#Of my illnesses and injuries lately in the
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This this this. I absolutely hold no ill will toward anyone who got a diagnosis in months. Everyone should have that option. Faster, really.
But itâs been hitting me lately about how many little oddities and weird injuries and other problems that made my life hell growing up were more than likely just undiagnosed EDS/POTS/the other muscular dystrophy situation I donât want to think about yet.
Thereâs grief. Being told for decades that you just have weird knees, but being unable to explain why gym class makes you feel like youâre actually dying. I was a skinny little kid and I think doctors and gym teachers wrote it off as me just not wanting to try. I tried and I tried and I tried. I wanted to play a sport like my friends, and because that was apparently the only capital that would get you treated like a real person and serious student by the teachers and administrators. If I had known I couldnât do it because of a disability, just, fuck. My self esteem would have been a whole lot better.
Doctors saying these kinds of things led me down a path of âwell, I just have to work harder.â This turned into an escalator of âeat betterâ (actually helpful) and âwork out moreâ (coulda been helpful with proper guidance.) So I decided over time to take it to an extreme so hard that no one could deny I wasnât doing enough exercise: I started training to run marathons. And I did! Multiples of them! It was a unique and delicious hell.
Runnerâs high is real, and so Iâd spend the first 5 miles staving off agony through mind over matter, snacks, music. Eventually the bone-grinding pain turned to numbness and then the high feeling somewhere between miles 5 to 8, reliably. I could ride that for a while, but when it wore off, it wore off.
Whatever the remaining distance at that point felt like dragging my body through quicksand. Whatever pain I had at the start came back multiplied by ten. But seeing the folks around me, no one was having a great time at the end of the race and I assumed all of this was normal. I would be incapacitated for days afterward, but no one could tell me I hadnât worked hard enough to get there.
I absolutely cannot do this now. I am sad because despite the pain and injuries, it was a lot of fun. I have no idea if I contributed damage to my body but I try not to think about it too hard because itâs so far in the past.
Anyway, to bring it back around, I guess my point is that not having a frame of reference for why your body seems âwrongâ to you, and the people whose job it is to advise you about it justâŚdonâtâŚcan really, really make you spend a lot of time trying desperately to be ânormalâ and it can be potentially dangerous at worst, or at least a waste of time.
It took my entire life (with a decade in the middle where I gave up for a while) to find the right path and the right people to help me understand myself and my weirdo genetics.
I wonder a lot how my life could have been different if I had known more much sooner. But I try not to think too hard about it, either. Just keep moving forward like a shark, one of the things Iâd repeat to myself during races. It still applies.
Iâm going to be a bitch for a second, but when Iâm conversing with someone newly diagnosed with MCAS/POTS post covid and they complain about âthe long waitâ to get diagnosed and that âlong waitâ is 3-4 months my entire brain blue screens.
Like on the one hand, yes those 3-4 months must have been so, so scary and I am so unbelievably glad weâre in a place where doctors know enough to reconize it now. Like truly, I am so sincere I am so happy for them.
But Iâm also just like... 30 years, man.
I spent 30 years being told from the age of eight I was manifesting my allergic reactions through anxiety by health care professionals.
Fuck, five years ago when I was starving to death from how severe my MCAS had gotten an allergist told me it was anxiety.
And you got diagnosed in three months.
MONTHS
MONTHS
AND YOUâRE COMPLAINING
Iâm not mad at them. Iâm not. Iâm just sad for myself.
But also, hey, yeah. If you come into an MCAS forum and wonder why a bunch of the old timers get upset when you complain it took months for a doctor to listen to you, this is why.
It's not that you deserved to wait longer. It's that we didnât either and and sometimes even good changes can unearth a world of hurt.
#healthposting#chronic pain#chronic illness#eds#ehlers danlos syndrome#hypermobility#pots syndrome#incompetent doctors#anxiety#in quotes#lol
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Anyone know anything about this?
I havnt slept in weeks....
I think I actually might have like fatal insomnia or something like that
I finally looked into my insomnia cause it was getting out of hand and I wish I hadn't because nearly all the symptoms of fatal insomnia are ones that I have đ
Ive always had insomnia like since I was 5 or something but like.. I physically havnt slept in weeks now its only like 10 hours per week total (meaning around 1.4 hours per night) and thats just when Im in a light sleep.. I have no idea if im actually sleeping
ive been laying here since around 8:30 and its now 12:35am
hopefully im just overthinking this.. but like I seriously need to sleep. Ive tried literally everything and still rarely stay asleep for more than 2 hours or so in a very light sleep
#bored#avoiding sleep#Help#anyone know?#insomnia#this might actually be the cause of a lot#Of my illnesses and injuries lately in the#Past few months as well now that I#Am thinking about it
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Some mild existential dread in the house today
#im just feeling reeeeally really drained#works taking a LOT out of me#like. it feels less intense day to day? or maybe im reacting less? but its still very much piling up#and im just feeling very...idk. like im still waiting for permission to live my life#except now the permission osnt coming from any one person its. having the money to docit#and the time and the energy#and i guess thats just what adult life is? waiting#and hoping#and along the way losing sight of what i even wanted in the first place because im so *tired*#idk. i definitely need a project of some kind but im struggling to settle on something and then organise it#i have stuff to do today anyway. alfie had a lil bit of emergency cash saved so i need to go shopping#and i need to tidy the kitchen and do some dishes#and have a bath and shave at some point#i also want to draw but again. struggling ti pick something and idk if ill have the executive function spare#AND i want to try and be more social and talk to folks but thats its own kind of difficult#part of me would like a disc server that just has all of my friends in it bc i find it easier to dip in and out of conversarions#but i imagine that would be weird for folks who dont know each other#idk. lot goin through my mind when all i really want is sleep#which also hasnt been...greeeeat lately#mainly because Alfie wakes me up in the mornings bc they dont like being alone but also have a very different sleep schedule to me#and can take multiple smaller naps over a day whereas i really need a solid 8 or so hours or i just. dont fully switch on#but theyre also struggling atm (mentally and also they got an injury at work AND seperately broke their foot ffs)#so they need me more and its just#this never ending cycle of SOMETHING needs my attention#and its fucking exhausting asfghfkd#but!!! we keep goin!!!!! been applying for a bunch of jobs and havent heard anything positive yet but. we keep tryin huh
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some more OC stuff Iâve been working on lately
#cloud draws#my art#hdme project#sorry for being awol lately guys#I see all the asks and I love yâall tysm#chronic illness has been kicking my Ass lately but Iâm alright! <3#oc art#the fireworks smell like hibiscus flowers#tw injury#just in case#for the last one
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you're losin' me || skk sickfic
ao3! please refer to the tags in the link for content + warnings! sicktember 2023, day 1: hopelessly bad at self care
ââs cold,â Chuuya murmurs quietly, slurred together so much that if Dazai hadnât known him for seven years, he wouldnât have understood him.
âI know. Just for a little bit,â Dazai says as he fills the pitcher full of water to gently pour over Chuuyaâs head again. Heâd really like to properly wash his hair. Itâs so caked with dust and dirt and blood, but Dazai doesnât want him under the water for too long, heâs already shivering. So heâd like to at least brush some of it out.
Itâs been a few days since he last used Corruption. Dazaiâs made it a habit to check on Chuuya in some way or another after times like that, because recently, he hasnât been tolerating it well, especially when he uses it for extended periods of time. Sometimes heâll be too sore to move, sometimes heâll get sick, sometimes itâs a combination of a few things - no matter the case, it wasnât always like this.
He thinks Chuuya was already coming down with something before that day, so he wasnât too surprised to find him passed out on his kitchen floor when he arrived at his penthouse just ten minutes ago.
He has a hundred-and-two-point one-degree fever, which paired with the fatigue and exhaustion from using his ability like that has really, really slowed him down. Dazai had to carry him into the shower even after waking him up, with surprisingly no objection from the latter. His complaint of the temperature just now is the first heâs said to him since he arrived. Chuuya always takes quite a while to come to his senses after heâs like this.
Dazaiâs first thought was to shower him because of how filthy he was from their mission just the other day, but it seemed that wasnât it. Heâs covered in sweat from the fever, and Dazaiâs fairly certain he wet himself at some point too. Normally, he wouldnât let Chuuya live something like that down, but itâs a concerning thought that he didnât even have the energy or will to get up and go to the bathroom.
He opts for the showerhead instead to wash his hair out the best he can, hoping the pressure will help clean it up a little. Itâs lukewarm water, to help his fever, but he understands itâs probably pretty cold with the chills heâs feeling - and Chuuya normally showers with scalding hot water anyway.
Chuuya groans and pulls his head away once the water from the shower head hits him, and the way his eyes screw shut tells Dazai heâs probably got some sort of head injury, or at the very least, a headache. Maybe both.
âWant me to stop?â Dazai asks, trying to adjust the water pressure a bit so itâs not as harsh, and Chuuya relaxes just a bit.
Heâs taken note of how Chuuyaâs left shoulder is hanging slightly lower than it should. Heâs been so out of it that Dazai hasnât noticed, but he grabs his upper arm with his free hand and heâs met with a hiss. Heâs probably dislocated his shoulder.
âYouâre a mess,â Dazai sighs. Chuuya usually isnât the type to avoid medical treatment. Dazai has his own reasons for doing so, but Chuuya generally takes good care of his health, so heâs not sure what happened here. Maybe that last use of Corruption really took him down. After all, heâs not sure how long he was passed out in his kitchen.
He shut off the water and hands the shower head up. He wants to tell Chuuya what heâs about to do, but he thinks it might be better in the end to just do it and get it over with, and apologize after.
So he does it. He puts him into position against the wall as quickly as he can before Chuuya can catch on, and he yelps from the pain as soon as Dazai hears it pop into place. Heâs sure itâs very painful, itâs been a few days since it was dislocated and thereâs no way the pain and swelling hasnât gotten worse since then.
Chuuya leans forward into Dazai, and he's shaking much more than he was before, and Dazai holds him against his chest.
âIâm sorry. You know how bad those can get if you wait too long, Chuuya,â he says quietly. He hates how much heâs shivering. The whimpers of pain hurt him to hear, although heâd never admit it. Heâs careful not to jostle his shoulder too much as he holds him.
Truthfully, Dazai hasnât slept well at all since their mission, because he hasnât heard a word from Chuuya. Sometimes Chuuya will read Dazaiâs messages without responding when heâs feeling petty, but he didnât even get that.
This morning, when he threw up last nightâs dinner from the anxiety, he decided he needed to come check on Chuuya. Kunikida was even concerned enough to send him home right away.
They stay like that for a while before Dazai decides itâs best to get everything over with and get Chuuya to bed so he can rest properly, rather than on his tiled kitchen floor. He washes his hair, his body, all while Chuuya quietly stays leaned against the corner of the shower wall, shivering every now and then, his eyes unfocused and glassy. He doesnât voice a single complaint the entire time.
Dazai is happy to finally be able to shut off the lukewarm water and towel dry Chuuyaâs hair. Gently, of course, he doesnât want to dizzy him on top of his suspected head injury. Heâs already completely off-kilter.
He pats him dry and helps him over to the adjacent bedroom. Chuuya isnât strong enough to walk on his own yet but Dazai keeps a hand on his waist to keep him steady. He sits down right at the corner, and Dazai backs up to get a good look at him.
Heâs glad thereâs no major injuries at least, nothing worse than some scrapes and little cuts, but heâs covered in dark bruises, which make the pale pallor of his skin much more obvious. Heâs sure thatâs part of the fever, but he canât pin down exactly why he has a fever to begin with. Was he really sick before their mission? Does he have some sort of internal injury thatâs gotten infected? Did using Corruption cause this?
Dazai grabs a random t-shirt and a pair of boxers from Chuuyaâs closet and helps to dress him. Itâs like dressing a doll. Chuuya isnât unconscious, heâs still half-awake, at least, but he doesnât make any effort to get dressed himself. He just lets Dazai do it and aids him here and there.
âHey,â Dazai says, cupping Chuuyaâs cheek and lifting his head just a bit to get a good look at his eyes. Heâs not entirely there, but his eyes shift to look at Dazai after a few seconds. âYouâre scaring me a little, Slug. Can you talk to me?â
Chuuyaâs expression scrunches up a little like heâs confused, and Dazaiâs stomach drops. Heâs almost worried about him hallucinating. Dazai canât count the number of times Chuuya has confused Dazai for one of his dead friends while suffering from a fever or some sort of major injury.
âChuuya,â Dazai starts, running his fingers through his still slightly damp hair, brushing his bangs out of his face. They definitely need a trim. âCan you tell me my name?â
âMackerel,â Chuuya grumbles under his breath, but his expression doesnât change. He looks like he would fall asleep if Dazai pushed him backward.
Thatâs answer enough for him. As long as heâs not hallucinating.
âOkay,â Dazai says with a quiet sigh of relief. âYou need to lay down, alright? Iâll see if you have athletic tape somewhere for that shoulder.â
Dazai trusts his mental state enough to leave him on his own for a few minutes while he goes through Chuuyaâs bathroom drawers to find what heâs looking for, and thankfully, it appears in the third drawer without too much searching. Chuuya tends to keep things in his penthouse pretty orderly, but heâs noticed signs recently of things being a little out of place. Nothing major - a roll of toilet paper down with the cleaning products, a hairbrush on the floor, things Dazai would never think twice about - but theyâre also things he knows Chuuya would never let slide.
He wanders back into the bedroom as he starts to take some of the tape off the roll, but Chuuya is still sitting there at the edge of the bed, his head hanging down, swaying ever so slightly. Dazai worries for a second heâs about to pass out, until he sees the hand pressed against his tummy.
"Dazai," Chuuya murmurs with a gruff moan. "'M gonna - gonna throw up."
Dazai appreciates the warning.
Chuuya somehow manages to hold it back until Dazai slides onto the bed next to him with the bin from his bathroom. He breathes over the bin for half a minute or so, letting the saliva drip down over the plastic. Dazai takes his free hand and starts to rub over his back, gently, and Chuuya groans at the feeling, leaning back into it just a bit and he spits a wad of saliva into the bin.
"Deep breaths, Chuuya," Dazai says gently.
Chuuya does as heâs told, taking in a few shaky breaths that arenât nearly as deep as they should be, but soon enough, a gag follows a retch, and a torrent of vomit gushes into the bin.
âThere you go. Thatâs good,â Dazai says quietly, patting Chuuyaâs hair back as he throws up. Chuuyaâs weak tolerance for alcohol makes him no stranger to throwing up like this, but this is the last thing he needs right now. The nausea is crystal clear on his face, and the pained moans that escape his lips between streams of vomit tell him it hurts, too. "You have anything here for nausea?"
"I don' need anythin'," Chuuya breathes out, spitting up a mouthful of stomach bile into the bin before he straightens himself up, eyes screwed shut and hand still heavy against his sore belly. "Jus' needed to get that out."
"If you say so," Dazai says, setting the bin down on the floor.
Chuuya somehow manages to gather the energy to crawl to the middle of the bed and collapse there, sinking into the pillow with a little whine.
He's lying down with his injured shoulder facing up, and Dazai takes the opportunity to carefully roll up his sleeve to apply the athletic tape. He watches Chuuya's face tense up as he does it. He can be as gentle as he wants, he's sure it hurts regardless.
Dazai sits beside Chuuya's shaky, curled-up form for a while, petting his slowly drying hair as Chuuya starts to relax just a bit, enough to give Dazai some relief.
He worries about him. Chuuya used to handle Corruption just fine, but if this is all really all just from the aftermath, even days laterâŚ
âWhy didnât you go to a doctor?â Dazai asks with a heavy sigh. Heâs not sure why he cares. Chuuyaâs an adult, he can take care of himself. And he usually always does.
âDunno,â Chuuya croaks. His voice sounds scratchy.
âYou donât know?â Dazai confirms, a brow raised. âI found you laying in your own piss and I donât have any clue how long you were there for.â
âCanât remember,â Chuuya elaborates after a few moments of silence. Heâs starting to sound a little more coherent, which is a good sign, but he doesnât like what heâs just said.
Dazaiâs shoulders sink. âYeah?â
âI jusâ remember leavinâ with you,â Chuuya says quietly. He pauses, like heâs trying to see if he can collect anything else from his memory, but he gives up. âAndâŚand then, the shower.â
âSo you donât have any clue what happened in between, huh?â Dazai says. Chuuya didnât seem that out of it when they met before the mission happened. He wasnât himself, but Chuuyaâs never forward about his feelings, so Dazai has a hard time guessing if he was like that mentally, or from an oncoming illness.
âNuh-uh,â Chuuya mumbles.
Dazai bites his lip. That canât be good. âHas this been happening every time?â
Chuuya is quiet for a moment, almost like heâs waiting for Dazai to elaborate. Maybe heâs just confused. âEvery time what?â
âEvery time you use Corruption,â Dazai reminds him.
âSâthat what happened?â Chuuya yawns. Dazai watches his eyelids start to fall just a bit.
Dazai feels sick. He didnât even put those pieces together, with everything thatâs going on with him? Part of him wants to believe this is just from a head injury he suffered during this mission, but heâs been getting worse about using Corruption.
Surely heâs fine. If Chuuya really thought something was wrong with himself, he would take care of it.
âMy shoulderâs killinâ me,â he murmurs, adjusting it just a bit before realizing moving it at all causes too much pain for it to be worth it.
âNo kidding,â Dazai sighs. "I'll get some ice packs. That might help."
Dazai slips out of the bed, and heads for the kitchen to look for something he can use. He knows thereâs an ice pack or two in the freezer, Chuuyaâs needed them for injuries before, but upon looking in the freezer, he finds itâs nearly empty. Thereâs a box or two, but normally, Chuuya has lots of things in here.
He opens the refrigerator out of curiosity and finds it to be the same way. Chuuya certainly has the money to be eating out every night, so maybe thatâs what heâs been doing, but he likes cooking. Itâs strange for him to really have nothing. His stomach twists. He hates that feeling.
Dazai takes two ice packs from the freezer before he hears Chuuyaâs ringtone, coming from the bedroom. He remembers seeing Chuuyaâs cell phone on the nightstand. He wonders who could be calling him.
Dazai leans in the doorway as he watches Chuuyaâs uninjured arm reach for the cell phone, and of course, heâs hiding the screen from him with an annoyed scowl.
"Hey," Chuuya says through a sigh once he answers, laying back against the pillows. The voice says something, but itâs not loud enough for Dazai to be able to figure out who. "I know. 'M sorry. Haven't been feeling so great."
Dazai's glad he's being honest, at least.
"You don't need'a come. 'M fine, just gonna rest today," Chuuya says. âIâll see ya tomorrow. Love you. Okay?â
The voice says something back, and soon enough, Chuuya tosses his phone to the side and lays his arm over his eyes with a heavy sigh.
"Love you?" Dazai repeats as he wanders over to the bed, climbing back in next to him to lay one ice pack under his shoulder, and the other right on top of it.Â
"Mhm," Chuuya says he shudders just a bit at the cold feeling, but he relaxes soon enough. "You're allowed to have a side piece too. So don't start."
"I didn't start anything," Dazai chuckles. He's referring to Kunikida, he thinks. "Who?"
"Who what?" Chuuya groans.
"Who was that?" Dazai clarifies.
"Who was what?" Chuuya huffs. Heâs clearly annoyed, but he really doesnât seem to know what Dazai is talking about.
Dazai bites his lip. Maybe he just needs to be reminded. "On the phone, Chuuya."
Chuuya takes his arm off of his face, revealing a genuinely confused expression. "The hell you talkin' about, Mackerel?"
Now Dazai feels like he's going to throw up. "Nothing, Slug."
Is Chuuya losing his memory?
Is using Corruption doing this to him?
Is this a head injury? Is it just because heâs been passed out for a while?
What is he going to do if Chuuya loses his memory?
"I'll be right back."
Dazai tries to be as nonchalant as possible as he leaves Chuuyaâs bedroom, trailing off to the guest bathroom on the other side of his penthouse, out of earshot from Chuuya, because he thinks heâs really going to throw up. His stomach twists as he opens the door and he hastily leans over the toilet, and then gags once or twice before his stomach clenches and the bit of food he had for breakfast comes up.
He stays standing, his hands on his knees and he chokes up whatever he can manage. His head swims and these concerns repeat in his mind as fast as a car wheel going a thousand miles an hour. Why does it matter to him, if Chuuya loses his memory? He doesnât need Chuuya. Heâs fine without Chuuya. Clearly, Chuuya is the one who needs him.
At some point his legs get tired and heâs just left breathing heavily over the toilet. He doesnât even have the will to flush, and part of him thinks he should go back to Chuuya, but his legs give out and he curls up in the corner where the wall and the shower door meet.
Itâs not long before he hears the bathroom door creak open.
"Did you puke?" Chuuya asks, his voice shaky. Dazaiâs tempted to lie, but heâs sure he can see the evidence in the toilet.
"Had too much to eat for lunch,â Dazai says. He knows Chuuya wonât believe him. Maybe he wants to lead him on. He doesnât know.
"That's not like you," Chuuya murmurs. Heâs leaning against the door frame, holding an ice pack up to his shoulder. "What's the real reason? You anxious about somethinâ?"
He does throw up when he's anxious. "No, no. My stomach just...yâknow.â
"Dazai," Chuuya sighs.
Chuuya drags himself into the bathroom and sits down beside Dazai with a pained groan. He feels warm next to Dazai as he leans against him, laying his head on Dazaiâs shoulder. He huffs, sounding a little more than exhausted, like itâs taken a great effort for him to get here. âCanât believe you made me walk all the way over here when I feel like shit.â
âI didnât make you do anything,â Dazai insists with a half-smile. âYou worrying about me, Slug?â
âYeah, you ran out of my room out of nowhere,â Chuuya huffs.
Dazai finds some solace in the fact that he hasnât forgotten that.
âIâm worried about you too,â Dazai says quietly, and heâs not sure why he would say something like that out loud. Heâs disgusted with himself, it almost makes him want to throw up again. Being so vulnerable with another person is so unadmirable.
âBout me?â Chuuya starts, lifting his head and turning to look at Dazai, even if it seems to be filled with lead. ââM fine, âSamu. I always feel like shit after Corruption.â
"I think you should see a doctor," Dazai says. He almost wishes he could lean his head on Chuuyaâs shoulder, but doing that would likely break his neck. A shame, really.
"'Bout what," Chuuya sighs. âThought you were playinâ doctor.â
"Your memory,â Dazai says quietly, feeling his stomach start to twist again.
Chuuya is quiet for a few moments. "My memory's fine."
"I'm serious, Chuuya,â Dazai says. He hates being serious.
"'M serious too, 'Samu. I don't needâa see a doctor. Iâll be fine in a few days," Chuuya grumbles. Heâs really starting to sound annoyed, but Dazai is having a very hard time letting this go. "Quit worryin' about me."
"Do you remember who called you earlier?" Dazai bites. He doesnât want to sound vicious. Maybe the bitter taste of the stomach acid in the back of his throat is making him sound that way. His stomach is never going to give him a break, at this rate.
Another pause. "What the hell're you talkin' about?"
âSomeone called you, Chuuya,â Dazai murmurs, pressing his palms against his eyelids because his eyes are starting to burn and he would rather throw up on Chuuya than cry in front of him. âI asked you who it was after you hung up and you didnât know what I was talking about, and you still donât.â
Chuuya is quiet again.
âCan youâŚcan you get out? Please?â Dazai mumbles, keeping his face concealed from Chuuya. He hates the way he feels. Heâs not physically hurting anywhere, besides maybe his stomach, but this worry and anxiety is just as painful as any wound. âI need to throw up again.â
ââM not leavinâ you, Mackerel,â Chuuya says quietly, not seeming to care much that Dazai tried to kick him out of his own bathroom. Dazai thinks heâs started to realize that he might be contributing to the fact that Dazaiâs stomach is twisting and turning so uncomfortably,
Dazai feels it, hot in the back of his mouth, and he would really rather just swallow it, but he stumbles forward and chokes up the stomach bile into the toilet to join the rest. He coughs before he can manage to gag again. It really burns, it hurts, tears prick at the corners of his eyes and heâs telling himself that throwing up right now is the only reason thatâs happening.
Chuuya is still beside him, despite how sick he is himself, a steady hand on his back, mumbling some comforting words that Dazai canât quite decipher.
âIâll call a doctor, âkay? Maybe you can get looked at too,â Chuuya says quietly once Dazai is just left huffing out hot breaths over the toilet.
Dazai shakes his head. The idea of that almost makes him gag. âNo, I donâtâŚIâm fine.â
ââMâkay,â Chuuya says, to Dazaiâs surprise. Dazai thinks heâs gotten the hint, now. âYou still nauseous? Iâll get somethinâ for you.â
Dazai shakes his head again and somehow manages to force himself onto his shaky legs without much help. His stomach is still all out of sorts, but he knows nausea medication wonât be able to help. âCan we go lay down?â
Chuuya nods with a little sigh, using his ability to stand himself up without too much effort, taking Dazaiâs hand like heâs leading him to his bedroom. Dazaiâs been there a million times, thereâs really no reason for him to do this, but he squeezes his hand tight. It feels nice.
âIâll be right back. Gonna get a glass of water,â Chuuya says once Dazai curls up into the bed. Dazaiâs facing away from him, but he can hear Chuuya take his phone before he wanders out of the bedroom.
Dazai knows heâs calling someone.
âHey,â Chuuya starts. He sounds far away, like heâs in the kitchen, but Dazai can still hear him fairly well. ââM sorry. I know I said I didnât need anythinâ, butâŚâ
The voice says something, and Chuuya sighs, answering with a defeated yeah.
Dazai feels like he can relax a little more, and his stomach doesnât hurt so much.
He curls up in the bed as if itâs his own, and before long, Chuuya returns to do the same, lying close beside Dazai, but far enough that Dazai can still see his face. He looks miserable. If he were standing, Dazai thinks he would certainly pass out.
âYou look like shit,â Chuuya grumbles, his nose scrunched.
âI was just thinking about how much you look like shit,â Dazai tells him.
âAt least Iâve got a good excuse,â Chuuya huffs. Dazai canât argue with that, Chuuyaâs the one with a fever. âYouâre just worried about me. Freak.â
Dazai ducks his head in and cuddles up closer to Chuuya, a little flattered that heâs remembering that despite everything being so touch-and-go right now. His warmth is still a bit concerning, but itâs almost comforting. Dazai doesnât know why, but heâs almost too tired to care.
âTake better care of yourself,â Dazai mumbles quietly.
âTake your own advice,â Chuuya says back, sounding just as exhausted as he looks. âGet some rest, shitty Mackerel.â
He doesnât need to be told twice.
#im late lol but heres day 1!!!#bungo stray dogs#bungou stray dogs#skk#chuuya#dazai#soukoku#sickfic#bsd#illness#emeto#vomiting#my fanfictions#ao3#sicktember 2023#sicktember day 1#sick#fever#injury#whump#caretaking#dachuu#chuuya x dazai#amnesia#memory loss#angst#fluff
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Finished Jumin's end
#prince's gaming tag#the more i play this the more it really hits how much i forgot this dlc#like i dont remember how any of their ends went apart from jaehee#rip Zen in this end bc not only is he single and working on xmas but the guy he hates got to spend time with the girl he loves#Zen got the bad end cg in this case lolol#in the epilogue chat Jumin's donation made news and Zen reas about it and he was like 'that jerk did he do that to impress her?'#and jumin jumped on the chat in that moment and went 'yup'#and to add insult to injury for him MC is spending the night at Jumin's place bc it was late and she was tired#this kinda makes me wanna do Zen next as an apology but imma let my choices decide#once it's midnight ill start it again and go for someone i haven't done#lowkey wanna leave jaehee for last at this point as a way to save the best for last
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im rewatching stuck (2x04) and man that conversation between bobby and chimney got me crying in the club tonight
#kenneth choi emmy when?????#ive been thinking lately abouy chim's rebar injury and how that would be something cool to bring back#but also it's too angsty even for me#anyways ill continue with my rewatch#911 fox
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boys will have vivid nightmares wherein a random teenager watches her mother crack her skull on the stairs and lays there with blood leaking out all over while she screams and cries and just stands there frozen in fear and wake up just in time for one of the characters from Cats to walk down the hall to help
#tw blood#tw violent imagery#Goodmorning gang I'm. Sla bit rattled tiday!!!#Why are my dreams so focused on parental illness/injury lately#I don't much care for it!!! Aaah!!!
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Thinking about the lifespans of Dungeon Meshi elves... The fact that they're completely unnatural alters my brain chemistry, because you can tell just how haphazardly the demon implemented their wish. They live five times the length of tall-men, so they age at a fifth of their rate. It's simple maths and the implications are terrifying. No wonder their birth rate and population are declining - their early development is so slow that at the age of two, they're still unable to stand.
They don't reach adulthood until their eighties. What does the infant mortality look like? How many elves succumb to illness or injury before they're fully mature? It only takes one accident to lose the child you've been raising for decades - and could you bring yourself to care for another? Add to that the implication elf culture has no idea how to process grief... just look at the way the Canaries treat Rin after the death of her parents. They're callous and insensitive and detached - part of that's racism, but there's also an element of pure cold ignorance. They don't even recognise the emotion on her face.
And that's just scratching the surface... does elven memory accommodate their extended lifespan? Once you reach two hundred or so, do the years start blurring together? Kabru mentions that their temporal awareness is remarkably poor.
Two years feel like a few months. Their lives are longer but not fuller. They're older but not wiser than the short-lived races, and most refuse to understand this. Those that do grasp it are interesting - namely Otta, who's ostracised for pursuing half-foot women.
A 30-year old elf is a young child; a 30-year old half-foot has entered middle age. Otta is in the equivalent of her late twenties. She knows that her elven lifespan makes her no more mature than a half-foot - but she also acknowledges that it creates a rift between herself and her partners, and not just in the eyes of society. 'She dumps them as soon as they pass 30', but probably not for the reasons Lycion assumes. For this to be a pattern, decades must have passed - it's possible Otta doesn't want to watch them die as she herself barely ages. No doubt some of her previous lovers have already passed away. In the end, all living 400 years accomplishes is leaving them out of sync with the rest of humanity.
Marcille's perhaps the best example. As a half-elf, she's got 95% of her life ahead and the thought terrifies her. She's going to lose everyone she loves, over and over and over again, and this cycle has barely even started. She runs at a different pace. This context adds so much to her dynamic with Falin in earlier chapters.
Marcille loves her! She's scared for her! Maybe even of her! She's grown attached to a short-lived girl who she met as a kid when Marcille was a teaching assistant! Biologically and developmentally, they're the same age, but chronologically she's twice as old as Falin! Considering what happened to her mother, is history repeating itself? Her feelings towards Falin are tangled and messy and fascinating. They're also more than a little homoerotic, which makes Marcille's infantilization of her friend all the more interesting. It feels like her way of resolving their power imbalance, of remaining a responsible (former!) authority figure... but it's also a coping mechanism. She's frightened by the ways Falin is maturing and changing - aging - and keeping her mental image of her friend as young as possible is her way of denying the march of time that's destined to sever their bond.
Marcille's dream of lifespan extension would remove the need for this obfuscation, render them equal... only, they already are! This desire is imposed onto Falin, but it's primarily for Marcille's benefit. Watching her fight for a world nobody wants, for reasons both selfish and altruistic... it's as tragic as it is understandable. I love this manga.
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Thawing Out
summary: You and Sirius are in dire need of a new coach just weeks before the Olympics. Remus is a former figure skating prodigy forced to retire after a career-ending injury. Though it's not smooth skating right away, those stiff Olympic village beds are dying to be broken in.
collab with @ellecdc
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12
cw: modern au, chronic pain
poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ⥠1.3k words
Remus still wakes before dark every morning. Itâs automatic, an urgency and excitement that thrums through him like an old instinct, born from years of his alarm clock rousing him at this time. The rink is always at its best right now, when theyâve just finished resurfacing the ice and no one else is around. It was Remusâ favorite time to practice.Â
Now, he has a new reason to get up. His hip clicks as he does it, so he starts his day with a couple of proactive painkillers. If he really wanted to be proactive he would stretch like heâs supposed to, but thereâs no time and Remus doesnât feel like it. Heâll pay his toll for the negligence later.Â
The webpage of his Airbnb boasted a five-minute walk to the rink, but with his hip it takes Remus seven. Itâs like an odd sort of muscle memory, an old routine from another life that feels as bitter as it does comfortable. He heads out early to give himself some cushion. The streets are empty but for bakers and baristas, the first hints of dawn tinging the sky a deep blue. When he turns a corner and the rink comes into view, the absence of his bag hanging from his shoulder is a phantom ache.Â
The front doors are locked but the side one staff uses isnât, the Zamboni driver already inside. Remus lets himself in, makes a cup of tea from the hot water dispenser they leave out when concessions are closed, plants himself on a bench, and waits.Â
And waits.Â
And waits.Â
Remus has nearly nodded off when two pairs of shoes come bounding up to him. Well, one pair bounds. The other drags.Â
âHi, sorry weâre late.â Youâre breathless and hauling a sullen-looking boy along behind you by the hand, but you manage a smile when Remus looks up at you. âI had to run over and get him out of bed. Itâs good to meet you!â
You hold out your untethered hand. Remus might normally stand to take it, but he no longer feels like doing you the courtesy. Your grip is firm and warm.Â
âYou were supposed to be here at six,â he says.Â
You wince. âI know. Sorry, Sirius is really not a morning person.âÂ
Remus thinks that he might put more stock into your apologies if you looked a tad more contrite. As it is, your countenance is almost cheery, a fizzy eagerness about you as you look between him and the ice like you canât wait to get out on it.Â
In stark contrast, the ill-tempered boy behind you seems not to have a clue where he is. He looks rumpled and disoriented, squinting in the rinkâs fluorescent light.Â
âThen why didnât you pick another time?â Remus asks.Â
He hadnât realized he was still looking at Sirius, or that the other boy could talk, so itâs a surprise when he answers. âWasnât my bloody idea.âÂ
By the way you grin, Remus wonders if youâve even heard the obvious bitterness in your partnerâs tone, or whether itâs gone straight over your head.Â
âI like the rink better early,â you explain. âNo one else ever comes before the hockey practice starts at nine, and theyâll have just finished resurfacing the ice.âÂ
Begrudgingly, Remus nods. âI always preferred it about now, too.âÂ
He realizes immediately that his agreement was a mistake, because your smile grows into something far too brilliant for the early hour. Christ, what has he gotten himself into? Thereâs you, starry-eyed and effervescing all over the place, and your partner, who looks more inclined to fall asleep on your shoulder than put on his skates.Â
And this is the pair skating duo Remus is supposed to take to the Olympics.Â
âââ ââ
ââ
â âââ
âWatch that back foot!â Remus shouts across the ice.
Sirius doesnât look happy about it, but he corrects the placement of his skate, transitioning smoothly into the next synced turn.Â
âGood,â Remus murmurs to himself.Â
Once Sirius got out on the ice and woke up a bit, he was good. He skates with the technical proficiency of someone whoâs been in the sport since before they started primary school, and the intuitive artistry of someone who loves it. Youâre much the same, though your virtuosity and obvious competence are consistently undercut by hesitation, the grace of your movements interrupted when you second-guess yourself. But theseâtechnical prowess paired with devotionâare the basics of what makes a good figure skater. Youâll have to be flawless if you want to do well at the Olympics.Â
And Remus has found many flaws.Â
âNo, noâshit!â Remus stands as you fall out of your jump again, catching yourself on your forearms. âYouâre still under-rotating! Come on!âÂ
Sirius snarls a quick âHey!â over his shoulder before turning his back on Remus, going to help you up. He speaks to you quietly, checking you over as you stand. Remus seethes.Â
He has no clue why heâs been called out here to coach a pair. Remus doesnât know pairs, has never been a part of one. He was a solo skater. And frankly, it makes him wary that whatâs supposed to be the best skating pair in Britain has asked him, a former solo skater whoâs been isolated from the figure skating community in general for the past two years, to coach them. But Remus does know figure skating. And he knows when skaters are making stupid mistakes behind their skill level.Â
âWhat arenât you understanding?â asks Remus as you skate back to the edge of the rink. He really wants to know. âItâs simple. You can do this.â He knows he could have. As easy as breathing, and he would kill to have the chance again.Â
âWhat the fuck is your problem?âÂ
Siriusâ glare is sharp as knives. He steps off the ice before you can, positioning himself between you and Remus. Your lips purse with a knowing sort of apprehension.Â
âSiriusâŚâÂ
âNo, you donât talk to her like that,â Sirius spits. âIt was a tiny mistake.âÂ
Remus raises his eyebrows, incredulous. âIâm trying to help her! It was a giant mistake, with a simple fix. You ought to be telling her the same, unless youâre okay with your partner snapping her ankle weeks out from competition.âÂ
âNone of that means you get to fucking yell at her! Who do you think you are?âÂ
âOkayââÂ
âIâm her coach,â says Remus, voice rising, âandââ
âThen coach her! Maybe if youâd give some actual fucking feedback instead of just nitpickingââÂ
âOkay!â Your shout cuts through the space, echoing in the empty rink and silencing the other two. âThatâs enough.âÂ
You haul Sirius back by his shoulder. Your grip doesnât look severe enough to move him, but he goes, stepping back to your side. His eyes never leave Remusâ.Â
Your own gaze jumps between both boys, that same spark heâd seen in you earlier burning with a different light.Â
âLetâs call it for today,â you say firmly. âOkay? Weâll try again tomorrow.âÂ
Neither boy speaks, though Remus nods. It seems to be taking all of Siriusâ willpower to bite his tongue. He gets the impression it isnât something he succeeds at often, so Remus isnât ashamed to say that it brings him a perverse sort of joy to see it now. His tiny bit of smugness fizzles out, though, when your eyes land on him. Thereâs something desolate in your expression thatâs a salient deviation from how youâd looked at him before. Remus has the sinking feeling that heâs disappointed you. Itâs more distressing than he can account for.Â
âWeâll be here on time tomorrow,â you say in that same steady tone. âAnd my jump, Iâll work on it.âÂ
Remus nods again. You return it, and when you turn to leave, you drag Sirius after you by his shirtsleeve, picking up your bags along your way. Remusâ mouth feels dry. His lips are chapped, his fingertips hurt from the cold, and the sight of your skates sinking into the rubbery floor makes his hip ache terribly.Â
Itâs only once youâre nearly out of earshot that he manages to mumble, âThank you.â
#poly!wolfstar olympic au#poly!wolfstar#poly!wolfstar x reader#poly!wolfstar x fem!reader#poly!wolfstar x y/n#poly!wolfstar x you#poly!wolfstar x self insert#poly!wolfstar fanfiction#poly!wolfstar fanfic#poly!wolfstar fic#poly!wolfstar series#poly!wolfstar enemies to lovers#poly!wolfstar angst#poly!wolfstar fluff#poly!wolfstar imagine#poly!wolfstar scenario#poly!wolfstar drabble#poly!wolfstar blurb#poly!wolfstar oneshot#poly!wolfstar one shot#remus lupin x sirius black#remus lupin x sirius black x reader#wolfstar x reader#sirius black#remus lupin#figure skater!sirius#figure skater!reader#coach!remus#sirius black x reader#remus lupin x reader
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đ
đ¨đŤđ đ˘đŻđ đđ, đ đđđŻđ đđ˘đ§đ§đđ.
Summary: After days of uncertainty, you catch Aemond in the throne room and envision the future of what power can hold. [Aemond Targaryen x Fem!Reader] [WC: 2.8k]
Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, smut, oral (f receiving), public sex, exhibitionism, overstimulation, enemies to lovers dynamic.
Quick Links: Masterlist | gif by @vizual-demon
âKnee deep in the [throne room] and youâre eating me out⌠is it casual now?â
âDo you always look so smug after killing your own blood?â
In your shadows, Aemond Targaryen stared at the Iron Throne in the storm.
Thunder eclipsed the skies over the castle. In the late evening, you could feel the shocks of lightning beneath your fingertips as they grazed the columns of marble that flanked the room. Each scream of anger echoed through the stones, you could hear it so clearly.
You could see him in the shadows of the throne.
Aemond Targaryen had returned from battle two days ago.
In those two days, the world had changed drastically compared to the one that it was before. A King incapacitated, a legend buried in the rubble of a fallen house, and two sides burning as bright as the cascading terror above.
The tide was shifting and the power in the halls was striking.
Aemondâs arms hung limp at his sides. For someone so thirsty for the power the room held, his apathetic nature would bury him. He could see the darkness of the swords; twisting and bleeding each person dry for their aspirations.
He wanted to be someone who was remembered.
Aemond Targaryen did not want to be immortalized in history as a weak member of the greatest family to ever exist in this world. In his dreams he saw a man of profound strength and terrorâsomeone who reigned a fearsome government with unyielding standards.
In his cruelty, he wanted people to see a person who would not sacrifice his name for peace.
So yes, he was a bit smug at Rhaenysâ demise and ultimately Aegonâs injury. He would not be in this position now had he not done what was asked of him.
But he didnât answer youâAemond did not feel the need to acknowledge it because he knew you understood. Even if you were to be cutting and cynical, Aemond knew you rationalized his beliefs in a similar fashion.
And that enticed him.
You had always enticed him. So simple yet cunning, an outsider amongst the other ladies in your class. You were not a whore, you were not a mother, and yet he wanted to know what it felt like to be a feign of your touch.
How would your hands feel on his body? Your delicate fingers wrapped around him?
âAh,â you ticked at him, pushing off the stone pillar and moving in his direction. âYou see, My Prince, when you allow a dragonâs head to be paraded for the city to see, people are going to notice.â
âPower is power. We neednât parade it unless it was necessary to remind them who they should bend the knee to.â
âAt the ill will of a sacred creature?â
Meleys was once a beautiful dragon. It was such a shame that the second time you were able to witness her beauty it was in the butchered attempt of showing off. The grandstanding sickened the soil.
âIt does not take a Targaryen to understand that.â
âWhat would you know of Targaryen customs?â He spoke back. His voice was thin and dry. âYou will never know.â
âI apologize⌠for my lowly status is not on par with such a great house. I am sure my Lord Father would appreciate the sentiment.â
You have a coy, playful smile that he could feel in his bones. The kind that would chide him, never take him too seriously, and one that rarely doubted him.
It was an uneasy feeling. One he would never quite get used to.
âHis ambitions are not unknown. How people without power seek it.â
âIs that not why there are whispers of what you have done?â You questioned and his hands turned to fists quickly. âSmall folk talk, Aemond. Power is power but when you misuse it, the omen may come true.â
The omen hovered like the storm above. The Godâs were battling in the realm in the sky; giants of proportions unfathomable in their richness of blood. They scorched and rattled in the sky as cracks of thunder rumbled throughout the Keep.
âYet I speak nothing of it,â he eyed you solemnly. âYou talk of rumors and fallacies as if they hold truth. Perhaps it is I who should ask where your loyalties preside? Does war scare you?â
Aemond approached you with long strides. His hands lingered at his sides but never held onto his hilt, threatening you with violence or harm for your disagreements.
He could see you did not fear war. Your father would have called on your return if the prospect of war scared a house with the name of your own. A prominent family in the Valeâto the Greens you were a key.
And he could play you a fiddle if you let him.
âNo,â you replied, keeping your head tall. âI live in a gilded tower.â
âThat has been infiltrated before. It has seen death before.â
âThey do not seek me,â your eyes ran along his face as the sky illuminated his sharp features. âBut you know that.â
Aemond hummed and in a moment of faulted want, his right hand reached to brush your own. The electricity of shock pulsing through your veins as though it was as important as blood itself.
You swallowed the nervousness that built in your throat at his actions. He was so sure of himself, so different from the man you had known before.
He took his sins and bathed in them. Aemond let the water dry in confidence of himself as Prince Regent. If he was going to rule in his brotherâs stead, he needed the reverie of power to seep inside of him.
âMen will seek anything if they are given the chance.â
You traced the direction of his eyes to your hand, how he ghostly itched to touch you again.
âAnd what is it that you seek?â You questioned quietly. âIs being a ruler not enough?â
In the lull, your ears filled themselves with the sound of your heartbeat. Pumping and beating to the thrills of anticipation you sought in the sordid walls of an ugly Keep. To please a King, well⌠It was a dangerous thing.
Aemondâs hand touched yours loosely again. His fingers gently grazed yours with a profound intent that was something he sought.
âNo,â he admitted. âIt is not.â
His hand bypassed yours and rested lowly on your hip. The touch stilled you. In the darkness of the hall, the world stopped moving and your vision tunneled. His hand moved higher to rest upon the crux of your hip and stomach, thumb caressing the fabric of your dress. He stepped closer.
Without thinking, you took a step back out of the chills that erupted on your skin, not out of want. He took the space you created and closed it again but followed you as you moved backwards and backwards until your back hit one of the marble columns you had hid behind not twenty minutes earlier.
One of your hands caught yourself on the column and the other wove itself around a post. The wings of the throne room were elevated for spectators that were nonexistent now.
Aemondâs other hand mirrored the other and he held you there.
âIf someone came looking for you,â he huffed, tilting his head to the side which allowed his eye to narrow. âWhat would you let them do to you?â
You furrowed your brows yet the feel of his hands burning through your dress allowed your mouth to run dry.
Nothing. You would let them do nothing to you. You would fight to the death to defend yourself but if it were Aemond, you would let him devour you.
âWhat about me, hm?â There was a faint smile on his lips. âWhat would you let me, your Prince Regent, do to you while the Gods watched over us?â
His hands slithered up your torso, drawing a staggered breath from you as he cupped your breasts over your dress and groped hard to feel the flesh. Aemond saw your chest stutter under his touch.
âTell me,â he whispered, pulling his head in close to yours. His lips became a mere centimeter from yours; breath lingering in the space between you heavy and taught.
âI-I-I,â your nerves got the better of you. Stumbling over your words like a dolt, his hands moved back down and began to gather your dress in his hands.Â
âPoised to stick pins where the plans now lie but a stuttering fool now.âÂ
âI am not a fool,â you huffed as the cool night air began to make itself known against your ankles, then your shins. âI know what I want.âÂ
Aemond leaned in, knocking his nose gently with yours.Â
âTell me,â he repeated.Â
âI want you to touch me,â you instructed him. âI want to feel the mouth of a King on my lips and under the Gods I do sin, but I wish to feel his lips elsewhere.âÂ
âOh?â Aemond hummed as his hands continued their path. âI may not hold the title of King-âÂ
âYou are a King, Aemond,â you said assertively and his hands stopped.Â
âYou rule in the place of Aegonâs incapacity and by all law and rules, you are the one to carry the heavy sword. You speak the actions and see them true.âÂ
His Adamâs apple bobbed at the reality.Â
Aemondâs power lingered. It lingered in this great hall but it was a shell. The Aemond he felt in his bones was still as scared as the one who killed Lucerys.Â
âI wish to feel your lips elsewhere,â you whispered, breath fanning his face. He tilted his head upwards and for a split second, his lips touched yours.Â
Intoxicating; you would have fallen to your knees had you not already wished to see him on his.Â
âI want to see a King on his knees.â
Aemond could only smirk. He planted a quick, brief kiss on your lips before bunching up the skirt of your dress as he knelt down to the floor. A beckoning, ethereal call from above led him to his knees to worship. With his hands collecting the material of your dress, Aemondâs hands met yours and opened them the best he could for you to grab onto it. He used the leverage of your assistance to bring down your stockings, clear the way of his alter as the thunder roared from above.
You let your head fall back against the pillar as his hands roamed your thighs, inching higher and higher but still skimming past the now unguarded temple.
You could not help but look at the exits in view as though someone would walk through them at this hour.
This late hour when all of the good, pious Lord and Ladies, Prince and Princesses, laid in their beds asleepâsans the King he would never fault himself for burning.
âAemond,â you spoke with a voice that shook. âWhat if someone were to see us?â
He stopped his hands, gazing up at you from the ground on which he knelt.
âLet them see then,â he kissed the front of your thighs. âIf they see, then I will marry you.â
Fuck. It made your heart leap in your chest. A frog in your throat, the honesty in his eye was enough for your anxieties to settle but your excitement to grow.
He would marry you. What a world you wished you lived in.
If all were true, it would have happened the first time he touched you.Â
âDrop your dress,â he ordered.
Without hesitation, you dropped the skirt of your dress and he vanished before your eyes.
But you could feel him.
You could feel the breath of his body releasing itself just beyond where you ached for him the most. His grip on your thighs was bruising. Aemond used his position to prop one of your legs on his shoulder, sending you off balance and into the bannister behind you.
But then his hot breath met where you wanted him and the feeling melted you from the inside. Aemond peppered kisses on your mound, waiting until the perfect moment to lick a stripe through your folds and with it, you folded yourself.Â
Daydreams of his hands on yours was not enough. The feel of your hand in the solitude of night where the sins of pleasure were trapped behind heavy doors could not compare. Aemond attached himself to your flesh and sucked, hard, before lapping again in a more gentle fashion. He repeated it again and again until the wetness began to gather more audibly.Â
There was no stopping the breathless pants escaping your lips.Â
You gripped hard on the marbled post. If you were the strongest woman in the Seven Kingdoms, you could have crushed it beneath your fingertips. Aemondâs tongue laded the wetness and gathered it in a lewd slurping noise to your clit only to run his tongue over it in brisk movements.Â
âAemond-â you swallowed your moan. Knees threatening to buckle, you wanted to grip onto him. Your hands sought his shoulders, his head or hair, and a soft bed.Â
The Iron Throne was taunting you in the background. Power so divine, so close yet a million miles away.Â
Aemond wouldnât marry you, but in the moment, you would live sinfully until the Gods caught you in truth.Â
He let out a low hum that made your senses tingle. He too was enjoying the pleasure he could bring, growing his own in his trousers that begged for its own mercy. Aemond could feel you palm at his head from the fabric that fell over his headâa delicacy; the rapture of someone he could love one day if he let himself.Â
Your helpless want forced you to roll your hips against his face as though his tongue was not enough. Aemond gripped your hips tightly to guide you against his mouth.Â
âShit.â The words fell from your lips freely.Â
âAemond, I donât think I will fare much longer,â you admitted to him and felt yourself burn from the inside. His accommodations to your wants, the fluidity of his tongue against you in need was sending you barreling toward the edge.Â
Your mewls became whines that rivaled the thunder.Â
In an instant, he removed his mouth from yours and appeared from under your skirts. Your clit throbbed as the blood began to rush downwards and a sickening wetness that was not your finish began to trickle down your leg.Â
âWha-âÂ
You could not speak before his lips met yours aggressively. You could taste yourself on his lips and for a second, you wanted to recoil at the thought but his hands cupped the back of your head softly and everything melted into you.Â
You wished he would marry you.Â
âI am not done,â he broke the kiss and admitted. âBut I could not hold that in any longer.âÂ
His sentiment took you aback. Your eyes searched for a lie; begging for a fallacy to come true and reveal itself in the ugly colors of night but there was nothing. There was nothing but truth and in it, it broke your heart in the slightest.Â
Aemond wanted to kiss you. He wanted to please you, pleasure you, hold you tightly as a husband would do but he wouldnât marry you.Â
He couldnât marry you.Â
But he would love you in the depths of darkness as his power soared for a brief moment in time and the hands of a fair lady, opposed by his mother, warmed his bed in the evening. May the throne be his witness, Aemond Targaryen was a sinner.Â
He kissed you again before falling to his knees once more.Â
As promised, he worked in quick licks to ignite the spark. It lit up the room brighter than the sky as the Gods boomed in discontent but they worked to drown out the sounds of your elation the closer you became. Aemond let you gather the dress back in your hands so you could see him as his tongue circled your clit and he pierced your cunt with two fingers sliding in the wetness easily. Your legs trembled. His other hand ran soft strokes along the muscle to sooth you but it was fruitless.Â
His fingers curved inside of you, massaging your walls as they clenched around him and swore to the heavens for a release.Â
âFuck, Aemond.âÂ
He enjoyed hearing the words no Queen would dare mutter. It dared him to move faster, to move more heavy against your walls, against your lips as he continued to lap the juices that made the ghosts in the halls look away in a blush.Â
It was building to a precipice inside of you. As though a volcano was erupting, you let out sounds he had never heard. You were not trying to be quiet. You were letting the castle hear your pleasure that would send you to a horrible fate.Â
And you begged him to bring you to the end. His name lost its true meaning as it became lost in the night, falling from your lips breathlessly and your eyes shut tightly as the chills in your spin sent you spiraling.Â
He was no God, but Aemond Targaryen gave what he had as a God should.Â
âDarling,â he murmured from below. âLet them all see what a King can do.âÂ
And you did.Â
A/N: thanks for reading! As always comments, reblog, and likes are always appreciated. I love hearing from all of you and thanks for letting me write this little self indulgent fic.
#aemond targaryen x reader#aemond#aemond targaryen#aemond one eye#hotd aemond#prince aemond#aemond x reader#aemond fanfiction#aemond smut#aemond x you#aemond x oc#aemond fic#x reader#fanfic#fanfiction#hotd s2#hotd#house of the dragon#ewan mitchell#prince aemond x reader#prince aemond x you
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Part 2!
Finally finished moving house so hopefully Iâll be updating semi-regularly again.
Content: brief and non-descriptive explanation of Rasputinâs backstory (injury and illness)
Agatha is over again.
You donât know why. She doesnât like you, your cats, or anything as far as you can tell. It seems her primary motivation for talking to you at all is to exercise her role as neighborhood matriarch. She âkeeps tabsâ on everyone, but especially you - the unmarried woman living alone that keeps odd hours.
A rebellious part of you wants to roll your eyes and make snarky comments whenever she sniffs at your life choices. The same part of you that would make scenes at holiday dinners or slam doors when you were a teenager. That girl has long been smoothed and polished - or maybe just worn down. Itâs so much effort to make rude, nosy, traditionalists clutch their pearls. Much easier to smile in their face and do what you want anyway.
Still, that part of you itches at the surface sometimes. Makes your eye twitch.
âI know your generation is different but thatâs just not the type of neighborhood we live in,â sheâs saying.
Youâre a bit foggy from a late night patching plotholes and havenât registered much of anything sheâs said. You really just want to go inside and stare at the TV until words make sense again.
âWhat do you mean?â you ask, for once not feigning your confusion. But of course this is the one time she doesnât buy it.
She looks down her frail little nose at you, cornflower blue eyes baleful. You donât feel scolded, but you sense that youâre supposed to.
âNow you know just what I mean. People will talk.â
People always talk, itâs an unfortunate byproduct of the human condition. Like a deaf bird, youâve never understood all the chatter.
âTalk about⌠the buttercups?â you wonder, pointing at the blossoms. Youâre quite proud of them actually.
Agatha puffs up and hisses out a breath. âYou ought to keep to this side of the street. Away from those men.â
You blink. Men�
A bang comes from across the street, followed by rough German cursing. (At least you think itâs cursing.)
Ah. Those men.
âI was just welcoming them to the neighborhood.â
It comes out of your mouth automatically, innocent excuses for something you remind yourself you donât need to justify.
âIâd rather they didnât feel welcome,â she snips. âBetter they sell that awful house and go somewhere else.â
You flick your eyes over her bony shoulder. Konig passes by a window, massive biceps on display as he lifts something outside of view.
âTheyâre nice,â you say. Nice to look at. Kruegerâs face alone quite makes up for his conversational shortcomings.
âThe only reason men like that act nice is because they want something,â Agatha snaps. âThis is a respectable neighborhood.â
Yeah, soooo respectable when Bertram rifles through your mail or Lisa looks into your backyard.
âWell,â you muse, âbetter to be on good terms with them, I think. They're not the type you want to piss off.â
That defiant streak lights up at the way her face sours. If only she knew what sort of words you use when itâs just you and the cats.
âYouâve just proven my point. Those are not the type of men young ladies should associating themselves with.â
You have to try very hard not to scrunch up your face. One blessed day, people will stop referring to you as âyoung ladyâ in that insufferably condescending tone. You canât wait for that day.
Some of your mounting irritation must show on your face because she takes on a sickly sweet âteachingâ tone.
âNeighborhoods are like gardens. Everything grows best when the rows are kept separate. Thatâs why the farmers plant them that way.â
You glance pointedly at your own yard, where the flowers are blooming in haphazard sprigs wherever you tossed the seeds. Agathaâs lips get thin.
âBest that you stay on this side of the street, missy. Thatâs the last Iâll hear of it.â
She spins on her heel and stalks off like a particularly drab bird. You stand on your porch for a second longer, face contorted in annoyed confusion. You donât even have strong feelings about the three men; the simple act of someone - Agatha of all people - labeling them as âOff Limitsâ makes them instantly more appealing.
Maybe you should see someone about that or something. Then the pathetic cries of Guy through the window lure you back inside.
Itâs nearly sundown when thereâs a knock at your door. Still agitated from your talk with Agatha, you puff up like Shithead when Rasputin sits on her favorite toy. March up to the door, fling it open - and come up short when you see the three men looming on your doorstep.
Before you can recover, a little gray blob scrambles past your ankles, crying like the sky is falling.
âOh!â Konig gasps in pleasant surprise. âHallo, Bubchen!â
And all 6-foot-plus of Austrian instantly folds to scoop Guy up. Youâve barely managed a now-useless shout of alarm when Shithead wedges her fat head between your calves. Behind you, Rasputin politely screeches his little chainsmoker call.
And somehow, in the chaos of fumbling for furballs, you end up with all three men in your foyer.
Guy is purring away in Konigâs thick arms. Shithead is attempting to scale Kruegerâs tight cargo pants. And Rasputin is pawing the air at Nikto, visibly calculating the jump to his wide shoulders.
Which leaves you with the clean serving platter you dropped off just yesterday. You blink at it for a moment, then glance at them.
âSo⌠the cookies were good then?â
âVery good!â Konig rushes to say. Krueger and Nikto each nod, almost comically solemn.
âWe have no baking or cooking skills,â Krueger continues, âso tell us what needs fixing.â
It takes you a moment to understand what he means. The house. He wants to fix your house. Itâs surprisingly sweet, and you laugh a bit, shaking your head. âYou donât need to do that, I was just-â
âIs custom,â Nikto interrupts.
Konig nods with all the enthusiasm of a bobblehead as Krueger crosses his arms. (Whatever effect heâs going for is ruined by Shithead clinging to his pocket and screaming.)
âIn our country, we bring gifts as guests. Our gift is repairs,â he explains.
You arch your brows playfully. âI donât remember inviting you to be guests.â
He arches his brows right back. âWe did not invite you either.â
Well shit.
âOkay, okay. I guess thereâs a couple thingsâŚâ
Konig perks up. âWe would be happy to help, Biene!â
Itâs strange having men in the house. You think you should be more nervous about it, canât remember the last non-family man allowed into your space. Especially alone.
Thereâs a sharp awareness, of course. Hard not to be aware of them. Itâs not just that theyâre big, dwarfing all of your you-sized furniture. Thereâs a presence to them, something felt but not seen by your untrained eye. Maybe itâs in the set of their shoulders, the way they stand with both boots firmly planted. Maybe itâs the precise way they speak and move, not just separately but as a unit. Acting more like a collective consciousness than as individuals.
Whatever it is, you couldnât ignore them if you tried. And youâre definitely not trying.
You set Krueger to work on the kitchen cabinet youâve been meaning to replace. He clicks his tongue at the tape-and-lean method youâve been using to keep the old one in place. Shithead immediately sets to work helping by gnawing at his shoelaces.
Konig is stationed in the guest bathroom, where the sink doesnât run right. Guy comes mewing into your arms when heâs set down, effectively tattling that his new friend is mean and awful for withholding affection for even a moment.
You try not to visibly hesitate when you corner yourself in your own laundry room. Nikto has followed you right in, seemingly unaware that heâs invading your personal space. Heâs not even looking at you though, eyes zeroed in on the dryer you point to.
âItâs not heating up, so the clothes stay wet or take forever to dry,â you explain.
He grunts in acknowledgement, then nods to Rasputin, who has taken up residence on the washer. His one golden eye blinks slow and serene at the two of you.
âWhat happened?â he asks.
You hum, softening in pleasant surprise at the question.
âIâm not sure how he lost his eye. It was infected when I found him. But I know for sure the tail and leg are from getting hit by a car.â
You sigh, scratching at Rasputinâs chin. A rusty purr starts up as he tilts his head, revealing some nasty scars around his throat.
âThe vet said that thatâs probably from a fight with another cat,â you add.
Guy steps from your arms to cuddle up to Rasputin, shoving his face into his ragged ear. Grooming time, then. Thatâs as good an indication as any that Niktoâs probably safe enough.
âI ran down from an office building to save him.â You blink hard, eyes stinging just from the memory. âBut anyway, he gets to rest and be pampered now.â
When you glance up from Rasputinâs happy little face, you almost startle at the sharp blue eyes pinning you in place. Your face feels warm, even though youâre not embarrassed.
âIâll, um, get out of the way,â you say, clearing your throat. âKeep an eye on things, Ras.â
With the men occupied, you find yourself once again at loose ends. You drift towards the den, but it feels awkward to sit on your ass watching TV while your neighbors fix your house.
You check the time on your phone - ignoring the text from your mother - and figure itâs not too early to start dinner.
âWill I be in the way if I start cooking?â you ask Krueger.
He flicks you a dimissive glance. âA little thing like you?â
You scoff and cross to the fridge. âYou could have just said no.â
âNein,â he snorts.
Rude bastard, you think - though not without fondness, unfortunately. The surly attitude is already growing on you.
Thereâs meat and spare boxes of pasta and veggies - thatâll work. You start tugging out ingredients, mentally doubling portions for your guests. They look like they work out even beyond the construction labor, hopefully youâll have enough to satisfy their appetites.
âSo whatâs the plan with the house?â you ask as you get to work. âJust fixing it up to sell orâŚ?â
âWe will live there, the three of us,â Krueger answers. He swipes a screwdriver from Shitheadâs batting paws. âSomewhere to stay when we are not working.â
You hum, biting back the next obvious question, loathe to become as nosy as the rest of your neighbors. Still⌠getting to know people, right?
It sounds like they expect to travel a lot. You canât imagine them as business types - not in the traditional sense anyway. Though the image of Konig sitting in a tiny cubicle does make you smile a bit. Between their statures, their clothes, their shoes, and the occasional nasty scar, you take a guess.
âAre you guys military?â
âContractor,â Krueger corrects.
You perk up. âWait, really?â
He scowls. âDoes it sound like a joke?â
You huff and turn back to the veggies youâre cutting. âNo, no. I just - you know about guns and knives and things, then?â
He pauses. You shoot him a curious glance, only to quickly look away at the intense scrutiny directed your way.
âYes,â he answers slowly.
âThen⌠could you maybe answer some questionsâŚ?â
His eyes narrow. âQuestions?â
You keep your gaze on the cutting board. âOkay, wait, it's not suspicious. Iâm a writer and itâs hard to google very specific questions sometimes. Itâs just easier to ask an expert in person.â
Never mind that majority of your readers would never know the difference. It bothers you when things arenât accurate.
He makes a considering noise. âA writer?â
You flush. âThatâs what I do. Why Iâm always home? I publish fiction.â
He stands, brushing his hands off on his pants. You peek his way, shocked to see a task youâve been putting off for weeks already done. Hell, it looks sturdier than the rest of the cabinet doors, too.
âAnd your fiction requires knowledge of guns and knives and âthingsâ?â he asks.
Your face feels like itâs on fire. âSometimesâŚâ
âFine. I will answer your questions,â he allows.
You beam. âThank you!â
He grunts, snatches a slice of pepper and pops it into his mouth.
âWhat else needs doing?â
Dinner ends up much more pleasant than expected. Nikto abstains from eating, you assume because he doesnât feel comfortable removing his ever-present mask, but he sits at the table with Rasputin in his lap. He speaks little, and has that intense gaze that prickles at your freeze instinct, but you grow used to it as the meal progresses.
Konig, however, becomes chattier with food in his belly. Heâs much more forthcoming when he answers your polite and totally casual questions - though you notice Krueger kick him under the table once or twice.
You suppose he gets you back by effectively announcing to the others what your career is. Which just kicks off the usual line of questioning about how and why you got into writing. Still, thereâs no judgment from these men that make their living in labors of blood and sacrifice, where you expected censure. You only find genuine curiosity and intrigue, good-natured questions. Not even Krueger makes backhanded comments about it not being a ârealâ job.
Before you know it, the moon is high and youâre sending the three of them off, bellies full and a little friendlier than before. Nikto nods to you (and Rasputin) as he leaves, a big Tupperware of his dinner portion in hand.
You tell yourself itâs not anticipation that goes through you, knowing theyâll be back with it soon.
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Masterlist
#cod#my writing#fanfiction#reader fic#dark fic#cod krueger#sebastian krueger#konig#konig cod#cod nikto#polyamory#bad neighbours#men at work
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Yeah, it's not always a good thing...
#i spent a month ignoring a uti because it wasnt that bad#and i was used to treating chronic rather than acute conditions#chronic condition: if it hasnt existed for 6 months at least it doesnt exist#acute condition: likely to seriously fuck you up if you ignore it (depends on the thing obv but yeah don't ignore shit w your health)#and thats the story of how i ended up in the hospital for 4 days at sepsis risk!#i took the whole course of antibiotics for my uti#but apparently by the time i got the damn thing treated it was too late for the oral antibiotics to be fully effective#chronic illness#injury
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writing tips - sick/poisoning fics
so since you guys ate up the injury thing like holy fuck 1.5k notes in 24 hours??? hello?? I thought I'd do a semi-related one about sickness.
disclaimer because you guys thoroughly reminded me of this: medicine is fucking weird and everybody reacts differently. this is blanket statement information, not the mayo clinic. idc that 'oh my cousin had that disease and he didn't have that symptom' okay whatever like sorry but that's not the point of this post. this is just to eliminate egregious mistakes. I'm not looking into every possible way this illness will show up. chill your tits. the comments on the last post were just like. dude. chill.
aurkay so.
poison-related illness.
okay poisoning is such a cool concept and there are literally so many cool effects it can have. Idk why everyone goes with the holy trinity of hallucinations, fainting and nausea. like yeah those are good but there are so many other things???
like internal bleeding. literally the best. I love it. It's slow but hella deadly and sometimes people can't even feel it/don't know what's happening. that's such a great option for whump or some angst. like they didn't know until it was too late. gold.
also - some poisons are not dissolvable in food or drink. Like certain medicines, they lose effectiveness if digested instead of injected intravenously. obviously you don't have to know that but if you wanna get into it, do a lil bit of research. could bring up some intriguing scenarios.
infection or sepsis
yoooo. sepsis is lowkey terrifying. infections are similar to actual illness but are caused because of an unsanitary wound. lots of interesting symptoms to browse here:
fever, cramps, fainting, hallucinations, dehydration, delirium, nausea, sores, sepsis, organ failure and on and on and on.
infection happens so fast too. like forget to change a bandage once and boom it could be infected. (is that a whump opportunity I hear...?)
sepsis is like the point of no return pretty much. Unless you've got crazy medical technology, sepsis is really really bad. basically, it's when the body overreacts and starts to damage its own tissue. leading to organ failure and then eventually death. spooky.
regular illness
this just means like a virus or something. a key point of viruses is an elevated temperature and dehydration; the body's primary responses. burn the bug out and dehydrate it.
depending on the illness, symptoms will vary. respiratory infections or viruses involve congestion, coughing, sore throats, a rattly breathing sound, and productive coughing (phlegm and mucus). Stomach illnesses include cramps, nausea, dehydration, dizziness, low blood sugar, weight loss, and diarrhea. these can overlap but mostly those are the groupings.
with fevers come achy joints and sensitive skin. fever is inflammation, like mild swelling everywhere because of how intense the antibody reaction is.
dehydration sets in really quick. really bad dehydration induces dizziness, nausea, diarrhea, delirium, lethargy, and fainting. great motivation for a whumper to possibly restrict whumpee's water intake...?
just some prompts! kinda low energy today sorry I haven't been posting, xox
#writing help#writing advice#how to write#fiction writing#creative writing#on writing#writblr#writing tips#writer#sickfic#fever whump#sickfic prompts
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I cannot stress enough how dangerous KOSA is.
killing safe spaces endangers people's lives. many minors and people in marginalized groups losing online friends and spaces can and will kill many people's happiness and in the worst case, the will to live.
I personally keep going because of my online friends. I will lose them if KOSA passes.
this is the same case for many minors (and adults) online.
censoring sexual health will be terrible for many. if there are people out there having sex without knowing the proper safety precautions to take to prevent injury/illness, it will be massively horrific.
all outcry for a ceasefire in Palestine and activism will be censored to oblivion.
if there are people who live in unsafe households, they might never be able to find safety until they become adults, which is far too late.
KOSA is a sick attempt to make the internet a place where there are few ways to be safe.
stop KOSA. it will literally save fucking lives.
sign petitions to stop it. please. spread awareness.
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Evermore (18+)
⥠Pairing: Beast!Changbin x fem!Reader
⥠Genre: beauty and the beast inspired fantasy au, monster/human relationship, some angst, fluff, eventual smut, mutual pining, slow burnish?
⥠Word Count: 15.1k
⥠Summary: Desperate to flee an arranged marriage, you take your chances fleeing into the woods. The home of countless myths and legends, many in your village believe the forest to be enchanted, with all manner of dangerous creatures lurking within. You never took stock in such tales, much less in that of the most feared of them allâ âThe Beast.â But when you are saved from a pack of wolves by The Beast himself, you quickly realize that there is more truth to the fables you grew up on than you ever believed.Â
⥠Warnings: mention of an arranged marriage for reader, referenced misogyny, risk of death / near death experience, mild blood and injury, bin's appearance as the beast is based on minotaurs because i think it's sexy!, his height is never stated but i pictured him as ~10 feet tall while writing so :)
⥠Smut Warnings: monster fucking but make it Soft and Sweet, size difference, size kink, bin is touch-starved and feral for reader (but feral in a way that is somehow still soft?), handjob, oral (m + f rec), cum eating
⥠Notes: happy very late birthday to my sweet binnie <3 i wanted to get this out on his birthday but my life has been a mess tbh lmao but i'm back now and here's to loving changbin with my whole heart <3
⥠Disclaimer: please read responsibly, and remember that this work is fiction and meant strictly for imaginative fun. the idols used in fics are more accurately faceclaims and personality outlines for imaginary characters, and should not be interpreted as factual representations of existing people.
There were many things in your life you were willing to sacrifice for the sake of family.
Time, if they were in need or want of company. Money, whatever little you had, if they were in need of something they couldn't afford on their own. Your health, if they were sick and needed caring, even if giving them aid brought their illness upon you.
But the one thing you could not bring yourself to do was marry that terrible man.
They wanted you to marry a local hunter with some wealth, one who could provide for you and your family with his talents. He wasn't unpleasant to look at, and admittedly his wealth had appeal to families suffering from poverty, but you just couldn't get past his dreadful personality.
He was insufferably arrogant in his pride, and truly awful in his views towards women. He didn't want a wifeâ he wanted a maid; one he could lie with and have bear his children. His desire for such was clear every time you spoke with him.
You knew that he'd never see you as a partner, or an equal, or even love you. In his eyes, you were nary more than a pretty object for him to do with as he pleased. You didn't want that to be your life, refused to be a glorified servant to such a horrid person.
And so, in the dead of night on the eve of your wedding, you made your escape. Tiptoeing through your house as quietly and carefully as you could, you tucked away what little belongings you had and food your family could spare into a basket, and fled into the woods surrounding your village.
You veered off the beaten path, hoping that if you fled into the dense heart of the forest no one would risk trying to find you. Your village believed the woods to be inhabited by dangerous creaturesâ all manner of fae and magical beasts that would not hesitate to bring harm to lost humans.
All who left the village stuck strictly to the dirt paved roads, and even hunters didn't wander too far inside the woods. You didn't fear the creatures of fable, to be honest; you didn't even believe they existed. You were an avid reader, and enjoyed your share of fairy tales; you just found it hard to believe such creatures existed beyond the page.
It was risky and dangerous to flee into the woods at night, but not because of the stories of magic beasts and trickster fae; such things were the machinations of imaginative writers, and nothing more. Those who believed in them were simply overly superstitious, fearful of what could be instead of what is.
What you were scared of were the tangible, real threats that you knew very well existed. Wild animals, strange men, violent huntersâ those were the things lurking in the woods that people should really be scared of; not silly stories of fairies who lure unsuspecting villagers deeper into the forest.
Regardless of what is real and what isn't, one thing is for certainâ the forest is frightening to navigate at night. To ensure you remained undetected and hard to track, you forwent bringing a lantern with you, and having only the moonlight to guide you is both challenging and unnerving.
Even the smallest of noises puts you on edge, but you refuse to stop moving onward. You want to put as much distance between you and the village as you can before your family rises in the morning and notices you missing.
While you doubt many will be willing to follow your trail once they've put together that you've fled off the road and deep into the woods, you can't deny the possibility that someone may wish to try. Especially your arranged husband considering what a skilled hunter and tracker he is.
Still, you do need some restâ you've been walking through the densest parts of the forest for over an hour now, and you're more than a little tired; especially since you only got a few hours of sleep before setting off.
Just a short pause should be acceptable; you can rest against a tree, rummage through your basket for some of the food you tucked away to replenish your energy while giving your legs and feet the break they need.
It's nearly impossible to see inside your basket, so you simply feel for the food you want with your hand. It doesn't take you long to find the loaf of bread you packed inside, and you carefully tear off a piece to eat. You take a bite, and then another, but before you can take a third you hear a noise that makes you freeze.
The snapping of a branch, much louder than any previous forest sounds you heard, followed by a slight rustling of leaves. You look in the direction you heard the noise, met with the terrifying sight of a pair of glowing eyes looking straight at you.
Their low proximity to the ground tells you enough about the creature to make your blood run cold; and as it steps closer, and its silhouette becomes clearer, you realize what you thought was correct. Itâs a wolf. And by the way itâs sizing you up, you can guess itâs hungry.
To make matters worse, it soon becomes clear it isnât the only one as more glowing eyes emerge between the dark trees. You start running before you can even truly think, your body running purely on survival instinct, your basket dropped and forgotten behind you. The small amount of food inside is enough to draw the attention of some of them, but the rest ignore it to give chase.
You flee with all your strength, doing your best not to stumble and fall over protruding tree roots or your own feet. You keep your eyes forward as you do, worrying that looking over your shoulder to see the wolves close behind will only worsen your efforts to get away.Â
Your lungs ache, your feet hurt, your dress torn in multiple places from snagging on branchesâ but still, you canât stop running. The wolves are faster than you, theyâll catch you eventually, you know it; but the desperation and adrenaline coursing through your veins keeps you going beyond your limits.Â
Your legs will give out before long, you'll falter and lose speed, it's inevitable; but you will yourself to keep going for as long as you can despite it. Realistically, your only hope for survival is the wolves losing interest before you grow too tired to continue. But is that even a possibility?
Maybe you should climb a tree? Can wolves climb? No, more importantly, can you? Itâs over for you if you misstep or lose your strength during the climb upâ falling would assuredly be the end of you.Â
Still, maybe itâs worth the risk. You canât run forever, and itâs unlikely the wolves will give up the chaseâ better to try and fail than to not try at all, right? If you are to face death tonight, you wish to do so knowing that you tried everything you possibly could to escape it.
You scan your surroundings the best you can whilst running, looking for a tree with a branch low enough to the ground for you to feasibly reach and start your climb. It's a difficult task, the images before you as you run a dark blur; but eventually, you spot a branch you think will be suitable enough.
As you turn your body to reach out for it, one of the wolves lunges towards you, salivating jaws snapping at you. The wolf narrowly misses, instead biting through your dress and tearing a significant chunk of the fabric off, exposing your leg up to your thigh.
You let out an involuntary shriek at the sound of the fabric ripping in the wolfâs jaws, the knowledge that it easily couldâve been your leg chilling you to the bone. Youâre terrified, but you canât let yourself freeze upâ it missed, and now is your best chance to get up the tree before it can try to bite you again, or the other wolves catch up with you.
You grab the branch, placing your foot on the trunk of the tree as you ready yourself to pull up your weight, but as you do youâre met with a sound that sinks your heart to the very pit of your stomach. The branch isnât as sturdy as you hoped; it creaks and splinters as you pull, and it quickly becomes clear that should you attempt to pull your entire weight up with it, it will snap entirely.
So this is it, you think as you turn around to meet the gaze of the snarling wolf. You take a small step back, and then another, until your back is against the tree you hoped to climb. More wolves soon approach, and you know youâre cornered now. Thereâs nowhere else for you to go, nothing else you can think to try; your fate is sealed.
You try to make peace with it in these last moments you have; this isnât how you imagined your life would someday end, but you knew the risks when it came to entering the woods. While you hoped differently, this was always a possibility. You were desperate, and you made your choice; and though the outcome is unfortunate, you donât want to regret making the decision that brought you here.
As the wolves begin to fully encircle you, there is a loud thump in the distance that draws their attention away from you. The sound rings out again, and then again, and as it draws closer, you realize the ground is shaking, a cacophony of twigs and dried leaves snapping with each thump. Certainly youâre mistaken, but it sounds reminiscent of walking..
Thatâs impossible, isnât it? The creature in question would have to be massive to cause the earth to shake around you this much, and to snap so many branches with each step. That simply canât be realityâ thereâs no way something that big lives in the forest; giants and the like are nothing but fairy tales!
Still, the thumps continue to grow louder as whatever is causing the sounds draw closer, and youâre certain that if you werenât already against a tree, you wouldâve fallen over from how intensely the ground shakes. Some wolves whimper and flee with their tails between their legs, while the more ferocious of the pack stand their ground against whatever it is that approaches.
Its shadowy silhouette soon becomes visible through the trees, the forest floor shaking violently as it comes more clearly into view. You canât tell what it is, but it's bigâ impossibly so. Itâs too dark to make out features, and its height obscures the moonlight that was previously shining on you. The only thing you can make out through the shadow is.. Horns?
Unconsciously, you suck in a breath; itâs The Beast, you realize as it takes another hulking step towards you and the ravenous wolves. Half man, half monster, violent and aggressive, with an appetite for any foolish enough to wander into its territory. With horns and hooves, it easily towers over even the tallest of human men.
Heâs the creature those living in your village fear the most, the subject of many cautionary tales told to children, the conjurer of countless hunter's nightmares. You never believed itâ and it is only now that you think maybe you shouldâve. Maybe if you had, you wouldnât have been so reckless in your escape from home.
You wonder which fate is worse; to be eaten by wolves, or eaten by The Beast. You wish you could run while the wolves are distracted, but your legs are frozen; whether from exhaustion or terror, you arenât sure. Regardless, you stand there trembling and helpless, watching as it easily shoves the wolves aside.
They bite and scratch at The Beast, but it makes no discernable sound of pain. Seemingly unphased, it (or he?) reaches out for you, lifting you from the ground with ease, as if you weigh little more than a feather. You sob as it does, squeezing your eyes shut as you anticipate the pain to follow.
But the pain never comes. Slowly, you open one eye to peek at The Beast; it isnât looking at you, but simply straight ahead as it resumes walking. He continues to shove off the wolves that attack, and as the animals realize it is futile to stop or slow him, they slowly but surely give up and retreat back to whence they came.
He mustâve made a turn before you opened your eyes, because the moon is no longer obscured by his size, and now illuminates the creatureâs face clearly. His face is mostly that of a manâs, with the exception of his nose.Â
His nose is a rich brown bespeckled in pink, you can just barely tell, and its shape reminds you of the cattle that farmers own back in your village. You notice that his ears are bovine too, and fluffy in appearance. Brown in color, you think, or maybe black; itâs too dark to tell for certain.
The Beast looks down at you as if it can feel you observing him, and when he does, you can feel his breath envelop your body. Its smell is.. pleasant? Surprisingly so; like mixed berries, with a hint of tea leaves.
You expected something worse, given the tales; shouldnât he smell like blood, or flesh? Even when his breath leaves you, you donât detect anything remotely foul coming from him. In fact, his body smells unexpectedly clean.
âSafe now,â The Beast speaks, and you blink in surprise. You hadnât expected him to be capable of speech, though you suppose it makes sense if heâs half man. It sounds like heâs trying to whisper, but his voice still comes out quite loud regardless; consequence of his size, you imagine.Â
But waitâ does he mean you? Youâre safe now? It occurs to you then that heâs holding you gently in his large arms. He isnât squeezing you, constricting your movement, or trying to hurt you in any way; heâs simply carrying you. But to where? Though youâre apparently safe, thereâs still a part of you that fears you wonât be for long.
Itâs likely that as a half man he has some measure of human intelligence, and itâs very possible this apparent kindness is part of a ploy to make eating you easier. Get you to his den, build trust with you so you donât run, all so he can relish in devouring you later.
Regardless, youâre too exhausted to do anything right now. Fatigue has settled in you now that the adrenaline has run its course through your body. You wouldnât be able to run in this state, nor be able to fight him offâ not that you think you could anyways, but especially not like this.Â
Your body falls limp, your eyes heavy, weary. As you close them, all you can do is hope that The Beast doesnât toy with you in the end. If you wake before he decides to eat you, your wish is that he makes your death swift and painless. Thatâs all you can ask for as you lose consciousness.
When you blink awake, the first thing you register is that youâre in a bedâ a large one at that. Itâs comfortable, plush, and warm, if not a tad dusty. The blanket that covers you too is warm, and you realize as you continue to blink away the grogginess that youâre staring up at a darkly colored canopyâ a deep purple.
Turning your head to the left, you see stained glass windows with a design of red roses filtering in small amounts of sunlight through worn, tattered drapes. On the right side lies the door to the room youâre in, wooden and carved with a motif of roses identical in design to the one on the windows.
How did you get here? You stare back up at the canopy, trying to recall what happened last night. You were walking for what felt like ages, you got tired and stopped to eat.. Wolves found you, you were running, and then.. The Beast!Â
You sit up quickly as the memory hits you, and take a panicked look around the room. He isnât here, you realize after a moment, and your brows furrow in confusion. Did someone else stumble upon you and save you from The Beast? That must be itâ thereâs no way the dreaded beast of the forest brought you here.
The entire room is covered in a thin layer of dust, though itâs clear that someone made an effort to clean it recently. For your sake, you wonder? Removing the blanket and looking down, you can see youâre still in your torn clothes from the night before. You rise from the bed carefully, your legs still aching from the events prior to waking up here, and take another, more in depth look around the room youâre in.
Itâs a rather empty room, with just a few pieces of furniture strewn about, and a fireplace sitting in the center of the wall opposite the bed you were sleeping in. In one of the corners of the room sits a large wardrobe, and next to it a chair with a dress laid atop it that you assume has been placed there for you to change into.Â
You walk over to the chair and take the dress into your hands, and it does seem like itâll fit well enough when you hold it up to your body. It feels to be made of silk, and while not necessarily lavish, it is much fancier than any of the dresses you could get back home.
You consider for a moment if itâs really okay to change into, but ultimately conclude that it was laid out with a purpose, and you should accept the kindness. Besides, you donât think remaining in your now tattered dress would do you any good.
You change quickly despite the ache remaining in your limbs, and unsure of what exactly to do with your old clothes, you opt for placing them on the same chair you grabbed the new dress from. Afterwards, you step to the rose-carved door, and slowly pull it open to peek out.
Youâre not sure if leaving the room is a good idea, but thereâs no one in the hall to instruct you otherwise, and youâre admittedly starving. You hope you can find a kitchen, or the person who kindly saved you so you can thank them and ask them for a meal.
The door opens to a long hallway, lined with lattice windows and rusty knight statues. Wall sconces take up the spaces between the windows, though many are missing the candles meant to reside in them.Â
Artwork lines the opposite wall, decorating the spaces between what you assume to be other bedroom doors. Some are askew and others perfectly straight, but all are old and worn. Landscapes, still life, portraitsâ regardless of type, the paint on each and every one has dulled and chipped, with a layer of dust atop them.
Continuing down the hall past the several closed doors, you come to a set of stairs leading down. Following it down leads to another long hall, though this one is quite different. Multiple chandeliers hang from the ceiling, evenly spaced apart in a line. There are vases and statues of various types; human, gargoyle, angelâ some few perfectly intact, but many broken in some way, often missing entire limbs.
There are no windows, and the walls are not painted like in the previous hall, but appear to be carved of stone, with each vase and statue nestled between expertly carved columns. There are only two doors in this hallâ one in the center of each wall. Both doors are locked when you try them, and so you move on down the hall, eventually finding yet another set of stairs leading down.Â
They bring you to what appears to be a grand entryway. Across from you is an identical set of stairs leading to what is likely a similarly structured wing of the castle you appear to be in. To the left, between both sets of stairs, is a large door that nearly touches the ceiling, and to the right a large open hall with what you think are the doors leading outside at the very end of it.
Simply leaving would be tempting if you werenât in dire need of a meal, or entirely unsure of where exactly you are. You can tell the castle youâre in is quite old given the state of things, but you canât think of any such old, worn down castles youâve heard tale of. All the castles you know of are well occupied by royalty; none, as far as youâre aware, have been left to fall to dust and ruin like this. Â
Itâs terribly confusing, and if you donât find a kitchen soon, you at least hope youâll find someone kind and willing to provide you answers. Forgoing the large door that youâre pretty sure leads to a ballroom, as well as the opposite staircase youâre confident will lead to a hall identical to the one you were just in, you step right, to the entry hall.
There are a few doors on each side, and to your relief, one of them is labeled âDining Hall.â A dining hall has to lead to a kitchen! Eagerly, you pull open the door, and as you do, you gasp when you realize The Beast himself is standing next to the dining table.
Heâs looking straight at you, ears flickering in response to the sound of your gasp. You canât help but freeze, having convinced yourself that it was impossible for him to be here, for him to have been the one to bring you here. Youâre too stunned to moveâ everything in you was expended when fleeing the wolves, and now all you can do is stand before him.
You can see him much better now than you could last night, his every feature clearly defined by the sunlight filtering in through the dining hallâs large windows. His hair is curlier than you realized, and deeply brown, as are his bovine ears. His cheeks are round, his lips pouty and entirely human in shape.
You can also now see clearly just how broad he isâ and strong. His torso, while decidedly man, is still much larger than a regular manâs could ever be. His pecs and arms are muscular and well defined, while his stomach appears to be soft, and maybe a little squishy, with a dark patch of fur trailing down beneath his belly button.Â
He is in no way similar to a man beneath that point. The Beast has the legs reminiscent of a bull, every inch covered in thick, dark fur down to his hooves. His legs are much thicker than any youâve ever seen, human or otherwise; you can only conclude this is because he is as strong in his legs as he is in his arms.
Lastly, is a tail swishing leisurely from side to side behind him. You can just barely see it when heâs facing you, but the glimpses you get of it further reminds you of cattle. Long and thin, with a large amount of fur at the tip of it. Part of you wonders if his fur is as soft as it looksâ you didnât feel it last night to know.
Parts of his arms are messily bandaged, bits of red tainting the otherwise white fabricâ blood, you conclude, from when the wolves attacked him. Heâs wearing a cape, the same shade of deep purple as the canopy that hung over the bed you woke up in, clasped around his collar bone with a golden buckle. The buckle, similar to the doors and some of the stained glass windows, is beholden with the image of a rose.Â
It feels wrong to think so, but heâs attractiveâ were he a purely human man, youâre certain many village girls would swoon for him.
âYouâre awake,â he smiles for a moment, clearly human teeth showing for a split second before he stops and timidly breaks direct eye contact. âI wanted to help with torn dress but couldnât. Hands too big,â he continues, showing his hands to you to further prove his pointâ not that you need him to.Â
âI picked a new one for you instead, glad you found it. Glad youâre wearing it,â he says, and youâre still too surprised to even speak in turn. âLooks.. Nice?â he says with an unsure tilt of the head. It seems as if he wants to compliment you, but is unsure in his word choice. He looks contemplative for a moment, as if mulling over if thereâs a better word he couldâve used.Â
You get the impression he isnât used to interacting with humans. You yourself arenât used to interacting with beasts.
âI wanted to bring you food. You must be hungry! But I donât know everything humans like to eat..â he muses as he turns his attention back to the dining table, where you now realize an abundance of food is laid out. Nice food.Â
Fruit platters, veggie trays, fine meats.. He has it all. If you werenât already in awe of The Beast, this alone would floor you, because all this food would cost a fortune in your village unless you grew it and hunted for it yourself.
âThis is for me..?â you finally find your voice and manage to ask. He nods and waves his hand, beckoning you to approach the table. Cautiously, you do, still in awe of it all.
Tentatively, you stand next to him before the dining room table, taking a nervous glance up towards him. You knew very well he was big and tall, but your difference in height is positively dizzying up close.
Your own stature barely even exceeds past his waist; if you were to look at him straight on, your eyes would be level with his belly button. His hands are bigger than your head, his legs thicker than your entire body. Itâs as amazing as it is frighteningâ how can a creature this big even exist? You swallow, trying not to think about his size as you turn your attention back to the food.
âHow did you get all this?â you manage to ask him; you canât imagine someone as huge as him going out to collect fruits and vegetablesâ you imagine heâs much too big to be able to do so without struggling.
âI trade with friends of the forest. Little winged ones love shiny, sparkly things. They give me food in exchange,â he answers as if itâs the most normal thing in the world. Well, for him, it is normal. But you canât imagine this big, burly man-beast trading with fairies. Youâre hardly even ready to accept heâs real, much less that fairies are!
Itâs all too much to wrap your head around. Maybe you should just eatâ maybe everything will start to make more sense once your stomach is full. You hope.
You find a bare plate on the table, and pick it up to start loading food onto. The Beast watches you, seemingly happy that youâre choosing to eat the food he has out on the table. Once satisfied, you take a seat, giving him one last cursory glance before focusing on the meal in front of you.
âArenât you going to eat too? This is a lot of food,â you inquire as you start to nibble on the fruit you picked out. âWanted to make sure you got enough,â he replies, "You had a bad night, used a lot of energy. Need to have enough food to recover."
You canât believe how seemingly nice, considerate, and intelligent The Beast is. Not only is he real, but he seems to be genuinely kind and caring. The stories paint him as violent, ferocious, ravenously blood-thirsty.. But the creature in front of you seems so far removed from those things.
âWhatâs your name?â you ask him, and he seems surprised for a moment. He must not have been expecting you to ask. âLittle winged ones call me Changbin,â he answers. You repeat it back to him, and he smiles just a little as he nods his head. âYour name?â he asks after, and he repeats it to himself after you offer it, just the same as you did with his.
âDo you live here?â is your next question, and he nods once more. âAlone?â you follow up, and again he nods. Itâs clear that Changbin isnât the castle's original inhabitant, and you wonder how long it lay abandoned before he claimed it as his home.
Of course, he couldâve killed the owners to take it, but the more you speak with him, you simply canât imagine him being so cold blooded. He seems too⌠sweet.
A more pressing questionâ where are you exactly? Youâre certain youâre still within the bounds of the forest, as you saw nothing but trees every time you looked out a window. But if thatâs the case, how has an entire castle gone unnoticed? Castles arenât exactly smallâ surely you and the other villagers wouldâve seen it poking through the top of the trees.
Was it the magic that people believed the forest to hold that left it obscured? Or was it so deep in the forest, with the trees that surround it so tall and dense that even spying it from a distance was impossible? No matter the truth, the simple fact remains that there is much more to the forest than you ever thought, and itâs a lot to digest all at once.
âWhy did you save me?â you decide to ask him instead of trying to unravel the mysteries and secrets of the forest. âYou needed help,â he answers easily, âhumans fear me, but I always try to help.âÂ
Itâs easy to imagine his words true. A human like you, perhaps a hunter accidentally straying too far into the forest. They find themselves lost, hurt, or in trouble, and Changbin finds them.
He tries to help, but in their terror, they flee further into danger, get themselves more lost, strain an already injured leg.. And the ones who make it back tell a terrifying tale of The Beast in the forest who wished to devour them when all he actually wanted to do was help them. Itâs a bit sad to consider in all honesty.Â
âWhen you're feeling better, do you want to go back home?â he asks once youâve finished your meal, and it takes you by surprise. âIâd help you. Take you as far as I could. Help you find path."
Heâd really help you get home..? Just like that? You begin to feel bad that even after he rescued you, gave you a warm place to sleep, a new change of clothes and a meal, there was still a part deep inside you that feared what his intentions with you could be.
âNo,â you answer after a moment, âI was in the forest trying to get away from home. My life there.. It wouldnât be good if I went back.âÂ
âThen.. you stay? Iâll help you. Protect you,â Changbin offers, a faint smile appearing on his lips when you nod.
âIâll stay,â you affirm. Itâll be strange at first, youâre sure, living in a castle in the middle of the apparently enchanted woods with The Beast your village fears so much. But youâd rather live here, with a physical beast, rather than back home, with the metaphorical one youâd be forced to call âhusband.â
Living with The Beast, Changbin, is surprisingly pleasant. It was easier than you expected it to be; almost natural.
On your first official night in the abandoned castle he made his home, he gave you a tour. What was intended to be a tour of strictly the important rooms youâd be expected to frequent turned into a several hour long walkthrough of the entire estate. He took you through the kitchen, the bathrooms, the study, the drawing room, the library, the watchtowerâ everything.
You could tell which rooms he frequented most by how dusty they were. If there was very little dust, you concluded that he was there often. If there was a large accumulation of it, he stayed out of it.
The watchtower was one of the rooms he liked to be in the most, often finding himself surveying the forest from it. That's how he saw you fleeing the wolvesâ and the moment he did, he descended the tower in a rush, hoping to get to you before any harm would befall you.
Additionally, you learned that his bedroom is in the opposite wing of yours. Changbin said he purposely chose the room furthest from his own to put you in because he thought youâd be more comfortable that way if you chose to stay for a while. Heâs used to humans fearing him, and he wanted to give you whatever distance youâd need to feel safe during your time here.
Truthfully, you stopped being scared of him very quickly. If there was anyone the term âgentle giantâ suited, it was assuredly Changbin. He always stepped through the castle carefully, doing his best not to shake the ground too hard and risk shattering glass or knocking over vulnerable statues and vases.Â
He knew his voice was booming, so he always tried to speak softly. It was still loud, of course, but you knew it could be much louder if he allowed himself to project it fully. When he handled porcelain or other breakables, he would move his hands so slowly and carefully that youâd think he was holding a newborn baby.
Changbin would often stare at you quietly when you were in the same room, assumedly out of curiosity. Heâd never gotten the chance to share a space with a human, or to observe them up close for such great lengths of time; it made you wonder what he must think of you.Â
You wondered if there was anything he assumed a human would be that didnât prove true, similar to how wrong you were about him. You always noticed his staring, and oftentimes when you decided to return his gaze, heâd quickly turn away.
Did he have the gut human instinct to look away when eye contact becomes too intense or prolonged? Was he simply shy? Both?
Sometimes he would smile before he looked away, the faintest peek of a dimple showing on his cheek before darting his eyes elsewhere. Sometimes his cheeks would dust over a soft pink, and other times, on the rare moments he let himself smile more fully, the bridge of his nose would scrunch up similarly to a humans.
Was it strange to say you found such moments cute? He was oddly endearing in the way he went about life, in his mannerisms and complexities. And admittedly, youâd stare at him the same way he stared at you when his attention was elsewhere.
At first, you justified it to yourself by saying you couldnât help itâ you discovered a magical creature that you always thought was nothing more than a story is real. How could you not stare at him? But lately, you werenât so sure thatâs all there was to it.
Changbin was many things outside of being The Beast. He was warm, soft, and sincere. Caring, considerate, and careful. He was.. Attractive. Handsome. Cute. Words you never thought youâd use to describe a creature with protruding horns and other inhuman features. And with each season passed inside the castle together, the more you grew fond of him.Â
You spent many afternoons together in the library. You were surprised to learn he could read; something that perhaps shouldnât have been surprising in hindsight, given his capability of speech, but it still shocked you. The ability to read wasnât something necessary to his everyday life, but he liked doing it to pass time, or ease the loneliness of living alone.
All the books in the castleâs library were dated, easily hundreds of years old; it was clear that every single book was one left behind by the previous inhabitants, and not a single new book had entered the library since. Their age didnât make them any less enjoyable however, and in fact you found it exciting to have so many stories youâd never heard of before to dive into.Â
Watching Changbin read was a treat within itself. Even the thickest of novels looked comically small in his large hands, and turning pages was always a struggle for him. You couldnât help but giggle watching him try to turn a single page with his finger, only to instead turn several. There were many times you took it upon yourself to help him once your giggling subsided.Â
Given his size, heâd often have to sit in a hunched position, or hold books up quite close to his face to read them. And the wordsâ they mustâve looked so tiny to him; you were certain it was a strain. Then add his struggle to turn pages on top of it..
While it was cute to watch him pout after he turned way too many pages at once, you also didnât want to just sit idly by if he was having a hard time. Especially not when you were more than capable of assisting him.
He was surprised when you first offered to help him read, curiously tilting his head as he watched you close the book you were reading to walk over to him. Changbin often sat on the floor, much too big and heavy to sit in the castleâs arm chairs or sofas. His place on the floor made it easy for you to climb up his leg, and sit on his thigh.Â
âI could turn the pages for you,â you explained, reaching over to the book lying in his hands to demonstrate how easy it is for you to turn the pages one at a time. âOr read them to you, should your eyes grow tired from looking at the tiny words,â you said.Â
You remember his smile clearly; how sweet it was, and the way his nose cutely scrunched as his smile grew the biggest youâd seen it. He seemed really thankful; he didnât say it, but you think it meant a lot to him that you were showing him kindness.
Thatâs how you fell into a comfortable routine. At least a few afternoons a week, youâd sit somewhere on Changbinâs body; one of his thighs if you were reading the book to him, or his forearm if you were turning the pages for him. Sometimes his shoulder too, if a book needed to be held especially close to his face for him to be able to read the words written.
When the sun would set, and candles needed to be lit, you often sat on his shoulder as he moved about the room, helping him light them. Heâd always help you up carefully, offering one of his large hands as support, or carefully wrap his fingers around you to lift you up to his shoulder. He wouldnât move an inch or take a single step until he was certain you were steady and comfortable.
Youâd always get sleepy after that. The moon through the windows, the soft candle light, the sound of turning pages as the wood in the libraryâs fireplace crackled, the warmth Changbin exuded.. It was just so comfortable; especially if you were sitting on his thigh.
His fur was like a blanket, his broad, soft torso like a warm pillow. And sometimes, when you relaxed all the way against him, you could hear his heart rhythmically beating. It wasnât uncommon for you to fall asleep, and every time you did, Changbin would carry you back to your room.
He would carefully cradle you in his arms, and youâd unconsciously curl into him as he rose up from the ground to carry you to bed. The doors of the castle, while larger than any typical door, were still too small to accommodate his size.Â
Heâd have to duck through them while also minding his horns, your body pressing to his chest as he hunched his body to step through them. If you were awake enough to feel it, you never minded it. If you were being honest, you liked it. You liked the warmth when he held you, liked feeling his chest against you, liked hearing the thumping of his heart.
Sometimes, you were tempted to ask him to stay with you, or to ask him to take you to his room. Changbin was just so comfortable and warmâ having him next to you all night just sounded like itâd be so pleasant. Safe too; you always felt safe in his presence.
The following mornings, youâd stare up at your canopy and wonder if such thoughts were okay to have. Changbin was a manâ an inhuman man, but a man all the same. And it was in these moments, alone in your room and fresh from sleep, contemplating where you are and the life you lead now that you realize you are more than just fond of Changbin.Â
You knew you would never leave the castle, but it wasnât just because your best chance at survival and protection was here. It was because the thought of leaving him behind made your heart squeeze painfully in your chest. You didnât like contemplating what a life without him in it would look like.Â
And it was almost funny how despite being a beast, Changbin was the kindest man youâd ever known. Complicated as it may be, you think you love him more than you should. You want him more than you should.
Itâd hit you when you shared meals, and heâd watch you with his impossibly dark, warm eyes. His attentive stare made you warmâ too warm. Youâd swallow, try to focus on anything other than his full lips, or the swell of his chest, or the flex of his arms when he reached out to grab a piece of meat.Â
It'd hit you when you watched him split wood for the fireplaces with his bare hands. Your heart would swell when you'd step out to the gardens, and he'd carefully maneuver so as to not crush the growing flowers. From innocent, sweet love to deepest, carnal desire, and then back again, your thoughts of Changbin were like a pendulum.
Itâd even hit you in the moments of comfortable silence, when ease settled over you both at day's end. When youâd tentatively steal glances at each other until your eyes accidentally meet, and you both look away, bashful and unsure.Â
Youâd feel it creeping on you, warming your body exponentially until you felt feverish with desire to be closer to him. Even alone, in bed or in the bath, your thoughts would linger on him. Innocent thoughts and curiosities about how it'd be for him to kiss and hold you quickly give way to perversionâ impure thoughts you really, really think you shouldnât be having.Â
You needed to get yourself together. Thereâs no way an intimate relationship is feasible between youâ you shouldnât even be entertaining the thought. But God, you canât stop your mind from going there. Even just watching him lick his lips and fingers clean after he finishes eating is enough to get your heart racing these days.
Every day, you desperately try to ignore it.
Itâs easier on the days you venture outside the castleâs familiar walls. Warm, sunny days, where you explore the forest from the safety of Changbinâs broad shoulder. He showed you so many things youâd never seen before, things you never thought were real.
Fairy villages, magic healing ponds, meadows of enchanted flowers. His fairy friends were excited to meet you, and similar to Changbin himself, you realized they were much kinder than tales would lead you to believe.Â
They were tricksters, yes; many were fond of a good prank. But really, they just wanted to have fun, and there was no inherent harm in that. (Though Changbin did advise you to speak carefully, lest you accidentally end up in a fae pact heâd have no way to help you out of.)
You watched Changbin trade with them too. A few beads from a broken necklace or marbles from a forgotten childâs playset he found within the castle you called home was all he needed to provide to receive bushels of their freshly grown fruits and vegetables.
If you returned back to the castle with a good chunk of daylight left, youâd spend them together in the castleâs flower garden. It was overgrown, and sometimes hard to navigate, but you always enjoyed your time there. Changbin would always set you down to the ground carefully, letting you roam the garden at your leisure while he picked a sunny spot in the grass to relax in.
You got the idea to make him a flower crown once. It was something you and other village girls enjoyed doing, and it was common to give them to people you cared for. It was simple, but you thought itâd be a good way to show your appreciation to Changbin for all the ways he helped you since the day you met him.Â
You wondered, as you went around the garden picking flowers, if he had ever received a gift before. Apart from his dealings with the fairies, he lived a very isolated life before he met you. And while the fairies were his friends to some extent, you couldnât imagine them giving something away without receiving something in return.Â
You suppose you just wanted him to have the feeling of joy that comes with a gift. The warm feeling that settles in your chest when you realize someone was thinking of you, the delight that seeps inside you when you see the effort they made to give you a visual representation of how much they care for you. You were thinking that Changbin deserves to have that feeling.
When you were done collecting what felt like dozens of flowers, you sat yourself in the sunny grass clearing next to Changbin. He was lying flat on his back, the sun highlighting his face beautifully. His eyes were closed, and the soft snores (for his size, anyways), told you heâd fallen asleep.Â
You observed him for a moment, smiling to yourself over how soft and cute his features looked whilst sleeping before you got to work on the flower crown. It took quite some time considering you had to make it much larger than you typically would. Changbin eventually stirred awake and sat up, watching you work curiously but ultimately saying nothing as he observedâ he didnât want to distract you.
âFinally! All done!â you exclaimed after threading the final of the flowers you picked together, and Changbin did his usual inquisitive tilt of the head. âItâs pretty. What is it for?â he asked, watching as you rise to your feet with your creation in hand. âItâs a flower crown,â you answer as you hold it out to him to accept, âfor you.âÂ
He simply blinked in response, saying nothing as he processed the information. It may not have been the first time heâd ever been given a gift by another, but it was certainly the first one heâd ever received from a human. You didnât intend to let it be the last, either. âCrown?â he finally asked after a moment, âI wear it?â
âMhm! Like this,â you said as you held the crown around your head to try to show him what you meant. âItâs too big for my head since I made it for you, but.. Here, let me put it on you!â You hooked the flower crown you made gently around your arm after you spoke, and grabbed at one of his hands.
Changbin understood what you wanted him to do, and so he lowered his hands to the ground so that you could step onto them. You sat on your knees whilst in his hands, finding it much easier to keep your balance that way as opposed to standing; and then, as he had many times before, he lifted you carefully up.
You instructed him to tilt his head towards you, and he did without question. It occurred to you then that maybe you underestimated how big you needed to make the flower crown.
The one you made was definitely bigâ too big for a human head, that was for sure. Still, Changbin is at least double the size of every man in your village, and he has horns. Realizing there was no way to make it sit around his head the way it's intended to, you opted for simply placing it on his head between his horns, and letting it rest there.
You smiled at him when he lifted his head, and told him what you truly thoughtâ that he looked cute. âReally?â he questioned, surprised to be considered such. There have been many words by humans and his little winged friends used to describe him, and âcuteâ wasnât usually among them.
You watched him as he processed his thoughts, another few moments passing before he moved his hands to one of his shoulders, urging you to get on. You did, clinging to his cape tightly when he moved faster than you expected him to. Changbin was always patient and careful when you were on him, always moving slowlyâ you hadnât anticipated the sudden change in the slightest.Â
You were a little confused, unsure of what his sudden rush to leave the gardens was, but it quickly became clear; he was looking for somewhere to see his reflection. He tried the fountain first, but when he realized he couldnât see himself clearly enough in the water, he made his way back to the castle.
The entry doors to the castle were tall and wide enough that he didnât have to hunch or awkwardly step through them, but he still moved carefully through it. Despite his rush to see himself, he still wasnât walking as fast as you both knew he could.
He was trying his best not to break the glass and porcelain inside nearby cabinets with his steps, though he was still moving quick enough that the castleâs floor shook as he continued through the entry hall. His desire to be careful even whilst in a rush was endearing; it brought a smile to your face.
The ballroom was Changbinâs ultimate destination. It had a large mirror, floor to ceiling, encompassing a substantial chunk of the wall opposite the windows. It was the only room in the entire castle that had a mirror large enough for him to see his entire reflection with, from the tips of his horns all the way down to his hooved feet.
His eyes changed when he first saw his reflectionâ so fast that you wouldâve missed it if youâd blinked. He got up close to the mirror, examining himself with the flower crown you made for him resting between his horns, and truly, he looked happy.
You chose the colors of the flowers well, each one meant to compliment the deep brown of his hair. Soft yellows, vibrant blues, and light, pretty pinksâ each selection, in your eye, was perfect. You were relieved that Changbin seemed to agree.
He wasnât just looking at the flowers atop his head in the reflection though; he was also looking at you. Sat there on his shoulder, looking at him with more kindness than heâd ever felt from anyone. Your eyes met through the reflection, and he could feel his heart starting to beat fasterâ he wondered if you could feel it too, with your legs dangling over his chest.
Heâd never felt this way before, and didnât know what to do with himself. He knew from his books that humans give gifts to people they care about, and for many reasons. Kindness, appreciation, love.. What was your reason? He found himself hoping it was all of them. He hoped you cared about him as much as he cares about you.
âThank you,â Changbin said, realizing that he shouldâve done so from the start. He thought maybe he should read more books on human manners and improve himself. He hoped he didnât seem inappreciative by taking so long to thank you for doing something kind for him. His worries melted away when you smiled at him again though, sincere and sweet as always.
âYouâre welcome! Youâve always done so much to help me, I wanted to thank you somehow,â you explain. Changbin didnât think you needed to thank him for anything. No matter who it was out in the forest that night, he wouldâve helped them. Heâd have let them stay in his home, fed them, and made sure they were well.
But heâs glad it was you; he doesnât think he could envision the castle without you in it anymore. There may come a day when you grow tired of Changbin being your only companion, and of your daily life in the castle. On that day, you may wish to return to human society, even if your return isnât to the village you grew up in.Â
Heâd let you go if you wanted to; heâd never, never force you to stay. But he hopes you stay. He hopes that youâll always be here with him.
âBut thatâs not the only reason I made it,â you continued, finding a moment of bravery to be a bit vulnerable with your feelings. Changbin watched your expression change in the mirror, your brightness replaced by something more timid as you twiddled your thumbs.
Apart from your tentative first nights here when you were still getting comfortable with his presence, you always met his gaze head on while talking. This was the first time since then that you hesitated to look him in the eye whilst speaking to him, even if it was just eye contact through the ballroom mirror. He found it curious; he wondered if he should be worried.
âThe girls in my village also like to make these for people we care about. I wanted you to know that too. That I care about you,â you told him. It felt incredibly nerve wracking to say it aloud, though you didn't think he'd pick up on the underlying romantic sentiment that village girls usually tied to their gifted flower crowns.
Honestly, it was okay if he didnât recognize how much you like him. Perhaps in some ways it was better if he didnât; because you are a small human, and Changbin is so much more than that.
Difference in anatomy aside, you donât think humans and beasts are supposed to have deep feelings for one another. Friendship was fine, you thought, but love? You just werenât sure that was a line you should cross.
Still, regardless of whether or not such feelings towards him were okay to have, they were already there. Before that day, you thought you loved him; but seeing him look at you, pink in the cheeks and happy, with the flower crown on his head that you made him, you knew for certain.
You love him. And watching the concern melt away and turn to joy when you told him you care about him was more than enough to tell you how deeply you adore him.
You decided to leave the moment with one last, small gesture. You leaned over, and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. It was a simple, innocent sign of affection, but his heart stuttered all the same, as did yours.
âI care about you too,â heâd said with his usual soft, timid smile when you looked at him again, the pink on his cheeks deepening, "very much.â
Laying awake as you are now, recalling your memories with Changbin, you yearn for him even more. You want him beyond friendship, foolish and impossible as it may be. You want to tell him you love him, to kiss him, to lie with him at night and feel his warmth envelope you all over.Â
You want to touch him, want him to touch you, want to straddle as much of his waist as you can as he lies beneath you, andâ God, enough, you huff to yourself. You roll over, bury your head in your pillows and let out a frustrated yell into them.Â
You wish you knew what to do with these feelings. How would things go if you simply told him? What if you said nothing, and instead acted on them in one of your quietly shared moments of comfort? Would he accept your kiss? Would he return your feelings?
Tossing onto your back once more, you stare up at your canopy as you always do when your brain is plagued by thoughts of Changbin. You sigh after a moment, and close your eyes, wondering if he ever lies awake at night like you do, if he has feelings like yours that he too doesnât know what to do with. Though you probably shouldnât, you canât help but hope that he does.
The arrival of winter didn't make your struggle with your feelings for Changbin any easier. The outdoors used to serve as a distraction; your growing love and attraction to him was never truly silenced, but at least you found it easier to focus your attention elsewhere whilst you were outside the castle walls.
All you can do when you're inside the castle is think of him. When you're in the same room, you find it hard not to stare at him. And sure, you stared at him a lot before, but now it felt different; because before, you were simply curious about him. Now it's purely because you're too lovesick to look anywhere else.
When you read books together, you often find that you don't actually remember what happened in the story. At some point, your thoughts always travel to Changbin, and they linger there despite all efforts to focus on the book in your hands.
The fact that his body is touching yours more often these days doesn't help. It's a particularly cold winter, perhaps the coldest it's ever been in all your years. Snow is piled up to your calves when you step outside, tree branches are completely frosted over, and icicles hang from nearly every inch of the castle's exterior.
Suffice it to say, you are often very cold. Changbin doesn't suffer from the cold nearly as much as you do, but he does his best to keep the castle warmer for your sake. The minute you step into a room he lights the fireplace for you, and you stick close to it, sitting before it with a blanket wrapped around your shoulders.
But even still, you found yourself shivering much more than either of you'd like. The only time you stopped was when you were in his lap, likely thanks to the inhuman amount of warmth that radiates off his body.
So now, instead of sitting or laying in his lap just being a part of helping him read, you'd spend a majority of your winter days there, clinging to his warmth. He'd sit himself as close to the fireplace as he could, with you curled snuggly on his lap.
His fur was like an extra blanket, warm and soft and comfortable. Nearly every day was spent next to the library's fireplace, as reading was about the only thing you could do whilst trying to stay warm.
Though, as previously stated, you found it hard to focus on reading lately. And even when you did manage to focus on the words in front of you, your eyes would quickly grow heavy; Changbin was just too comfortable to lay onâ you just couldn't resist dozing off.
Every night was cold, but some were worse than others. On the first of one of those extra chilly nights, when the time in which you'd go your separate ways for bed came, Changbin hesitated to carry you back to your room. Even if he lit your fireplace before he left, you'd be cold without him, he knew it for a fact.
He looked down at where he held you in his arms, asleep and curled into him, cozy and warm, and he made a decision; he took you to his room. You would understand, he thought. You may be confused when you wake up in a room that isnât your own, but youâd understand why you were there.
And you trust him now; you wouldnât be upset with him, especially not when he has your best interest at heart. He hoped not, anyways; in his experience, humans can be unpredictable. But you're a good humanâ one that he likes and cares for more than he ever has for anyone else.
With such thoughts in mind, he carried you to his room. And as he hoped, you weren't upset in the slightest to wake up the next morning beside him (or more accurately, atop him.)
You were certainly confused at first, opening your eyes and blinking away sleep only to be met with slightly unfamiliar surroundings. The windows and the view through them were the same, but the room was brighter than your own, with no curtains to obscure the sunrays pouring over you. There was less furniture strewn about than in your own room, and you were higher up from the ground than youâd be if you were lying in your own bed.
It took a moment for you to become cognitive enough to register that the reason for this, along with what the blissful warmth you were feeling was, was Changbin's body underneath you. One of his hands was resting on your back too, heavy and limp with sleep, but you didn't mind it. Strangely, you found the weight of his hand on your back comforting.
Your head was on his chest, and you could hear the rhythmic beating of his heart, slow but steady. That too, was comforting. You closed your eyes again, but you didn't fall asleep like you might otherwise expect. You were simply basking in the comfort, enjoying lying with him in bed like you'd been wanting to for so long. You wondered if he'd let you stay even once winter came to an end.Â
When you felt him begin to stir awake, you lifted your head to look at him, watching him fondly as he stretched and hummed, and blinked away the last bits of whatever dream he was having. When your eyes met for the first time that morning, he seemed apprehensive; it was easy to deduce that he thought you may be uncomfortable with his choice to bring you here.Â
Ideally, he would've asked you first, or let you know that the option would be available should you want it; but when he thought about how cold you'd be shivering alone in bed, he just couldn't leave you be. When you smiled at him and whispered a soft good morning, you saw nothing but pure relief in his eyes.
You knew Changbin's heart, that he was nothing but sweet and caring. The trust you placed in him, and the way you wordlessly understood him made his heart soar. But not just thatâ laying with you every night, and waking up to you in general made his body react in ways entirely foreign to him.
Naturally, from that cold winterâs night onward, you always slept with him. Your body, so soft and smooth, felt good pressed against him. If you werenât yet asleep when heâd lie down with you in his arms, youâd hug him after you both settled in; your arms obviously couldnât wrap fully around him, but youâd still try to get as much of his body in your embrace as you could manage to.Â
And every morning, when youâd sit up in his lap and look down at him, his heart would always stutter, his already incredibly warm body growing hotter. Your sweet smile, your softly spoken âgood morningâs, the way your lightly tousled hair beautifully framed your faceâ all of it affected him in ways he never imagined would happen to him.
Changbin knew of such feelings conceptuallyâ heâs read more than his fair share of novels featuring romantic subplots within the library. But he always thought such experiences and sentiments would be out of reach for him; he was the only one of his kind in the forest, and normal humans feared him too greatly to build a bond with him.
Even you feared him at first, and while he hoped that it wouldnât always be that way, he wouldnât have been surprised if you never grew to like him. He was so, so happy when, in only a short time, you were no longer scared of him. He was even happier when you showed him kindness. He was happier still when he realized you considered him a friend. Having a companion after so many years of loneliness was more valuable to him than words could express.
In some ways, he supposes falling in love with you was natural. How couldnât he fall in love with the first person to ever see him for who he was past his appearance? The first person who told him they liked his appearance. He didnât believe you the first time you said itâ how could he? All heâd ever known before from humans was fear and scorn.
He didnât know how to accept it, always left in disbelief when you complimented him. But even if he didnât quite believe it, he still liked hearing it. He liked it when you called him cute, or said he looked handsome, or kissed his cheek after calling him sweet.
He liked when you smiled at him, and the way youâd try to hold his hand despite how much smaller yours were than his. He liked listening to you talk, whether it was because you were reading a book to him, or because you had a lot on your mind; he could listen to you for hours, no matter the topic.
He likes hearing about your dreams, he likes the sound of your giggle, he likes the way you twirl in your dresses. He liked it when you taught him how to dance, and how you encouraged him when his steps were initially awkward. He liked how thoughtful and good you were to him. He likes that you help him believe he truly is all the kind things you describe him as.
No, he shouldnât say he likes those things about youâ it was much more accurate to say he loves them. Changbin loves everything about you. He wants to tell you as much, but he never imagined itâd be so difficult to say; he always thought that when the characters in his books struggled to find the words, it was merely exaggeration for dramatic effect.
In reality, it actually is quite hard to speak such things aloud. Changbin is normally a very candid person, able to speak whatever he thinks freely; but when it comes to you, and the feelings he has for you, his mouth runs dry, the words lodging in his throat. And realistically, should he even say them?
He knows it's true when you compliment him, he knows that you genuinely care for him and enjoy his company. But itâs hard to believe you can love him, itâs hard not to think heâs too different from you, hard to completely shut out the memories of humans fearing him. Sometimes, heâs scared that deep down thereâs a part of you that still fears him.
"Changbin? Are you asleep..?" your voice calls to him softly, breaking him from his thoughts. It honestly startled him just a little; he's so used to you already being asleep before you're brought into the room, or falling asleep quickly if you aren't. He hadn't expected your voice to break the silence.Â
As is typical for your nightly arrangement, you're lying atop him with your head on his chest. It's only now that he realizes your fingers have been absentmindedly tracing his skin the entire time he was lost in thought.Â
Changbin doesn't have a bed in the traditional senseâ he's much too big to fit on human mattresses. Instead, he has various pillows and blankets piled together on the floor. It's surprisingly comfortable, but you always find yourself laying on him, rather than next to him on his makeshift bed.Â
"I'm awake," he murmurs, trying to keep his voice as soft and low as possible, "..was thinking." You hum, and lift yourself up to look at him. The room is dark, but his lack of curtains allows you to clearly make out his features in the moonlight.
He can see you just as clearly, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest; you're always so pretty when the moon illuminates you.Â
"So was I. Made it hard to fall asleep," you reply, and Changbin eyes you curiously. He can tell by your somewhat solemn expression that something seems to be weighing on you. "There's something I've been wanting to ask you for a while now, something I can't stop thinking about," you continue.Â
Changbin swallows, suddenly nervous. Given where his thoughts were just moments ago, he can't help but fear that the moment he's been dreading has finally comeâ this is where you ask him to take you home.
Maybe not home, as the village you grew up in is a place you don't wish to return, but away from hereâ away from him. Back to human society where you belong, to a place that he could never hope to follow, a place he could never live in with you.
"Wh-What.. What is it?" he asks, hesitant; he really hopes you can't tell how anxious he is, but he's certain his voice has betrayed it already. He wishes he wasn't so terrified of losing you.
Even in the dim lighting, you could clearly see the way his expression changed to one of immense trepidation. You wonder if he's nervous because he can see that you're nervous. It takes you a moment to even begin to speak again, timidly fidgeting with your fingers as you try to will your voice to return to you.
"Have you ever.. been in love..?" you ask him, voice so soft and timid that Changbin almost misses it, even with his exceptional hearing. You watch as his ears flick, his eyes widen slightly as he takes your question in, his cheeks growing ever so slightly pinker.
His surprise is to be expectedâ from his perspective, this question must seem incredibly out of the blue. But truthfully, it's been eating at you for weeks. You know you're in love with Changbin, but you don't know how possible it is for him to love you back. You don't know if he's ever loved anyone at allâ and you have to know.
If not to give yourself hope, then to put your infatuation with him to rest once and for all. If he rejects you, living with him may be awkward for a time, but at least you could try to put an end to your hopeless pining.
Changbin blinks, unsure how to respond. If he were to answer on the basis of what his life was like before you were in it, then the answer was noâ he'd never been in love. Never, in all his years, had met someone and fallen for them.
But if he were to answer for the present.. Is he in love now? Yes, he isâ he's in love with you. Your eyes search his desperately, and it's clear there's an answer you're hoping to hearâ but which answer is it? You chew your bottom lip nervously as you watch him consider his answer. "No, and yes," he finally responds.
"No, and yes..?" you mimic, uncertain and curious. Changbin nods, and he's thankful you're no longer laying on his chest, because you'd certainly hear the quick, erratic thumping of his heart.
"I was never in love. Not before. I.. am in love now," he says, letting out a nervous exhale as the last word leaves his lips. The implication is clear, and he watches apprehensively as your eyes widen, and the truth fully settles itself within you.
Changbin is always honest and forthright, in a way that humans typically never are. Free of societal norms and expectations, he's never had to lie about anything, nor does he feel the need to. So when he looks into your eyes, deep and vulnerable, and tells you that what he feels now is love, you believe him entirely.
"Me too," you utter softly, voice a timid whisper, "I was never in love, not before.. I am now."
Changbin sits up from his makeshift bed, quickly bringing one of his large hands to your back so that the sudden movement doesn't cause you to topple off him. He doesn't want to be lying down when he asks you if this means what he thinks it doesâ he wants to meet your gaze directly.
"Do you mean that? Can you really love me?" he questions, hopeful but unsureâ it nearly breaks your heart that he even has to ask. If there's anything in your life that you're certain of, it's that Changbin is the best man you've ever known.
It doesn't matter that he's not entirely human, it doesn't matter that he eclipses you in size and stature, it doesn't matter that he has horns, hooves, and a tail. All that matters is how he treats you, and makes you feel; and you've never known anyone who makes you feel as warm, safe, and cared for as he does.
Sitting in his lap, you look up at him and smile, warm and affectionate. "I've never meant anything more than I mean thisâ I love you, Changbin."
In all his life, even at his loneliest and most isolated, in his most saddened and hurt, he'd never had the urge to cry. But now he feels it, welling from deep inside and choking him up. He's always wanted to be accepted, lovedâ even when it seemed impossible and entirely irrational, he wanted it.
What is it that humans do when they're filled with so much emotion for another? All his books have different answers, but there's one that sticks in his mind predominantlyâ they get married. And perhaps he can't marry you the way a human man can, but he can make the same vow; he can, and will, promise to love you for the rest of your lives.
You reach out to him, placing your hands on round cheeks, the heat of his blush incredibly warm on your palms. "Can I kiss you?" you ask him, and he sucks in a breath, nodding shyly. His ears pick up on the loud thumping of his quickly beating heartâ he wonders if it's loud enough for you to hear it too.
You lean up as he leans down for you, both of you closing your eyes as you touch your lips softly to his. You linger there, feeling the blush on his cheeks flare with more heat as you kiss him. When you pull back, you can see his eyes sparkling with awe and adoration. Shyly, he breaks his gaze away from your eyes, darting them down to your lips; itâs easy to tell he wants to kiss you again.
With your hands still on his cheeks, you guide him back to you. You kiss him again and again, slow and gentle. Eventually, you let your hands move to his chest, and you can feel the rapid thumping of his heart beneath your fingertips. He brings one of his hands to your waist, and pulls you closer, until your tiny body is flush with his.
His lips are so plump and soft, and now that you know what they feel like against your own, you never want to stop kissing him. Unfortunately for you, your lungs are much smaller than Changbinâs, and you run out of breath very quickly, often having to be the one to pull away first.
He always watches you intently when you do, all the care and affection he has towards you pouring out of him in droves as he stares at you. But there's a new emotion written in his eyes tooâ desire, yearning. All youâve done is kiss him, but heâs positively, undeniably enchanted by you, a deeply rooted need for more of your touch clawing its way to the surface.
When you kiss him again, you tentatively run your tongue across his bottom lip. The feeling jolts him, sending a shiver down his spine. He parts his lips, cautiously slipping his tongue out to run over yours, butterflies erupting in his stomach over the soft noise of approval you give him in response.Â
His tongue is longer than yours, as well thick and texturedâ it makes you imagine what itâd feel like if you progressed further, and allowed him to run it over every inch of your body. For now, you simply open your mouth for him, letting him lick and explore; it fills you with a strange sensation unlike anything youâve ever felt, but you love it.Â
Changbin carefully scoops his hands beneath you, lifting you up so he doesnât have to hunch down to kiss you anymore. You wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him as closely as you can whilst your kisses continue to deepen and become more heated. He eventually grows just as breathless as you, his broad chest heaving as his thirst for you grows in intensity.Â
Itâs almost too much for himâ the feeling of you in his hands, of you trying to press as much of your body to him as you can, of your sweet scent all over him. The need he feels for you goes beyond anything heâs ever felt, a deep innate hunger and desperation beginning to gnaw at him, clawing at his sense of reason.
He wants more of youâ how much more he doesnât know, but to simply kiss you isnât enough. All of you, he thinks; he needs all of you in every way. He wants to feel you everywhere, to taste you everywhere, needs to experience the depths of love and intimacy with you.
Heâs been trying for so long to deny how bad he wants it, so scared of scaring you off with unwanted advancesâ but now that he knows you feel the same as him, now that youâre kissing him like this, fevered and hungry, he canât deny his craving for you any longer.
âPlease,â Changbin whines under his breath when you next pull away, his voice the most light and airy either of you have ever heard. Anything, heâll take anything youâre willing to give himâ he just wants you, so badly he can hardly think straight anymore. It sends a wave of heat through your body, butterflies thrashing in your stomach.Â
âSet me down, please?â you ask, and instantly he worries that he crossed a boundary, made you uncomfortable by wanting too much too soon. Still, he does as you ask, lowering his hands to the ground so you can reunite with the ground. He swallows nervously as he watches you step off his hands; thankfully, some of the tension he feels is eased when you shoot him your characteristically sweet, yet currently more bashful, smile.
The heat on his face flares when you break your gaze away from his face to look at his erection, fully unsheathed and visibly leaking large amounts of pre-cum. Itâs thick, as is to be expected given his size, but to actually see it with your own eyes is astonishing. âSorry,â he mumbles, embarrassed, starting to grab one of the many blankets littering the floor so he can cover himself.
You shake your head and reach for his hand, stopping him in his tracks. He slowly sets the blanket back down, both of you gazing at each other shyly as you swallow down your nerves to speak. âI want to.. Can I touch it..?â you ask, and oh, the way he throbs from the question alone. You can see it, heavy where it lies against his thighs, throbbing with desire and anticipation.
âY-You- you want to?â he asks, very nearly sent reeling when you shyly nod your head. Heâs wanted this for so long; and he tried not to, really. It felt inappropriate to want you that way, almost shameful every time he got hard with you in mind.
You always interacted with each other so sweetly, innocentlyâ it felt perverse to lie in his makeshift bed at night and throb over the way your breasts looked pressed together in your dresses, or over the glimpses he got of your legs and thighs when you twirled around.
It wasnât this way from the start; when he rescued you deep in the woods, he had nothing but pure intentions. He didnât know you were beautiful, he didnât know how soft and sweet you were, didnât know how radiant you were in body and soul. He didnât know heâd grow to love you, nor could he have predicted how badly heâd want you as his infatuation for you grew.Â
Little does he know that you always wanted him just as bad, your late night thoughts always consumed by him. None of the village men ever made you feel the way Changbin does, never made your heart race or stomach erupt in butterflies, never filled you with such insatiable need for touch.Â
âAhh, I-â he exhales, trying to discreetly wipe away the sweat accumulating in his palms due to his nerves, âI.. yes, please, Iâd like it.â Even just the thought of you touching his cock makes him feel like his heart is going to leap out of his chestâ he has no idea how heâll feel when you actually do it. Still, he wants it; and he watches you, unconsciously holding his breath as he waits for you to act.
Heâs leaking so much, and it occurs to you that your dress will get very wet and messy if you leave it on while you touch him. The thought of being naked in front of Changbin makes you nervous, but also excites you somehow; and technically speaking, heâs always naked in front of youâ apart from the cape he wears during the day, anyways. So thereâs no reason to be so shy about it, right?
You gaze up at him, still timid despite the pep talk youâre giving yourself internally, and you reach behind your back to untie the ribbons that keep your silk gown on your body. You can hear Changbinâs breath hitch as the fabric loosens and begins to fall away, your bare torso becoming visible to his eyes for the first time.Â
Your breasts were so pretty, so fullâ and yet even then, theyâd surely look small in his large hands. Still, you werenât done revealing yourself to him just yet; reaching lower down your back, you loosen another ribbonâ the one keeping it held around your waist. Your gown falls down your hips and to the floor once untied, now left only in your panties before his eyes.Â
Fuck, he wants to touch youâ but you asked him first, and heâs not going to interrupt whatever you have planned for him. You step closer to him, and climb up his leg to sit yourself on one of his large thighs. He canât help but gasp when you bring your hands to his cock, and just as you thought itâd be from seeing it, itâs heavy.
Itâs much too thick to wrap your fingers around, your hands appearing impossibly small in comparison. You rub your hands over his sensitive tip, glancing up at Changbinâs face when he lets out a whine. Your hands quickly become slick from the steadily leaking pre-cum, gliding easily up and down the length of his cock. Thereâs not as much friction as thereâd be if it was Changbinâs own hand, but he prefers this despite itâ having you touch him is much, much better.
He moans when you lean forward to kiss and lick the tip, his pre-cum smearing over your lips and cheeks. He fists the blankets below him, his breaths growing harsher as he watches you work him up. Your hands stroke his length in a steady rhythm while you continue to lavish his tip with attention using your mouth, and he canât help the frequency of his whines and moans.
He already feels so closeâ you're so soft, so wet, it drives him crazy. When you stop kissing and licking his cock, you sit up to look back up at him, and God, the sight of youâ youâre glistening with his pre-cum and your own saliva. Itâs dripped down your chin, falling to your breasts and the sight proves too much for himâ he whimpers, stuttering out your name as his cock twitches and spurts of thick cum begin to shoot from the tip.
You make a noise of surprise, watching in awe as it coats your bodies; his stomach, your whole torso, your handsâ you wouldnât be surprised if some ended up on the blankets beneath him too. Your stomach flips when he finally comes down from his high and looks at you. Reddened cheeks, flushed body, harsh breathsâ and yet he still gazes at you hungrily.
âYour turn,â he breathes as he effortlessly scoops you into his hands, paying no mind to the mess that covers you. His carnal desire for you is fraying at him, his shyness becoming increasingly eclipsed by his need. âCan I-â he starts, lifting you up towards his face, âIs it okay? Can I do the same for you? Please?â
Heâs sure you can feel how much his hands are trembling for youâ he hasnât even seen between your legs yet, hasnât yet tasted you, but his mind already feels like itâs in a frenzy. âYes, please,â you tell him with a nod, and he brings you closer, responding with an appreciative, hungry kiss. He licks away the mess left there, then swipes his tongue over your torso, not at all minding the taste of his own cum.
You squirm in his hands, and when heâs done, he gently nudges you with his nose, urging you to lay back. Your back meets his fingers, your butt cradled in his palms while your legs dangle over his wrists. âCan you take them off like this?â he asks, and you nod, letting out a nervous exhale as you bring your hands to your sides, and hook the hem of your panties in your fingers.
You know Changbin would never drop you or let you fall, but youâre still careful not to make big movements as you slide them down your thighs, and then lift your legs to pull them off. You toss them aside, and shyly spread your legs open for him to look at your dripping pussy. You smell so sweetâ he imagines that youâll taste even sweeter.Â
You shiver when he starts by placing kisses between your thighs, your legs spreading further apart to accommodate him. He sticks out his tongue, and the whine you let you when he licks between your folds is intoxicating. His tongue is too big to focus only on your clit, but the sensation of him licking up and down is still utterly delicious.
He moans and hums as he devours you, and the vibration of it makes you tremble. You let out a loud whimper and your eyes roll back when he dips his tongue carefully into your hole. It reaches deeper than your fingers ever could, feels so much better than them tooâ you never imagined something could feel this good.Â
Your nails dig into his palms, but Changbin pays no mind to it, continuing to alternate between dipping his tongue into your hole and licking you up from top to bottom. He can feel your body tensing, the shaking of your legs and twitching of your thighs growing more intense as he drives you closer to release.Â
You cry his name over and over, the syllables broken between whimpers as your back arches and your cum gushes on to his tongue. He licks it up and swallows it eagerly, and it serves to effectively draw out your orgasm, the sounds you make easily the prettiest heâs ever heard.Â
You collapse back against his fingers when your high ebbs away, and you feel positively euphoric, every inch of your body buzzing from the pleasure. Changbin waits until you catch your breath again to kiss you, and you bring your hands to his face, holding him close as he shares the taste of your release with you.Â
He carefully adjusts his hold of you afterwards, cradling you in his arms and laying you against his chest as he rises from his floor bed. âNeed to take a bath,â he mumbles to you as you instinctively curl into his embrace. He cringes when he thinks about how much effort itâll take to clean the mess from his fur and sheath, but he wouldnât have done anything differently; the night was perfectâ you were perfect.
Youâre exhausted, but you do your best to help him get clean once youâre done washing yourself, and he covers you with appreciative kisses when the task is done. You giggle from the attention, and Changbin giggles too before he scoops you back into his arms to carry you to bed.
Doing away with the soiled blankets heâll leave to clean tomorrow, he replaces them with some from the many empty rooms littered about. Youâd fallen asleep shortly exiting the bath, and it was a bit challenging for Changbin to fix the bed one handed, but he wasnât going to set you down onto the cold floorâ and you surely wouldâve pouted if you woke up without him in reach.Â
He heaves a heavy sigh once he finally lays down, pressing a kiss to the top of your head before he rests his own against the many pillows beneath him. He whispers that he loves you before he closes his eyes, and he guesses you were just awake enough to hear it, because you sleepily whisper it back.Â
It makes him smile, and he squeezes you in his arms just a little. And as he drifts to sleep, he thinks about how lucky he is to have you, how wonderful it is to be loved, how happy heâll be spending every moment in his life together with you.
network tags: @ksmutsociety @skzstarnet
#the fact that it took me so long to finish this that I'm posting it on /my/ birthday instead of bin's is so gsdgsdfh#happy birthday to me ig lmao!#ksmutsociety#skzstarnet#skz x reader#changbin x reader#skz smut#changbin smut#skz scenarios#skz imagines#skz fanfic#mdni + divider graphic credit: @cafekitsune
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