#and that sometimes ends up with him hurting himself and others

[marsmaximoff]

🏛️ emperor caracalla ; headcanons ⋆₊𐕣˚𖤐 ݁｡☽

content warning: fem!reader. mentions of blood, killing and sickness, cheating, possessiveness, toxicity. idk if there’s anything else.

word count: 0.7k

author’s note: first time writing headcanons, so constructive criticism is welcomed. and english is my third language so please bear with me. i apologize for any mistake 🙏🏻 also, i’m unlocking a new obsession, so i needed to write for caracalla asap. i’m gonna write for other fred characters too because that man has me down bad. that’s it! enjoyyy! <3

emperor caracalla is a menace with an insane duality and you know that better than anyone

we have 1) mad ruler with an insatiable thirst for blood

you ALWAYS go to the games

he demands wants you there with him

(not like you have much choice being married to him)

but still, he loves to know you’re there. mostly because he actually enjoys sharing his passion and spending time with you. buuut, also because he REALLY likes to show you off. (you love seeing him all giggly clapping and yelling tho)

and let me tell you, he takes every opportunity to do so. to remind everyone that you’re his. and to brag in front of his pretty much unmarried brother.

i’m talking hand rubbing your thigh when sitting by his side (he does it absentmindedly, it’s genuinely cute), arm around your waist during feasts, sitting on his lap when watching combats, theatre or any sort of entertainment and a ton of PDA.

both of them are possessive, but he is more subtle, not as straightforward

regarding Geta, you two have an… odd relationship. he’s thankful there’s someone else to deal with his brother’s madness. but he’s suspicious of your intentions. tho jealous.

some would even say not only of the marriage itself…

caracalla knows, and absolutely feeds on it. he finally has something that belongs to him and only him

god forbid someone doesn’t get it

Dondus has grown to adore you. you’re like his other parent -he’s adopted you as such.

squeaks at you and happily climbs your arm to rest on your shoulder

loves using your braids as little ladders

and snuggling against your neck too

he’s just so cute can u tell i love him :3

anyways

and 2) sappy child

he follows you around like a puppy

you hate it when he gets overwhelmed, he tends to hide and isolate himself

you end up acting like his mother

gets insecure of his real face and keeps it from you

needs a lot of reassurance

the guards always look for you when he has an outburst

your touch and presence are the only things that ground him

LOVES LOVES LOVES cuddling

clings to you like he needs you to breathe

good luck waking up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom 💀

play with his hair and he’s GONE

big on pet names

to you is always “my love” “my dear” “my darling” “my wife” “my empress”

emphasis on the “my”

everything’s fine with him but “sweet boy” makes him melt

and obviously “my emperor” cause it makes him feel powerful

and compliments too

spoils and pampers the shit out of you

jewels, clothes, animals, entertainers, you name it

absolutely whipped

loves kissing

now, it can’t all be a fairytale 😞

sometimes you feel like he loves Dondus more than you

and it seems that some men being forced to kill each other brings him more happiness than you ever could

he can switch from sad to angry in a matter of seconds and sometimes his sudden change of tone and expressions startles you

🚩 🚩🚩

being married to a sick man is hard

many palace servants and guards feel bad for you

paranoid

thinks you don’t love him anymore and are going to leave him quite often

obsessive

if you say something that feels ‘off’ to him get ready for an intense interrogation

possessive and extremely jealous

cause why the fuck where you laughing with some random man?

he’d threaten to kill him and would probably get rough with you

hates other people touching you

gets violent

has hurt you before during one of his fits

regrets it afterwards but has a hard time apologizing

would probably be unfaithful. i know, i hate it too 🥲

over all i think he wouldn’t be that bad of a husband, like it could be way worse

and i say he could genuinely love you, it just wouldn’t be the healthiest of loves

but you can try to fix him girl ✨✨

[hanniebaeee]

All I want for Christmas

Chris Bang x fem!reader

Warnings: some tears and making out

Genre: almost exes to lovers, angst, fluff

Summary: You and Chris are on the verge of a break up, but then, it's Christmas. And there's some magic in the air.

a/n: Merry Christmas everyone 💕 Love you all, and I can't thank you guys enough for all the love and support. Lots of love and wishes for the New year from me✨

The freezing December air bit at your cheeks as you stepped onto the rooftop of your apartment building. One of your neighbors, Jimin, handed you a cup of mulled wine, and you accepted with a smile. Your fingers wrapped tightly around the mug tightly, your eyes taking in the sight around you. 

The party was in full swing - warm fairy lights strung across the rooftop, some of older women decorating gingerbread men. A beautiful Christmas tree gleamed in the center, but none of it reached you.

Your eyes darted around the crowd, searching for just one face. 

Chris.

Your chest ached at the thought of him. It had been weeks since you last spoke. Since that disastrous fight. You'd both said things you didn't mean. It was just a poor way of shielding your own hearts from being hurt.

You loved him. God, you loved him. But sometimes love wasn’t enough. Or maybe…it was just too much.

You sighed and sipped your drink, leaning against the railing, letting the city lights blur your thoughts. And then, you felt it before you saw him. That quiet pull.

There he was.

Chris stood at the far end of the rooftop, near the makeshift stage, surrounded by kids. 

He looked good. Too good. In that beautiful grey coat and pants, and that crisp white shirt that you loved so much on him. But his eyes - they were rimmed with dark circles, hollow in a way that absolutely shattered your heart.

You turned away, your breath hitching. How was it possible to miss him this much, when he's standing right there in front of you?

“Alright, alright, gather ‘round!” someone announced, pulling your attention to the stage.

The kids had taken seats on the front row, giggling with excitement. And then, Chris stepped forward to the mic, with a guitar in hand. And his eyes met yours, and your heart stopped.

“Settle down, settle down,” he told the kids, with a gentle smile on his face, his voice a little rough around the edges.

And then his eyes met yours once again, as he started to sing. 

Silent night, holy night…

The world faded. His voice was like warm honey, dripping with emotion, so achingly tender, like he was pouring every ounce of himself into the song. You stood frozen, his voice wrapping around your chest, squeezing tight until tears pricked your eyes.

Towards the end of the song, you couldn’t take it anymore. Blinking rapidly, you slipped away, setting your mug down on a nearby table and heading for the stairwell.

You didn’t make it far.

Sinking onto the cold steps, you buried your head in your hands, shoulders trembling as sobs wracked your body.

“Y/N.”

The voice was breathless, and you looked up to see him standing there, his chest rising and falling like he’d run after you. His cheeks were flushed from the cold, and his eyes, wide, desperate.

“Chris, I…”

He didn’t let you finish. He sat on the step near you, his hands cupping your face as he leaned in close, his forehead brushing yours.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “I can’t be without you. I know I screwed up, I know things are messy, but…please. Don’t let this be the end. I need you, baby.”

You swallowed hard, tears slipping down your cheeks. “Chris, it’s not that simple. We keep hurting each other.”

“I’ll fix it,” he said, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “Whatever it takes. I’ll fix it, because I love you more than anything. Please, just…don’t give up on us. Don't give up on me…”

The vulnerability in his voice shattered the last of your resolve. You surged forward, your lips crashing into his in a kiss, so desperate but sweet. 

He groaned against your mouth, his hands sliding down to your waist, pulling you into his lap as you straddled him on the narrow staircase.

The stairwell was quiet except for the sound of your ragged breathing and the faint hum of music drifting down from the rooftop. Chris’s hands roamed your back, pulling you as close as he could. Your lips moved together in a rhythm that was both frantic and tender, years of love and pent-up longing pouring into every kiss.

“God, I missed you,” Chris whispered against your mouth, his soft wet lips so warm. His thumbs brushed along your jawline. “Missed this. Missed you.”  

“I missed you too,” you admitted, your hands threading into his soft curls. “So much.”  

His lips found yours again, hungrier this time, and you melted into him, your fingers gripping the soft fabric of his shirt. He shifted slightly, leaning back against the wall and pulling you further into his lap. And the heat radiating from his body was enough to make your head spin.  

“Chris…” you murmured, breaking the kiss just enough to look at him. His eyes held a tenderness that made your chest tighten.

“I love you, baby,” he said and tears welled in your eyes again, but this time, they weren’t from sadness.

You pressed your lips to his and he hummed softly, his hands sliding down to your hips, and sliding under the hem of your sweater. His touch was warm, sending shivers down your spine.

His lips slipped down your neck, and you tilted your head to give him better access, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Chris, anyone can just walk by,” you managed to say, your voice tinged with both amusement and desire. 

“And?” he teased, smiling as he nipped lightly at your collarbone.  

You let out a laugh that quickly turned into a sigh as his hands slid higher under your sweater, his thumbs brushing the sides of your ribs. His kisses grew rougher, his teeth grazing your skin just enough to make you squirm. 

“Okay,” you said breathlessly. “But if Mrs. Park from 3B catches us, I’m blaming you.”

Chris chuckled, his grin boyish and utterly irresistible.

“Fair. But I think she’d just tell us to get married already.” he said, and you stilled, searching his eyes. There was no teasing in his gaze now, just pure love.  

“Too soon?” he asked softly.

“No,” you whispered, leaning into his touch. “Not at all.”

With a radiant smile, he kissed you again, slow and deep.

“Come back to me,” he whispered against your lips. “Move back in with me. Let’s fix this. Together.” 

Your heart swelled, and you nodded, tears spilling over. 

“Okay, Channie. Let’s try again.”

Tags: @moonchild9350 @velvetmoonlght @eastjonowhere

Dividers: @strangergraphics

[lorelune]

O4O: part iii // PART 1

|| jing yuan x reader || E/18+ || omega4omega w/ milfy jing yuan || wc: 17.6k of 37.3k || ao3 ||

You are on the precipice of your heat. Jing Yuan must cope and navigate his desires, both old and new.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

💦🎀 this piece is apart of SPRING FEVER: an omegaverse collab! 🎀💦

✨ O4O masterlist ✨ // part i — part ii — part iii -> PART 1 (here) & PART 2

❣️ please note! part iii of o4o is separated into two posts here on tumblr. part 2 can be found linked above and at the end of this post as well. part iii is up as a single chapter on ao3 additionally! ❣️

notes: oh my god. loves. we made it. through blood, sweat, tears, a move, an irl relationship coming and going, WE MADE IT!!! i'm so excited for y'all to read and enjoy :'^) this piece would not have been able to be completed without the help of beloved betas (no a/b/o pun intended) @ofmermaidstories, @aimfor-theheart & @harmonydove. truly could not have done it without the feedback and encouragment :'^) all that said, please note the disclaimer above, stick around for part 2!!

CW: omegaverse, omega reader, omega jing yuan, top jing yuan (in this part) milfy jing yuan, mommy kink (both explicit and implicit), cry baby reader, fisting, knotting toys, biting, hurt/comfort, sickfic, past dan feng/jing yuan/yingxing, author-created omegaverse lore

— 💦. ݁₊⋆❀˖°🎀°˖❀⋆ ݁₊.💦 — 

It’s sometime in the past, during a sizable gathering on a private veranda near the Artisanship Commission. The evening has whittled into night, the breeze temperate and only a bit balmy. The air teems with the scent of freshly-fried food, liquor, and company.

Casks of plum wine and amber mead sit scattered across the many tables poised across the pavilion. Even at this hour, the space is filled with lively folks, clustered into groups. Folks from across the six Commissions gather, energy rising into the late evening. Cups have already been filled, emptied, and then filled again, several times over. 

Jing Yuan enjoys it. It’s reminiscent of bygone times, with enough newness to not feel chafing or make him overly melancholic. 

The folks that mill around him and the other Charioteers are not his peers that he trained with as a young Cloud Knight, or his closest companions as a member of the High Cloud Quintet. They are mostly workers employed closely to the Charioteers. All of whom deserve a night out to destress. It’s ‘good for morale’— that’s what he had told Qingzu when he said the gathering would be held at the Seat of the Divine Foresight’s expense. She couldn’t find it in herself to scold him, as she more than likely knew that the General would secure her her own personal bottle of favored strawberry liquor as an unspoken, off-the-books bonus. 

Qingzu is nowhere to be found now. Some of the guests have taken to roaming around the pavilion, spreading out amongst its ponds and large stone and crystal statues. They’re beautiful at night; Jing Yuan wanders this area often. He enjoys the stillness of it. The lushness of this particular garden lends itself to being quite private as well.

Not so much now, as Diviner Fu slaps her hands on the tabletop. Her scent mixes with the honeyed mix drink that she’s been nursing. She whinges at Yukong, something about budgeting and the maintenance of the Matrix, and how ‘having one Master Calibrator is hardly sufficient’, which Yukong doesn’t seem to be disagreeing with, but Yukong’s lack of total, enthusiastic validation seems to ruffle Fu Xuan sufficiently. 

It’s cute to watch, Jing Yuan cannot lie.

He himself is fairly sober thankfully. With all of the scents swirling, it would likely be overwhelming if he were to add much alcohol into the mix. He has been sipping a small amount of wine, but nothing more. He’s a weepy drunk after all. And he would rather have that intimate knowledge remain safely with him, and not shared amongst the Commissions as a fresh piece of gossip.

(He plans to save his tears, if any, for his nest. Camaraderie tends to make him misty-eyed once it is over and he is alone again, naturally. The absence of companionship must be weathered accordingly and privately.)

As Jing Yuan opens his mouth to tease the imbibed Master Diviner, a firm hand lands on his shoulder.

”C’mon, it’s gettin’ late.” The hand pats him. “We gotta get you home, baby.”

There’s a moment of incredible stillness where the entire company of his table (the Charioteers, all of them—) stare at whoever is behind him, agape. It must look quite funny. Jing Yuan pauses with the warm contact. The scent of sunshine heat and the wood embers of low burning hearth surround him.

He turns and sees you.

Jing Yuan recognizes your face from the Sky Faring Commission’s roster, but can’t put a name to it. He does not know you which makes all of this more comical. 

(You are not anyone to him, not yet.)

You are, however, quite cute. Jing Yuan finds himself a bit distracted and charmed by the shape of your lips, the wideness of your eyes. You stand, poised with an arm offered to him, wearing a look of abject horror.

The scents behind him begin to sour. This is… not just bold, but stupid. Judging by your expression and such casual language, the lackadaisical offering of your crooked arm was not intended for him. There’s a flush on your cheeks and a haze in your gaze; he assumes you’re as drunk as the rest of the party.

Jing Yuan smiles.

“I suppose it is about time I turn in for the evening.” He rises with a stretch and a yawn that’s at least half legitimate. “How kind of you to offer me a hand.”

You stall for a moment, visibly mentally stumbling as you stare up at him, scent sweetening, “I’m so sorry—“

”What’s there to be sorry about?” It’s a bit cruel to speak to you like this, he knows. All eyes of the party are on the two of you and this blunder, and Jing Yuan causing more mischief is not in great form. “I am happy to have an escort home. Shall we?”

He links his arm with your own.

The veranda is left behind, more than one of the Charioteers (and your companions?) squawking at you as you depart. You stay tense near his side until the sounds of the party fade into the night. When Jing Yuan sneaks glances at your face, you have the look of someone who swallowed something bitter and rotten. Your scent remains sharp, tart on the back of his tongue, even as you near quiet neighborhoods and his estate.

He stops you outside the gate and plies you with a sweet smile.

You immediately bow, bent fully at the waist, “G-General, I apologize— deeply apologize— I mistook you for someone else and h-have made quite the fool of myself. I apologize for any inconvenience I’ve caused.”

”None of that now, please. You’ve not been an inconvenience in the slightest. If anything, I should be thanking you as your interference allowed me to escape that party a few hours earlier than I was expected to be there for.”

”… I-I—“ You raise yourself up as Jing Yuan tilts his head down to you. Even at your full height, he’s still quite a bit taller than you. Wider in the shoulders and with a more honed, straight-spined posture. By comparison, you almost cower, hunched a bit as you look up at him, bottom lip tucked between your teeth. “If you’re certain, General. I never meant to cause any trouble.”

”You did not cause any trouble— at least not for me. Though, I may suggest limiting your plum wine consumption when around your superiors.” He says with a cheeky smile. 

There’s an indignant, watery look your eyes take on. You shift on your feet, and your scent ripens like summer fruit (an omega, clearly. Jing Yuan suspected as much.) The attention he gives you, though paltry, has you preening.

“I-I’ll be sure to keep that in mind, General. Thank you for being understanding, and I swear it won’t happen again.”

“I’m sure.” Jing Yuan chuckles. Given how you’re swaying on your feet, the hangover you’re sure to have the following morning will perhaps keep you from over-indulging for a while. “Would you like an escort home? It’s quite late.”

“General, t-that defeats the purpose of me walking you here, doesn’t it?”

“Perhaps, but this was an accident, wasn’t it?” He hums. “Though I am grateful for a late-night companion, it wasn’t a necessary measure. You, however, may benefit more directly from a guide this evening?”

“No need, General.” You shake your head. Your scent goes bitter, just barely, the scent mingling with the blooming flowers of his garden just beyond the gate. “T-Though I am grateful for your kind offer, I’ll be fine getting home on my own.”

Jing Yuan doesn’t like your answer.

(It seems like a poor idea. A young omega, not wearing any scent patches or protective clothing, wandering in the night while a glass or two too deep in their cups. It feels foolish to let you go off alone.)

“Are you certain?” Jing Yuan implores you. 

“More than.” 

Your smile is transparently pathetic.

You walk away that night. You leave Jing Yuan outside the gate of his estate with only the wisps of your scent left, clinging to the well-trimmed bushes and vines that crawl the stone and metal walls of his estate. Jing Yuan swears he carries the smell of you with him that night as he enters the manor and readies for bed. As he flips through a book of poetry by candlelight, he feels almost certain your scent has come along with him. It rolls into his nest. 

It is the first way you linger with him.

— 💦. ݁₊⋆❀˖°🎀°˖❀⋆ ݁₊.💦 — 

There is much planning to be done following your trip to the Alchemy Commission and the revelations that come with it. 

Jing Yuan handles most of it. At the behest of his own gentle pressing, you allow him to do so. Despite the various supplements and tinctures you are given by Lei Huiling to control your current symptoms, you are still not in the greatest health. You maintain a low-grade fever and stay fatigued in the days that follow your visit. Keeping you rested (and preferably not stressed) for your impending heat is vital. 

Jing Yuan sorts through the necessary clerical work. A few weeks of time off is secured for both of you. It is to be a ‘shared sabbatical’ on paper. He knows that this will only further the rumors that you are his taken mate, but he doesn’t exactly... mind that. The rumor mill has already been thoroughly fed and stirred with how often you two have been seen in public together lately. Jing Yuan thinks that you have been too out of it to notice the attention, more often than not. And when you do—

(You cling to him a bit more when you do notice many eyes on you. You find comfort in him so explicitly—) 

Jing Yuan certainly won’t do anything to dissuade public opinion, not unless it becomes necessary. It’s something to mull over.

Fu Xuan gives him an earful about ‘taking good care of you’ and to call her if you need an ‘alpha of virtue and good standing’. Jing Yuan knows that won’t be needed, but teases the Master Diviner about her chivalry regardless. As thanks for her generous offer and penance for his impish behavior, he bestows on her the mantle of Acting Arbiter General in his absence. Fu Xuan seems plenty satisfied with this. 

Yukong is agreeable and seems... quite pleased with the recent developments of your coupling. Her tail swishes happily as Jing Yuan relays to her via hologram that you will be out for a not-insignificant length of time for medical reasons. She congratulates him and then chides him in the next breath.

(“I better see you court them properly following this, General. If I catch them sporting any claim without a matching couple’s charm on your wrists’, you will be receiving the scolding of a lifetime.”)

Jing Yuan takes her threat seriously and writes himself a note to secure the necessary colored threads and blown glass beads to construct the courting bracelets. It may be a good post-heat activity to do together, he thinks initially. However, perhaps, he would prefer to keep your bracelet design from you until it is completed and it can be gifted to you properly. There’s a fair amount of decorum in courting that Jing Yuan has forgone, somewhat tactlessly, up until this point. It would do you both well for him to recall some of it and, as Yukong suggested, court you once this heat has passed. 

(Jing Yuan likes the sound of it so, so much. Even if his own courting instincts are under-used and unearthed these days.)

In the meantime, Jing Yuan takes care to assist you in preparing for it.

The markets are abuzz when he returns several days in a row, purchasing and pocketing little bags of sweets and dried fruit. A few hard cheeses and seed mixes as well. Anything that he can find that he thinks you may enjoy and is easy to eat during the lulls of it. He takes a trip or two to the compounder in the Alchemy Commission to fetch the litany of medications and supplements Lei Huiling had prescribed. Each vial and bottle is labeled clearly with dosages, penned in his own hand. 

Jing Yuan prepares a number of blankets, bed linens, and clothes for your nest as well. His own nest becomes overstuffed with them, but he hardly minds. He takes great care each evening to remove his usual adhesive scent-blocking patches and scrub the area free of any potentially sticky residue. It’s a diligence he rarely carries for the activity of washing that area, as it hasn’t been particularly relevant that his scent be so easy to spread. Now he finds himself washing and rinsing the skin at least twice. He massages the glands on his neck as well; Baiheng always had said that scent releases easier than way. 

Jing Yuan’s nest has never smelt so much like… himself. The petrichor and charged air wrap around each linen, with the sweetness of honeysuckle just a touch behind it. Omega’s scents tend to be sweeter or spiced. Jing Yuan hadn’t fully realized that his leaned toward the former. Sleeping each night in a proper, scented nest of his own does feel lovely. Indulgent, even though Jing Yuan has a suspicion that this will become routine in time. He doesn’t mind procuring the wealth of blankets and pillows smothered with his scent, and equally wouldn’t mind having some drenched in your scent as well.

You have admitted that you are having trouble getting your own nest together, but Jing Yuan hopes that his offerings make it a bit easier. He thinks that they do. Your scent always brightens and goes gooey on the sides of his palette whenever you receive a bundle from him at your door. 

You have not yet let him enter your home.

It makes sense. If an alpha’s home is their den, an omega’s home in its entirety is something of a nest, even beyond the bedroom that it usually is made in. You had seemed woefully uncomfortable when Lei Huiling had pointed out your dysregulated nesting behaviors. It can only be interpreted as something akin to shame to Jing Yuan. He knows you are preparing in your own ways, readying your space for someone to share it with you.

You tell him, explicitly, that you will handle the procurement of any necessary toys or lube. You say so with hot cheeks and can’t meet his eyes (even though you’ve shared a bed once before and he has had his tongue in your cunt. He finds the display endearing.) You also tell him that your little home, tucked away in a pleasant corner of the Luofu’s northern floral district, is also outfitted with scent locks on the doors and windows, so there shouldn’t be any leaking of heat smell. 

Dutifully, you meet each day during lunch. You take the tapered dose of your suppressants and a regulating tincture with a full glass of water that Jing Yuan helps you drink (you do not need his help, but you like it. Jing Yuan likes giving it to you.) Your plate is always clean by the end of your lunches, though sometimes it takes an hour or two for you to get through the meal. Your appetite waxes and wanes.

By the time you reach your final, smallest dose of your suppressants, you can hardly make yourself eat. You look at Jing Yuan warily after swallowing down the pills, mincing and shifting on your knees beneath the latticed gazebo of the favored garden. Wisteria drips from frames nearby, casting petal-shaped shadows.

“I’m nervous, Jing Yuan,” You tell him softly. “Really nervous.”

“I know,” he tells you. He has known since the day you left the Alchemy Commission with a parcel of medicine. Your scent hasn’t lost its sour edge, never entirely. “Does it reassure you, knowing that I’ll be there?”

“... I think it scares me a little more, knowing that.” You swallow. 

Jing Yuan tilts his head inquisitively and brushes hair away from your face. He leans down close, so your breath mingles, your scent in his mouth. The flavor and taste of it provide him such a wealth of information. You know this; it disarms you. You have nothing you can hide from him, just as he most enjoys.

“Will you tell me more? I intend to help ease your heat for you, not make it more stressful than it already is.”

“… Will you think less of me if I tell you?” 

“No, not at all.” He assures you with a kiss to the corner of your mouth. 

You shiver with it and nod. 

“I’ve... never shared a heat— my own heat before,” you confess and squeeze the hand of his that you hold. He assumed as much. “Never with an alpha, omega, or beta. I’ve always spent them alone with minimal relief. I’m not sure what it will be like to be so out of my mind and around another person. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable if I speak or act out of turn while I can’t make sense of anything other than... heat.”

Jing Yuan hums thoughtfully, “Do you remember how I acted, during my heat?”

“Of course.”

“And how was I?”

“... You were lovely, as you are now.” 

“Thank you,” he steals a proper kiss from you and pulls away without allowing you to chase him. “Did you scorn me then, for not being fully lucid? Wouldn’t that have been cruel?”

You stumble mentally. Jing Yuan watches it in your eyes. 

“I-I mean, I didn’t. Of course not. And yes, it would be cruel.” You frown at him. “But, I think mine are worse than that, Jing Yuan. I’m in pain more often than not, rather than aroused. Half of the time, I end up on the bathroom floor because I get so nauseous. And even if I don’t get so sick, and I am, um, yearning, let’s say— I’m not very experienced, even outside of my heat cycle. I’m very grateful for your help, but what if it’s all just... too much in the moment?”

Jing Yuan lets you finish before kissing you.

This kiss is slow, deep, and reverent. Consuming. He means it to be, he needs you to feel it. Words rarely fail him, but this is part of his strategy, to coax you into feeling and breathlessness in tandem with sweet words. You mewl beneath his touch when his tongue darts out to taste your lips. 

He pulls away with a heavy breath.

“You are not too much,” Jing Yuan reminds you. “I am very capable of handling you, in whatever state that is, especially during your heat. Whether that is sickness or ‘yearning’, I will be there to ease you. I cannot offer you a knot, or the solace that comes with that type of coupling, but I will be there in all other ways.”

“... What if you get overwhelmed?”

“We will deal with that if such a thing occurs.”

“Okay.” You sniffle and concede, burying your face in his unmasked scent glands.

He hoists you closer and pets you. Contact like this has become commonplace over the past few weeks. It soothes both of you, calms the fractious omega in you, and the antsy, overbearing omega in him. It drenches you in each other’s scent.

“Dear?” He asks once you’ve calmed in his arms. “May I clarify a few things?”

“Mhm,” you pull away just enough to look at him in the eyes and cup his face in your two soft hands.

Jing Yuan already knows the answers to the questions he is poised to ask you. However, you need to know he knows. He needs to soothe the frayed nerves that will surely follow.

“You noted your own inexperience earlier, and that you’ve never shared a heat. Have you ever laid with anyone, heat-addled or otherwise?” 

There’s a pause. You tense up, flushing and struggling to meet his gaze, “I-I haven’t— not other than you, during your heat.”

Something in him cracks, unfurls, and wants more of him. He feels glutinous. 

“I am your first?”

“... Yes.”

“... When I touched you during my heat, were those your first times being intimate in those ways?”

“Y-Yeah, I hadn’t g-gone that far before.”

“I see.” Jing Yuan cannot help the coy smile that breaks over his face. You look ready to combust. “I’m honored to be your first. I’ll be sure to take good care of you, hm? As you deserve.”

You nod up and down, looking like you’re ready to squirm out of your skin, “... ‘Honored’? It doesn’t bother you?”

“Not in the slightest.” Actually, he’s elated. Ecstatic. He had a hunch, but he wasn’t entirely certain. The confirmation has his belly swooping, heating. He grins. “I will get to deflower my omega. I can imagine no greater privilege.”

His slip of the tongue is somewhat intentional. Maybe a little devilish, depending on your reaction. 

‘My omega’.

It may be a step too far— in which case, he can do damage contro. Perhaps not backpedal, but clarify. However— that becomes clearly unnecessary as your gaze darkens. Your pupils widen. And for the first time since that awful day in his garden, your scent is fully sweet.

“‘My’ omega?” you say, softly, like if you speak too loudly the phrase and its meaning will disintegrate. “Your omega, Jing Yuan? Be sage with your words, please.”

He is being, perhaps, a little bit less sage than he should be. But he is being honest. And his honesty is something he covets giving to you.

“I am being truthful.” He nudges your cheek with his nose. “My omega, if you wish to be.” 

Your expression shatters, revealing something that is only his to see. With scent blooming like honey and hearth fire, your eyes go wide, your lips tremble. It’s sweet, innocent even. Your gaze is so tender, it soothes something in his chest that he’s just beginning to name. He wants to hold you to his chest and keep you there. It’s hard to understand. But he wants you to be his. 

You swallow, slow and audible.

“Only if you’re mine too.”

Oh, by Lan, he wants to be. 

(And Jing Yuan hasn’t wanted to be anyone’s in so long.)

(His energy and vigor have belonged to the Luofu, so nothing like the Sedition of Imbibitor Lunae or the events surrounding the dissolution of the High Cloud Quintet ever happens again or, if something so disastrous were to occur again, that it would not be so deeply mishandled. It’s paramount. He has a beloved apprentice to look after. He has the gardens he tends and his birds to feed, but there is a distance with all of it. It is parts of him doled out, not his whole. Jing Yuan has not been whole since he saw Yingxing’s eyes carved with Shuhu’s insignia and Dan Feng mutilated into a man that couldn’t be called wholly different or the same.)

And yet—

He wants to sink his teeth into your neck. Over your pulsing, inflamed, undertended scent gland. He wants you to bite him until he bleeds, so everyone knows that the Divine Foresight has someone to hold again, however potentially fleeting.

“I am yours,” he answers. The unhindered, airy quality of his own voice throws him off. He relishes it as yet another new thing that you’ve brought out in him to be shared.

You brighten and launch forward, arms wrapping around his shoulders so tightly. His arms find their way around your waist, squeezing in time with your sweetened laugh. The sound (that could make flowers bloom and dough rise) soothes the thing in him that is wanting. You kiss him like the sky kisses the sun at noontime. He bring you closer still, trying to sink in your skin.

Jing Yuan, for all of the preparations needed for your heat, is unafraid of its difficulties. You are his, and Jing Yuan must get you in a comfortable nest and assure that you are cared for. Your heat will boil over any day now, it’s only a matter of time.

And Jing Yuan is excited.

...

Your pre-heat symptoms rise on a thankfully brisk morning. Jing Yuan receives a text from you just as he awakens in his own nest:

[you]: could you come over? my fever is back.

Jing Yuan doesn’t bother responding; he hits the ‘call’ symbol next to your name on his jade abacus.  Shifting upwards, the white linen covers he’d been under slides down, falling around his waist.

You pick up on the second ring. “Jing Yuan?” 

”Hello,” he speaks warmly. “How are you feeling?”

”I’m okay. S-starting to feel kinda gross.” He can hear the grimace in your voice. You thump around on the other side of the call. “I-I think I have everything ready though. As ready as it can be. If y-you’d like to come over, you can.“

”I’ll be there as soon as I round up a few things myself.” He tells you. “Is there anything last minute that you would like me to fetch?”

”I-I can’t think of anything— I need to check my lists though.” There is more thudding through the speaker. “I—I— can I text you?”

Your bumbling is hopelessly endearing. Jing Yuan smiles, “Of course. I will see you soon regardless, hm?”

”Yeah, I‘ll see you then. And Jing Yuan?” you say. “T-thank you, so much.”

The warmth of your words fills his chest. His own scent blooms, soaking into his nest and the walls of his bedroom. He wants to hold you so, so badly.

”Of course.” His tone sounds rich in his own ears even as the call disconnects from your end. 

…

It only takes Jing Yuan an hour or so to finish his own final preparations. The necessary bags are packed and hooked on his elbows as he makes his way toward the flower district. It’s early enough that there is little foot traffic to ogle the Divine Foresight playing pack mule, which he is grateful for. It would be an unwelcome distraction. 

His fixation is on you.

Jing Yuan makes a single stop on the way (having not received any messages from you in the interim) to grab a box of treats that he thinks you will enjoy. He balances it in his hand, flat on his palm, and unlatches the little metal gate to your front yard.

Though Jing Yuan hasn’t been inside of your home, he has been outside of it several times during the past few weeks. Jing Yuan has dropped off a number of items for you to keep in advance of your heat— scented items, and his own clothes and toiletries that he would be remiss to not have during the throes of your heat but will more than likely forget the day of.

He’s glad he has had the foresight to be intensely... intentional about your heat.

It has steadied you, he knows. The days where you’ve simply sat, side-by-side or with you tucked into his lap, seem to soothe you more than any of the Alchemy Commission’s prescriptions have been able to. He knows you appreciate the space that those moments provide. He figured it would, and built the time to see you in that way into his schedule because he had a hunch that slowness was what you needed most (in opposition to the burn and speed that a heat necessitates.)

He’s been careful with you. Not that he’s treading too carefully around you, but he does treat you gingerly. Careful touches that he has learned that you don’t mind (a hand on your waist, his lips on your cheek), encouraging you to take the same from him if that’s what you wish. He always asks before initiating any further intimacy. Despite the fact that you’ve shared a bed and will do so again, he knows this helps you feel safer about the exchange.

It helps him too, really. 

Heats, by their nature, tend to feel out of control. Even if one is medicated and informed and knowledgeable, they can still be so unpredictable. The phenomenon of heat cycles is, of course, something produced by biology and therefore affected by any number of other factors beyond the physical. Jing Yuan still isn’t sure what caused his own heat to trigger early. The lack of control doesn’t truly bother Jing Yuan— one cannot control everything even if they keep it within their gaze after all — however, the care and intentionality steadies him just as well.

From the way you’ve described your previous heats, they have always been chaotic things and painful to endure. Doing what he can to ease that, especially ahead of time, calms something in him.

He knocks on your door only once before you open it. His heart aches when he sees you.

You’re already sweating (poor, poor thing), pupils half-dilated despite the golden morning sun slanting toward you. Your scent curls around him, sweet more than sour, warm more than acidic, but something unpleasant wading underneath. He softens and smiles.

“Hello,” he says to you. You haven’t spoken yet, only blink at him owlishly.

“Hi,” you reply softly back. Cutely, you mince in place. “... Would you like to come in?”

“I would be very happy to.”

It’s the invitation Jing Yuan had been waiting for, truthfully. He doesn't want to crowd you, not now, not when things can progress at whatever pace you’re most comfortable with, safely. 

(That may change. Jing Yuan has prepared for that and shall use his hand and force if necessary. Tenderly. For your own good.)

Jing Yuan follows you inside your little home and takes it in as you futz with a small, glowing panel mounted next to the door. A scent locking system; it’s one of the pricey ones based on the glance he takes at the interface. You tap around on it a few times and Jing Yuan watches.

“Dear?” he asks.

You startle and jump a few inches off the floor, hand on your chest, and turn back to him, “Uh-huh?”

“No need to be nervous,” he says gently. “I understand why, but there’s no need to hold onto those feelings. Would you be able to show me how to operate your scentlocking system? In case I need to.”

“Oh— okay. Yes. I can.” You shake your head from side to side.

Jing Yuan grabs your hand as you poke around the panel, “I-It’s really simple. This screen lets you lock individual windows and doors— I-I have a courtyard in the back that has a sliding door that needs to be locked too. This other screen—” you tap around more, the interface follows. “Lets you lock and unlock all of them at once. There’s also this button which will let you vent scent if it— it gets to be too much. I-I have a remote for it near my nest t-too.”

“That’s good to know.” It’s a useful feature. An expensive one. Briefly, Jing Yuan wonders how you can afford it with your salary at the Sky Faring Commission. “Though I don’t believe it will be necessary, it’s nice to know that the option is there.”

“It’s... nice to have, I suppose.” Your hand falls from the interface. There’s a trace of something festering and sad on your face, but you shake it off and tap your clammy cheeks. “S-sorry about that, I f-feel so weird about everything. Like I’m two seconds away from crying at all times. It’s awful.”

“Heats can be overwhelming.” Jing Yuan reaches for your hand and squeezes.

You squeeze back and nod, a bit solemn. “... Can I show you what I’ve prepared, and maybe, my nest?”

Jing Yuan can’t help but light up at the suggestion, nodding with a little more vigor than he expected himself to. “Absolutely. I’d love to see.”

You give him a proper tour, starting in your small foyer, and then to the living room. There’s a plush-looking, rounded chaise lounge in the corner piled with a few blankets that Jing Yuan recognizes. A round pillow rests among them, embroidered with a content-looking cat face. A basket sits on the ground next to it, stocked with a number of snacks, drinks, and adhesive heat pads among others. 

Your kitchen is well-stocked too. At least a week's worth of meals and snacks are already prepared and packaged up in neat boxes, stacked in your fridge. This was Jing Yuan’s doing, mostly. There are services for this type of food preparation, specifically for heats and ruts. It was easy for him to place a quick, albeit indulgent order. Despite the abundance of sealed meal boxes, he can catch a glimpse of a few irregularly-shaped containers that must be filled with your own cooking.

You’ve always taken comfort in the familiar and your little treats. It’s endearing you’ve made an effort to have some personally prepared for the two of you as well.

The courtyard you mentioned is small. There’s enough room for a few petite garden boxes, one growing clusters of herbs and another with lush wind violets and poppies. Otherwise, there is only a low table and two sitting cushions. A gurgle trills in the distance, rushing water from one of the freshwater aqueducts that line this section of Luofu neighborhoods. 

You quickly enter back inside, and dash to re-enable the scent locks. It’s a bit hard to watch. Your anxiety is palpable, in the way you move and regard him. There’s a tremor in your hands and in your tone as you sputter out a few nervous quips to him. 

Jing Yuan would like to ease you; it’s his most central goal.

He slides behind you with a heavy sigh and wraps his arms around your waist. It’s a good fit, one that feels secure. You feel so lovely to him as he bumps your cheek with his nose.

“Dear,” he keeps his voice in a low purr. “May I kiss you?”

You swallow audibly and your stiffness drains out of you. Like a stopper has been uncorked and you sag against him.

“P-Please—”

And so, he does.

Turning you in his arms, he presses his lips to yours while cradling your jaw. Warm fingers stroke down your cheeks and trace the line of your jaw. Your hands, still shaking (poor thing), grip the fabric of his shirt with enough force to drag him closer. 

It’s good. It’s sating. The sensation of closeness like this is something you both need, even if you’re still learning the steps of how to seek it with each other. The contact you’ve shared in the weeks leading up to your heat has been mostly chaste, meant to comfort more than to arouse, and it has served its purpose well. Physicality has gotten easier for you in some ways, he knows. He feels it in the way you stretch on your tiptoes to be closer to him and let out a soft sound against his lips with hardly any hesitation. 

Jing Yuan relishes it. 

Sliding his fingers down your cheeks, tracing your jaw, he kisses you in a way that denotes hunger but doesn’t entirely satiate. It’s a morsel of something larger, to be explored in pieces, lest you become overwhelmed and weathering your heat becomes even more unpleasant than you predict it will be. He pulls away and you gasp for a breath or two, tilting your forehead up to his with a whine.

“Jing Yuan—” It’s light and sweet, the way you speak. You steal another kiss and Jing Yuan laughs into it. His hands slide to the back of your neck and it’s only then that he feels your fever. 

“Oh.” He presses his lips firmly into your forehead. You’re warm there too. Too warm. Poor thing. “Is it starting to hurt, dear?”

You preen under his attention but still look uncomfortable as he asks. You shift from foot to foot. “A-A little. Nothing too bad, but I know it’ll get worse.”

Certainly. He hums. “May we continue the tour, then? Afterward, we can focus on getting settled.”

You peek up at him shyly, “T-The last thing to see is my nest. D-do... you want to see it?”

“Of course, I would,” Jing Yuan assures you. “Would you show me?”

You nod, more enthusiastic and energetic than you have been in weeks. Clasping your hands together, you guide him past your living room and a half bathroom, to a door that he knows must be for your bedroom.

“Give me a moment.” You squeeze his hands. “I-I just want to make sure things are p-perfect.”

He squeezes yours back. Of course.

“Take all the time you need. I’ll be right here.”

A look of relief passes over you before you dart inside your bedroom and gently shut the door behind you. There’s an immediate rustling and assorted thumping, which Jing Yuan can’t help but chuckle at. He knows the feeling, and he’s certain that you have probably been futzing with your nest almost constantly. 

(A satisfactory nest is a very important thing to show a mate, after all.)

And even if Jing Yuan isn’t an alpha, and he cannot give you any of the things that an alpha would expressly be able to provide during a heat, your instincts will tell you to complete some of the same gestures. Showing him your nest, how well-prepared you are. Jing Yuan has no doubt that you’ll be rolling over to show him your soft belly once you are more comfortable and settled with his presence. 

“Okay.” You stick your head out from the crack in the doorway. “I-It’s ready. Come see?”

You offer him your outstretched palm. His heart flutters as he takes it.

Your bedroom is... somewhat unexpected. Jing Yuan is not entirely certain what he expected from the space, something cozy, something homey, but there’s such a level of detail and diligence that Jing Yuan is surprised you managed the space all on your own.

(It makes his heart hurt, thinking of you like that.)

The windows are covered by thick-looking curtains, made lighter by a sheer inner curtain that hangs secondarily. They keep all the sun out of the space. Your bedroom seems intentionally low-lit, the only lighting sources being a few lamps and a strand of string lights around the corners of the room. A round, friendly-looking lamp sits on a bedside table, oscillating several colors in a slow, steady rhythm. A vanity is tucked in a corner, though its contents seem to be entirely packed away. The little bench that accompanies it is stacked with blankets, all in a well-folded pile. 

Your nest itself is resplendent. 

Your mattress is large— almost as big as his is, which he hadn’t expected. It’s piled with familiar-looking blankets and articles of clothing. There’s a central point to the nest, where pillows are stacked behind for comfortable lounging. A few doughy-looking plushies have made their home in your nest as well. One looks like a round, sugar-white cat. He recognizes it as a plushie made in his own likeness— like they sell in the markets. He can’t help but think it is overwhelmingly sweet for you to not only have one, but keep it in your nest.

At the end of your nest and bed is a chest, covered in a plush fabric. It looks soft to the touch. On the bedside table, you have stocked a basket with little snacks, electrolyte drinks, various medicines, lube— anything one could need for a heat.

You stand beside your nest, practically shaking as you bounce on your toes. You wring your hands as you watch him take in your space, little by little. 

Jing Yuan takes ample time, examining your space, but not entering any further than the doorframe. He would not want to slight you or make you uncomfortable in a space that is so truly and deeply your own.

“S-So?” You ask softly, kicking the ground. Your house slippers have little cat paw patterns on the tips of the toes. “What do you think?”

Jing Yuan sighs your name with a smile that radiates all the way from the base of his spine, his sternum— somewhere deep and true and real. Your scent is so thick here, so intensely you. It’s not mixed with anything other than clean linen and the herbal soap you must use in the shower. It’s nearly pure. It’s indulgent for him to open his mouth and take your scent into the back of his throat. 

He can only regard you with warmth, “It is a very lovely nest. You have done so well.”

You soften instantly. If you were capable of turning into a warm puddle, you probably would’ve. Jing Yuan can’t help but preen; he knows how to pick and choose his words well. It is one of his greatest skills. 

Relief looks sweet on you as you all but collapse in the side of your nest, face first.

“Thank you,” you whine, muffled into the linens. “I tried very hard.”

“And it shows.” Jing Yuan barely restrains himself from bouncing on his toes. It’s so cute. You’re so cute. He needs you in his mouth. He holds himself back. These things must proceed gingerly, even now.

You whine once more. Your legs kick up and you cross your ankles. “You’re going to kill me, Jing Yuan.”

He gasps, something fake and theatrical. “I could never do such a thing,” 

It feels like a part of him is shedding. It’s welcome. 

Sweetly, you turn your face to look at him. You do look awful— really. It will only worsen from here, and Jing Yuan has every intention of tending to you properly.

“May I join you?” he asks.

You tense. Jing Yuan does not move.

Nests are the most intimate, vulnerable place for an omega. They are deeply personal spaces and are meant to be safe. Always safe. And Jing Yuan has put together, over the months and weeks of growing closer to you, that this type of closeness and space-sharing in your own nest is difficult. 

As quickly as you entered his nest for his heat previously, you don’t share that enthusiasm about Jing Yuan entering your own. 

He expected this much. It only stings a little. Not enough to bruise.

It takes you a few moments of inner turmoil before you truly look at him again. Soft and sad in your eyes. You bunch the linens of your nest in your fists and haul yourself up enough to sit. Tentatively, you pat the spot next to you.

“You may.”

Jing Yuan is so, so careful when he sits next to you. He moves slowly, keeping his posture softened. Your scent, under the heat-sick, swirls with anxiety and want in equal parts. It’s reassuring as much as it worries him. 

You take one of his hands and bring it to your face. Gently, reverently, you hold his wrist to your jaw and scent him. Jing Yuan helps you a moment later, twisting the appendage so his scent is smeared on you.

“Thank you,” says Jing Yuan.

You scoot closer to him, wrapping yourself around his bicep. “Thank you, Jing Yuan.”

It’s enough. Something has cracked and Jing Yuan can’t help but indulge it as you both descend into the soft expanse of your nest. Your scent overtakes him, and Jing Yuan breathes it in through his mouth. 

...

Several things require discussion before you lose your complete lucidity. One of which is sex.

This has been talked about before. Several times over the last few weeks, but you and Jing Yuan came to the conclusion to speak again on the day your proper pre-heat began in order to have both of your most current thoughts on the matter.  As much as you’ve shared with him in the past (that you haven’t shared your heat before, that you are not at all experienced with sex, that you have specific preferences that, at the time you shared this, were too embarrassed to disclose to him, regardless of the privacy of Jing Yuan’s garden.)

You are clearly more open now. You lay between his legs, a hand intertwined with his. 

“Can I show you my t-toys?” 

“Of course, I’d like that very much.”

Jing Yuan won’t deny that he’s been curious about the more specific flavors of your preferences. 

You shuffle on your knees to the end of the bed, leaning over the edge of your nest, to the chest below. Hastily, you place several silken sacks on the bed.

Jing Yuan shuffles along with you to examine them.

It’s not a large collection, notably. In the number of toys or the size of any of them. It’s maybe three dildos, a singular (albeit sturdy-looking) wand vibrator, and a set of pressure cuffs for the wrists and ankles, meant to stimulate your scent glands with friction. The box for those clearly hasn’t been opened. Overall, all of the collection looks fairly new. 

Jing Yuan cradles one of the phallus-shaped toys in his hands. It's similar to the others in your collection— not huge, but not small either. And notably—

It isn’t knotted.

None of your toys are.

This concerns Jing Yuan instantly, though he doesn’t voice it overly. 

Craving a knot is one of the most expected desires to manifest during a heat. Among nesting urges, cravings for safety, and safe company is the explicit want to be full. Stretched. The pop of an alpha’s knot into an omega’s hole during heat is a unique, singular type of ecstasy that most omegas deeply enjoy. A toy doesn’t produce quite the same intensity of sensation (it lacks body heat, blood, and the all-important personal, intimate connection, after all—), but it’s still sating enough. Enjoyable, in Jing Yuan’s experience, and certainly better than nothing.

Heats without knots are incredibly difficult to bear.

It’s already been established that your heats are difficult; Jing Yuan wonders if the lack of knotting toys is a cause of your difficult heats, or a symptom of them. It seems vital to surmise this in your case. 

“Dear?” he asks, gentle and easy. “I’d like to change into something more comfortable. Is that alright with you?”

You nod, “O-Of course. I put your things in one of my drawers.”

You tell him this so easily like you don’t know how it makes his heart flutter so wildly. 

True to your word, the clothes he has been stockpiling are folded neatly in the top drawer of your dresser. Jing Yuan pulls out some soft, breathable lounge clothes and a favored robe of his and sets them aside.

You clear your throat. “You can change here, if you want.”

“Hm?” Jing Yuan is surprised by your willingness. “How forward.”

“I-It’s not like I haven’t seen you bare before. I’ll be seeing you that way again soon.”

“That doesn’t mean you need to force yourself into sharing space when you’re not ready to,” Jing Yuan reminds you.

“I know that.” The bed creaks as you adjust within your nest. “What if I want to see you bare?”

“You do?” Jing Yuan makes himself sound a bit more incredulous than he actually feels. Exclusively to make you squirm. He indulges, just a little. As a treat.

“I— of course I do!” you exclaim. “A-and not just because I’m starting to feel my pre-heat. I t-think you’re very pretty, Jing Yuan.”

Jing Yuan has been called many things, over his centuries. Handsome, attractive, beautiful, gorgeous, stunning— but so rarely pretty. It implies things that don’t match his stature. He’s always been tall, especially for an omega. Broad, with muscles built from Jingliu’s rigorous training (even if these days, they are buried under a layer of soft, peacetime pudge that Jing Yuan finds himself very comfortable having). His skin bears the scars of a thousand battles, and nearly as many wars. His voice has always been deeper, more gravel than ichor.

Yet, you call him pretty. And tend to call him pretty, or beautiful, or all manner of compliments that imply him to be softer and more dainty than he, to his own eyes, is.

He finds it endlessly charming. Attractive of you, to view him in such a way and express it to him.

Jing Yuan can’t help but smile as he begins to pull away his everyday garments. “How sweet of you. I’m flattered.”

“It’s the truth,” you tell him with a whine.

It’s true, at least to you. He can feel your eyes boring holes into his back as he strips, trading his cloak and lion-headed pauldron for soft, nearly sheer loungewear. They match yours fairly well, in both weight and color. Though yours are soaked through, and already smell of sweat. Jing Yuan imagines you slept in them. 

“Would you like to change as well?” He asks.

“... It’s not necessary—”

“What is necessary and what you would like do not need to be mutually exclusive,” Jing Yuan reminds you. You’ve discussed this previously, how your comfort and wants are paramount, as is communicating them effectively. “I will ask again, would you like to change?”

“I would— but,” you frown at Jing Yuan as he sits back into your nest again, pulling you into his lap without a second thought, “they’ll just get dirty again, really quick. I don’t know if it’s better than just toughing it out.”

“I don’t think toughing it out is worth it,” Jing Yuan says. “I’m sure, if necessary, a load or two of laundry can be done during your heat.”

“... I guess, yeah.” You sound more assured. You stretch to press a kiss to his jaw. Jing Yuan purrs with the contact, giving you a squeeze.

You let Jing Yuan pick out your outfit.

He does not have to cajole you to allow him this specific display of trust. Jing Yuan simply asks you and you nod, quietly eager in how you direct him to the specific drawer you keep your softest, comfiest house clothes in. The outfit he chooses is complimentary in color to his own, though the fabric is somehow softer than his. More worn, more loved. Older, surely. Something you’ve had for a long time. It’s, perhaps, not the prettiest or most chic set, but he imagines that it must be a favorite of yours.

With a little plying, you settle back into your nest, with Jing Yuan between your legs on his knees. He plays with the bottom hem of your shirt. Your skin is so hot where it brushes against his fingers. Pre-heat is descending on you quickly. 

You keen below him, as to remind him.

“I have a few questions for you,” he asks. “Are you amicable to that?” 

“Uh-huh,” You nod, running your tongue over your rapidly chapping lips. He imagines that you don’t have much true lucidity left. It’s best to take advantage of it while you still can. “I have some for you too.”

“Oh?” 

“You start though.” Your words slur as you reach forward to squeeze his wrist, over the scent gland there. So tender with him.

“Alright.” Jing Yuan smiles, something sharp and cat-like. “Would you like me to fuck you?”

You freeze. 

“... W-What?” Your cheeks grow hotter, eyes wide. It’s so damn cute.

“During your heat. Would you like me to fuck you?”

“L-Like— With the toys, right? That was the p-plan?”

“Not exactly.” He hums. He runs his fingertips just under your top in soothing little circles. “I meant myself, with my own anatomy.”

“Fucking me with your—”

“My cock, yes.” He laughs lightly. Your embarrassment is rich, and he is... perhaps being a little mean to present an earnest question in such a way. He is indulging, just a bit. He doesn’t think you mind as you cover your face and peek at him from between his fingers.

“I— I mean— Do you want to?” you squeak. “I f-figured that you wouldn’t be interested in that type of s-sex.”

“That’s a fair assumption to make.” He muses. Male omegas, in his experience, do tend to prefer being penetrated, rather than doing the penetrating themselves. This is the most common perception as well. “However, I would like to fuck you. If that’s not something you would enjoy, that is alright as well. I wanted to ensure that I offered it as an option to you.”

You stare at him.

“You... want to fuck me?”

“Badly, yes.”

“... Maybe this is rude but— Jing Yuan, have you f-fucked someone like that before?”

He has. Several times, though it has been a while. Though Yingxing had no proclivity or want to bottom, Dan Feng enjoyed it on occasion. Typically receiving from Jing Yuan, rather than Yingxing even. Yingxing had the sizable cock and fat knot of a virile alpha, and Dan Feng, as a Vidyadhara with no secondary gender, lacked the anatomy to take such girth easily or comfortably. Jing Yuan’s smaller, knotless, omegan cock was much more to Dan Feng’s preference.

Jing Yuan enjoyed the times they shared. It was a specific type of intimacy, different from being penetrated. There is, innately, some dynamic of power at play. Jing Yuan doesn’t mind being on the higher end of that if it’s you who he’d be with. After much thought, Jing Yuan thinks he’d like it very much.

“I have, though it has been quite some time. I may be out of practice, but I would very much like to.”

You stare at him. Really stare at him, before biting your lip. A sigh shakes from your chest.

“I... I would like that a lot, too. I-I think it would be really nice even.”

Jing Yuan feels the soft thing in his chest open its maw like it needs to eat you so lovingly. Hold you as he is now.

“I think it would be very nice as well.” Getting to fuck his Omega. He shudders at the thought, lewd as it is. It will be your first time experiencing penetration to his knowledge. He’ll make sure it is good for you, as you so deserve.

“I think so too.” Your scent goes spiced, warm, on the back of his tongue. Jing Yuan savors it. 

“I cannot give you a knot.” He reminds you gently. 

Jing Yuan knows you know this in your right mind. Even in pre-heat, you have the sense to know that he is an omega. The poking he’s doing now is mostly for his own benefit, something to approach delicately.

You stiffen below him, going tense in your shoulders. Jing Yuan expected this to some degree.

“That won’t be an issue.” 

“Can you tell me more?”

“... Y-yeah, I can. I suppose it’s relevant.” You scrub a hand over your face. “I j-just don’t like knot. So, you not having one will be totally okay. Better, actually.”

“I thought as much,” he says gently, cupping your cheek with his hand. You lean into the touch. “I noticed that none of your toys have the ability to knot.”

“That’s right.”

“I’m sure you know that will make your heat harder, right dear?”

“I-I know— I just—” You turn away from his hand. “I really don’t like it, or how it feels. Even during heat. I’m u-used to toughing them out without a knot, so it’ll be okay. Promise.”

Jing Yuan doesn’t believe you; he really, really doesn’t. There is more there that you aren’t saying. It feels cruel to pry in a moment so tender. He feels a bit guilty as he resolves to probe. 

“As long as you are certain.” He says. “Can you tell me why you dislike it?”

You look at him warily.

He continues, “I want to know so I can help you the best I am able to while you’re in the worst of your heat. You don’t have to tell me, I would never make you. Though, I would be honored to know more about this preference of yours.”

“You’re— you’re so good at that.”

“At what?”

“Saying the right things. You’re too nice.”

“It’s easy to be kind to you.”

You whine and grab one of his hands, squeezing. 

“I-I don’t like— how it feels to be stuck with something in me. Even with a toy, and n-not an actual alpha— I don’t like it. It feels bad. And it makes me so uncomfortable, I freak out most of the time. It’s not worth trying, especially during a heat.”

It makes something in him ache. 

Jing Yuan dips down to hug you with his own squeeze.

You tuck your face into the crook of his neck and continue. “It feels worse to try and take a knot from a toy than it does to not have any knot at all. I’m used to it, so you don’t need to worry. I made sure all my toys don’t have a knot at all, so I can't get knotted by accident.”

“You are very diligent.”

“I have to be.”

You shouldn’t have to be. Even just speaking about this, Jing Yuan can tell it’s difficult. That it is tiring and painful to do, and yet you are. He appreciates it immensely, and the new insights you provide him are invaluable. 

“Dear,” he says sweetly, pressing his lips to your forehead, and then sitting up once more, “Thank you for telling me.”

“O-of course.”

“It’s not so scary, telling me, is it?” 

“N-no, it’s not. You’re not scary at all.”

He feels soothed. His fingers play with the seam of your lips, dipping just barely inside to chase the heat of your mouth. 

“I’m very glad.” He withdraws his fingers and grabs the bottom hem of your shirt, returning to his original task. “May I?”

“Uh-huh. P-please.”

Good.

He peels your shirt off. It is, notably, sweat-soaked and a bit tacky to the touch. You’re bare underneath, your chest immediately spilling to the sides. You half-cover yourself superficially with your arms. It’s quite endearing, really. 

He helps you slide on the new garment, this one with buttons in the front. He undoes each one reverently. You stay still and pliant under him. Your breathing evens out, and your scent is more warmly content than it has been in the entire last month. Your gaze is softened, gooey. 

He says your name, honey-sweet on his tongue, “Do you trust me?”

“I do.” You say without hesitation.

Jing Yuan steels himself, coaxing his own scent into something more milky and kind.

“I may need to make calls of judgment during your heat while you’re not fully within yourself.” You’ve already spoken about this before, but he reiterates it now. As bluntly as he can manage, nursing the unbearably tender, soft, special thing that has begun to blossom between the two of you. “I will take good care of you, I swear.”

You look like you’re going to cry. “... Promise?”

“I promise.”

“Just— no knots.” You tell him once more. “And d-don’t be too far away for too long. It’ll make me sad.”

“Easily done.” Jing Yuan pauses. “Some of the decisions I may need to make may make you uncomfortable in the moment. I promise that I will only make these decisions if they’re entirely necessary.”

Your pleasure and comfort are the most important things, after all.

“I understand. I trust you, Jing Yuan.” And you kiss him.

It’s not chaste, this kiss. He can feel you shake as you wrap your arms around his shoulders, leaning into and licking at his lips to taste him. The musk of your heat isn’t too overpowering yet; this is still you. Fully aware and present and wanting. 

When you pull away, you look struck in the best way. Soft-jawed.

Jing Yuan can’t help but kiss you quickly a few more times. Over your nose and cheeks. You nearly shriek with laughter, and it makes something in his chest ache like a well-worked muscle. Satisfied and growing. 

Jing Yuan pulls away, stroking over your face.  “There is something I would like to ask of you.”

You blink at him. “O-Oh?”

Jing Yuan must choose his next words carefully, hovering his fingertips over the (still) inflamed scent glands at the hollow of your throat. 

This is something that you haven’t discussed in all that much detail previously. 

Your scent glands and their relatively consistent inflammation concern him. 

Lei Huiling, during a few of the interim checkups that you had attended, commented on their poor state several times. It’s not normal for one's scent glands to be so flushed. You always seemed to brush this off. 

However—

Jing Yuan would like to scent you properly. And you would, probably, like to scent him properly, which is very difficult to do with your scent glands puffed up and so painful. 

”Would you be amicable to me massaging your scent glands?” He asks.

You still and frown.

”… Why?” You ask warily. “D-do I smell bad?”

”Not in the slightest.” To make you sure of this, Jing Yuan skillfully licks around your scent gland with a flat tongue. 

Tasting you like this makes his head spin in the best way, but there’s still something acrid and unwell about your scent. You jolt in his arms and let out a cry. 

“I’d like to be able to scent you properly during your heat, and in your current condition, that’s not possible without causing you pain.”

You swallow and frown more deeply. “Y-yeah, but massaging them would hurt really badly too.”

“Has anyone ever massaged your scent glands before?”

”N-No.”

That seems unlikely. Jing Yuan can’t help but press a bit. “Not even your mother or father?”

You grimace, your upper lip curling. “None. Never them, especially.”

(Interesting. You rarely mention your parents, but when you do it is always with a hint of disdain and bitterness. Something to prod at later, when there isn’t a more pertinent priority.)

Jing Yuan hums.

Truthfully, Jing Yuan’s own parents never showed him that type of specific care when he was a kit or cub. They were both betas, after all, and though they have their own scent glands and olfactory systems, betas don’t require the same type of tending that omegas and alphas do. They didn’t know what to do with Jing Yuan most of the time, especially after he presented.

He was very lucky that his Master and Baiheng so quickly took him under their wing in that way.

On more than one occasion, during or following a long campaign, Baiheng would need to press and massage out his stuffed-up scent glands. The common wisdom is that an excess of cortisol and adrenaline can cause them to become… clogged, for lack of a better word. Understimulation leads to festering inflammation. Baiheng always seemed to know when Jing Yuan would need a session of careful touch and would sit him in front of her lap, and roll out his scent glands one by one. Neck, wrists, and even inner thighs if his scent, by her nose, was sour enough to warrant it. 

It did hurt, back then. It still does when Jing Yuan must massage his own out, though this is a rare occurrence these days.

As much as it hurts, the relief that follows is more than worth it. In this case, both immediately and in that you’ll be able to be scented properly. By him.

He can’t force this, he knows. But perhaps he will suggest heavily, lightly coerce. It is unlike him to be so heavy-handed but perhaps this issue warrants it.

(Truthfully— entirely truthfully, it has been bothering him for some time. You’re his omega, aren’t you? He can’t scent you fully, even if he wants to. Not without causing you enough pain to yelp or cry out, and it digs at something angry and soft that lives in his guts. It’s been something he has wanted— needed to address.)

His hands curl into fists, simmering.

“I’m sorry.” He kisses your forehead and lingers. “It will help. It will make this all easier.”

“B-But it will hurt.” 

“It will. And then you will feel so much relief. It will be worth it.”

You don’t seem convinced as you huff out a sigh. “Everything already hurts enough— d-do I need to? I’ve been okay before.”

“You haven’t had a nestmate like this before,” he reminds you. “It hasn’t been problematic before, though no one has been attempting to scent you, don’t you think?”

You huff again but don’t reply. You bury your face in his neck with a grumble.

Jing Yuan doesn’t push, not for a moment or two. You stew in place. 

“I guess.” You admit after a while with a sniffle.

It’s then that Jing Yuan has enough of an opening to maneuver you between his legs. In his lap where you so rightfully belong. His arms wrap around your middle and he hooks his chin over your shoulder.

Surrounded by your scent, even as off as it is, Jing Yuan still relishes burying himself in it.

“I know it is frightening.” He begins, pressing a kiss to your shoulder. “And I know that you already are uncomfortable and in pain. I would not suggest putting you in a state of further discomfort if I didn’t think it would be to your benefit.”

“I k-know.” You sniffle once more and rub at your eyes.

“I will be gentle with you.” Jing Yuan speaks quietly, just loud enough for you to hear. Not even the finches and sparrows that teem in your courtyard bushes will catch his words. “I want to take care of you.”

(Please.)

That makes a sudden, strangled sound bubble up from you. Something between a sob and an unintelligible word. You lean back into him and nose at his jaw, the best scenting you are capable of doing. 

“O-Okay,” you say into his skin, tasting the salt there. “Okay, okay, okay— y-you can. But, please be gentle. I— I know I need it but I know it’ll hurt and that’s so scary—”

He shushes you, plies you with sweet words and reassurances, and settles back into your bed further. Back against the headboard for stability, with you still braced over his chest. The soft garment he wears has fallen open over his chest and he can feel you seeking out his warmth there as you both settle and adjust into the best position.

Despite all of his confidence, he knows he may need to restrain you during this process. It isn’t pleasant, not with how under-tended you are.

(Jing Yuan knows that such touch can be pleasurable— so pleasurable and lovely. Once this pain has been exorcized, there is something beyond that to covet.) 

Jing Yuan examines your right wrist first.

“Do you know how this works, dear?”

“... The massage?”

“Mhm,” he hums. Your scent gland is raised on your inner wrist. An outcrop of slightly bulbous skin, undoubtedly hardened and hot to the touch.

“Not really.” You hesitate. “... I did watch a porno or two when I was younger that had scenes of scent gland massage, but that’s the extent of my experience and education.”

Jing Yuan chuckles and kisses the back of your hand. “This will be quite different.”

“I know. The clips were all so horny. I don’t think that their scent glands actually hurt.”

“More than likely not.” Jing Yuan says gently. “May I tell you what I intend to do?”

“Y-You may.”

Jing Yuan has gamed out his next move at least a dozen times over the last month. By the Arbiter, he (somewhat guiltily) fantasized about rolling out your scent glands even during his heat. Even back then, they hadn’t been in great condition. Despite all of your trepidation and discomfort, he does know that this can feel good in the end. For both of you, if he proceeds thoughtfully. 

“I’ll massage out each of your scent glands, one by one,” Jing Yuan explains. “I’ll start with your wrists, then your primaries at your neck, and lastly the scent glands on your inner thighs. I’ll allow you small breaks if you ask or I feel it is necessary, but it will be easier to do this in one go, rather than stopping and starting.”

“I understand.” You nod and gulp audibly. “... Are you okay with doing this?”

“More than.”

As much as Jing Yuan would like to bring you comfort and pleasure, this is necessary pain. Not a chore necessarily, but something unpleasant that serves a greater purpose. He is skilled in completing tasks like this if it means the future will be easier and better for dozing.

You nod and settle back into him. Craning your neck, you kiss his jaw.

...

It is more unpleasant for you than Jing Yuan expected it to be. And more unpleasant for him by proxy.

You are so, so sensitive. He did anticipate a low threshold for direct touch on your most precious parts, including your scent glands. However, you are still more sensitive than he originally surmised. He makes due despite this. 

You are doing your best, in his lap. But even with the least sensitive ones on your wrists, you breathe through your teeth.

Jing Yuan has lathered the skin there with a soothing, cooling oil he procured himself from the Alchemy Commission. It is doing something, undoubtedly, but still. You are on edge, bowstring tense, and barely holding yourself still in his lap. He can tell from the forced way you inhale and exhale, and the subtle shake that it hurts. 

Your scent has gone sour. So acrid it makes Jing Yuan’s eyes water.

The massage forces more of your scent out and into the room. It’s almost suffocating, as much as Jing Yuan finds comfort in your scent and preens to be surrounded by it— this is overwhelming. Manageable, but overwhelming. Jing Yuan makes a point to nose into the back of your head, whispering encouragement.

“You’re doing well.” 

“Thank you—” Your voice sounds cracked and frayed already. “— Hurts.”

“I know.”

He kisses below your ear.

Jing Yuan only stops his attention there when the scent gland feels softer to the touch. Less angry and less stuffed up. There’s been some kind of release, though it seems you haven’t registered it yet. Or can’t feel it over the soreness.

You shake out your wrist with a sniffle.

The next one goes much the same way. Jing Yuan keeps his touch firm and steady. He can’t go too quickly, lest the contact lose effectiveness.

You writhe in his lap with a whine, “Ow.”

He lays his forehead on your nape and squeezes you. “It’s hard, I know.”

Your wrists will be the easiest, he knows. They are generally the least sensitive scent glands on most anyone. Their function is for the most casual scenting, like that between platonic packmates and family members. Perhaps scenting one’s home as well. The scent glands of your neck do the most work, so there’s a chance that they will hurt the most. 

Jing Yuan’s current assumption is that the glands on your inner thighs will be the worst by a significant margin.

He finishes up your second wrist and presses a few apologetic kisses to your shoulders. Your skin tastes salty with sweat, far too hot. 

“W-Water?” You ask.

Jing Yuan stretches to fetch you a bottle off the side table. The top of the bottle is a sip top, which you suck on with a darkened expression. 

“I know that this is difficult.” 

“It sucks, Jing Yuan.” You rub your eyes. “N-no breaks, you said, right?”

“No breaks.” He confirms. It’s for the best, but the way you look so crushed and pained is so hard to ignore. Jing Yuan, were he a weaker man, would have stopped then and there to bundle you up and tend to you in a way that is less painful. One that feels less violent. 

He is not weak, though.

Your water bottle is set aside and Jing Yuan readjusts you in his lap. You’re slouched lower, so your head is pillowed against his sternum. Your legs are bracketed by his own on the outside, bent at the knee.

Jing Yuan lathers his hands with more oil. The herbal scent mingles with the scents of the room uncomfortably, but he pushes through it. He must. It’s that simple. He steels himself.

The primary glands on your neck nearly jut out from where they rest under your skin. They always have, to some degree. These scent glands are the most vital, the most precious and important. They’re the center of the olfactory system. 

Technically, there are two glands there— a primary and a secondary. The primary produces your scent, a unique mix of pheromonal signatures that radiate both your mood and personhood. The secondary one serves a different function. It’s smaller, maybe the size of a peach pit. This gland exists exclusively for claiming bites. It sits just under the skin and rises even closer to the surface during a heat or rut. It becomes engorged, flushed with blood and plasma, perfect to be bitten.

Jing Yuan will admit that he is no expert of biology, but Jingliu did give him a rather forceful lesson on anatomy following his first heat. Baiheng gave a more nuanced, kindly-spoken one after, that was more beneficial for his omegan sensibilities. They gave him enough to get by, more than enough. It helped when Yingxing first wanted to claim him, and both he and Jing Yuan had to explain to secondary-sexless Dan Feng what ‘claiming’ was for someone of their biology.

Pheromones live in all bodily fluids— blood, semen, slick and spit. When one’s bite is laid on another's secondary gland, and teeth puncture the skin and bear into the gland itself, a claim occurs. The mixing of one’s pheromones with the core of another's pheromonal system. It alters the one who is bitten. Their scent changes and their body will respond to their mate on a deeply biological level. An innate sense of knowingness and comfort. It’s permanent.  

(Well, somewhat. Xianzhou natives regenerate and persist in such a way that after a few centuries, claiming bites tend to disappear if not refreshed. It happened to his own. Though Jing Yuan swears his scent still hasn’t returned to whatever it was prior to being mated, though the half-moon scar that he once had has long since faded.)

Claiming bites can be exchanged in this way between alphas and omegas, omegas and alphas. Some betas, even, can receive a claiming bite and actually have it take. Alpha-to-alpha and omega-to-omega bites take, but differently. 

To be bitten by someone of the same secondary gender is an indication of submission. 

For alphas, it tends to be the manifestation of aggression within a pack. The physical mark of vying for control within a unit. For omegas, it’s still submission. Less based in aggression, and more in establishing a pecking order.

(In either case, it’s rare for alpha-to-alpha and omega-to-omega claims to occur. Packs function fine without such brazen displays of submission. It’s archaic for the Xianzhou, something left over from the world of myth that they left behind.)

Still, the concept exists. It’s a whole sub-category of immersia pornography. In the living world, Jing Yuan knows it happens occasionally regardless of fads and favor. Baiheng once told him that Foxian mothers claim-bite their kits and cubs, to make sure their scent is always on their young.

(Jing Yuan has to still himself when he remembers this, in this instant. Claim biting you like a mother would be—)

He is grateful the smell of your pain is strong enough to cover the flare of his own scent and the slick that he feels leak out of his cunt. 

“Are you ready?” he asks. He rubs around your scent gland, smearing oil.

“Uh-huh.”

You don’t sound confident. Your throat bobs with a gulp.

He presses down over your right gland with his index and middle finger. Unyielding and resolute—

You jolt. A wretched sound tears from the back of your throat as you arch away from his touch, away from his chest, and squirm away. It’s involuntary, clearly. 

Jing Yuan drags you back with the arm that’s still tucked over your belly. He rolls his fingers over the gland in small circles. It— it hurts you. He knew this. But it's worse now that you’re in his lap, gasping for breath as he continues his ministration.

Your legs kick out as he pushes harder. 

“Jing Yuan—”

You grab his forearm with both hands. Your eyes water, your scent is—  scrambled. Pained and sour and unpleasant on his tongue but it’s hard to parse all of its nuanced notes. It’s more than pure pain and for that reason, Jing Yuan knows that the pain you’re experiencing will be worth it. He hushes you as he pulls away, tending to the next one.

Your head thumps against his chest with a whine, “Wait— I— D-do you have to?”

Your begging tugs at something in him. He still shakes his head and nuzzles your temple.

“I do.”

Sounds tumble out of you as he presses, slicking the skin and digging it. The second gland on your neck is equally as tender. He tries to be gentle while applying the necessary pressure, but it doesn’t seem to make much of a difference for you. 

You push at his hand, shaking your head.

“Hurts!” The word rips from you and you pitch forward, folding over yourself.

Jing Yuan hushes you, murmuring gentle apologies (“I know, I know.” — “I’m sorry, dear. Be still for me—”) that he is unsure if you fully hear. 

You barely hold back tears as he circles the gland. 

When he pulls away, you are a wreck in his lap. A soppy, shaking little thing that is both attempting to squirm away from him, and seek him out for comfort. You nose into his scent gland while shoving at his arm that still lays in a tight band over your ribs.

He leans into you, kissing over your cheeks where he can.

Intentionally, Jing Yuan left you without your pants. You’re only in a pair of cotton panties that, upon a brief look, don’t have any sort of wet stain on the gusset. Completely dry. This makes sense given your current pain and brewing heat sickness, but it still makes his insides twist.

(The kind of touch he’s giving you now can feel so, so good if given time, care, and future opportunity. He’d like to help you get there.)

Jing Yuan cajoles you as needed, even as you sputter and protest in his lap. To stop now would be dire, and there are just two more spots to go now. The two scent glands on your inner thighs. These ones he can’t see swelling under the skin. There’s enough flesh and pudge there to disguise any visible cues of your rough condition. 

Jing Yuan smooths his palms over your inner thighs, avoiding your scent glands on the first pass—

“Wait—” You gasp, grabbing his wrist and pulling it away. “W-wait, no, Jing Yuan—”

“Just a little more to go.” He attempts to placate you with a kiss on your shoulder. 

It doesn’t work. You flinch as your breath shirks in a ragged inhale. “No, no, no— not there, no, no more—”

“Dear, it’s alright—”

“P-Please, those ones hurt the w-worst. Don’t—!”

Genuine, unrestrained distress bleeds into your tone as a sob shatters out of you. Jing Yuan aches, hurts down into his chest and heart and tummy because hearing you hurt is uniquely bad from just watching your discomforted facial expression and body language. 

You knock your head back into him, skull thumping heavily against his sternum. Flailing for a moment, before you fully pitch forward and away from him.

You nearly manage to crawl away, but Jing Yuan is able to wrangle you by the waist before you can. In a swift motion, you are returned to your previous position against his chest. He twists his legs and ankles with yours and holds them open like that. The position is— straining. For both of you. But it’s secure and forces your tender glands to be fully exposed even as you stutter and shake your head.

“No, no, n-no,” you sob and shake your head. “No, no, please. I-I’ll do anything else, just n-not this. P-please—”

Jing Yuan takes a steady breath and squeezes you. Hard enough and close enough that he hopes you can feel the thundering of his heartbeat against your spine.

“I know it hurts.” He hushes you. “I know you don’t want to, but you have to, okay? You will feel so much better when it’s done.”

“I-I don’t care—!” You choke on your breath. “I-I don’t, I don’t— I don’t care if my heat is w-worse— I can’t—”

“You can.” He assures, resolutely keeping his voice firm. “You can, and you will. I know it is hard, and it hurts. You’ve done so well so far. You’re so close to being done. Can you keep being good for me, just a little while longer?”

You pause then. Ragged breathing is the only sound to disturb your dimly lit bedroom. It takes you a moment to collect yourself as you try so hard to catch your breath enough to speak while rubbing at your wet cheeks.

“I— I can be good— f-for you. J-Just for you, though, okay?”

For him.

“Good. Thank you, dear.” Jing Yuan coos, voice so soft and silken that he hardly recognizes the quality. (Good for him, you’re good for him, always so good and kind and soft and small—) 

He places his hands gently over the glands. He feels their heat, then. It makes sense that these would hurt the worst, they’re more than likely the least most under-tended of the lot. Excess oil drips over the roundness of your innermost thigh as you shake. Still in tears, but calmer. 

“I’m going to start now,” whispers Jing Yuan. “Okay?”

“O-Okay.”

You tense and brace yourself.

When Jing Yuan pushes down and circles, you bawl. It’s a violent sound. It shakes the gentle, soft atmosphere of your room as you immediately try to pry his hand away from the gland.

He snatches up both of your wrists with his free hand, gripping them together. The pressure he exerts there is almost too much, but he doesn’t falter. He can’t—

“Be good now.”

“S-Stop—!”

The word cracks with a sob. 

It’s too much, he knows. You’re pouring sweat down your neck and back. You can’t close your mouth with how frantically you are breathing. Snot pours down from your nose. You beg, ceaselessly, regardless of the little praises and reassuring words that Jing Yuan gives you.

The last, deep pressure applied has you going rigid in his lap. Your teeth snap shut with an audible clack and you all but scream behind them. It’s too much, Jing Yuan knows this, he can feel and smell how this is too much for you, but he locks his jaw and keeps himself steady. He must.

By the time he pulls away from the gland on your right thigh, you’re all but collapsed. In on yourself, burning, tunneling to your core as you wheeze.

You shake. Like one of the delicate ginkgo leaves that litter the stone paths of his gardens. Like the wavering surface tension on the water of the stream that runs so close to your home. Like a fragile, little thing in his lap that has been so close to breaking for so long, and is too close to wholly shattering.

(Jing Yuan knows your heat will bring this for you. It’s a quiet knowledge. One he operates with at the core of his planning and strategizing, but doesn’t talk about with you openly. Not unless you asked. He is so deeply aware of how close you are to breaking and how much this scares you. He has already resolved to ease that burden however he can.)

“I’m sorry.” Jing Yuan can’t help apologizing. His own eyes— feel wet. His chest aches and he wants to squirrel you away into the depths of your nest and to his chest where he can quell your pain and lick your wounds for you. He wants to lick at you until you’re whole and well again.

“N-No.” You protest again. Weakly, you nudge the crown of your head into his chin. “You d-don’t gotta be. You said you h-have to, right?”

“I do.”

You nod, understanding. Speaking must be hard for you like this.

Jing Yuan gathers his resolve and bundles you, somehow, closer. You don’t fight him much anymore, only twitch and recoil as he wets the skin over your last scent gland with oil. It nearly shimmers in the low light. 

You collapse against his chest, curling your fingers into his robe.

He kisses your forehead. “I’ll be as quick as I can be.”

You take a wobbling inhale and rub around your eyes, but nod all the same

(It’ll be over soon, then Jing Yuan can— do something. Something else that isn’t causing you such a great amount of pain—)

For your final scent gland, he begins by digging in with his knuckle, hard, into the center of the mass. You muffle a scream into his chest, hands beating against his sternum. It hurts him, he’ll probably be bruised, but he doesn’t truly care. He’s not even sure that you’re aware you’re striking him. 

You mumble a stream of “make it stop, make it stop, make it stop—”s as he continues his touch, pressing more firmly and deeper into you. Your scent is— still muddled. Changing by the minute and it coats his throat like condensation. Suffocating. But he continues because he must and you’re so close.

Jing Yuan fully grabs your thigh, leveling his hand so that the heel of his palm is over your scent gland.  With the strength of his arm behind his touch, he bears down and into you. 

The sound that comes out of your mouth the next moment is inhuman. Wounded and pained and sharp, but there’s a gasp of breaking relief at the end. It’s a barely there wisp, but Jing Yuan hears it. You scramble, shaking so hard that he’s afraid you’ll truly break like a piece of porcelain.

He slows down his touch, easing off little by little until he’s rubbing over the scent gland with just enough pressure to be firm without bruising. You— you’re a mess. It’s endearing to see you in such a state as the pain of the massage fades away. Your eyes are red-rimmed and wet, around your mouth and nose is shiny with spit and snot. Your legs still shake where they cross over his lap. You sniffle and rub at your face.

Jing Yuan takes his palm, cupping your cheek to hold you again his chest, over his heart and breast.

You relax.

So does Jing Yuan, bit by bit as the adrenaline wears off. You need a moment, he knows, to collect yourself, and come back into yourself. He’s happy to let you ground yourself on him. Your breathing becomes more even and your eyes regain some clarity. 

You peer up at him.

“... Water?”

Jing Yuan fetches you the nearby bottle wordlessly. You down half of it in a single swallow, and nearly gulp down the rest of it before Jing Yuan gently reminds you to slow down. You comply simply, so soft and pliant like this.

You sniffle. “That was a-a lot.

“I know. You did very well.” Jing Yuan tells you with a squeeze. “I know it was not easy.”

“... It wasn’t.” You sound wilted as you speak. “W-Will you have to do that... again?”

“I will.” He’s honest with you. “But now that you’ve had them... expressed in such a way, it shouldn’t be painful going forward. Just sensitive.”

Gingerly, he thumbs over one of the scent glands on the side of your neck. You stiffen, gasp, and then half-moan with the contact. Your legs go rigid and stiff, and a moment later you’re blushing so heavily, that Jing Yuan is worried you’ll go light-headed.

You buried your face in his chest once more.

“How did that feel?” He asks.

“Sensitive, like you said.” You give a muffled reply. “But not bad. Kinda’ good.”

“Good.” 

Jing Yuan sighs, letting out a tension that he didn’t even know he had been carrying. He squeezes you closer, relieved, and wrung out himself. A purr hums out of him, one which he doesn’t quiet or hide. 

You chirp to it, nuzzling into the line of his throat. Not fully content, but much closer than you had been before.

— 💦. ݁₊⋆❀˖°🎀°˖❀⋆ ݁₊.💦 — 

In the weeks after the pavilion party, you only cross Jing Yuan’s mind a small number of times. 

Though your encounter had been quite endearing, and you quite cute— you certainly aren’t the first person to embarrass themselves in front of him. As... comforting as your scent had been as it clung to him in the hours after, it is, ultimately, a fleeting thing. 

Jing Yuan accepts this and moves on. It’s better that way. He meets many people, constantly, all the time, and rarely do they linger with him on a personal level. The connections he keeps are few, and he prefers it this way. 

(Forgive him for guarding his heart.)

The next time he encounters you, it’s during business hours.

He has a meeting with Yukong, a standard check-in, and for once he decides to go to the Sky-Faring Commission in person, rather than one of his usual hologram meetings (if it’s to escape the paperwork grind for just a little longer, why not?)

It’s midday, and the Commission is bustling with activity as Yukong leads him to the center console. Things are routine, there are no disasters, and no peculiar deviations in data and activity. All anomalies and oddities are accounted for and are being monitored as needed. It’s a relief, even if Jing Yuan expects it.

What he doesn’t expect is to see you flitting from desk to desk around the Commission. 

Across the wide control room, you have a tablet tucked into the crook of your arm. Your lips are pursed as you tap around it, making conversation with a coworker. You smile when you speak. It’s charming to watch. It’s mundane and he didn’t expect it. He didn’t expect to see you and be intensely reminded that you are quite the cute thing.

You jump when a different coworker, a foxian, slaps her hands on your shoulders. You turn around, clearly indignant. Though Jing Yuan is too far away to hear you clearly, he can imagine the tone. His chest feels warm as he watches.

“General?” Yukong asks him, tugging his attention back. “Would you be amicable to take a tour of the upgraded sections of the delve?”

“I’d be delighted,” he says smoothly. Yukong excuses herself to put together a few things, and Jing Yuan makes himself comfortable with his hands behind his back, surveying the Palace of Astrum—

His gaze is brought back to you. Your foxian coworker chatters with you, having gathered your hands in her own, rocking the two of you in an odd, but friendly dance. The foxian catches his attention. She has downturned ears, the kind that some from the Yaoqing have, where they blend into their hair. This foxian has snowy, loose curls that ring around her face and jaw, draping into a long style down her back.

This must’ve been who you mistook him for during the party. Jing Yuan laughs to himself with a shake of his head. 

(It is an oddly poignant reminder that, for all the courtesy and kindness you showed him, you meant that closeness for someone else. Friend or otherwise. There’s a melancholy with this understanding, this truth.)

The foxian’s tale swishes and her head jerks toward him.

You turn around, gaze sweeping the room, and then clearly, it lands on him.

And oh. It’s sweet. He can see the embarrassment in your cheeks as the foxian attempts not to split her side from holding in laughter. 

Despite your surprise, you wave at him. Good-natured albeit nervous. 

It warms something in him.

He nods to you and waves back. Your smile sweetens like sun-warmed honey.

...

Jing Yuan notices you plenty after that. You’ve been in his orbit for quite a while, haven’t you? Nearby, flitting around the Sky-Faring Commission under Yukong’s watchful eye. You’re often by the foxian’s side while she conducts her most important business. A helpful, sweet-smelling shadow. 

(She confides to Jing Yuan that you’re something of a pup to her. Your family isn’t on the Luofu. They aren’t from the Luofu. You came here, all by yourself, a decade or so ago. She took you under her wing and when she notices Jing Yuan’s subtle interest, she gives him a firm, but well-meaning talking to about his intentions.) 

It’s odd, more than worrisome when he first hears this. It’s unusual for an unmated omega to move without a pack or family unit. It’s not an unheard-of occurrence, but it’s usually not advisable. It’s also odd that you never wear scent patches.

You’re a curious thing.

Jing Yuan develops a quiet, but certainly present fascination with you. He tries to not seem too obvious. Only Yukong really notes his interest in you, and that’s due to how protective she is of you. His interest in you does lead him to visit the Sky-Faring Commission in person more often if only to catch a glimpse. Observe. 

(Decide if indulging his inkling feelings toward you is worth any of the potential disasters that could come with it. )

It’s a low-burning thing.

He hardly speaks to you when he visits the Sky-Faring Commission anyway.

This isn’t entirely on him; you tend to scamper off after exchanging just a line or two of pleasantries. Your voice trembles and you look up at him with a reasonable amount of trepidation and anxiety when you do speak with him. 

It is all surface level. 

(At least, at first, it is. Jing Yuan doesn’t push further, and neither do you. You don’t even notice that he is probing you at all if he is to guess.)

Something shifts, one early morning.

It’s long before most of the Sky-Faring Commission is in for the day. Jing Yuan prefers meetings during this time if he is to attend them in person rather than through a hologram. There tends to be less fuss about the Divine Foresight's presence in the Commission so casually this way.

Yukong is already there when he arrives. As are you. You’re the only two in the Palace of Astrum, he assesses.

The two of you are tucked away in a corner, away from what Jing Yuan has identified as your own desk. Instead, you are seated on a plush bench, while Yukong kneels in front of you. Some of the hologram saplings that sprout from the metal floor obscure his view as he slowly circles closer.

The massive looms outside the Palace hum. It’s the only sound other than muffled sniffling— your muffled sniffling.

You sob, Jing Yuan thinks, as you cover your face with both hands.

“I-I’m sorry—” You say, barely loud enough for him to hear. 

“It’s alright,” replies Yukong, voice barely above a whisper. “I know it’s a difficult time.”

“I should— I s-should be better than this, Madame Y-Yukong.”

She berates you for speaking lowly of yourself in her next breath, but her voice is gentle. Kind. The exact words are lost on Jing Yuan.

As you fully come into view, his breath catches.

You’re crying.

Big, round tears drip from your bloodshot eyes. They wet your jaw, darkening a spot on your outer garment where it lays over your thigh. You’re weeping, really, shaking in your shoulders as Yukong rests her hands on your knees, rubbing circles there.

Jing Yuan knows he’s intruding. He can’t stop himself from stealing a glimpse of the moment.

He feels... almost dirty about it. He’s captivated by your tears, your countenance, the way you grip the clothes over your chest and fight through a sob to tell the Helm Master “how foolish and daft and stupid you are”. It’s doing something to him. 

(An awakening really.)

Affectionately, you’re a bit pathetic, and he wants— he wants you. Lucidly and fully. 

Before the thought can consume him whole, he clears his throat.

The two of you jump. Yukong hastily rises and stands between you and himself. He can see your shadow, and how you have ducked to hide your face.

“General,” Yukong nods. “I apologize. I didn’t realize you had arrived.”

“I’m a bit early.” He shrugs, good-naturedly. “Is everything alright? It appears I’ve come at a bad time.”

Your scent clings to him again, this time sad and low, like the smell of embers as they hiss and lose their glow in late-evening mist. 

Yukong speaks. “It’s alright, General.”

“I apologize—” You push yourself up and sway, daring to meet his eyes from around Yukong. You looked like a kicked puppy. And Jing Yuan has latent, though present instinct—

(He wants to take you away, somewhere safe—)

“No need,” he replies easily. “May I suggest rescheduling our meeting, Madame Yukong? My morning can be rearranged accordingly. I’m happy to procure a snack if you need some time.”

“I��” 

Yukong cuts you off. “That would be much appreciated, General. Thank you. I should walk this one home, and then I’ll be available from then on, if that’s sufficient.”

“More than.” He looks at you when he speaks. “Whatever you need to do.”

You look like you intend to fight Yukong on this. But, Yukong deftly hooks her arm with yours and leads you from the Palace of Astrum with a slow, measured stride. She waves goodbye and urges you to too. You look back at him, still tear-stricken, ashamed, and crumbled, and wave. 

“Goodbye, General. T-Thank you.”

He’s left alone then, with his thoughts and wisps of your unhappy scent swirling in the air. 

Jing Yuan— well. He should get breakfast. A treat always does him well. First, though, he leans his forehead against a nearby pillar and runs a hand down his face. 

Fuck. 

Fuck fuck fuck.

What are you doing to him? How are you doing this to him? He feels like a pervert. He— can’t decide if he wants you in his nest or his bosom. Both? It’s— a lot to sort through all at once. Something to ponder, truthfully, something to take his time with. He’s already been taking his time, and this is just another variable, another angle to account for. 

He steadies himself (as he is so good at doing.)

This encounter solidifies the thing he has known but has had... trouble acknowledging. 

He is enamored with you, at least a little. Perhaps a lot. At least, potentially a lot, in a way that makes him feel young and perverted and reminds him that he needs to continue to take his time. Step evenly toward you with small paces. He still can’t place if you like him, to be truthful. It’s another thing to suss out. 

He gives himself time. 

Perhaps he can obtain your phone number. 

— 💦. ݁₊⋆❀˖°🎀°˖❀⋆ ݁₊.💦 — 

“Earlier,” says Jing Yuan, “you said you had questions for me?”

“Oh yeah. I did.”

You start to perk up from your cradle in his arms.

Following the scent gland massage, you had promptly fallen asleep on top of him, limbs tangled with his own. Jing Yuan can’t say that he minds, but the weight of you has him dozing off as well.

It’s good. And given that your pre-heat will surely be metastasizing into a full heat at any time, more than welcome. Any amount of rest he can secure for the two of you makes him feel more at ease. Your body clearly needs more time to settle, your scent still is muddled but slowly clearing up. 

You sit up over his hips and brace yourself on his chest. Blinking, slow, like a sun-warmed cat showing an owner its trust and affection. Jing Yuan cups your cheek and you lean into it with an omegan chirp from the middle of your throat. You really aren’t all that different from a content cat.

“What did you want to ask?”

“It’s just one question, really… It might be kind of invasive.” You hide your face in his big palm. “I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’d still like to hear it still if you’ll tell me.”

You peek at him under your lashes and smother your lips against his hand. You collapse onto his chest and bury your face in his scent gland. It’s easy then, to lightly wrestle you to the side of him and get his arms around your waist. This position feels safest, the most secure. 

You must feel the same as you nuzzle closer. Always so sweet with him, even if you are frightened.

“I... I wanted to ask about your old mate... mates,” you say so softly. “You don’t have a claim bite, but I read a few things that make it seem like you were mated at some point. You know that I haven’t really been with anyone other than you. And I guess I’m curious about what you’ve experienced... and what you’ve gone through.”

He hums.

Jing Yuan knows there have been rumors. Ancient, archival tabloid articles from the days of the High Cloud Quintet, speculating on the relationship status of “The High Elder of the Vidyadhara, Imbibitor Lunae”, “The Short-Life Furnace Master of the Luofu”, and “The Xianzhou’s most promising young Lieutenant strategist”. 

They weren't so careful, hiding their affections back then. Yingxing didn’t care about his personal reputation, despite his known arrogance. Dan Feng welcomed contention from the preceptors and the public. And Jing Yuan had yet to learn all of restraint’s gentle dances. He knew some steps, but not enough to keep all of the throuple’s more... risque trysts from showing up in the next day’s forums and newsstands for an incredulous and gawking public, try as he might.

Despite all of the evidence, none of them ever addressed their mating in any official capacity. Privacy and all. Jing Yuan has parried the rumors now for years, even with the perception that he is an alpha. Given the... mostly detached way that he (publically) handled the exile of both of his once-mates, the whispers have fallen away in current times. More often, there will be a blurry photograph of him in a night market near an innocuous shadow with wild claims about him taking some mysterious partner.

It doesn’t bother him. It never has, really, but now he is laying in your nest and you ask him so gently, kindly, with a wrinkle between your brows, the conclusions you’ve drawn do give him a bit of anxiety. 

“That’s a fair question to ask,” begins Jing Yuan. “I understand your curiosity.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to.” You nearly interrupt him. “Only what you’re comfortable with. It’s... not an easy topic, I imagine.”

“It’s not.”

You nose into his jaw, gooey. “Take your time.”

He does. It takes a moment for him to collect him and decide what to give you in this moment, if anything. He wants to, but his heart is still delicate in these deep, seldom-touched places.

“You are correct in that I was once mated.” He tells you, burying a hand in your hair. “Neither of them have any claim on me, and they haven’t for some time. My mating bite faded centuries ago.”

“‘They’?”

“Two,” he clarifies. “One alpha and one vidyadhara. I’ve rarely coupled after we parted, and when I have, it hasn’t been anything lasting.”

Nothing more than highly confidential hookups and heavy-petting sessions to scratch an itch that Jing Yuan struggles to reach himself. He rarely feels the need.

“... And they’re... gone?”

“Something like that.” 

‘Gone’ is perhaps the most appropriate word for what happened to Yingxing and Dan Feng. Not broken up, not dead, just gone. Their Identities were replaced.

“... I’m sorry.” You squeeze him. “That’s so hard.”

“It’s alright.” 

(It isn’t, not fully, but Jing Yuan made peace with the wounds the two of them left a long time ago. It does not rot anymore. Only aches on occasion.)

“It’s still hard.” You nose into his scent glands. “I can’t imagine experiencing the loss of a mate.”

“It’s not something I’d wish on anyone,” he replies honestly.

“They were your firsts?”

“First everything.”

“Oh.”

You nuzzle closer to him, your scent blooming and mingling with his own.

“No need to be sad on my account.” He squeezes your nape. “It happened a long time ago.”

“‘Doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt anymore,” you remind him. You adjust to perch in his lap, cupping his cheeks. Your eyes are sad, still bloodshot from your tears earlier. “Thank you for trusting me to be close to you. It means a lot. And thank you for being close to me.”

His heart aches in the best way. 

“Of course.”

Then, he kisses you. How could he not?

🎀💦 CONTINUED IN PART 2!! →

[fisshbones]

Gifts that Obey Me! Characters would get you!

Warnings: not proofread, fluff, lingerie mentioned in Asmo’s (but nothing sexual happens.) Some may be longer than others. Pairings: Mammon, Asmodeus, Belphegor, Thirteen (romantic.) Luke (platonic.) This is written with christmas in mind but no holidays specified.

Note: Does Thirteen not have any Christmas cards??? I couldn’t find any 😔 2nd Note: I plan on doing the rest of the characters but they may come out after after Christmas/end of Yule. I’ll try to release them sooner though!

Mammon:

First and foremost, this man goes all out on gifts for any and every holiday for you. Anything that reminds him of you, things he knows you collect, random obscure artifacts that was probably supposed to be in a museum. Ya’ know just the basics! If there’s one thing I can guarantee that you won’t get for the holidays is a decent wrap job. This man cannot wrap for shit, truth be told it looks like a 5 year old did it… But it’s the thought that counts!

Asmodeus:

Mostly fashion and skincare/beauty. Asmo has your hair and skin type memorized. All the issues you may have beauty/health wise, including allergies. He takes this all into account when deciding what to get you! He compares ingredients, reviews, etc. Asmodeus only wants the best for your health. Also only buys from the most trusted brands. Another thing he likes to buy you is clothes, especially lingerie. If he can’t find clothes that fit your style, size, are favorite fabrics; he’ll just make you a couple of pieces. One of a kind. ♡ Unlike some of his brothers his wrapping skills are on point. He even ties bows on every present, they’re all picture worthy.

Belphegor:

I’m not gonna lie he was definitely too lazy to wrap your gift. So either he just hands it straight to you or had one of his brothers pick up a gift bag for the gift. Belphegor is likely to give you something soft. Sometimes that means blankets, comfy clothes, or a plushie that he definitely didn’t tease you for. This man knows what a soft fabric is too. Whatever he gifts you is gonna be soft as heck or as fluffy as a cloud. Every single thing he buys you is probably gonna be used when you guys cuddle so might as well make it comfortable for him too.

Luke:

Baked goods is his go to. We all know Luke (probably) makes delicious baked goods. He has not so sneakily written down some notes on what your favorite flavour is. Totally had Simeon and/or the other angels help with making the perfect treat for you. You can tell every dessert is hand made with love. (i could go for some chocolate rn.) All of the treats are in cute little boxes or baskets. There’s sometimes also a little card that he made himself saying happy holidays on it. Once he sent a picture with him and Simeon in it.

Thirteen:

Poor Thirteen, busy as ever. Holidays tend to be very busy days for reapers, as many tend to get hurt while celebrating. So she tries to make at least a couple of hours of space for you two to celebrate. If Thirteen is unable to free her schedule completely she’ll gift you a big box of chocolates the day of. (She also definitely steals a lot of your caramel chocolates.) Then on one of the following days she’ll make up her lack of time on a cute little date night between you guys. I can see her taking y’all to an arcade for the date, only to get super competitive when playing against you.

If you enjoyed please like, reblog, and/or reply!

fisshbones©2024 do not repost or translate.

[starburstminibot]

Hey I loved your explanation of breakdowns development with bumblebee! I was wondering what bumblebee was thinking at the same time though? Like while he was carrying??

I love this AU though!! It’s the only thing I’ve been thinking about! 😩😩💗

It wasn’t easy for Bee either lemme tell you…

Bumblebee has the capabilities of seeing good in everyone… and he is very aware of how vulnerable it can make him. He’s been manipulated before, he’s been taken advantage of due to his child-like optimism. He’s been… hardened to a degree because of it. He’s not a young naive scout anymore. He still likes to see the good, but he’s much more cautious of letting that blind him to the reality.

Except everything goes out the window when it comes to Breakdown.

Bumblebee doesn’t know why. Maybe it’s because they were friends before the war, maybe it’s because despite everything Breakdown’s never really done anything to hurt him (at least intentionally)

Bumblebee is more aware than anyone how vulnerable he leaves himself by trusting Breakdown so wholeheartedly.

He knows how quickly Breakdown could give him a false tip and lure him right into a trap. And yet Bee would still take his words and trust them like the gospel.

Maybe it’s because he doesn’t value his life quite as much as he should. He doesn’t want to die… but he’s been in the trenches of a war far longer than he ever experienced living at peace (if that’s what you would call the civil unrest that was slowly tipping into war by the time he came online) he’s a bit desensitized to the extinguishing of a spark.

He knows the dangers of getting too close to anyone when you could lose them at any moment. Of course, he’s always been a friendly bot. Most Autobots favor him kindly and he always enjoys other’s company. But he doesn’t stick around long enough to actually get close. He’s a scout. Traveling across Cybertron, sneaking past enemy lines. He’s alone more than not. Perhaps the only true companion he has was the bot always checking in on him at the end of the mission, the one giving him the next orders, and seeking his unlikely advice. It was easier to get close to Optimus… he was less likely to get blown up in a random firefight and never come back.

Which only made his attraction to Breakdown more confusing. Breakdown was everything that Bumblebee tried to avoid: Reckless, foolish, thrill-seeking. Breakdown threw himself into fights he wasn’t likely to win for fun. Breakdown didn’t value his life quite as much as he should either.

They both were willing to gamble everything because neither of them had anything to lose. And that just made whatever they had that much more exciting

They didn’t see each other often. Years would pass before they could catch a glimpse of the other. It didn’t matter how long it had been… how many friends the other had lost… it was like their unspoken connection was the only true consistency in their lives. Sometimes Breakdown would give Bee information. Other times they would just play cards or race. Sometimes they wouldn’t have a chance to talk at all, being in the heat of battle surrounded by other bots.

They got pretty good at pulling punches and staging fights.

And then the war “ended” and Breakdown was nowhere to be found. Bumblebee would be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. He should have known better… of course Breakdown would have run, all the Decepticons did. And Breakdown was still a decepticon.

He’s pretty confident Optimus knows about their friendship at this point… or at least has his suspicions. But Optimus had also pardoned the ex-leader of the Decepticons so Bumblebee doesn’t think he has much room to judge.

Being sent undercover for over a decade wasn’t the post-war future Bumblebee had planned for himself. He hadn’t envisioned it would take place on an alien organic planet either. He could still remember a time when he dreamed of retirement and maybe he’d take up a “normal” job like the ones Ironhide used to talk about. He always wondered if he’d be good at something more domestic… if maybe he would have an apartment of his own to return to each night instead of recharging at whatever outpost was closest after days without rest.

Now he views those as delusional fantasies. He’s not really sure who he is outside of his title of Autobot spy. He doesn’t think he can be anything besides a soldier. (A hero… according to some people)

He wasn’t sure if it was boredom that triggered his search for Breakdown or if maybe he was just looking for some kind of company (he was used to solitude but it had just been… so long) but somehow he ended up at nearly every race he caught wind of. It wasn’t desperation, certainly not… he just… had a lot of free time is all.

He got close a couple of times. Breakdown was changing his alt mode regularly, Bee was sure of it. But still every so often he’d catch a streak of blue and white. Breakdown had always been faster than him…

Bee considered himself great at adapting to any environment or situation that he would land himself in, but nothing could have prepared him for his latest assignment… Sparklingsitting…

Why Optimus had pulled him out of 15 years of hiding for something so… mundane? Bee could only begin to question. He was convinced it was a waste of time. Bee didn’t know the first thing about younglings, there hadn’t been any since… well… him. And that was a very long time ago.

But after a while he hated to admit he found them… endearing. It was almost nice… it felt like what he used to imagine a peaceful life would be like when he was still naive enough to think true peace was achievable.

And yet… something was still missing.

Bee assumed it was the thrill of the missions he longed for. Considering Optimus was dead-set on sidelining him… Bee decided to resume one of his personal missions…

And thats when he finally reunited with the only bot he could ever consider his best friend. They had been apart for longer periods before… but somehow this felt different. This could be a new start. The war was over.

And then he lost Breakdown again.

To the same humans to claimed to be their allies no less.

He didn’t care how it must’ve looked when he demanded Optimus give him a status report on Breakdown’s condition when he was brought in.

Bee only got a lecture on how he was cutting it too close by getting involved with a race he knew G.H.O.S.T. was planning to bust.

So no, he didn’t really care what Optimus would think when he broke Breakdown out of prison. And he was only slightly hurt when Breakdown drove off ignoring his pleas of assistance. It wasn’t Breakdown’s fight… he had no right to be upset.

Of course Breakdown came through in the end… he always has.

And so what if they started meeting up periodically to race and talk and forget about everything else for s little while. Even if the times Bee had fallen into recharge in his arms and woken up alone hurt more than he’d like to admit.

Breakdown was quick to remind him, they were still on opposite sided. They could still betray each other in a moments notice… they both still had nothing to lose.

Except… that wasn’t quite true anymore.

Bee was carrying.

At first he didn’t do anything about it. Didn’t tell anyone. Didn’t even act like anything was different. A reaction he would later clarify was shock.

Then came the avoidance. The ticking time bomb until he had to do something about it was like a constant countdown in his head. He started seeking distractions. Lessons with the Terrans. Missions with Arcee. Drives with Breakdown. Anything to avoid thinking about the decisions he would need to make in the future. The very rapidly approaching future.

Breakdown was the first to know.

Looking back, Bee wished he had been able to break the news a little differently. He hadn’t intended to tell him that night at all… he wasn’t sure if he was ever planning on telling him period.

The reality of a sparkling was beginning to hit and for the first time in his life… Bumblebee couldn’t put himself at risk anymore.

And Breakdown was a risk.

It was supposed to be their last time… a chance to say goodbye, even if Breakdown didn’t know it. Instead in a moment of emotion, Bee accidentally let it slip.

He wasn’t expecting Breakdown to choose the path of caution too. To desperately pledge to stay by his side. To stop taking risks… to stop running… to finally face this emotion they’ve been dancing around for centuries

Bee almost felt guilty for assuming so negatively of the one bot he has ever loved, but then again Breakdown has never really done much to prove his loyalty besides never actually betraying him.

This was different though. This was their real new start. The desperation in Breakdown’s eyes, like he’d never seen before, was enough to prove it.

And he trusted Breakdown… because now they both had something to lose.

The hard part was convincing Optimus to do the same…

Bee is lucky he was always Prime’s favorite. Pretty sure any other bot could be charged with fraternizing with the enemy. And of course… the news didn’t go over very smoothly… Bee wasn’t expecting it to…

He’s grateful Breakdown survived to the end of the conversation, though there were a handful of blasters involved in the process.

But after the lectures and the disappointment and the numerous encounters of bots trying to convince Bumblebee to abandon whatever bond he had with Breakdown and allow the Autobots to assist in the Sparkling’s upbringing… Bee noticed for the first time just how hard BD was trying.

Breakdown never cared about what anyone thought of him. He never did things for the approval of others… so Bee knew it was his own decision when BD formerly defected from the Decepticons and took on the autobot mantel.

He’d never seen him more dedicated to anything before… and that’s when Bee knew. They were going to be okay.

He had only ever been a soldier before… he wasn’t sure if he was really cut out for this whole Carrier thing. Breakdown joked that the Terrans had been the trial run, and he had all the training he needed.

They both joked to avoid the spark numbing fear.

They had never experienced it before… not like this… the fear of losing.

Bee wasn’t sure when Breakdown became so… domestic. Sure, he still teased and flirted and ran his mouth. He still made bets he couldn’t win. But he also brought Bee his energon every morning, mixed exactly the way he liked it. And everytime Bee fell into recharge, he’d still be by his side when his optics opened again.

Bumblebee couldn’t help but be angry a little…

Why was he only now receiving this treatment? They’d known how they felt about each other for how long? How long had Bee tried to convince him to stay by his side?

But Breakdown didn’t need Bee’s anger to feel guilty. He barely felt deserving of the chances he’d been given long before this one.

And Bumblebee couldn’t bring himself to act on his anger… not when Breakdown was trying so hard for him.

For them.

Perhaps Bee’s dreams of peace weren’t so far off after all.

[sweatyracoon]

SKZ with Piercings

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Vocalracha

Warnings: needle talk, piercings, sfw and nsfw, language

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Seungmin-

Wouldn’t get any himself. His ears aren’t even pierced. But he doesn’t mind people with them.

Korea doesn’t have many pierced citizens so it’s a bit odd to see them, but he gets used to them quickly.

Loves his partner’s piercings. He admires them both up close and from afar. Loves touching them randomly with his boba eyes wide with curiosity.

Buys jewelry rarely, but makes sure it’s something you’d like.

Doesn’t like it when you hide them with skin colored resin; he thinks it’s you being ashamed of who you are. You explained that you can’t find a job because of them, and all he replied with was, “You don’t need a job. Just let me take care of you.”

Will argue with anyone that looks at you the wrong way.

If you have a tongue piercing, he loves the feeling of you licking the side of his neck, and his nipples. The cool metal causing them to harden underneath you.

Will go with you to get more.

Loves worshipping your belly button piercing with his teeth. Could kiss each and every jewelry without worrying about the time.

Will change your jewelry if you’re too tired or focused on something else.

Will buy jewelry for certain occasions.

Jeongin-

Loves ear piercings; doesn’t plan on any face piercings other than a dermal maybe.

Loves seeing people with such diverse piercings, not knowing you could pierce literally anywhere on the body.

Once he gets used to seeing them, would look on Pinterest for different kinds.

Asks Bangchan and Felix about it since it’s more common in Australia. Loves seeing the fake piercings on his hyungs.

With his partner, I feel it wouldn’t be talked about, but internally, he would be so interested and curious to if they hurt or not. Loves face piercings on you, as well as any other body mods.

Asks if they hurt when he’s had too many drinks, whining at you to not hurt yourself. Loves seeing the silver in your mouth when you smile.

Absolutely adores any star jewelry, buying all that he sees. Stars end up becoming your favorite shape because of him.

Would buy matching star earrings with you.

Pulls your hair back trust to see your studded ears, loving the way they shine.

Cleans your jewelry if he feels they need more attention and wants you to wear clean jewelry.

Makes sure you take care of them properly after some research if you get any more piercings.

Kisses each piercing when he comes back from tour, not having seen you, or them in months.

Picks a favorite and even gives it a name. Something silly like Ruby or Johnathan.

Loves holding your breasts and face while being intimate, the feeling of the cool steel against his hot hand making him twitch inside you.

Forces his tongue into your mouth to press his tongue flat against your piercings. Loves feeling it against his cock, too.

Loves when you push your head int his neck, feeling the metal scratch aggressively against his skin, sometimes leaving scrapes that he has to his later.

[asarigg]

Inside the Character's Mind: Part 1

mentions of physical, psychological and sexual abuse towards both Koujaku and his mother

SELF DESTRUCTIVE BEHAVIOR

Let’s go back to the beginning. Or rather, what Koujaku tells us. He also talks about himself, of course, but usually when he talks about his past, most of the time he talks about his mother: because that’s what hurts him the most. He barely mentions the abuse towards him other than the tattoo and that one time his father punched him. But he always talks about all the hardships that his family put his mother through. And I’m sure you’ll agree with me that it is hard to believe that was it.

Koujaku’s father has proven to be an extremely violent piece of shit and a zero-empathetic person. I don’t doubt that Koujaku’s mother, because of her nature, was his favorite toy. What’s more, he did every cruel thing he could think of to her, his wife too, she had fresh wounds every day and she couldn’t even eat, and although it isn’t said nor implied I wouldn’t be surprised if Koujaku was a product of rape. I mean… most likely. We hardly know anything about his mother, not her appearance, not her name, not what she liked, not how the hell she ended up in that place, if there was any love involved in it or if it was something about debt, we only know that she was the perfect victim.

She was always saying sorry to her son, for everything Koujaku’s been witnessing, she feels guilty and responsible because he tries to stand up for her, and because she has brought him to a world where the one that decides for them is a criminal. She keeps a deep pain inside for everything that’s happening and she tries to hide it, especially from Koujaku, and seeing her son suffer doesn’t help. Smiling to him so he doesn’t worry, and saying sorry to try to comfort him. That’s why the last thing she repeats over and over to her son when she’s lethally wounded is “I’m sorry”, feeling sorry that it’s because of her that he has lived like this, because she wasn’t able to protect him, to give him a proper life.

Obviously all his father did was also psychological abuse towards Koujaku, even blackmailing him with hurting his mother. But I sincerely believe that his father would use physical abuse to teach the boy a lesson, nothing could stop him anyway, because Koujaku as a child complained and rebelled, he didn’t care if his father hit him, he would defend his mother regardless. This is why I sometimes give Koujaku more scars to his body, and besides defensive cuts I also give him cigarette burn marks. Lore expansion better known as adding trauma.

I think he just doesn’t talk about it that much because the abuse towards him isn’t what has hurt him the most. We ourselves often don’t give it much importance if someone tries to insult us, but maybe if it’s someone close to us, that does piss us off, some logic like that. Moreover, throughout the game Koujaku’s personality is just like that, always worrying about others and giving little importance to himself, to the point of being tremendously negative for him.

Don’t you think those scars would make him look more masculine, intimidating, as if he’s survived dozens of dangerous, tough fights? It seems the perfect image for an environment like organized crime.

Despite all of Koujaku’s feminine traits, the perception of him both in canon and in fandom (usually) is that of a stereotypically masculine, super straight man who fucks a different woman every night, always joking with “no homo, bro” (which, mind you, I’m not saying I don’t like these jokes, I make them myself too). But in reality that couldn't be further from the truth.

With that image that we have of him, sometimes it would seem that he is someone with prejudices or that he really had a hard time accepting that he’s not straight, specially when in the scene where he confesses to Aoba he says the following:

The reasons he tries to hide his feelings is a mix between the fact that they are friends and he doesn’t want to ruin the friendship they already have, that he wants to hide his past and that he doesn’t want to be a burden on Aoba, so he keeps all those things to himself. (And he’s also been educated a certain way and has always seen things one way, never gave it much thought so when it crosses his mind, of course he’s confused)

When he first met Aoba he thought he was a girl because he had really long hair, and after all, when we’re kids we don’t have very developed features anyway, it’s a pretty androgynous state. When Aoba corrects him and tells him he’s a boy his behavior is exactly the same, nothing changes. He corrects himself and never treats him as a girl.

He is someone who has no problem showing his affection for Aoba, neither in private nor in public, he’s very comfortable with his bisexuality, the only one who is reluctant to do so, either out of shame or fear, is Aoba.

What I’m trying to get at with all this is that all that “gentleman” facade and the “always accepting women who want to have something with him” that makes him look so stereotypical in a first impression has a much darker origin, although underneath all that there’s a much more sentimental, vulnerable and open Koujaku about his true feelings, expressing them even if he feels embarrassed, as we see on some occasions (touching his hair nervously when he confesses, of when he explains why Aoba's hair is so important to him).

The relationship he has with his mother is the most direct connection, or course. Being the son of an abused woman has made him hyper-aware of his position as a man (so much that sexism in this game almost goes full circle like the Bourbon family tree, but this is NC’s problem and it happens everywhere, it’s so obvious it’s a writers problem and it’s a shame it affects Koujaku so much because he’s basically the only one who isn’t scared of a bad bitch). We’ll talk about this in particular some more later, but let’s focus on what concerns his father for now.

Being the family of criminals that they are, abusers and… almost slavers, the most logical thing to assume is that they are specially conservative. It could very well be that his father, once he decided to make him his heir, wanted the image of his kid to be as intimidating and masculine as possible. A criminal, a murderer who could run his business in a world like this.

We know that the tattoo is an experiment by Toue, and it wouldn’t be strange if his father knew what was behind it, because after all it would also be beneficial for him to have a way to control him, to mold him to his liking and to make him obedient, unlike he had been behaving, refusing to be his heir and trying to defend his mother. The image of an effeminate, soft, sissy man was not exactly ideal for the future leader. For me, Koujaku’s father either already intended to name him heir before agreeing to the tattoo being an experiment with Toue and Ryuuhou, or he ended up deciding to name him the heir precisely because they had already talked about the tattoo and its possibilities beforehand.

His father would want to break him, drive him to despair so that he would stop resisting, take away his will and, although this is mostly headcanon, “make him a man”. Be a man, be strong, tenacious, learn to fight and find a woman to continue the family with, etc. So it is not surprising that at first he didn’t even reconsider his sexuality and thought that the affection he had for Aoba was just friendship, which over time, with such strong feelings, he realized was not the case. I sincerely love that he is shown to be so nervous and that he confesses to be kinda confused about it and in a state of denial, without having any external reference and too busy hating his father and Ryuuhou to even think about it, it’s normal that it took him so long.

He was trained to be a gangster, while his father insulted him, hit him and threatened him using his mother, on whom he took it out. This training also implies not only fighting but also for doing business, how to talk to be well-received, how to negotiate, how to give the best impression of himself at any given situation. This pack of skills seem to resonate with those that he uses to flirt and run his own business, even if he does it on an unconscious level, he just knows what to say to strike the person he’s talking to in their weak spots. His father’s physical treatment would not only be a punishment, but also to teach him a lesson, to learn to endure the pain, just like he endured the pain of the tattoo. If he cried, it would be shameful, he would be punished. He had to hide his pain, his feelings, his thoughts, for the sake of his mother’s safety and his own. Practically becoming a puppet, thus evolving into the life he carries in Midorijima as an adult.

Him not wanting to open up to Aoba wouldn’t be just an “oh he’s going to hate me”. It’s also what he learned would be the best, having a charismatic appearance that everyone likes. After all wouldn’t it be logical to not want any confrontation with anyone after all that? A tough guy, with people around him who admire him, who never gets tired or cries, because nothing’s wrong. In a way it’s also a shield, a protection, a defense mechanism. To be a man.

Now, the way he behaves that almost everyone without exception associates with his mother. And this, for sure, is the intention, his desire to protect his mother and therefore take care of the women he meets. But it’s also him actively wanting to be the opposite of his father.

What kind of relationship does he have with women? The contact he has with them is mostly through all his female fans, who are crazy to say the least. We’re not going to get much into the subject of sexism but first of all it’s a huge mistake that his fans are only young women or the way they make them all act.

Koujaku spends all his time building a character that he considers perfect, someone gentle, who never says no to a woman and is always available to entertain them, it would never occur to him to deny anything to any of them, as his mother was denied so many things. Unlike that hard and tenacious masculinity that he was taught to have in order to take on his role as the heir or the bestiality of his tattoo, he presents a gentle and chivalrous masculinity on the outside. What he does is pamper them and give them everything they ask for (almost, because has never really had serious relationships. Which makes sense because he would be telling them pretty big lies, right? That wouldn’t fit with his own code). He doesn’t think very highly of himself, he has a low self-esteem as he thinks he is nothing better than a worthless monster that should have probably died a long time ago.

Sometimes people who are abused go through abuse again, in a cycle. I think saying that Koujaku is a playboy is incorrect. (He acts flirty and likes playing around, sure, but there’s something deeper). That perception of him is natural, of course, because the way he behaves and how he is presented to you, is the image they want to give of him after all, in a basic and cliche way, so artificial that it is unsettling. I could believe that it sounds artificial on purpose, referring to that shell of how a confident and strong man should talk, if it weren’t for the fact that they do this kind of cliche and artificial situations quite often with other characters as well, and it makes it kinda hard to remain immersed. I honestly think that the foreshadowing could have been done a little better, but it still serves the narrative. Also this is practically almost all you see of his character the two first interactions he has with Aoba. Considering the structure of the game and how rushed everything is, it’s not very positive, but for the sake of your mental health it's better not to think too much about it.

In short, Koujaku is a very accommodating and attentive person. He listens and encourages others with their problems but doesn’t let anyone worry about him with his own, taking on everything himself. He even ironically tells Aoba that if he’s worried about what happened with Mizuki, he can blame him, and that he can always count on him to tell him anything. It’s a very lonely way to live, even though he has so many people around him.

Knowing this, it’s more than reasonable to think that more than him flirting with women, it’s simply him agreeing to give what those women ask of him. They come looking for something and he gives it to them. He’s a toy. It’s often joked that he’s practically a prostitute, and pretty much that’s what it is. And it’s in the balcony scene where we see a more personal side of him, where we can observe that in reality all this burden tires him, it’s not natural. It’s not like his character isn’t extroverted and charismatic, but that’s not everything, and in public he doesn’t allow himself to be “less”, so in private and in confidence is when he can afford to relax, with Aoba or in his own house.

Somehow, even though he is no longer with his family, the way he interacts with other people, or how he lets himself be used, be it consciously or not, even if there is a different intention behind, is not that different from before, people still use him.

ERHM... SOMETHING

I’ve sometimes wondered if there was some sort of sexual abuse on Ryuuhou’s part towards Koujaku. Nothing is implied canonically, at least physically, but the erotic connotations of the story of the tattoo artist he’s based on, the sadism, and his constant references to love make me think of it happening on a symbolic level.

I think it’s obvious that Ryuuhou loves Koujaku, in his own way, as his creation, and he’s referencing love at first sight and Koujaku’s abuse of Aoba. In a metaphorical way that abuse certainly happened, ever since he was tattooed, his body did not belong to him anymore. There are people who can’t stand the idea of having sex, and others who often seek it out to ease the pain. Ryuuhou made sure to mark his body and mind so that he could never forget him. His tattoos are his shame, his filth and sin. When Aoba touches his tattoos Koujaku practically jumps at contact.

[sleepyskeleton-0]

SPOILERS FOR STH 3!!!

Scene analysis (heavily focused on Knuckles).

So there’s this scene in Sonic 3 in London where Sonic decides that despite their initial intentions to never use the master emerald anymore, he insists on using it for vengeance (after Shadow hurts Tom).

In this scene Sonic and Knuckles stand head to head and get worked up to the point where they’re charging up their powers, (Tails in kinda in the middle trying to calm them both down).

I got emotional in this scene, like full on tears in my eyes for a split second. Let me tell you why:

This is the scene that shows Knuckles’ endless patience for Sonic and Tails.

We know as an audience that Knux is always eager to go into battle, perhaps even too eager, but when it comes to his siblings, he’s always patient. So when Sonic tries to start a fight with him, he gets riled up at first but then takes a moment to calm himself down.

He refrains from hurting his brother and instead tries to talk to him calmly, to reason with him.

And if that’s not an oldest sibling strait I honestly don’t know what is.

I don’t think some people realise how hard it is to stay calm when your younger siblings are angering you. Like not teasing but properly pissing you off, especially if your sibling is a younger teenager (think 11-14 or 15).

At some point, you as the oldest have to realise that you have to be the calm one because naturally, teens are hormonal as shit and they can’t really help it (sometimes). We’ve all been there and we all know what it feels like to get wound up easily as a kid, and as an oldest child, you didn’t have someone who would calmly deal with you. Your parents would just get angry or chalk it up to a phase, so it’s either too much discipline or none at all for their first kid, then leave them to deal with the others when they grow up (obviously this isn’t the case with the trio here bc they were all taken in as teens so it’s different - the attention Tom and Maggie would’ve shown to them as babies and children are being shown now that they’re actually a family).

So shout out to all my oldest siblings out there, including Knuckles, because it’s like constantly taking punches to the face and actively remaining steady on your feet without letting your anger get the best of you.

This especially goes for a traumatic or high anxiety situation, like Tom’s injury. Sonic’s love for him and his worry and regret is consuming him in this moment and throwing him into a blind rage. Tails is also really worried, and as the youngest, it goes without saying that you try to cushion any pain as much as possible, so he’s not gonna be expected to help. Who’s left then? To help deal with Sonic? Knuckles.

He realises Sonic’s having a hard time, knows what it feels like to lose loved ones, understands the worry of “will they return home?” and how the reality of the situation can hit at any moment and how crippling it can be.

So Knuckles swallows his pride and tries to reason with Sonic.

And it’s really fucking hard to do that. Especially when being put in this position.

This rant feels repetitive but I have to get it out there just how hard it is to do this. At the end of the day, even if we are the oldest sibling, even if we have an obligation to be the bigger person, we still have feelings. All this emotional burden is gonna build up. It’s not anyone’s fault, it’s just the position we were born in. It’s our job to be that pillar of strength for our younger siblings, but if you keep throwing small stones at a pillar, eventually it’ll start to chip and crumble. So to have the strength to remain steady is the real superpower.

Like holy shit, talk about dual burden. Knux is also feeling the pain of potentially losing Tom, but he’s still there to comfort and protect his family and also shoulder his own difficult emotions. Because no one was there to do that for him when he needed it the most. He may never have anyone to protect him quite like that, and an older sibling will protect their younger ones even if it means making sacrifices. Remember that parents don’t have the same effect as siblings. Adults can only have so much understanding, but growth moves with the times, and each coming generation develops in unique ways, so grown ups will never grasp the full extent of the younger generation’s struggles, just as us younger people will never understand what they went through and how they dealt with it.

So props to Knuckles, he really is 1000000% muscle, and his most important muscles, his heart and brain, work together incredibly well. He doesn’t have to be book smart, his emotional intelligence makes up for that.

(Disclaimer: this is just my interpretation so just take it with a grain of salt, also sorry for this utterly incoherent rant, I have feelings about this movie- and this silly little echidna.)

[sadistichaunt]

@dickgraysonsptsd : #i've been thinking about this sooo much mal .. sladick dynamic is so sexy when focusing on dick as brain and slade as heart

YOU GET ITTTTT

I dunno this is gonna be such a rambling post but. I definitely think that they themselves believe they embody the opposite (dick as heart and Slade as brain). Dick, especially in opposition to Bruce, is bright and funny and loud. He was Robin , for Christ's sake. But on his own, when he's not under Bruce's wing, he's analytical, he's a bitch, he's downright cold when he wants to be.

But he wants emotion to come easy to him. It doesn't. Look at how he acts- yes, he lashes out at times, but the way that he intellectualizes things leaves little to no room for processing the emotional part of things. (Dick strikes me as the type to be like "well. I understand *why* so and so did this thing- I'm going to act upset because I *should* be upset, but it's mostly playacting through emotion rather than actually feeling it. I know why they did it, I know how to avoid this situation in the future, so it's no skin off my back.) (not that he doesn't feel emotion- he absolutely does. But at his core he's a performer. Who's to say how much of his intensity is real?)

(I'm not as much of an expert on dick as I am Slade, this is my general take on him, not the complete analysis of him)

So when he sees Slade- someone who's cold and analytical and professional, being *emotional?* He gravitates towards it. He craves that realness, that genuine feeling (even if it hurts him in the end) because it's something that he's never been able to obtain for himself.

Slade, on the other hand, fights tooth and fucking nail to keep that Deathstroke reputation. He refuses to give up a name to save his own son for that reputation. But when it comes down to it, Slade is such a deeply emotional person that it colors *everything* he does. There's this line somewhere in TNTT vol.1 when Grant first dies. Slade *knows* the Hive got him killed on purpose. He knows that they were trying to get to him. He tries to play it off as a "I have to finish my son's legacy" but the only reason hes doing anything is because he cares. He loved Grant, in his own fucked up way, and his hurt + anger at his death was what fueled everything for him. No one would blame Deathstroke for ignoring a contract that wasn't even his. No one even knew that Ravager was his son, at least not the people that mattered.

So, just like Dick, he gravitates towards what he doesn't have. He sees someone who, supposedly, has the same mask that he's wearing. A professional and aloof facade. But where they differ is that Slade drops his mask, sometimes. When they're fighting, when the contract gets a little too personal, when Dick says something that digs a little too deep. What pisses him off is that he can't seem to find any cracks in Dick's mask and he wants to be the one to pry underneath it.

Somehow, the personalities between Dick and Slade have gotten totally mixed up in fandom??

Slade is an INCREDIBLY emotionally-person. Nearly all of his major decisions come from his connections with other people. He took up the Titans contract because his son died during it. There's like, at least a dozen lines in TNTT where Slade admits that he doesn't care about contracts, he doesn't care about the money, he takes most important contracts based on his personal investment in them. At his core, he's prideful, but even that is set aside in favor of his relationships.

(even with Joey. Joey just wasn't important enough for him)

Dick, on the other hand, is cold and calculating in almost every sense of the phrase. He's quick as a whip and clever, and his compassion + empathy somehow makes this... Disappear when it comes to fan content. He turns into a caricature of the "bubbly, golden retriever" stereotype instead of the FAR more intriguing personality that he has. He cares, of course he does, but that is overshadowed by his analytical brain. Look at this like from TNTT (I forgot which issue- it's when him and Kory's relationship was in it's infancy)

Dick: Besides. I think I've always been too introspective for my own good.

Kory: I know I love you. Isn't that enough?

Dick: I don't think so. You see, I only think I may love you.

[bloody-cupcakes]

can you do some joe goldberg whump headcanons?? maybe with love or an x reader

A/N: yeah of course! I chose to do x reader since that's what I write for my blogs haha

Tw: yandere/dark content, gender neutral reader, obsessive behavior, stalking, kidnapping, murder, slight gore/injuries mentioned (both on accident and intentional), drugging, emotional manipulation/gaslighting, blackmail, Stockholm syndrome implied at the end

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

First of all, know that he never actually wants to hurt you. He doesn't enjoy seeing you in any kind of pain, or hearing your muffled cries through the gag as he punishes you for whatever it is that you've done wrong this time. He loves you, and he just wants what's best for you after all

He only stalks you out of a need to know where you are at all times, just so he can be sure that you're safe. What would he do if something happened and he wasn't there to protect you? He'd never be able to forgive himself for it, hence him memorizing your entire schedule off the top of his head

Anyone who he deems as toxic or unworthy of being in your life is instantly gotten rid of, though he does feel a bit of guilt when you inevitably find out and call him a monster for it. I mean, it's fair enough, but it still hurts to hear from you of all people

"Baby, baby, can't you see? I did this for you," he does his best to reassure you, but that only makes your panicking get even worse. To be fair, you did wake up in a glass box with an accidental cut on your head from where he slammed you into the wall in a state of blind rage upon him realizing you knew what he'd done, so he could understand your fear. He just wished you'd stop staring at him like he was some sort of a monster when all he wanted to do was keep you safe

He tries to give you some space in hopes that it'll help, but as your silent (and sometimes not-so-silent) resentment begins to grow he becomes more desperate and needy. Everything he does is for you, and this is how you treat him?

Of course he can't help but adore you regardless, which is why he hates having to pin you down and whack at your ankles and knees with the hammer he uses for his book restorations. "If you're going to act like a brat, I have to treat you like one," he mutters softly while you sob in his arms after, barely able to walk after the "punishment" you'd received from him

Something you're made well aware of early on is just how much he loves you (or claims to anyway) but you soon realize that's not enough and that you have to somehow find it in you to love him back. There is no other option if you want to make it out of this alive, but how could you ever love a murderer?

It takes a while, but eventually you behave well enough over time to be able to convince him to move you out of the cage and to his apartment as long as you promise to continue being good. You try to run away that same night, and back to the basement you go, along with a brand new welt on your head from where he had to knock you out in order to get you down there

You beg over and over to be let out, and he promises he will on the condition that you'll let him give you an IV drip full of something that'll keep you feeling complacent and numb (a drug he got courtesy of Paco, who stole it from his mom for Joe's own private use)

He doesn't like keeping you drugged up, but if you insist on trying to escape then there really is no other solution, now is there? Besides, he likes being able to hold you at night and much rather prefers to keep you in the comfortable environment of his place anyway

At first you flat out refuse, but finally you reluctantly agree to his conditions, unable to bear peeing in a bucket and sleeping on the floor any longer. It felt dehumanizing, like you were nothing more than a pet kept for his entertainment. At least his apartment had a real bed and a bathroom

The drugs he put you on made you feel light and free, and it was much easier for you to obey when you were dosed up with them. Things seem to be doing okay until he discovers you'd somehow switched the specially made liquid IV full of drugs with plain water, which resulted in you attempting to leave yet again. God, when will you learn that it's never going to work out for you?

This time when you wake up in the cage, you find yourself covered in blood and lying next to the dead body of your old best friend. Joe simply watches as you frantically try your best to resuscitate the already rotting corpse with several different versions of CPR to no avail

"What have you done?" You scream hysterically, your eyes wide and frightened as you look down at the carnage you found yourself in, your clothes stained crimson red in a manner that almost seemed to mock you

"Next time you pull another stunt like that, it'll be someone you truly care about who's in there with you," he states in a way that's almost cold despite the somewhat sad look in his eyes. He really didn't want it to have to come to this, but you forced his hand. "Now you're going to help me get rid of the body, or I'll have to punish you even worse than that, do you understand?"

It was then that you knew there would be no escape. He'd always find new ways to torture you, mentally and emotionally if nothing else, and each time you stepped out of line you'd only end up getting more injured from it. Not to mention he had had ample amount of planted evidence in order to frame you if he really wanted, so naturally the only thing you could do was agree

That night you found yourself back in his small apartment, wrapped up snugly in his arms as you laid in bed together. The drugs had you feeling much more calm just like usual, and you almost felt bad for everything you'd put him through. "I'm sorry," you slurred while glancing up at him, your eyes droopy from the stolen medication you were on

He just shook his head at your apology, leaning down to place a light kiss to the tip of your nose. "No, baby, don't apologize. It's okay now, I forgive you," he gently promised you, glad that you weren't trying to fight him and his affection anymore

"Mgrh... love you..." came your mumbled reply as you buried your face in his chest. You loved him. You really, truly did. He'd gotten you to see just how much he truly cared, and you loved him for it. A smile graced his lips as he tugged you in a little bit closer. It was then that he decided no matter what the cost, he was going to keep you forever, not that you seemed to mind. He was glad the two of you were finally on the same page for once

[witchthewriter]

𝐁𝐨𝐲𝐝 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐟𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐧 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞

⤷ platonic, gender neutral, ambiguous race, and any size reader. Requests are open, thank you for reading!

ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ | ᴹᵃˢᵗᵉʳˡᶤˢᵗ ᴵᴵ

・Boyd already had a son, but Ellis was too angry at him. He barely had anything to do with his father, the Sheriff, no matter how hard Fatima pushed Ellis

・You had entered Fromville by yourself; it was supposed to be your first adventure by yourself and now you were trapped in HELL.

・For the first few days, you were a tiny bit catatonic; anxiety, along with the whole "What could go wrong!" from your family was really messing with your head

・Fatima was the person who showed you a lot of kindness, patience and ways of looking at the town.

・But you came here by yourself, no link to anyone and you felt like 1. an outsider and 2. like the people wouldn't care if anything happened to you

・That was until you were too late getting back to your home in town, the monsters had already pulled up and were doing their creepy business.

・Boyd threw himself straight into action, flinging open the Sheriff Station/Post Office door and grabbing your arm.

"What are you doing out here?! It's DARK!"

"No, I no, I no-"

"So you were trying to get yourself kILLED?!"

"No! I just got carried away at the edge of the forest-"

"The EDGE of the WHAT NOW!"

"No Sheriff, it's okay. It's not like I have any ties here and the probability of me surviving is very low... so..."

・It was in that moment that Boyd decided to unconsiously adopt you.

・He would never let you feel alone again.

・Everyone was going to know you, know your importance.

・Whenever you give your opinion during matters (because you are now in the inner circle - you know more than the regular citizens),

Boyd always holds up a hand before you can talk, "No. You are not putting yourself as bait. Not again."

・Kenny likes you a lot, romantically? Maybe. He's still mixed up about the whole Kristi and Marielle thing.

・Then again, it's not like anyone was going to approach the Sheriff's kid with a romantic offer. Boyd is deeply protective of you.

・Both Jade and Randall have their eyes on you.

・They think you're very unique, smart but also have a boldness that this town had brought out in you.

・Plus you never let either of their quips go without an insult straight back at them

・Ellis, who hadn't been in town for a while, was surprised. A little hurt, but c'mon - deep down he knew he could never be replaced.

・Boyd always makes sure that you're okay, especially when it's just you two at the station. There's one bedroom/cell type place.

・So Boyd made another area just for you, where you had your own bed, a sheet to pull over for privacy and room for all your little trinkets.

・Sometimes he prefers you to sleep in the cell, especially when there's been an incident with the Monsters.

・To get him to open up, you made him play truth or dare once and it was the most fun he's ever had in a while.

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔

Two damaged individuals who attach themselves to each other

"Come Near Them And I Will Fucking End You" (Boyd) x "You Heard The Old Timer!" (You, with the constant old person joke)

You bring him things you find interesting like bugs, rocks, things Mrs Chen let you go look for in the lost and found...

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Found Family

Trustworthy Male Mentor

Father Figure Who Doesn't Realise He's Basically Raising You Until You Call Him Dad

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Beautiful Boy by John Lennon (this doesn't negate from anyone's representation as a woman or non-binary. it's just a beautiful song)

Me and the Devil by Soap and Skin (the original fits here perfectly too)

A Narnian Lullaby by Harry Gregson Williams

[lyculuscaelus]

Answers

(My EtM secret Santa gift for @betterbekind ! Merry Christmas!)

Sometimes, he would dream of the bright sun, the fleeting cloud, and the forested mountain that lay above the waves.

Sometimes, he would dream of a verdant branch of olive, casting a shade on him, blessing him with a sense of safety.

Sometimes, he would dream of a large fleet, radiant with high spirits of its crew, launching into the rosy-fingered dawn with many oars ploughing a salted field that was the wine-dark sea itself.

And sometimes, he would smell the fresh scent of soils, blinking his eyes bright with innocence, wondering why the donkey had suddenly halted by his side.

And sometimes, he would feel the warmth of the cradle, hearing his own name in his sleep, when a tender voice whispered gently, “…then I shall keep you far from war…”

And sometimes, he would notice the song of winds, wordless, like the sobbing of two parents.

But sometimes he would dream of those suitors. They always came in groups, playing, yelling, cramming his father’s palace with their filthy forms and noises of revelry.

And sometimes he would dream of their words—haunting, like the neighing sea.

For they said, “fight, little wolf; entertain us like you always do.”

For they said, “cry, little wolf; only your misery will comfort you.”

For they said, “die, little wolf; your incompetence will be the end of you.”

And he would think of those times when he failed to punish the suitors; and he would mourn the old days when seas and forests were all he could dream of; and he would grieve for the journeys he failed to start—the journey to prove himself worthy. Worthy, as the son whose blood echoed the name of a great hero.

But he never felt like it.

Odysseus would’ve killed them all so long ago, the moment they revealed their intent to woo my mother; Odysseus would’ve taken the crown and reigned over this kingdom already, instead of sitting in the courtroom mourning for a king forgotten, a father lost; Odysseus would’ve done so many feats before he even found himself stuck in a bedroom, dreaming of all the things he could never do.

And he would scream silently, in a dream that felt like reality.

Or was it the other way around? He didn’t know that anymore. Days were only pretenses of joy, while nights…

Well, only nights knew his silent tears, when he mourned for his father…when he mourned for himself.

I am no legacy of my father. When he thinks of me, I will only be known as a failure.

Because that’s what I am—a failure. Someone who doesn’t deserve to be the son of Odysseus.

Please. Just tell me I’m wrong—tell me, before it becomes all I can remember, all I can believe…

Please. Somebody…anybody…

And it was always silence that answered him.

Silence. Just another name for loneliness.

And sometimes, it was the very silence that shall wake him from his dreams.

Tonight was no different.

Telemachus opened his eyes to stare into the dark ceiling.

The dream still felt vivid. It was just like every other nightmare of his—full of taunts, full of grief. He was almost used to them at this point. They’re just dreams. They can’t hurt me.

No. Not on the outside, of course; but Telemachus couldn’t face what lay within. At least, not now, when the suitors were still—

Wait. No. He corrected himself quickly. The suitors are dead already. Killed by the very man I wish to meet for the first time in twenty years, only two days ago.

Telemachus shook his head with a bitter smile. It’s almost as if nothing has changed. I know my life is different now, but somehow it still feels the same—as if the suitors have never truly gone; as if my father has never really come back; as if there hasn’t actually been any victory.

Hard to believe, isn’t it? 

He let out a heavy sigh.

Guess I’m just not used to happiness like this.

Climbing out of the bed, putting on a chiton quickly, he walked to the door before realizing it was only in the middle of the night.

Doesn’t matter. As if I’m not used to waking up at this hour already…

He pushed open the door to welcome a silent hall, where only darkness would be his company. Sometimes breezes too, if the gods were keen enough to send those.

If only…so that he’d make it home so much earlier. So that we’d need to face no sorrow like this for years.

He paced quietly in the halls empty of the living.

If I start humming, will it startle anyone from their sleep?

He wasn’t sure. But a tune had already flown out from his mouth, dissipating into the air. It was a song Phemius used to sing.

It was about the Nostoi—the return of heroes. There were all the Achaean kings—Diomedes, Nestor, Idomeneus, Agamemnon…and eventually, Menelaus, when he became the last Achaean hero to make it home—

Before my father did, that is. He mustered a smile. But surprisingly, there isn’t any song for him…yet.

Telemachus was musing when he came across a huge pillar.

Maybe there will be. In days to come, perhaps, when people weave their memories into songs, songs into epics…

“Can’t sleep?” a new voice came suddenly, startling the young man. Telemachus almost raised his fists before realizing who it could only belong to.

It was the voice of a fresh old man, a bit hoarse due to years of seafaring; but there was a commanding tone lying underneath, for it probably wasn’t a stranger to war-cries and orations. There was only one man who could wield a voice like this, Telemachus knew.

Even though it wasn’t a voice he was used to hearing.

“Father?” he called softly, trying to locate the source with no success.

“The moon is still young,” he heard his father murmuring. “There’s nothing to see but the stars. Stars who relate their stories, who keep the night sky from loneliness, who are keen enough to guide the sailors home, if the sailors are still keeping their eyes open to all this.”

“Where are you, father?” Telemachus prompted with a question.

“Somewhere, in the dark, where my rest lies alongside my vigilance.”

That’s not a helpful answer… Telemachus thought to himself. “Shouldn’t you be sleeping too, father?” he asked.

“Ah, yes, sleep. Last time I fell asleep letting go of all my worries, it ended with…well.” that was all his father replied.

Telemachus waited for a moment, but his father didn’t continue. So Telemachus spoke out again. “But you were in your bedroom—with mom,” he said, walking a few more paces to the direction where he heard his father answering. “Why did you come out here?”

He heard a heavy sigh, then came a sound almost like sobbing. Telemachus almost found his way there before hearing his father’s reply.

“I…I was afraid. Afraid of hurting your mother by accident,” the great-hearted man muttered.

Afraid of hurting mom? Telemachus remarked in shock. What could it possibly be—a nightmare? Just like one of mine?

No. Maybe father’s was way more eventful. But still…

“What were you trying to do, father?” he asked again.

“Hiding,” there came the reply—Telemachus was almost certain it’s the right spot— “No. But that wouldn’t be necessary…she’s not here—she can’t lay her hands on you anymore, Odysseus,” the sacker of cities was whispering to himself. “No, you’re safe now. That’s Penelope by your side—yes, Penelope. The one who loves you. The one you love. You’re home now, Odysseus. It’s your own son you’re talking to. It’s alright. It’ll all be fine…”

The next step brought Telemachus to a turn where he felt someone suddenly approaching—

—and ran into a fierce embrace, as his father held him so tightly that he couldn’t even stretch out his arms to return a hug.

“It’s alright now…” he could still hear his father murmuring. “You’re safe now. You’re safe at last.”

“Father?” Telemachus could only muster the strength to ask. The hug felt even heavier than the first one they ever had, only a few days ago. But his father was so aware of himself then, not like…this.

What could have happened to the man of twists and turns in his days of missing?

It was after a moment that lasted like years that Odysseus decided to let loose the embrace, finally facing his son in the darkness, still putting both hands on his shoulders, now speaking in a tone so much softer. “I’m sorry, Telemachus…I shouldn’t have let you see me like this. This isn’t what a father should act like…I’m so sorry…”

“Father, don’t be,” Telemachus reached over to hold his father’s hand. “Just tell me what happened, maybe? If you wish to, that is.”

His father sighed. “Nothing…just some bad memories. Something that haunts me in my sleep—picked some of them up in these years of wandering.”

Telemachus lowered his head and mused. Just like those dreams of mine…

Then he felt a touch on his face. Telemachus raised his head to meet his father’s gaze in the darkness, as Odysseus continued slowly. “But I might tell you all my stories…maybe some other time, when our hearts aren’t so laid down by the weariness of sleep. It’s nothing I haven’t endured before, really. But what about you, Telemachus? You did not go through a long trek with all the hardships—what could’ve woken you in the middle of the night?”

This time it was Telemachus who heaved a sigh. “It’s…nothing. Just bad memories.” Something that haunts me, too, in my sleep. Something I picked up in these years of waiting, wondering, dreaming.

“Of those suitors, I presume?” Odysseus prompted.

“Yeah,” Telemachus replied with a nod. “Maybe more. But for the suitors I dreamt of their faces, smirking in mockery; I dreamt of their words, saying nothing but taunts…”

“What did they say?” he could tell his father’s eyebrows were creasing when saying this.

“Father…” Telemachus didn’t expect this. Should I tell him or should I not? Only the night keeps my secrets—should I let father know this, too? “It’s pretty much just nonsense, really. It’s not like they can hurt me—”

“But can they?” 

Well…yes. A lot, actually. 

But it’s just something I don’t want to admit.

“Father, trust me—I can tackle them, all of them—I mean, most of—some of them…I guess.”

“That doesn’t sound very reassuring,” his father only responded.

I know…but I just don’t want to bother you with this…

Telemachus lowered his head.

“Father, there are enough matters kept in your mind now. I just don’t want to trouble you with yet another problem…a problem I’m supposed to overcome on my own. But instead I just keep failing…”

“In that case,” Odysseus was saying. “Why not share the burden with me? Share it with your dear father who’s been waiting for ages, to help you out in your time of need—something I failed to do for so long…but no longer. Share it with me—let us carry your load together. What better thing is there to do as father and son?”

A smile was playing on Telemachus’s trembling lips. A smile that tasted bitter, like the sadness of tears.

Yes, he’s here now, Telemachus—your father is here at last, after all the years of hoping—hoping he’d hearken to your distress, wishing he’d give you his counsel, dreaming he’d comfort you with a smile…he’s here now, ready to help, as a father he always wanted to be, reaching out to the son who lives beyond his memory.

And how can I reject something so beautiful, like this?

“Thank you, father, thank you so much…” Telemachus could only mutter. “It’s something I never thought I’d need…”

His father only replied with a gentle pat on his shoulder. It felt warm, like the heart of a hearth, where home lies.

So Telemachus took a deep breath, facing his father at last.

“But I just want to know…do you think I’m a failure, father?” he finally mustered the courage to ask.

Odysseus’s expression was almost unreadable in the darkness. But Telemachus could tell he was apparently surprised. “A failure? Who has been keeping your mom safe while I was making my way home? Who has been my aid when we slaughtered suitors? If anyone dares to call you that, Telemachus, I swear I’d—”

“Father? It’s me,” he cut in before Odysseus even finished that curse. “I call myself a failure, in my dreams.”

“Telemachus…”

“I know I might’ve proven my strength, my courage, when days ago we slaughtered those suitors. But I couldn’t help but think back to those times when I failed,” his voice was cracking a little when he answered. “And I know that all this happened because of me: it’s my fault that I failed to dissuade all those suitors to leave with my speech; it’s my fault that I couldn’t keep them from wasting our wealth, our livestock; it’s my fault that I didn’t take vengeance upon those suitors, something I could’ve planned out already…”

“You did what you had to do as a host,” Odysseus answered calmly. “You gave them Xenia like any noble man would do. It’s never your fault that they overstayed your welcome—you rewarded them with death, something they deserved from the start—you did well, Telemachus, son of mine.”

Telemachus blinked his eyes in surprise. But is it…true?

“Do you…really mean it?” Telemachus almost broke into tears. “But I failed to live up to your name—gods, I failed so miserably. I didn’t carry the crown young, something you have done so long ago. Do you content yourself with stories only? No, you’ve sought out adventures, winning so much glory…”

“Telemachus,” his father cut in, murmuring in a voice so weary. “You know I mean it with all my sincerity. You know I’m proud of you as who you are—not who you want to be. Have I ever spoken of the weight of the crown? It has deprived me of the joy of childhood—does that sound familiar to you? And have I ever told you how I left our homeland against my will, forced on a path to seek glory in war, to add weight to my name with all my sufferings? I do not ask for any of these—but they come to me. They always find me when I do not wish for their presence. They haunt me just as your nightmares. Do you think I can hide my tears behind a strong heart? No, I weep even more than you ever could. What you just saw that happened to me…it’s only an echo of what haunts me from within, of all the things I’ve seen and gone through—something I pray that should never happen to you.”

Telemachus listened quietly, his head dizzy. If only I knew…if only I knew all this so long ago.

“Father,” he replied softly, a moment later. “Father, I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be, son,” he felt the caress on his face, as his father reached out again, sharing the warmth of a weary palm. “Know that I’m right here with you—that would be enough.”

Telemachus smiled—just a little.

“But…there’s something else,” he could feel his heart aching as he said this. “This might sound ridiculous…but deep down I dwell on it, a lot. I know how everyone tells me how I resemble you in form—something I have no way of knowing…until now. But do I ever have your strength in me? They said that I have your eyes—but do yours blink with naïveté? They could hear you in my voice—but does it ever echo your authority? They saw your shadow in me—but isn’t that all there is? Just a shadow, living in the light of your glory…”

“And does that make you any less the son of mine?” his father responded gently. “You don’t have to be me—you don’t need to be like me to be known as a hero. A hero that you already are. Don’t you see? I don’t wish for you to lead a path like the one I treaded, with so much sorrow and pain. I don’t want you to end up like me, suffering too much for something so easily achieved for others. No, you deserve a life so much better than the one I left you with. And you know what, Telemachus? We’ll make it a reality—just you and I, your mother too—this is something only meant for you.”

This brought a gasp from Telemachus. How do I only get to feel the comfort of family so late in my life?

“I couldn’t take from you all the sorrows you’ve been through,” his father continued. “But I can make sure the same thing never happens to you, ever again. Know that I’ll find every opportunity to give you happiness—you deserve it, Telemachus, and now I finally have the chance to give it to you, after all the years of my absence from your life. On this I give you my promise—know that nothing will stop us. Know that all your waiting wasn’t fruitless, after all. And know that I’d trade the world, Telemachus, just for you.”

Telemachus finally gave in to his sobbing—was it joy? Was it sadness? Telemachus didn’t know, but it was the best feeling he could ever have asked for, really. It was the realization of the fact that his family was actually complete, at last. It was the hope that nothing grievous would’ve happened to them, ever again. It was the knowledge that he had found the reassurance from his father—the acceptance he most needed, coming from the sacker of cities, the great honor of Achaeans, the hero he most admired—his very own father.

And wouldn’t that be the best kind of relief, after all?

So he buried his face in his father’s embrace, putting his head against that sturdy chest, feeling the shelter of those gentle arms. Tears streamed down his cheek like plowing, laying down two trails of solace. In his laxness he noticed his father joining him too, as his own hair felt the tender touch of teardrops, drenched in happiness, at last.

And he was joyful, for it was no longer nothingness that answered him.

And he was grateful, for silence could no longer haunt him, in his dreams, in his reality.

And he immersed himself in that embrace, rejoicing in the very answer from his father, after all the years of questioning.

Maybe tonight was different, after all.

[pelcrow]

say hello to Toshi! he's an oc I've been developing for a couple of years now but i haven't ever talked about him! he's a very dear character to me, and he's a tragic scientist father because i'm predictable. also he's autistic.

[just-null]

Wowie rly digging the yandere clone headcanons… how would each react if their darling tried to run away from them?!

You said tried so I assume this was a failed attempt!

Short answer: they get really upset and try making it your fault (shocker.) Ain't no way any of these mfs think they're the problem. Good news! you're mostly unharmed and alive.

This will just be purely writing bc i mostly had thoughts! sorry no drawing this time!!

[cw! mentions of potential harm to reader (no actual harm done), manipulation, toxic relationship dynamics (yandere flavor), obsessive behavior]

Sekido

You're always being hunted the moment the sun comes down and you don't return home in time. Reasons like that are exactly why he hates it when you part from him. 

This time is different.. he can't find you in your usual spots. There's no fucking way, right?

How could you.. No, how DARE you? Do you think that he's some joke? That his feelings for you are something that you can run away from like it's nothing? 

The second he's sure the sun won't harm him, he's already white knuckling his khakkhara, swinging at anything and everything in his path until he gets to you.

They know how to sense if you're near or not, hell, they probably know how your specific blood type smells like. 

Did you think cuddling up to you and memorizing every detail about you was for nothing? Don't be stupid. All he needs is a trace of you and he's gone in the blink of an eye.

You better enjoy running while you can because when he catches you, and he will, those legs of yours won't have much use after he's done with them. 

Sekido doesn't WANT to do this, but you honestly give him no choice. After he trusted you enough to stop looking over his shoulder, you do this? How can he ever put any faith in you again!?

On the bright(?) side, Sekido's rage wouldn't be solely on you, it'll ricochet onto everyone, especially the other clones and himself. 

They were supposed to be looking after you! But they can't do anything right, even a task as simple as this. 

And why did he think it was a good idea to trust them with something of big importance when all they do is fuck everything up!? Everyone's idiocy is rubbing off on him!

The entire time on his search for you, he's cursing and wanting to crush anything he can get his hands on, especially your bones. 

He doesn't even bother with speaking to the others, too busy spewing out all sorts of hurtful and frustrated comments about everything. 

The brutal thought that you’d rather run away than be with him isn't one he wants to entertain, but it's echoing in his head.

At least, once the other clones get there, Karaku and Aizetsu brawl with Sekido so you're unharmed while Urogi carries you overhead. 

Sekido's jealousy flares up when he sees you in Urogi's arms, making him even more pissed if that's even possible. Great, now he looks like the bad guy and the other three, the saviors. Fucking perfect.

There's a lot of yelling and a lot of blood, especially with Urogi making things so much more annoyingly difficult in the air. Karaku and Aizetsu aren't helping. Why is Sekido suddenly the problem?! You ran away!! 

But when he calms down enough, he's cursing at everyone through clenched teeth. Sometimes trying to convince the others that you don't even need your legs anyway!!

Once you get back home (or temporary prison until you somehow regain favor), Sekido will eye your legs while gripping his staff from time to time. 

Exactly why he's forbidden to be in a room alone with you for a while until he settles down..

He glares at you more often and grows colder than before. Arguments are more common where he twists your words just to have you talk with him and be angry within reason. 

Any other type of conversation makes him so irrationally upset that the others need to step in so that he doesn't lose his temper again.

Karaku

The calmest out of the group. He brushes it off as “you're playing hard to get” again, and if he makes a ruckus, you'll scamper back and beg him to stop like always!

Then it gets darker out.. and when Sekido left, he seemed pretty pissed. Like more than usual..... shit.

Karaku sprints after Sekido when it clicks that he's found you. His mind starts reeling, unsure whether he should laugh at the absurdity of your decisions or get pissed off because you didn't even bother to give a hint! 

Not like that would do anything aside from give you away but regardless!

Everyone needs to relax, this is obviously something they can sweep under the rug. This isn't that big of a deal and you're just having a fit, but things like these can get you hurt, y'know? 

They're fun and all, sure, just maybe give him a heads up next time, yeah? Sekido can't take a joke, you know this!!! Still.. There's a way Karaku can work with this.

He'll be able to swoop in, save you, be your hero, and remind you why staying with him is kinda important. Just in case you forgot~ 

You don't wanna be out and about without his charming grin and protective hold would you? Don't answer that right now, he has a feeling you'll say something wrong!

Yet.. what if you need a firmer hand to remind you of what Karaku provides? What if you got a little too comfortable being protected so you thought you'd be alright leaving them? Man, who knew you could be spoiled!

Because of this, he would purposely fumble, letting Sekido get near you just so he can stop him at the perfect moment. He purposely gets hit too and makes sure some blood gets near you. To remind you how that could've been yours.

When Sekido calms down, Karaku laughs in your face and would pinch your cheeks if you weren't up in the air with Urogi on the way home.

You should've seen your face! It was really cute~! Maybe getting scared is your thing? He'll note that for later.

He offhandedly advises you not to do things like that all the time, fighting Sekido always kinda sucks, but it's not like you actually had a chance of successfully running away so he won't chastise you too much for it. 

That's not his job, and his heart hasn’t pumped that fast in a long time.. not even in a fight! You're so amazing~~

And delusional if you think he's not going to milk this “heroism” thing back there for some extra affection points with you. 

Don't be so mean. he got his head blown off twice and jaw dislocated thrice, not to mention everywhere else on his body. Don't you think those parts of him need some extra loving? more than usual?

There's not that much Karaku can say after that aside from reminiscing like it was a funny story. He's not upset about it, mostly a little miffed you got kinda far without him noticing, but he gets over it. 

The usual routine starts back up for him when you're back home. It's like nothing happened, but he keeps a closer eye on you since everyone's so tense.

Urogi

If you're not home before the sun sets, Urogi's clawing at the walls with stress. He usually accompanies Sekido to go find you, but this time is different. Urogi could just barely tell you were around.. When Sekido bolts, Urogi's flying as fast as he can, trying to find you first. 

You're so far.. you must've gotten kidnapped!!!!!

The stress from before burns into anger, expecting to see someone having their hands on you while you're calling out in vain. How could he let this happen?! Damn sun! 

He darts through the skies even faster imagining it, and when he finally reaches you, you look.. fine? and alone. and looking at him like he's the danger. He's here to save you, dummy..

Urogi falls to his knees, burying his face against your stomach and finally wrapping his arms around you again. Your fists violently hit his head and yank fistfuls of hair back, but it doesn't phase him. 

Your comforting warmth is back, that's all that matters. And god, your smell.. it's almost making him dizzy. He missed you so much.

There's many holes to the story in Urogi's head as to why you're so far from home, but he fills them in with more convoluted delusions. It's just a peaceful reunion right now.. 

That is until Sekido finally arrives and starts swinging his khakkhara way too close to your fragile bones. 

Now he's back in defense mode where he scoops you up and tries flying out of reach. This is so stressful!!! There's lightning everywhere and he keeps having to dodge the multiple staffs thrown his way. 

He shields you with his wings as best he can while trying to stay in the air, so you don't get hurt during Sekido's outburst.

In the skies, it's much clearer to see the hurt behind the haunting glow of Urogi's eyes. Did you care about how he might feel? Did you miss him at all? Did you not feel loved enough? Did someone say something to you? 

As he maneuvers the sky, he holds you as tightly as possible, lightly digging his talons into your skin.

Being without you for a couple hours is agonizing enough on its own. If you HAD left him, abandoned, cold, alone.. he doesn't want to think about it. All that matters is that your kidnappers or liars or whatever influenced you are gone, and you're back safe with them!!! 

You.. you still like him, right? Of course you do, fate wouldn't force your paths together if it wasn't for a reason!

Coming back home is uncomfortably tense, especially with how violently Aizetsu kicked Urogi across the room, nearly through the wall, when he tried to lick your wounds clean. It really hurt! 

When you're patched up, Urogi is ten times as clingy if that's possible. He has his arms looped around you constantly so you can't stray too far, and if his hands are busy, he always has his wings!

As happy as he is that you're back, he can't help but cry into your chest sometimes. Everything is so tense nowadays, he hates it! How could you go and do something like that? Apologize immediately! Or at least hold him too? Doubt creeps in a lot, and your attitude isn't helping.. 

His mood swings are stronger. From sobbing uncontrollably into your clothes to being all smiles and radiating with joy the next just because you said something vaguely decent.

Aizetsu

The demotivation started to creep in the second you left. During the day, Aizetsu sits by the door, wanting to be the first one you properly greet. Sekido and Urogi usually bring you back and he'll be the one in your good graces without lifting a finger. That sounds nice.. 

But as the footsteps fade and the silence lingers, Aizetsu feels miserable the longer he waits... Hold on, silence?

Before he realizes what's happening, he's already dashing to where the familiar commotion is coming from. Dread sets in as his legs take him as fast as they can whilst being the slowest of the four. This doesn't feel like they're rushing over to you after a long day, it feels.. dangerous?

What did you get yourself into..? Why do you insist on going to places Aizetsu can't follow? Are you safe? He hates not knowing.

Usually you're the one who's fine. You deal with four demons almost daily! Please please please be okay. He can't fathom it if you were hurt. 

When he gets there, the puzzle pieces fall into place and Aizetsu gets even more depressed, but at least you're not hurt. Well, not if he interferes. His movements are sluggish, a perpetual frown plastered on his face as he tries holding Sekido down. 

Aizetsu wants to dissolve into the floor, and he does sometimes. Not wanting to fight Sekido off anymore, he slumps over. 

This could've been a regular day where you came home.. Are you serious? Leaving? How pitiful could you be to actually think you could get away? Or was it that you wanted to play some sick joke on them? Well, it's not very funny... It's terrible actually.

Aizetsu stays silent on the way home, walking with a bit more energy knowing you're near despite his heart ache.

You can feel the harrowing disappointment radiating off of him the moment you all go back home.

He's tired, annoyed, and so unbelievably upset. Aizetsu grimaced when Urogi got near your scratches with his tongue, so he “politely” ushered him away. 

Knowing a human's weak points is good in battle, but he started trying to learn how to heal them, specifically because he knew these types of things might happen.

As he cleans your scratches, he's actively scolding you for leaving in a cold emotionless tone. And by scolding, he's using manipulative language, trying to make you guilty for everything you did. 

He barely has the energy to live, but now that he finally found his light in the darkness, you want to leave? Is it so wrong he wants to hold onto what makes him even a smidgen happier than usual? He reminds you that he'll wither away without you, but he's not really too keen on dying just yet.

When he tries to get back into a routine, he just can't. He knows why you left, but he doesn't want to hear it. Even if you're sweet to him or not, he'll hold you from behind when you rest.

Looking at you is too much, but being away from you is even worse. Aizetsu compromises this way, but gets quieter, occasionally sniffling when he hides his face behind you.

There's too much going on and he's so tired.. If it weren't for the others, he probably would've held you so tight for so long so that you both would perish together.

Maybe that’s why he's only allowed to hold you when you're asleep. Just please don't do that again.. He NEEDS you. Please, please, please.

Safe to say you gave them a scare. When they double down on the protectiveness, living is ten times more difficult for EVERYBODY. when you lose their trust, it's pretty difficult to gain it back, but not impossible!!

Sekido and Urogi will always assume the worst if you're gone for too long while Karaku and Aizetsu give you a little more freedom until the others drag them along into their worries.

[skrunksthatwunk]

this could be kuwameshi if you guys would like. take my hand and trust me

[fishnchip3011]

everytime i actually open up sdv to play i get flashbanged with sebastian's white ass sprites because i always forget not everyone sees him as wasian💔 my current hc for him is half chinese (liable to change... but ik for sure he's half asian) but he is Not bilingual he can't rly speak or write the other language he can only understand it when listening but even then he's not very fluent LOL this is just turning into a sebastian hc post might as well go full out. to me sebastian Does have relationship experience but has been thru shitty ones in the past which is part of the reason why he's so pessimistic & brooding </3 and he'd hook up with ppl in zuzu city for a night for a while but it just made him feel shittier so he's stopped since ☝️ also people make him out to be way cooler than he actually is like yea sure he's kinda cool but he's also a Massive Loser especially when he tells you how he hates "seasonal fads" like pumpkin spice and that one line about the potluck soup where he's like "Why ruin the potluck? Hmm... I guess some people feel liberated when the rigid structures of society break down a little. Maybe I'm weird.” WHO ASKED😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 his ass also can NOT cook he can make spaghetti but it's mid. he probably has low ass stamina and yeah he's tall and lanky (rn i see him as around 5'9-5'10) but you could snap him in half over your knee. when he's in an actually healthy relationship he gets really flustered over certain romantic gestures cuz he's not used to feeling valued or being considered someone's #1. he picks up on little things and does acts of service but i also think he can be really callous and insensitive at times because while he can be pretty perceptive he is also Very Emotionally Stunted. he unlearns lots of unhealthy behaviors & mindsets with the help of his partner & family & friends ^__^