he gets humbled shorter if you ever want to be with him

By then he should get it through his head that not everyone is going to have the flat stomach or big muscles as anime might have him believe

I feel like after that he might be open to collecting more diverse anime figurines, including the cute chubby anime mascots you can find online

When you said that you had feelings for him he grew so flustered that he actually accepted

It doesn't matter what you really look like to him anymore, if you like him he would like you back

Please let him sit in your lap and let him hug you

Would constantly suggest you to cosplay a character from his figurine collection

He wants his anime fav come to life you would make him so happy

Something just tells me that he would really like flabby arms tbh

The feeling of your squishy arms around him when you two hug makes his heart go so fast and his face so red

Loves cuddling up and laying his head on your arms

[pasteljeon]

core pride (m)

❥ summary: ot7 where you’re rich and lonely so you adopt 7 hybrids. chaos ensues.

❥ genre: hybrid au, wolf!namjoon, tuxedo cat!yoongi, golden retriever!hoseok, tiger!taehyung, calico cat!jimin, bunny!jungkook, honey bear!jin

❥ warnings: brief description of assault/violence, panty sniffing, sub jimin, sub jungkook, ur once again the meat in the jikook sammich, bathtub sex, lotta angst, some fluff

❥ length: 6.6k

❥ notes: tis my first ever attempt at a hybrid au. please be kind :( let me know what you think <3

.

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Winter, Year 20XX

The car beeps quietly, the sound piercing the stillness of the night as you glance up, watching as the powdered flakes flutter silently onto your coat. They sparkle in the muted glow of the streetlamp, soaking your hair and tickling your eyelashes.

Snow crunches beneath your boots, your steps freshly printed upon a new layer as you make your way to the door.

It is pointless to try and enter without perforating the peace. There are no lights on, but that is only because they do not need the artificial shine to recognize your silhouette. The sound of the tires pulling into the driveway, the slow beat of your heart, the steady rising and falling of your chest, the smell of damp clothing, the sweet touch of your shampoo and something indescribably you. They know it is you.

“Noona!” The faint, rapid thumping fades as his strong arms wrap around you, ignoring your muffled protests and burying his face in the crook of your neck. Another pair of arms circle your waist, a shiver whispering through your body at the feel of soft lips against the top of your ear.

“Hello, boys,” you sigh, the weariness weighing heavily on your limbs as you sink into their embrace. “You’re getting yourselves wet …”

“We missed you,” the one behind you disregards your weak attempt at chastising them, tail curling around your arm as he scatters featherlight kisses onto your jaw.

Jungkook says nothing, hands fumbling with the belt of your thick coat. He helps you shrug it off, hanging it on the side to dry.

One hand in each, they lead you to the master bathroom, carefully guiding you in the absence of light. As you pass the living room, you notice another body peeking from the corner.

Slitted eyes linger in the pressing darkness, raking over you once, and disappearing on your next blink.

The candles flicker, the lavender scent soothing and casting a warm yellowed glow to the room and you stop to touch Jungkook’s cheek. He exhales shakily, nuzzling your hand. One ear droops, covering the left side of his face, as if to hide his insecurity.

Jimin walks forward respectfully, twisting the knob to adjust the temperature until it is deemed appropriate and waits, perched on the porcelain, for the tub to fill, before dropping a rose bath bomb into it.

“Oh, bunny,” you murmur, watching sadly as he sniffles. Jungkook scrubs his eyes furiously, almost angry at his uncharacteristic show of emotion.

His body sags, arms clutching your waist tightly as he kisses you back hard, tasting salt and copper.

“Sorry,” he whispers, forehead pressed against yours. He dips his head to suckle the bite on your lower lip, running his tongue over it lovingly.

“Take off your shirt,” you say in response. He obeys, lifting his arms as his shirt comes off, fluttering to the ground. He arches at the feel of your hands running down his front. The deep ridges of his stomach are thrown in sharp relief in the shadowed light. This is what he has been working on, you realize, as your fingers dig into the defined v-lines that dip into his sweats. Jungkook whines at the pressure, body jerking as he staggers onto you. His skin is hot, and a shudder ripples down his spine when your palm meets his pectoral to steady him.

“Get in the tub, baby,” you say. Jungkook moves as if underwater, lethargic in the heat that knots his stomach. He kicks his sweats off, nothing underneath, and sinks into the hot water with a lewd groan.

“Kitten.”

Jimin rises at the sound of your voice, shirt gone in the next instant as he sinks to his knees before you. His gaze is reverent, tender, his touch gentle but firm as he strips you slowly. Covering every inch of bare skin revealed with his lips as he unbuttons your blouse, unclips your bra and unzips your skirt. His nose presses against your panties, inhaling deeply as his tongue flicks out to scent your core. The sight is obscene, so dirty it is enough to make you blush, if you were new to Jimin’s obsession with your taste.

“Smell so good,” he pants, suckling your clit through the soaked fabric. The bulge in his boxers is mouth-watering, and you can already feel the weight of his cock pressed against your tongue. His tail twines your ankle, and you stifle a moan at his feverish licks.

“In the tub, love,” you say softly, tugging at his black locks. Jimin mews and nods, shoving his briefs off before settling in the water next to Jungkook. They watch with hungry gazes as you step out of your panties and sink into the bath leisurely.

They wait, unmoving and hardly breathing, as you close your eyes, body loosening as the heat soaks into your sore muscles.

When the ache lessens, you stand, the water line edging just below your breasts, them greedily consuming the sight of the droplets sliding down your shoulder blades and perked nipples as you make your way to him.

Jungkook watches with half-lidded eyes, expression dazed and thoroughly fucked out already despite the minimal stimulation thus far. Your bunny, so easily tamed and pleased, with a sex drive so intense you could scarcely surface for a moment’s rest.

“Nnng,” he gasps when you flatten your palms to his pecs, raking your nails over his nubs. His chest pushes out to seek your punishing touch despite his furrowed eyebrows and cherry-bitten lips as if unable to decide if the stimulus was welcomed or not.

His cock, still impossibly hard, nudges your entrance from below the water. Jungkook has the audacity to blush when he feels it. “I—I’m—mmf,” his apology is swallowed by your kiss, his eyes rolling back as he keens into your mouth.

An arm snakes around to cup your right breast, thumbing your nipple. “Ahh,” Jimin hisses, biting back a needy whimper when you grip his cock.

He presses himself against you, the heat of him bleeding into your back. “My pain slut,” you coo as you release Jungkook. The bunny hybrid slumps back, lips slick with drool as he grinds desperately against you, gaze unfocused.

Your collective sounds echo delightfully in the wide expanse of the room, water splashing over the edges of the tub as the movement of their hips push waves swelling over the surface. They cannot resist the innate urge to brand evidence of their devotion onto your skin, the marks blooming and scattering like the wind over your thighs, stomach, and neck. Between two hard, hot bodies, they grip you with strong arms and you throw your head back, a faltering gasp caught in your throat as Jungkook ducks his head, dark locks plastered to his forehead, to sear a new constellation on your collarbones. Jimin’s sharp teeth are coaxing another violet flower to bloom across your jugular.

Your legs tremble when you finish, exhaustion seeping deep into your bones. The two seem to exchange silent conversation, and Jimin sets you down gingerly before allowing Jungkook to scoop you up. He steps out of the bath, the water a quarter of its initial level.

You open your mouth to protest, but Jimin kisses the pad of your finger. “It’s okay, noona, I’ve got it.”

Jungkook carefully helps you into the shower, the tiles cool against your burning skin. You lean heavily against him, smiling as he rubs your nose with his affectionately. Reaching for the shampoo, he works up a gentle lather, massaging your scalp soothingly. You sigh blissfully, closing your eyes briefly before stretching for the soap, running it over his abdomen.

The frosted glass opens quietly as Jimin steps inside, having finished draining the water. Jungkook rinses your hair, and you turn to Jimin to drizzle some on his while the younger scrubs at his curls. A faint thumping sound can be heard again when you rub Jungkook’s ears. He flushes hotly at your soft giggle.

By the time you are all finally clean and properly bathed, you are feeling slightly more refreshed and awake.

“Thank you. My good boys,” you whisper, kissing the crown of their heads. You smooth over their fringes, smiling fondly down at them. They are sharing the same room tonight, too tired to fight over who would warm your bed. Jimin purrs sleepily, and Jungkook merely blinks up at you tiredly, doe eyes soft and sweet.

“Sweet dreams.”

.

.

.

“Hey. Sorry I’m so late.” He stirs at the sound of your voice, hushed and melodic, eyes remaining closed even as his ear flicks. The mattress sinks slightly under the added weight.

“They were really worried,” he rumbles, raspy from the drag of sleep. “I know.” You stroke his hair, and he chuffs happily, melting. It has been three months already, and yet you have made little progress with some, while others still suffer from severe anxiety whenever you were away for too long. With your chosen field of study, that adjustment was difficult. Today has likely been one of the worst. You know because you are almost six hours late, and there is a stratum of palpable tension that lines the atmosphere of the house, one only slightly weakened by the physical announcement of your return.

“Tell us next time,” Taehyung murmurs, tail winding around your bicep. “Please. They were almost beside themselves. It took hours to calm them down. I worry about you.”

“I will. I’m sorry.” He accepts your chaste kiss as an apology, fatigued as he is. He is already drifting off, hugging the pillow close to him as you shut the door quietly behind you.

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.

.

Namjoon is on the balcony when you find him. Like his counterpart, he is almost immune to the cold, with only a shirt and shorts. He is gazing at the stars, or what little of it is visible through the smog of the city. His ear twitches when you enter, but he makes no other indication he is aware of your presence.

You draw your shawl closer to your body, moving to stand a few feet apart, knowing he is still wary of you. It has not been easy, this tentative truce. The two of you are still fostering trust. Such a fragile concept, you think. So gruelling a task to establish, yet so easily destroyed.

“I was wondering if I needed to tell the others to pack again.”

“You can’t get rid of me that easily,” you answer, smile crooked. You know he is trying. It is a joke, if you ever heard him utter one.

He finally looks at you. “Okay,” is all he says. His dimples crease, so you know to read between the lines to hear he really means; good.

“Good night, Namjoon.”

“Good night, owner.”

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.

“I’m glad to see you’re okay.” Seokjin offers you a small smile, the one that makes his cheeks plump up like a loaf of bread.

“Thank you.” He lays back down, still watching you cautiously, as if to ready himself in case you struck. Your heart twinges a little, but there is not much you can do tonight. Tomorrow is a new day. You will try all over again tomorrow.

“We really like it here,” the hybrid blurts suddenly. He coughs, embarrassed, as his honeyed skin reddens. You laugh, the ache softening just a bit.

“I’m happy to hear that.”

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.

“Don’t. I don’t care. I was just checking if it was burglar or some shit,” the older of the two grumbles without even turning to you. He is a lump in the dark, curled up in the middle of his bed.

Hoseok simply rolls over.

You take a breath. Tomorrow. You will start all over again tomorrow.

Tonight, you just want to sleep.

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.

.

“Good morning, noona!”

You smile as the two bound over to kiss either side of your cheek. The mixture of maple syrup, butter and batter must have woken them up, and if they are up, it is likely the other boys are just moments short from trickling in.

“Sleep well?” You place two plates on the table, clearing your laptop and files to the coffee table. One is heaping with pancakes, the other is reasonably stacked.

Jungkook finishes one in a single gulp, and beams. “It’s really good!” You squeeze his hand in gratitude before returning to the stove to finish making the rest just as the boys begin filtering in.

Seokjin, Hoseok and Yoongi take their individual seats at the table patiently with their phones in hand.

“Hi, beautiful.” Taehyung slides an arm around your waist, brushing your locks back as he smiles, kissing you softly.

Namjoon trails in, shuffling toward the fridge as he yawns. “Ah—” He fumbles with the tall glass and you watch in slow motion as it falls and shatters on the tiled flooring of your kitchen.

“Are you okay?” You exclaim, switching off the stove immediately and rushing over. Taehyung stops you from picking up the pieces, grabbing the sweeper as you gesture at the hybrid to step to the side with you.

Namjoon is frowning down at his hand, and upon spotting the cut, Seokjin, miles ahead of you, moves to pull the first aid kit in one of your cupboards instantly. The wound is already spewing a fair amount of blood, and you would have been more concerned had he been a man with solely human DNA.

“This will sting a bit,” you warn, but Namjoon does not even flinch as you gingerly wipe the gash with white alcohol soaked in a cotton ball. You wrap a bandage around it firmly, and tell him not to press on it before it fully heals. He mumbles a thank-you.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spot Yoongi standing.

“Wait, Yoongi!” You call, hiding the hurt that flashes across your face when you see him roll his eyes. 

“What?”

“I have something for you. Please, eat, and I’ll show you.”

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.

Yoongi trails after you reluctantly as you lead him into the right wing of the mansion. It is scarcely used, furniture mostly curtained off with a thin layer of dust coating the surface of the covers. When they had first moved in, you explained it was because the place was big enough without the extra space. There was nothing interesting within, just more hallways and empty rooms.

It was not entirely true.

“My father always preferred the right wing. There’s more sun here, better views. I spent most of my childhood here,” you begin. Yoongi’s mouth tightens, but he does not protest. It is the first you have spoken about yourself beyond the niceties of your job and how your fortune came to be. He listens attentively, even as his tail swishes agitatedly.

“After they passed, I couldn’t see the place the same. I couldn’t live there anymore. The memories haunted me, I suppose,” you continue. “But out of it all, there is one thing I regretted closing off. I think you might be able to find better use for it.”

There is no door, just an impressive awning that leads into what appears to be a ballroom. Each step muted on the polished floors. You keep this room clean, he realizes with a jolt.

Yoongi skids to a stop, heart fluttering at his throat when his gaze falls upon the clothed bulk in the middle. He could recognize that form anywhere, and his face twists when you pull back the silk fabric. The impact frees a stray piece of hair, the lock falling over his eyes. He makes no move to push it back, face paling in horror and anguish.

“Yoongi? Yoongi? Hey, are you okay?” He refocuses to find your worried expression staring at him, your hand shaking his shoulder gently.

Immediately, he jerks his arm out of your hold, baring his teeth as he hisses. “Don’t fucking touch me. I don’t want that shit.” He hurls a venomous look your way, the fur on his tail fluffing out in alarm as he bristles.

“I’m … I’m sorry, I thought—” You are taken aback, hand falling limply to your side as you recoil.

“You thought wrong. You’re better off burning that shit,” Yoongi spits. The anger radiates off him, his ears flattening as he turns on his heel and stalks out.

Snapping out of your stunned daze, you hurry behind him, struggling to catch up, but he has always been lithe and quick on his feet. Yoongi storms through the living room toward his room, startling the boys still loitering in the area when he slams the door loudly. Hoseok gets up immediately and races after him.

They all swivel their attention to you when you arrive moments later, and your expression drops when you realize Yoongi has already disappeared.

“Bogum said he used to play the piano,” you say after a beat, voice small as you stare at your feet. You should be used to the rejection by now, but it still hurts, still makes your heart throb, the disappointment and continual failure swells in your chest like a tumor.

“I have the next three weeks off for the holidays. Let me know if there’s somewhere you’d like to go or something you’d like to buy,” you say flatly, avoiding Jungkook and Jimin’s mirrored concern as you trudge toward your own room.

“___—” You only shake your head, lips pursed. Shame crawls up your spine as you roughly wipe away the tears welling in your eyes. “I’m fine, Tae. I’m just tired. Please wake me at five so I can make dinner.”

Taehyung freezes, hand pausing where it is reaching for you, frown deepening as his heart clinches painfully when he scents the tint of salt in the air.

You shut the door quietly behind you right as your knees give out, collapsing into a heap against the wood. It has been months now, and if anything, your relationship with Yoongi is deteriorating. At some point you think he was starting to tolerate your presence. Hoseok still refuses to so much as acknowledge your existence.

You are just so tired. But Taehyung had begged you, the day you decided to take them in, he had begged you not to give up on them. That they all had personal baggage, trauma enough to drown anyone else. He had asked you to be their lifeline, and you are starting to wonder if you are in over your head after all.

.

.

.

“I wish you would give her a chance. She’s serious about us, you know.” Yoongi snorts, pulling the covers further over his head. “Go away, Taehyung.”

“She’s the one. I know it.”

“She’s just going to toss us on the streets when she’s had her fun. That’s all they do, these rich, bored humans,” Yoongi mutters. He picks at a frayed strand of the quilt he has been meticulously unravelling.

He hears the tiger hybrid sigh, and Yoongi stretches out, resting his head on his arm as he closes his eyes. “Just … please try. She’s a good person. All she’s ever done is try to help us.”

Yoongi grunts, rolling over.

.

.

.

You flinch, nearly cutting off your finger, when Yoongi takes a seat next to you after a week of tensed silence. Life had carried on as usual, with the three that seem to genuinely like you, the two that accept you, and the two that abhor you. You wanted to take them skiing at the alps up north, but Hoseok had dug his heels in and practically growled at you when you tried to suggest it. The youngest had looked so crestfallen you pulled him aside and hugged him, promising you’d take him next year instead, with or without his hyung. You would have gone without him this year, except all your friends had left the country for the holidays and you didn’t want to risk asking a stranger.

“You can’t woo me with gifts,” Yoongi coughs. He is looking away, chin propped on a hand.

“I … wasn’t trying to,” you say slowly, returning to your chopping. You pour the vegetables into a bowl, setting it to the side before you move to the stove, drizzling oil onto the pan.

Yoongi turns to watch you, for the first time a little uncertain as to the way you seem to shy away, avoiding his gaze. You seem almost resigned.

“I’m … sorry.” He cringes at the words. They sound too forced, too cold. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just … I haven’t played in a long time now.”

You make a noncommittal sound, and Yoongi’s nose twitches at the delicious smell of kimchi stir fry.

“I’d like to maybe … give it another shot. Or something,” he mumbles, rubbing the inside of his wrist absently. It’s one of his anxious ticks.

Your heart leaps, your movements stuttering in surprise. Are you allowed to be hopeful? You want to be.

So you say, “Okay.” And set a bowl before him with a small smile. His lips quirk, head inclining in gratitude.

.

.

.

It is a bit jarring, the way Yoongi lets you sit next to him on the bench. He does not move away, even as his body stiffens.

He’s … trying. He thinks you don’t notice the way his fingers tremble as they are placed on the keys, the way his tail sways restlessly. His ears are flattened to his head, the mere act of sitting at the piano taking a toll. You don’t need hybrid senses to know he is struggling to keep face.

“Hey. Don’t force yourself,” you say softly, Yoongi’s hand jerking when you hesitate in reaching for him. “I … I’m fine. It’s time, anyway.”

Then, he takes a breath, loosens his shoulders and presses down on the keys.

.

.

.

It gets a little better. Yoongi takes the days as they come. He rediscovers his love for the instrument, the first he’s ever played. His first love, if he has ever experienced such a concept.

With it come the memories of loss and grief. He cries for a long time the night after his first performance with you. It was cathartic, almost. Like he could be reborn from the ashes of his sorrow, like the awning hole inside of him could begin to heal, finally. And in some ways, it does.

He finds your company reasonable. Comforting, if he had the balls to admit it to himself. You rarely speak when he plays, just listening, and sometimes he catches you with glistening eyes that you hastily scrub away. His pieces are often melancholic. They were angry at first, full of rage and pain, until that too, was swept by the currents of the storm. He was always so exhausted after each session.

Now he has begun composing something new. You would stand, thanking him in that sweet voice of yours, sometimes quivering and other times a mere whisper. You never pitied him, he knew, but your sadness told him it was time to let go of the past.

He ignores Hoseok’s disapproving gaze every time, opting to pat the space next to him. “This one is a duet. Play with me.”

You look so bewildered he stifles a chuckle. “But I don’t know how to play.”

“I’ll teach you. Come.” You do, and he urges you to relax as he guides your fingers over the correct keys for the first line.

He hasn’t played for the other boys yet. For whatever reason, this feels sacred to just the two of you. It’s peaceful. He wants to keep it this way, just for a little while longer.

.

.

.

“It’s Christmas in three days. Would you guys like to celebrate?”

They look so excited. Even Hoseok glances up from his laptop to consider your proposal. In the background, Seokjin sneezes loudly. You throw his room a sympathetic frown. The eldest hybrid had fallen sick from the snowball fight from two days ago with the maknaes. You’d left his room after feeding him some congee and checking his temperature.

“Great! I’m going to the market for some supplies then. I’m going to pick up some medicine for Jin as well. We can all go pick gifts once he’s better. Would anyone like to come along?” You ask distractedly as you search for your car keys.

Yoongi growls in exasperation when Taehyung nudges him expectantly. Jungkook and Jimin both beam so eagerly the pianist grits his teeth and drawls with great reluctance, “I’ll go.” Namjoon doesn’t protest, only shrugs as if to say do what you want.

You stop in the middle of buttoning your coat in pure shock. He’s been surprising you a lot lately. “Uh … okay, let’s go.”

.

.

.

Yoongi stares up at the sky, streaks of fuchsia fading rapidly as the evening set in with chilly winds. His ears prick uncomfortably beneath the beanie he sports, unused to the compression. He’s waiting outside the pharmacy, leaning against the brick walls, bags weighing on each arm as people pass, laughing and chatting, without a second glance. Hybrids aren’t gawked at, but those without an owner at their side were held with suspicion and likely a dial to the hybrid protection services (read: hybrid prison). It is illegal to be wandering the streets alone.

Yoongi turns when he hears your familiar footfalls exit the store. Wordlessly, he takes the small brown bag you’re holding. He starts walking toward your next destination before you can object.

“Wait, Yoongi—ah,” you dig for your phone, the ringer making him cringe. He does, moving to the side with an audible sigh. You give him an apologetic look before answering it.

“Oh—hi, Bogum! Yes—yes. Ah, about that—I have a draft written up and I was wondering if you could take a look at it sometime soon. Mmm, I know, but it’s important it’s done as quickly as possible, I need it for when I’m gone,” you’re facing the other way, talking animatedly with the cell resting against your ear as you dig for a pen in your purse. His breath stutters, stomach dropping instantly.

“What is he talking about? What do you mean, when you’re gone?” He says sharply, and you glance up to see him right in front of you, eyes narrowed and teeth bared.

“What?” You ask, putting a hand over the receiver. Yoongi sneers. “I always knew it was too good to be true. I’m done.” He drops the various bags onto the snow, and you shrink back in confusion and fear when he leans in to whisper, “Go fuck yourself. I’ll make sure you never see any of us ever again.”

“Don’t bother coming back. We’ll be long gone by then,” Yoongi tosses over his shoulder as he leaves. He relishes in the way your expression contorts in horror. He’s much, much faster than you, and he knows this market by heart. It’s not far from your house and he can easily beat you by foot.

“Yoongi!” You cry out, but you know it’s useless. Tears blur your vision as you blubber a quiet I have to go, I’ll call you later to Bogum who calls your name worriedly on the other line before pocketing your phone. You kneel, trying to gather all the bags at once. One is crushed at the bottom and you open it gingerly to find a smashed fruit cake oozing out of its packaging. You can still make out a crooked Merry Christmas Eve! scrawled lopsidedly at the edges.

You won’t make it in time. Muffling a sob, you sink to the ground, ignoring the way the snow seeps into your leggings. You really are pathetic.

.

.

.

“Please! Stop!” You pause, head cocking as you shut your trunk. Were you officially going crazy? Peachy, you scoff inwardly. You wouldn’t be surprised.

“P-please, let me go!” A scream tears across the parking lot. You glance around wildly, and no, you are not crazy because people duck their heads at the sound, whispering to one another as they scurry toward their vehicles. Yoongi is likely already home, and you know he’s smart, careful and capable of caring for himself.

So you grab your phone and a can of pepper spray and head toward the sound. You can’t be like them. You have to be human.

And you think your knees will give out, the pure heartbreak you feel when you round the corner of the street to find a young snake hybrid curled in a fetal position on the ground, three much older, scrawny men circling him, jeering and kicking.

He can easily overpower them, you realize, but he doesn’t want to. If he does, it’s only another reason for HPS to lock him away for good. He would rather suffer this moment than be chained forever. It’s enough to make your lip curl in distaste, fury building at the sheer injustice.

“Hey! Leave him alone,” you shout, marching up to them. The men stop, one squinting at you briefly before bursting into loud guffaws.

“You? What is a little lady like you going to do?” He crows. The last word is caught in his throat as you punch him in the stomach.

“I said, back off!” The other two look at each other, flabbergasted, and the man screams at them to do something as he’s on the floor, clutching his belly in pain. They charge at you, but you only roll your eyes at the added layer of sexism on the list of hell ridden crimes they are already guilty for. You’ve taken many, many lessons as a child, including mixed martial arts.

It can’t even be called a fight. They’re rolled onto the curb in the next heartbeat. You kneel next to the wounded hybrid, who tries to get up. He wobbles, and you coax him into leaning into you for support.

“Thank you, miss,” he croaks. “You didn’t have to, but thank you.” You wipe the blood on his lower lip gingerly. “Where’s your owner?”

“He went to get the car,” he answers softly. You give him a knowing look. He glances away guiltily.

“Yuto? Yuto!” Distinctly, the two of you turn at the sound of a new voice. Headlights sear your eyes for just a moment before someone hurtles out of the driver’s seat. “Holy shit, what happened?” The man cries, clutching at the injured hybrid. Yuto (?) winces, allowing the newcomer to sling an arm over his shoulder.

“I got jumped,” he whispers. “She saved me.” The man looks halfway into tears, reaching over to take your hand. “Thank you so much. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you weren’t here.”

You accept his gratitude with an awkward smile, patting his hand gently. “You shouldn’t leave him alone on the streets, especially at night.”

“It’s not his fault,” Yuto protests immediately. “I insisted.”

His owner shakes his head furiously. “She’s right. That was stupid of me.” He turns to you again, eyes shining. “Thank you so much. Truly.”

“Not at … all.” Huh? The world suddenly tilts, and you look down at your hands. There’s something dark dripping on your jacket, staining the fabric and you swipe at it lethargically, bringing it close. Oh. It’s blood.

The pain sharpens, and you gasp aloud at the fire spreading through your veins. Your knees do give out this time, and you can finally make out the sounds of a hiss, a piercing scream and someone calling for you before your body drops to the ground with a muted thud.

The last thing you are thinking is how you’d inevitably failed them after all.

.

.

.

Yoongi shoves his hands in his jacket pockets, the next gust nearly pushing his beanie off his head altogether, and he finds himself wondering if you were cold.

He violently shakes the thought away before opening the door. He sits down to unlace his boots, when Namjoon comes barrelling toward him. The other boys follow in suit; even Seokjin is padding around swaddled in a blanket. He scents the rising panic and anxiety in the house and he straightens instantly, alert.

“Yoongi, where the hell have you been?” Their leader bursts out. Yoongi has never seen the wolf hybrid so frazzled before.

“At the market?” He doesn’t know what kind of answer Namjoon was expecting, but it certainly was not the truth because his face twists in anger.

“Listen, Joon, she’s planning to leave us—” Yoongi goes on, and Jimin steps forward to slap him. The crack of the impact has his head jerking to the side, the sting setting in quickly.

“What. The. Fuck.” He says lowly.

“No. Where the fuck were you?” The typically soft-spoken and sweet hybrid screams. Yoongi stares in shock, flinching at the sound. Hybrid senses were heightened enough to hear the tiniest whispers, and his ears ring at the blow.

“If you mean ___, she’s probably on her way back,” Yoongi answers slowly. “That’s why I left, I found out that—”

“She’s in the hospital, Yoongi.” It’s Taehyung. His voice is hoarse, and he’s standing in a shadowed corner. His tail drags the ground as he moves, bangs hiding his expression.

“What?” The words taste like ash.

“She was stabbed while helping another hybrid,” Jimin seethes. He clutches his wrist, hand throbbing but he can barely feel it. Only registers the adrenaline and fear rushing through him.

“We’re waiting for Luna to come pick us up. She’s ___’s friend.” Jungkook sounds so small, so fragile when he speaks.

Yoongi’s legs buckle and he collapses, unblinking as he gawks at the floor. What did he do?

.

.

.

“There you are. Take it easy, now.” You groan, eyeballs burning as you pry them open with difficulty. It takes great effort to move your arms, and you stop when you feel a sharp tugging into your inner elbow.

“Fucking IVs,” you croak, and Luna’s smile focuses as she leans down to steady you. “How long was I out for?”

“A few days. It’s Christmas. A miracle, some believers might say.” She presses one of the buttons at the side of your bed, and a nurse appears shortly after.

“Your vitals are good. Doctor will be in momentarily,” the worker says, checking the equipment and making a few markings to your clipboard.

“You scared the shit out of them. You scared the shit out of me,” Luna informs you. Taking a glance around, your room is crowded with vases upon vases of your favourite flowers and several handmade art pieces you know are from Jungkook and Taehyung.

You lean back with a sigh. Your abdomen aches, and you know the scar this time isn’t going to fade.

The doctor walks in before you can reply. He gives you a full diagnosis of your condition and declares visits can start as early as tomorrow morning. Luna leaves with him, kissing your cheek and warning you not to overextend. You can only nod, sinking back into your pillow.

.

.

.

When you open your eyes again, the clock at the side notifies you it is just past ten.

And sitting by your side is Yoongi, face buried in his hands.

“Oh, Yoongi,” you breathe. He’s visibly shaking, ears flat and tail unmoving.

“I should’ve never left you alone. I’m an idiot. I’m sorry,” he rasps. He chokes on the words, rubbing his eyes furiously. He doesn’t have the right to cry. He pushes the chair away and gets on his knees, ignoring the strangled sound that escapes your throat. His forehead touches the ground and he doesn’t care that the floor is probably gross and full of viruses and bleach and disinfectant and a million other things. “I’m—so—sorry.”

“Yoongi,” your voice breaks.

“No, no,” he looks up, blinking away the tears as he fixes his gaze on you. “Don’t—don’t cry. I’m sorry.”

“Come here, silly kitty,” you whisper. His lower lip trembles and he lets out a sob. It’s loud and ugly and he scrambles to climb onto the bed, carefully weaving through the various cords and he curls up next to your injured side and he stuffs his face in your shoulder and he cries and cries and cries.

He cries until he’s empty and he falls asleep like that, eyes swollen and red, snot running down your hospital sheet, tail twined over your wrist, engulfed in your warmth.

.

.

.

“My original owner was an old man.” You can barely make out the words, so soft and unsure. He’s speaking into his pudding. Lunch came and went, and you roused him gently, knowing he likely hadn’t properly eaten since the incident.

Hospital food is hardly luxury but it’s food and the poor hybrid had already begun to look malnourished, complexion pale and cheeks sunken in. It was the stress and guilt that ate away at his ability to function.

“I was abandoned on the highway. The runt of the litter, I suppose. I didn’t come from one of those fancy breeding places. I was a bastard child. He found me, digging in his trash.” You stroke his hair, and he finishes the pudding in one bite, setting it down before snuggling back into you.

“He took me in. He was kind, and taught me how to play the piano. He was a retired pianist, and his wife had died the year prior. His son had been in the military. Died the first year out. He taught me to love the piano, to love music. Gave me a light and purpose when I had none. He gave me to the shelter when he passed. I had a lot of pent up anger. I ran away a lot. Didn’t know how to deal with the grief, I guess. He was all I knew. So I started picking fights to work through it, and Bogum would always be the one to drag me back to the shelter. Nursed me back to health every time. He never punished me, and I think the disappointment was what really broke me. I was ready to die. I picked a fight I knew I would never recover from. Hoseok was the one that saved me then.” Yoongi’s wet lashes tickle your jaw.

“Hoseok was also a different man then. He smiled a lot, laughed a lot. He was like sunshine personified. Maybe that’s why I was so drawn to him. He taught me to control my anger. Through him, I met the rest. Jimin taught me to understand it. Namjoon taught me to release it through alternative channels. Like composing. I wrote a lot of songs there. Things were good for a while. Then they came.”

Your eyebrows furrow. “Who—”

“Sorry, but visiting hours are ending.” Yoongi lifts his head to find your nurse smiling at the two of you apologetically. She checks your vitals once more before exiting to give you privacy.

Yoongi untangles himself from you reluctantly, nuzzling your cheek.

“Come back tomorrow, mmkay?” You squeeze his hand.

He nods, unable to meet your gaze even as his own cheeks flush lightly.

“Promise?”

Yoongi shakily takes your hand and kisses your ring finger. This time he does look at you, eyes ringed with gold as he says, “Promise.”

[pedros-mustache]

loquacious

summary: you’re not normally this expressive.

word count: 2k

warnings: smut (18+ or i will fight you): protected sex (not specifically mentioned), kinda sorta cockwarming, dirty talk, .2 seconds of cumplay, breeding kink if you squint. also: language, x fem!reader.

a/n: there is no plot, but i very much enjoyed writing this prior to my three hour thesis presentation tomorrow. v much would enjoy smoft sex with ezra. also: sorry mom

it’s simple, unrushed this time. 

so often you find your lovemaking with ezra to be born out of frenzy, a need to expel pent up energy after a grueling scavenge. it is rough and dirty and, yes, thoroughly enjoyable, but decidedly unromantic. though there are moments in which he gazes at you with pure adoration amidst the throes of pleasure, that adoration is quickly replaced by a cavernous sort of lust that never seems to dissipate until you are both spent and sated.

this evening, though—this evening, tucked away in your rented room, you are away from danger, away from deadlines, away from everything but the warmth of one another.

and ezra is taking his time.

he sits on the edge of the bed (a bonafide mattress with a luxurious comforter and two pillows!), his feet planted firmly on the floor. you sit on his lap, his length firmly sheathed in your tight core, your arms around his neck, face bent in the crook of his neck as you move slowly against him. your own legs squeeze tight around his hips, drawing him ever closer.

it’s a reprieve, this moment. a reprieve from thirty cycles on an inhospitable moon with other prospectors on your tail and too few resources to go around. you’d gotten the job done, though, and the buyer paid handsomely for all your trouble. 

now, ezra fulfills his softly spoken promise of eighteen cycles ago. he’d promised you rest, a break from the hard work and a moment to catch you breath before moving on to the next job. noxxo seven isn’t the warm, sun-drenched planet you’d hoped for, but it’ll do the trick. so long as you’re with ezra, any place is just fine by you.

the room he’s bought for the next few nights is unique. it feels more like a replica of a pod than a traditional room. oval in shape, complete with white walls and thin carpet, the layout reminds you somewhat of an egg. soft blue lights emanating from the baseboards do little to counteract the gray permeating every corner of the room. noxxo seven’s atmosphere—a thick, heavy cloud of fog—is inescapable, and any sunlight attempting to shine through the veil merely bathes your room in a colorless soft of haze. trees smack against the singular window, pushed by the rushing wind. there’s a storm somewhere outside; you can hear rain pelt the roof of the building. 

everything—the fog, the rain, the dim lighting—pushes you closer to ezra.

neither of you rush to find release. tonight is about the journey. it’s about savoring the feel of ezra in his naked humanity and him exalting in your divine aura. (his words, not yours.)

ezra’s hips barely rut beneath yours. his arms are wrapped tight around your back, his mouth drawing wet paths from your lips to your neck to yours breasts and back again. he can’t be bothered to move faster, to truly thrust in and out, and you really don’t care. the stretch of him is enough for now. 

you sigh, tilting your head away from his neck when his mouth finds your nipple. raking your fingernails through his hair, you smile when he mumbles something against your sweat-slick skin.

“always talking,” you whisper. you swivel your hips lightly, and he grunts in approval, pulling away.

he catches your eye, and you still, trapped in the warmth of his gaze. “i would never be able to exhaust all the writing utensils in the universe were someone to task me with recounting all the ways i adore you, little bird.”

you lift a hand and cradle his chin between your thumb and forefinger, leaning in for a kiss. his lips are soft, his mustache ticklish. you linger in the feel of his mouth on yours: the way he lets you set the pace, humming against your touch.

then he adjusts his feet on the floor—perhaps to get more purchase, perhaps because he’s lost feeling in his toes. whatever the reason, the movement drives his cock a little deeper, a little closer to that one particular spot, and you gasp, clenching around him.

ezra chuckles. “you like that?”

you nod, and he moves again, this time with purpose. one hand comes to grip your hip, the other splayed along the small of your back. he thrusts once, twice, three times. each time you mewl in pleasure. you drop your forehead to his shoulder as he slows once more.

“kevva, erza,” you breathe. you dig your nails in the muscle of his bicep. 

he just snorts in amusement, thrusting upwards again. his pubic bone brushes your clit, and you keen, eyes rolling back in your head.

“shit. you’re so—” you press your lips together to stop yourself.

ezra’s fingers squeeze your hip. “what’s that, my love?” he bucks beneath you at an erratic pace, setting you on edge, uncertain of when or where the next pulse of his cock will strike. “do you have something you’d like to say with those precious lips of yours?”

before you can respond, he kisses you, his mouth a messy slant over yours. he pulls away, gasping for breath as he continuous the slow, torturous drag of his cock in and out, in and out.

your throat seizes, and you lift your head from his shoulder. your mouth falls open on a silent moan. “you just...” you gasp and shudder, shaking your head.

“what is it?” he prods, tone gentle. “tell me.”

he’s egging you on, you know. he can see the way the words sit on the tip of your tongue. he knows you well enough to sense the feelings mounting in the pit of your stomach that you shove down time after time. 

talking—that’s his thing. he’s good at it. no matter the subject, the time, or the place, he can wax poetic. you, on the other hand, aren’t as eloquent. you cannot paint pictures with your words the way he can. you cannot make him crumble with just one phrase the way he does you. so you keep quiet—especially during sex. you cannot compare to him, so you don’t try.

“tell me, bird,” he whispers. he presses his palm to the side of your face. “let me hear you.”

and with one emphatic thrust, he unlocks the floodgates. 

gripping his shoulders, you toss your head back with a wanton moan. “fuck, ezra. you’re so big.”

his hips stutter. he groans, his own forehead dropping to your clavicle. still, he continues pushing in and dragging out. you lift your own hips to help the movement. the evidence of your desire—your love for him—pools at the base of your joined bodies, and you whimper at the sight.

“you fit me like a fuckin’ glove.” you wind your arms tight around his back as you grind against him. “every time you fill me, i think i might burst.”

he growls, pushes a little harder, a little deeper.

“just like that, baby,” you whisper, unable to stop yourself from speaking it all, telling him every thought that floats through your lust-clouded mind. “you’re good with your fingers and even better with your tongue, but fucking fuck—i want you all the time. like this, any way, i don’t care. i just love the feel of you and—” you whimper again. “touch me, ezra. ‘m close.”

ezra remains silent as he removes the hand from your back to press his thumb against your clit. he rubs the nub in sweet, gentle circles, and tears spring to your eyes.

“oh shit, that feels so good.” 

if it is at all possible, you press yourself tighter against him as you clamor for your release. your hips move wildly against his, his fingers now rough against your clit. he huffs in your ear, and the sound drives you mad.

you can feel it rising like the tide in your stomach: the clench, the fluttering, the ultimate burst of pleasure.

in an instant, you clamp down, crying out against his shoulder as you come. ezra just keeps going, leading you through your high until you begin to settle.

then he moves.

in one fluid motion, he has you pinned to the mattress, one leg flung over his shoulder. sweat drips from his forehead as he drives into you, deeper still at this new angle. the sound of skin against skin brings a flush of heat to your cheeks, and you grip his arms for support.

you lift a hand to smooth back the little patch of blond hair clinging to his forehead. “fuck me so good, baby,” you mumble, the outline of another orgasm slurring your words.

he comes without warning, a guttural groan tearing through his throat as he releases inside of you. the feeling is enough to send you over the edge once more.

for a moment, as you both regain your breath, he lays his head against your chest. you hold him, your eyes fluttering shut as you swallow past your dry throat. 

“i can hear your heart beat like the flutter of a hummingbird’s wings.”

you startle at the sound of his voice. it’s been—what?—quite some time since you last heard him speak. a new record.

you don’t say anything, and he pulls out, moving to sit on his knees. he grunts at the sight of your mingled juices spilling from your core. with two long fingers, he scoops what he can from the bed and slips it within you.

you laugh and wiggle against the feel of his fingers. “what do you think you’re doing?”

he looks up through his lashes. “merely putting my seed where it belongs.”

satisfied, he goes to the fresher and returns with a damp cloth, wiping you down. he smirks and lifts an eyebrow as he works, his touch languid and unhurried. “you are quite loquacious when you want to be.”

“you are quite tight-lipped when you want to be.”

“i must admit your words stunned me to silence, which is a rare occurrence, as you well know.” he pauses his ministrations, meets your eyes. “but i would go to the pits of hell and back to hear you speak like that again. i would let my tongue be cut from my mouth if it meant—”

rising, you shut him up with your mouth on his. you kiss him until your lungs scream for air. you pull back, your hand pressed to his knee. “i’d be upset if you lost your tongue. it’s one of your greatest assets.”

“so i’ve been told.” he squeezes the curve of your ass, and a line of concern appears between his brows. “you must use your words, dear one. i long to know every thought that crosses your mind, especially when i am sheathed inside of you.”

you run your hand along his chest. “even if i’m not as... pretty as you are?”

he shakes his head. “i have never seen someone so illustrious.” 

“i mean with my words.”

“your words are like honey, each one a magnificent drop in its own right, but electrifyingly sweet when swirled together.”

laughing, you fall to your back against the comforter, reveling in the silky fabric against your bare skin. “ezra, you should be a poet.”

he lowers himself to your side and runs his fingertips along your stomach. “only if you remain my muse.”

you circle your fingers around his. “always.”

outside, the storm rages, but inside, you bask in the moment of peace. in a few day’s time, you will be back in the field, working once more for rich men willing to pay for your skill and effort. but for now—for now you lie nestled against your love, desire sated, unyielding affection coursing through your veins.

you snuggle closer to ezra, and he slips his arms around your waist, drawing you to his chest. 

tomorrow’s worries can wait.

[weelittleweasley]

illumination (r.w.)

prompt as requested by anon: after a long day of work, ron suggests running you a bath as a reward to unwind.

pairing: ron weasley x fem!reader

warnings: nudity, thigh rubbing (nothing too crazy, very innocent)

word count: 1.9k

Strings of sentences, directions, names of potions, spells, laughter, chatter, and thoughts danced in your head, whirling around like a chaotic band of ballerinas as you walked down the hall, rubbing your shoulder with a grimace. As if the thoughts weren’t annoyance enough, your shoulders and back were killing you from being hunched over a desk and work table for hours. 

Exam season had arrived at Hogwarts which cost you your social life, free time, and some nights, your sleep schedule. Whatever the cost was, you promised yourself that this year would be your year, grades wise. You had spent most of your time in the library, occupied with books and notes and parchment, memorizing formulas and ingredients and spells. So many nights you left the library, brain throbbing at how much you were working the midnight oil.

You weren’t alone in these endeavors. You had study companions, but it wasn’t the same as hanging out normally. Rather than chatting or gossiping about exciting things, the chatter and murmuring was usually about a test or material that someone didn’t understand. Needless to say, exam season was boring and lifeless.

As you slumped through the hallways, rubbing your shoulder in pain, you groan as you lay your eyes on the moving staircase. You were already so exhausted and the last thing you wanted to do was deal with the moving staircase. You just wanted to get back to your dormitory so you could take a power nap before heading back to the library to study with Hermione. 

“Give me these,” a voice speaks before reaching over and grabbing the pile of textbooks from your arms. Before you can speak out in protest, you turn to meet the gaze of your doting boyfriend and your lips instantly curl up into a smile. “Darling, I don’t mean to sound rude, but you look exhausted,” Ron tells you, inspecting your face that carried dark circles under your eyes. “Still very beautiful, but very exhausted.”

You lightly giggled before leaning into Ron’s side as he wrapped an arm around your waist, as the two of you started up the moving staircase. “I’ve been working relentlessly for weeks now, Ron,” you huff as you trudge up the stairs, legs feeling heavy as you lean your weight onto Ron who supports you effortlessly. “I spend nights in the library as if it were my own bed.”

Ron gives you a sad smile, knowing just how hard you’ve been working to maintain your stellar marks. He knew that he would kiss you goodnight in your room, but you would slither out later to make your way to the library. He watched you as you ate your meals in the Great Hall by his side quickly before rushing off, claiming you were late for a study group meeting. He knew this was weighing on you like a ton of bricks and he hated seeing how tired and bored you were. “I’m sorry, love,” he pecks your temple as he laces his fingers with yours before bring your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles gently. He wished there was something he could do to help take the stress off of you. 

“No need to apologize,” you smile up at him lovingly, brushing his red hair away from his eyes. “You didn’t do anything wrong. I just can’t wait for this to be over so I can actually go back to spending time with you,” you sigh as you reach your common room entrance, grabbing the books from Ron’s arms as he huffs in defeat. “Once all of this is over, I’m all yours again. We can do something fun together, I promise,” you squeeze his hand as he ducks down to press a kiss to your lips gently. You sigh into his kiss and pull him closer to you, relishing in the tender moment. 

You missed Ron dearly. Studying and spending time in study groups really threw a wrench in spending time with your boyfriend. Ron wasn’t offended, he knew you had work to do, but he wished that you two could spend more time together. And you knew Ron felt the same. Ron wished he could kiss away all of the sleepless nights, frustrated crying, and pulling at the roots of your hair in sheer irritation. He knew you needed a way to take a load off and keep your mind off of exams for just a few hours. 

Suddenly, Ron pulled away sharply, excitement in his eyes as a smirk danced along his lips, the grip on your hips tightening. You giggled, “Uh oh. I know that face. What’s going on in that head of yours?” Teasingly, you knocked on his forehead as he rolled his eyes.

Ron joked back, “No use checking up there. Little to nothing going on nowadays,” he says, making you laugh. “But I do have an idea. I may not be completely useless...”

You shake your head, “What are you talking about?” Ron smiles widely before grabbing your hand, pulling you away from the entrance of the common room and back up the moving staircase. “Godric, Ronald Weasley, where are you taking me?” you chuckle as he drags you up the stairs excited like a child on Christmas morning. 

But Ron says nothing and drags you up multiple flights of stairs before reaching the fifth floor of the castle, breathless from running up the stairs. He is smiling widely, watching your reaction as you stand there clueless. He gestures around him to see if you recognized where you were, but you just shrugged, still catching your breath from being forced up multiple moving flights of stairs. “Oh come on!” Ron exclaims. He starts walking towards a statue of Boris the Bewildered as you furrow your brows in confusion. Ron whispers something before a door slowly creaks open. Ron looks at you with a proud smile on his lips before gesturing to you to follow him. “Being a prefect does have its perks, (Y/N),” he winks as you walk towards him and into the mysterious room.

As you step into the room, you are greeted with the luxury of the Prefect’s Bathroom. The bathroom is gorgeous to say the least. A large golden bathtub that is surrounded by beautiful windows covered in stained glass mosaics of magical creatures, sunlight streaming through them, casting colorful shadows on the marble floor. The room was bright and warm, smelling of freshly hung linens and lavender. A very different atmosphere than the common showers.

You flip around to face Ron who has his hands buried happily in his pockets as he watches you take in the surroundings in awe. “Ron, I can’t be in here,” you whisper excitedly. “I’m not a prefect. If they catch me in here, then-”

“Then I’ll take the blame. ‘Salright. It’ll be worth it just to see you relax for a couple of hours,” Ron cuts you off. You open your mouth again but Ron interjects. “And don’t worry about the study group. Hermione runs it and she’s not gonna miss one person. It’s okay, (Y/N). You can take this time for yourself to relax.” You sigh happily at your boyfriend’s words. He wanted to do all of this for you and the fact that he was risking getting in trouble for it made your heart soar. Ron was always kind and thoughtful, but this was a different level. “I can stand guard at the door and make sure no one interrupts you,” Ron starts rambling when you don’t respond.

Instead, you just grab his face and pull him down for a kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him close. Ron sighs into your touch and wraps his arms around your waist, giving you a squeeze as you giggle into the kiss. You pull away and speak, “It’s perfect. Thank you. And no need to guard the door,” you pull out your wand and with a flick of your wrist, locking the door. “I want you with me,” you tell him as Ron’s eyes widen and he gulps. You lightly laugh before starting to unbutton your shirt. “Help me?”

Ron shakes his head, excitedly as you laugh yet again, his fingers undoing the buttons of your shirt whilst you undo his. Soon enough, all of your clothes are discarded into a heap on the marble floor until you and Ron are bare naked. Ron cannot stop gawking at the sight of you naked before him; it’s nothing he hasn’t seen, but every time he sees you nude, he can’t believe that he managed to get a girlfriend who was as gorgeous as you. 

You grab his hand and excitedly hurry over to the bathtub that teems with bubbles, steam radiating off of the water that was freshly poured into the large tub. When you step in, you can feel your body immediately relax as you sigh. The further you walk in, the more your muscles release and make you sink further into the warm, soapy water. You let the water wash over you, cleaning you from all of your stress and worries, the soft sunlight shining down on you as you bathe in the tub. 

Ron watched intently with a soft smile on his lips as he sat in the tub, watching you bask in the glory of the amber sunlight. Your hair sloppily pulled up and away from your face, a fuzzy halo formed around you, like a drunken angel. His angel. The sunlight glimmered on your soft, supple skin, drops of the clear water tracing down each curve of your body. Ron couldn’t believe how angelic you could look without even trying. He watched as you gather bubbles in the palms of your hands, blowing on them gently, making them fly through the air. As you lightly laughed, the melody of the sound filled his ears making him shiver. The boy was helplessly in love. 

“Come over here, won’t you, darling?” Ron calls out to you as you comply with a happy smile on your face. 

Ron pulls you into his lap as you gladly straddle him, playing with the hair at the back of his neck, gazing into those eyes you grew to fall in love with. Ron’s hands gently massage your thighs, soothing the aching muscles as you sighed into him. “Thank you for doing this,” you tell him before kissing the tip of his nose.

He smiles and speaks, “No need to thank me. It’s what you deserve.”

You lean into Ron’s chest, resting your head on him, listening to the rhythmic thumping of his heart against his chest. It proudly beat on as Ron’s fingertip traced gently up and down your spine, repeating the lulling gesture as you allowed yourself to close your eyes for a moment, enjoying the sensation. Ron placed gentle kisses on the top of your head as you cuddled farther into him as he smiled to himself. He had the whole world in his arms. 

Ron continued to rub your bare back and thighs, causing you to drift off into a lazy sleep. He noticed instantly that you had fallen asleep, your breathing had slowed down and you laid flush against him. Ron smiled down at you, watching your face rest with sleep, lips parted as you gently breathed sleepily. 

The sunlight illuminated half of your face whilst the other half rested on his chest. The image was worthy of being hung in a museum. Ron’s strong arms wrapped around you, protecting you from harm, whilst you lazily slept, not a care in the world. 

“My angel,” he whispered to himself, knowing that you wouldn’t hear him. You continued to be fast asleep on his chest and Ron enjoyed every second of it, wishing that this moment could last forever. Him and his angel.

[midearthwritings]

I'll show you my shadows

With you by his side, there is nothing to be afraid of.

Words Count : 1,547

Pairing : Thorin x Reader

Warning : None

Author's note : We love some soft and scared Thorin. Hope you like it xx

Walking through the corridors of Rivendell, you tried to find your way back to the room that had been offered to you for the night. But everything looked the same and you were getting more lost at each turn you took. When you walked past an opening leading to some sort of balcony, you stopped. Your Hobbit friend was standing there, looking down at something.

"Bilbo!" You exclaimed, making your way up to him.

Once you were at his level, you smiled.

"I am glad to have found you, burglar."

"Ah!" He said, burrying his hands in his pockets. "Yes, yes. I am glad too."

"I couldn't find my way back to my chambers and everything looks the s-"

Foreign voices interrupted you, and your eyes fell on the garden, further down. Gandalf and Elrond were walking side by side. You looked back at Bilbo.

"Were you eavesdropping?" You asked suspiciously.

The Halfling's cheeks turned bright red and he shifted on his feet.

"N-no. I mean, not intentionally."

You shook your head and you opened your mouth to reprimand him when you heard Lord Elrond speak up. Something about a disease, and someone's grandfather.

"What are they talking about?" You questioned out loud, your eyebrows furrowing.

"The goldsickness hanging above the head of my bloodline."

Both you and the Hobbit spun around, your eyes meeting Thorin's. Respectfully, you bowed your head to the King Under the Mountain.

"Oh, ah, erm..." Bilbo stuttered. "I- I'm going to go back to.. to the... Yes."

And with that, the halfling ran away as fast as a terrified rabbit would. You sighed, turning back. You listened to Thorin's footsteps growing louder as he came up next to you.

"I didn't think you would fall as low as eavesdropping onto a private conversation." He confessed.

"It wasn't intentional." You replied, using Bilbo's earlier words.

Looking up, you took in the sight of the full moon. The night was clear and the air was fresh. Very pleasant.

"I'm sure they are mistaken." You declared. "I haven't seen you fight, but I heard stories. You will not let it have you that easily."

"Of course I won't." He snapped.

Your eyes shot down to glare at him.

"Don't take your anger out on me. I didn't do anything."

Thorin looked away and his shoulders slumped down, in shame you supposed. You hoped. After all, you hadn't done anything to deserve his anger. You let him as he gently grabbed your hand and gave it a tiny squeeze.

"You are right." He said. "My apologies."

His words dug a hole in your chest and found their home inside your heart. For anyone else, it wouldn't have been much. But you knew Thorin was bad at expressing things. And you have had never heard him utter an apology to any member of the company. Even when he was in the wrong. In a way, it wasn't fair. But on the other hand, it made you feel special.

You nodded and brushed his knuckles with your thumb before letting go of him.

"Alright, I accept your apology."

The relieved sighed that escaped his mouth was so quiet that for a second, you weren't sure it had even existed. You both looked back at the two old friends having a walk in the garden, and you silently watched as they took their leave.

"What if they are right?" Thorin asked in a murmur, his gaze still fixed where the elf and wizard used to be standing.

You turned to look at him. The soft night wind blew, making his hair dance slightly. The sadness and guilt of his eyes contrasted with the hard features of his face. You hummed pensively and looked away.

"When me and my brother were still children," you began, your eyes traveling on the delicate branches of a tree. "we used to meet with our aunt's daughters and play all day long."

"How does that have to do with my bloodline's curse?" The King interrupted in a harsh tone.

You held up your index finger, inviting him to stay quiet. The leaves wiggled gracefully as two birds bolted into the privacy of the tree.

"I remember one day, we had left the house to play in a nearby forest. After days of constant rain, the Sun was finally shining bright in the sky. And we were eager to enjoy the warmth of the wood under our palms, and our feet."

Instinctively, your left hand went to caress your right palm. You smiled softly and let out a childish chuckle.

"That day, our oldest cousin and her sister had a disagreement. I cannot recall exactly what it was about, but she pushed her. Her sister's knee was bleeding, and we couldn't make her stop crying. At that time, I have had never seen a child so hurt. And it broke my heart. That day, I promised to never induce such pain on my brother. I promised to never reproduce what she had done."

Slowly, your lips curved backwards. The silence of the night was suffocating and you were almost scared to talk again. A bird came to land close to the of both you. You watched, as the King raised his hand, making the small creature fly away. Defeated, he pulled back, as if the volatile had never been there.

"What happened next?" He asked, disturbing the heavy atmosphere.

Your teeth sank into your bottom lip. It had been long ago since your brother had forgiven you. But it had taken you loads of time, and a ton of reassurance, before you could grant yourself such a thing.

"I broke my promise." You replied. "We fought and before I could realize what was happening, I heard my hand cracking against his cheek."

You sighed and straightened up, turning to face Thorin completely. His brows were furrowed in confusion, making you laugh. His dark hair, decorated with a few grey strands, looked soft. You allowed your mind to wander, picturing your fingers traveling through his mane, imagining how it would feel.

"My apologies." He said, stirring you out of your reveries. "I still cannot see how your story has to do with mine."

Your laugh echoed in the night, once again. Reaching out, you took his hands in yours, and brought it to your lips. Locking your eyes with his, you pressed a gentle kiss to his knuckles.

"What I am trying to tell you, Thorin Oakenshield, is that you should not be scared of being weak."

Thorin grunted, taking his hand back.

"I cannot be weak. I am a King."

Stubborn dwarf...

"Your weaknesses are part of you, my King, wether you like it or not." You whispered, offering him a smile. "No matter how much you promise yourself not to commit such and such an act, you can still slip. But it doesn't mean you're a bad person. Your weaknesses help you grow into a better, wiser, stronger being. And even if my story is different from yours, I went through something similar and it turned out okay. I am not less of a person. So do not be afraid, for there will be people to pull you back up if you fall."

Minutes passed where you stared at each other, not saying anything. The moonlight fell like gentle autumn rain on his face, illuminating his eyes. And you wondered how such precious jewels could ever be filled with things such as sadness, guilt, and anger. You wondered how they looked when the King was happy, genuinely happy. Would the corners crinkle from him smiling? Would they shine brighter than they already did?

"Will you?"

His voice startled you and you shook your head to erase the pictures your mind had painted.

"Excuse me?" You questioned.

"Will you?' Thorin repeated.

It was your turn to furrow your brows in confusion.

"Will I what, Thorin?"

The King stepped closer, and despite his slightly shorter height, his presence was intimidating.

"Will you be there to help me back on my feet if I fall?"

Your face muscles relaxed and you felt the ghost of a smile curving your lips.

"Of course, my King."

"But," he whispered, taking another step closer to you. "What if I hurt you?"

Before you could think about it, your hand found its way upwards and cupped the Dwarf's cheek. You felt him lean into your touch.

"Then, I shall have mercy and forgive you, for I have been in that place in the past." You promised.

What had felt like heavy pressure on your shoulders earlier was now gone, and the heavy atmosphere had turned into something comfortable. Thorin's beard was rough against the sensitive skin of your palm. And yet, you found yourself wanting more. All it would take was a little bravery and some boldness, to lean forward. And you would be able to find out how his facial hairs felt against your chin, as you kissed him. But that was for another time. Tonight, you had seen and touched more than you would have thought.

Two strong hands gently grabbed your waist, sending a shiver down your spine, and the King's voice rose to your ears.

"Well, with you by my side, I believe I have nothing to fear."

[sunababiee]

She’s your’s not mine | Bokuto x reader x Oikawa

Chapter nine: The boy who...

Synopsis: Y/n is the manager of Aoba Johsai and best friends with all of the team mates. On one faithful day they get invited to a camp to play volleyball. What Y/n didn’t expect was to see a very good looking ace. Bokuto Kotaro. But what does she do when she finds out her best friend is in love with her?

Series masterlist | previous | next

Staring at your phone, you sigh. Clicking it shut you start to gather up the volleyballs that were scattered around the court, thinking about how Oikawa has been in such a bad mood since you’ve arrived at the training camp. The gym was quiet, apart from the sounds of your shoes hitting the hardwood floor and the light sounds of rain hitting the metal roof. You were waiting for Bokuto, nervousness crawling up your spine. Even though you’ve only known Bokuto for a day, you guys really hit it off, he offered to help you set up and now he’s offering to help you pack up, even if he is a little bit late.

You smile slightly and start to pack up the net. You look towards the door as you hear it open, you quickly brush off the crinkles in your clothes and run your fingers through your hair, to make it somewhat presentable, you see a familiar face pop his head through the door. It wasn’t Bokuto.

“Oikawa?” You raise an eyebrow to see the boy stumble in the gym, closing the door, “what are you doing here?” You question, you see Oikawa smile slightly, “thought I’d come help” Oikawa looks around, “and since owlhead isn’t here yet it looks like you could use some” you roll your eyes slightly and don’t say anything, continuing to pack up. A few minutes passed and you heard loud footsteps outside and the door opening, your head shooting towards the door.

“Y/n?” You make eye contact with Bokuto, his hair placed on his forehead, wet from the rain, you smile and make your way towards him, “you shouldn’t of walked in the rain, you’re gonna catch a cold” you mumble while brushing Bokuto's hair out of his eyes, you hear Bokuto chuckle and you look up at him, making eye contact with his golden eyes, you notice how his eyes traveled towards Oikawa, you look as well, seeing the scowling face planted on Oikawa’s.

Bokuto grins and waves at Oikawa, making his way towards him. You stand there watching them speak to each other. You notice the way Oikawa’s face scrunched up and the way he shoved his hands in his pockets. You grunt slightly, walking towards them.

“Y/n! You didn’t tell me Oikawa was going to help” Bokuto turned to you with a curious glint glazed across his eyes, you look at Oikawa with furrowed brows and pursed lips, “I didn’t know he was coming” you bluntly state. Bokuto nods his head, your look towards Oikawa not going unnoticed.

“We could use some extra help!” Bokuto mused and made his way towards the net you were packing up, you followed after him letting out a small sigh. A few quiet moments went by, the rustling of the net, a broom sweeping against the hard floor. You eventually finish packing up the net and look towards Bokuto who was brushing his hands together with a wide smile on his face, “I think we’re done!” You exclaimed and started walking towards the sports closet to put the net in, Bokuto followed after you and nodded his head.

Oikawa was finishing up sweeping and huffed, noticing how close you and Bokuto were, he made his way towards the two and also put the broom in the cabinet, he noticed the way you would blush whenever Bokuto would make direct eye contact with you, how you would brush your fingers through his wet hair to try and get it to stand up. He didn’t like how you were mindlessly flirting in front of him, he didn’t like it, in fact he hated it. How you could be so oblivious about how much Oikawa has hinted how much he’s liked you. It infuriated him.

A loud huff was heard and both you and Bokuto looked towards Oikawa who had his arms crossed and furrowed brows. You scowl and grab Bokuto by the hand, leading him out of the presence of the gloomy setter, Bokuto hummed slightly looking back at him to see Oikawa trudging behind them. You make your way towards the entrance of the gym and flick the lights off, the gym surrounding itself in darkness. The moonlight and the lamps outside were the only thing shining through the windows, illuminating your faces.

“Hurry up” you mumble at Oikawa as he makes his way out of the gym. Locking the doors behind you, you turn to face Bokuto, “I’ll walk you to your dormitory?” You smile at the offer, but before you could give Bokuto an answer Oikawa steps in.

“I think we’ll be fine, your dormitory is at the other end of the campsite. We don’t want you to get too sick now do we?” You look beside you to see Oikawa grabbing your arm to pull you away, you didn’t even get to say a thanks and a goodbye to Bokuto.

A few minutes passed and you ripped your arm out of Oikawa’s clasp, you stopped walking and crossed your arms, Oikawa looked back at you. “What the hell is your problem?” You snap

“I was doing perfectly fine without you! Besides you knew that Bokuto was coming to help me, so why did you have to come and ‘help’” You were beyond furious, who gave Oikawa the right to be shitty with you for the whole day and give you attitude all for him to come along and help clean when he obviously knew that you wanted a bit of alone time with Bokuto. It didn’t make sense to you and you wanted to know why Oikawa was being such a brat.

“You ignore me the whole day, give attitude to not only me but the whole group chat because of some petty reason, what’s your problem?” You felt on fire, anger surging through your body, you hadn’t realised the way Oikawa clenching his fists and how he stepped closer towards you.

“So what’s your problem? Are you going to tell me or are you just going to stand there and say nothing?!” You open your mouth once again until you feel a pair of lips against your own. You widen your eyes at the sudden contact, frozen in place, having no idea what to do in this situation. You soon come to your senses and place your hands on Oikawa’s shoulders, ready to push him away, but he does that himself, you feel his lips leave yours when he noticed you had never kissed him back.

“I love you god damnit!” You gulp at the sudden change of the atmosphere.

“I couldn’t make it more obvious! But you, all you could think about was managing our team! Then he comes along and all you do is speak about him! God Y/n it’s only been a day here and he’s already getting on my nerves! How could you already like him when I’ve been here all this time?!”

You were speechless from Oikawa’s outburst, you didn’t know what to say, everything was becoming too much. It confused you. The boy you’ve known since first year was in love with you? The boy who constantly flirted with you, the one you thought it was all a joke. The boy who you would steal glances at during classes and practices. The boy who’s seen you ugly cry over dog movies, boys, getting countless of volleyballs smacked into your face.

The boy who...

“Tooru...I’m sorry but...”

©️sunababiee 2021 do not copy, repost, or modify.

TAGLIST (bold cannot be tagged! Let me know if you changed your username)

@pikaa-pink @mikeysbike @jewlmin @syaziahvg @swan-chan @sunshine-raee @darlingimawitch @kenmakai @luajoseph @tdntu0 @sassyglassesbunny @bestgirlb @asdfghjkl7things

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Stay The Night // Malcolm Bright (Prodigal Son)

Summary: He never stays the night.

A/N: My first Prodigal Son fic! I am still getting to grips with Malcolm’s character so forgive me if things seem off! I would love some requests for Prodigal Son so feel free to drop them in my inbox! I am only writing for Malcolm right now. I hope you all enjoy!

Warnings: light angst, hurt/comfort, cute

Word Count: 1.7k

He never stayed the night.

He would fasten his shirt; taking care with each button as he kisses you again and again. He would laugh against your mouth – his hands stopping yours from undoing the buttons once again.

He never stayed the night.

It never mattered how many times you told yourself this would be the last time; you found yourself answering his phone call or his text and unlocking your door for him. Knowing he would let himself in; sweet nothings on the tip of his tongue – ready to be whispered lovingly into your ear.

It didn’t matter how many times you pleaded with him. He never stayed the night.

He claims that it’s to protect you, but you wonder if it’s more to protect himself. That he’s so innately terrified that the walls he spent years building are so happy to crumble around you. That he just isn’t ready for that yet.

Doubts fly around your head; distracting you from your work, pulling you away from his arms when he least expects it. Malcolm notices – of course he does, he’s a trained profiler, he would notice the little changes in your behaviour. The distance you so obviously try to put between you; short answers to texts, upset sighs on the phone.

Malcolm starts to spend his days thinking of you: thinking of your smile, your laugh, your kiss. It occupies the better part of his day as he wonders whether he had taken advantage of you, of what the both of you have together. He knows that something has changed between you; that something is wrong, but he cannot work out the cause.

It comes to ahead the evening he enters the tunnels under the city, following a serial killer claiming to know more about the Girl in the Box. He follows the suspect blindly; not thinking of anything else but getting his answers though, for one brief moment, as his ribs are crushed in the turnstile gate, Malcolm’s mind briefly flickers to you. A moment of pain free peace in and amongst it all.

Malcolm’s breathing is slow and heavy when you find him in Gil’s office. His eyes are closed, but he feels your presence – it charges the atmosphere in the room, making him long to touch you, but falter at the idea that he could possibly hurt you.

“I thought they had called my mother,” Malcolm says in greeting; his voice tight as his ribs protest any movement, any breath.

You shake your head, holding up your phone as some semblance of evidence, “Gil rang about a half hour ago, asking me to come to the station and get you of his sight.”

Malcolm laughs, then gasps in pain, “I think Gil is angry with me…”

“Think?” You all but shout, “You think Gil is angry with you? Christ, Malcolm, I’m angry with you.”

Malcolm furrows his brows, confused at your outburst. His eyes wander over your body; the speed of your breaths combined with the flush under your skin and the thin line of your lips suggests your anger, but your eyes…

Your eyes show pain; anger is there, it is simmering away quietly, waiting for fuel to be added to the fire but through it all, pain is the key emotion. He cannot help but wonder how long he has been blind to the pain in your eyes; wonders whether it was visible every time he kissed you goodnight before leaving you once again.

Throwing your hands in the air, you cross your arms over your body, protecting yourself from whatever else is about to happen. Nudging the chair leg with your foot, you sigh, “Come on, I’ll take you back to your flat.”

Malcolm frowns: opening his mouth to begin to protest but decides against it at the last moment. Instead, he slowly pulls himself out the chair, doing his best to hide the grimace that falls across his face at the first hint of pain and follows you out of the door.

The car ride is silent and full to the brim with awkward tension. He doesn’t know what to say; he doesn’t know what to do. He cannot decide whether he should reach across the console and take your hand, offering you some form of comfort despite it being him that is injured.

He doesn’t take your hand. He chickens out at the last moment, unable to stop thinking about the pain in your eyes. Instead, he clenches his hand into a tight fist, willing himself to keep his hands to himself.

Distantly, Malcolm tries to pinpoint the exact moment it went wrong between you both. It wasn’t his job – you were just as dedicated to yours. It wasn’t his talent for profiling; for the keen sense of observation he uses in his everyday life.

It comes to him all at once.

He never stayed the night. He had left you too many times.

Tilting his head back onto the headrest, Malcolm deliberates whether he had left you alone one too many times, whether his time with you was now running out. He can feel the first crack in his heart when the thought crosses his mind; he feels it and he doesn’t like it.

-----

Malcolm’s flat is cold when you enter behind the brunette. His bird twitters away happily at the sight of their owner; you cannot help but smile softly at the sight of Malcolm greeting his beloved pet.

That very smile turns fond as Malcolm turns his attentions to you, gesturing you further into his home. To your heart, it didn’t matter how many times Malcolm had left you in the night, how his side of the bed turned cold before he had closed the door behind him. It didn’t matter because he had so easily managed to capture it for his own gain.

Malcolm takes a seat at his breakfast bar gingerly, willing himself not to jostle his side too much. He watches you with a wide-eyed expression as he tracks your movement; watching you grab a glass and fill it with water.

The glass landing on the counter is the only sound in the room. Malcolm doesn’t dare say anything for fear of pushing you further away; you refuse to say anything for fear of showing your true feelings.

“If you have everything you need, I’ll get going. I’ll call you in the morning to check up on you, Malcolm,” You comment quietly, pushing away from the breakfast counter, ready to leave and not come back unless absolutely necessary.

“What?” The questions falls from his lips before he even thinks it through; he just cannot seem to comprehend that you would leave him.

“I’m going. You’ve got your pain meds and some water, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” You sigh, tugging your jacket tighter and heading for the door.

“Wait!” Malcolm calls, standing from the breakfast bar with slow, painful movements. It is only in this instant that he regrets ever following that man into the tunnel; it is only now he regrets such an action for the fact that it looks like you’re about to walk out of his life and Malcolm feels as if he won’t see you again.

“Wait,” He repeats, “Please.”

You pause at the door, turning to face him. His eyes are almost wild with unspoken emotions as he outstretches a single hand, as if he could bridge the gap that had grown between the both of you over the last few weeks.

“Yes, Malcolm,” You sigh tiredly. You feel the fight leave you as your limbs suddenly become heavy; the weight of the emotions you have been feeling these past few weeks beginning to press down heavily upon you.

“What happened between us?” He asks timidly, as if afraid of the answer he will find. Malcolm has searched for answers since he was ten years old, watching his father being hauled away by the authorities. Now, however, he finds himself scared of the answer he might find.

“You never stayed the night. You would always kiss me and then leave. Why?” You counter, finally asking the question that has been circling your mind since the pattern emerged. Your voice breaks with barely held in emotions.

“There is a lot involved when it comes to being with me. I didn’t want to put you through all of it,” He replies in reason, closing his eyes at the pain that so clearly sounded in your voice.

“I think I did alright tonight,” You comment airily, gesturing to his bandaged chest.

Malcolm laughs, but doesn’t regret the burst of pain from his ribs. He reaches for your hand again, smiling happily when you don’t pull your hand away. “I think you did alright tonight too,” He murmurs.

“So why would you leave?”

Malcolm averts his gaze, thinking over the words carefully. “Would you believe me if I told you I was scared?” He asks.

“Of what?”

“Of it all,” He confesses, “There is so much that comes with being with me, having to manage everything… I understand how it can become too much for one person so that’s why I would leave every time when all I really wanted to do was spend every waking minute with you.”

“Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?” You demand, curiosity your besetting sin.

“I was scared. I was doing it all to protect you, but I’ve gone about it the wrong way.”

You squeeze his hand, offering him a form of comfort as you work through what Malcolm has told you. He remains silent, happy for now to be stood by you, holding your hand in his.

“Stay the night?” He asks, pulling you gently towards the couch.

You bite your lip, glancing quickly between the door and the hopeful expression on Malcolm’s face.

“I want to make this a regular thing,” He states before clarifying, “Not the injured side of things, but staying with you, sleeping with you. I don’t like leaving you anymore. I don’t want to leave you anymore.”

“Malcolm…” You trail off, thinking of your countless attempts at taking your relationship further, at asking him to stay with you in the futile hope you could help with whatever terrors he suffers with at night.

“Stay the night?” He asks, repeating the same question from moments ago. His voice is hopeful, and his blue eyes shine bright with untold emotion along with the clear trust that burns there.

Smiling softly, you answer, “I’ll stay the night.”

****

Prodigal Son Taglist: @thecaptainsgingersnap​

[that--unusual-person]

How would the pillarman react to there female s/o being terrafyed of big storms. Maybe they were involved in a tornado when they were little. Maybe she hides from the storms in a clausit and they can't find her so they have to look for her.

It's just my opinion but I'd say some of them would be mad at her for hiding and not answering them but then understand and comfert her. But that's just my headcannon.

Kars

- A big crash above sent you into a fearful frenzy, scurrying to find cover from the storm raging outside.

- It was nasty outside with hail banging on the windows threatening to shatter them and enter.

-  Kars wasn’t fazed by this storm, having experienced much worst in his time roaming the Earth.

- But when he finds you aren’t anywhere around while the power goes out, he becomes annoyed when you suddenly started to hide.  He wasn’t in the mood for hiding and seek.

- As he looked around the house he was impressed to find you hiding in a closet sitting with your knees close to your chest and hands over your ears.  Kars was ready to pull you out irritated with your hiding before a flash outside was followed by a big bang causing you to hide more letting out a whimper of fear.  Kars wasn’t sure why you were hiding before but it seems obvious now, and so, he closes the closet door, leaving you in the dark once again.

- You hear him leave the room for a few minutes before seeing the door open again.

- Kars returns with a blanket and ushers you to stand up.

- The closet is way too small to fit both of you so he has you sitting on his lap with the blanket wrapped around both of you.  Closing the closet door from the dangers outside Kars pulls you closer to him offering as much comfort for you as possible.

- Suddenly you see small flickers of light illuminate the closet.  The sight reminding you of the morning sun shining through a window creating small colors of light, or stained windows at a church with the morning sun giving light.  It amazes you to see how luminescent Kars’s light mode can be, distracting you from the storm, only hearing the faint beating of the rain outside to add to the atmosphere of the situation.

- “How foolish.  Humans being afraid of such weather.  But, it cannot be helped I suppose, so for now until this storm ends I will comfort you the best I can.”

Esidisi

- He quickly noticed how cowardice you became after a small rumble of thunder erupted from the sky.

- Esidisi smirked at your jumping as the rain picked up and the flashed of lightning became more frequent.

- As the storm continued he would joke at your behavior thinking you were playing around with him.  You tried telling him it wasn’t funny but he assumed otherwise and continued.

- It wasn’t until a crack of thunder burst your ears that you broke into tears covering your ears trying to shield yourself away from the noise.  He saw you change immediately and quickly stopped whipping you with cruel jokes, internally regretting teasing you.

- He watched you sob until you suddenly shot out of the room surprising him.  Giving chase he follows you noting you’re still covering your ears so his apologies couldn’t be heard over the rain and your crying.

- Esidisi was dammed now, he lost you some way before hearing sniffling from a nearby door, as he opened the door slowly to peek in, you were hiding behind the coats hung up trying your best to stay hidden.  You wanted to disappear and he could feel it.

- Slowly he enters the closet and gently pulls you close to his body.  Despite the teasing he did to you, you cling onto him hoping he’ll shield any sight or sound of the storm.  You feel his hands over your ears as your arms wrap around his neck leaning into him more, his palms are warm against your head and the size of them compared to your head is almost enough to make you laugh.

- Instead, you’re met with almost near silence as he completely cancels your ability to hear.  Thankful that Esidisi understands your fear, you continue to cuddle with him until the storm ends.

- “You know, when Wamuu and Santana were mear children, Santana would hate the sound of thunder.  In fact… I think he hated noise in general, so I made it my duty as a caretaker to comfort him… and now I shall do the same to you.  I’ll protect you from the storm, little flame.”

Wamuu

- Wamuu loved storms, he has always been fascinated by the way the wind is controlled by the storms and change of weather.  He also finds it perfect for training in hard weather.

- He would so much as get excited and start to talk to you about it, about stories of how his masters would train him in hurricane-like storms, and winds as strong as tornados.

- You wouldn’t show how scared or uncomfortable you are about hearing his stories about great storms and instead did your best to stay interested, not wanting to be rude.

- Sadly, your kindness broke when the first strike of lightning touched down some miles away, causing you to cover your ears as quickly as possible squeezing your eyes shut before the thunder could strike.

- It was loud and big enough to shake the house, surprising Wamuu, causing his gaze to shift to the window to gaze at the incoming black clouds.  He was about to boast to you, turning back in your direction, finding nothing but an empty seat.

- He goes off to find you as the storm get’s worst.  He doesn’t understand why you would hide all of a sudden.  After a while he continues to open every door he can find, even the ones where you obviously wouldn’t be able to fit in.

- Wamuu was looking so quickly he opened the broom closet and closed it again only to open it once more after closing finding you huddled into the corner, jumping at his presence.

- You had tears streaming down your rosy cheeks from how frightened you are and your arms are wrapped around you as you frighteningly stare up at Wamuu.

- It breaks his heart seeing you like this, it reminds him of a stray cat caught in a storm with no shelter, frightened by the thought of getting wet.  Then, he understands why you’re so afraid.

- Wamuu mentally facepalms, scolding himself about how foolish he was to not realize any sooner.  The closet couldn’t fit his body’s mass so he settles for sitting in its doorway, blocking out any of the lightning’s light shining through the window from touching you.

- He reaches his arms out to you pulling you into a tight hug while stroking your back as you both continue to ride out the storm in each other’s presence.

- “I have fought many storms in the past, many to the point I have mastered my own.  But I promise never to cause such fear to sprout within you.  The great Wamuu will make sure of it.”

Santana

- He hates storms.  From the hulling rain beating down on the roof above your heads to the annoyingly loud crashes of thunder breaking the once already broken silence and peace.

- Covering his ears when a sound so great to bother him he’d wince in annoyance knowing there will be another one to strike back and follow once again.

- It doesn’t take him long to also see how you react to the storm, watching the fear in your eyes and movements as you coward away, making him sigh.

- After another crack of thunder breaks his thoughts he watches you rush out of the room.  Curious, he listens over the rain and wind at your movements, listening to you rush upstairs, open a door and slam it shut.

- Slowly Santana follows you to your location.  You have hidden in the closet away from the sounds.  He thinks it’s cowardice and foolish move knowing it will be useless, but the thought of it seemed appealing to him.

- So without a second thought and to your fearful surprise he opens the door, squeezes in with no problem, and sits beside you while shutting the door.

- Santana glances over at you seeing you still covering your ears.  Suddenly he picks you up and places you between his legs.  He then takes your hands from your ears and places them on his own while his hands cover yours.

- The silence he gives you is welcoming but you aren’t sure how well you’re blocking the sounds of the storm for him.  Either way, Santana would endure the irritation of the sounds while you don’t have to fear them.

- “Don’t focus on the storm.  Focus on me.”

“To get to the center where peace lies, you must battle through the harsh battle of the storm surrounding it.” - Von

[lightning-things]

Quite the predicament

Just a little piece to use as a "sample writing" for now. I was literally trying to get some ideas and then one of my cats decided he wanted some cuddles, so I decided to write this.

Hope you'll enjoy it ^^

Fandom: Genshin Impact.

Summary: All you wanted was to fill the blank pages with words, but someone had another plan.

Characters: Zhongli, Reader (no gender mentioned), Northland Cat.

Theme: SFW, fluff, slice of life, some intimacy. Implied romantic relationship.

Inspiration: Indi -one of my cats- and Liyue Harbor.

Words: 1384.

Warnings: None, unless you hate and/or fear cats.

Read also in: Ao3.

Spanish version: Pequeño contratiempo -> https://lightning-cosillas.tumblr.com/post/646727027636027392/pequeño-contratiempo

Quite the predicament

Liyue is calm tonight.

A gentle breeze caresses the streets, making bamboo leaves float around unbothered by people. Only animals can be found roaming the city in the clear night. Lonely clouds are the only ones seen in the sky, letting the stars shine brightly in the dark blue celestial sea displayed above.

If there are other people enjoying the scenery, you don't know, and you don't care either since your attention is focused not on the beauty displayed outside your window, but on the blank pages in front of you.

A book with no words written on it, a virgin piece of paper that will sit in one of the bookshelves that surround you, if only you could get started and break the solid colour that's been staring back at you for what feels like hours.

You sigh, slouching in the chair after placing the brush in the ornate inkstone to not make a mess when your hands go to your head in a vain attempt to let go of your frustration. You just want to write something: your thoughts, your day-to-day errands, or maybe some tale you heard from Liu Su one of those times you went to drink tea and enjoy a good story.

But the paper is still unmarked.

Just moments ago your mind was full of ideas, thoughts flying non-stop and itching you to take the brush and write them down. But at the same moment you sit on the chair after some minutes of careful preparation, your brain decided to stop working and left you with a -oh the irony- blank mind.

A grunt replaces your sighs and instead of letting go of your head to hit the table with your forehead, you decide to arch your back and rest it on the chair, eyes unfocused but nailed to the ceiling as your index finger begins to tap the armrest in an annoying rhythm.

You don’t know how much time passes, since no sound is heard neither inside and outside the house save for the wind passing through the streets. But be it seconds or minutes or hours, there’s a moment when you decide that enough is enough, that sitting while doing nothing is a waste of time.

So you choose to get up and occupy yourself with something -anything will be good at this point- because you know sleep won’t come no matter how comfortable and inviting your bed is. Your mind will just play with you and bring back all the activity you’re missing right now.

And that was the plan, until something jumps at you, almost knocking you out of the chair.

It catches you off-guard, even if the surprise lasts only for the fleeting moment your ears need to recognize the sound and for your hands to grab the little intruder and sink gently into its soft fur.

Your frown banishes instantly, replaced by a tired but sincere smile. The tension of your muscles disappears within seconds, and your posture -rigid, tense, bothered- shifts into a relaxed one.

The little intruder meows contentedly, green eyes closed in delight and throat vibrating with its purrs. Its short fur caresses your skin whenever the cat moves and for a moment you just stay like you are, eyes looking at the feline and following the streaks of black along the silvery strands of its back and sides.

“The northland one, uh?” You talk to yourself, one hand leaving the cat’s side to stroke his head, trying to please him enough to stop hitting your chin with it. “You’re heavier than you look.” A cat well-fed, with shiny fur and strong muscles underneath.

A stray, but a Liyue one without doubt.

The harbor is full of prey like the birds of the bridges, the rats from the boats or the fishes from the stalls that they can hunt -or steal- freely, as well as a good amount of rocks, trees, stairs, pillars and tall houses for the cats to exercise and play.

And it makes you happy, knowing that even if not all cats would be able to hunt or steal things to eat, the harbor is also full of people who feed the animals so none of them would be found the next morning, starved to death.

The northland cat in your arms moves and meows again, redirecting your attention out of your thoughts and back to him, hitting you with his back and head until your hands are petting him, scratching him with care in the places he seems to like judging by the way he places himself.

The book is long forgotten on the table, ink drying while the pages rest untouched and you can’t bring yourself to care anymore.

"Quite the predicament you're in." A voice you know so well slowly makes its way into the pleasant atmosphere. His words don't break the spell even if there's a hint of a laugh in them. No, the charming voice makes its way smoothly into the symphony of purrs to pull you in deeper.

Slowly, with no rush at all, you move your face just enough to look at him, to lock your eyes on his. Pools of amber and gold look back at you and your unexpected guest, shining with mirth at the situation.

You don't laugh, but your smile widens at the same time the purrs of the cat increase their volume and demanding meows echo through the room. The northland feline has noticed your companion and even if he doesn’t leave your lap, his eyes are now fixed on the male.

"Stop whining, you baby." Your tone is light, amused by the neediness the cat shows just so he can make the brunette pet him too. “I hope we didn’t wake you up.”

"Not at all.” His clothes tell a different story, but if you know him -and you do- you’ll be sure he was reading instead of sleeping, or looking at the streets he loved so much, while waiting for sleep to catch you and force your way to bed.

His eyes take notice of the pages, now scattered across the desk but still with no drop of ink in them. However, he doesn’t say a thing about them, busying himself for a few seconds with putting away the writing utensils, avoiding any possible accident with the ink and brushes.

Meanwhile, you look at him, marveling at the way the silk robe -colour similar to the one of the lanterns light up at night on the harbor- complements his features and allows you a peek at his neck and chest. usually covered by layers of expensive clothing and ties.

“Zhongli.” His name in your lips sounds sweet, calm music like a lullaby in the middle of the night. He merely hums to let you know he heard you, to let you continue talking even if he’s not looking at you right now. “Zhongli.” You call again, stroking the cat with one of your hands and putting the other on his arm.

He stops mildly, letting go of the papers and turning his body to you, one eyebrow raised in curiosity. For a moment, there’s purrs instead of silence filling the space. Then the tap of his bare feet against the floor so he can close enough to put a hand on the cat and the other on your shoulder.

His eyes are on you, attention solely focused on your face, your eyes, your smile, the little details of your skin that makes you so unique to him. Admiration flows from his gaze and you cannot help it when you tilt your head and rest your cheek on the hand he has on your shoulder.

“Yes, dear?” He asks, finally, when all is settled and even the cat has fallen silent, lulled to sleep in your arms aided by your breathing and his warm hand caressing his fur.

“Nothing.” Is what you answer. Your eyes open to look at him again, mouth almost letting go of a giggle at his confused expression. “I just wanted to say your name.” You finish, taking his hand to give a fleeting kiss in his knuckles.

That makes Zhongli smile, a lovely curve of lips full of warmth and so much more…

So you call him again.

You liked it? Want to support me? In that case you can buy me a coffee ^^