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pranabefall · 2 days ago

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ノㅤQINGXIN IN THE MOUNTAIN ;; zhongli.

syn. [ 14.9K ] while the divine war rages on, you find yourself entangled in the company of a wounded god. reservations or not, you don't have the heart to let someone dies on your watch. or in which, morax finds himself in the presence of a secluded human..

CONTENT WARNINGS. beta read, long oneshot like seriously it's over 14k, mentions of war and past death, seclusion and wounds. this work contains 18+ contents so minors, you know the drill, unprotected sex, half-dragon zhongli, so yes there's two of them, reader has no gendered pronouns but has female parts, 4k words worth of smut guys get ready. REPOSTED FROM OLD ACCOUNT.

ENTRIES. while we wait for me to finish off with my current wip, i thought of reposting some of my favorite works from my old account before privating it kijhgbhj. this work has been marked mature. readers below the age of 18 / ageless blogs, do not interact. any individual who is not a legal adult or has an age indicator on their page will be blocked without further notice.

“i love you without knowing how, or when, or from where. i love you simply, without problems or pride: i love you in this way because i do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no i or you, so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep your eyes close.”

— PABLO NERUDA.

Curiosity , you learned, was a reckless maverick in every right. Your mother told you of its consequences, of the people who wandered too far from the safety of your village and the watchful eye of your deity, and she told you of their death and the disaster they reaped alongside it.

Curiosity was what cost you — and you knew , you knew better than to indulge in its traitorous little tug when you wake, the scent of petrichor in abundance and the chill of a rainstorm’s aftermath prickling your skin.

“Forget about it.” you tell yourself when you rub the sleep out of your eyes.

“Forget about it.” you tell the reflection staring up at you, her brows furrowed with a familiar sternness. It scatters when you dip your hands into the basin, the icy water stinging your fingertips.

“Forget about it.” you breathe out as you lean against the doorframe of your small home, staring out at the expanse of green and the fog that had settled a few feet below.

Yet here you were , scaling down a mossy slope, your bare feet damp from the dew it trod over and your hair still messy from your sleep. You could dimly recall something the previous night between the rains, between the crash of thunder and the crackle of lightning. It was a sound too distinct and out of place in a storm, something akin to the beginnings of an earthquake before an unknown force cuts its life short.

Your head swivels to the side. You couldn’t see much past the mist save for what was in front of you and you clamber down with a little more prudence till the ground evens out a bit more and the screen before you dissipates. You could see nothing out of place, save for a few upturned trees and your shoulders slump. It was all for nothing , you realize and a tinier voice dares to whisper a spiteful little ‘dammit’ .

You turn, casting one last glance over the clearing, then make your way back uphill. It was a wasted attempt and as you stew in your own self-berating and disappointment, you almost miss the faint crackle behind you. It was just the wind , you reason. There was little cause for it to be anything else. What could possibly make its way up here ?

When you hear it a second time, you freeze, something cold jolting at your bones.

Well shit .

It doesn’t take too long to find the source, save for trudging through the mud and a few of the murkier parts past the tree line — but you find it by the time the sun shifts the barest fraction to the west..

“ Ah — ” was the most your throat could choke out as shock swallowed you whole, like ice water.

There is a trail of gold on the earth, and it leads up to the slumped form of a man, his robes stained with the same gilted shade and his breath leaving shallow puffs of air where he lay, motionless and seemingly dead.

Well — fucking — shit . You mind shudders, your thoughts screaming and splitting up against your head like some panicked beast. It was chaos at its core, it was the frenzied scrape of control.

You were no fool. The man before you, both massive in frame and presence, was one amongst the hundreds of those touched by divinity — god or not — whose names were uttered and praised amidst this war. There was nothing distinctly human about him; not his clothes, not the horns that curled atop his skull and the brown scales smattered across, not the ichor he bled out — nothing .

For a moment, or maybe more, you stare down at him, long and hard as you try to wrangle your rationality back and think of what move to make. You could not afford the trouble that comes with aiding a foreign being and the land you settled on could house any force hostile to the man at your feet. A shaky breath escapes, then another. You were trembling now, just a little, daring to take a step back, then one more.

Kill him , another voice snaps. It was twisted and its words breathed acrid revulsion. Get it over with, he’s not worth the pain.

You consider it, for the tiniest bit of a second till he lets out a shudder and shifts with tense shoulders, his grunts labored and streaked with muted agony — those darker thoughts quickly flatline to scattered anxiety and the hand that brushes the blade at your hip falls limp. Not now, perhaps . You could just leave him here, let nature run its course.

You could do that , you decide with a semblance of confidence.

Of course you could.

Of course .

Your shuffling comes to a stop and you're backtracking immediately, your pace holding an urgent bounce with every step. There is a feverish jerk to your movements when you settle beside him, and a storm of emotions raging in your chest. It does little to ease you — little does, these days — and you press up on his shoulders in an attempt to roll him over onto his back.

It happens so swiftly, a blur of gold and black that shadowed your periphery before you were slammed down with eyes like uncut cor lapis glaring down at you. You scramble, clawing at your neck, at the digits pressed up against your windpipe and your pulse and it beats faster and faster and faster . One tiny move and you’d be left for dead.

( A part of you is stunned — for even wounded and weakened from some unknown, unspoken battle, the quavering power within him seemed to beat strong. You feel a mix of thrilled awe and terror turn in your stomach. )

His gaze hardly falters, roving at your form before his grasp on you releases and he mutters something akin to an apology, collapsing again. His eyes were still open, watching you beneath a haze of pain and deliriousness, stiffening now and then when you so much as move. The strength he showed, no matter how small it was, is gone and there is the slightest hint of vulnerability beneath the stripped layers of stone.

Your instincts scream at you to run yet you stay rooted in place, coming to sit up and hover by his side. In the end, your own concern and pity won out. “Y-you’re wounded.” you try to reason, only to be met with a grunt. You find yourself wincing as you stutter over your words, your voice hoarse from months of disuse. “Please, l-let me help. My h-home is c-close b-by.”

Feeble , you chide yourself amidst it all, old, old regrets tearing at your mind and clawing at your thoughts. You shut your eyes, letting your muscles relax and you try again.

Tugging at his arm serves to be fruitless. He was too large for you to carry over and your first attempt gives that away well enough. The gold in his veins seems to dim with the passage of time and you fear his life slipping away under your watch. “I n-need you to w-walk…” your plea is almost caught in your throat and you have to wrench it out to let it be heard. He tilts his head your way. “You’re too h-heavy…” you try to reason.

Another grunt sounds out and thankfully , his form rises. You’re quick to move to his side, supporting him against your shoulder, the thrum of elemental energy strong beneath your hold. He practically oozed it and it feels like what the storm felt like — the trembling earth itself.

You don’t say much after that, leading him back to your home, your hand and clothes staining a bright gold.

Perhaps your house would have been a little cleaner had you known you’d have a guest over. When you lead the the being inside, you scan the small space with a sense of perplexity, hoping he wouldn’t scrutinize the sight too much ( your mother always seemed to emphasize the need for a well kept living space — should she see you now, you know she’d be rolling in her grave with indignity ).

He stumbles a little, letting out a guttural snarl and you flinch, almost dropping his weight onto the floor when you feel claws close down on your arm and press against your scarred skin. You hiss softly and he gives a little jolt, his hold on you releasing, leaving little but the crumpled sleeve of your tunic behind.

“How much — ” he cannot finish the sentence, his nose wrinkling up and he almost looks a little feral underneath the light.

“Just a l-little more.” you assure, cracking the barest of smiles as you cross the room and lay him down on your bedroll. He was tall enough as is, and you think his horns would scrape up against the ceiling of this house should he stand upright.

The bedroll itself was pathetically small beneath him, but you couldn’t throw a fuss about it, working away at his clothes in relative silence, steeling yourself up in preparation for the worst.

The clasps and the belts and sashes are undone by nimble fingers and as the layers peel away, you come to a stop. It was not a pretty sight, his wounds, the clawed lacerations criss crossing across his torso like patchwork. You doubt you could salvage much and you almost give up at the spot, pulling away the rest of his clothing. The worst one splits across his chest and you look to the side, battling out the vertigo and the nausea threatening to creep up.

He’d have been dead at this point, had the blood in his veins be that of a mortal’s and not something inhuman. In some convoluted sense, he was lucky.

Stop cowering , you hiss internally. Pull yourself together .

The sound of rustling clothes is all you could hear after, followed by the clinking of metal and the sharp tang of alcohol. Your movements are almost robotic — and you had done this plenty of times before, cleaning the wounds of children and soldiers. But this wasn’t home and you doubt any soothing words would stoke at the feelings of a god.

When you return to his side, his forehead is damp with sweat.

“ Shit — ”

His skin was warm . Could an immortal being fall ill? Was that even a possibility?

“I will be fine.” he rasps out and you jump, snapping his way as you hold the clothes closer to your chest in defense. He turns his head, peering at you and you think you see a stubborn glimmer beneath the usual masked strain and impassivity. “My wounds will heal in time…I…only seek shelter till they do…”

“Absolutely n-not.” you reply, splaying your palm out on his stomach to keep him still as you clean away the dirt and dried blood. The shallower wounds were slowly closing up again. “You’re in no state to argue right now.”

His mouth twitches and there is a momentary flash of teeth. You try not to let it frazzle you as much despite his initial protest, your movements slowing to a more delicate pace as you bathe the worst of his lesions till you were satisfied with the lack of dirt caking his body. “It seems choice no longer holds to be a luxury.” he utters under his breath.

“No.” you agree. “It does not.”

He falls silent, a petulant turn on his lips. “Are you a healer?” he asks. You bow down, unwinding the linen wraps you had stored away.

“My mother was.” you finally admit, your posture straightening. “I learned what I could from her to aid the people in my village. I never studied medicine formally, however…” you trail off. Talking seems to grow a little easier the more you speak. The hoarseness was slowly giving way and your stuttering grew less frequent.

“And I take it you shall try to help me as you do with any other human?” there was a sardonic sort of amusement in his tone that has you bristling. “Your medicines and methods will not work on an Adeptus. Put your tools away, you only waste your time.

“Adeptus…so you hail from the settlement south of Mt. Tianheng?”

“You’re ignoring my words,” he accuses. You bat your lashes at him innocently.

“Small talk.” you shrug. “You can tell me everything you want after I’m done tending to you.” you meet his gaze, tumultuous gold melded with an orange-red. He narrows his eyes, his unfocused vision scanning you, then the house, then at the bandages you held before he leans his head back with a defeated sigh.

By the time you conclude your task, he has fallen unconscious, his breathing deep and his heartbeat unnaturally slow for a human. You look down at your ruined clothing, at the stains at the hem of your tunic and at the sleeves and you hope you can salvage what you can from this, moving on to change out of them and fish out a cleaner pair of clothes.

The smell of petrichor still persists through the day, the sky brewing with the makings of a new storm. Perhaps you had lost track of time and the monsoons were sitting in sooner than expected and you move on to salvage whatever you’d left outside to dry and board your windows up for the incoming onslaught.

The man wakes when night falls, form set aglow against the dim lamp light.

“Let’s change your bandages.” you offer. He doesn’t protest this time, painfully sitting himself up with gritted teeth as you get back to work. His skin still radiates that uncomfortable temperature as you press up against it. You might need to get a wet rag ready lest he overheats

He speaks after the silence persists. “You shouldn’t see me like this.” it comes out as a whisper so soft, you almost miss it. His face however holds a distant look, with a hint of disappointment lurking within and you tug at the linen a little harder. You’ve heard that before, from the lips of men and women who had too much to hold and little weakness to show. You wonder what it would entail for a warrior, or a being whose years spanned farther than yours, to sink as low before a stranger.

It must be hard.

“We all get hurt sometimes.” you smile, hoping to lighten the air with a bit of humor ( it was getting too heavy, the air in the room ). “I’ve lost count of the number of times I've hit my head…and you think I'd be a little more cautious given my studies…”

A poor joke stays a poor joke no matter the delivery ( and yours was weak to begin with ). He does not say or do much, save for a slight twitch in his jaw and an unamused tilt in his head. You shrink back, skittishly throwing his used bandages aside in favor of new ones with a hasty “Nevermind.” on your tongue.

“Do you truely not know who I am?” he asks, his touch skimming the sheets absently. You shake your head, confusion and that damned curiosity slowly lurking and clawing its way to the light. You want to stamp the ugly feeling down and out of sight. You try to. It does not disappear. He continues, “What of the civilization south of Tianheng?”

A shrug was the most you could manage. You guess that was where he hails from. “I know it’s the domain of a geo god, and that beings touched by longevity, ally beside him. “My old home is far, however, and our god hid us away from the world…my knowledge on this is sparse.”

You’re almost ashamed to admit it, to acknowledge the bubble you had grown within, accepting the suffering of the men and women who ventured out and returned with broken bodies you and your mother had to fix. You weren’t sure what sort of terrible dichotomy it was, to live in ignorance amidst blatant horror and blood, and you don’t wish to return to it.

He seems to take this in, his eyes training up at the ceiling, then upon you with a lidded stare. “Who was your god?”

The icy set to your jaw was a hint he picks up on and he does not further the topic.

“...I am from there…from Liyue.” he says instead, in recollection of your previous question. The settlement was a distance from here, a few days worth of journeying by cart and hardly worth the risk of the travel with the demons that lurk and the gods that warred.

“What’s your name?” you ask.

His lips curl again, but it’s less of a grimace and more of a smile, his fangs tucked away to show a visage less feral, less dangerous. You find yourself relaxing a bit more unconsciously, seemingly charmed by this simple action ( and the thought almost scares you ). “What is your name, mortal?”

Ah, he wasn’t going to make this easy. You’re tempted to tug on his bandages a little harder if only to spite him.

You don’t reply till you are done with your chore and you lean back, massaging your stiff fingers. Your name slips out of your lips then, the action feeling natural in defiance of the years spent hardly having a friendly face within your home, save the occasional traveler. The adeptus seems satisfied. “You may call me Zhongli.” he replies, his voice softer, raspier.

“Zhongli.” you repeat. Zhongli .

There is a rustle of fabric and his fingertips brush against yours, the touch nearly having your arm lurch back in muted shock. He seems unphased but you — you watch a soft light shimmer through the dimness of your walls. When it fades, a single visage of gold stares back.

“It’s your reward. For aiding me.” there is a medley of pride and contentment and you liken it to that of a child offering a messily put together gift. Gold is coveted by most, but has little use here, and you have little use for it. But the gift is still cupped within your hands and you hold it as if it is something precious.

( Oh, your heart trembled just a bit and you feel a lump grow in your throat, bigger and bigger till you dip your head down out of his line of sight. )

His eyes bear down on you harder, set aglow and unyielding.

You smile to hide your trembling frame, thoughts revolting within your mind like the beat of war drums with a mix of unease and appreciation. Yet, who were you to question Zhongli’s secrets?

Maybe hypocrisy runs deeper in your blood than you initially assumed.

Mist dances at your fingertips.

It weaves and spreads and obscures the light and the woods around you and you run through blindly as the skin beneath your feet tears and the chill of the night clings to your skin and leaves behind dew and sweat.

You could see nothing; nothing save the pale glow of the moon above you as it tries to break through the barrier and light your way. It cannot, for Balam’s magic conjures obscurity, and obscurity was worshiped.

But you were human and you were curious and the voice that called your name was so familiar and warm and you wanted to weep and run towards it. The mist will not stop your folly and you will keep running to appease that growing thirst. In the end it will cost you.

The sound of your footsteps cease. The mist thins out and at the end of the veil, you poke your head out for the first time to witness the world outside. A set of teeth, white and sharp greet you. Then another and another, till the darkness itself glows as it does beneath the moonlight.

You hear her voice. It comes from the open maw.

The demons spot you and you run again, feeling their jaws clamp down and tear through muscle and bone and you scream and scream and scream at the white hot agony and the very feeling of your nerves set aflame before they numb.

Your curiosity cost you.

You wake to your fingers clawing at your shoulder with labored gasps and Zhongli panting, his fingers gripping at the sheets of the bedroll and his brow furrowed. You blink away the sleep in your eyes and tug the blanket off of your shoulders, shakily making your way to his side. His skin was hot again and panic lights in your chest, like the incoming winter.

“Fuck — it’s gotten worse.” you mumble a few more expletives as you stumble out to collect some more water and the few mistflower corollas you had stored away within your cabinets, hoping the elemental energy in them hadn’t dissipated completely. Setting the bucket down by his bedside with the corollas nestled within, you hiss at the cold pricking your palms and the frostbite coming to form.

Never mind that! The fucking adeptus is going to melt .

Oh my, thank you for pointing out the obvious!

The cloth bath was set to a near feverish pace as you feel him twitch and convulse through the chills wracking his body. “Hot — ” he groans.

“It’s the fever.” you mutter, tugging his pants down, your eyes unconsciously trailing down the slope of his waist and dip of pelvis, then avert your eyes before you could see any more, face flushed whilst a cloth was thrown onto his hips to spare him some decency. “You need to cool down…please, stay still.”

His hand comes to grip your arm and the dormant strength within it, one etched into his very being, was frightening. The adeptus’ sights were set upon you, the fever-addled state of his blowing his pupils out till only a thin ring of gold remains, shining through the light of the oil lamp, brighter and brighter. You pull away and rest your free hand on his with a soothing squeeze.

“You will be okay.” you assure. “It will come to pass soon enough. Let me take care of you for now.” You coax him to stay still as you continue the cloth bath, wiping away at his clammy skin while fatigue continues to weigh down on your shoulders and tug at your eyes. “I know you’re hiding something…and if you…if you’re one of the gods, then you must live. You’ll have people waiting for you…they need you, at a time like this.”

He lets out a weak exhale, shakily sitting himself up with sudden urgency. “ Liyue… ” he whispers, gait faltering and you steady him as he leans into you, resting his forehead against your shoulder. You struggle to push him back down atop the bedroll, his breaths growing pained with the passing seconds.

“Liyue.” you nod and repeat. “You need to go back soon, don’t you? You’ll have to heal first, and for that, you must rest.” The cloth is pressed against his temple now, wiping away sweat all while the smell of petrichor grows stronger. The searing temperature hasn’t subsided and hopelessness stirs inside, an ugly feeling, a familiar feeling ( it was worse than your curiosity — it always was ).

Zhongli leans into your touch, his fingers tangling against yours. “ Stay… ” he whispers. You cease your movement as his body shifts and presses against your lap. “Stay….” he repeats.

“I…I’ll stay.” you slump in defeat, resting his head on your lap. Lightning flashes outside your window and the walls seem to shake as the rain comes pelting down. You continue the bath, listening to a leaky spot in your roof and the incessant downpour rattling against the tiles. Zhongli seems to still, his breaths still weighed down by that terrible heaviness.

The rain continues. His fever grows worse.

Then the pattering slows down, and the flush on his skin comes to cool. By the time the rains stop, his fever breaks and you lean against the wall of your home, shutting your eyes as you nearly weep, your worries allayed.

Morax was the first to wake in the early hours of the morning, the scent of petrichor pervading his senses followed by the faint lull of jasmine. Then comes the warmth and the softness, one his claws unconsciously dig into with a groan shuddering out of his chest.

It was you , slumped against the wall, lost in your own dreams and too tired to notice and the sight makes him swell with a conflicting mess of emotion. Then comes the pain, the aftermath of his fever coming to tear at him, at his limbs and his tendons till he ceases his stubborn movement and lets his body fall slack.

He does not understand your intent, but the faint memory of that familiar care against a muddled haze stills his tongue and his suspicion. Your muffled words, your hand in his, everything, blurred away yet so clear.

Humans were strange, so fragile, so determined…

“Fool…” he murmurs. The last of his strength is used to draw the blanket over your shoulders. “But thank you, nonetheless.” Sleep calls him again, and Morax shuts his eyes.

The jasmine lingers, stronger than most. He lets it swallow him whole.

Humans were strange, so fragile, so determined…

“Fool…” he murmurs. The last of his strength is used to draw the blanket over your shoulders. “But thank you, nonetheless.” Sleep calls him again, and Morax shuts his eyes.

The jasmine lingers, stronger than most. He lets it swallow him whole.

You come to realize how much you hated it, the loneliness.

Your home was far removed from civilization, settled between regions and away from main travel ways that weren’t blocked or destroyed. The quiet of your house was nothing like the bustle of the town you hailed from and the chaos that accompanies the stalls in the early mornings. The most noise that encloses your small plot of land were the local wildlife, the creaks and groans of wood born against strong winds and the weight of snow and the distant battles fought over the horizon.

During arbitrary moments of your routine, you question why Zhongli landed here of all places, in the midst of nowhere. You wonder if this is some grand scheme or punishment for your past mistakes and when you feel your curiosity dare to skitter forth and poke more holes into your blind acceptance, you drive it away with an angry hiss.

He is not an unwelcome guest, even if he holds a sense of urgency at times and a well kept secret whose nature you suspect . It’s almost comforting, no matter how contrived it seems, listening to him speak of an obscure plant or hearing his heavy footfalls a few days after his arrival.

How desperate are you? The bitter pride in your heart speaks up, and it’s seedy and unhappy as you straighten out the drying sheets over the heated slab. Where is your self preservation? Your brain cells? You’re smarter than this you fool —

“Is something wrong?”

Zhongli’s voice snaps you out of your reverie and you start, nearly dropping your laundry on the grass.

“Nothing!” and it is a weak save on your part as you straighten the worn down basket to move to an empty patch of stone, ducking under to check the state of the flaming flowers underneath. His hands come to rest on the surface and he lets out a soft exhale, his eyes slipping shut in a seeming moment of peace. “You should be resting.” you remind him.

“I believe I'm past the need for excessive bedrest.” he intones with an amused lilt. “Do you need help? It is partly my fault you have far more work to sort through.” He wasn’t lying. What little linen you had was used up to change the sheets on your bedroll before his fever broke. You had little clue how illness amongst higher beings were treated, but simply washing the contaminated cloth was the best option you had on your for now.

Ah, sometimes you regret not moving closer to a town.

Your reply was short, when you notice the silence being drawn out for a little too long. “That does not mean you should strain yourself. The less of a load you place on yourself, the faster you will heal. I’m sure you are needed back at your colony. The war is far from over.”

The comment seems to tug at his emotions, a stern moroseness settling on his face. “That is true…but I trust my fellow adepti to hold the lines in my absence.” you bend over to collect another sheet from the basket, the hair at the back of your neck prickling when he moves behind you. “Even so, I should hasten my return.”

“Then — ” The sheet is snatched from your hands and you watch Zhongli step beside an unused slab to lay it across the surface, a mischievous smile touching his lips. “Oi!” you snap, reaching out to grab it.

“However,” he continues, ignoring your protest with a look of innocent serenity. You want to squawk, to stamp your foot down childishly and you almost do, your movements stilled by you clenching your fist to curb it. “I’ve fought battles with wounds far worse and won. Menial chores are hardly a labor and if it means aiding you then I shall take it.”

You let out a groan in defeat and push the basket between the two of you. Zhongli was preening in his small victory, setting the clothes out to dry with relative ease. “Guests shouldn’t partake in chores like these.” you repeat the line your mother had uttered so many times, one amongst many of her favorite maxims.

He watches you from his spot behind the stone slab, a contemplative haze clouding his hues. “I simply return the favor. It is the nature of a contract, to balance out what is given with due compensation.”

He isn’t going to let up, is he?

“Fine, fine…you can help me collect a few mist flowers later.” you concede.

“What do you need them for?” he asks, collecting your laundry basket as you kneel upon the grass, blowing some air into a patch. One of the flowers is set alight and you sigh, letting them burn awhile as you feel your fingers retain a little more warmth in them.

“Preservation…I use them to make my herbs and food last a little longer…it’s not easy, coming across certain ingredients for a decent meal…” You let out a dry chuckle at that, which melts away into a mildly sheepish one. Even if you bear a slight annoyance to your choice of settlement, and even with the debilitating isolation that came with it — it was still home and it was still safer than most.

Zhongli takes this in, a hand resting against his chin. “I see…cooking is not a part of my skill set…unfortunately. But a friend of mine intends on relaying an old recipe of his should the war end soon. Perhaps I could pass it on to you, if you don’t mind it.”

It was an oddly sweet gesture coming from him and you hum, a genuine smile spreading across your face as you consider it. That also meant opening a tiny window of opportunity; a chance that you may see Zhongli again. The thought stirs a clash of emotion, of fear and of excitement and dare you say it, hope and it feels warm and cold and all sorts of things at once. “I’d like that…granted you don’t accidentally poison me.”

He feigns annoyance as his head tilts to the side, quietly regarding you. “You overestimate my inadequacy. The last time I did partake in the culinary arts, the worst outcome was an offhand crystallize reaction and a burnt stove.” he pauses. “Besides, my skill in brewing tea is decent.”

Oh Gods —

“I’m just being cautious.” you laugh a little louder at that, holding up your hands in defense. “Dear Lords though…I hope that friend of yours is prepared then. You might turn out to be a genius in cuisine or a hopeless case.”

“Then I hope for the former.”

You grin, hanging up the last of your clothes. “If you turn out decent…then I wouldn’t mind sharing some of the recipes passed down to me. I couldn’t indulge myself in them as much, but i hope you may come to like them.”

Something in Zhongli’s eyes softens and he nods. “And I would like that in turn…” he utters slowly, watching you clear away any dry branches and grass close by. His fingers absently brush over his torso, where the bandages stay wrapped around him. You catch the subtle purse of his lips and the twinge in his jaw. “Do not be concerned…” he snaps up to meet your worried face. “I am fine.”

“...Right.” you knew it wasn’t wholly a lie. Zhongli proved to be a quick healer, perhaps a trait passed down by his inhuman lineage. But these displays of vulnerability only played into the damning knowledge you knew before; of the hidden fragility the gods held. “Come on…I think it’s time we get those bandages changed.”

Zhongli smiles but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. Another secret , you think sadly, taking his hand as you lead him inside, taking in the momentary warmth he held even if his skin didn’t quite feel like skin or that they glowed a bit too bright between the cracks of your fingers.

You don’t ask him to collect the mist flower corollas again, staying at home with him with some tea set at the table for him to sip on while you inspect his lacerations. There was some idle chatter over dinner and Zhongli spoke a little more about his home.

“You’re going to leave tonight, aren’t you?” you ask suddenly, your voice soft. His words die out and you try to still the sharp edged pain in your chest. It refuses to fade and you accept the growing weight with an unwilling gait.

“Yes.” he whispers, setting his cup down and he looks ashamed.

“Then go.” you mumble. He opens his mouth again but you hold up a hand. “I…I know your name is not really Zhongli…it’s not is it?” His silence was damning and you finally piece it together, the knowledge you learned from your village and from your travels, no matter how meager, painting a slow picture in broad strokes.

The stories depict Morax to be more of a beast and less of a man. You would have glossed over it as well,expecting a dragon instead of the visage of a handsome stranger.

“I take it you’ve come to a conclusion.” he muses, looking a little apologetic, a little ashamed. “I never intended on deceit but the nature of our meeting called for it.”

“You were afraid I was going to kill you?” you guess. Zhongli — Morax laughs and shakes his head.

“Even in my weakened state, you would have been incapable of it.” well damn . “I feared someone of greater power would catch wind of talk of a wounded god…but given your lifestyle, they held no merit. I apologize though…I know you may have suspected a while.”

Morax smiles and you try not to battle the disbelief that a good sat across you, eating your food and drinking your tea. “However, I have a question to ask you.”

A pause

“What became of your deity?”

Your breath seizes and you meet his gaze. His stare seems to hold so much more weight to it and you look down. Your old god was a memory you sought to bury away well out of sight. Recollecting them only brought in a bitter taste and a dull ache and Morax notices it. “That’s a story for another day.” you finally manage out after some deliberation. Your tea has gone cold by the time you take another sip out of it, the air feeling heavier again. You wrinkle your nose at the taste.

He nods. “Then I will return and pay my debt in whole as well.” he decides. “Your kindness is one I shall remember, little one.” You hate how a part of you melts into this buttery, weak mess and when he smiles, you hate how it’s so easy to feel yourself tear at the seams, to beg him to stay a little longer. “Thank you.”

He was gone the next morning, a fresh batch of mist flower corollas left behind in an earthen pot alongside a delicate flower preserved in amber.

“Good riddance.” you tell yourself, the words feeling forced.

You will miss him, you think.

He returns three months later, or maybe it was more. Time was easy to lose track of and the seasons were all you had to know of a passing year. By the time he arrived, the last remnants of winter had receded and you found yourself in the midst of spring, restocking your stores and setting soup to boil in the hearth.

Should I bow? You think when he appears at your doorstep. Extend a greeting? Address him by his title? Your great eminence…no that sounds pretentious… You reminisce about your old customs, of the times you spent watching your mother lay out scented flowers and fruits at the feet of your deity during festivals or during victory feasts. Morax however, steps inside with a smile in greeting, his hand coming to tuck some stray hair out of your face.

Then comes the deja vu.

You question why his arrivals were always timed on days when your home was a mess.

“Wait! We can talk outside.” saving the last few traces of your dignity is all you had in mind as you blockade the entrance. It would hardly do any good, you realize then; he was tall and he was far bigger and when he stops with a puzzled look and scans the room and the traces of stalks and unswept and unused parts of the herbs you were sifting through, a glint of understanding flashes in his eyes and he steps back.

You want to sink into the ground with the traces and remainders of you. Oblivion seemed a tempting option with the way your face burned and your heart hammers at a pace nearly hard to keep up with.

“My apologies.” he utters, letting you lead him outside. He does not seem as bothered or flustered, thankfully; nor does he pry as he erects a few makeshift seats sculpted from geo and sits himself down alongside you with a soft sigh on his lips. “I wish we could have met sooner,” he admits.

“Is that so? It’s hard to believe you’d bother…” you hum with a shy dip of your head. Morax considers this.

“Did you not ask for it?”

“I did…but I accepted the possibility of you not returning.” you cease for a second, recalling your promise to give him the answer he sought. It felt like a cheap trick, back then and it still does now, of you running away as you always did. “I'm glad you came back though…it was nice having someone around to speak to.”

Moax looks pleased with this. “I simply find your company enjoyable.” you feel a stirring in your stomach when he says that, and it feels like a wonderful sort of sweetness, like honey. “Even if our first few days spent together lacked any delicacy in approach.”

“You were quite stubborn.” you admit.

“I was, wasn’t I?” he agrees. You snicker.

“I wouldn’t blame you though. Even I had a hard time staying still when bedrest was forced upon me…how have you been?” your fingers slot together as you pull your knees closer to your chest, your cheek resting against your thigh as you watch the scenery in the distance. The mist had abated, just a bit and you could see the copse of trees expanding then scattering as the plains began.

Morax exhales. “As I’ve always been.”

“Stubborn?”

“ Busy .” he corrects, flashing you a look of warning. You grin innocently. “The war has come to a temporary standstill. Only smaller battles seem to keep up…with the weaker gods mostly weeded out, planning our next move is of importance. I only have a few hours to spare now before I leave for Liyue.”

“Oh…” you take this in. Perhaps this was a sign of the war slowly coming to a close. Maybe during your time, if you were lucky enough, or in another hundred years or so. “Then…tell me about Liyue.”

Morax raises a brow but he smiles, humoring your question. “What would you like to know?”

“Plant life? What’s it like there?” you supply, leaning forward in quiet anticipation.

He chuckles. “Not of the people? Or its history?” he asks.

“You can tell me that too!”

He hums, his gaze softening. “It’s not uncommon to see mountains in Liyue,” he admits. “To say our weather has a stark contrast in the plains and the peaks would be an understatement. Juehyun Karst, the realm of the adepti is pleasantly cool most of the time, but the plains are hot and humid. That being said, our flora seems to take on this diversity as well…”

He tells you about the yellow sand bearer and the gold ginkgo trees that spot Liyue’s landscape, of the horsetail that covets the marshes and the reclusive glaze lilies that grow within the terraces. He tells you about the silk flowers nestled amidst the red bushes, always found in pairs and the violet grass sprouting forth off of cliffs. And he tells you of the qingxins that turned away from the warmth of the plains and grew in the distant peaks, looking down upon Liyue as a whole.

There was a sort of magic, listening to Morax speak of his nation with a layer of fondness and sadness.

“Maybe when the war ends, I’ll visit. I think I'd like to start a garden some time.” you hum, surveying the empty patches of land in front of you. It would be nice to have a few more flowers around to brighten up the monotony you have grown accustomed to. His expression shifts, a brighter shine lighting up his eyes.

“You could stay there if you wish.” Disbelief rattles through your ribs and it steals your breath and pushes against your lungs. You fall silent, ceasing the anxious play with your clothes. “I could find a place for you amidst my people…would you like that?”

There was disbelief, yes, and a stutter in your words, but there is also the pang of appreciation and the tingle at your fingertips. However cold dread settles down ( for it is an old bedmate ) and Morax seems to catch on. “Have I misspoken in any way?” he questions, his hooded gaze appraising.

You jerk your head. He had it all wrong and the last thing you need is a messy misunderstanding to fall into your pile of terrible mistakes. “No, no…I don’t think I'm ready to return to a land ruled by a god…or even around so many people…not yet…” you couldn’t bring yourself to word it out and it shames you. You are an adult. You needed to speak like one.

There is a faint brush on your cheek, the barest hint of a touch and when you look up, you see the suspicion he holds paired with concern. You want to shrink back, make yourself smaller, unknowable, something you were before he came along and made you care and vie after company and something as simple as touch.

“I assume it has something to do with your old settlement?” he asks.

You nod.

“We were hidden behind our god’s mist and illusions…our people were cut off from the rest of the world save a few soldiers and those who joined our god in battle. My mother would accompany them sometimes…she’d tell me about the world outside and we promised to visit a lake just a short walk from the barrier…” you hold out your hands, trying to grasp the words she had tattered. “She called it starlight on earth…or…something like a mirror clearer than any metal she’d seen. I wanted to go, but we were not allowed to leave.”

“You were not?” Morax asks. He leans in, listening closer.

“We were not.” you affirm softly. “Or god never spoke it…but we knew. They talked about demons lurking out and we were scared. One day…I couldn’t find her amidst the returning line of soldiers she left with…I did later…and I couldn’t even stand to look at the state she was in.” you stare ahead, the weight of his gaze resting even harder now. “I don’t know why…if it was grief or curiosity or a mix of both…but I thought I heard her voice one day…calling out to me. And I knew it was a trap, but I ran towards it, out of the forest, and the mist…”

You swallow hard. You felt cold. Cold all over, like that night, where the silence was unsettling and the sound of your name was a taunting whisper. Your mother, it was your mother, rigid at some times with her own rough edges and flaws, but loving for the most part. Your mother — and it was an old hurt you had locked in a box a long time ago, that time had weathered down till it was the embers scraped to the side of the charcoal pit.

“They were right…my deity warded off those things that attacked me…but they were bleeding everywhere . Balam was strong , but as a god…I doubt they held much in par to some of the others who warred out there…” Like you , you almost add. “They were weakened…unfit to fight in a state like that and we tried what we could. The wounds didn’t heal as we thought they should. I was banished for endangering their life and as I traveled…I heard of Balam’s passing in the hands of an invading god.”

“...and now, I'm here.” you finish, wryness coating every syllable. You wished your apathy was more than a weak front to bury away the stab in your heart; you wish you could be stronger than the coward you are. Morax shuts his eyes, his arms crossing over his chest.

He looks a little more like the god you were told about; sharp, pragmatic, with a presence that looms over most. “If there was a law that stated so, that forbade stepping out of your deity’s territory, then yes, you have committed a wrong. I have heard tell of Balam, whispers of their whereabouts and they did try to protect your people from a harsher way of life…”

Ah, so that was his response. You wilt a little, feeling a mix of fury and defeat, at Morax, at the gods, at this war and at your own childish stupidity and audacity to even dare to feel this way. “I see…” you mumble. Morax holds up a hand, cutting you off. The words die in your throat faster than embers in snow.

“But,” he behind and his expression pulls into something gentler, lacking the initial rigid sternness it held. “Demons are still a force to be reckoned with. Even my adepti struggle with stifling down their noxious presence, whether it be the weight of karma or a disparity in power itself.”

Coherency is now a lost subject.

“I doubt you could have resisted its influence and Balam knew of the battle they would throw themselves into. Your god was willing to make that sacrifice, something of a rare sight amongst a few of the divine. Remember this well.”

A lump grows in your throat. It’s not an unwelcome one, quietly easing the nerves that crackled and frazzled beyond possible repair. You look down at your hands and your eyes slip shut as you take his words in, bit by bit. Balam was a god who, while distant within the front lines of battle, still loved their people.

It’s ironic how the gods can be capable of human sentiment and human error.

“Thank you, Morax.” you mutter. “I needed that.”

“The bitter truth, or the comfort?” he jests softly. “Because while I deal well with the former, my skill with the latter falls abysmally short.”

You laugh softly.

“For both .”

( His eyes light with surprise. Then you spot it, the faint flush on his cheeks and a dangerous thought enters your mind. You shake your head. It was best you didn’t raise your paltry hopes . )

He does not visit for a few weeks, but you spot a few saplings left behind at your doorstep, of plants and flowers you had never seen before.

You pick one up and a single word echoes in your mind — qingxins .

A smile tugs at your lips.

The distant noise of battle has grown reticent.

You tell it to Morax on one of his visits and he dares to flash a knowing smile in response. “The war is coming to its close. Only a few handfuls remain.” he states, tracing your bandaged hands; a new set of souvenirs from a stray whopperflower. You shiver involuntarily, leaning into him a bit more while longing tears your insides raw. “Hopefully you will come to enjoy an era of peace soon.”

“Will it end soon? The war?” you ask, wincing a little when he presses his fingertips down on the afflicted skin, bathing it in honeyed gold. “Ah! Gently!” you hiss, pulling back on reflex. Morax holds you fast, drawing you back to him with a playful tut and a sheepish glance your way.

“Apologies. Is this alright?” The pressure on your wrist still brings forth a sting, but it’s far more bearable. You nod. “Alright. Now hold still …” The glow returns, as does the tingling warmth and the tense nervousness gives way to a content sigh as the pain ebbs to obscurity. You watch your bandages fall away to skin mostly unblemished, save the faint traces of a scar left behind. “Better?” he asks.

You nod. “Much better…I wonder why you didn’t try healing yourself earlier. You’re not too bad at it.” he wasn't. Only a few humans were ever imbibed with the grace of divine power. You always longed to be gifted with the strength to heal, and you feet the slightest hint of envy as you take in the sight.

Morax blinks. “I was in too weak a state to do so. Healing is not my greatest strength either…I simply learned it, should it come to use amidst battle.” he flexes his fingers, the last flickers of gold falling away. His gaze meets yours with its usual intensity before he reaches for your other hand.

“Hm…I suppose this means you’ve paid your part of the debt?” you tease. “You’ve healed me as I've healed you, right?”

“True…” his lips quirk up as he mends the last of the burns, then presses a delicate kiss on your knuckles. “Does this mark the end of our contract?” The gesture only serves to fluster you further, bringing forth the feeling of fluttering warmth and the near lightness in your chest. Morax chuckles, his voice dipped to a teasing whisper as he calls out your name in a low, purring timbre.

“H-hold up!” you choke out, terrified of potentially overheating as you push his face away, stifling away the shy laughter that threatens to burst out. Morax shifts closer, closer still, his close presence having grown familiar through the meetings and the shared conversations and meals ( you missed the gentleness in his touch, you missed so much of him ).

“Hm? Stop what?” he teases, a cheeky glint lighting up in his gaze. “My, your face feels warm.” he adds with a soft simper, tilting your chin his way as he scans your features.

A desperate attempt to shift his attention comes to form. “Look at the qingxins you gifted me! They’re growing nicely, right?” you try to smile, looking at the flowers growing just a small ways from your home. Morax hums.

“They are. Give them a few months and they will come to bloom.” he replies, his wandering touch tracing up your arm, grazing at fragile skin and faint scars and the sensation has you shuddering. The glow in his eyes brightens and he huffs out something unintelligible, then asks you, “Would you like me to stop?”

You fall silent. “No it’s fine…” you sigh, reaching up to grasp his hand gently, ignoring the phantom stings as your finger splays out over Morax’s palm, at the dazzling gold dipped at the edges fading away to a spider web of veins and dark scales. “I like this.” you hum. Morax blinks, his cheeks coloring pink.

The intensity burns brighter in his gaze. It scorches at his touch and in the way he looks upon you now and as acute as it was, you felt blanketed beneath a safe warmth.

Morax speaks up, “I will make sure this war ends soon.” It was a promise, holding the weight of his blood. You feel it in every syllable, every rise and drop in his cadence. He leans in and the spice in his scent pervades your senses.

His lips are softer than you expected, mildly chapped from the heat and the battlefield, and between the buzz slowly beginning to sound off in your head and the feel of his touch brush away at your hair and rest on your cheek, your heart hammers hard in your ribcage. You feel the earth shift and watch the sky sweep away as you fall back on the grass and Morax palms at your hips and kisses you some more.

It feels like a distant dream, something you’d rather not wake from and when he pulls away to look you in the eye, you watch the smirk in his face grow as he dips down and buries his face into your neck, his pace languid, his claws gentle against the softness of your skin. You bite back a stray mewl when his teeth prickle down on sensitive flesh, slowly and deliberately making his way down down down, and his hand pressing flat on your thigh.

A glow flickers within his chest. He stops and tugs away with clear frustration, heaving as he watches you try to recover from the fog clogging up your thoughts, the memory of his touch warming every inch of you. Morax chews at his bottom lip. “I am needed again.”

“...oh…” you croak out, even if you wish to scream at the unfairness, to pull him back down atop of you and finish what he started. You shut your eyes, easing at your frayed nerves at the trembling and the traitorous dampness that was gradually settling in. The god in front of you holds a shadow of amusement and he kisses you again, gentler, with less teeth and tongue and more tenderness.

“I’ll come back,” he whispers. It holds another promise masked beneath the assurance, it’s cheekiness lighting his gaze.

When Morax’s form departs, you let out a shaky sigh, one hand delving into your heat while the other clamps over your mouth. The moment your slick coats your fingers, you moan into the silence, the promise persisting.

Morax thinks about you when the rains fall once more.

He thinks about you on the battlefield, waiting with that patient smile.

He thinks about you when his adepti fall and the last god is slain — when he finds his numbers dwindle, their blood staining his victory. He holds that memory of you close, that cherished warmth. His little flower.

Morax thinks about you. And he longs .

You came to know of patience’s workings through the days and months in between Morax’s visits, and this one is his longest thus far. The war persists still, the sound of the heavens screaming slowly growing quieter as deities were felled and the lands were stitched together by victories and defeats. You wonder where your old home lies now beneath the seven seats, what it would grow into in the near future.

Then one day, you wake to complete and utter silence.

The war is over. The roads had cleared. One day, when the world stills just a little more and the last few scars left behind have healed, you could try to visit the towns and cities beyond your isolated home.

Morax stays absent. You go on with your life. The qingxins he gifted you bloom in your garden. You wait, shedding away the accusatory remarks, the words that dare you to doubt his victory, that take your mind to darker spaces with the image of his still form and cold hands. No, absolutely not, you could not doubt him .

You repeat it over and over, beating down at the cynical whispering. Do not doubt him .

A storm rises again, blustering through the lands with the threat of tearing your home down from its stubborn foundations. You stay inside, the change in weather setting forth a persistent chill that your meager hearth could hardly hold against. Finally, after a few hours of running about, your body hunches over the blocks, feeding the fire with the last of your firewood.

“How much longer…” you mutter, storing away the last of your herbs when the rain refuses to cease and it grows harder to differentiate between night and day. The lightning thunders in response, asserting it’s long stay and you curl up by the warmth you fed, numb fingers gripping at old blankets and watching the rain beat down incessantly on your roof. It would be a long wait, you realize. It’s best if you find a way to pass the time.

There was another clap of thunder, then a crash that felt all too intimate with your memories. Then came the knocking and you scuttle up to let a drenched Morax in, his pupils blown wide and his body hot to the touch as he stumbles in. You’re almost afraid he’s fallen ill once more, but the insistent tug at your wrists has you follow him.

“Are you okay?” you ask, seating him down by the fire, moving to dry his hair after draping a sheet on his shoulder. “Morax, what’s wrong.” Despite the sudden appearance, you feel relief crash down and tug out a lump in your throat. You hold back the tears for his sake. You did not want to startle him in this state.

“A visit.” he shrugs.

“In this weather?” you question every ounce of wisdom he holds. He looks unbothered, pulling you closer to him while you squeeze the water out of his tresses, his chin coming to rest on your shoulder. Warm breath pools out and hits your neck and a shiver racks at your body. “Morax — ”

“I missed you…” The hoarseness of his voice steals the words in your mouth. You latch onto him tightly, fisting at his robes, uncaring of the silk wrinkling beneath your rough hands. Morax does not stay silent or stay still, his hands sliding down your sides, pulling you closer up against him. “I missed you…” he repeats feverishly. The hunger in his stare is an answer enough.

The fire crackles and lets out a sputter.

Morax lays you on your back with a gentle thump and hooks a hand beneath your knee, pushing it up against your chest as he steals a kiss from you, heated and impatient after weeks of mulling over his affection and lust. “Stay still.” he orders as you squirm a little, wanting more, needing more, trying to bury yourself into him as much as humanly possible.

Your open mouthed breaths did not help in the slightest as he steals another kiss, then another, the wetness of his tongue delving deep down your throat as he muffles out any sounds of shock from you —

— was it forked ?

You could not ponder over it for long, choking against the invading muscle while his lips caress yours with growing need and intensity. It made sense, for one like Morax — who adored talking about the origins of an obscure tea leaf to the festivities that littered the streets of his city — to fancy the act of kissing you. And he still keeps kissing you, over and over till your head spins and his body is pressed up flush against yours.

He noses at your neck with a noticeable huff, fingers dragging up the side of your hips, slowly, deliberately, till they tug at the hem of your clothes. Molten gold catches the anxious excitement bubbling within you and your eyes and you catch the smirk on Morax’s face.

“I’d like to continue.” he sounds breathless.

“ Go on then .” that threadbare line that held you together had snapped now. You do not think you could wait any longer than you have for him. Morax chuckles, bending down with a narrowed gaze till his nose brushes against yours.

“I haven’t finished my statement.” he chides and you don’t know what is worse, him dragging this out to a near painful pace, or the hand that caresses the inside of your thigh teasingly, drawing out a stray moan from your lips. “If you feel overwhelmed, or you wish to stop, we must establish a safe word.”

He waits expectantly and you scour your mind for the first word that pops into your head. “Squid.” you decide, shifting your hips closer to him. Morax lets out something between a wince and an amused chuckle, his hand leaving your thigh. You wine in protest, grabbing at his wrists to pull him closer.

“So needy.” he lilts. “Are you sure you want this?”

How cruel , you think unhappily, unsure of how to take his consideration; a loosely veiled attempt to drive you further into wanting or a call of sincere concern. You think you know Morax. You think it’s both.

“ Yes !” you cannot wait any more and neither could Morax, his claws curling round to clutch and tangle at the back of your head while he captures you in a devouring kiss. Your own experience hardly held a candle to his own practiced ease, but you do what you can, groaning into the clacking of teeth and the teasing little nips he leaves on your lower lip.

His thumb traces down the side of your neck and hooks at your clothes, tugging away at the fabric to stroke your now bare shoulder. Morax leaves no trace of skin untouched by his lips and he brushes down the line of your collar bone, his teeth flashing in the candle light till you feel him bite down at the spot with a muffled growl.

The rush of pain and pleasure has you pressing your face down into the mattress with reeling shock, any moan held back in the midst of the hazy shock lighting up inside you. The action was mostly unintentional, but you were glad it could have saved you any further embarrassment in Morax’s eyes.

“Not a sound?” he asks, licking his lips with a predatory tilt to his head, regarding every inch of you with voracity. You stubbornly refuse to respond, lips sealed tight with a set of eyelashes batting up at him. Morax likes a chase and you give it to him, no matter how small it may be. “No matter. We’ll see how silent you are by the end of the night.”

The words hang in the air like an impending omen. You do not doubt him.

His voice dips to a sultry whisper as he undoes your top and lets it slide past your shoulders and down your waist till it was bunched to the side and lay there forgotten. The storm rumbles outside your window, and the wind prickles at your skin. Between Morax eyeing you down, mapping out every detail with his fingertips and the chill in the air, your arms instinctively move to hug yourself.

“No.” His word was stern, absolute as he tugs at whatever covers your entirety from his gaze. “I’ve never seen you this shy before… adorable .” he purrs, stroking your cheek.

“ Tease .” you test out.

Morax’s expression lapses to a playful smile in the midst of your indignation, leaning back to watch you with clear intent. He guides your legs around his waist and shifts you partly atop his lap, gently moving your hips to a slow grind against his torso. The sudden stimulation draws out a squeak, your cheeks set aflush.

“ Beautiful… ” his claws linger over your chest before it trails down to stroke your stomach. “You’re so soft , little love…” they stop at your shoulder, raking around the scar settled there, gnarled marks and torn flesh left behind by talons and teeth. You feel the flare of doubt and self consciousness flare back up, but it fizzles out when he bends to leave a kiss atop it.

It was hard to find a spot that he did not touch. Morax was precise, diligent, learning what spots made your squirm and whimper and shake beneath him with white hot pleasure. The rain’s roar was a distant muffle between the pleasant buzz in your head and Morax’s ragged breaths sounding in the otherwise quiet room. He hunches over you, nosing at your neck with near obsessive need, nipping, kissing — anything to cast on some semblance of his scent and essence.

Your chin nestles atop his shoulder, your sight trained upwards, oblivious to where Morax may choose to touch you next. The clinking of metal does draw in a few questions, most quickly answered when you feel his clothes give way and settle on your stomach. Then comes his teeth, sharp fangs sinking into you. You hardly register the moan you let out, or the heat that you sink into, desperate for more, for more skinship, for more of Morax.

“ Beautiful .” he repeats, a growl bleeding into every syllable, down to the rumble in his chest. He still donned his pants, but most of his clothes now lay scattered across the mattress, pushed aside a moment later with an impatient huff.

You have seen Morax bare chested plenty of times before, when he first arrived wounded on the slope of your little mountain home. There was no denying he was a beautiful man, sharply lined with the faintest of silvered scars scattered beneath stark gold tattoos. “ Morax .” you mutter, lacing your fingers into his, tugging at him instantly. “Keep going.”

He smiles.

“Patience.” he croons. You squeeze your eyes shut and hold back the swear resting on your tongue. “I have waited for so long…” his teeth don’t hold the old hesitance it did, now wholly marking you with delicious bruises and love bites. “...and I intend on savoring… ” his lips linger on the line of your jaw, tickling your ear. “... each… ” they brush down, down, down. “... bite… ” and true to his words, he sinks his teeth down again.

Your hands tangle at his hair, his hair tie snapping to your insistent tugging till burnt brown strands pool around him. He looked a little wilder, with how his eyes glow beneath the shadow cast on his face. You comb through them with a soft “So pretty.” earning a flattered hum whilst he cups your breasts, chanting your name lovingly.

You gasp at the feel of a soft pinch on your nipples. Morax lights up, a dangerous splay of his fangs flashing in your field of vision before he engulfs one breast within his mouth, suckling, biting, devouring greedily and the other grows sensitive to his slow strokes. “M-Mor–AX!” Your mewls peak and your hands grab at his shoulders, his back, at the sheets — somewhere , trying to ground you to the sensation.

( He could hear your racing heart beneath his grasp and the sound of it makes Morax purr with an emotion so old and primal and possessive. )

He pulls away with a wet pop. “How do you feel?” he asks.

“H-hot.” you barely manage to blurt out. “Hot everywhere.”

That smile was back again, the one with the barest flash of primality. “Hot?” he repeats. You nod. It was hot, in your cheeks, your chest and your stomach and core — and you could hardly bring yourself to wait. With Morax’s resolve to take his slower pace. You curse his patience. You wish he was just as desperate.

“I am.” he muses nonchalantly, ducking down to take your other breast in his mouth. “I crave every inch of you. I want to hear you sing, wǒ qīn'ài de .” his hand drags down, teasing the inside of your thighs with circular strokes. You buck your hips into him with a pathetic whimper, and Morax pounces at the lapse, tugging your underwear down with a single fluid motion then pushing his fingers into your drenched heat.

“Oh how obscene.” he lilts, a delighted shine in his eyes, momentarily bringing his slickened digits for you to see. “You’re drenched.”

“ Shut .” you snap, a depraved cry cutting you off as he teases at your entrance with one finger, thumbing up your core till he settles on your clit with a peased grunt. Your hips snap and shudder, tears slowly pricking at your eyes. It was an odd sensation, a buildup of pressure far greater than what you could coax out that tightens in your gut.

Morax slides a finger in, slowly, gently. “ Ah — ” you bury your face into your mattress, spreading your legs further for him. He continues his slow thrusts, in and out and you revel in the sweet sensation. “Feels — f-feels good — ”

His scrutiny comes with its merits, stroking your walls with an out of place gentleness as he watches every shift, keen and whine with a deep found appreciation and yearning. “You’re quite tight , little one.” he rumbles. You warble in response, bucking your hips into him as the pressure steadily builds and builds and builds.

“I’ll be adding another.” he decides and he does, a second finger slipping in. the stretch stung and you fist at the sheets with a groan.

“N-no…t-too much — ah!” The broken whimper does elicit a sympathetic look from him and he kisses away the tears, thankfully easing his movements.

“I know, little love. I know.” you sink into his warmth, melting at the delicacy in how he holds you close. “But we’ll need to prepare you, don’t we? And you’re taking me so well too…” you think you are when the pain slowly subsides and the pleasure returns, your very being trembling when he scissors you. “Ah, witnessing the state you're in…it makes me wonder how well you’ll take something else of mine, hm?”

“M-morax!” you squeak, cheeks flushed. The embarrassing squelch from your core shuts you up immediately. You decide you’re better off muffling out your moans out of petty spite at this point and you seek your refuge in the covers, burying your face into your mattress.

Ha! You think, naively, foolishly, daring to assume that Morax would fold at the face of a challenge. A third finger slips through and the moan is smothered. You think you hear him chuckle and you think you see the excited flash in his eyes as he shifts and twists your body, laying you down on your stomach.

“So stubborn.” The delight is apparent in his cadence. His hand presses down at the small of your back, then his torso presses up against you, continuing his slow and agonizing thrusts with practiced pace. “The vitriol in your silence hardly diminishes how soaked you are. Your body is far more honest, it seems.”

“ MMPH !”

You gasp, feeling his fingertips stroke your g-spot, pulling you apart at the seams and chipping away at your mind. Everything feels distant and muddled and the pleasure was almost too much to bear. “Does it feel good when I touch you here?” you shut your eyes and curl up, bucking up into him uselessly. His weight restricted your movements and you doubt you could wiggle away for a temporary respite ( even if some masochistic part of you liked the deluge of sensations pile up steadily ). “I need words.”

Another thrust. You wail into your hands, whatever dogged decision to stay silent, now shattered. “Yes. Yes — P- please!” you haven’t the foggiest clue what you’re begging for at this point, but the fullness you feel from his fingers alone is enough. “L-like that. Morax please keep going.”

He adds a fourth finger.

“You keep tightening up…” he whispers, as if trapped in a trance of his own, your head lifting to press against his bicep while his movements momentarily slow to ease you in before his pace picks up and that slow, brutal torture begins again.

You squirm, squeal, bite into his arm with vigor. Morax laughs, kissing your temple with comforting croons. “Good.” he coos, dipping his nose into your hair with a victorious purr. Your thighs squeeze around him and your hips jolt forth. The pressure steadily building up in your stomach seems to crest while you chime out his name. Your orgasm seeps closer and closer and closer —

He pulls his fingers out and you bite back a cry, a protest, tears pooling out as dismay settles fast. Was it something you said? Was it something you’ve done? Why did he stop?

“Why…” you manage out, stroking his hair. Morax raises a brow then slides down, his lips latching onto your inner thigh with a groan. You fist at the sheets again, a vague idea coming to form between the haze and the jumbled confusion and disappointment and it sets a spark of excitement.

A pause.

Morax meets your gaze.

He smirks.

You stifle back a scream when he bows his head down and laves at your heat, catching the receding traces of your buildup and letting it reel in steadily. His tongue was greedy, warm, devouring you whole as he slicks it through your drenched folds, and — oh gods —

Whatever praise that you cry out turns into a feverish mantra being babbled out over and over, the sharp mountainous air taking on a headier scent. Your validation was enough to spur him on, it seems, every bit of Morax, from the practiced gentleness to his eagerness to undo you coming to shine with the fervor of a starved animal.

“ Good .” he growls out, claws digging down a little harder into the softness of your thigh, his teeth and tongue grazing and toying at your clit. You clap your hands over your mouth once more, a squeak cut short, only to have them pinned down by him. He flashes you a warning glare before gold light illuminates your wrists and you feel the weight of geo press them down to your chest.

The cuffs were heavy, and they did their job well as you could only grab at air while his licks grow more languid. Your thighs were pushed back with a single fluid movement and a flustered cry escaped with your sudden exposure.

“Ah — ”

You tug at his hair, drawing out another delicious moan from his throat. Liquid gold appraises you, taking every detail in, between your fucked out expression and your twitching body. Morax presses against your sweet spots, and you could have sworn some strange magic were at play, with every careful thrust and every slow vibration. You could hard;y word out the state you were in, your mind all cotton wool with little thought.

Overwhelming…indescribable…that was a way to put it.

Morax does not complain about your growing insistence, your moans growing louder, your thighs squeezing round his shoulders, your attempts to free yourself from the stone shackles he placed on you.he must be just as far gone with your arousal in his mouth ( and that was true ). You hope he won’t turn to cruelty like the last time and deny you of your orgasm. It was a delirious pitch in the back of your mind, a soft cry.

“I-I think i’m close — ” you gasp, feeling that knot grow tight as the tell tale spill of an incoming release shudders up your spine and fingertips. Morax looks at you, the gold of his eyes wide and his pupils blown out with suppressed mischief. A well-timed thrust from his fingers served your undoing.

“Go on then.” he relents.

You sob into the sheets gratefully, pleasure rippling through as the coil snaps and you crumple and sink into a state of unawareness. You could only just register Morax sitting up, thumb swiping at his lips, licking away at the mess you made, smeared between his thighs and on him. “S-sorry!”

He shuts his eyes, quiet bliss washing over him. “I could devour you here and now…” he mutters in indulgence. He rubs your sore wrists down, pressing kisses against the expanse of skin with an apologetic smile. “You look tired. Shall we stop here?”

Alarm lines your features. “What about you?” you blurt out, bug eyed and still fatigued from your orgasm. Morax doesn’t respond, laying down next to you. You feel a bitterness line your mouth and you find yourself pushing your body up and crawling atop him. Morax opens one eye, amusement quirking at his lips.

“Oh?” he doesnt bother feigning surprise as his clawed grip settles on your hips. You try to hide yourself, embarrassment from your bold move hardly aiding in your focus as you slide his pants down and stare, he bore two of them, standing erect against your stomach. You helplessly glance at him.

“You’re…you’re big..” you tell him dumbly. “I-I don’t…I don’t think I can take both of them…” Morax chuckles.

“We’ll take it slow then. You only need one.” he decides, helping you up. You steady yourself on his shoulders, carefully laving your entrance with him before you lower yourself onto him, feeling the first telltale sting that has you stop with a whine. “Careful.” he speaks up, rubbing at your sides and you try to be, taking him bit by bit. Morax stretched you out in a way his fingers couldn’t and his second shaft rubs at your sore clit, leaving you jolting with sparks of pleasure.

He was roving every inch of you, biting down at his bottom lip when you clench around him. Every bit of him screamed of his self control hovering a step away from a more viscous beast. You don’t think you’re ready for what Morax tucks away in the corners of his mind, but you hope, hope that you could indulge him some day.

You were soaked enough for him to slip in with ease, a collective of your and his arousal trailing down with an audible squelch every time he dared to grind up a little more against you. “Fuck….” he whispers out, a rare lapse in demeanor. “D-does it hurt?”

“No.” you shake your head, a half lie. It stings, yes, but the slow haze of euphoria was pressing up and you knew he would stop if you showed the slightest sign of discomfort — and you did not want him to stop. Not with this lovely warmth, and with him holding you like you were the most delicate of flowers.

The sound he makes is animalistic and he thrusts, just a little, into you. He could hardly help himself, seemingly just as lost as you were ( and he was, with his parted lips and fluttering lashes ). You curl into him, pressing your face into his neck. “That’s it.” he whispers mindlessly. “Wonderful, y-you’re taking me so well…don’t rush now…”

You take the rest of him, seated snugly on his lap with a shaky mewl, tears pricking at your eyes. Morax bares his teeth, groaning freely as the air itself seems to crackle against you. You open your mouth, trying to say something, anything, but he pins you down with a single look. “Little minx .” he rasps.

A laugh bubbles up. You wonder if it’s from amusement, or from the overwhelming rush of dopamine or both.

He kisses the corner of your lips, gathering his bearings. “You’ve had your moment of fun, little love. Now move .”

“Yes sir…” you sigh, and do just that, lifting your hips just a bit before you rock back down onto him. “S-shit…s-so good…”

Morax hums, pursing his lips. His face was flushed and the tattoos on his arms were cast in gold and light. He takes matters into his own hands, pounding up into him with sudden force and your teeth chatter and your eyes roll back with a pathetic whimper.

A few marks of your own were delivered, from your nibbling as Morax continues to thrust up into your drenched cunt, and from your nails scratching at his back. His approval was punctuated by a particularly hard one, that made your head spin and had you see stars. You vaguely register the scent of petrichor through everything else.

“ Morax — ”

The state you were in only behind to sink in. That he was inside you, that he was taking every chance to draw out these obscene sounds from your lips. Even gods could not escape the perversion of mortal desires. Was this even considered blasphemy at this point, when he seemed to be stuck on the same boat as you were, sinking so fast into his lust?

“ — so good for me .” he guides your legs around his abdomen, whispering your name with a weak whine. He bites at your neck, at the marks he inflicted, then soothes them with kisses. He rubs your back and strokes your hair, his tender touch contrasting against his rough movements, grinding into your sweet spots and paired with his second cock rubbing at your clit, you could only lose yourself a second time.

That knot tightens and you feel the onset of your release. It was close, fast coming and you tug at his hair to warn him. Morax growls, his tail winding round your ankle. You try to keep up, try to ride him, but his pace far outmatches yours, stretching you out, pulling you flush against him. You let him use you, your monks reaching a feverish peak, grasping a taste of heaven on your tongue.

“Morax — ah!”

He curls into you, around you with an engulfing embrace with whispered words being uttered into your ear, “Do you want to cum?” You jolt your head. “Then cum… ”

And the bliss washes over you as you finally find it, slumping up into Morax;s patient arms with a near boneless stance. Your eyes met his, the hunger that still rages as he watches with awed fascination at how you come apart and piece back together again with teary eyes and a debauched smile.

“Beautiful.” he mumbles, then presses you face first into the sheets, still sheathed deep inside you. You only just realize he still has reached his own peak yet when he moves, absently reaching out for a pillow for you to grasp.

“God…M- morax — ” you were tired but with overstimulation settling fast and your own desires to see his pleasures being met, you bite into the pillow with a helpless whine. There was a rush in the pain you felt, from feeling all that pleasure wrap into a tight knot while he slicks back and forth into you, hitting your g-spot again with insistent grunts. His pupils were blown wide, like he was trying to take in as much of you as he could.

“M-more!” you blurt out then wince, feeling a hint of shame prick at you for being so greedy. It was about him now; sure you could put your own needs aside.

Morax however, smiles. “ More ?” he coos. “You want more?”

A gasp. You feel his hand settle on your clit, his untouched cock brush against your thigh. “Now who am I to deny you?” He continues his rough thrusts, godly stamina barely denting at his reserves and his pace. Perhaps that came with being an adeptus, this unending virility and endurance. Morax kisses at the back of your neck, laying down more marks to serve as a reminder for the next few days ( that you were, undoubtedly and irrevocably his now ).

Wanton moans pour out easily. Morax delights in them, carefully stimulating spots that were sure to bring the most out of you. The initial phase of searching and mapping out and learning was long gone — he was always quick to pick up on things, and things that make you fall apart into a quivering mess so easily were no exception.

It feels so good. So good —

“Do you want to keep going?” he asks. You feel sore in the best of ways and you nod. You don’t want him to stop. You don't ever want him to stop, drunk on the overstimulation, the euphoria, his cock, him —

Morax lets out a shaky exhale and slams even harder into you. “You’ll be my undoing...” he whispers and you turn your head, catching a glimpse of him. His straight faced composure was long gone, what careful parts of him he keeps hidden from sight having fallen over. Claws prickle at your ass, his eyes are trained on you, you you and when he meets your gaze, he captures your lips in a heated kiss.

“What kind of spell have you ensnared me with, little love?”

You could say the same thing. You try to, cut off by a rough grind on your clit. A lump builds up in your throat, vaguely recalling his small gestures of affection, his admissions, through your heat hazed mind and you arch your back into him to catch another kiss. Morax never needed to say the words and you were fine with it.

“I love you.” you tell him instead, taking everything you had to get your tongue to move. Morax freezes up. He shuts his eyes and strokes your cheeks and buries his face into your neck.

“My Qingxin.” he whispers, tenderly, lovingly. The faltering in his pace, the sloppier jerks of his hips, then undertones of strained control beneath his moans signal his release. You grasp at his free shaft, and the gasp that echoes out was a rewarding one as you stroke him along into his release. “In or out?” he grits out, stuttering for a second. You feel the drag of his cock against your walls. “In.” you blubber.

You blank out after, feeling the rush, the fullness, him spilling out of you, between your legs, onto the mattress, over your stomach. Morax lets out a shudder, his marks glowing a faint gold before he pulls out. His hand does not leave your clit. Coaxing your third peak out with gentle kisses and insistent mumbles. The pain was sharp but you drink it in, pride lining every crevice of you till you jolt, that pressure finally releasing.

“Thank you.” you mumble. Intimacy was always so foreign, and a kind touch was a far away thought. Morax settles down, pulling you to him as he kisses away the drying tears and the sated touch starvation. He kisses you on the lips. Then the tip of your nose. Then at the bites he inflicted.

“Rest.” he whispers.

The cadence of his voice made it hard to disagree with and you feel unconsciousness wash over you fast. You could vaguely make out the sheets being changed and a damp cloth washing you down.

Morax’s weight next to you was the last thing you register.

“Are you well?”

Morax could count the number of times you sought refuge beneath his arm, eyes roving the stalls in the harbor with caution and nervousness. Your jumpiness was an expected clause, and a slightly endearing one as he walks you along the streets as a mortal man and his lover. There were no gods in Liyue Harbor today, at least none the people were aware of.

“Zhongli.”

He turns his head. “Yes, love?”

You fall into earnest silence. “I think I'm going to freak out.” you say. As taught as a bowstring against him. You grip at his hanfu tighter. “They’re staring. Why are they staring?”

“I suppose a new face does bring raised brows. That…” he dips his head down, nose brushing against your cheek with a loving chuckle. “...and you look exceptionally beautiful today, love.” You tug at his sleeve. “Ah, would some food ease my flower’s nerves then?” another tug. He takes that as a yes.

Even so, Morax knew you. Qingxins were flowers that know the intimate dangers of the mountain side and the bustle of the harbor below. You will grow, as you do and you will adapt as you do, maybe slowly, maybe quickly. He knows not to rush it along and he contents himself with your company and your curious question and the bliss on your face when you try a skewer.

“Liyue is beautiful.” you admit after a while. “Crowded, but beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m not used to this.” you tell him for the umpteenth time, quick, apologetic and Morax has none of that ( why would he ever see it fit to fault you? ). He takes your hand, pressing a fluttering kiss on your palm.

You shoot him a flustered glare. He smiles. “We’ll take our time. This old man has much to spare.” and he does.

He’ll wait millennia if it is for you.

#log. [ writing ]#zhongli x reader #zhongli #zhongli x you #morax x reader #morax x you #genshin zhongli #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #zhongli smut #zhongli x reader smut #x reader #log. [ m-dni ]

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gay-dorito-dust · 17 hours ago

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Hi! :) mayhaps can i request your HC's for viktor x an artist reader. 👉👈 ur angst drabbles have been sustaining my life since season 2

There’s a saying that if an artist loves you or falls in love with you, you can never die.

A saying that Viktor didn’t give much thought until it was very clear that he was your forever muse, your reason to keeping your passion alive through experimenting art styles to maximise the effect you wanted your art to have; almost in the exact same way a scientist would conduct experiments in order to understand how something works and how to properly utilise it.

However each and every one of your art works came out looking like masterpieces that should and probably would be studied by future artists themselves one day, given how beautiful they were.

But also because they all included a man with amber eyes and soft chocolate hair hard at work with his own projects as blue sparks are captured liked shooting stars flying past his beautiful face. He truly was a once in a lifetime experience that you wanted to eternally capture within the pages of your sketchbook.

It literally didn’t matter what he did, whether it was tinkering, experimenting with the hexcore or just simply existing, you wanted to capture as much of Viktor as you possibly can whenever you can.

Viktor, in your eyes, was the kind of man people would kill to create sculptures of and artworks that would be seen in grand museums, within a beautifully intricate frame that only added emphasise to his importance to the artist in question. The artist being you of course.

So needless to say whenever you were with Viktor you made sure to have your sketchbook and pencils in hand as you knew that you’d end up wanting to sketch him for the millionth time that day.

However your favourite sketch of him came when you made him smile, genuinely smile.

The image of his bright and handsome smile was all you could see for hours on end as you found yourself absentmindedly sketching his face, his smile, the wrinkles near his eyes and his wind ruffled hair to perfection.

You then found yourself staring at it as though reliving the moment where you heard his laugh reach your ears like a harmonious melody, swept upon the wind that ruffled his hair and into your ears and your ears only.

To be loved by an artist was to be seen and you saw Viktor in a way that nobody else could, not even himself, and it showed in your work as you made him look like an angel disguised as a human given how frequently you used the colour gold whenever you drew him. From his eyes, to his clothes, everything with Viktor had hints of gold to it.

So much so that you had to get more colouring pencils of the exact same shade of gold so frequently that the manger of the art shop knew your name and the muse of your latest works at this point.

‘Drawing Viktor again I see?’ They’d teasingly ask as you’d shrug your shoulders.

‘Guilty as charged.’ You would reply before taking your things and leaving.

Viktor didn’t pry into your sketchbook, it was your belonging and he didn’t feel it was necessary for him to pry into it, but his curiosity didn’t help him one day as he found himself drawn to the sketchbook that you seemed to had left in his lab.

The first few pages were merely parts of the academy that you frequently visited, from the gardens, to the library, to even the lab he was stood in. Each one was increasingly more impressive than the last with how lifelike you made each one as though he could fall into the scene you had created; a true testament to your talent, creativity and insane attention to detail.

However the further the sketchbook went, he could easily see a decline in inspiration in your art. only for it to pick back up again when you had started drawing him doing the most mundane of things -at least in his mind he thought so- as simple sketches to portraits solely done by oil pastels or only colouring pencils. All just to emphasise his features and the concentrated furrows of his brows, a large variation of colours you’ve used so effortlessly to make up his face in a way that he could never imagine.

And yet Viktor found that there was more artworks of yours regarding him, artworks that seemingly continued endlessly and were just as hyper detailed and colourful as the more of himself that he saw, each one touching his heart in a way that made him realise that this was how you genuinely saw him; an angel in human skin as the way you depicted him was either simply human or an ethereal being coated in various shades of gold.

Through the eyes of an artist, through the eyes of you, Viktor knew that you only conveyed what you believed to be true and the fact that you saw him in such a way was enough to have him struggling to breath, but in the best way possible.

You way you saw him transcended beyond the person he saw each and every day in the mirror. You saw him as a man of infinite beauty, wisdom and strength in a multitude of ways while never shying away when it came to his leg nor disease.

If anything you made those parts of him stand out the most in a way that told him that you found these parts of him a strength and perfection in your eyes. Telling him that you didn’t wish him to be anything other then himself, for he was perfect and so much much that only your art could help describe.

Viktor; a man on borrowed time became a man immortalised within the pages of his artist lover.

He even seen the sketches of him fast asleep against his workbench you’ve done and even then you took your time making it look like he was staring into a mirror of himself.

You’d catch him flicking through your sketchbook but you couldn’t say anything against it as the way his eyes light up and soft smiles upon looking at your latest works, looks that only made you want to draw Viktor even more if it meant this sight becoming more common with the passage of time.

‘You like them?’ You’d ask from the doorway.

‘I love them my dear.’ He replies softly as he presses his forehead against your own, making you smile fondly. ‘But was the drawing of me sleeping necessary?’ He adds playfully as you chuckled.

‘Oh it was very necessary my muse.’ You replied with equal playfulness as you kissed his nose. ‘I saw an opportunity and couldn’t let it pass me by without at least drawing it first,’ Viktor scoffs but the smile upon his lips remained, ‘and besides you looked really peaceful and relaxed that I wanted it to be something I remember. Hoping I get to experience more moments like that to be my muse for my future drawings.’ You finished.

‘I’m glad the to could do that for you my dear.’ Viktor closed his eyes and rested his head further against yours, wanting nothing then to capture this moment within his mind forever, secretly hoping to continue to be the muse of your art projects as your artistic range grew.

‘You’ve always been my muse,’ you said, closing your eyes, ‘you will always will be my muse.’

#arcane #arcane x you #arcane x y/n #viktor arcane #arcane imagines #arcane imagine #arcane x reader #viktor x y/n #viktor x you #viktor fluff #viktor imagines #viktor imagine #viktor x reader

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h0ney-mochi · 3 days ago

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I'm thinking of a subby!xiao x dom!Afab!Reader, where it's xiao's first time and he starts crying because of the extreme pleasure he is receiving lmao

(I wanna hear his moans, whimpers, whines, crying, I wanna feel him squirming as he begs me to go faster on his cock lmao)

Anyways thanks! I hope you have a wonderful day :D

sub Xiao x dom afab!reader

SMUT/NSFW CONTENT (sub!xiao, dom!reader, afab!reader, riding, dacryphilia?, praise)

Summary: You've started being more intimate with Xiao a few months ago. Make-outs, some touching, but nothing too far... And then, one night, he tells you his thoughts on wanting to do more.

A/n: YR SO RIGHT... he'd be whimpering and whining for you to speed up, go harder, he wants more!!! <3 Hope you have a good day as well, anon! I haven't written in so fucking long that I'm scared this isn't that good... gosh help

Minor writer, dni if uncomfortable!

It's another night of you and your lovely adeptus boyfriend. He's still not used to the title of that, especially when you run up to him muttering the words with a huge smile on your face. You've asked him if he's uncomfortable, that you can change the nickname up, that he can tell you if he doesn't like it— Before seeing the blush on his cheeks that he's trying very hard to hide. He'll say it's fine, avoiding your teasing gaze, not wanting to admit that he does like the name. Especially when it comes from your lips.

Another one of those nights of you laying in the grass, kicking your feet in the air while reading a book in the pale moonlight. Xiao is beside you, looking over the hill. It was calm and quiet. Occasionally, you could hear some bird making noise in the distance, but other than that, it was peaceful. You flip another page and smirk at a sentence.

Xiao has already moved his attention away from the fields, looking down at you now, watching your eyes move across the words on the page. He slightly furrows his eyebrows, deep in some thoughts. It's fascinating how you have so many sides to you. Just in the early morning of the same day, you had him against the wall, messily making out. And now you're giggling at a book you picked up from the library days prior.

He feels the same weird feeling in his stomach that he felt in the morning when you had your tongue down his throat. What was it? What is it? You two never went far. You guys started getting sort of intimate a few months ago, maybe. He was inexperienced. It all always was too much, making him light-headed. Even a slightly heavier make-out session was enough to make his knees buckle. He doesn't know if you've been with someone else before him... You do it so easily. You always take the lead. Is it because you've learned it with someone else or.. or...

Oh, how he wished he would be the first one.

"Xiao?" Your gentle voice breaks him out of his thoughts, and he meets your eyes. He stares at you for a moment before looking away, answering you with a simple 'What?'.

"You seem pretty deep in thought, something bothering you? Do you need to go already?" You ask him while sliding a bookmark on your page and closing the book. Xiao grunts, shaking his head, "No, I'm fine." You won't let that go. You sit up and scoot closer to him, leaning against his shoulder. He moves his head to the side so you can lay yours comfortably. Your two fingers do a walk on his leg, and you smile. "Xiaooo," you drag out his name, chuckling at the end, "Tell me what's up."

Xiao sighs in annoyance, looking away. You slide your hand into his, intertwining your fingers. He tenses up and slowly turns his head to look down at you. He's met with your eyes already staring at him. "Come onnn, you know I won't judge," you continue your sentence. Xiao stares at you with an annoyed look. Some silence passes, and he blinks a few times before looking away again.

"It's nothing, I've just been thinking... about us. About what we... do." He finally says, absentmindedly moving his thumb against your hand. You hum in a bit of confusion before straightening your back, and he looks at you when you do that, eyes slightly widening in some fear. You take both of his hands in yours and look at him, "That's what's bothering you? Am I going too fast? I'm really sorry. You shouldn't keep these things to yourself, honey." You speak, furrowing your eyebrows, slightly chewing on your lip. Have you really been pushing too hard on him? Well, it would make sense that it would be too much for him... But it's the first time that he's bringing this up. How long has he been thinking like this?

"Oh, what? No, no, I-" Xiao's eyes widen at your words, and he quickly shakes his head, sighing again, "No, you got it wrong. You're not doing anything wrong, [name]. I was just thinking that..." I want you. I need you. I need more.

He feels his cheeks start to burn at his own thoughts. How is he supposed to say it out loud?

You stare at him with a tilted head. You try to think of what he's trying to tell you right now and make sure you won't be getting anything wrong, that you won't be misunderstanding... but his blush is really telling.

A small grin tugs at your lips. "You were thinking?" He swallows, breaking eye contact to look to the side. It's not like him to feel all flustered, but you always manage to mess with his head. Never in a million years would he admit to needing you in a way that is incredibly strange, at least to him. Yet you're willing to listen, you're grinning. You have a hunch on what he could say, and it makes him feel embarrassed.

"...That maybe we could..." He starts, feeling his heartbeat quicken and his mouth go dry. How is this so hard to say out loud?

He breathes in and then slowly exhales. Quickly glancing to you, he sees your grin. He's not sure if he should continue looking at you or look away — what can save him from these feelings right now?

"Maybe we could do... something more?" Xiao finally continues after a moment of silence. The way he worded it made him feel hot, nervousness creeping in. He starts to think again, staring in your eyes, of what you're going to say. Then he feels you squeeze his hands, and he feels his heart slowly slowing down. You let out a quiet chuckle before responding, "Yeah, we can. How far do you want me to go? Will you tell me when we're there?" He sits there, blinking at you. You hear him mutter an 'um...' and he's glancing to the side again.

"It's okay. You'll tell me when you'll need to then," You reassure him and lean in to give him a quick kiss. He feels your lips for a second, but before he can do anything back, you've already pulled away, and he feels some disappointment. You put your head back on his shoulder, speaking up again, "Just tell me when you want to try something more, or you want it to just happen in one of our moments?"

He moves his hand away from yours and coughs into it, not being able to handle your questions. How are they working him up already? Guess he's just letting his mind wander far too easily...

You noticed. Of course you did, so you spoke on it. Moving your head again, you lean into his ear and whisper, "Or do you want to do it right now?"

He lets out a breath before swallowing. It doesn't take long for him to reply, shaking his head up and down to your question. You let out a small laugh and move away, moving into his lap instead. You take your hand away from his and put both of them on the sides of his face, letting one move down to his neck and go further into his soft hair.

He stares at you with wide eyes, breathing through his mouth. He can't hide his nervousness. Or was it excitement? Neither of you knew right now.

He's already leaning closer to you, glancing down to your lips and back up to your eyes, so you only do the same. You lean in and press your lips against his once again, and his hands freeze up for a moment, before he moves them to sit on your hips, gloved hands slightly digging into your clothing.

He kisses you back, letting his eyes close shut in the process. You move your lips against his, and you feel his mouth slightly part, and you take it as a chance to slide your tongue in. You move your thumb against his cheek while running your other hand through his hair. He sighs through his nose, kissing you back, slightly melting from it as you move your tongue. And he can't help, but imagine where else he could feel it..

His hands slightly tighten on your hips, and he pulls you closer to him. He needs you closer, closer... And you let him, shifting slightly in his lap so it's a bit more comfortable for you. And that's when you feel it.

You move your hand away from his hair and slowly run it down his neck to his chest, feeling his heart beat against it. Xiao makes a tiny sound when you move your hand further downwards over his stomach. You've always trailed your hand there, but it felt different this time. Probably because he said that the two of you could do something more, and you're moving towards said wish.

You smile against his mouth and pull away, earning a tiny whine from the man in front of you. His eyes widen as his own reaction, and he glances away. You tap his cheek with your thumb, and he looks back to your face. "Eyes on me," you whisper in a soft tone. The way he looks at you and the nod of his head makes your heart skip a beat. It was cute.

"You want me to go further, yeah?" You ask, and he nods again, not confident in his voice right now. You move your hand over his pants, slowly feeling him through the clothing, and you see his eyes slightly shutting before opening fully again. You're not doing a lot, just rubbing your hand up and down, feeling his dick pulse from your movements. Yet to him, it already feels a lot, but not enough. He tries to stay still, but as a small noise falls from his lips, he bucks his hips forward, trying to get more friction from your hand. You smile, and he stares back at you with pleading eyes.

In a quick movement, you pull your hand away, and he sighs at the loss. But you had other plans anyway. Using both of your hands, you push on his chest, making him fall down onto the grass beneath the two of you. Xiao watches your movements as he props himself up with his elbows, wondering what you've got in mind for him. He's met with your eyes that seem to have a dark glint within them. Your fingers hook onto his pants, and you're slowly pulling down his clothing, making him jump slightly. It wasn't that cold, but if you're showing lots of bare skin, it does send a few chills down your body.

The flush on his cheeks gets darker as he realizes just how excited he's got from you, but he doesn't dare to look away, no — he needs to see what you're going to do.

You don't make him wait, immediately moving your hand over his underwear, wrapping your hand around his hard-on. Slowly moving your hand, same motions as before, just with a slightly tighter grip. You move your head down and leave a small kiss at the top of his clothed dick and he pulses in your hand. Hearing his breathing get shaky already makes you only wonder - how is he going to sound when he actually feels you?

"[name], please..." You hear him quietly speak, letting out a breath right after, "Can you...?" You lid your eyes at him, asking with a smirk, "Can I what?" He balls his hands into fists, knowing very well that you were teasing him.

"Please, you know- you know what I mean.." He mumbles, slightly moving his hips. You let out a small laugh, nodding. You pull his underwear out of the way, further down his legs, and he shivers from the cool air hitting his dick, getting some goosebumps in the process.

Wrapping your fingers around him again, you feel his warmth on your palm. You let some of your spit fall on his dick and you start jerking him off. Xiao lets out a moan, immediately jumping at the sensation. You kiss his tip before leaning away and climbing on top of his body. One hand bent enough so you can still jack him off, you put your other hand on the grass next to him, so you wouldn't fall over. He's the one to kiss you first, already opening his mouth for you.

It doesn't take that long for him to already start moving his hips in the same motion as your hand, hands gripping at the grass and loud moans spilling in your mouth, getting swallowed down by you. From the way he's reacting and getting more desperate, you could tell he was close.

So you slowed down your hand, and oh boy, the disappointed moan he let out in your mouth made butterflies fly in your stomach.

You pulled away from his lips, and he opened his eyes to stare at you, confusement visible in his expression. "Why- why did you stop?" He asked, but then his question was answered once he saw you pulling down your own pants, along with your underwear. His mind doesn't process what's happening right now until you're towering over him again, rubbing his dick against yourself. That sends a spark through his body, and he whines, breathing heavily. And then you look at him.

"Is this okay?" You ask, teasing his tip with your fingers, and he only nods in response. "Can you say it out loud?" You tilt your head at him and watch him stutter. "I mean- Yes, it's fine- okay-" Xiao speaks, eyes darting between your face and his dick, "Please-"

And then you lowered yourself down on him, moving your hands on his chest. Xiao's breath gets caught in his throat, and he goes quiet, mouth agape. It was fairly easy to take him in since his reactions and noises always made you get wet. Still, it felt foreign since this is the first time both of you are going to enjoy each other. Your hands clutch onto his clothes as you let out a soft moan, fully sitting down on his lap. It felt nice.

Xiao, on the other hand, was digging his hands in the grass, plucking a few off the ground from the harsh grip. He lets out a strangled moan, chest rising from a few quick breaths. Oh, you were so warm, he was inside of you, oh dear Archons, he was inside of you. Holy fuck.

You move a hand up to cup his cheek, making him zone back into your eyes. In a gentle voice, you ask, "Are you alright?" He nods slowly, unable to form proper words. And you take that as your cue to start moving. Using the strength you had in your legs, you lift yourself off his lap, leaving the tip of his dick inside you, before moving back down, slightly hitting his stomach. Xiao groans, his eyes almost closing from the feeling.

"You- you're so warm... You feel so-" He chokes out, interrupting himself with a shaky breath, "So good, fuck." You smile and grip onto his clothing, riding him at a quicker pace now. Xiao's back arched, and he let out a gasp. His hands shot up to your waist, holding on for dear life as you moved up and down his dick, moaning in the process.

He can't stop his noises now, that's for sure.

"Fuck, ah, you're- fuck, you're so warm, gaH—!" He whines, digging his hands into your skin, "Please- please go f-faster, [name], please..." You lie down on his chest, pressing your head into the crook of his neck and did as he begged. Crashing your hips up and down, the sound of skin hitting skin, combining that with the pure pleasure... Xiao couldn't hold back. His head falls back against the grass and moans flow freely from his throat as he tries to calm down. He feels tears prick at his eyes and his fingers dig harder in your waist, toes curling against the ground.

It felt so, so fucking good.

And then you moaned in his ear, and his eyes shot open towards the night sky. You moved one hand under his shirt, trailing it up his chest as you continued your movements on his dick. Through your moans, you managed to let out some proper words. "You like that? That feels good, doesn't it?"

He tries to nod, but he can't move from the pleasure, pressing the back of his head down against the ground. "Yes, ah-! Yes, feels good, fuck, feels good, feels so, so fucking good- Please, please-"

He's not sure what he's begging for, but he needs it, and he wants it so bad. He sniffles, feeling tears leave his eyes. There's something building up inside him, and he needs that release, whatever it is — he needs you to free him.

Your lips meet his neck, teeth grazing his skin. Your hips slap against his stomach, the noise from your wetness making it sound so much louder. Both your moans are mixing together, yet Xiao's are so much louder than yours. He's already sensitive, but he does not want to pull away, he can't, he feels something, he doesn't know what it is, but he fucking needs it. And so he begs with tears falling down his cheeks.

"Please, fuck- Please, I need- I need to- Fuck, [name], please, I want to- Haah- [name], please—!" Xiao moans out, his hands digging harder, daring to leave bruises on your skin and you groan in response, biting down on his neck.

"Mhm, you can do it, come on-" You say, detaching from his neck and straightening your back, quickly moving your hips ups and down, feeling your legs starting to sting, "Make me proud, Xiao. You're- fuck, you're doing so, so good."

And that's enough to have him snap. His eyes shut close, pushing more tears out, and his head falls back again. His dick pulses in you and you smile, staring down at his fucked out face. Wet streaks illuminated by the moonlight. His tight grip on your hips slightly loosens as he cums, letting out a sharp gasp. You don't stop yet, still trying to reach your own high and he slightly trembles beneath you, letting out broken moans.

His eyes are blurry and his mouth is dry, his heart is racing and he's sensitive. When you finally lean down to his face, it takes a bit for him to focus in on you. "Xiao?" Your voice sounds slightly distant, followed by a small chuckle, "Did that feel good, baby boy?"

He feels a small smile tug at his lips. You cup his face in your hands and kiss him, thumb brushing away his tears. He kisses back with the energy he still has left, and he meets your eyes when you pull away. He looked so pretty in the moonlight. His face was messy, red eyeliner stains, wet streaks from his tears...

"Yeah," his voice feels sore, "It did."

Thank you for the request! Hope you enjoy the taste <3

#☆°• ☆ writings #genshin impact x reader smut #genshin smut #genshin x you #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #xiao x reader smut #xiao x reader #xiao smut #adeptus xiao x reader #genshin impact smut

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mamaagirlbehindyouu · 1 day ago

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Fake Dating, Real Feelings Pt.1

Pairing: Tara Carpenter x Fem! Reader

Word Count: 925

Summary: Your friend Tara invites you to a party, but she has an ulterior motive. (This chapter is mainly build-up to what I’ll be writing in later parts, so if you don’t like slow burns then you may want to wait for later chapters to be released to begin reading <3.)

Warning: A little bit toxic (but will get better in later chapters!!)

A/N: This chapter is kinda ass ngl but more parts will come out later w/ more fluff-heavy chapters (and potentially smut)

You sat in bed, propped up on two pillows, scrolling on your laptop. It was finals season- meaning you were now starting the 9 page term paper that was due tomorrow at 12pm. It wasn’t ideal, but you had enough time to where you were still putting off writing your paper. You weren’t writing your essay on your laptop, you were scrolling through Pinterest.

That was, of course, until you got a text from someone. Picking up your phone to see who the message was from, you instinctively kicked your feet when you saw the name of who it was from. Tara. Your friend tara. The friend you just so happened to have a massive thing for.

Shutting your laptop and properly sitting up, you unlocked your phone to read the message from her.

Tara: Hey, you up?

You stared at the message for a moment, contemplating whether or not to reply. It was already 9:30, you could just leave Tara on delivered and lie tomorrow that you had had an “early night”. After all, your paper needed to get done and you could tell from the nature of Tara’s text that she either wanted to go somewhere or do something.

Yeah right, that would take more self control than you had.

Y/n: Ofc, what’s up?

Immediately after sending the text, you were met with a “Read 9:36 PM”. You watched the gray bubbles dance on your phone screen, before they disappeared and re-appeared.

Tara: Last time I’ll ask this, I swear

Tara: Will you come to a party with me tn? I want to show up like 10:30 😊

You groaned, staring at your phone again before replying. This wasn’t an infrequent request from Tara by any means- she always needs a DD considering the fact that she seems to love getting wasted. With time, the request had become more and more of a chore as she seemed to get drunker and drunker at each party you took her to. Going to parties with Tara wasn’t fun anymore, but you knew she would just find someone else to go with her if you said no and you didn’t want that.

Y/n: I’ll be there in 30.

Throwing your blankets off and setting your laptop on the nightstand, you got up, walking over to the closet. Why did you always go along with whatever Tara wanted? Well, the answer to that was obvious, but you would rather die than admit your feelings for Tara were getting serious.

After throwing on a black miniskirt and tank with a jacket on top and some boots you got into your car and began the drive to Tara’s house. This was a drive you knew all too well, and not for good reason.

When you got to Tara’s house the front door was already open, with just the screen door shut and Tara visible and sitting on the stairs. She was wearing flare jeans and a ribbed blue henley with some white Converse. You couldn’t explain how, but Tara always seemed to make the most basic of outfits come off as breathtaking. Maybe her face card was enough of an accessory.

Spotting you from where she sat on the stairs, Tara leapt up and smiled, waving her hands at you. She opened the screen door, squealing.

“Y/n! You came! Thank you so much!”

Tara’s joy was always infectious, making you forget your original reservations about that night. A smile spread across your own face as you waved back awkwardly, unsure of what to do whenever Tara’s attention was fully on you.

“Of course I did,”

You said, unaware of how un-enthusiastic you came across. You were always excited to see Tara, but being around her often made you feel awkward, frequently making it seem like you have a lackluster temperament.

“Could you act any less excited to see me?”

Tara teased as she held open the screen door for you, allowing you to enter her home.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to-“ you began to speak, but Tara cut you off, noticing how you seemed genuinely apologetic.

“No, I was joking. It’s okay, y/n/n,” she reassured you, offering another smile.

You smiled back and nodded in agreement, not wanting to say anything else about the matter, still embarrassed about the interaction. Tara led you up to her bedroom (not that you were unfamiliar with it).

“I just need to do my makeup real quick and then we can leave,” Tara assured you, aware that it was getting closer and closer to 10:30.

“‘real quick?’” you laughed. “Since when do you do your makeup ‘real quick’?”

“Hey, last time you came over I did my makeup in ten minutes, max- That’s, like, record time for me,” Tara defended herself, raising her hands in the air, primer in hand.

“It was more like half an hour, not ten minutes,” you corrected her as she rolled her eyes. “And why’d you invite me this time? Or was it just to be your designated driver again?” you half-called Tara out, passing it off as a joke, as you took in her features, taking advantage of the fact that she was preoccupied. You loved all of Tara’s features, but her eyes were definitely at the top of the list. How could anyone not love them?

“About that..” Tara said, stopping her makeup application, making an uncomfortable face. “I kind of need you to pretend like you’re dating me.” Suddenly, you were snapped out of your thoughts.

Pt. 2??

Photo Creds: miaolliez and geminiprinc3ss on Pinterest

#tara carpenter x reader #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter #scream vi #scream #x reader #tara carpenter x y/n #slow burn #sapphic #jenna ortega x reader #fem!reader #reader insert #fake dating

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radioiaci · 3 days ago

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The mechanism was not anything he'd personally seen before. Whatever 'technology' Vox had employed to make this happen was beyond him, both in its technological and magical origins. He had his own means and permission to traverse the rings as he so pleased, though he did not do so very often. Occasionally, his business for Lilith might require him to make connections on her behalf in Gluttony or Wrath, but beyond that, there was not much reason for him to wander. And especially no reason for him to make an attempt to return to the surface.

He was certain that if Lilith knew about this at all, she would forbid him of it. It was too much freedom.

And so she would hopefully not hear of it, his hands suddenly occupied with the booklet that he steadily turned the pages of, eyebrows raised slightly. Seemed as though the crystals that made up the frame itself that they were staring at were hard to find. Or, at least, hard to obtain without permission. Primarily for the use of Asmodeus' succubi.

Interesting. It did not surprise him much then that Vox had the connections necessary to procure them for their use.

When Vox returned, Alastor closed the booklet and tucked it away in his coat as well. Just in case.

"As ready as I suppose I'll ever be," he said, glancing from Vox over to the frame itself. Calm and casual, but there was an underlying anxious energy that he was actively repressing.

It would be fine. Either he would find what he wanted to find or he would not. And they would return. And he would go about his day as though nothing had happened. Or mattered.

Vox had done no such amount of self soothing or stabilizing habits. He was hangry, without the hungry.

He had a ring on his middle finger, which looked out of place with his claws being such the hindrance they were- but it was cursed jewelry. It would function how it was prompted. The ring had an unnatural looking yellow stone on it. Cut and polished into some form of trapezoid.

Vox was fiddling with some sort of frame. It looked to have similar little stones cut into little shapes all across the frame. The frame was unnecessary but Asmodeus had described it as training wheels. Magnetizing the portal to this realm so he wouldn’t have to be concerned about returning incorrectly.

When he was satisfied with the frame he picked up a small booklet and put it in Alastor’s hands.

“Read this. I’ll be right back.”

It was a small bound notepad with Asmodeus’ handwriting in it, practicals and do’s and don’ts about using the crystal that would bring them topside. It seemed to be a vastly powerful tool. It wasn’t bound to topside, it could visit other rings. Even on accident. It was very literally a free pass.

Vox had organized one with free use. For days.

The tv was busy shuffling back to take a quick shot of his favorite whiskey to make that headache go away- and yes maybe a piece of the sushi he had in his fridge from recently. Then a few more of the eldritch cigarettes, stuffing them in his breast pocket and then shuffling his way back. His stomach was flip flopping nervously. But he wouldn’t give the anxiety any merit.

He checked his cameras again on his way back. Everything still in order. Good.

“Ready?” He said as he arrived back.

#videokilled #verse ;; 📺 crimson nights like these 📺

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h3nderyss · 3 days ago

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magazine - mark lee

pairing: idol!mark lee x fem!reader . . . masterlist genre: fluff word count: 774 a/n: recently got the mark cosmopolitan magazine.. i KNOW it's a june issue and it's literally november, but i'm still thirsty. sue me.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

"i'm home!" mark's voice echoed throughout the hallway, the familiar voice making your expression soften into an automatic smile.

the day had been slow; off work, catching up on a show you occasionally rewatched, and anticipating mark's return from his long days of work.

being an idol meant his schedule was FULL. barely any time for anything, especially for mark, the most hard-working and committed man you'd ever met. nobody could ever compare to him, how he perfectly balances life, work, and relationships. most importantly; you.

he'd recently had a photoshoot. for what? well, you didn't know. he demanded he'd keep it a secret, although a hint had been it was for a famous magazine brand. of course, this meant waiting weeks upon weeks for the issue to release. especially when your boyfriend was on the cover, it felt like months of waiting.

you sprung off the couch and rushed over to mark who took off his shoes and set them aside, as a second after, bringing him into a loving long-awaited hug which you both had been dying for the entire day.

"what's that?" you looked at this plastic bag he was holding, inside of it was a suspiciously tall thin book that you took a glance of.

mark moved the bag behind his back, out of view. "a surprise." he smirked at you and gave you a peck on the lips. "i want you to be prepared."

it only etched more confusion on your face as you slightly tilted your head. "why? is it just a book?" the thought of the magazine photoshoot mark had weeks ago hadn't even crossed your mind.

his eyes darted up as if he was thinking, "hm, i guess you could say that.." he nodded and looked back at you as he was joking around. he made you chuckle, and he moved the bag back in between you two, looking into it.

"a magazine? a-" your eyes immediately widened, mouth agape.

"oh my god." you spoke in light speed, digging the book out of the bag and into your arms. "mark..?!" your voice had been quiet and breathless. he really did have *this* much impact on you, even if it was a single photo. "c..cosmopolitan..?"

"i only managed to get this second version. the other two they couldn't give me." he gestured at the magazine and you immediately went and sat on the table to prepare yourself to skip through the pages and only focus on your ravishing boyfriend.

mark followed suit and sat next to you, the whole time smiling like an idiot. you were smiling too; blushing and biting your bottom lip as you stared at the gorgeous man on the cover of this magazine.

"how are you real," you said in almost a whisper. mark had not taken his eyes off of you. he loved seeing your reaction to everything, and he adored you so much it had been unhealthy.

mark moved a piece of hair that fell on your face looking down at the magazine, he wanted to see your face as he melted upon seeing you freak out over the man on paper. him.

you flipped through the pages, taking a minute to actually take in the photos of mark. "this pose.. mark this pose is.. that shirt on you.." mumbles came out of your mouth as you glanced at the real mark next to you.

"how are you you?" you looked at him infatuated.

"how am i, me?" he chuckled at you with a smile and briefly looking at the photo of him in front of you.

you nodded. "how did i manage to snag you?" suddenly a joking mood filled the air.

"i don't know but, i'd prefer you over anybody else."

as if you hadn't already been fiercely blushing from looking at mark in photoshoot in the magazine, he never failed to make you flustered.

"stop it!" you giggled and turned your attention back to the magazine, flipping through the same pages over again.

"close that book now and focus on the real mark! i'm right in front of you.." mark starts to whine, his real self not getting attention, just the reflection in the magazine.

"it's your fault for getting me this! i'm gonna frame all of these pictures now."

"babyyy.." his whiny tone and his hand starting to intertwine with yours was just enough to make your give in.

"markieee..." you reciprocated his whiny tone and gazed into his eyes. "i can't believe you're mine."

"you better start believing soon because, i'm not going anywhere anytime soon." mark smiles and pulls you into a loving passionate kiss.

#nct #mark lee x reader #mark lee #nct x reader #nct 127 x reader #mark lee fluff #nct fluff #mark lee imagines #mark lee fanfic #nct imagines #h3nderyss

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sammyluvr · 22 hours ago

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✶ . ၄၃ . noticed — sam winchester

cw : gn!reader, hurt/comfort, implied depression, feelings of guilt and inadequacy, overall just poor mental health, swearing, 1.1K words. requested !

summary : your depression isn't making things easy for you these days. sam notices and gives you what small comforts he can.

sam can see you slipping. he can see how hard you’re trying not to, how you’re trying to hide it. he lets you, for a bit, because he knows that sometimes you don’t like for anyone else to give it any attention.

but you’re falling behind on research and dean doesn’t know why, so he’s cutting no slack. sam is soft and understanding with you, but he knows he can’t control dean and that you wouldn’t like him to intervene either. all this, and you hate to ask for help, too.

you’re in the library, stuck by your computer and overwhelmed by the amount of books on the topic for this long and tiring case. so you rest your head on the hard wood for a moment, trying to gather energy that you don’t have. then you hear the loud front door swing open, signaling dean’s return from the grocery store. you have to at least look busy, so you drag yourself back up into a sitting position and scan over the pages of a book that you’re not actually reading.

dean passes you with arms full of plastic bags and a half assed greeting. he’s tired from last night, and anything’s fine by you as long as he doesn’t say anything passive aggressive like he does sometimes. you know he’s frustrated with you, wishing you’d find something actually helpful. you just can’t bring yourself to do much of anything at all.

when you’ve finally heard the door to dean’s room shut, after staring at the page and listening to the sounds of him putting away groceries in the kitchen, you drop your head back down, feeling useless and restless but unable to act on it. the next time you hear footsteps, they’re sam’s. you can tell just by listening for a moment or two. he’s taller, but he walks quieter than dean. though his footfalls are a little heavy now, in the comfort and privacy of the bunker.

he approaches faster than you expect and most definitely catches you with your head on the table before you sit up to look in his direction.

the smile you give him when you lift your head is unconvincing and the one he returns to you is soft and understanding. it’s clear to you that he can see you’re unwell. you sigh and your smile fades.

“hey,” he murmurs, all gentle and kind, never pitying but certainly careful. he closes the gap between your seat and the doorway, quietly shutting both your laptop and the book before placing a hand on the side of your head and pressing a kiss to your temple. “let’s take a break, yeah? grab lunch in town, or maybe some ice cream. or both. how’s that sound, honey?”

you purse your lips, feeling loved by the gesture but wanting to do anything except go out right now. you lean into his touch anyway, then after a moment of hesitation, mumble back, “i’d rather stay inside.”

“okay,” he agrees immediately, “we can do that, too. why don’t you sit in the kitchen with me? i’ll make you something simple. dean should’ve gotten the stuff for those sandwiches you like, yeah?” he holds his hand out for you to guide you away from the library.

“alright,” you accept quietly after a moment of just looking at his hand, waiting for you, reaching out to you to pull you up. when your hand lands in his, it’s a little easier to breathe, somehow. he closes his fingers around yours and gives the gentlest of tugs to urge you up. you start to stand and the hand on your head reaches down to pull your chair out for you. his hand stays in yours as he leads you to the kitchen.

he has you sit as he makes a sandwich for the both of you, talking aimlessly about a documentary he watched last weekend but didn’t have the chance to tell you about until now. his voice stays muted and constant, knowing you don’t want anything loud but shouldn’t stay stuck in silence.

he’s right, of course. the lull of his voice keeps your mind off of all else, and you find yourself actually able to pay attention to the words that fall from his lips. it’s nice to watch him, too.

sitting across from you, watching you take the last bite of the simple food he made you, spreads the warmth of satisfaction through his chest. frankly, he’s worried about you, but it’s nice to know that you’ll let him take care of you like this. subtle and easy, but essential. not too loud and not too outwardly worried, but showing he’s noticed and is going to actually do something about it. there’s no judgment in his eyes or his actions, only care and softness and love.

sam’s serious about taking a break. he doesn’t let you go back to that library table to wallow in your self-criticism of being unable to get anything done. he brings you back to his bed and holds you in his arms and kisses the top of your head, maybe more times than he needs to.

“you can tell me when you need me,” he murmurs into your hair, his arms wrapped around your middle. “doesn’t have to be out loud. but if you can, and there’s something i’m not doing that i could be, you tell me, yeah? ‘cause i’ll do it. i want to, for you, honey.”

you take a deep breath in, let it out slow. “thank you,” you whisper, “this helps, really.” and you mean that, giving his hand a gentle squeeze. sometimes, walking away from the things you should be doing just makes you feel worse, like you don’t really deserve to do anything nice. if you can’t do what you should, it feels like the least you could do is sit there and beat yourself up about it.

sam pulls you away from that mindset. his love isn’t burdensome, he lets you believe you deserve it. his arms are a shield and his chest is a place for your head to really rest. he brings you both sleep and consciousness without guilt or anxious embarrassment.

and when you inevitably get antsy again, he notices that, too. he tells you sternly, sweetly, to stay comfortable on the bed as he fetches your laptop and book. once back, he still insists on keeping you settled right against him, your head slotted perfectly into the crook of his neck as he reads the book aloud to you, either until you find something useful or the pages run out.

no matter what, he’ll keep you held, keep you steady in his arms.

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heechwe · 2 days ago

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hello ms lexi heechwe how do we feel about dilf!hee & babysitter!reader + "did i say you could stop"

It was Heeseung’s fault for putting you in this position.

He had to come home twelve hours early from the conference he swore would keep him all weekend, driving back without so much as a text or call warning you of his impending arrival. Like usual, though, he kissed his sleeping son on the forehead and searched for you to let you know you could head home.

He always sent a Venmo or Cashapp request the next morning, a hefty tip attached just for being the perfect caretaker amidst your busy collegiate schedule.

He’s the one who forgot a slightly-cracked door isn’t a green light to walk in without addressing your presence. If he knew better, he wouldn’t have assumed he had permission to enter anyone’s place of rest without knocking first.

So, despite the lack of warning, it isn’t your fault he caught you masturbating to his official photo on the main page of his company’s website.

Those slip-ups led you here, Heeseung’s back to the guest room door as your mouth encases his cock with intense desire. You look up at him as your eyes water, the size of his dick too much for your small throat to take as his tip meets your esophagus.

You don’t mind, though. All the fantasies of this moment, this final eruption of desire, could not have played out better even if he caught you by surprise.

You can’t help how long you stare up at him, no longer bobbing your head along his cock to enjoy the moment you thought would only exist in your head.

Heeseung brings you back to reality with a loving but taut hand in your hair. “Did I say you could stop, pretty girl?”

hosting a drabble game; come request one!🤍

#heeseung x reader #heeseung x smut #lee heeseung x reader #lee heeseung smut #enha smut #enhypen smut #enhypen x reader #enha x reader #[ lexi's works ]#[ lw - sugar and spice drabbles ]

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ladylilithprime · 2 days ago

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.....I have a lot of books that I've read, but I would hesitate to recommend them even where the authors have not to my knowledge done anything to warrant expulsion from the Good Writer Club on grounds that have nothing to do with writing. Especially on tumblr. Especially when at least two writers I devoured the works of have controversies in their personal lives that have caused many people to shun their works out of a sense of betrayal or just an overdeveloped desire for a social justice crusade. (Not getting into that up here, I've got a whole rant about the need for nuance and critical thinking and that's not the point at present.)

That said.

I did read the Harry Potter books until the fifth one when Rowling apparently fired her editor and started turning her books into more useful bludgeoning weapons. The movies were easier for me to sit through, though the adaptions changed things.

I tried to read Twilight and only got about a page and a half into the first book before I had to put it down from boredom. Again, the movie was easier for me to sit through (lack of first person narrative helped here) and I still haven't seen the others in the series.

I have never even picked up a book by Sarah J Maas, so I can't say anything about the quality of the writing from the perspective of me as a reader.

I haven't heard of any of the others, though I'm at least aware of Robert Jordan, much the way I'm aware of James Patterson.

The books I did read and devour?

The Brainship series and the Pern Chronicles by Anne McCaffrey (requiescat in pacem).

The Xanth series by Piers Anthony.

The Elvenbane and Elvenblood by Andre Norton and Mercedes Lackey.

Pretty much anything by Mercedes Lackey.

The Enchanted Forest Chronicles by Patricia C Wrede.

The Young Wizards series by Diane Duane.

The first three quartets in the Tortall universe by Tamora Pierce, though my appetite slowed after "Squire". (Not specifically a detractor to the later books, just where my own personal interest began to falter.)

The Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley (yes I'm now aware of the issues surrounding her personally, but I wasn't when I read the book).

Pretty much everything by Terry Pratchett...

...which led me to his Good Omens co-author and various books he wrote. (Again with the timing of awareness, not getting into it here, see comments above.)

The Animorphs series by KA Applegate. (Tried to get into the Everworld series, didn't enjoy it as much.)

Kushiel's Dart by Jacqueline Carey (slow-going because I do have to be in a specific headspace to read that much BDSM porn, even when it's well-written and plot-relevant).

My partner loves the books by Lois McMaster Bujold and has read excerpts to me many times, which are quite entertaining.

I read Redwall by Brian Jacques and a couple others in the series, but found them more entertaining when I thought they were just talking animals.

So.

I'm currently sitting in a room surrounded by books because my family are all avid readers on a wide variety of genres. A lot of the books I'm staring at are not ones I would choose to read, and I've never been pressured to read them. My mum (just turned 80) has read many of them, usually right along with me. My dad (now 78) has read many of the same books as well as the rest she hasn't, and he's disagreed with many of them and written journals filled with notes and arguments on many of them. He was once given a book by an acquaintance who told him she thought he should read it because she knew he was a logical thinker (he did read it and told me later that the book was not at all logical; not having read it, I can't say either way).

Point is... go find a library and look through the stacks. Read the blurbs on the inside covers, maybe read a page or two. If you like it, keep reading. Look up the author on your phone if you have to in order to see what else they wrote.

And if you don't like the book, then just don't keep reading. Put it down, move on to another one. Don't go looking for controversy or dirt to justify not liking the book or the author. Don't do it to justify liking them, either. You do not need to justify your personal preferences. You can be aware of the politics the author has, even heartily disagree with their perspective and biases, and still enjoy reading a book. It's perfectly okay not to internalize what you read every time.

Otherwise, I wouldn't still reread The Chronicles of Narnia.

J. K. Rowling gave us facist Wizards.

Stephanie Meyer gave us Mormon Vampires.

And Sarah J. Maas gave us zionist Faeries.

The Holy Trinity of Mediocre White Women ruining fantasy for everyone!

#book things #reading #critical thinking #enjoyment of a book in spite of a problematic author #not a rec list

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softpascalito · 13 hours ago

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I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 6 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 25k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist

notes: hello! it's been a second but i promise tdag is still my favorite child so this is continuing slowly but surely (i'm currently just distracted by pedro pascal as slutty gladiator).

this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.

Chapter 6 – The Ceremony Part 1

‘I didn't exactly miss it or want to live there again- I just wondered where it had gone.’

— Alice Munro, Dear Life

What the fuck does he think he’s doing?

If there is one person in Jackson who is least equipped to handle a grieving person who’s just lost someone to suicide, it’s him. Joel is sure of that. He should just tell you that he can’t do this, hand you over to Tommy or Maria or anyone else who doesn’t mess up whatever or whoever they touch.

It would be better for you, to have someone who actually knows how to work through grief. Not someone who sneaks out of bed before dawn to get a glass of whiskey and sit in their dark living room to ponder over things years and years past. The way he currently is.

But Joel is also sure that he can’t let you go. He can’t recall how or why but he does understand that you have found a way to get under his skin, one no one else has quite figured out, carved a path that only you may tread, that causes something to tug at his heart every time he sees you curled up in his bed or smells the soap that sits on his bathroom shelf. Somewhere along the road, he has started to care.

Not that anything good ever happens to the people he cares about.

A small groan leaves his throat as he leans back into the cushions, his free hand reaching over to produce a small notebook from below the couch table. He stares down at it for a few moments, weighing it in his hand. Then, he downs his whiskey in one go, sets the glass down onto the table and begins flipping through the small pages, seemingly endless notes, many of them jotted down rather hurriedly, a few written with much more care.

A thud upstairs makes his head jerk up. He freezes, listening intently. And then, he hears the unmistakable sound of someone running over the wooden floor upstairs. He’s up in an instant, cursing under his breath as he moves through the dimly lit room, using his foot to nudge a box aside that’s still sitting in the hallway, blocking his path towards the sound of bare feet thundering down the stairs.

***

For a split moment, you think it’s morning. The warmth beside you is gone. Maybe Joel has gotten another early start, doing whatever he does in the mornings while he lets you sleep.

And then, while you’re still floating in the comfortable state between dreaming and reality, you think you hear a door close somewhere downstairs.

Your body moves before your brain has a chance to catch up. Your legs, still tangled in the sheets, get caught in them and send you flying off the bed and onto the hard floor with a thud. It doesn’t slow you down. You force your trembling legs to push your body back onto your feet and rush through the bedroom door, taking the stairs three steps at a time. You have half a mind that you should shout, alert someone to what is happening, but your throat feels like it’s closed up.

Someone needs to stop him. To keep him from going out into the woods, to some hidden cabin. He always has the revolver on him. At that thought, you jump down the last few steps.

For the second time, your run towards the front door is interrupted and you collide with something solid just as you reach the corner that turns toward the front door. Again, it sends you stumbling and you prepare yourself for another hard fall. But it never comes. Instead, two strong arms catch you and Joel’s face above you finally comes into focus.

“You—” Again, your throat fails you. You simply press yourself into Joel’s chest, seemingly the only place that will swallow your sobs these days.

“Hey, it’s okay. Calm down, I’m right here,” Joel coos above you, his chest vibrating as he hums and brings one hand up to the back of your head, stroking your still slightly damp hair.

It takes him a solid five minutes to get you over onto the couch and calm you enough for him to let go for a moment. “I’ll be right here, hold on. Give me one second.”

He steps back into the hallway, shuffling something around. And as your panic recedes, the tide sinking, you glance around. A single glass sits on the coffee table in front of you, holding a few leftover drops of what you’re quite sure is whiskey. Beside it is a small notebook, the pages already slightly rippled.

You suddenly realize you’re not the only one in the old house who seems to have trouble sleeping.

Eventually, Joel returns with a woolen blanket that he drapes over your form, nodding to himself. “There we are.”

He doesn’t sit down, instead stepping over to the window and casting a glance outside. As if there is anything worth seeing on a street that never changes, one that hasn’t had cars passing on it in over twenty years.

“I’m sorry, I just—I panicked,” you whisper, keeping your head just low enough that you can still see Joel’s outline against the dim light of the street lamp outside. His shoulders seem to hang a tad lower than usual, still broad but not as intimidating as they once seemed, especially with him dressed in his usual pajamas consisting of soft plaid pants and a worn shirt.

“Don’t apologize. You’re bound to have some triggers after everything. It’s good if we figure them out as early as possible.” He pauses for a moment, turning around to study your face. “Was it being by yourself?”

You gently shake your head. “No. Not really. It was more—I thought I heard a door close. Like you were leaving.”

You can see the exact moment he understands what you are implying and his face falls slightly. “Oh, darlin’, you know I wouldn’t—I wouldn’t leave you. You know that, right?”

The only response you can manage is a shaky nod.

Joel sighs as he sits down next to you, rubbing his thumb over the small bald spot in his beard. To both your surprise, it’s you who starts the conversation back up.

“What about you?”

A frown appears between Joel's brows at the question and he turns towards you, studying your face as if the answers to whatever questions he has are written there. “What about me?”

“You were up too, weren’t you?” you ask quietly, turning your body towards him and leaning into the couch, the plush cushions and the blanket comfortable against your skin.

“Yeah but I was just—I wanted to get some things done for tomorrow—”

“Joel,” you stop him, raising your brow a tiny bit. It’s not meant to be hurtful, you’re sure of that. But if he believes you will swallow such a blatantly obvious lie, he may not be as good at this as you thought he was. “It’s not fair if you’re not honest with me.”

You can see his facade crumble as his expression falters and he nods quietly. “Yeah, I reckon you’re right about that.” Still, he seems to consider his words very carefully. “I don’t sleep well, sometimes. So I figured I may as well do some work. Didn’t wanna wake you with my tossing ‘n turning.”

Your heart aches at how casually he mentions this. It makes sense that he’d have nightmares. And you’re sure you barely know half of what they’re about. Joel cares so much when it comes to you that it genuinely baffles you how easily he brushes it off when he is the one suffering.

And then, a very quiet voice reminds you that this may be, like so many things, your fault. That you are so messed up that even big bad Joel Miller begins to struggle if he keeps you around for too long.

“Was it about—” You pause for a moment, trying to find the right words. It suddenly appears to you how difficult that is and you silently vow to thank Joel for having found them all throughout the last few days. “Was it about what we were talking about earlier?”

You have to be a horrible person. Because you know that deep inside, you want him to say yes. To assure you that this is about the things from his past that still haunt him and not about Lane—or about you. You don’t want to be the cause for his sleepless nights.

He doesn’t respond, but you have a feeling he doesn’t need to. It’s written all over him. The way he holds his body, the eyes that won’t meet yours. You don’t know what to do. You want to help. Maybe the same way he wants to help you. Cooking dinner, making coffee, getting an extra blanket. Because this is something he can’t fix. Only mend.

7 months earlier

“There is absolutely no way I’m going in there,” you proclaimed, dipping your toe into the water below you. “That is freezing!”

“It’s better once you’re in there. We can’t have hiked all this way for nothing,” a voice mused next to you. “Besides, it was your idea to come up here.”

“Well, I haven’t been before and I sure as hell wouldn’t have if I'd known it would involve freezing to death,” you groaned, lifting your foot back to the safety of solid ground below you and taking a few steps along the water of Flat Creek Lake.

It was crystal clear, allowing you to see the small rocks littering the bottom of the lake and the little fish zooming back and forth between them. It was still enough that you could see the reflection of the sky, blue with a few clouds scattered in between. The first warm day of the year.

You took in the scenery for a few more moments, letting your gaze wander further over the water and the trees on the other side of the lake and the mountains behind them, before turning back towards Lane—only to find that she’d thrown her clothes over a nearby trunk and was sporting a striped bathing suit. A small whistle escaped your throat.

“Haven’t seen that one before,” you commented off-handedly, causing a faint blush to appear on her cheeks. “That’s ‘cause it’s not mine.”

You raised a brow as you watched her wade into the water, sending small rippling waves out into the lake. “Wait, you’re not saying—”

A tiny smirk had appeared on Lane’s face. “Cat was nice enough to lend it to me when I told her we were gonna hike up here.”

“I see how it is.” You grinned, pushing your shirt over your head and throwing it next to Lane's pile of clothes. Unlike her, you opted for some of your more covered up underwear. Swimsuits weren’t exactly a clothing priority and you hadn’t found yourself in need of any until now. “I’m not enough for you anymore,” you said dramatically, throwing a hand towards your temple. “How will I ever get over you leaving me?”

“Oh shut up. Besides, if you are allowed to have your boyfriend over for dinner every other month, I am definitely good to borrow a bathing suit.”

“How many times do I have to tell you?” You groaned exasperatedly. “Joel is not my boyfriend. He’s just–” You raised a hand and waved it through the air, trying to find the right word. It wouldn’t come.

“I don’t know. We’re just friends.” You weakly kicked at a small rock below you before stepping into the water for the second time that day, getting your feet used to the temperature of the mountain lake.

“Even Tommy says Joel doesn’t have friends,” Lane pointed out with a lopsided grin.

You shrugged. You yourself weren’t sure what to call your relationship with Joel, and even though you’d tried not to think on it too hard, the question had forced itself to the forefront of your mind more than once. And with every passing month, it seemed to become more persistent and difficult to push away.

“Are you gonna get over here or think about that old man all day?”

Lane paid for her comment (and, you silently vowed, for daring to call Joel old) by receiving a big splash of cold water aimed directly at her. She squealed, jumping the few steps over to you and pulling you further into the lake. It didn’t seem quite as cold as you splashed around in it together, only coming back out when you saw that Lane’s lips began to match the shade of her hair and pointed out that her freezing to death would really ruin the early summer day.

You headed over to one of the log cabins at the foot of the small lake, a place so far from civilization that it had barely been touched since the outbreak. It had taken you close to six hours to make the hike up the dirt road into the mountains. But, upon seeing the view in front of you, you both had agreed that getting up early had been worth it.

“Who told you about this again?” Lane asked, her mouth slightly open as she stared around the cabin that seemed almost completely intact. Bits and pieces were missing but the furniture was still properly arranged, mugs and plates were lined up neatly on a shelf over the sink and even a few items of clothing were still dangling from some hooks near the door.

“Joel did,” you admitted quietly. She just wiggled her eyebrows at you before heading further into the cabin, peeking into the small bathroom and the adjacent bedroom.

“Hey, there’s some towels here,” she called over her shoulder and came back a few moments later holding some cream-colored towels that had probably once been white. Even in the more remote areas around Jackson, finding housing that was this intact was rather rare.

“Maybe we should take a look around,” you offered, your mind already wandering to which treasures could be hidden in the cabin. Anything from practical items like medicine to more recreational ones—possibly a nice bottle of whiskey, stored away just for you to find. As if she could read your thoughts, Lane pursed her lips a little, one hand smoothing over the towels in her hands.

You stared at her. “What?”

“I don’t think we should take anything;” she said softly. “At least not back to Jackson.”

You felt a small frown appear on your forehead as you mulled her words over in your mind. “What do you mean? It’s not like anyone’ll come back for this.” You gently tapped the wood of the cupboard next to you. “Judging by the amount of dust these have not been touched in at least a decade.”

She shrugged, stepping back towards the front door. “I just mean, if it’s been very peaceful here for so long… We shouldn’t be the ones to make it less so.”

You stared after Lane as she stepped outside, watching her descend down the few wooden steps that led up to the cabin and the way the sun hit her blue hair, the ends still dripping slightly.

It took you a moment to gather your thoughts and follow her back to the lake, carefully closing the cabin door behind you. You both had secured a towel each from the cabin and were drying off when Lane caught you off-guard for the second time that day.

“Do you remember any of it? Before, I mean?”

You sighed softly. The question that had become as recurring as ‘and what do you do for a living?’ had once been. In hindsight, you were surprised you hadn’t discussed it earlier–at least not in detail.

“I do. Not much, not anything–I don’t remember how the world was. Just how it seemed to me as a kid,” you answered truthfully.

You could see Lane nod out of the corner of your eye as she leaned back and wrung out her hair.

“I miss it sometimes.” A few seconds of quiet passed. “It’s silly, really. You can’t miss something you don’t remember.”

“I think you can,” you said softly, turning your head towards her. She had paused in her movements and was gazing out onto the lake, though her eyes seemed much more distant than usual.

Your own stayed trained on her as she spoke, her tone a tad lower. “Do you ever think about leaving?”

If it had been anyone else with you, you probably would’ve lied, claimed that of course your heart never wavered, that you knew you were exactly where you needed to be. But this was Lane. Lane was safe.

“Sometimes,” you answered, your voice equally quiet even though you were sure there was no one around to listen except the small fish and possibly a fawn hiding in the undergrowth. “But then, I suppose it wouldn’t make much of a difference. We’d suffer through the day anywhere. But here, we at least have something to come home to when the suffering is done.”

It wasn’t exactly as positive as you may have wanted to sound. You’d always felt a tad protective over Lane, with her being a few years younger and less experienced. You knew she looked up to you and you wanted to set a good example, more than anything.

But that included being honest.

“When I came—When I headed to Wyoming, I was looking for something better than a QZ or Fedra,” you said softly. “I think I could’ve ended up in a lot of places much worse than Jackson.”

“But Jackson isn’t what you were looking for.”

You shook your head. “No. I suppose it’s not. But it’s what I found.”

You gave a bittersweet smile and she returned it, even though hers still seemed slightly broader than yours. It was an odd moment that passed between you, almost an unspoken agreement not to dwell on the topic too long. To not speak of the loss.

“What about you?” you asked, shifting the conversation away from yourself. “Do you remember anything from before?”

Lane gave a small snort at that. “Yeah, now that you ask, I remember pooping my pants.” She shook her head weakly, leaning back and staring out at the water again. “I was a baby.” A sigh escaped her lips as her body faltered slightly, her shoulders dropping a tiny bit. “Sometimes I wonder what my life would’ve been like if I’d been born ten years earlier. If it had been—I don’t know. Better.”

“Well, for the record, I’m glad you ended up in Jackson at the same time I did,” you said softly, nudging her shoulder.

She nodded and smiled, returning the small gesture. It doesn’t dawn on you until much later that she talks about her life in past tense.

“Okay, a tiny bit to the left,” Lane waved her hand as if she could position you like a puppet. “My left or yours?”

“Yours—Yeah, like that.”

A few seconds passed where you showed the lens your best smile and saw Lane fumbling with the buttons before the noise of the camera shutter announced that she’d found a frame she was content with. The giggle that followed, however, took you by surprise. “What?” You asked, looking past the lens and trying to catch a glimpse of her face. “What's so funny?!”

“Oh, I just thought about whether or not to slip this into the slideshow at the town hall next week. Maybe that would finally get Joel to ask you out.”

“You, Eleanor, are a pervert,” you commented drily, letting yourself fall back onto your comfortable towel and reaching for your book, trying to ignore the small wave of heat that had suddenly spread through your body at the thought of Joel seeing you like this.

“You know, I do think you two would fit together pretty well,” Lane hummed with her eyes closed half an hour later when both of you had stretched out on your towels and were bathing in the sun, waiting for the warmth to dry you. Content to ignore the world around you for just another hour.

You put your book down for a moment, squinting as you glanced over at her. “Well, I’m sorry to disappoint you but nothing is happening between Joel and me. Not ever.”

***

His knock on the bathroom door is tentative, two gentle raps that travel through the wood towards you.

“Are you almost done?”

You stare at your reflection. A woman in black stares back. You know she is about to attend a funeral, the dark outfit and the sadness hiding behind concealer that doesn’t quite match her skin tone giving away what awaits her just as much as what’s behind.

You long to wish her something, to give her hope. But you don’t have any left to give.

You wish you could stay in the comforting bathroom forever, retire the black clothes, bundle them up and hide them at the very back of the cupboard below the sink, next to long expired cleaning supplies and a broken hairdryer. Close the door on all of them and run a hot bath to curl up in, one that never runs cold and that you never have to leave.

“Are you alright in there?”

Joel’s tone has turned slightly worried, no doubt owing to the fact that you are too busy keeping yourself from having a panic attack to respond properly.

“I’m done,” you call out, your voice trembling a little but at least it’s loud enough for him to hear. You can practically see him nod outside the door, even before you’ve moved over to it and turned the knob. Facing Joel Miller is the easy part. Facing the rest of the world is the hard one.

His gaze flies over you very briefly, taking in the clothes he retrieved from your house for the occasion, but you barely notice. What you do notice is that Joel has shaved while you were getting ready, his beard a little more neat than usual, even if still streaked with the small hints of gray that make your eyes linger. What makes your breath hitch in your throat however are his clothes.

He’s dressed accordingly, in a black suit that’s been patched up in a few places and is half a size too small on his broad frame. You’re alarmingly aware you have never seen him in a suit before—you’re certain you'd remember if you did if this is what he looks like.

It doesn’t quite fit the Joel who’s been following you around the house like an anxious guard dog, the man who wears plaid shirts and jeans so much that you remember being surprised when you first found out he does not, in fact, sleep in them. He always looks comfortable, in his worn shirts and slightly stained clothes, like he’s been wearing them for years, like he’ll never change. Like he’ll never leave. A constant that nothing could take from you, like the peaks of the mountains you can see from Jackson on a clear day.

But now he looks—there is no other way to put it—sexy. The suit, tight in all the right places, momentarily manages to take your mind off the why and you very briefly allow yourself to just stare at him.

“Hey, you’re not gonna pass out on me, are you?” Joel muses, bringing a hand to your shoulder to steady you. He looks worried, the crease on his forehead that never seems to leave it these days a little deeper than usual. Of course he’d think that your behavior can be attributed to your distress. Which it can, technically, just a completely different kind of distress.

“Sorry, no, I'm fine,” you reassure him, pushing your way further into the bedroom and taking a deep breath. He doesn’t move quite in time, causing your side to brush over his and you can actually feel the smooth fabric of his blazer against the skin of your hand where they meet. You catch a whiff of his aftershave—or whatever the hell makes him smell so good—just as you step past him into the bedroom and towards the door, completely missing that the slight scowl on Joel's face has changed ever so slightly.

“Come on, Texas. I don’t wanna be late,” you mumble, trying to lighten the mood—or at least distract from the fact that your brain is ready to head down a wildly inappropriate path. It must be the shock causing it to go haywire, or at least that is what you silently vow to believe.

Still, you’re careful to not turn around far enough to actually see him, keeping him safely out of sight.

Because you really must be the worst person in the world to stand here, about to attend you best friends funeral, and leer over some fucking man.

Just that it's Lane's funeral and a small voice in the back of your head that sounds oddly like her pipes up to say that he does look good and that, if nothing else, this may be the one good thing to come out of today. Joel Miller in a fucking suit.

notes: thank you for reading! i have a few more chapters done but opening this fic is somehow both my therapy and mentally very taxing so bear with me please <3

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fruvittea · 1 day ago

Text

between the lines

💌﹒→﹒ joshua x reader (college au) ﹒ ﹒ ♪

— genre: romance, slice of life, friends to lovers

— word count: 1.2k

— warnings? none

Joshua Hong had always been the epitome of calm. Even amid the chaos of college, he carried himself like a walking sonnet, effortlessly poetic and endlessly kind. He was the kind of guy professors remembered by name and group project partners fought over because they knew he would carry the team without complaint.

And for some inexplicable reason, he had chosen you as his best friend.

“Let me guess,” he said, sliding into the library seat across from you. His voice was soft and teasing, the kind of tone that made people lean in just to hear him better. “You haven’t started the paper yet.”

You shot him a mock glare, spinning your pen between your fingers. “I don’t need your judgment right now, Hong. I need inspiration.”

His smile grew, dimple flashing as he opened his laptop. “Lucky for you, I’m feeling generous today.”

This was how most of your study sessions went—Joshua helping you focus while you tried (and usually failed) to ignore the way his sleeves rolled up to reveal his forearms or how his glasses made him look even more unfairly attractive. He had been your friend since freshman year, when a misplaced coffee cup and a chance meeting in a lecture hall had spiraled into late-night conversations, shared playlists, and countless study sessions.

“You’re staring.”

You blinked, cheeks heating. “What? No, I wasn’t.”

Joshua smirked, leaning back in his chair. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

You scoffed and flipped a page in your notebook to look busy. It wasn’t your fault that he had that annoying habit of running a hand through his hair every time he thought too hard about something. Or that he smiled like he was sharing some secret joke with you, even when he wasn’t saying a word.

“Anyway,” you said, desperate to change the subject. “What’s this ‘generous’ inspiration you’re offering?”

“Depends,” he said, propping his chin on his hand and tilting his head, eyes sparkling in that maddening way of his. “What’s it worth to you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Not much, considering you’re supposed to be my friend. Generosity isn’t supposed to come with a price tag.”

Joshua laughed, a quiet, warm sound that you felt somewhere in your chest. “Fine, fine. How about this? If I help you finish your outline, you buy me coffee after. Deal?”

It was a simple enough offer, but the way his gaze lingered on you, half-hopeful, half-playful, made your stomach flip. You couldn’t tell if he was teasing like usual or if there was something more in the way his smile softened when you finally nodded.

“Deal,” you said, shaking off the strange warmth spreading through you. He was just Joshua. Your best friend. That was all.

The outline took another two hours, mostly because Joshua kept finding ways to distract you.

“You know, you really should stop biting your pen like that,” he said at one point, his tone oddly low.

You looked up, startled. “Why?”

“Just… you’ll ruin your teeth,” he said after a pause, glancing back at his screen. But his ears had turned pink, and you didn’t miss the way his fingers fidgeted with the edge of his notebook.

Later, when you grumbled about a particularly annoying paragraph, he leaned over, closer than necessary, his shoulder brushing yours as he pointed at your laptop.

“Try rephrasing it like this,” he murmured, his voice soft in your ear.

You froze, your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. His cologne—subtle and warm—was suddenly all you could focus on, and you had to force yourself to nod like a normal person.

“Right. Yeah. Good idea,” you mumbled, hastily typing.

By the time you finished, your brain felt like it had run a marathon. But Joshua seemed completely unfazed, closing his laptop with a satisfied smile.

“Coffee time,” he said, standing and stretching, his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a sliver of skin.

You looked away so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. “Fine. Let’s go.”

The coffee shop was crowded, a low hum of conversation filling the air as you and Joshua slid into a booth. You sipped your latte, trying not to think too hard about the fact that this felt suspiciously like a date.

“You’ve been quiet,” Joshua said, watching you over the rim of his cup.

“Just tired,” you lied, avoiding his gaze.

“Hm.” He didn’t look convinced.

The silence stretched, not uncomfortable but charged in a way you couldn’t quite place. You fiddled with your sleeve, trying to push down the fluttering in your chest.

“You’re terrible at hiding things,” he said suddenly, a small smile tugging at his lips.

You frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Joshua leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “It means I can tell when something’s on your mind. And lately, you’ve been acting… different.”

Your heart skipped. “Different how?”

“Like…” He hesitated, his eyes searching yours. “Like you’re trying to keep your distance from me.”

The words hit harder than they should have. “I’m not,” you said quickly, too quickly.

“Really?” His voice softened, and for a moment, his usual teasing tone was gone. “Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the way he was looking at you—gentle, patient, like he was waiting for something—made the words catch in your throat.

“I’m not avoiding you,” you said finally, your voice quieter. “I just… I don’t know. You’ve been acting weird, too.”

“Weird how?”

“Like…” You hesitated, heat creeping up your neck. “Like you’re flirting with me or something.”

Joshua blinked, then laughed, a soft, breathless sound that made your stomach flip. “Maybe I am.”

Your head shot up, eyes wide. “What?”

“Maybe I’ve been flirting with you,” he said, his tone casual but his gaze steady. “And maybe I’ve been waiting for you to notice.”

The air between you felt electric, every sound in the coffee shop fading into the background. You searched his face for any sign that he was joking, but there was nothing but quiet sincerity in his eyes.

“You’re kidding,” you said weakly, though your heart was pounding.

“I’m not,” he said, leaning back with a soft smile. “But I get it if you don’t feel the same way.”

Your mind raced, torn between disbelief and the overwhelming urge to say something—anything—that would make him understand just how much you did feel the same way.

“Joshua, I…” You took a deep breath, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “I thought you were just being nice. I didn’t think you…”

“Liked you?” he finished, his smile growing.

You nodded, your hands gripping your cup tightly.

“Well,” he said, leaning forward again, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Now you know.”

And as his smile turned just a little shy, just a little hopeful, you felt something inside you shift, the weight of your doubt lifting like a curtain. Maybe he really had been flirting all along.

And maybe—just maybe—you’d been waiting for this moment just as much as he had.

✴︎🪷𓈒͏ུུ̑̑. ཉ — by @fruvittea

#kpop #kpop drabbles #kpop fanfic #kpop layouts #seventeen #seventeen fanfic #seventeen imagines #joshua #joshua hong #joshua x reader #college au #slow burn #friends to lovers #seventeen joshua #joshua seventeen #vocal unit #say the name seventeen

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alicewrotethis · 1 day ago

Text

𐙚ᣟ݂﹒𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐭﹒

ㅤ۫ㅤ ˚ ۪˖𓏲﹒synopsis!! bokuto needs a tutor for his astronomy class, and what better person to do that than you? . ㅤ ˖ㅤㅤ۫ㅤ ˚౨ cw!! timeskip! b. kotaro x astronomy tutor! reader, sfw ﹒ ◠ note!! i thought of this and just had to write it down omg probably my fav i have so many more ideas for this once i finish part 2 of my atsumu series౨ wc!! 2.8k ˚ ۪˖𓏲 mood!! series playlist

The campus library was supposed to be your sanctuary— a quiet haven where the soft rustle of pages and the hum of fluorescent lights allowed your thoughts to stretch as vast as the stars you studied.

But today, peace shattered the moment he arrived.

Bokuto Kotaro stormed in like a supernova, all bright energy and booming voice, waving his crumpled astronomy work like a flag of surrender.

“Hey, hey, hey! You’re the tutor, right?" he asked, his grin wide and unbothered by the dozen glares aimed his way.

You stared at him, momentarily speechless, wondering how anyone could radiate that much energy this early in the morning. It barely cracked eleven AM.

Under normal circumstances, you'd have never stepped five feet in the owl-headed boy's vicinity, but for the extra credit in your classes, you would.

Bokutos coach had come to you, requesting you tutor Boktuo on astronomy as you were the only one available and the only one who excelled in the university's astronomy course. In return, he promised hed twist a few strings to get you some extra credit, and after a few moments of debating you accepted, it couldn't have been that bad right?

Wrong.

"Bokuto-san, this is a library," You reminded him, subtly looking around at all the faces watching Bokuto's rather bright form.

Bokuto blinked at you, his grin faltering for only a second before bouncing back as if the concept of an 'indoor voice' simply didn’t exist in his world.

He leaned closer, lowering his voice ever so slightly, "Right, right, sorry!" he whispered, though it was still loud enough to earn a second wave of shushing from a nearby table.

"I just got so excited! I mean, how cool is this? Studying stars? Like, actual stars!" He punctuated his sentence with a dramatic gesture that sent his crumpled papers fluttering to the ground.

You sighed, already feeling the beginning of a headache, "Bokuto-san, I don’t think you understand—"

"No, no, I get it!" he cut in, crouching to scoop up his fallen notes.

"This is serious business, I’m totally ready to learn, you’re, like, my last hope before the coach makes me sit out for the rest of the season, "He looked up at you then, his golden eyes wide and genuine, and for a moment, you almost believed he meant it.

Almost.

"Then maybe start by sitting down... quietly," you said, gesturing to the chair across from you.

Bokuto saluted, far too enthusiastically for a library, and flopped into the seat with enough force to make the table rattle, causing you pinched the bridge of your nose.

This is going to be a long semester.

Bokuto leaned forward, practically vibrating with excitement, as he spread his crumpled papers across the table like some sort of battlefield strategist, "Okay, so I was looking at the syllabus— well, kinda— and I think I get it, stars are, like, really far away, right? But also super hot? Like... the sun, but not?"

You stared at him, trying to decipher if that was a question, a statement, or a Bokuto-ism you’d just have to get used to, "That’s... technically correct, Bokuto-san, but—"

"See? I’m not totally hopeless!" He beamed, leaning back with almost contagious confidence, "Coach was all, ‘You’ve gotta study harder,’ and I was like, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve totally got this!’ And then—"

"Bokuto-san," you cut in, resisting the urge to bang your head on the table, "Do you even have your textbook?"

His grin faltered, "...Doesn't a syllabus count?"

Did he really just ask that? Where even was his bag? Why would he sign up for astronomy if he didn't even know the difference between a textbook and a syllabus?

You sighed, long and deep, feeling your patience wear thinner by the second, "No, Bokuto-san, a syllabus does not count, we’re going to need to start at square one,"

Bokuto straightened in his chair, slapping his hands on the table with a determined glint in his eye, "Alright, teach me! I’m ready!"

You raised an eyebrow, glancing pointedly at the other students in the library who were now watching him like a particularly loud wildlife documentary.

"Quietly, Bokuto-san, this is still a library," you muttered, before pulling out your notebook.

He immediately dropped his voice to an exaggerated whisper, "Right, right! Quiet stars! Got it,"

You pressed your lips together, stifling a laugh despite yourself.

You took a deep breath and opened your notebook, flipping to the diagrams you’d drawn for the last exam, "Alright, Bokuto-san, let’s start simple, can you name the three main types of stars?"

Bokuto leaned over the table, squinting at your neatly labeled chart like it was written in another language, "Uh... big, medium, and small?"

You blinked, "That’s not even remotely close,"

He scratched his head, looking sheepish, "Okay, okay, give me a hint! Is one of them... shiny?"

You bit back a groan, tapping your pen against the table.

"They’re all shiny, that’s kind of their thing, let’s try this instead," You pointed to the diagram.

"The three types are massive stars, intermediate stars, and low-mass stars, think of it like volleyball players— each type has a different role and lifespan depending on how much ‘energy’ they have."

Bokuto’s eyes lit up, "Ohhh, like an ace versus a libero! Okay, okay, I get it now! So... low-mass stars would be like liberos? They don’t get the spotlight, but they last a long time?"

You blinked, surprised, "Actually... that’s a decent analogy, I think,"

"See? I’m a genius!" He declared, earning another round of glares from the surrounding tables. He shrank a little under the scrutiny but quickly recovered, leaning in closer, "Alright, hit me with another one!"

Bokuto had only taken astronomy because he thought it'd be an easy class, he saw stars all the time, in movies, and outside; even the lights in the gym looked like stars! So how hard could it have been?

What he wasn't prepared for was needing to name them off the top of his head, and he never even understood the whole constellation thing, they all looked the same! He just could never see it no matter how long he stared at the sky, and he was starting to believe it was some inside joke he wasn't apart of.

Encouraged by his enthusiasm, you turned the page to a diagram of the life cycle of a star.

"Okay. This is how a star evolves over time. It starts as a nebula—basically a giant cloud of gas and dust, and from there, depending on its mass, it can become a protostar, then a main-sequence star, and eventually..."

Bokuto’s hand shot up like he was in a classroom, "Ooh! Ooh! Does it explode?!"

You stared at him, caught off guard, "...Yes, some stars do end their lives in a supernova,"

“I knew it!" He grinned like he’d just won the lottery, "Stars are like aces! They go out with a bang!"

You couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped, "That’s... one way to put it, I guess,"

Bokuto was definitely a creative person you'd give him that much.

For the next hour, you worked through more diagrams and explanations, occasionally pausing to translate the material into volleyball metaphors when Bokuto started zoning out. To your surprise, he was actually listening— though his 'notes' consisted of doodles of stars with dramatic eyebrows and stick-figure volleyball players labeled 'supernova aces.'

Despite the silly drawings instead of words, the notes actually made sense, like he was keeping up and actually processing what you were saying, for the most part, it was as if he just needed the right way of studying, and that way was comparing things to volleyball— something you had no clue about.

When the session finally ended, Bokuto leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms behind his head with a satisfied sigh.

"Man, that wasn’t so bad!" Bokuto said, his grin as wide as ever, "I mean, I still don’t totally get why stars have lifecycles or whatever, but that thing about red giants being, like, the blockers of the universe? That stuck!"

You arched an eyebrow, packing up your notebook, "You do realize blockers don’t explode into planetary nebulae, right?"

He waved a hand dismissively, "Details, details, the point is, I’m totally gonna ace this next quiz, the coach is gonna be so impressed!"

You paused, glancing at his scribbled mess of notes, amidst the chaotic drawings and exaggerated labels, there was a strange kind of logic— one that only Bokuto seemed to understand, yet seemingly effective if he actually understood.

"Well, if this... masterpiece helps you remember the material, I guess that’s what matters," you said, sliding your bag over your shoulder.

"Exactly!" he declared, shooting up from his seat with enough force to make the table rattle, he held out his fist toward you, his grin practically glowing, "Thanks! You’re the best tutor ever!"

You blinked at his outstretched hand, momentarily caught off guard by the unexpected gesture. Hesitantly, you raised your fist and bumped it against his, feeling the warmth of his enthusiasm seep into you.

"Just don’t forget everything we covered the second you step out of this library, Bokuto-san," You replied, trying to sound stern but failing to hide the small smile tugging at your lips.

"No way! I’m locked in now," He said, tapping the side of his head, "It’s all up here, supernova aces, red blockers, all of it,"

You shook your head, suppressing a laugh, "I’ll see you tomorrow then, don’t forget your textbook,"

As you turned to leave, Bokuto called after you, his voice loud enough to earn another round of glares, you lost count at this point, "See ya, don’t miss me too much!"

Bokuto smiled widely, his papers in hand, he felt like he could really pass this class with your help, and he couldn't wait till tomorrow to show you that he in fact did not forget everything you've explained to him. He liked studying with you, you were patient, sort of, in your own way!

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the warmth spreading in your chest.

This is going to be a long semester.

But this time, the idea didn’t seem so bad.

You stepped into your dorm room with a small content sigh, replaying the memories of hours ago a small smile made its way onto your face, you were glad your roommate had been spending more time at her boyfriends apartment.

Boyfriend, the word itself grossed you out.

You could never imagine yourself having a boyfriend right now, you were just too focused on college and your major, You neither had the time nor the patience required to handle the responsibilities of a relationship.

Throwing your bag onto your desk you headed for your closet, wanting to change into something comfier before you began your late-night studying.

As you plopped onto your bed you felt your phone buzz, the screen illuminating your face as you read the notification.

unknown number: hey!!

you: hello?

unkown number: its me, bokuto!!

A smile appeared on your face as you bit your lip to try and suppress it.

you: how'd you get my number? and why are you texting so late bokuto-san?

bokuto-san: details details, anyway! do you have a window in your dorm??!111!!!111!11

you: yes bokuto-san, its mandatory...

bokuto-san: face time me !!!!

With a sigh you clicked on his contact and dialed his number, what could possibly be so important that he needed to call you so late? And why were you entertaining it?

Within an instant he picked up, the sight of bokuto filling the entire screen, a wide grin evident on his features.

"What did you need Bokuto-san?" You asked, propping the phone up on your nightstand while you sat on your bed.

"Your pajamas are cute! We should get matching ones!" He blurted out, you were wearing dark blue pajama pants that had stars littered on them.

The compliment made a blush rise to your cheeks, but you wouldn't let it distract you, "Bokuto-san," You said sternly.

"So serious all the time! Anyways, go to your window!" He said, and from what you could see in his background he seemed to be moving around.

With a sigh, you picked the phone up and walked to your window, "Now what?" You questioned, looking out to make sure he wasn't climbing it or something, you wouldn't put anything past this guy.

You heard him laugh, "Now open your window and tell me how to find this Orion guy!"

You smiled fondly, one of your favorite constellations was Orion, "Alright, Bokuto-san, but only for a little," You firmly said.

You opened your window and peeked your head out a bit, feeling the cold breeze hit your skin and sent a shiver down your spine.

"Cold, huh?" You heard Bokuto say, in a much calmer tone.

"Yeah," You stared up at the sky, looking for Orion's belt, "You ready Bokuto-san?"

Your gaze shifted back down to your phone, seeing Bokuto on his back in the grass, his eyes were looking past the phone and into the sky intently, the only thing illuminating his face was the moon and the subtle yellow light of an estrayed college sidewalk light.

"Yeah," He said focused, though his eyes beamed with excitement.

"Alright," You said, gently smiling as you redirected your focus onto the sky, "You’re gonna want to look for three stars in a straight line, they’re not super bright, but once you see them it's hard to unsee them," You explained as simple as you could, already finding Orion's belt once again.

Bokuto squinted, his brow furrowing as he scanned the dark expanse above."Uh… wait, wait! I think I got it!" He said enthusiastically, "Is it that one?" He pointed, seemingly forgetting you were on the phone.

"Bokuto-san, I'm not with you," You said with a soft giggle.

“Oh, right!" Bokuto laughed, the sound was sheepish but warm."Okay, okay, so, uh... describe it again? I think I’m close!"

You smiled, shaking your head,"Alright, focus on the three stars in a straight line, they’re pretty evenly spaced, and they’re just below a really bright star— Betelgeuse, can you see that one?"

“Betel-juice, yeah, I remember from earlier!" He said, his voice brimming with excitement. You heard the faint rustle of grass through the phone as he shifted around.

"Alright, I see the bright one, now... oh! I see them!"

"Really?" You asked, grinning, almost as excited as he was.

Almost.

"Yeah! Three stars, right? In a row? That’s it, isn’t it?" His voice was so loud and triumphant, it was hard not to laugh.

Bokuto couldn't believe what he was seeing, he actually saw a constellation, it wasn't just an inside joke between people in his class, it wasn't some myth, it was real! And you helped him see it, you're the reason he doesn't feel so left out anymore.

You laughed tenderly, "Yes, that’s it, congratulations, Bokuto-san, you’ve officially found Orion’s Belt."

"This is so cool!" He exclaimed, his voice practically vibrating with excitement.

"It really is," You say, happy he feels as excited as you were when you found your first constellation. "If you look north a little you'll see two brighter stars, those represent his shoulders, and if you look south of his belt you'll find his feet,"

After a few moments of silence, he spoke up, "Man, it’s way cooler when you actually know what you’re looking at, what’s next? Are there more belts? Like a whole star wardrobe?" He asked enthusiastically.

You couldn’t help but laugh again, shaking your head. "Not quite, but there’s plenty more to see, first, you might want to take a moment to just enjoy Orion,"

There was a pause, and when Bokuto spoke again, his voice was softer, almost a whisper. "This is actually kind of amazing,"

You looked down at your phone screen, and you noticed Bokutos eyes were glazed over in awe, adorning his cheeks was a pinkish tint.

"You're amazing," Bokuto said, turning his direction towards his phone screen, watching as a smile tugged at your lips. His tone was still the same soft voice, a contrast to his usual theatrical self.

He was telling the truth, Bokuto found you amazing, how you knew so much about the stars, something he wouldn't have even thought twice about before meeting you or before he signed up for the class. He was glad he did, he was glad he was failing the class because if he wasn't, he wouldn't be on the phone with you, lying in the grass and staring at the stars.

And just like that, he couldn't help but think that maybe, just maybe, the stars didn't seem so distant anymore.

navigation !

#haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu ৎ .ᐟ #haikyuu fluff #fluff ৎ .ᐟ #astronomy #bokuto kotaro #bokuto koutarou #bokuto x reader #bokuto kotaro x reader #bokuto koutarou x reader #x reader #bokuto fluff #bokuto kotaro fluff

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