#and I have been clinging onto my trust in him by a fucking thread

[sassmill]

I can take malice. I can understand malice. Malice is obvious and has actual intention. What I cannot fucking stand is being uncomfortable with upsetting people and lying to your part-time employees and dumping the hard part on me after explicitly agreeing to break the bad news for me since it was YOU that handed down the decision that throws a bunch of hard work out the window and screws over our employees, NOT ME.

[figs-oliomedley]

March of the Oni good

@ninja-guy-yo​ ‘s post about Crystalized got me thinking about how good of a sendoff March of the Oni was. It wrapped up all the main characters’ story arcs while giving them all something to do.

Lloyd Fresh off the heels of Hunted and SoG, Lloyd initially doesn’t trust a word his father says. But when they get 1-on-1 time on the Bounty and in the city, whenever Garmadon shows the smallest hint of humanity (saving Lloyd from an Oni, looking wistfully at a pic of his past self), Lloyd immediately clings onto it, looking for the good in him that Garmadon swears doesn’t exist. He only backpedals whenever Garmadon does, angstily claiming “fine, he doesn’t care either >:’I” in an attempt to mask and push down his own feelings as well (it doesn’t work lol he’s too sweet). I think the perfect summation of their relationship is the scene on the Bounty. Garmadon looks at a past picture of him and Lloyd, struggling to remember the memory and what it felt like before ultimately brushing his feelings aside and throwing the image, cracking it and claiming that feelings of the past are useless to cling onto or something like that. Lloyd spitefully (angstily) yells back in agreement and throws the photograph in the trash, only to return a few seconds later and pull it out again. Despite everything Garmadon’s done to him, done to the world, Lloyd still loves and wants to trust his father (Crystalized FUCKED my boy what the fuck).

Jay Jay gets a subplot of trying ask Nya to be his Yang. After the rollercoaster of buildup and all the shit they and their relationship have been through, he’s finally ready to pop the question... iff he wasn’t so bad at it. In true Jay fashion he fusses over the “perfect moment” and getting it “just right”, his own awkwardness and anxiousness often contributing to ruining the mood (though his horrible timing doesn’t help either). He finally asks her in the final episode, and it’s a very nice cherry on top of their relationship that’s been building since before Season 1. He finally found the confidence to ask Nya while being himself, wrapping a bow on this ongoing plot thread in a heart-wrenching way (look I’ve been a Jaya fan ever since I was a kid, that scene hit me hard).

Pixal Pixal gets the chance to be badass as she dives head-first into a cloud-covered Ninjago City to save Lloyd and Garmadon, risking her life while she burns through her suit’s fuel above the cloud. Without her being there, the ninja wouldn’t have been able to save the others at the NGTV news building while also getting the Garmadons out of there. The scene where she narrowly avoids the building is so cool because like, they could’ve just had her miss the building. It would have been easier to animate, as they wouldn’t have had to worry about the effects of the sparks, or the Garmadons reacting to the impact, or the camera shaking and sound effects, or anything, but they did that for us. They had Pixal nearly collide with the building for dramatic effect and put in the extra work to really have us feel the tension. Just a really great moment for Pixal, she’s come such a long way from Season 3.

Cole Cole’s role in this season is actually HUGE, WAY bigger than you’d initially think. After his fearful encounter with the Cloud and death fake out, you think, “oh that’s it, just a cheap trick to create an emotional reaction.” But NO! Cole’s supposed fall to the cloud is super important in the way the story splits after this. The loss of Cole creates a huge gap between Garmadon and the others, which leads to his introspection and question about the meaning of life. It leads to the moment between Kai and Nya, which is super emotional and sweet. Even when Cole is revealed to be unfrozen he gets to do something. By getting to his car outside the building, he forces himself to face his fear of the cloud, harkening back to his initial fear of dragons in the Pilots. He forces himself to confront his fear and risk asphyxiation for the sake of his friends who need him, and I dunno how to end this, I just think it’s really cool and neat. :>

Zane While not as big or impactful as the others, Zane gets a little moment when he tells off Garmadon for thinking he’d be the “logical one” as a Nindroid, instead getting the chance to display just how human he is. He isn’t just “the smart one” or “the robot”, he’s Zane, and he won’t just avoid greiving his friend just because he’s the most “”intelligent””. This defiant stand is a real culmination of Zane’s identity problems.

Nya Nya gets a sweet moment with Kai after she blames herself for Cole’s fall. It’s probably the first genuinely good sibling moment they’ve had since like, ever. Kai comforts Nya in his own Kai way, stumbling over his words but still managing to say the things she needed to hear. After the encouragement, Nya then gets the idea to recreate the golden weapons. There’s a really nice comedic moment when she’s explaining it to Kai, who doesn’t quite get it the first few times, but after he does, she turns the encouragement back on him when he doubts that his blacksmithing skills could recreate the weapons. It’s a really sweet moment where both siblings contribute emotionally to the conversation and perfectly leads into the recreation of the weapons while acknowledging and discussing Nya’s guilt. She also gets a cool moment with Pixal as they speed towards each other, claiming “I’m not gonna lose another one today!” Fuck yeah girlbosses fuck it up

Kai The main man who’s no longer the main man and keeps getting sidelined lol. Ignoring Kai’s visceral reaction to Cole falling (I don’t think I could take it right now that scene is really good), Kai returning to blacksmithing after 10 seasons is a really, REALLY good way of having things come full circle. It perfectly shows just how far he’s come as a character by having the patience and experience to recreate these important and powerful weapons. Some may find it bogus or whatever, but in the pilots, the advice Nya gives to him while blacksmithing is to “be patient”. While Kai still has the firecracker energy sometimes, he’s grown, and now knows how to stifle and control the fire when he needs to, slowly and meticulously working to recreate the golden weapons. It is just, such a good way to circle back to the beginning of his journey and the entire series as a whole guys you have no idea.

Garmadon Evil daddio himself. At first you think, haha, this’ll be fun, Garmadon being a comedic and morbid foil to the ninja with his cynical take on life. But then after Cole’s “death” there’s a shift. Lloyd’s snap at him causes Garmadon to contemplate the real “meaning” of life. Up to this point there were a few hints that he’s not all evil, and the Cole event is what pushes him over the brink. They beautifully follow up on Garmadon failing to kill Lloyd during Hunted, being held back by feelings deep within his being, by showing him awkwardly trying to understand the others and be more “human”. The scene where he tries to smile at Lloyd becomes so much more sad and impactful when you realize that he wasn’t giving him a “haha I’m totally gonna betray you and run away just you watch”, it was a “you can trust me” smile. The way his attention holds on the picture of his past self is really impactful, and that conversation with Vinny man, *mwah* perfection incarnate, perfect blend of comedy and emotion, with a laid-back attitude thanks to Vinny’s way of speaking mixed with solemn contemplation thanks to the mood, music, and the stoic way Garmadon reacts, pure brilliance. And if you still didn’t get it, Omega taunts Garmadon for being more human than he lets on, trying to grapple (and in some cases, suppress) that side of himself that yearns to understand mortals that he pushed down in order to be an effective conqueror, but has been slowly coming to light.

And finally, the Monastery, the place where it all began. Having the fog start at ground level was the perfect way to ensure that the final stand be at the Monastery, high up on the mountain. The weapons are back, Cole reunites with the others, and everyone gets in a bit of butt-kicking before they’re forced inside. They once again believe this may be the end, reminiscent of their conversation in Season 2 when contemplating if this battle would be their last. Jay proposes to Nya and she accepts, which, <33333, and Lloyd gets the idea to try the Tornado of Creation against beings of Destruction, even getting Garmadon to join in (really cool to have Lloyd come up with the idea, since from the beginning he’s usually the one to offer a different point of view [the idea to look for the Serpentine underground]). There’s a really sweet moment where, as Garmadon’s watching the others begin the tornado, wondering is he should, or can, join in, he looks to the murals and sees the green Lloyd get covered by the darkness, hardening his resolve and finally spurring him into action (looking too far into it, but it’s also the first time he’s used his father’s art after being revived I think). After Lloyd meets the FSM and is brought back to life, there’s a sweet moment where the others bring him inside while talking with him, real found family stuff, you love to see it. Finally, before Garmadon leaves, he and his brother share a look, as Garmadon leaves. You don’t know where he’s going, but you get the sense that he isn’t going to bother them again, instead leaving to find his place in the world. Though him and Lloyd don’t make up by the end of MotO, I don’t think they could’ve satisfyingly with all the damage Garm’s done. But just standing by his son’s side once again is enough to signify that at least a little, their relationship is healing.  I could keep gushing about the final mural they make, the side characters we’ve gotten to know celebrating with them, the pan up to Firstborne, etc., but I think the scene speaks for itself. While a bit rocky in excution, March of the Oni was a perfect sendoff for Ninjago: Masters of Spinjitzu and the characters within it, giving each character an emotional and narrative contribution to the story while wrapping things up.

And then Season 11 opened with a fart joke :p

P. S. No hate to Season 11! I’m just joshing.

[starryocean]

finished reading So I’m a Spider/Kumo desu ga volume 15.

I know i’ve skipped a lot of volumes, and that i promised to get to them eventually...but I’ve kind of realized that that’s not gonna happen. at least not anytime soon. So I’m going to go ahead and talk about volume 15 since it’s the most recent one I’ve read, and when volume 16 comes out hopefully I’ll post my thoughts then too.

So, highlights: attempting to explain everything to everyone. Shun going through the Taboo menu, finally letting us know what it looks like and how it feels to have unlocked it. We did get an early glimpse of it in the anime, but even so it’s nice to finally have it actually appear on-screen in the text itself. I also liked that Natsume lived and was repentant about everything he did while still being himself, although I feel like it would have been more powerful if the LN kept the “Dreaming Boy” interlude from the WN, even if it doesn’t end with his death this time. The downtime in general for everyone to learn, process, and discuss everything was very nice. If it was all action again after just having had that big battle with Potimas, then I probably would have gotten frustrated with the narrative.

The bit where Sofia went and both managed to ruin the rest of the explanations and yet do them in a better way than White in some aspects was very funny, truth be told. As well as the fact that Sofia accidentally set people up for hope of returning only to let them down hard--all of that was very true to her character, as well as the fact that she did seem to express some guilt at having done so. I liked her self-awareness with regards to having been able to escape the thread at any point but not doing so because it would only get her into more trouble. That actually shows a bit of growth on her part, as well as the fact that she even tried to help White explain anyway. She’s getting a little less impulsive, a little more willing to help, but is still suffering from her egotism, Envy skill, and general lack of care about other people besides the ones she’s managed to get close to.

I also liked Phelmina’s characterization during the moments she shows up. Yuri still being creepy and super devoted even after not being brainwashed is good too. The scene where she casually self-harms is properly disturbing, although I’m not too sure on how it was handled. It definitely gives a lot more insight into her character and how she might have ended up as she did in this world--her having been suicidally depressed while living in Japan, then suddenly being thrust into a new world, and then being raised by a tightly-controlled church in service of a God who’s voice you can actually hear...that would have been something I could see someone clinging so strongly onto in the absence of anything else that could help. Especially given the fact that therapy isn’t often used in Japan, and the only equivalent in the kind of “time period” the setting is supposed to be in is the church.

I’m also really, really happy that Shun reacted like a normal fucking human being when Sue drugged him and attempted to rape him. I swear that shouldn’t be such a low par to pass, but somehow it is and I’m glad kumo desu passed it. Shun being rightfully disturbed, unsure what to do, and also attempting to set hard boundaries with Sue and annoyed that she still took advantage of his kindness in trying to comfort her is the kind of reaction I would have expected out of anyone in that situation. Honestly I wish he did get angry and yell at her, especially considering what a hard breach of boundaries and trust that was, but it is true to his characterization that he’d just want to restrain her from doing anything else and settle things more calmly. His attempts to make Sue not as attached over the years and him being rather upset and second-guessing everything he did in light of that incident was pretty realistic too.

The only annoying bit about that whole thing was how it was played for laughs in the way Katia, Yuri, and Fei intervened and stopped it, but the fact that it played Shun being rather disturbed and upset about things straight helped. I guess maybe Okina Baba played it for laughs initially was to kind of lessen the impact of how fucking creepy and honestly horrifying that was that Sue went so far. Because there’s always been a sense of lightheartedness to Kumo desu even when horrible things are happening on-screen, I could see Okina Baba wanting to not go super hard like that while still making sure to treat it as a serious thing later. Not sure if I like it still, but it makes sense based on the general tone of the series.

(the details Tsukasa Kiryu did of Shun’s face while drugged, despite being contrasted with the “silly” panel below, also help create that impression in my mind. The way Kiryu did Shun’s expression definitely isn’t “funny,” and is actually quite creepy to look at. If he’d drawn it as one of those faces with spirals for eyes and an open mouth with a dip like it’s drooling, I’d be way angrier about the “playing for laughs” thing.)

The “World Quest” being done in stages is also cool, too. It’s kind of funny that D set it up to essentially be decided by popular vote, but the image the wording creates of people getting down on their knees and praying desperately for the salvation they want to happen is also very powerful. The fact that Dustin is well-versed in the skills needed to win an “election” like this, including dirty things like manipulating votes, is also a good use of his character and backstory. He’s already proven himself to be willing to use underhanded tactics to get what he wants done--it makes sense that he’d do the same thing with trying to get the outcome he desires.

The fact that Ariel also didn’t even bother trying to convince anyone to join her side and instead basically declared “I’m going to do what it takes no matter what, you can try and stop me if you want, but it won’t change anything because I would never have expected anything different from you people. Because you’re all guilty of having done the same thing before and that’s why we’re even in this fucking mess, so if you try and stop me it’ll just confirm everything I’ve already known to be true for so long” is also really powerful. She hasn’t had any expectations for humanity (of this world at least) to do or choose better for thousands of years. She’s been trying to fix things for thousands of years. Of course she’s not going to bother making a plea for support--humanity may as well be dead to her already.

All she cares about is saving the last of her family, whether Sariel wants it or not. She’s thrown away hundreds if not thousands of lives in pursuit of this goal already. She doesn’t have time to care about anything or anyone else, beyond her goals and the people she’s already gotten to help her. She’s on borrowed time and won’t live past a year. She’s out of fucks to give. So she’s going to do whatever it takes no matter what cuz fuck everyone else. Come at her if you want--you’ll just die for nothing, because Ariel already knows she’s going to win. She’s not accepting any other outcome.

Like damn. That moment hit me.

I honestly can’t think of anything else to say--I don’t really have any complaints? Shun stubbornly insisting on his idealism, while annoying, is still in character, and probably exacerbated by Taboo. Anything else I can think of that might ave irked me I’ve already discussed. I feel like it was a solid volume in general tbh. The only way I can think of the ending being disappointing like everyone on the kumo subreddit says it is, is if White and Ariel lose and lose badly despite everything they’ve worked so hard towards. Like I know there’s not going to be a good ending either way, but I’d rather it take the form of White and Ariel winning and the devastation of so many people dying being even worse than they’d already expected and having to live with the consequences in an uncertain future, than having thrown away all of the progress, all of the hard work, and basically everything to series was building up towards and dumping it straight into the garbage as part of the ending.

Especially given that I’ve heard the author said the WN was supposed to be the Bad Ending specifically, given that everyone is so much more horrible in the WN and things went so differently that the only way it could end is in tears, specifically because everyone is awful forever. Or something. I don’t really know because I don’t read the WN anymore because I refuse to suffer through turb0′s godawful translations just to get to the part where things are actually possible to comprehend. like. if the LN is already so much better and easier to read, why the hell would I make myself suffer through machine translation of the exact same story but with everyone having worse personalities and an even worse ending?

so yeah. the only thing I can think of that would make the ending actually bad at this point is like I said above--if the author threw away everything they were building towards and set it on fire instead of trying to get a satisfying conclusion. Okina Baba has proven to be a better author than that, and nothing that happened that was horrible ended up being for shock value so far, instead having an actual point, so I don’t see him doing that.

So that’s my thoughts on volume 15. again, no spoilers in comments or reblogs. I want to see the ending for myself and if anyone tells me how it goes before I get to read it, I’m going to be quite angry. This includes the WN, too.

Otherwise, feel free to tell me your own thoughts on this one.

[moonlit-jeno]

friends (m.)

pairing: lee jeno x fem reader

genre: explicit sexual content | omegaverse | heat sex | unprotected sex | some name calling

words: 3.6k

don’t like don’t read :)

“Your heat’s coming up.” Jeno says, point blank in between bites of his apple. You just nod, taking a break from your notes to side eye him. It’s not odd for him to know intimate details of your life- you do make sure to keep him updated on your cycle just so that he can send you the notes for the days you miss - but it’s not exactly a common subject for the two of you. “Who are you spending it with?”

There are still 13 powerpoint slides for you to grind through, but you figure a small break won’t hurt. Might as well use the conversation topic for something good, aka a reason to slam your laptop shut. You turn to Jeno, giving your best friend your full attention, and take the iced coffee right out of his hand. He doesn’t protest. “No idea. Would call Jaemin but he’s ‘found the one’ or something, so I’ll probably just spend it by myself.”

“By yourself?” Jeno’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline as if you’ve just admitted to committing a sin. It’s not like the concept isn’t unheard of, there’s a market full of toys to help you through it. “Isn’t that dangerous?” You shrug and take a sip of the coffee, offering him your smoothie in exchange. He takes a sip and then bites down on your straw. His entire face scrunches and he yanks his face away from the beverage. He pulls the straw up, inspecting the now soggy and dented object with disgust. “Fuck, what is this made out of?”

“Paper.” You huff a laugh out through your nose, taking your smoothie back. “And I mean, it’s not any more dangerous than spending your heat with the wrong person. Plus, my heats get kind of… intense.” If Jaemin sleeping for three days straight and limping after is anything to go by, both parties take the short end of the stick. You’d felt so bad after and apologized to him profusely, but he had just thrown you his signature dazzling grin and told you that drowning in pussy was exactly the way he envisioned himself dying. He definitely didn’t complain about the brownies you’d baked him as a ‘thank you’, though.

“Spend your heat with me.” The bold request has your brain malfunctioning, at a loss for where to even start reacting to his statement. You just stare at him, mouth opening and closing repeatedly while he returns the gaze earnestly. “Look, it makes sense, right? I know you better than anyone, and you already trust me. Plus if they’re as intense as I’ve heard they are, you need someone there.”

You frown, opening your laptop up and staring blankly at the screen just to avoid having to look at Jeno. It does make sense to have him there with you, and it’s not like he’s the worst person to have sex with. Plenty of people around campus have delighted in talking about their nights with Jeno, dreamily telling you how lucky you are to have him and falling deaf to your insistence that the two of you aren’t like that. Plus, you’re not blind and even if you’re not the cute couple everyone thinks you are, you can admit that he’s hot.

“Wait, hang on. What do you mean ‘heard’ about? What shit is Na Jaemin saying?” Jeno’s shoulders shake with his laughter at your sudden concern. “I mean, he didn’t say anything, but that was kind of the problem. He didn’t show up to practice for like a week and when he finally did, he looked like he’d been mauled. Coach had to bench him.”

Your heart drops slightly at hearing that Jaemin’s soccer had been affected. He hadn’t told you that. “Oh.” The guilt must show on your face because Jeno is quickly soothing you, making sure to tell you that they all found Jaemin’s state funny. “Okay, wait. Wouldn’t you have the same problem if you help me?”

“It’s off-season. So, what do you say?” Jeno waits for your response expectantly, eyes soft, curious. “You can say no, y/n. I don’t want to pressure you at all, I’m just letting you know that it’s an option.” “I’ll think about it.” And you do. A concerning amount.

You spend that night tossing and turning, trying and failing to shut your brain off. Worries about ruining your friendship and about hurting Jeno bounce around your brain no matter how much you try to stop thinking about it. What if something bad happens during it? What if you never talk again? And worst of all is your brain telling you that he doesn’t actually want you specifically, he just wants to be with an omega in heat. You’re just convenient. 

That thought actually makes you cry and you wrap your blankets even tighter around yourself, sobbing weakly into your pillows. In an effort to distract your wandering mind you grab for your phone, opening instagram to find an influx of dm’s from Jeno. It calms you a bit, the messages ranging from cute dogs to absolutely cursed memes, and you smile softly at the reminder that he’s your best friend, and that he definitely cares about you. Biting your lip, you hesitate for only a few moments before typing out a “you can help”, hitting send before you can second guess it. You lock your phone and set it face down on the dresser, thankfully finding sleep as soon as your head hits the pillow.

It’s hot when you wake up, clothes clinging to your skin uncomfortably. Peeling your shirt off only gives you relief for a moment but then the sticky heat is back full force. You whimper in misery, trying to snuggle back into your bed for at least some comfort, but you find that the corner of your fitted sheet has come up, the rest of your blankets on the floor. There’s only one pillow near you and it’s soaked in sweat. You panic slightly, frantically yanking your sheets back onto the bed and trying to fluff them up as much as possible, only calming down once the bedding has been fixed to your liking. Only once you’ve settled down in the plushness of your blankets do you have a moment of clarity.

“Oh shit.” You shoot up and search for your phone, dropping it once before finally managing to open the correct app. There’s a few messages from Jeno that you don’t bother looking at, going straight for the ‘call’ button. He picks up on the third ring.

“Hello?” He sounds groggy, like he’s just woken up, and a flash of heat runs through you at the low tone. “Why are you calling me at 5 a.m?”

You manage to stop fantasizing about your best friend long enough to choke out the word “Heat.” It comes out pathetic and whiny and you pause to clear your throat, trying to keep a clear head as well. “I’m sorry, my heat came early and I wanted to call you but you can go back to bed, I didn’t realize-”

“Fuck, okay, I’ll be over in 10.” Jeno cuts off your rambling with a swear, some rustling in the background accompanying his words. 

“Thank you.” You whisper, setting the phone down and curling up in bed, trying not to focus on how agonizingly slow the time is passing.

Jeno’s looking down at his shoes when you open the door, kicking idly at the door mat and fidgeting with the bag in his hands, though his head snaps up when he notices you. The smile on his face falters when he inhales, turns a little strained as he gets a taste of your heat, and you honestly give him props for the amount of restraint he has. It’s definitely more than you have, at least, because you’re on him the second he’s inside. He ends up sandwiched between you and the door, bag dangling precariously in one hand while he envelopes you in his strong arms. You don’t (can’t) do anything besides bury your face in his chest and whimper, knowing exactly what you want but being too needy and fuzzy to remedy it.  

“Jeno, it hurts.” You whimper and lift your face to nose along the skin just above the collar of his shirt, finding that while the skin to skin contact helps, it doesn’t fully relieve the heat scorching through you, the dull ache screaming for Jeno to take you already. “Please…” He holds you closer to his chest, encasing you fully in his scent, and picks you up bridal style. “I’ve got you baby, don’t worry.”

Being around Jeno does help to ease your stress, but it also serves to make you needier. The warm scent that you’ve grown to associate with the man is stronger than you’ve ever smelled it and it’s making you lose your mind more and more by the second. You’re worried that you’re drooling by the time he sets you down on your bed. He pauses to drop the bag he’s holding on the floor, and then he’s on top of you, strong arms caging you in.

The first kiss is soft, chaste. It would be cute if you weren’t so fucking needy, but you are and it’s just not enough. Unsatisfied, you thread your fingers through his hair and tug, nipping at his bottom lip and tilting your head to the side to get a deeper angle. A groan rumbles in his chest and he returns the kiss with more intensity, trying to take control again. You don’t let him, even if every instinct in your body is screaming at you to just submit.

Jeno shifts on top of you, scooting so that he can fully lay down between your legs. You wrap your limbs around him on instinct, pulling him as close as you possibly can and- oh. The close proximity means that you feel everything when he grinds down, and the feeling of having him so close to where you need him has any semblance of control that you had draining out of your body. You gasp pitifully, annoyance clawing at you from the amount of fabric blocking you from what you want.

“Please,” You almost sob, tugging at his shirt while trying to grind your lower half against his, the pressure of his cock against your center making your eyes roll. Jeno pulls back to yank his shirt off and then he’s back, hands sliding down your body to your panties, tugging the fabric down as far as he can before he growls in frustration and just rips the fabric in half. 

“Shit, you’re so wet.” Jeno moans in awe, breaking the kiss yet again to marvel at your pussy. “Bet I could just slip right in.” He drags his fingers through the slick on your upper thighs, eyes glued between your legs. You’re just about to complain when he finally presses his fingers into you. The initial relief has you moaning sweetly, though it quickly turns to impatient pleas for his cock. You clench around his fingers, reaching a hand down to palm over where he strains against his sweats.

“I need you to fuck me.” You beg, looking at him with what you hope is a convincing expression. “Please Jen, I need you.” “You have me.” He promises you, flicking his wrist faster, curling his fingers just right. “I’m right here baby.” It’s sweet, and under normal circumstances it would be enough, but right now it’s not what you need and the frustration has you on the brink of tears.

You buck your hips and try to arch up as if it’ll magically make him slip in, but Jeno remains as patient and controlled as ever. It’s too hot and every part of your body is screaming for him to fuck you, for him to claim you, and his refusal is killing you. “Alpha please, I need you.”

He absolutely snarls, pinning down your wriggling body with one hand around your throat. The other hand stays between your legs where it continues to strike pleasure into every single nerve ending you have, adding to the fire already coursing through your veins. “What you need is to take what your Alpha’s giving you. You’re not in charge here, okay?” With his face pressed so close to yours you have no choice but to make direct eye contact, staring straight into the most intense gaze you’ve ever seen. His pupils are blown out so wide that his eyes are almost black. Unable to tear your eyes away and as if in a trance, you find yourself nodding. The corner of his mouth quirks up. “Good girl. Now listen to your Alpha and cum.”

It happens almost instantaneously, as if his words were directly connected to a trigger, your body exploding just as soon as the words leave his mouth. Your entire body locks up, mind going blank as the immense pleasure takes hold of you, leaving you clawing at his back and screaming silently into the air. 

The orgasm only serves to thicken the haze in your mind, clouding any thoughts that aren’t related to the Alpha above you and his cock. It takes a moment for your eyes to finally come back into focus enough to make out your surroundings, and you’re greeted by the sight of Jeno with his fingers in his mouth, sucking your essence off of his digits. You’re burning so hot, so much hotter than you think you’ve been before, and it’s hard for you to function. All you can think about is his cock.

“Please,” You beg, swatting at him weakly. “Alpha please, I need you so bad.”

There’s no way that Jeno isn’t being affected by the pheromones clouding the air, but he manages to appear unbothered, his actions rough but nowhere near as desperate as yours. He just laughs lightly at your begging. “Aww, baby needs me?” The rhetorical question is punctuated by a slap, his hand coming down on your pussy hard enough to draw a yelp from you, thighs closing on his hand in a conflicting attempt to relieve the pressure from the hit and keep his hand on your cunt. He laughs meanly and pulls his hand away, drawing back slightly to spit onto your already soaking pussy, rubbing the spit into your skin while he talks. “This pussy belongs to me, yeah? You’re mine now.” Jeno leans down, mouth at your neck so that he can bite at the skin. “That means that I can do whatever I want with you.” You can’t speak, can’t even begin to think about what you should say in this situation. He presses a kiss to your jaw before pulling back and uses his free hand to turn your head so that you make eye contact with him. “Tell Alpha what you need.” “Need Alpha in me.” You beg, plead, flipping yourself over onto your hands and knees and arching your back, presenting yourself to him. “Need your knot, need you to fill me up, breed me, Alpha please-” Your sentence is cut off by his cock slamming into you, the filthy sound being drowned out by his groan. You gasp in relief, breathy thank you’s leaving you with each powerful thrust he delivers. His cock stretches you out so well, makes you go dizzy with the relief of finally having him in you. Your elbows give out nearly instantly, your chest hitting the mattress, and Jeno takes instant advantage of the new position to pull your hips even higher into the air.

It’s so good- almost too good- and it leaves you drooling and clawing at the sheets. All you can focus on is how well he’s fucking you, how he’s going to fill you up so well, breed you like he was meant to. 

You scream when he pulls out, alarm bells going off as your body instantly protests. It only lasts a second though, Jeno’s hands never leaving your body as he flips you onto your back. 

“Couldn’t see you,” Jeno pants out, dropping a kiss to the corner of your mouth and pushing back in, returning back to the brutal rhythm he had before. It has your eyes rolling in your head at how fucking good he feels. “My pretty baby, taking everything I give her.” 

He’s got you so fucked out that you don’t even realize your tongue is hanging out of your mouth until he pinches it between his thumb and index finger, pulling it out even more. “You love my cock, hmm? You love everything I give you.” The pad of his thumb rubs over your tongue, the sensation making your toes curl and tears slide down your cheeks. “Such a fucking needy omega, isn’t that right?” He tugs on your tongue, your head following his actions as he leads you into nodding.

Jeno laughs and lets go of your tongue, dropping his face down to kiss at your neck. He sucks mark after mark into your skin, licking over each one to soothe it after, until he finally gets to your most sensitive, vulnerable spot. Even just the feeling of him close to your mating mark has your entire body aching for it, your neck craning to the side and pushing into his touch. The leverage you get from your legs wrapped around his waist has him pushing even deeper into you and you can feel his knot at your entrance, not quite fully swollen but definitely getting there. It has you absolutely keening, the thought of being so totally owned making you desperate.The sweet drag of his cock along your walls paired with the absolute filth he’s spewing has your body locking up with no warning, your orgasm ripping through you. You arch off the bed, the action only pushing you further onto his cock.

“God y/n, fuck!” Jeno curses, slamming his hips into you with even more force, his knot popping into your entrance and forcing the neediest sound you’ve ever made to leave your lips. You desperately wrap your limbs around him, trying to get him even closer, digging your heels into his ass to push him further inside. He grinds his hips against you one, two, three more times before he shudders, teeth clamping down right on your sweet spot as he comes. Jeno seems to come forever, filling you up with delicious warmth, making your body purr in satisfaction. He finally comes down, having the clarity of mind to tip the two of you onto your sides so that he doesn’t crush you when he collapses. He still tugs you close, arm thrown around your body possessively, his chin resting atop of your head.

“Told you it was intense.” You laugh out, trying to break the silence in the room. The heat’s subsided for now, but you’re still barely in your mind, and you have no idea how long the break will last. 

He huffs out a laugh, chest shaking against you. “I understand Jaemin now.” His hand pets over your back, sliding up to the back of your neck and scratching lightly at the skin there. “You alright?” “Mhmm, yeah. Perfect.” His fingertips press lightly against the mating mark, sending sparks shooting down your spine, and it has your head spinning. You try to adjust yourself against him in an effort to keep your cool, but moving has his cock shifting inside of you and you sleepily grind against him, not thinking. Jeno hisses and tightens his grip on you to keep you still, but the way he grabs your leg has him shifting inside of you and pressing against all the right places. Heat floods through you and your grinding turns more urgent. 

“Ohgod,” You moan, finding enough strength to push Jeno flat on his back. Your body has a mind of its own and you find yourself bouncing desperately on his cock. His knot has you locked into place and you’re barely able to move, but you can still swirl and grind your hips against him, feel the delicious friction of his knot against your entrance. “Alpha, it feels so good.”

“Fuck, look at you. So fucking knotdrunk, hmm? Can’t get enough.” Jeno shakes his head, laughs in a way that’s meant to mock you but it comes out strained. His hands are heavy on your ass, squeezing and slapping to feel the way it jiggles, to feel the way you clench around him with every hit. You throw your head back and let him do as he pleases, losing yourself entirely in how full you feel, in how good his knot feels in you. He buries his face into your chest, moving one hand from your ass to play with your tits, his mouth wasting no time in marking the delicate skin up. 

“Shit baby, gonna make me cum again.” His lips seal over your mating mark again in a sloppy kiss and that’s exactly the final push that you need, your eyes rolling back and your tongue lolling out as your cunt spasms around him, orgasm ripping through you almost painfully. Jeno groans as well, hand flying to your back to pull you as close as possible, and his knot pulses inside of you as you swear you feel more cum shoot out.

He shudders against you, tight grip finally relaxing, though he still keeps you anchored to his chest. You follow suit, collapsing against him. A tired moan leaves you and you let yourself relax, lips absentmindedly mouthing at his skin. His hand pets your back soothingly, touch heavy and sluggish, and the last thing you feel before you fall asleep is his lips on your forehead.

[marginalmadness]

Summer Nights 4/4

Pairing: Rabbit!Hybrid Jungkook x Y/N

Rating: Explicit

Genre: Hybrid!Fantasy, Romance, Fluff, Slowburn

Synopsis: A freak weather anomaly leads to a chance encounter with a rabbit-hybrid, and your kind nature results in you gaining a small, fluffy lodger, who questions your taste in television shows. It’s won’t be for long…will it?

Warnings/Tags: Heat/Mating cycles, Light Dom/Sub dynamics as part of JK’s heat, Marking, needy/possessive behaviour, edging, sex, oral (female receiving), an almost obscene amount of cum in this chapter, cumplay, biting, breeding talk, 

Author’s Note: And finally we get to the good-good. This chapter grew in the editing, much like Endymion did by like 1/3rd, so there’s extra porn in here from what I originally wrote lol. I’m always afraid it’s going to get boring or repetitive but @johobi​ loved it and that’s good enough for me, and I hope you all enjoy it too! Thank you for coming on this journey with me, and for your patience and understanding as I blue-balled you for three weeks  💜 I also quote one of my favourite TV shows in this chapter, first one to find it gets a free commission!

Previous Chapters: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Tags: @kookiebunny97​ @mintyrae​ @skswriting​ @jjkgumdxop @unicornbabylover​

Word Count: 7K

Disclaimer: This is a work of fan fiction for entertainment purposes only. The events depicted here are entirely of my own imagining, and have no basis on actual people or events.

Summer Nights: Chapter Four

“I—w-want… you—” you stutter, and his hand slips from your hair to grip your chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Say it,” he growls.

“Inside me.”

Your chest heaves. Your walls clench around nothing as you imagine how good he’s going to feel thrusting into you. It’s hard to ignore the wetness sliding from you.

“Good girl.” Jungkook smiles, letting go of your chin.

He sits back on his haunches, grabbing you by the knee and sliding one arm under the small of your back to pull you onto his lap as he moves. You shudder as he wraps your legs around his slim, sculpted waist. His firm, warm hand slides up your thigh towards your entrance, thumb stroking over your clit once—twice—before he takes himself in hand and presses the head of his cock into your heat.

You lean up on your elbows, threading your fingers into his hair to pull him down into a demanding kiss. You tease his lips with the tip of your tongue, licking your way inside and he more than happily opens up for you. You slide your lithe tongue against his, both of you smiling into the kiss before you pull back, pecking his nose and rubbing it with your own. “I want you inside me,” you whisper, forehead pressed to his, eyes tightly screwed closed.

“Baby, look at me.” Jungkook’s voice is soft but gruff; it’s a command. You force your eyes to open, blinking up into the dark, tumultuous depths that peer back at you. His eyes are alight with passion and lust, and something underneath it all that takes your breath away.

“I want you inside of me, Koo.” You nod, trying to express all the affection, longing and trust you feel for him in one gaze.

Jungkook slides into you easily, yet torturously slow. You gasp at the intrusion, wet enough that there’s no resistance or pain. It’s just sweet pleasure as he stretches you, pressing and pulsing against your walls.

“Oh my go—” you gasp, falling backwards and clawing at his forearms. “You’re so—” His cock feels amazing; not too long, but the girth—holy shit, the girth. He’s perfect. A flushed, bulbous head tops a thick shaft that thickens even further towards the base. The deeper he pushes into you, the more he stretches you. His large hand struggles to wrap around its root, and now it’s buried deep, deep inside you. Jungkook stretches you enough that you feel every vein, every throb, every press of his thick tip against that spot inside you.

He pulls out just as slowly, the only sound in the room the laboured sound of your breathing and the slick sounds of him moving within you. Jungkook holds the tip of himself inside you, waiting for something, and as soon as your eyes flick up to his, he thrusts. Hard.

Once.

Twice.

Again and again and again and again, all you can do is hold on, nails digging into his skin. You suddenly have a full appreciation for the phrase fucking like bunnies, because he is pounding into you so hard and fast you can feel your juices being forced out by his cock. Can feel them coating Jungkook’s thighs, making them slick and sticky, but he doesn’t seem to care. Your orgasm builds rapidly, liquid warmth spreading outward from your core, down your legs, up your spine. The hairs at the nape of your neck tingle; you’re so close. 

And suddenly your pussy is being filled.

“Darling—ah—!” Jungkook cries as scorching hot liquid coats your walls. He collapses to your chest, huffing and growling against it as he continues to roll his hips, emptying himself deep inside you. You frown, upset at another missed orgasm, when Jungkook delicately moves you onto the mattress.

He looms over you, breathing heavily, the same predatory look in his eyes as before. You glance down to where you’re still connected, legs still wrapped around his waist, and you realise he’s still hard despite the fact he just came.

“Oh,” you whisper, eyes wide. You glance back up at him. As soon as you do, Jungkook is kissing you. A bruising kiss, biting and nibbling his way into your mouth, teeth tugging at your lower lip until you gasp and his tongue slides in.

It distracts you enough that you don’t notice the way he manipulates your legs, hooking them over his elbows until you’re exposed and spread wide before him. Jungkook pulls out, only to slam back into you with no time to adjust. The room fills with wet, obscene sounds. When you realise he’s fucking you through his own cum, heat rushes to your face. Your pussy must be an absolute mess. The depravity of it makes you lift your arms to conceal your blush.

“Don’t do that. I want to see,” Jungkook demands, settling back on his knees and repositioning your legs over his shoulders. He pulls your arms away from your face so he can lace your fingers together. The warmth of him helps you feel grounded. “Don’t hide yourself from me.” He squeezes your hands as he slams into you again, his dark eyes trained on your face. “Don’t ever hide yourself from me, please.”

“O-okay,” you gasp breathlessly as Jungkook pounds into you. “I pr-promise.” The grip on your hands gives him leverage to pull you into his thrusts, the angle and subtle curve of his cock perfect for hammering your g-spot. Each thrust makes you spasm, makes you lose control of the muscles in your thighs. You whine incessantly. Jungkook laughs as you lose yourself to pleasure, laying kisses and gentle nibbles on your ankle. Within minutes he’s coming again, grunting as he spills into you. Your cunt is starting to feel too full. A strange feeling indeed. You’re still yet to have an orgasm and you’re so damn close, so sensitive, that tears prickle your eyes.

Jungkook leans forward, staying inside you, staying hard. He tugs your legs around his waist and starts up a punishing, rolling grind, at odds with the gentleness with which he kisses the tears gathering on your lashes.

Finally, finally, finally.

The pressure against your clit, the thickness of his cock against your walls as his hips undulate; it’s too much. You cling to him as you explode around him, digging your nails into his muscled back.

“Jungkookie, I’m gonna—” you mewl, burying your face in his neck as you shake apart. Every muscle in your body trembles and twitches as electricity runs through it, crackling under your skin. You’ve been edged for so long, kept on the knifepoint of desperation, and now you’re free-falling. Your cunt tightens violently around Jungkook’s cock, grasping it, milking it until he’s growling. He gives you one last slam before emptying himself inside you for the third time. His cock pulses endlessly, coating your walls with ropes of sticky hot seed.

Cautiously, Jungkook slides out of you, cock finally flaccid. The heat in his eyes has diminished to an affectionate glow. Your sweet baby Koo is back for now. Your pussy feels overfull, like it’s ready to burst. You reach down to stroke your stomach and you swear you can feel his abundant cum bulging inside you, even though you know you can’t. Jungkook’s hand covers yours and he hums, flopping happily beside you. His fingers slide lower, over your mound and around your vulva, cupping it delicately. As though to keep everything inside.

“You’re so good for me,” Jungkook mumbles into your hair. “Taking me so well. Gonna breed you so good.” His tone is somewhere between a sigh and a growl and it makes you shiver in pleasure to hear him so possessive of you. “You’d look so beautiful, full and round with my kits.” He lays soft kisses against your temple, rubbing it with his nose.

You snuggle close to him, hands trailing up his chest to carefully cup his face and pull him down to you, demanding a proper kiss. You pull apart and he nudges you with his nose. “You feeling okay?” Jungkook asks softly. 

You nod, sucking his bottom lip into your mouth again. “I feel really full,” you whisper against his chin shyly before nipping it with your teeth.

“Full?” Jungkook asks, amused, and you continue to nod as your teeth work their way up his jaw.

“Full of you. I could—” You bite your lip, burying your face in his chest, hiding though your face burns.

“Could what?” His voice deepens. “I asked you not to do that.” There’s a rumble in his chest. And then his fingers are threading into your hair, pulling your head backwards so he can look at you as you speak. You can’t defy him. Don’t want to defy him.

“I could feel you filling me up, then pushing it out,” you whisper, your cheeks flushing in shame. Or arousal. Maybe both. “I could feel how slick and sticky it was as it spilled out of me and down my thighs and over yours. It felt messy.” 

Jungkook’s breath grows heavier, coming out in heavy pants. “Fuck,” he swears. “Fuck, I need to look.” He moves, shuffling around the nest until he’s kneeling between your legs, pushing them apart and spreading you open to him. “It’s everywhere.” His eyes roam over your core, the backs of your thighs. “Oh, shit. You smell amazing, love.” Jungkook falls forward, nuzzling his face into the juncture of your thigh and sniffing deeply. His voice grows rough. “Like both of us and sex and I’m getting hard again just from the scent. Fuck. Let me clean you up. Hold your legs for me, baby.” He shuffles even further back, getting into that comfortable loaf shape he loves so much. You grab your legs just behind the knees and whimper softly as he starts laying soft kisses and licks across the backs of your thighs. Nipping and sucking red marks into them. You watch the top of his head work between your legs, breath catching with the occasional glimpse of eye contact, as he intently watches your reaction.

When Jungkook is satisfied with the job he’s made of your thighs and you’re a squirming, whimpering mess, he hones in on your pussy. It pulses and contracts around nothing in its arousal, begging to be filled, his cum trickling toward the cleft of your ass. He separates your folds with his thumbs, exposing your deepest parts to him and giving you one last, heated look before he’s teasing your opening with his tongue. He pushes it in as deep as it will go, digging his seed out of you and swallowing it with a growl of satisfaction. With the flat of his tongue, he gives you a long, firm lick, dragging it over the flushed and swollen area. You flinch and cry out.

“What’s wrong?” Jungkook asks, eyes wide in panic.

“It’s too much… hurts,” you whine, wiggling your hips. “S-sensitive after you being so rough and filling me up.”

“I’m sorry,” he pouts.  His lips, shiny with both your juices, stretch into a wide grin. “You sounded like you were enjoying it at the time.” Jungkook quirks an eyebrow at you. “I’ll be gentle, I promise.” He pecks a kiss to the top of your pubic bone, trailing down to lay more at the soft crease of your thigh. His lips are soft and sticky, and so is his tongue when it arrives at your abused pussy. Jungkook dutifully cleans the mess created from your previous rounds, taking his time as though the act were some holy sacrament and it was his duty to carry it out. He alternates from side to side, between kisses and nose rubs, licks and gentle sucks against your skin. Jungkook performs this ritual thoroughly along your thighs and core, until there’s only one thing left. The thing he wanted all along.

The time Jungkook spends worshiping your pussy makes you feral. When he finally, gently dips his tongue into your cunt - just the tip - to tease you, you mewl, clutching at his head. Your fingers tangle into his soft brunette locks as he tongues at his reservoir of cum.

“P-please, Bun. Please don’t tease me,” you cry as your hips wind against the sheets. Jungkook swallows and growls against your open core, immediately diving back in, gentleness forgotten. He attacks your pussy like a man starved, his agile tongue probing and lapping, dragging his seed from you for consumption. Jungkook moans into your cunt like you are the finest delicacy he’s ever sampled. The vibrations send you spiraling, and before you know it you’re coming again. This time in his mouth. “Oh, God!”

Your hips buck wildly, your hands as fists in his hair. You grind your core against his face until your combined juices are flooding his mouth. Jungkook holds you steady, strong as he is, arms wrapped tightly around your waist, holding you in place so all you can do is arch your back and strain against the mattress. Your hips fight against Jungkook’s hold to rise of their own accord.

You come harder than you’ve ever come before and yet Jungkook’s tongue continues to lave against you, lips sucking with abandon. He’s like a wild animal; taking everything you have and demanding more. Every muscle in your body is taut and your slick paints his mouth and chin. But Jungkook is still not done. He licks and sucks, licks and sucks, pulling pleasured pain from you, dark eyes watching you smugly as you shatter on his tongue. You tremble, twitch in ways that are beyond your control as aftershocks run through you. You desperately seek respite but Jungkook is entranced by your messy cunt. 

“Mmmm. So beautiful, so sweet,” he murmurs, his licks becoming softer, if just as agonising. The flat of his tongue laps a broad stripe up your slit, only to flick your clit with the tip. You fight to push him off, no words available to you, no air in your lungs. Tears run down your face at the intensity of your orgasm and once you realise you’re not strong enough to push him off, you change tactics, pulling him towards you instead of away.

“Jungkooooooook, nonononono, it’s too much. Bun, please,” you cry, shudder and shake. You tug desperately on his hair.

It works.

Jungkook growls and stalks up your body, every inch of him thrumming with erotic purpose. Your fingers never leave his hair, pulling him to you, guiding him to where you want him.

The lower half of his face is shiny with your juices.

You want to taste him.

You want to taste yourself on him.

As soon as he’s level with you, he drops to his forearms and kisses you. Forces his tongue between your lips, demanding entrance, which you willingly give. Immediately your mouth is flooded with bitter, salty-sweet liquid. He pushes it into your mouth, sharing your mixed essences and you moan as his tongue fights with yours, your mouths full of each other on a carnal, intimate level. You enjoy the taste of both of you to an embarrassing level; it feels so forbidden, so taboo, and your cheeks burn with equal shame and arousal. You swallow everything he gives you, moving your lips to lick and suck at his chin, cleaning him of your own slick. The sound he makes is almost a purr as your clean-up progresses to the underside of his jaw. You’re so focused on pulling happy noises from him you don’t even notice when he wraps your legs around his hips. 

Until he slams into you in one, forceful thrust.

“Urgh, love, you’re so perfect. Taking me so easily,” Jungkook grunts. “I’m going to fill you u-up again.” Your hands move from his hair to hook under his arms, clinging to his shoulders, nails clawing into his back as the intensity overtakes you. You’re wrapped around him as much as you possibly can be, whimpering and shuddering in pleasure. Your poor, swollen pussy clenches around his thick girth, trying to cling to him, keep him inside you, claim him as he pounds into you mercilessly.

His pace is ruthless. The sound of skin on skin echoes in the room, drowning out your harsh panting. You feel your skin prickling, heating up with every slap of his hips as they hit the back of your thighs. Jungkook watches you as he fucks you, his gaze more intense than it’s been all night. All you can do is hold onto him, mouth open wordlessly, unable to vocalise much beyond unintelligible moans. It’s a struggle to breathe when he’s fucking you so, his cock stretching you deliciously, making you lose your mind.

Jungkook huffs out a small laugh. “Breathe, darling.” His long, floppy ears hang about his face, brushing your cheeks as he thrusts. 

It’s then that you recall something he previously said. 

Deviously, you trail a hand from his shoulders to his back, dragging your nails down his flawless, golden skin; just hard enough to leave gentle, red trails. Jungkook shudders, arching his back as he fucks you. Your real prize is the fluffy tail. The one he told you not to touch unless you were in the nest. Your fingers dig into the soft tuft of fur at the base of his spine, scratching gently like you would his ears.

The effect is immediate.

“Fuck,” Jungkook hisses from between his teeth, hips stuttering in their movements. He’s coming inside you again, sudden and unexpectedly. You giggle and continue playing, trailing your fingers through his tail, swirling the soft fur around your knuckles. You smile up at him as he practically vibrates. He comes for an obscenely long time, shuddering all the while.

“Found your weak spot, Bun,” you whisper. Like it’s some big secret.

Jungkook leans down, kissing you roughly, all swollen lips and nipping teeth. “You taste so fucking good with my cum in you. I want to eat you all day, all night. Breakfast, lunch and dinner. I’ll tie you to the bed. My tongue belongs in your pussy.” A hand finds its way into your hair, tightening its grip, pulling your head back. Exposing your neck to him. “The only thing you’re ever going to ride again is my face. Understand?” His voice is a deep, rumbling growl. You squeak out your agreement as his mouth attacks your throat. 

Your ambiguous consent isn’t good enough for Jungkook. 

You have no idea how, but he starts fucking you harder, piling more force behind each thrust, tilting his hips just right to hit that spot inside you as he pistons in and out. “I said, ‘Do. You. Understand?’”

“Ooh—uh—fuh—Kookie—!”  you wail helplessly, your throat raw as you struggle to drag enough air into your lungs. Pleasure builds threateningly between your legs. That's when he strikes. Jungkook thrusts, deep and hard, angling himself to grind against your clit as he winds his hips in a slow, sinuous roll, like waves on the ocean. His mouth attaches to your neck, teeth sinking in deep. He bites and licks and sucks; marking you. The pain is sweet, sends electricity surging to your pussy, making it explode. You can feel yourself tighten around him and Jungkook growls against your neck, pulsing inside you as he comes again.

“You’re so perfect,” he groans, lips never leaving your skin as he shudders through his milking. Your orgasm lasts longer than any you’ve had before. You tremble against him for what seems like hours, his arms holding you steady as he continues to languidly fuck into you. He goes slow and deep, his cock never softening as he moves his mouth to a different part of your neck. You whimper when he switches sides, latching onto a patch of skin just below your ear that would be incredibly difficult to hide.

You feel like you’re having an out of body experience. As Jungkook rolls his hips into you, you continue to ride the high of your orgasm, your entire body weightless. Where he touches you, static electricity dances across your skin; everywhere his hands skim, everywhere his lips touch. He never lets up on your neck, sucking and licking and biting. You’re perfect, you’re perfect, you’re perfect he chants against your skin, working his way down your chest and leaving blooming bruises in his wake. Pleasure continues to wash over you, needlelike in intensity. Tears spill from your eyes; you want to cry out, to yell, but you can’t. Your mouth opens in a silent scream as you thrash against the bed, hands reaching out to grab at anything to ground you. Vaguely, you feel heat flood you again as Jungkook pumps you full of his seed once more.

“Ah!” he cries, somewhere between a sob and a sigh.

He shifts until he has you by the hips and resumes his thrusting without so much as a pause. You can scarcely believe it. His nose trails your midriff to your navel, bunny teeth nibbling the skin around your belly-button. A meandering flower path of vibrant bruises marks you from your neck downwards. Jungkook sits back, muscles rippling, pulling you flush to him. The feeling of floating finally abandons you, your entire body tingles and shivers like it’s been doused in ice water. All sensation rushes down to one singular place; between your legs. Jungkook slams his hips into you, hard and fast, hard and fast. He wraps an arm around your lower back, lifting you, suspending you in the air as he continues to fuck into you with a fury. Again and again. Unrelenting. Your arms flail, desperate for something to hold on to.

“I need to fill you. I need to breed you and you’re going to take everything I give you,” Jungkook grinds out, teeth gritted.

“Yes,” you gasp, forcing the words out. “Fill me. Breed me. I want it, want you,” you sob, covering your face. But Jungkook moves your arm, pinning it above your head, forcing the angle deeper. He stares at you as he fucks your cunt, challenging you. You’re desperate to look away, but you can’t. The intensity of his eyes, the set of his jaw, the sweat dripping down his face. All framed by long ears and damp curls.

It’s impossible to look away from him.

You reach up to pull him into a kiss. It’s open and messy; he’s using most of his focus to fuck you.

“Up, up, I want to be up,” you demand. The hand pinning your wrist to the mattress slides downward and secures your shoulders, lifting you onto his lap with ease. You wrap your arms around him, nuzzling his ears as he readjusts his hold on you to fuck up into you. The change in position provides constant friction to your clit. Your poor, engorged clit that’s been subjected to so much tonight. The curve of Jungkook's cock rubs against your front wall, caressing your similarly sensitive g-spot. His stunning display of strength to hold you up while fucking you makes your pussy clench and gush around his length. You know he’s fit; know he’s stronger than he lets on, but the fact he can lift you and throw you around like it’s nothing has you weak for him; makes you shudder in his arms. You kiss his ears which twitch and flick, and he returns in kind by nibbling along your shoulders, moaning thanks to your endeavours. You score his back with your nails, leaving more marks. Jungkook lifts his head and nudges you with his nose, biting at your bottom lip.

“Mark me,” he growls between thrusts.

“What?” you gasp, frowning in confusion. He can’t be serious. Marking is an incredibly personal thing. You understand Jungkook does it because he has urges; urges he can’t control. But you don’t. 

He’s choosing this.

“Do it properly, don’t tease.” Jungkook smirks, kissing you. “Mark me.” He tilts his head to the side, flicking his ear and hair out of the way. You look down, momentarily distracted by the way his abs contract and roll as he fucks you. But then your eyes travel up to land on his taut, sweat-covered neck. Leaning forward, you kiss it, licking and sucking something fierce. Jungkook starts to huff, sending hot puffs of air over your shoulder. His noises change, dwindle into more of a whimper, his hips stuttering the harder you press your teeth into his skin and hum. As you worship his neck with your tongue and teeth, you drag your nails up and down his back, leaving scratches in your wake, rather than just red marks.

Jungkook whines and grunts under your rough treatment; you can feel his cock throbbing inside you as he prepares to empty himself into you once again. You place your teeth against his neck and reach down around his waist to play with his cute, fluffy bunny tail. You twirl the fur around your fingers as you hum, the vibrations from your teeth travelling directly to Jungkook’s neck. And then you go for the kill. You dig in your nails and scratch, scratch, scratch as you bite down harder.

Jungkook malfunctions.

His body stops, going tense, every muscle taut and straining, trembling almost imperceptibly. You feel him release inside you, hot thick spurts of seed that fill you to the brim; that squash and spill out of you as he fucks you. His tremors become a violent shake, an internal quake that starts in his lower back and travels up through his arms. They clamp around you like tempered steel. The shuddering throws off his thrusts and ruins his rhythm until he can’t maintain it anymore. Jungkook convulses erratically, his cock dancing inside you in very interesting ways. The tremors travel down his legs, reaching his knees and making them weak.

“Gghh—haaah!” He cries out, half way between a groan and a yelp. As he falls backwards to the bed, he takes you with him.

Jungkook lays under you, quivering, his eyes closed and nose twitching. Long, floppy ears flutter against your face as he whimpers softly. You can feel his fingers flexing, twitching spontaneously against your back as his hold on you loosens. You hold your weight in your forearms  so as not to crush him in his vulnerable state. You lean over him, not knowing what to do. Jungkook just lays there, unmoving, nothing but involuntarily spasms. Did you break him?

“Bun?” you ask quietly, but he’s unresponsive, “Kookie? Jungkook?” You push yourself up into a sitting position as best you can with your legs trapped under him. His arms fall limply to his sides. 

You gasp when you realise he’s still hard inside of you.

Your eyes dart around. You bite your lip. Is this normal? Maybe you should have researched rabbit hybrid heats before you shared Jungkook’s. But just as you consider moving, his eyes slowly blink open until he’s looking at you from under heavy lids. Slowly he lifts his hands to skim over your thighs, and you shudder. Even after everything his hands feel incredible against your skin; you never want him to stop touching you.

Jungkook’s strength returns to him, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips to hold you tightly. And then he’s rolling his hips, thrusting into you with renewed determination. Slowly at first, picking up speed, picking up force until he’s pounding up into your pussy at a pace so punishing he’s lifting you off the bed. You can feel how sticky, messy and wet your cunt is; can hear it over the heavy breathing in the room. You lean forward, placing your hands on his chest to steady yourself.

“Please Jungkookie, I need to cum. I need it. I need you,” you sob, nails digging into his chest as pleasure wracks through you.

His face doesn’t change, but his soft, kiss-swollen lips part slightly as he pants in effort. You bite your bottom lip as you watch him, your orgasm building, liquid heat accumulating in your core once again. Your fingers, slippery with sweat, catch on his nipple when you try to readjust your grip. Jungkook whines so you do it again experimentally, digging a nail into his nipple until his hips falter. You drag it across the stiff peak, catching on it and pulling hard. His breath comes in pants as his thrusts become more forceful, more erratic. It’s only seconds before heat explodes out around you, white noise ringing in your head as you come hard and fast. You bend forward, your mouth latching onto his nipple, the sudden touch of teeth pushing Jungkook over the edge. He releases into you again, so forcefully it pushes the previous offering out of your over-stuffed cunt. Cum seeps out around the base of his throbbing cock.

You lick and kiss the abused nipple as an apology. And as if by some miracle, Jungkook finally softens and slips out of you.

“Holy shit,” you sigh, resting your cheek against his chest, a finger idly wandering around the spit-slicked, peaked flesh. Jungkook giggles somewhat hysterically.

He flips you onto your back, pulling a pillow from the nest wall and pushing it under your hips to raise them. Noticing your shuddering, Jungkook grabs a blanket and throws it over you.  It’s a sweet gesture, but you’re not shivering because you’re cold. You’re shivering because he just fucked your brains out and you feel like a human water balloon while this full of cum. He curls up beside you, throwing an arm over your chest and reaching up to stroke your hair. His nose finds your ear to nuzzle. He hums happily throughout your afterglow, caressing your hair, nosing your jaw, chin, cheek and temple to scent you. Gentle, reassuring words of you’re so good and such a good mama for my kits filter through your ears. 

And in the comfort of his arms, utterly exhausted, you drift off to sleep.

_ _ _

You slowly wake from your doze when you feel something cold and damp on your legs. You sit yourself up with a shake of your head, trying to clear it. Jungkook kneels between your legs in his pajama bottoms, wiping you down with a damp cloth.

“Sorry, didn’t want to wake you,” he says, smiling shyly and wrinkling his nose.

“It’s’kay,” you groan, sitting up. Everywhere aches. “How are you feeling?” you ask.

“Better. There may be another wave later, but the worst should be over.” Jungkook looks around the room awkwardly. “I should—I mean…” he trails off, playing with his ears. “I said some things. I should explain myself.”

“Don’t worry, I know it was just your heat talking,” you reassure him with a smile, even if part of you wished he meant it. Jungkook stares at you, eyes large and round, mouth falling open into a perfect ‘o’. 

He nods. “Yeah, I—I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” Bun mumbles, nibbling his bottom lip. He resumes the process of cleaning you and avoids your eyes.

“You didn’t. I don’t know if you noticed, but I played along.” You’re not sure what possesses you to say it, but you immediately regret it when his hand stills.

“I noticed,” Jungkook says with a glance at you, his neck flushing red. He coughs awkwardly before resuming his cleaning. “I made food; just a simple omelette,” he diverts, reaching out of the nest to grab the plate. A forkful of omelette is extended to you, to feed you. You smile fondly at him as you gladly accept the offering. You try not to read too much into it; he’s just taking care of you because it’s his heat and you’re his partner right now. You’re in his nest, too, and in his nest, it’s his instinct to take care of you.

You carefully watch his face, entranced by his focus. Entranced by how much care he takes in everything he does. Jungkook looks up and catches you staring. You burst into laughter, as does he.

“Why are you staring at me?” He chuckles, feeding you more omelette.

“You’re very handsome,” you tease easily. “I’d be an idiot not to.” Jungkook scoffs and you grab his face, looking at him seriously. “You’re the most handsome person I’ve ever seen.” 

“Even with the ears?” he asks derisively.

“Especially with the ears.” You smile, reaching up to scratch one. His leg twitches and kicks out. Jungkook grabs your wrist, pulling it away from his ear with a giggle.

“Stop it!” He’s smiling, eyes full of stars again and you lean forward to kiss him softly. He’s hesitant at first, but soon gets lost in it. “Is this still okay?” Jungkook whispers against your lips, pecking you tenderly.

“Jungkook, I—” You swallow. “I didn’t do this just because it was your heat. I helped you because—because I want you. I’ve wanted you for a while, I was just scared to admit it. Scared I’d be taking advantage of you.” Your heart is pounding; you’re pretty sure Jungkook can hear it, but the look on his face is nothing but shock, eyes wide as he stares at you.

“Really?” he asks when he finally finds his voice. “It wasn’t just—you took me in when you found me in the rain, looked after me. You’ve looked after me ever since. Are you saying this wasn’t just you taking care of me again?” His voice is quiet, unsure.

You shake your head, running your fingers through his hair. “No, not at all. You’re so— you’ve been so…” You mull the words over. “Yes you’re handsome and the sex was good—” Jungkook quirks an eyebrow, then pouts. “GREAT!” you correct, and Jungkook snorts and ducks his head. “But I also want you. I want you singing in the kitchen in the morning, dancing in it at night as you make dinner. I want to keep arguing with you about what we watch on TV. I really love coming home to you at the end of a long work day so I can argue with you about what to watch on TV.” You laugh. “I want to take care of you, like you take care of me. I want to know about you, your past, where you’re from. I want your good days and your bad. I want to talk about your day, I want to talk about the future—” You stop and lick your lips, moving your hands to cup his face. “I just wanna talk because I like the sound of your voice.”

Jungkook smiles wide, leaning in to kiss you before pulling back and leaning his forehead against yours. “Then I think I should tell you everything,” he sighs.

You pull back slightly, your thumbs coming to caress his soft cheeks and you lean in to kiss him again. “If you’re ready, I’m listening,” you whisper against his lips.

“You’re going to think I’m crazy,” he says, staring deep into your eyes.

“Crazier than someone who finds a stray hybrid on the street and adopts it?” you ask with a nudge. Jungkook chuckles giddily. “Maybe we’re the right kind of crazy for each other?” Something about the question makes him sober and he takes a deep, shuddering breath before he starts talking.

“I live in one of the villages on the outskirts of the city, almost everyone there is a rabbit-hybrid. A few other hybrids, a few mundanes, but not many,” Jungkook explains, shuffling so he can pull your back to his bare chest and wrap his arms around your waist. He rests his chin on your shoulder and continues. “Everyone my age, everyone I grew up with - they’re settling down, thinking about starting families if they haven’t already...” he trails off.

“Everyone? You seem awfully young to be worried about something like that.”

You feel him shrug, burying his face in the crook of your neck to hide a blush you can’t even see. “We like to mate early.” Something warm and dangerous blooms in your chest. “Anyway, everyone was finding their mate; all my friends had either found one or found someone they were planning to mate with and I couldn’t—there was no one I… I couldn’t find—” Jungkook stutters, breath coming out in little gasps against your shoulder. You turn in his hold, finding him staring at you, eyes wide. You lift a hand to gently thumb the soft fur of his long, floppy ear. “I’d shared a couple of my heats with others, but other than that I was alone. I was watching all my friends fall in love and be happy and I wanted that more than anything. But I couldn’t find anyone. I even spent my heat before this one alone. There was no one in my village I wanted to spend it with.”

“I’m sorry you felt so alone,” you say, wrapping your arms around him and hugging him tightly.

“I wished upon a shooting star.” Jungkook ducks his head, hiding his eyes from you. “I wanted to find my mate. I didn’t want to be alone anymore.”

“What?” you ask, pulling back to look at him. He glances up at you, hiding behind his ears.

“I told you I’d sound crazy.” Jungkook smiles coyly. “I was sitting on a hilltop near my village. I liked sitting out there at night; it’s far enough away from the city that you can see more stars. I liked to imagine what it would be like to sit out there with my mate someday. Then there was a bright streak across the sky, and I closed my eyes and wished—wished I was with my mate. I must have fallen asleep after that, because the next thing I knew I was waking up in my rabbit form, cold and wet and under a bush. I ran out of it and there you were.” Jungkook lifts his head to look at you now, eyes sparkling as they dance around your face, trying to interpret your reaction. But all you feel is shock.

“How did you get there?” you ask, confused.

“I have no idea, I just woke up and found myself unable to change back.” He shrugs, arms tightening around you.

“So you were stuck in your rabbit form?” 

Jungkook nods in confirmation. “At first. The first few weeks. I didn’t know what was wrong, and when you picked me up I froze; it’s rabbit instinct. I hoped I could run later, but then I realised it was for real - you were caring for me. I thought, maybe—” Jungkook swallows, licking his lips, a large, warm hand reaching up to cup your cheek. “Maybe my wish had been granted. The longer I stayed, the more scared I became that you’d make me leave if you knew I could transform back. I only did it once to contact my family, to let my brothers know I was okay. The storm really did scare me back in my sleep,though, and I thought you were going to send me away. When you let me stay—” Jungkook leans forward and brushes his lips against yours. “I was so happy. So, so happy.” He lets out a shaky breath.

“Wow,” you whisper, turning back around to melt into his embrace.

“Are you mad? Do you think I’m crazy?” Bun asks, a waver in his voice as he presses his lips to your shoulder.

“I—I don’t know. I’m conflicted,” you answer honestly. His arms tighten around your middle as he tries to keep his breathing steady.

“About?” It’s a whisper, his lips grazing your skin like he’s too scared to ask. Too scared to hear the answer.

“I know I should be mad that you chose to stay here when you could have left at any time. I mean, you basically lied to me. But I can also understand why you did it.” You cover his arms with yours. “You were desperately lonely, and something strange happened. You thought this—this miracle happened. You’d be crazy not to take advantage of it.” You turn in his hold, delicately brushing his hair out of his face. “It’s kind of endearing to find out the hybrid I’ve grown so fond of is actually a big, sappy romantic.” Jungkook buries his nose in the nape of your neck and if the sigh he lets out sounds more like a sob of relief, you don’t mention it. “You really think I could be your mate?” you ask, sliding your hand along his toned forearm and entwining your fingers with his.

“I think I made that wish on the hilltop and woke to find someone who is kind, intelligent, beautiful and funny.” You hear the smile in his voice as his lips make their way across your shoulder. “I love how you wear sweaters three sizes too big. Cry at horror movies. Smile when you think I’m not looking.” Jungkook punctuates each point with a kiss. “I keep imagining you in my clothes. I love how you sing and dance when you’re doing chores.”

“You like my singing?” you laugh. You’ve never been accused of being a good singer, and when you look over your shoulder at him, you realise you’re still not.

“I love your enthusiasm when you sing and dance,” Jungkook states diplomatically, eyes filled with mischief. He dips his head to kiss your shoulder.

“You have a beautiful enough voice for both of us,” you say with a smile, slumping so you’re looking up at him and he’s looking down at you.

“I could have met a million different people in the city, but out of everyone, I meet you. Someone I want to make my mate,” he says cautiously, and you squeeze his hand. “You’ll let me stay?”

“You can stay for as long as you like,” you whisper softly, running your fingers over his.

“What if I never want to leave?” Jungkook teases with a smile, and you smile back up at him. 

“Then I guess you should make yourself at home,” you say softly. “Take me to that hilltop one night?”

Jungkook leans down and kisses you; a kiss that tastes like love and feels like a promise. “Try and stop me,” he whispers, smiling. 

And making himself at home is exactly what he did.

[sakusasbunny]

𝐟𝐢𝐱 𝐲𝐨𝐮.

“You’d always been such a troubled girl, haven’t you? Don’t worry, nii-chan will fix you”

pairing: sakusa x reader

cw: incest, spanking, degradation, manipulation, toxic relationship, dacryphilia, gaslighting (lmk if there’s anything i missed)

wc: ~1.6 k

a/n: i just wanted to say thank you so much again for 500+ followers!!! it means a lot, ily! (repost bc tumblr’s a bitch and didn’t show me in tags :))

m.list

“N-no! Stop I-” you struggled against Sakusa’s grasp, his big hands wrapping around your waist and bending you over his knee. Your cries were muffled as he shoved you into the couch. One hand restrained your arms behind your back as the other hiked your skirt up, bunching the material around your waist to reveal the cotton of your underwear.

“P-please, nii-chan, I didn’t mean to. I’m sor-”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence as a heavy hand cracked down on your ass. Tears brimmed your eyes as a scream tore through your throat.

Sounds of your cries echoed around the room as one excruciating slap after another was delivered to your ass, pushing your face further into the couch.

“Ngh… Nii-chan…” your voice came out meekly, “No more, please… It hurts.”

“Does it now?” Sakusa’s large hand gently caressed the curve of your ass, soothing the soft flesh red from impact. “You should have thought of that before acting like such-” smack “a fucking-” smack “brat.” smack.

Inarticulate pleas forced its way out of your mouth, begging him to stop. Fat droplets of tears streamed down your face. You could do nothing else but cry out in pain as you took your punishment.

It was simple, really. All you had to do was follow his house rules while you stayed in his apartment. Cleaning, making dinner, doting on him after a stressful day at work. It was all so simple. Perhaps he’d overestimated you; after all, you were still just his dumb little sister. Nothing had changed since you were kids—he's convinced himself—he would still have to look after you.

However, this was no longer acceptable. You weren’t kids anymore. Sooner or later, you’d have to learn your responsibilities to him.

Broken whimpers filled every corner of the room. Every strike was harder than the last.

“It won’t happen again, please…” you promised.

“How can I believe you, hm? You’ve been nothing but a brat since you got here,” He palmed your ass, the cool rings on his fingers soothing your burning skin, “This is the only way you’ll learn. You trust your nii-chan, don’t you?”

You faltered in your response—and that was enough for him to crack his hands across your already tender skin,  forcing a strained whimper into the couch beneath you.

Trembling breaths left your lips as you tried to keep yourself from groaning at the stinging pain crawling up your spine.

It’s too much, you thought, this is all too much.

“Your hesitation,” you could feel the warm puff of his breath on the shell of your ear as he leaned in dangerously close to you, “tells me everything I need to know. Now, get up.”

Sakusa freed your wrists from his grasp and you struggled to push yourself up, your arms too sore and numb from being restrained to hold up any sort of weight. He watched as you brought yourself up on two shaky legs, presenting yourself in front of him.

It was embarrassing.

His narrowed eyes trailed down and examined your body. Your blouse, which had been neatly tucked into your skirt, was now  wrinkled and disheveled as you lunged forward on the couch. Red abrasions bloomed across the supple skin of your face, a semi-permanent blush adorning your cheeks. The fabric of the couch had been too rough as your skin brushed against it.

Sakusa pushed himself off his spot on the couch and made his way towards you.

You flinched as he raised a hand, preparing for the impact that never came. Instead, a gentle hand cupped your face and rubbed soothing circles at the irritated skin of your cheeks. It felt nice. You’d all but forgotten how delicate he could be, nuzzling into his palm as you accepted his small embrace.

It didn’t last, however, as his hand dropped back down to his side. Only the ghost of his touch lingered on your skin before fading into the cold.

“After all I’ve done for you, is this how you repay me, hm? After I welcome you into my home with open arms, could you not follow such simple instructions that even a trained dog could do them?”

His words were harsh, nothing like the hand that previously caressed your cheek. Each word that left his lips cut deeper than the last.

It was a feeling you were unfamiliar with—one so painful that it overshadowed the stinging pain from when he had pinned you down and abused your soft skin. The ache had already faded to a dull throb.

You felt the crushing weight of the atmosphere around you. His disappointment was apparent and it felt unbearable as his dark eyes peered at you, radiating uncompromising scrutiny. Your head hung low in shame in a fruitless effort to avoid his fixed gaze. The only thing you could do was watch your tears as they fell to the floor.

“I really shouldn’t even bother with you anymore,” Sakusa let out an exasperated sigh, “What’s the point in keeping someone around who’s absolutely useless to me?”

That was the final blow to your fragile stage.

Your head shot up and even more tears clouded your vision.

No, no, no, no, no. He couldn’t do this to you. He can’t just leave you all by yourself. You needed him! You were nothing without him. You would mean nothing without him.

He had been your entire world, you realized. You always thought it was his world that revolved around you, an unshakeable presence that never strayed far, but as he tried to rip himself out of your life, you discovered that you’d been wrong.

You had always needed him. You jumped into his arms with every good news you received, in an obvious plea for his approval. You ran into his arms with every problem that faced you knowing that he was the only one who could bring you any meaningful comfort. He’d kiss you so sweetly, lay you down, and make it go away. Bring you pleasure that you were sure no other man but your brother could give you. No one knew you like he did.  

You would always be the one to seek him out.

You dropped to your knees and clung to his legs as hysterical cries erupted from your mouth.

“N-nii-san, ple-please, you can’t. Please don’t do this to me.” You pleaded as you looked up at him with bleary eyes. Tears stained his pant legs as you pressed the side of your face to his thighs, clutching at the fabric with desperate hands.

“I-I’ll do anything! I’ll be good for you, I pr- I promise,” Your words came out frantic as you spoke in between hiccups, “Just please don’t leave me, please, please, please. I need you!”

Sakusa felt his heart clench as you begged for him. Of course, he had no real intention of leaving you but he thoroughly enjoyed seeing how miserable you had been at the thought.

He almost felt bad, really, he did. But that didn’t stop the glimmer of amusement that hid behind his hardened gaze or the cruel smile that spread across his face. He watched as you nuzzled your face into the fabric of his pants, clinging onto him for dear life. So afraid that if you loosened your grip for just a little bit that he’d disappear from your grasp.

He enjoyed how much you seemed to idolize him. It may have been a cruel ploy, using your love for him as a means to bend your will, but he believed it to be necessary. It was just as you said, you needed him. He just wanted to help you realize it.

You’d been defying him too much recently. First, talking back to him, and lately, refusing to follow his orders, even ignoring a curfew he’d set out for you. He had received a phone call from you at an ungodly hour one night, too drunk to even form a sentence and that had been the last straw. What if something had happened to you? He couldn’t have that. Not to his precious little sister, no.

But he couldn’t really put all the blame on you. You were only a product of your environment. Your parents had always been too lenient on you. His father and mother had spoiled you rotten, never really disciplining you and only ever throwing money at all of your problems instead of teaching you how to fix them. He supposed he had them to thank for making you all too dependent on him but he needed you to be obedient for him.

So he’d decided to take it upon himself to teach you.

Did you not see? Everything he did for you was out of pure love! Did you think he wanted to hurt you? To hear your pretty screams as he held you down and spanked you? He took no pleasure in punishing you. No… All he wanted was for you to be safe with him. And what’s a better way to show you than cutting you off? Convincing you that you needed him, that you couldn’t live without him?

He threaded his fingers through your hair as he brushed the strands away from your face. Caressing your cheek with his thumb, he gently motioned for you to look up at him.

Long trails of black stained your flushed cheeks as your mascara ran down your face. He loved seeing you like this. Big, innocent eyes looking up at him, glazed over with adoration only a sister can have for her big brother. So desperate. So needy. So ruined. And all for him. Only for him.

Sakusa wanted to keep you like this forever.

“You’d always been such a troubled girl haven’t you?” It was a rhetorical question, one that he’d already known the answer to, but you nodded eagerly anyway, ecstatic at the soft tone he’s taken with you.

“Don’t worry, nii-chan will fix you.”

[hwangsies]

[10:56 pm]

lee minho x female reader (smut)

warnings: mentions of alcohol, piv, choking, magic wand (vibrator) play, fratboy!minho i guess lmaoo, dom!minho, slight degradation, praise, a little daddy kink (idk it just happend ufbiskhbi), slight dumbification, overstimulation, multiple orgasm

wc: 2.1 k

enjoy <3

-

You feel the buzz of the gin tonic you had ten minutes ago slowly make its way to your head.

The loud bass is pounding in your chest as you sway your hips to the music in the crowd that had formed itself in the middle of your boyfriends spacious frat house living room.

Wondering where the hell that boyfriend of yours was, you take out your phone to check if he sent you any messages, your body still moving.

As if on cue, a muscular torso presses itself into your back and a strong thigh wedges between your legs.

You gasped softly and clutch onto your phone.

“there you are” plump lips press against the shell of your ear, the whispers that are escaping them send shivers down your spine as a big grin etches across your face.

“I’ve been looking for you” your boyfriend continues, swiping your hair to one side of your neck, his signature grin detectable in his voice.

“I got here like 10 minutes ago” you lean your head back against his broad shoulder as his hands tighten around your waist.

Your lashes flutter and a shaky moan leaves your lips when his open lips press against your jugular.

“missed you” his wandering lips mumble, your hand reaching up into his brown locks as he grinds his hips into yours from behind.

“fuck- you did, huh?” you giggle shakily when you feel him get hard right above your ass.

Minho sucks the soft skin under your ear in between his lips and you feel his fingers digging into your hips; when you tighten your fist in his hair in response and roll your ass against his crotch he lets out a low growl.

The vibrations against your neck make you giggle and you feel your panties getting damper.

Releasing your skin with a soft pop, he twirls you around and steadies you with a strong grip on your waist.

“fuck” he mumbles before a smug grin tuggs at his lips and he leans down to roughly connect yours with his.

His tongue invades your mouth hurriedly as you cling onto his shoulders and deepen the kiss even more.

He had been away with felix and hyunjin to attend a dance competition on the other side of seoul and you didn’t get to see him for two weeks, until now.

One of his hands find its place underneath your jaw as he pulls you closer to him, you can feel how needy he is for you and it drives you crazy.

His groans are being swallowed by the intense kiss you’re sharing as your one hand moves down to clutch his shirt for dear life and the other one cards through his hair.

The adrenaline that minho triggers inside of you, rushes through your veins as your tongues roll against each others.

Once more, he kisses the corner of your mouth before travelling down your neck, his grip on the back of your neck holding your head angled back.

You moan when he starts sucking a bruise into your skin and lightly grazes his teeth over it, you’re loud enough for him to hear through the blasting music but not for anyone else.

He chuckles lowly at your heightened sensitivity, which comes with the heat of his body against yours, the alcohol and probably the fact of him not touching you in two weeks.

“seems like you missed me more” he quips and nips at the soft skin on the base of your neck.

“shut up, lets go upstairs” you manage to breathe out before his lips are on yours again.

“mm-okay” he grins against your lips, teeth clinking together and breathing heavily before he presses a last peck to your kiss swollen lips.

He grabs your smaller hand in his and leads you through the crowd before walking up the stairs to his bedroom.

Opening the door to his bedroom, he lets you walk in before closing the door behind himself.

“I have a surprise for you” he grins.

“oh no” you chuckle “why am I scared” he rolls his eyes playfully before walking around his bed and patting his sheets, signalling you to sit down.

SO, you sit down and look up at him.

“okay, close your eyes and hold out your hands” he grins when your frown.

“c’mon babyyy”

“ugh alright” you give in, holding out your hands and closing your eyes.

“okay” he mutters before gently placing something heavy and long into your hands.

“open them” minho suddenly says, startling you just a little.

You blink a few times before your eyes fall onto the big massage wand with a just as big bulbous head in your hands.

“wha” your eyes flicker in between it and your boyfriend “is this…?”

He snickers and lowers himself onto his bed as well, leaning into you and kissing your lips.

“I wanna use it on you” he whispers, cocking his brows up when you just stare back at him.

“okay” you blush furiously, never before used something of this size nor seen in real life.

“would you want that?” he asks, gently caressing your waist.

“yea- I just don’t know if I trust this thing” you huff, at which minho places a kiss to your cheek before moving to your ear.

“do you trust me?” he pulls back to look at your face, taking the large toy out of your hand and placing it next to himself.

“of course” you smile before he presses his lips to yours again, making you lay back down as he hovers over you.

He is quick to tug your jeans off your legs once your lift your hips for him, his fingers finding their place rubbing over your thinly clothed core.

Your head drops back onto the sheets as he circles your clit “minho” you moan, grabbing his face to connect your lips again.

“fuck” you moan when he flattens his hand over your core.

“can I use it on you?” he whispers into the skin below your ear.

“yes” you exhale without second thought, your boyfriend grins and reaches back for the wand.

Resting the big round head on your thigh, he flips the switch to the lowest setting.

Already pretty strong vibrations tickling the skin of your inner thigh as he moves the head up and down your skin.

You moan when he gets closer to the apex of your thighs but he moves away again, teasing you.

“please don’t tease” you pout earning yourself a smooch on your lips.

“just because you asked so nicely” he grins, gently lowering the vibrating wand onto your clit.

Your thighs jump at the first contact, head getting thrown back as a startled gasp leaves your lips followed by a drawn out moan.

“oh my g- fuck!” you cry out, grabbing onto your boyfriend who’s by your side, holding your legs apart.

“tell me how it feels babygirl” he sneers.

“so good oh fuck!” your eyes scrunch together when you quickly feel your high approaching, the vibrations hitting every sensitive spot you can think of.

“m’ gonna cum” you whine, clawing at his shirt.

“already?” he chuckles at which you nod desperately, locking eyes with him.

“cum, baby, let go” he groans when he sees your eyes roll back and your toes curl in pleasure.

You cry out when your orgasm hits you, shockwaves rushing through your body as minho gently rubs the wand up and down your core.

You flinch when the vibrations hit your clit again “ahh-shit” you groan.

“I know you can cum again, doll” he mumbles, gently circling the big wand now.

“fuck” you cry out “fuck fuck”

“that’s it, good girl” he kisses your temple when your thighs start shaking.

“yes-yes” you chant feeling your next high bubble up in the pit of your stomach.

“cum for me baby” he mutters, too caught up in how ethereal you look.

Head thrown back, sweat clinging to your neck, thighs shaking and your pretty lips with the pretty sounds they make.

The knot in your abdomen snaps and you cum again, trembling with the power your of high.

“you did so good babydoll” he kisses you after turning off the wand and lying it to the side.

You connect your lips and kiss him hard, his hand soothingly rubbing over your lower stomach.

“you gonna fuck me now?” you look up at him with doe eyes and he feels his cock twitch in his jeans.

“of course baby” he grins “be good and take off everything yea?” he eyes you pulling your shirt over your head before unclasping your bra as he stands up from his bed, ridding himself of his clothes as well.

“how do you want me?” you ask when he crawls above you again, palming one of your breasts.

“hmm” he thinks out loud, lowering his mouth onto your nipple, gently suckling it when you thread your fingers through his hair lovingly.

“on all fours baby” he mumbles when locking eyes, he doesn’t miss the excitement in your gaze, grinning “sound good?”

You nod “yes”

He moves so you have enough room to turn around, resting on your forearms and knees and sticking out your ass.

“so perfect” he mumbles, smoothing his hands down your back and leaving goosebumps in their wake.

“please” you wiggle your butt “please fuck me daddy” you whine, knowing full well what that name does to your boyfriend.

“fuck” is all you hear before you feel a smack land on your right butt cheek and his thick tip sliding through your soaked folds before pushing inside slowly.

Once he’s sure you’ve adjusted, his pace his ruthless.

His dancer hips not missing one beat as he snaps them against yours, leaning forward to press your whole torso against the mattress and holding your neck from behind.

Your cries are muffled but he feels how tightly you clench around him when he passes that one spot inside of you.

“you like it when daddy fucks you like this, yea?” he grits through his teeth, you can barely hear him over the sound of his balls smacking against your clit and your ass against his hips, not to mention your own heartbeat and moans.

Suddenly all friction stops and he bottoms out fully, leaving you clenching around nothing as a disgruntled whine leaves your lips.

Before you can look behind yourself, you get flipped onto your back.

The sight of your boyfriend almost knocks the air out of your lungs; his jaw is clenched, hair damp and sticking to his forehead, his chest and abs are glistening with sweat.

“cant even answer my question, hm?” he grunts, resting on his shins and lifting your hips before pushing inside of you again.

“no” you pout, hands scratching at his neck.

“no?” he huffs as he picks up his pace again “to drunk off my cock baby? is that it?”

Your eyes roll back when he spreads your legs and thrusts into your further “fuck” you whimper.

“huh?” he repeats, grabbing onto your jaw and making you open your eyes and hold his gaze.

“yes, yes” you cry out “love your cock”

Minho releases your jaw in favour for the abandoned wand next to him, flipping the switch again and pressing it to your clit.

He hisses at how tight you get all over sudden.

“fuck!” you yell at the intensity, pulling at the sheets.

“fuck, you’re so pretty when you’re cockhungry like this babygirl” he rambles.

“I love you “ you moan “love your cock- love you” you arch your neck when his other hand wraps around your neck.

“I love you baby” he groans, trying to hold off his own high but the way your walls suck him in and hold him hostage is almost too much.

“love how you get when I fuck you dumb” you lock eyes at his words, a cry tearing from your throat when he presses the wand harder against your clit and squeezes your neck.

“love it when you fuck- ah- fuck me dumb” you breathe, teetering on the edge of no return once again.

“yea?” minhos jaw cleches and his rhythm falters slighty, hinting that he’s close himself “you like being daddys dumb little baby girl?”

“yes- oh fuck yes” his words send you tumbling over the edge, you dig your nails into his forearm as you shake and cry out for him.

White pleasure blooms behind your lids when you feel minho twitch inside of you and release with a shudder and a drawn out moan.

He flops down next to you, switching off the wand before gently dropping it onto the ground.

“you good, love?” he looks over at you, flushed cheeks and a blissful smile on your lips.

“so good” your limbs still tingle when you turn to him.

“lets take a shower yea?” he kisses your browbone.

“alright” you sigh “in two minutes okay?” you suggest, snuggling into his chest and feeling your eyes droop, his warmth lulling you to sleep.

“yea” he holds you, his eyes closing as well “two minutes”

-

a/n: its 3 am so i just know there are tons of grammatical errors and typos in there but hey here u go, ty for being so patient with me lol i hope you like this.

i was inspired by owen gray ngl (if you dont know who that is, go on inkognito mode and google him...thank me later skijisbejshdudbdobzf)

[munstysmind]

HERE FOR YOU - Maddison - An Original Story

WARNING/S: Storm, fear/anxiety, mention of panic attack, mental health

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR MY WORK TO BE USED IN ANY CAPACITY

Divider by @firefly-graphics

MAIN MASTERLIST

MADDISON MASTERLIST

please let me know if you would like to be added to a tag list

For the past half hour Maddie has been staring at the ceiling, trying and failing to calm herself as she listens to the raging storm outside. It's a bad one too, especially for the time of year.

She looks over at Chris, extremely envious of his ability to sleep through the noise. There was a storm last time he was here too.

The Vancouver weather has been all over the place for weeks. One day is beautiful and the next day its miserable. It needs to just make up its damn mind already.

Another thunderclap reaches her ears, making her flinch and whimper. She can't take it anymore. She shuffles over to Chris and lifts his arm before burying her face in his side, grasping his shirt tightly when there's yet another clap of thunder followed by a bright flash of lightning.

The storm's getting worse. She wants to cry when she realises it's probably going to be hours before it's over. She moves closer to Chris, as close as she can before she feels his arm tighten around her.

Fuck, she's woken him up. She didn't mean to, she just wants to feel safe and being in his arms does that.

"You OK?" he mumbles, somehow sensing something isn't quite right

"I didn't mean to wake you, I'm sorry" she whispers, trying to keep her voice even so he doesn't pick up on her panic.

"Maddie, what's wrong?" he asks, now much more alert. Before she has a chance to answer him there's yet another thunderclap.

It's a loud one too, so loud that the windows shake and she lets out a small cry before trying to bury herself into his side even more. She's terrified.

She used to love storms, listening to the rumble of thunder as she watched lightening light up the sky but now it's just a trigger for her.

All unexpected loud noises are a trigger because it's the last thing she heard before Travis attacked her, a loud bang when he brought his fist down onto the bench.

Realising her fear at the storm Chris moves quickly, rolling onto his side and bringing her into him as she starts to shake

"I got you, it's OK, it's just thunder" he says, repeating what he said last time as he starts rubbing circles on her back.

He feels horrible that he was asleep while she was next to him scared. Although she didn't mean to, he wishes she had of woken him up earlier.

She lets out a whimper as another thunderclap fills the air and presses her face hard into his chest in an attempt to hide from the thing that's scaring her.

"Shhhh, you're safe" he tells her, threading his fingers through her hair to gently massage the back of her scalp as he gently holds her head to his chest.

He feels something damp on his shirt and realises that she's crying as she clings to him. He doesn't know what to do. He's trying to calm her, comfort her but it doesn't seem to be doing anything, he feels so helpless.

He holds her tightly, continuing to rub her back praying that she'll start to calm down soon when he suddenly remembers how pressure helped calm her when she was having a panic attack a few week ago. He starts to pull her away from him and roll her onto her back but she fights him

"NO" she pleads as she tries to grab hold of him

"It's OK" he says as he continues to roll her onto her back. He wants to explain what he's doing but her brain is too confused by the storm for her to be able to understand.

"What are you..." she gasps, panicking as he starts to climb over her

"It's going to help but I need you to trust me. I'm not going to hurt you, I promise" he tells her, running his thumb over her cheek as she looks at him, eyes full of fear. She swallows and nods a little, breath shaky as she blinks away tears.

She doesn't know what he's going to do but she trusts him, even before he asked her to she trusted him. He carefully lowers himself onto her, leaning on his elbows so he doesn't put his entire weight on her, just enough to create a consist pressure.

She lets out a tiny hum as she feels him against her, his body heat starting to transfer to her.

"Hold onto me" he says quietly and she does what she's told, bringing her arms up and resting them on his upper back. He feels her gripping his shirt as her breathing slowly starts to calm.

"That's it Maddie... breathe. You're OK. Just focus on me, on what I'm doing" he tells her as he rests his forehead against hers. He can feel her whole body starting to relax.

Being caged under him like this, although she's scared, awakens feelings in her she's never had before. It's confusing to say the least.

She pushes her thoughts to the back of her mind and pulls him closer to her, wanting more pressure.

It doesn't go unnoticed by Chris and he lowers himself onto her a little more as she moves her head and presses her face into the side of his neck, inhaling his scent as she takes several deep breaths.

She focuses on his voice as he quietly talks to her, telling her about how Scarlett's been playfully teasing him about being in a relationship and how Mackie face planted in the middle of a take last week when he tripped over his own feet which makes her laugh a little.

She's so glad that he's with her, helping to distract her because she knows she'd probably be curled up in a ball hiding in her wardrobe if she was alone right now.

"You OK?" he asks after a while, once she seems to be as calm as she can be with the storm still going on

"Yeah" she whispers, nodding a little as he gives him a soft smile

"Can I move or do you want me to stay?" he asks. The muscles in his arms have been burning for the last ten minutes and he doesn't know how much longer he's going to be able to stay like this

"You can move" she tells him as she lets go of the back of his shirt. She'd forgotten she was grasping it. He slowly lifts off her, giving her body time to adjust to the release of pressure before he flops over on his back next to her.

"Thank you" she whispers as she starts to snuggle into him but he stops her and turns her so she's on her side looking out the window.

He pulls her into him and holds her tight, her back flush against his chest. He nuzzles his face into the back of her head, smelling her hair for a moment before he puts his chin on her shoulder and rests his head against hers.

There's another clap of thunder, not as loud as before but loud enough, and the sky lights with a huge fork of lightning. It causes Maddie to flinch, a whimper leaving her as she tries to bury her face in her pillow but Chris won't let her.

"Maddie, watch" he tells her, giving her a gentle squeeze. For the next half hour he talks to her as they watch the sky light up and listen to the thunder roar.

She lets out a shaky breath when her brain finally recognises that the loud noises are just the weather, not something that's going to hurt her and she drifts off to sleep, safe in Chris' arms.

"Keep the change. Enjoy the rest of your day" Chris says, paying the food delivery guy before he closes the door and takes the food into the kitchen.

"Mads, food's here, you hungry?" he asks, looking over at her curled up on the couch with a blanket over her shoulders. She's having a bad day... a really bad day, the worst she's had in a while.

Sebastian warned him about these days, the ones where she barely speaks, the ones where she needs help to do the most basic things. The days where she's a shell of herself. He knew her bad days were tough but he wasn't prepared for how much it would hurt seeing her like this.

As soon as he woke up this morning he knew something was wrong. She wasn't her normal grumpy or cuddly self, the Maddie he had grown used to first thing in the morning. She was quiet, too quiet. She barely gave him a smile when he said good morning to her.

He notices she has tears rolling down her face, silently crying while she watches TV, and he lets out a sad sigh. He immediately stops sorting out the food and goes over to her.

He doesn't say anything as he sits next to her and puts his hand on the side of her face that's furthest from him, bringing her head into him slightly, his thumb stroking the skin in front of her ear.

Her hand comes up and she threads her fingers through his when he kisses her temple before resting his forehead against it, his nose nuzzling her cheek.

He feels so helpless not being able to do anything to make it better. She leans into him and they stay like that for several minutes before she turns and snuggles into him, her face firmly buried in his chest.

"I'm sorry" she mumbles. It's one of the few things she's said to him all day. After she'd whispered 'bad day' to him when he'd worriedly asked her what was wrong, he quickly established that she couldn't really talk because of the headspace she was in so the extent of their communication had been him asking her basic yes no questions and her shake or nod responses.

"What for?" he asks, very confused to what she's apologising to him for

"You shouldn't have to put up with this... my bad days... because of him. It's not fair to you" she says, her face still buried in his chest

"Hey... don't ever apologise to me when you're like this, it's not your fault" he says softly as he gives her a gentle squeeze, his heart aching slightly that she thinks she has to apologise for having a bad day.

"No" he says, untangling himself from her and sitting on the coffee table. He reaches forward and takes her hands in his before looking directly into her eyes.

"But..." she starts as she looks up at him, not understanding what Chris is trying to tell her

"Listen to me. This is not your fault, it's his. You have no control over it. As much as I wish it wasn't, it's a reality of your life and I know that part being with you is being here when you're like this. I know this is hard for you, I see it... but I also know that not every day is going to be like this. I'm not going to run away just because you're having a bad day... I'm not going anywhere" he tells her, meaning every single word

"Chris..." she whispers, not knowing what to do. She's not used to being with someone who cares the way Chris does. It’s overwhelming. He lets go of her hands and gently takes her face, his finders stroking the back of her neck.

"Maddie... I care about you and I am going to do everything I can to help. I wanna be here, for you... if you'll let me" he says as tears start to fill her eyes. She nods at him, not trusting her voice while she tries to keep her tears at bay when he leans forward and softly kisses her forehead.

"It's OK to let it out" he whispers against her skin, knowing she's always had to control her emotions around the person she's in a relationship with.

Hearing those words, him giving her 'permission' to cry, breaks her and she can't fight it anymore. She completely breaks down, all of her emotions coming out at once.

Chris moves from the coffee table back onto the couch and pulls her onto hip lap where she quickly curls up, her face buried in the side of his neck.

"It's OK" he whispers, wrapping his arms around her and rocking her slightly.

Maddie wants to believe him more than anything, what he said to her about being here, but right now all she can think of is how long it's going to be until her demons become too much for him and he walks away.

TAGLIST

@aussieez

@littleone65

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

of all i am made of (perhaps you are too)

ao3

Hugo does not believe in soulmates.

To be fair, he doesn’t much believe in anything but the feeling of coin in his pocket and the clever bite of his dagger. What use has he for god and destiny when he carves his own path of lies through time, with a sharp tongue and a cocky smile.

Why should Hugo believe the universe would gift him a soulmate when it already has made it perfectly clear that nothing is free?

Besides soulmates are rarities of the past--legends and folktales on the lips of elders and religious fanatics; the former clinging to superstition from the od era, the latter feeding false promises and hope to the instupid masses.

Soulmates are for hopeless romantics and tiny children. Not for Hugo.

“That does not surprise me,” Nuru says, the beginnings of a smile forming on her face.

She’s lying down in the golden field where they’ve set camp for the night. The contrast of the bright yellow against her dark skin is stunning-particularly in the moonlight, with her dark hair fanning out about her head.

Hugo, who is sitting upright a few paces away and playing with his daggers, frowns.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asks, unsure if he should be feeling defensive or not.

Nuru folds her arms beneath her head, propping herself up enough to make eye contact with him. “Even if you had a soulmate, you wouldn’t know what to do with them,” she scoffs.

He snorts. “ You believe in soulmates?”

“Is that so surprising?”

“Yes, actually. I thought you were the rational one in this party.”

Nuru gives him an expression that indicates how stupid she thinks he is. “I might be the only person who can keep their head in a crisis, but that doesn’t mean I can’t believe in a higher power, Hugo.”

She rolls over, so that she’s laying on her stomach, facing him. “Burning stars fall in my homeland every year. There are stories of a sun princess who’s tears heal the dead. Varian somehow hasn’t strangled you yet. I think you’d better start believing in a god.”

“Or soulmates apparently,” Hugo mutters.

“Or soulmates,” Nuru says. “Would it really be that far-fetched?”

“Do I believe there’s someone out there who shares my dreams? Or has my name written above their heart? Hard pass, Princess.”

“Alright then, how about sharing the same soul?” Nuru asks, folding her hands together and resting her chin on them. “You’re telling me that doesn’t sound at least a little romantic?”

“I don’t have a soul.”

“Now that,” she says, a grin stretching across her face, “that I can believe.”

___

“I think Anya’s my soulmate,” Yong says dreamily, staring at Varian’s redheaded cousin like she hung the fucking moon.

Hugo, despite secretly adoring the round child, rolls his eyes. Hard. “Do you even know what that means?”

“It means we share the same time threads,” Yong replies distractedly.

Varian and Anya are nerding out over something-something Hugo would find interesting or fun to mock them over, but right now, for some reason, he’s more interested in Yong’s adorable-if not misguided-crush on Varian’s little cousin.

“Time threads,” Hugo laughs, cracking his knuckles. Yong winces at the noise, momentarily taking his eyes off the two babbling alchemists. “Alright, color me curious. What are time threads?”

Yong frowns. “You’ve never heard of time threads? Every child in Koto learns about them.”

Ah, must be some religious poppycock only spread in the fire kingdom.

“Well, I’m not a child living in Koto, am I?” Hugo replies lightly. “Spill, little pyro.” He pokes the kid in the shoulder repeatedly until he gets swatted.

“Her lady, Odiyesi, spins a thread for each person,” Yong recites in a sing-song voice. “This thread contains the beginning, the middle, and the end of our lives. If she so chooses, two threads will be intertwined-maybe even beyond the Snip, if she wills it.”

“The Snip?”

“Oh yeah, that’s when you die,” Yong says, side eyeing Hugo.

Hugo ruffles Yong’s hair. “And you think Anya is your thread partner. That’s so cute .”

Yong ducks out from under his hand, scowling. “Why did you ask if you don’t even believe it?” he mumbles, face pink.

“You know what I think?” Hugo asks, pretending like he doesn’t hear Yong. “I think you should go right up to here and tell her all that. Give her a heads up about your eternally bound souls.”

“Your soul is eternally bound to the underworld,” Yong shoots back, with a surprising amount of fire.

Hugo bursts into laughter. “That,” he says, “is the first thing you’ve said all day that makes sense.”

___

“What do you think about soulmates?” Hugo asks mildly. He has a glass of wine in one hand, but he’s barely tasted it. Instead, he stands, staring out the stained glass window and into the courtyard.

Donella, sitting behind her desk, looks up from Varian’s Ulla’s journal-recently procured by Hugo.

The amount of deception and sneaking around he’d gone through to actually get it out of Varian’s line of sight had been painstakingly difficult. And it had been even harder coming up with an excuse to Nuru why he needed to spend the night somewhere other than their current lodgings.

He doesn’t really remember the lie. Just the trust in the Princess’s face when she’d briefly patted him on the shoulder, telling him to be back by sunrise.

Donella closes the journal with a snap, leaning back in her chair. “What a curious question. And from you, no less.”

When Hugo turns around, she’s smiling that sharp smile-the one that makes his stomach plummet with discomfort. Something in him churns at that dangerous expression now, unsure of what he’s suddenly gotten himself into.

He gives a casual shrug, raising his glass to his lips. “Just making idle conversation, I suppose.” The wine tastes terrible. Still, he takes another sip before setting it down on an end table.

“Hmm.” His mentor eyes him skeptically. “What do I think about soulmates?” she muses, tapping her chin thoughtfully. “I suppose the proper answer would be that I hate them.”

He frowns. “So you don’t believe in them?”

“You can’t hate something you don’t believe in, Hugo. Of course I believe in soulmates.” Donella must see the surprise in his expression because she laughs after a brief pause. “I would be hard pressed not to believe in them after seeing it with my own two eyes.”

Hugo blinks, startled. “You met someone with a soulmate?” he asks, disbelieving.

“You could say that.”

“How do-how did you know they were-”

She opens the stolen journal again, long scared fingers deftly flipping back to her reading place. “Because I could feel when she was in pain. Now shut up, Waif, I still have three quarters of this tedious reading to get through and only five more hours to do it.”

___

Even though Eugene has decided to make the conscious effort not to kill Hugo, the guy still shows mild animosity. And by mild, Hugo-of course-means that he drags him around, making him do tedious tasks and scowls whenever he gets close to Varian.

Whatever. It’s not as if Hugo’s going to complain, considering that it’s mostly his fault there was a demon monster briefly unleashed onto Corona that destroyed most of her capital city. As long as Varian isn’t blaming himself, Hugo calls it a win.

So he lets the Prince Consort drag him around the city and put his alchemy to work.

“You don’t have to stay,” Hugo says, at one point, when it becomes apparent that even though Eugene has no idea how alchemy works , he was still going to hover. “I’m not going to cut and run.”

The man had snorted. “Yeah, I already figured that one out for myself,” he’d muttered and then proceeded to not explain what that meant.

So here Hugo is, with an ever present shadow, hovering like he’s a fucking five year old. Hugo honestly doesn’t see what Varian sees in the guy-or Queen Rapunzel for that matter. She looks at the ex-thief like he hung the moon and all the damn stars in the sky.

“It’s because they’re soulmates,” Eugene’s buddy-Lance, Hugo thinks-had said when he caught him staring.

Hugo had scoffed.

Now, bored and overheated after a long day’s work, Hugo watches Eugene frown over some blueprints in the Queen’s study. Hugo’s not exactly sure why he has to be present for this particular part of the renovation project, but he’s too tired to protest.

“Are you and the queen soulmates?” he hears himself asking.

Eugene lifts his head, eyes alight with surprise. He glances back down at the blueprints once, before leaving the table to join Hugo by the open doors leading to the balcony.

“Weird question, coming from you,” he snorts, leaning against the doorframe and crossing his arms. “But yes. We are.”

Hugo doesn’t know what to make of that. “How do you know?”

The older man hesitates, something like understanding dawning on the man’s face. A small smile crosses lips. “Have you ever met someone that no matter how many times you tried to walk away, you couldn’t?”

Hugo swallows.

“That’s how I know. Now,” he claps Hugo on the shoulder. “If you’ll stop messing around, I need your opinion on whether Yong’s demolition idea or Varian’s solvent solution is going to work best for the lower district’s avalanche problem.”

___

At the end of all things-or perhaps the beginning-Hugo finds Varian on a rooftop.

It’s not hard to find him, as when Varian is brooding, he likes to perch. It’s a habit that the alchemist has either picked up from spending most of his time in a castle with high roofs or perhaps it’s born of chasing his dumb racoon into precarious positions.

Either way, Hugo learns early into his friendship with the darkhaired boy, that when he’s being introspective, he likes to pick a high roof and perch like a fucking woodland creature.

So when Varian goes missing in the middle of Corona’s lantern festival, it takes precious few minutes to find him.

“You are so predictable,” Hugo says, dropping down next to him. Heights don’t usually bother him, but the castle is impressively tall.

The other alchemist doesn’t really seem to mind, however. He lets his legs dangle over the edge, occasionally swinging in the air.

“Or maybe I wanted you to find me,” Varian replies easily. His head--tilted up, toward the stars that are mirrored in the constellations of freckles on his face-is wearing a peaceful expression.

Something in Hugo’s chest clenches tightly at the sight of it. There was a time, not too long ago, where he was convinced he’d never see Varian happy again.

But now, Varian turns his face toward Hugo and offers him a smile. “Or maybe I’m just predictable to you.”

The tightness in Hugo’s chest dissipates. What is left aches for something he can’t have.

“Or that,” Hugo says, instead of doing something stupid like trying to hold Varian’s hand or kiss the stupid expression off his face.

Varian turns back to the stars.

“You know, they say shooting stars fall in the direction of your soulmate.”

Hugo rolls his eyes. “Not you too,” he groans, eliciting laughter from his friend. “I thought out of everyone, you would be on my side here.”

“Aw, don’t believe in soulmates?” Varian teases, grinning boyishly. “Sun and moon, I should have expected that.”

“Yeah?” Hugo raises his eyebrows. “How so?”

“You’re so cynical. And not in the way Cass is-she’s like realistically -cynical. You’re just oh poor me I could never have a soulmate because my soul is made of garbage -”

Hugo clamps a hand over Varian’s mouth, shrieking when he tries to lick him. “I- stop -I don’t have to listen to this slander -”

“-and if you ever did find your soulmate you would be insufferable about it,” Varian goes on, catching Hugo’s wrist when he tries to silence him again. “You would spend the entire time trying to prove to yourself and everyone else that there was no possible way they could be your soulmate and when you couldn’t you would-”

He stops. Blinks at Hugo with realization dawning across his face.

Hugo’s wonders if Varian can feel his pulse racing where the smaller boy’s fingers wrap around his wrist.

“Yeah? What would I do?”

Varian’s lips purse. “I don’t know what you would do. I’d hope you would be smart about it.”

He lets go of Hugo.

Hugo immediately misses his warmth.

“And what would be the smart thing.”

“Well,” Varian draws out the word thoughtfully. He scoots close enough to Hugo that if the taller boy wanted he could wrap and arm around his shoulder. “Well, an excellent start would be telling them.”

“And how would you tell them? If it were you,” Hugo adds quickly, when Varian shoots him a questioning look.

Varian leans back on his hands, head tipped back, exposing his throat to the sky. “I would tell them my heart started beating at the same time as theirs when we touched. That there’s a silver dagger inked on my shoulder that burns when they’re angry and sings when they’re sad-”

“Varian.” Hugo’s heart clenches so hard he briefly wonders if he’s having a heart attack.

“-I would tell them that I dreamed in color the first night we lay side by side in the forest,” Varian goes on, ignoring him. “I would tell them that when we touch I see every color-even the ones that don’t belong here.”

“Varian.”

Hugo’s hand finds his soulmate's.

Varian turns his head to the side slightly, finally meeting Hugo’s eye. With his free hand, he cups the side of Hugo’s neck, tentatively.

“I would tell him that our souls are made of the same thing.” He smiles gently. “It’s just science, Hugo.”

Hugo laughs, pressing his forehead into Varian’s. “How is that the most romantic thing you’ve said yet?”

“Because you’re a closet nerd,” Varian says, right before he leans in.

Underneath a starlit sky, Hugo kisses the boy made of the same stuff as him.

___

[rentsturner]

Bruised Knuckles | Mark Renton

Warnings - Reader has punched a wall, mentions/descriptions of injury, mentions of (non-specified) scars, alcohol and drugs, content that some people may find as very similar to self-harm, reader is paranoid and insecure. If any of this triggers you pls don’t continue to read. I’ve tried to note all the possible triggers.

wc - 1.7k

a/n - I’ve had a pretty shitty few days tbh and I still feel the lowest that I’ve felt in months. So I’ve channeled all of that into this fic. It’s quite angst heavy but there’s fluff at the end (what can I say, hurt and comfort is my shit). You may find the reader’s emotions a bit dramatic but I’ve basically self projected on to this and I’m not rlly arsed. Read the warnings and if you don’t like it, don’t read it. I don’t want any shit over this

It’s a cold day in Edinburgh, the skies grey and cloudy over the city.It’s been a long day without Mark. He’s been out since the early hours with Sickboy, no doubt dragged into another of Si’s infamous schemes, leaving you to spend the day alone in your tiny apartment. As much as you don’t want to admit it, the isolation has gotten to you - you slipped, more than once. Yeah, you regret it, but also there’s that nagging need for more at the back of your mind. You try to push it out, to forget about it, but the cold in the air doesn’t help to ease the ache in your knuckles.

The door to the apartment shuts with a click and a jangle of keys, footsteps heading towards the door. He’s back. A wave of relief, before you remember and your chest clenches in panic.

‘Alright, love?’ Mark flops onto the bed with a lazy grin, stretching his arms up over his head.

‘Yeah, fine, you?’ Keep it simple. You busy yourself with a stack of books by the bed, straightening the pile of novels so it’s not about to topple over. Keep the hand busy.

‘Yeah, alright. Si led us on a fucking wild goose chase but we got there in the end, y’know?’

You didn’t know, but you nodded along anyway and let him recount the story. You’re admiring the way his lashes flutter against his pale skin and how his arms flex as his hands come to rest behind his head, when you realise that Mark’s stopped talking. And you’ve stopped moving.

‘Your knuckle...” his eyes dart down to the hand you’ve been trying to hide ever since he walked through the door. Busted.

‘Oh.’ You move to get up, anything to get his eyes away from your swollen knuckles, red lines criss crossing over the flowering purple bruises where your hand collided with a solid wall. Multiple times. The open cuts are still weeping, even though it had happened hours ago.

‘It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.’ You offer a small smile, but it doesn’t fool Mark.

‘No.’ He moves as you do, standing in front of the bedroom door to block your escape. His arms are crossed over his chest, stance serious , but the worry in his blue eyes betrays him. ‘Love. Let me see it.’

He holds out his hand, pale fingers reaching out to you, his skin just as scarred as yours - different actions, same result. He knows how to help. The hand reaching,an offer of support, reassurance, love, all those things that you crave but can never admit. Emotions aren’t your forté - never have been.But Mark knows that. There’s no secrets between you. You almost laugh out loud at the thought. No secrets, but you won’t even show Mark your hand.

Mark would do anything for you, you know that - he tells you all the time. Days spent in bed chatting shit to each other.

‘I’d run to John O'Groats and back for you, y’know?’

‘Would you now, Mark? What about down to Land’s End?’

‘In a heartbeat.’

Bright eyes, wide smile. Your Mark. He’s joking, of course, but his tone is so serious, his answer without a second of hesitation. Your heart skips a beat.

So now, you give him your hand (and your heart).

He takes it tentatively, one cold hand underneath, the other poking at your raw knuckles gently. When one of his prods reaches a tender spot, you wince and he moves his finger away, meeting your gaze in apology.

‘You punch something?’ His brow creases, a hand running instinctively over his closely cropped hair, before scratching at the back of his neck. He refuses to grow it out, no matter how much you try to persuade him, still getting his razor out every other month like clockwork.

‘It’s easier this way.’ He insists. Less hassle in the morning is what he means.

The sting in your hand brings you back to the present.

‘No.’ You look away from Mark’s gaze, knowing that in doing so you’ll give yourself away, but not having the energy or willpower to stop yourself. Much like the ‘incident’ earlier in the day.

‘I’m going to take that as a yes.’ Mark huffs, not in anger, but in frustration - frustration that he wasn’t there to help, to calm you down. ‘Let me clean it up, give me a sec.’

His hand rubs at his eyes, scrunched shut for a moment. There’s dark bags marring his pale skin there - he’s tired too. He goes to move to the bathroom, but you grab his arm with your good hand, gripping it as tight as you can. Don’t leave.

‘No, Mark, it’s alright, I’ll sort it.’

But he shakes his head. He doesn’t look happy. Not that you’d expect him to, but...he’s frustrated with you, you can tell.

‘You can’t clean yourself up with one hand. Just wait here, alright?’

The inkling is worming its way in now, from your subconscious to your conscious, until its at the forefront of your mind. He’s angry, he’s disgusted, he’s going to leave. He’s not going to the bathroom, he’s going to the front door so he can get out of here. You’re sure of it.

‘I’m sorry.’ The whisper escapes you and you have to bite the inside of your cheek so no tears will spill. The words are almost silent, your hand dropping Mark’s in defeat.

But Mark turns his head at your weak apology, stopping in his tracks.

‘What? Why -‘

With a jolt, he notices the way you’ve changed - unable to look at him, arms beginning to wrap around yourself, one fist clenched. He knows what’s happening.

‘No, no, love, I’m not angry.’

He’s back at your side in a heartbeat, bringing his hand up to your chest, thumb carefully wiping away the rogue tear that’s tracking a salty path over your cheekbone.

‘I love you. I just want the best for you, alright? I don’t like seeing you hurt, just like I’d fucking hope you wouldn’t like seeing me hurt.’

His face breaks into a sad smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you realise he’s right - of course he is. You don’t want to see him hurt, he’s been through enough, but that’s what you’re doing. He’s hurting just from seeing your hand, it’s obvious from the crease in his brow, the blue of his eyes dulled and flat. Mark’s got too much to deal with already, you’re just one extra problem to add to the mix. You don’t want to be his problem.

And suddenly it’s all coming up to the surface, ready to combust, explode, these emotions that you never really have a grip on. You bottle them up and push them down, so far down that the only way they can escape is through a rush of anger, jagged and uncontrollable.

But instead of that, you bury your face into Mark’s neck and let it out as slowly as you can.

‘I’m sorry, I was angry, I just wanted to feel something. Some pain. I don’t want to make you feel like this. I’m sorry.’

You’re clutching onto the worn fabric of Mark’s shirt like your life depends on it. You can’t possibly let go of him, the only one you have left.

Mark is steady, your rock in a storm of emotions. He listens, stroking your hair, pale fingers threading through the strands to knead at your scalp, knowing it tends to calm you down.

‘You’re alright, I promise. I promise you, love. I know you get angry. I know you. And I know what it’s like to want to feel something, trust me. We can get through it together, or we can be a mess together. I don’t care, as long as we’re together, honest. I’m not going anywhere.’

And the sincerity in his eyes, those familiar bright blue eyes, it convinces you. He means it.

You stay like this for a few minutes, your good hand clinging onto Mark’s ratty jumper, the other grasped tightly (but not too tightly) in Mark’ grip. His right arm is around your waist, pulling you closer, as if in doing so he can pour all of his reassurance, all of his love, directly to your heart. He knows it’s not possible. But he tries anyway. Because he’ll do anything for you. Your Mark.

Mark helps you clean your hand later, shushing you everything you wince (though that isn’t often). His hands are steady and practiced as he dabs at the cuts with alcohol, wrapping the gauze over your knuckles and securing it with some tape, humming to himself as he works, the steady tune in time with his deft movement. He doesn’t look up until the job is done - and a good job it is too. He knows what he’s doing, probably after years of wrapping Sickboy’s hands up in the same way - late nights out in the rough streets of Leith, fuelled by alcohol and amphetamines (and worse)

Mark kisses the bandages gently when he’s done - a silent ‘I love you. I care for you and I love you.’

And you smile, a smile that fills your whole body with warmth, a smile that drowns out the demons, if only for a little while. Because how can you not, when you have Mark. He tries his best and so do you - neither of you can ask anymore. You’ll be a mess together.

‘Let’s order Chinese and watch Dr No, eh?’

Or you’ll get through this together

*~*~*~*

@callmearwen @ohhellokenobi @darthserling @stardancerluv @goldenkenobi @lunarthoughts @saintlaurentkenobi @million-dollar-legs @i-am-i-am-obiwankenobi @letmybabysleep @haydens-moles @alideetoo @all-hallows-evie @junkieboyfriend @the-mandalorian-clone-lover @star-whores-a-new-hoe @arianalilyblack @sigynragnarsdottir @funkytxwn @drinksomecoco @darlingkenobi

[anistarrose]

hello, my love (ao3)

a slightly late @taznovembercelebration fic for the day 19 prompt “established relationship,” albeit in possibly the least conventional sense of the phrase. in other words, this is the culmination of a lot of Blupjeans feelings I couldn’t not write about any longer

*

It — it feels wrong to say I’ll miss you, but —

No, I get it. It’s gonna be so fucking weird, and I — I know it won’t last forever —

Okay, I — I can’t do it like this. Not if we make it sad. Lup, I love you so much, you know you’re the light of my life and undeath…

Of course, babe.

…and I’ll see you soon.

The world Barry wakes up in is tinted green, obscuring everything besides a few ill-defined silhouettes. His limbs are numb at first, but as… red sparks? run down his arms, the feeling returns as a strange sort of weightless sensation, like he’s floating beneath the surface of a lake.

A few bubbles escape from his nose, and oh shit, he really is submerged in something. Before he can even wonder which way is up, his hand grazes something that immediately tears away — and with it drains out the mystery green liquid, which he’s just going to pretend is water. He staggers onto the floor of a cave, blinking rapidly as he adjusts to the light. It’s definitely a cave; he can feel the cool air on his skin and the bare rock beneath his feet — so why is it so bright?

The answer arrives in the form of a voice, whose owner becomes a little more visible to him with each blink of his eyes.

“Care for a towel? Actually, I’m giving you one whether you want it or not, ‘cause if you die of hypothermic shock after everything we’ve gone through to get here, that’s just gonna be awkward.”

She’s beautiful, he knows before he can truly see evidence of the fact. There’s so much care in her voice that her joke can’t disguise, and the towel she slings over Barry’s shoulders is warm, but not as warm as her hands. This feels like the correct moment to freak out over being, as far as Barry can tell, completely buck naked aside from the generous towel gift — but instead, his attention is captivated by his companion, who in complete contrast to himself, seems to be more clothes than body as she comes into focus.

It doesn’t feel right to say she’s wearing her red robe — it’s more like she embodies it, as it moves subtly to indicate her posture, her emotions, rather than to conceal them. What little of her that isn’t a robe is ablaze, but not violently — if Barry only had one word to describe her, he would simply say warm.

Her eyes are negative space amidst the flames, darkness where one would expect unbridled light, but there’s nothing sinister about them — more of a fascination, if anything, evident as she locks her gaze with Barry’s.

He’s been staring, hasn’t he? And she’s been staring at him.

He expects the sheer embarrassment of this whole situation to catch up to him any second, but it just doesn’t hit him. There’s nothing uncomfortable about sharing the room with her.

“Hi,” he says, giving a little wave. “I don’t know how I got here, but… I like your robe.”

She bursts into laughter, illuminating the cave in an ever-changing pattern of red, orange, and pink — and Barry can’t help but wonder if there are a few tears in the mix too, given how hard it is to tell on a face made out of fire.

“Oh, babe. Oh, Barry. Of course you would.” She brings a spectral finger to Barry’s face, evaporating a droplet of water with a single touch, but the warmth that rushes to Barry’s cheeks has nothing to do with the temperature of her hands, only her touch itself. “Sit tight for a second, babe. I’m gonna grab something you’ll like.”

Babe? He’s paralyzed for a few seconds, the word echoing in his head as she floats across the room, sifting through piles of scrolls, jeans, and miscellaneous other items that couldn’t be further from naturally occurring in caves. Does she know me? Does she like me?

He’s finished drying himself off by the time she returns, holding a second red robe — and a corporeal one, no less. She drapes it over Barry’s shoulders, and he slips his arms into the sleeves without thinking twice.

It’s cozy, but something about looking down at himself wearing it brings a fuzziness to his mind that’s not nearly as comfortable as the fuzziness of the fabric. He focuses his gaze on the ghostly woman instead — who makes his mind turn to static in her own right, but in a way that’s more than balanced out by the joy of just looking at her.

“See, we both look good in red,” she says with a wink, and Barry feels the temperature of his face rise another degree or two. He’ll wind up on fire like she is, at this rate. “You’ll want to sit down. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah, I can imagine. Um, I think… I might be just a tiny bit amnesiac? Like, just a little. ‘Cause I know who I am, but you sound like you know me, and I don’t know you.”

He takes a deep breath, and decides there’s no harm in admitting what she’s surely already noticed. He’s been too confused to try and be subtle. “Also, I definitely just fell in love with you a couple orders of magnitude faster than I thought I’d ever fall in love with anyone, so that’s, uh… cool, but weird?”

The lower half of her face brushes his forehead — not quite solid, but not unpleasant — and he realizes just as soon as it’s over that it must’ve been a ghostly kiss.

“We were gonna ease you into the ‘us being in love and you losing your memories’ thing,” she tells him with a chuckle, and Barry’s too giddy to even wonder what she means by we. “Lay out the groundwork first. We should’ve known better.”

“My bad?” Barry blurts out, and that makes her laugh even harder, until embers are dripping from her eyes like glistening teardrops.

“Oh my god. This must — this must be so much for you, babe, so much to take in. How are you doing it? How are you — taking this so in-stride, and still sounding so much like you, I mean?”

“I mean… I wouldn’t know,” Barry admits. It is so much to take in, and he knows that if he’d woken up here all alone, with no idea how he’d arrived, then he’d be a mess by now — and not the hopeless romantic kind. As it is, he’s holding it together, trying not to think about his headache and taking comfort in the more pleasant of realizations — but he’s still adrift and disoriented, clinging to a figure he can’t remember his reason for trusting. “It — it doesn’t quite feel real, to be honest? Like, I — I believe you, I believe that I loved you — but it’s the forgetting that gets me…”

He can see himself falling in love, but he can’t see himself falling in this kind of love quickly. This soaring feeling in his heart could only be propelled by years of incremental intimacy, years that he can remember none of, years that don’t exist according to the static roaring inside his head. “How could I forget all this?”

She hugs him in a way unlike any hug he can remember, overlapping with the space he occupies until he’s engulfed in gentle flames, and the threads of her robe feel like they’re what’s doing the hugging, having reformed and rewoven themselves around his arms. Not knowing how else to embrace her back, Barry wraps his arms around his own chest, and feels her presence grow warmer still.

He can just barely wrap his mind around the thought that the warmth coming from his own chest might be borne of subconscious familiarity.

“You still have a big obvious head-over-heels crush on me, don’tcha?” she teases, her laughter surrounding him. “Nothing can make you forget that.”

“Yeah, every version of me’s a hopeless romantic. We’ve got that,” Barry admits. “But I — I don’t even remember your name —”

He would know it if he heard it, he’s sure; it’s so close to the tip of his tongue that he’d probably blurt it out instinctively, if only he didn’t always think so hard about his words before saying them. It’s so tantalizingly close, and he wants to know it again, to say it again, more than any other favor the universe could grant him, and doesn’t the universe owe him at least this much —

“Well, I know how to fix that.” She withdraws from the hug, remaining at his side. “And I think it’ll help if you hear it from yourself — if you hear all the truth we can give you, that is.”

She extends a hand, and a simple golden coin flies across the room to land in her palm. It’s embossed with a vaguely familiar rune that Barry can’t translate, but his mind really starts to reel when she places the coin in his hand, and he hears his own voice emanate from it:

Your name is Barry Bluejeans. You are afraid of the dark. Your very favorite thing in the world is swimming in very cold water on a very hot day, but you cannot remember who taught you to swim, or why you’re always so much more scared of the dark at the end of the year.

The beautiful undead woman next to you is named Lup, and as much as it pains you to realize, you have forgotten her, too. There are fundamental truths about the world, about your loved ones, and about yourself that you have been blocked from comprehending — you’ve had more stolen from you than you realize, and there are very few ways to undo it.

Barry, I’m you just moments ago, and I’m about to forget so much. But right now, I remember, and Lup can help you remember too.

Another voice joins the recording — Lup herself, who sounds just slightly different than she has today, just a little less burdened.

If you haven’t guessed from how this nerd talks about me — Her words are punctuated by an affectionate grumble from Barry — we’ve been dating longer than you can imagine. I wish we could just —

You also can’t remember that Lup’s as much of a nerd as you are, Barry, his past self interrupts. You met because you were both nerds.

Oh, come on, you’ll still be smart enough to figure that one out by yourself! But like I was saying, we had a hell of an epic love story I wish we could just tell you — but you wouldn’t be able to understand much of it, and you’d get a headache trying.

So, Barry adds, we thought about what would be the next best thing. And I think we got a pretty good idea.

A classical music piece fades in, beginning with a piano but quickly adding a violin. Barry can’t put a title or a context to the tune, but he recognizes it from the first note and starts tearing up by the third. His fingers tap out a pattern in sync with the piano part before he even realizes they’re doing it, and when he closes his eyes to let the music wash over him, he realizes that the Lup of the present, the Lup at his side, is almost imperceptibly humming along with the violin.

“You’ll remember this again,” she promises, choking up, when the tune eventually fades. “One day.”

Already, the music has stirred ghosts of memories, fleeting emotions, that Barry can almost imagine in context — quiet moments, private conversations that no one could rip away from him because no one else but Lup ever knew they’d happened — and that day feels close, reassuringly so.

Like him falling for Lup again, it feels like an inevitability.

[bonktime]

Weather the Storm

Chapter One - Taken Aback

Ezra (Prospect) x f!reader (no y/n) 1861 Lighthouse au 

Written in the third person, so I guess you could say Ezra x OC? but she isn’t physically described or named at any point

Rated: E (just the whole story)

Prologue - Lay of the Land // Masterlist // Chapter Two: Hand Over Fist

Ezra travelled with the tides, let the sea carry him where it willed and never stayed long. The lighthouse keeper was the opposite. Where he moved she stood firm, defying the waves and the tide as if carved from the cliff herself. They’re drawn together, but opposing forces so strong are always destined to cause a storm.

Summary: In search of a place to stay Ezra meets the Lighthouse Keeper. Stuck together for the night by the tide she must quickly work out whether she can trust him enough to let him stay.

Warnings: Language, a lil violence, an even liler bit of sexual tension, some victorian sexism (smut will come)

Wordcount: 3700

Note: Thanks to @danniburgh​ who I throw ideas at left right and centre to figure stuff out! Turns out I can’t write short things? Either way I’m glad I decided to chapter this so I didn’t go totally bananas. Next one should be up in a week! Prepare for yearning. 

~~~~~~~~~

Spring was doing what spring always did by the sea. Vehemently refusing to start. Sometimes a crack in the clouds let a beat of sun through warming the lighthouse keeper's skin and for just a second teased what could be. But as ever, it shyly retreated back behind the grey.

Unable to rest until dawn broke and tinted the sky pink, she had slept through most of the day. When she finally shook off the exhaustion from work the night before, there had been just enough blue in the sky to make a sailor a pair of trousers, enough to entice her into moving. So, she had thrown on her chemise for some illusion of modesty, not that anyone could see her, and gone for a swim. 

Bracing was one word for it, fucking baltic was more appropriate. There was nothing quite like it. The way it made her heart pound, made her gasp as she swam, circling the small island, it made her feel alive. There was always a risk of a current pulling her out, a risk she knew all too well. But she knew the water, knew every dip and whirlpool well enough to recognise when they should be avoided. Keeping an eye on the sun she let the incoming tide tug her gently back to the shoreline. In only a few hours she'd have to ascend the steps and light the light.

From her position in the water, she spotted a figure, wading across the causeway, getting pulled to and fro by the tug of the tides, but determinedly heading for the island. She'd let the captain of The Mistress know her room was available a couple days ago and he hadn't sent trouble her way so far. Even so a jolt of unease struck at the thought of being trapped with the stranger until the sea went out. The little rowing boat wouldn't be much good with the storm that was now threatening to roll in. Cursing quietly to herself and suddenly very grateful she’d thrown on even a thin layer, she struck out towards him.

Clambering inelegantly back into the rocks she stood to watch him. He hadn't seen her yet, too focused on keeping his possessions dry, giving her the opportunity to take him in. From this distance she couldn't see his features but his broad shoulders and lean body were a good sign he had experience with trying work, and she could make out a bright shock of white in the crown of his hair. That was more curious, she wondered if he'd been born with it or if he'd suffered such a fright, it'd left a mark. That seemed like a rude thing to ask on a first meeting so she brushed the question aside and headed towards him, carefully stepping over the rock pools and avoiding slipping on the seaweed.

⧫⧫⧫

The first thing Ezra noticed about the woman heading towards him was the fact she appeared to only be wearing her undergarments. The next was that she was soaking wet from stem to stern. Had he been a better man, he might have looked away. Instead, he blatantly stared, the liquid made the cloth cling to her body, damn near rendering it transparent. As she got close, he watched a droplet make its way down her throat, following it with his eyes, he swallowed thickly.

Up close she could see his coat was clearly well made and had probably been expensive but it was old and in desperate need of being rewaxed. Perhaps it had been a gift? Hopefully it had not been stolen. The thin scar curving across his cheek would probably give fair warning to most, but his eyes were soft and wide. He just spelt trouble for her.

"Shut your gob, the wind'll change and you'll get stuck like that."

At that Ezra closed his mouth quickly and pulled himself together, finally focusing on her face. She was waiting for him to speak, clearly sizing him up "Could you possibly direct me towards the lighthouse keeper?"

She noted his strange accent but couldn't stop rolling her eyes, no one ever expected her. "That depends on who's asking"

"Captain Williams suggested I could find respite here whilst I work his ship."

She frowned at him, “What’s your name?”

“I’m Ezra, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I humbly apologise if I interrupted your swim.” again Ezra felt himself be judged, but apparently, she deemed him enough for now and nodded. 

"Come on then or we'll both catch cold" she turned to climb the steps to the cottages with him following behind.

The small kitchen was warm, heated by a small arger, she moved a kettle onto its plate and tossed in a log. With a deep sigh she turned to him, biting the inside of her cheek to stop grinning at his bemused expression. "I'm going to dress; you should get out of your wet clothes too. Don't let the kettle boil dry, I'll make a cuppa, then we can talk." With that she left him dripping in the rough wooden floor.

Ezra decided then that whatever she was, she certainly wasn't grey. But she wasn't colour either, she was something else entirely. Something he couldn't recognise. It stirred something in him, an urge to uncover what lay beneath, like cracking a rock and discovering a beautiful gem. Naturally, it stirred something in his trousers too, but, he reckoned, seeing any woman wet and nearly naked would do that. Ignoring it, he tugged off his boots and trews and pulled on his spares before going to lean on the oven to warm up, feet still bare.

Just as the kettle boiled and he was closing the hot plate she reappeared, rolling her sleeves of her dark blue woolen dress up to the elbow and hanging her soaked chemise over the arger before stretching up to pull a teapot and cups out of a cupboard next to a little window. 

"This is quite a place you have here, and what a view.” He looked out the window, reaching up to the wind chime made from sea glass, worn matte from the sand that hung there. He touched the smoothed edges of the glass, it felt rough on his fingers. “I'll wager it’s quite something to awaken and be able to see water on all sides without feeling the rocking of a ship beneath you." As far as Ezra could tell, it was as if he wasn't there. The woman moved around him locating loose tea and milk as if completing a ritual, never one to be discouraged from talking he continued, "Course once you get used to it, I imagine you barely notice it. But for me, having been on the waves themselves for the past weeks, it will be quite an adjustment." He looked at the two cups. "Is your husband not joining us?"

She didn't turn around, "He will not."

"Your father then? Although I am surprised a lovely thing like yourself is not betrothed. Promised perhaps?"

"No." He wasn't sure which question she had answered at first, it dawned slowly that it had in fact been both. He nearly smacked himself in the forehead.

"You wouldn't happen to be the keeper, would you?"

She turned to him then, eyebrows raised "I think perhaps you worked it out the fastest, I once strung a poor young man along for a week before he realised, I lit the light."

Ezra wasn't really one to be shocked by much, and after her appearance on the rocks this wasn't too much of a revelation, so now with her full attention he continued to talk.

"I'd wonder it doesn't get lonely though, on this rock all by oneself would be mighty isolating. Almost no one around for company except the sea and the rocks. Perhaps that's why you rent the room? That or your expenses are far higher than I'd expect" he forced himself to stop as she placed the tea and a biscuit tin on the little table and turned back to glare at him 

"Why are you here?" That made him blink, halting his thread of thoughts

"I'm here to rent a room. Did I not make that explicit? I do apologise"

She waved him off "No. I know why you're here. Why are you in this place? Work sure, but work can be found anywhere, especially on the water. Work less dangerous, with better weather. Were you bored and thought it romantic?" She was stepping towards him "Are you desperate?” A step. “Do you like taking risks?" Another step "Are you running from something?" She was right in front of him then, looking up at his face "So, I'll ask again. Why are you here?" For a split-second Ezra felt frozen in her gaze but then she reached around him as grabbed his soggy trousers, turning away to hang them alongside her chemise on the airer.

He blinked and shook himself. "I wanted to see it, to work it. The dead sea. Conquer it in my own way.To continue my own adventure somewhere new." She hummed in response picking up her cup and watching him. "And what of you? All alone on this rock. Seems you're a risk taker yourself. Most people would frown upon a woman welcoming a single man into her home, it implies things. Not to mention anything could happen to you,” He couldn't help himself, his voice lowered, unable to back down from the challenge she'd given him. The implication of his crimes. “Anything at all and no one around to save you."

In a split second she'd moved, pulling a blade, he hadn't even thought to look for, out from a sheath under her apron and had it pressed against his jugular.

"A bit of risk? You needn't worry for me." her steady hand pressed firmly enough the knife nicked into his flesh "But you? You know no one here. If you die no one will notice, no one will care. No one will even think to look for your body, let alone find it." He couldn’t hold back the grin as she stepped back, inspecting the drop of blood on the blade, cup of tea still in hand. "5 shillings a week for the room and food, first payment up front, the rest when you're paid." 

Well, this was surprising. Such a spark, truly tough enough to stand against an ocean. "Sounds perfect."

Finally, she cracked the smallest smile and Ezra felt as if the sun had found a fissure in the clouds. "I'll make food, I'm working tonight so it'll be breakfast for me and dinner for you, then you can settle in. When do you start on The Mistress?"

"Two days' time, should be quite an experience." He thought of the heavy clouds.

"Well make sure you don't wake me in the morning tomorrow or your stay will be very short." She wiped the drop of blood off the knife and stowed it away again. Ezra wondered what else was hidden under that apron and why he hadn’t even thought she might have the sense to be armed. He chastised himself.

"Do you man the light alone? It seems prudent you don’t have to remain awake every night."

"5 days to three, I take an extra shift, the other keeper has a house in the mainland so he spends all the time he can there. I expect it won't be long until you're sick of the sight of me."

"Oh, I doubt that, not when you're so full of surprises. Why do you rent the room, with an extra shift surely you don't need the money?”

"I don't get paid that shift," Ezra waited for her to elaborate but she didn’t. "I" she let out a laugh "Mostly I rent the room so I can buy books, something to do whilst I work. Plus, I like the company. Get to meet new people from all over for a few months and I still get to have the whole winter to myself. It's lonely as you said, sure, but I like being alone. I'm good at it."

There was a wildness in Ezra that she couldn't seem to pinpoint. Something about the reckless grin when she's threatened him, the fearlessness. It was what compelled her to let him stay. It drew her in like the pull of the moon. To welcome in such a force of nature, made her doubt her own judgment.

"I'll expect you to help plant and harvest the vegetables when the time comes." As she spoke, she moved around the kitchen throwing together the meal as quickly as she could before the sun began to dip.

Supper was simple, just a stottie with a couple eggs and vegetables. She'll have to go into town soon and see if she could get some meat cuts. But he didn't complain. Just talked continuously, complimented her cooking whilst watching her every move not unlike one might watch an animal in a zoo. It was a little unsettling and it made her feel very glad she was going to be awake all night, not letting herself be vulnerable to him at least for a few more hours.

"Will I need to be expecting guests? Women? Men? Either way I'd rather be warned beforehand." Her upfront way of talking made Ezra chuckle.

"I cannot be sure yet but I'll endeavour to let you know should I be taken by someone. And what of you? Must I prepare for being kept awake in the night by men, women or otherwise?"

She just shrugged, "I doubt it, I'm not the most popular around here at the best of times"

"That wouldn't have anything to do with your working and welcoming in strangers, would it? Are the people here so closed minded?" He smirked at the notion of the scandal that probably followed her.

"Not all of them, just those with power. I am at odds with the vicar because I sleep most Sundays and keep defying the lord's will for me"

"How cruel of you." His tone was laced in so much sarcasm it made her relax a little. At least she wouldn't have to face his judgement and sly glares for a summer.

Still, it was very strange for a woman to hold this job. “I am compelled to ask if you have ever been married?”

A look crossed her face, of pain, and of something else he didn't know. Just there for a flash and then swept away, like writing in the sand. She ignored the question. “Pay up and I'll show you your room, you can get settled and sleep off your journey. I'll imagine you're tired.”

He handed her the coins and followed her through the door and up the rickety staircase. There were two doors, one slightly ajar. The glimpse inside revealed just the end of a bed and a bookshelf but all too quickly, she opened the other door and ushered him in. Inside was cosy, or possibly just small. The bed was heavily laden with blankets which appeared to be handmade, it sat opposite a chest of drawers and a chair. 

She crouched to light the fire, “Hopefully you won't need it all season but you definitely will tonight. I don't know how hardy you are against the cold.”

“Not as hardy as you I'd expect. I had the blessing of spending most of the winter months far south, so far south ice couldn't possibly be conceived”

The flame sparked in front of her, flickering around the room. "The sun is setting; I'll leave you to it. If there's an emergency I'll be in the tower. Try to stay quiet tomorrow. I'd like to actually get some sleep."

He opened his mouth to respond but she was already out the door, with a huff he sat down on the bed and opened his satchel to begin unpacking. When he was done, he stripped down, folded his clothes and placed them on the chair and curled underneath the blankets. The orange glow of the fire lit the room as the crash of the waves lulled him to sleep far quicker than usual.

⧫⧫⧫

It turned out the storm's threats had been for naught. The sky didn't break and the rain didn't come. Instead, after winding up the rotation system she enjoyed the peace and quiet, sitting back with a book only needing to move every hour to fill the sock over the paraffin with air. She was reading an old favourite, ‘Pride and Prejudice’. Mr Bennett reminded her of her father, all quick wit and dry humour. It made her laugh even as her heart ached for the loss. He used to say she was too much like Elizabeth for her own good. Hot headed and stubborn and determined, perhaps if he saw her now, he'd disagree. Be made sad by how the world had wearied her, wonder when her ability to find easy joy had gotten misplaced. But it had been dragged out to sea along with him, never to be found.

The night passed quietly and slowly. But every quiet night was a relief, to be bored, by this sea, was a blessing.

⧫⧫⧫

He awoke early, before the sun had even considered peeking over the horizon and stretched. Looking out of the window he saw the ocean was black, just the flash of the lighthouse illuminating it every few seconds. Tugging on his shirt he placed another log on the fire and picked up his leather-bound journal, an intimate document of his travels, reading the last page. Written on the boat in the cold it didn't give the most flattering depiction of the view of the village from the water. He chuckled to himself, light beginning to peek through the thin curtain as he continued to write his tale, it had its highlights. The appearance of the lighthouse keeper was one, approaching nearly naked and wet from the waves made quite the first impression. He wondered vaguely if even his ridiculous vocabulary could do it justice. The spark, the last stand against the sea, that damn near see-through chemise- he sighed to himself, that was going to haunt him.

The front door slammed shut and he heard a short curse, cut off by the sound of the keeper running up the stairs. Incurably curious, he put the journal aside and headed onto the small landing, dressed only in his long cream shirt. She had already disappeared into her room but as he stepped out, he stood directly onto a wet patch on the floor. Looking down he spotted the wet footprints. Clearly, she had striven to swim before he awoke for some discretion.

Unfortunately for her, Ezra's self-control had always run a little thin and there was no stopping him knocking on her door. It cracked open a little, her head poking out, body held to the side hidden behind the door. He grinned as her eyes widened for a second at his state of undress.

"What do you want? I'll make food in a minute"

Her statement was so concise he almost laughed. As if he had any real excuse to bother her. "It appears I have the day to myself, and with your need to rest I find myself in dire need of stimulation," an eyebrow rose at that, "Perchance could I borrow a novel? You implied ownership of quite the collection."

She pursed her lips at him and shut the door. He blinked, not expecting her just to brush him off and stood dumbstruck for a second. It was not often he was so rudely ignored. And then, even more to his surprise the door cracked open and a hand appeared. A hand clasping a book. He continued to blink at it.

"Do you want it or not? You're letting in a terrible draft." So, he took it and the door shut again. Totally baffled, he returned to his room looking at the cover. ‘Pride and Prejudice’, an old favourite.

A short while later a shout alerted Ezra to food and he chatted happily to the keeper who again appeared to be ignoring him as she hunted for bowels and pulled a dish out from the arger where it had been heating.

"I haven't had the pleasure of Jane Austen's writing for quite some time. Not since my book was cruelly stolen from me, along with several other possessions and my bag, just as I arrived in the beautiful port of Genova in northern Italy. Quite a place." He let himself trail off, expecting her to shut down his monologue or continue to ignore him.

Instead, she handed him his food, some fish pie, and sat down. "What's Genova like? I haven't been."

His face cracked into an easy grin as she watched, clearly thrilled to have her participation in the conversation even a little and he continued to talk until she yawned heavily and sloped away to sleep.

⧫⧫⧫

His day was quiet. He read, walked round the island, was delighted to see seals flopping around on the rocks, and wrote. Despite his best efforts, the lighthouse keeper seemed insistent on making herself a central character, even if she'd only been around for a few pages. Something about the woman watching the sea had captured his imagination. He wondered how she came to man the light, why she was alone, why she took him in. She had seemed far too clever to let him stay. Of all people, she should have had the sense to turn him away. Naturally, he was glad she hadn't but even so it was strange. He thought on all the trouble he'd found himself in, often of his own creation. She could very possibly become the worst of it.

⧫⧫⧫

Upstairs she tossed and turned. No idea why she'd let him stay. Maybe the loneliness had finally taken her sense. That evening, they ate together again. He talked seemingly endlessly but smoothly evaded her pointed questions about where he got his accent and why he really wanted to work the North Sea. It was amicable, but also impersonal, both still trying to gage the other well, before they could become totally comfortable. As she left to work, she told him to stay safe on the sea.

When day broke and she descended the stairs, he was gone. She hoped he'd survive.

~~~~~~

Glossary

Taken Aback: A boat facing the wind directly so no sails can catch the wind, basically just a bad pun

Enough blue in the sky to make a sailor a pair of trousers: A teeny tiny amount of blue

Baltic: Geordie phrase meaning freezing cold, I dunno where it comes from, baltic sea maybe?

From stem to stern: from top to bottom of a ship

Arger: Cast iron oven, in this age it would have had a fire in the bottom with two ovens, a hot one above and a cooler to the side along with a stove/hot plate on top. 

Stottie: Geordie bread bun

~~~~~

Ezra Taglist

@fandom-blackhole​

[tossawary]

Chapter 24: “Seeing is Believing” of “pride is not the word I’m looking for” random favorite lines and commentary. Not a full list or full commentary, but longer commentary than usual to talk about quest construction. 

-

AN: This was... a weird chapter to write. When I started outlining, I had... the conversation with Shen Qingqiu planned... the conversation with Shen Yuan planned... the fact that SQH, SY, LQG, and LFL was the quest party... and the fact that they get the Eye at the end of it. That was everything. 

The entire rest of this chapter came together FRIDAY LAST WEEK. 

Huan Hua Palace wasn’t going to be there. The Weeper didn’t exist. The Eye or its previous owner wasn’t at all connected to the Garden Master. The Shadow Cave Wolf Spiders didn’t exist. The murder plant didn’t exist. The mysterious monster showing up at the end wasn’t originally planned either. 

I mean, I had a lot of pre-existing plot threads to tie in and weave with, but ohhh boy! Picture someone lying facedown on a floor like, “I forgot to plan the contents of the super important quest...” 

I was originally going to have the Eye quest a lot simpler, but given the weight “Death of the Author” had when I finally reached this part of the story, that wasn’t really going to do! It had to be bigger than that! It needed oomph! This also felt like a good opportunity to really establish the new SQH-SY dynamic. To explore SY fumbling to find a place in this world without strict character role, especially in relation to settled and well-supported SQH. 

- 

“One attempts to remain dignified,” Shen Qingqiu agrees. “As there is little point in kicking and screaming about how such ignobility isn’t fair.”

“Ha! Is there ever?”

“Not in my experience.”

“Yeah, it’s definitely not cute when I do it,” Shang Qinghua jokes.

Shen Qingqiu’s lips actually twitch at that.

Success?!

- 

AN: I wasn’t going into this fic with the intention of writing any Shang Qinghua and Original Shen Qingqiu almost friendship! But it started developing and it seemed a shame not to explore Shang Qinghua developing a real relationship with Shen Qingqiu (though not a particularly close one) when the man is suppose to be the scum villain (and the readers know that the man might get replaced by Shen Yuan). 

I can see myself writing more Shang Qinghua and Original Shen Qingqiu content in the future. Someone dropped a particularly nice prompt for them in my inbox that I’m looking forward to exploring at some point. 

(I mean, not to say that Shang Qinghua has a type, but Shang Qinghua has a type and it’s handsome, deadly, intimidating, frosty men with a villainous character design and trust/abandonment and communication issues. I could make it work.)

- 

“Ah, well, two ‘ideal’ situations come to mind: severing the personal relationship for good… or, ah, talking about how to do better and trying that. You don’t have to forget or even forgive if you don’t want to! But, ah… there’s got to be a difference between totally swallowing your anger and cutting ties forever, right?” Shang Qinghua says awkwardly. “If there’s… ever going to be anything good afterwards…”

Shen Qingqiu stares at him for a sweat-inducing length of time.

 “Ah, fuck,” Shang Qinghua thinks.

“Sorry,” he says. “Ahhh, I’m just… thinking about something someone told me… in… in regards to some of my own problems. Never mind! Never mind!”

- 

AN: Luo Jiahui really is out here making Moshang and Qijiu get their fucking act together just by setting a better example. 

- 

“Shizun, my apologies for the interruption, but I came to ask Shizun if he would be willing to join our music lesson today? The disciples have missed his playing and are eager to present their improvements.”

“...Very well, unless anyone here would disagree…?” Shen Qingqiu looks directly at the Qian Cao Peak cultivator, as though daring her to object and die.

“It’s an excellent suggestion!” the Qian Cao Peak cultivator says quickly.

The young woman smiles. “And perhaps Shizun could sit in on the calligraphy lesson afterwards? In order to offer his opinion on my progress as a teacher?”

“Fishing for compliments is unbecoming,” Shen Qingqiu says dryly.

“Wait, what?” Shang Qinghua thinks.

- 

AN: So, this has all been happening in the background, but Shen Qingqiu accepted this House of Rejuvenation woman onto his Peak about... 6-ish years ago now? This is kind of meant to parallel Shang Qinghua’s once-secret relationship with Luo Jiahui. 

Shang Qinghua was out here trying to be a better person and Shen Qingqiu noticed; now Shen Qingqiu has his own positive (platonic) relationship with a nameless background character who was meant to die for plot reasons. What a thing, huh? If the story was saved because Shang Qinghua started a domino effect of saving random people who went on to change things? 

- 

After all, as Shang Qinghua said to the kid, besides Peerless Cucumber’s apparent talent for cultivation, he knows that his fellow transmigrator has three very important skills that will serve him well on An Ding Peak! 1) An encyclopedia knowledge for even seemingly pointless bullshit (which is kind of flattering, honestly). 2) The willingness to fight total strangers over seemingly pointless bullshit. And 3) a sharp enough tongue to win.

Peerless Cucumber didn’t find these points as funny as Shang Qinghua did.

- 

AN: Shen Yuan was always going to end up on An Ding Peak. I thought about sending him to Qing Jing or Qian Cao or Qiong Ding... or any other Peak... but that would take him too far away from Shang Qinghua to really explore their relationship and to move him around conveniently in the story. And SY sticking to An Ding seemed to best illustrate the fact that SY is lost and doesn’t know what to do except cling to SQH. 

- 

“It’s not much, sure, but it’s yours,” Shang Qinghua says finally. “You’ll be joining the talisman classes soon, so don’t try anything from a book and then need to request some home repairs.”

Peerless Cucumber nods and puts his stack of manuals down on the table.

“How’s your tutorial mission going?”

“Fine,” the kid says shortly. “Have you found anything for the other one yet?”

“Ah, not yet.”

- 

AN: “Are you winning, son?” meme energy here. 

- 

Ah, now Shang Qinghua recognizes his fellow transmigrator’s expression! That’s the same stunned expression one of his Huan Hua not-disciples, Yu Chaonan, made upon meeting the Bai Zhan Peak War God for the first time. Shang Qinghua assumes that Peerless Cucumber was expecting a man who looked more like a musclebound giant and less like a pop idol (if one with amazingly muscular arms), which is a super common and never-not-funny misconception people have about Liu Qingge.  

“Brother of one of the most beautiful women in this world, bro,” Shang Qinghua reminds his fellow transmigrator, amused. Aha! Now Peerless Cucumber’s vehement disinterest in the harem stuff is making even more sense than before!

Shang Qinghua’s assumption gets 100% confirmed when it comes time for Peerless Cucumber to fly with Liu Qingge for the next leg of the journey. The other transmigrator is so embarrassed and awkward about it that Shang Qinghua’s super direct brother-in-law asks if the young man is alright.

- 

AN: This was so fun to write. Shang Qinghua really can use the Liu siblings to gauge people’s sexual/romantic orientation. 

- 

The map (or rather, the copy Shang Qinghua made of the delicate original map) takes them to a green and grey landscape of leafy trees crawling over a wide network of tall cliffs and deep gorges. Gurgling rivers cut through twisting rock formations. Shang Qinghua can’t see any of these rivers on the map. Or these deathly drop ravines. From the outside, the whole thing looks like a natural maze (holy shit, there could be so many monsters and death-traps in there!), and Shang Qinghua would know those golden robes flying low over the hanging trees anywhere.

“Huan Hua,” Liu Qingge mutters.

“Do you think they’re looking for what we’re looking for?” Luo Fanli asks.

“That’s usually how it goes,” Peerless Cucumber says, before Shang Qinghua can.

- 

AN: I came up with the skeleton idea first. Then I was like... “I should give it three eyes.” And then I was like... “But who IS this dead author? A god? A spirit? What grander implications am I spinning here?” 

And THEN I remembered that I had some ambiguous powerful being force the Garden Master into exile due to a flood. This was because, in the Epic of Gilgamesh, the immortal man Gilgamesh meets in the abyss is the survivor of a great flood. So I was like, “Reduce! Re-use! Recycle! There’s my skeleton!” 

So I wanted to relate the skeleton to water because of the flood angle. Water as a symbol of cleansing/reincarnation is a big thing throughout many cultures. I can’t remember exactly how the crying aspect came up, but I knew there was going to be water in the temple now, so at some point my brain like was, “Bro, this skeleton should totally be crying because mythology vibes.” 

So I built the surrounding land off the idea that there was water flowing from or around this temple. At this point, I had decided that Huan Hua Palace should also be looking for this artifact, so I had to come up with a way to hide the temple, yet have a way for SQH’s party to track it down. 

- 

The damage to the doors is worse: someone once upon a time collapsed a part of the cliff face around the entrance, essentially leaving only the top fourth of the utterly smashed stone doors visible. It’s a wall now and has been for ages. It looks like it would take days to dig through the rubble. Someone has even super helpfully carved, “These doors will never open again,” just above the wreck.

“Guess we’ll have to go in as intruders rather than guests!” Luo Fanli says.

“What would be welcoming us inside a lost temple exactly?” Shang Qinghua asks vaguely, inwardly cursing the fact that explosive mining techniques will definitely attract the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators’ attention and also probably collapse the whole cliff on them.

“We only have to clear a passage for us, not the whole door,” Peerless Cucumber says optimistically. “Is there a special technique for this kind of thing?”

“Aha, not really.”

“Oh.”

“Why don’t we just keep following the water?” Luo Fanli says.

“...How so?” Shang Qinghua asks.

“Some of those waterfalls could be passages inside,” Liu Qingge explains, because he and the little sister-in-law apparently share the same brain. He’s already eyeing the waterfall wearing down the giant statue on the left.

- 

AN: Temples in quests need to have traps and obstacles and monsters! Well, not ALL of the did, but this one did. I based the obstacles they faced as much as I could around the whole “Death of the Author” theme, while using this whole quest to explore Shen Yuan, Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua, Shang Qinghua and Liu Qingge and Luo Fanli, and so on. 

The idea here with the door is that the “author” is not going to let them inside the temple to take the interpretation of the narrative (the Eye) for themselves. The story is over (the temple is closed for business)! The author is dead! If they want to get inside, they have to break inside or slip inside as intruders. 

This also creates a convenient obstacle to hold up the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators so that our party can be nearly caught later! And shows off Shang Qinghua, Liu Qingge, and Luo Fanli’s twisty lines of thinking. 

- 

Luo Fanli is holding the light and Shang Qinghua passes the other transmigrator to her, while accepting Liu Qingge’s hand for help getting out of the water.

“Ahhh, that was fun,” Shang Qinghua mutters.

Then he notices that Liu Qingge has the Cheng Luan sword out and ready. Shang Qinghua looks through the surrounding darkness, but all he can see are columns and water. For a moment, he thinks he sees something, a prowling shadow at the other end of the cavernous room, but he wipes the water out of his eyes and it’s gone.

- 

AN: The water in Shang Qinghua’s eyes briefly lets him see a flash of the invisible monsters who show up later! It helps up the tension. 

- 

Another low growl rips through the darkness and Peerless Cucumber shuffles a little closer to Shang Qinghua. Because that sounded really fucking close and yet Shang Qinghua still can’t see the thing that’s making that sound.

He doesn’t see Liu Qingge lunge at him either. He only feels his brother-in-law shove him into Peerless Cucumber, knocking them into the water, out of the way of something that howls when Liu Qingge slashes at it with his sword. Shang Qinghua rolls off Peerless Cucumber and looks up just in time to see dark blood splatter across the watery floor. Liu Qingge pursues the attacker with a second slash, but only seems to meet thin air this time.

“It’s invisible!” Luo Fanli cries. “Fuck!”

“Behind you!” Liu Qingge snaps, and spins to slash at the thin air beside him. Dark droplets of blood hit the water again and something hisses at him.

Luo Fanli whirls and slashes, searching for an opponent.

“They’re reflected in the water!” Liu Qingge yells at her, standing guard over Shang Qinghua as he gets to his feet again. “Listen for their footsteps and vocalizations! Feel the demonic energy and air displacement!”

- 

AN: I got this from a list of Dungeons and Dragons puzzles. The idea is that there’s some puzzle that must be solved, but the truth of the room can only be seen in the reflection of the nearby water (or mirror or whatever). 

Which felt fitting for a “Death of the Author” quest! Whatever an author’s intentions, the story is what they actually wrote, so the audience interprets a text without the context of the author’s insight. The truth (of the story) is in the reflection (audience interpretation)! It felt like a fun idea. 

It also allows Shen Yuan to actually contribute to the quest via monster lore and bring up his impaired vision problem. And to confront Shen Yuan with the reality of this world. And to show off Luo Fanli’s fighting skills. And to show off LIU QINGGE’S legendary fighting skills, instincts as a warrior who fights many dangerous beasts, and the fact that he’s clever and observant! 

Liu Qingge is good at what he does! And this is what he does! 

- 

Someone has… angrily… or desperately… carved a lopsided message into the wall.

 “‘If I go blind, so does the world,’” Peerless Cucumber reads.

“...That’s probably not good,” Shang Qinghua says.

“Nooo…” Fanli agrees.

The messages continue as they climb, carved into the walls, the ceilings, the floors. Most of it is illegible. Some of it is just nonsense. Some of it looks like the same kind of historical records carved into the broken tablets. Some of it looks like someone attacked the walls after reading what was written there. There are deep gouges in the walls and cracked marks that would match a giant’s hands.

 “‘The water cleans the lies,’” Peerless Cucumber reads. “‘I am the only one who can see.’ ‘Lies everywhere, lies everywhere, lies everywhere.’ ‘The water cleans the evil.’ ‘I do not have enough tears.’ ‘Everything is nothing now. Everything in vain.’”

“You really don’t need to read them!” Shang Qinghua tells the kid. “It’s fine. It's totally fine.”

- 

AN: This is mostly here to up the tension, but it’s also here to try and give insight into this being and relate them more to the “Death of the Author” and the “Seeing is Believing” themes. 

I also saw the phrase “If I go blind, so does the world” while I was browsing a list of riddles for D&D campaigns and I was like, “THAT’S SICK, I’M USING THAT.” Really brings the “an eye for an eye” and vengeance vibes. (The riddle was longer than that one phrase, but the answer was “the sun”.) 

- 

The top of the temple reveals one massive room that looks like someone was alternatively scratching their insanity into the walls and tearing chunks out of the interior design with their bare hands. Overtop of the rubble is that eerie overgrowth. There’s a fine layer of water over the floor. At the center of it all is an incredibly enormous desk, cracked in half, with a robed skeleton sitting behind it, slumped over the top. It’s a little too large to be an ordinary human.

Plus, its skull is a little too long, probably to accommodate the third eye socket in the forehead. There’s something gleaming softly yellow in the third eye socket.

“Is… there water dripping from its eyes?” Luo Fanli whispers.

“It looks like it…” Peerless Cucumber whispers back. “Like it's crying…?”

“Still…? Is it dead or not?”

 “Holy shit,” Shang Qinghua thinks, slightly nauseated. “System, bro, the worst bro I’ve ever known, tell me that we have not been swimming in a three-eyed skeleton’s magical undead tears or something this whole time.”

The shitty, no-good System stays unsurprisingly silent. 

- 

AN: Okay, so the idea here is that this being was someone who recorded history and shared their knowledge freely. This being had the ability to discern the truth of a person - they were extremely perceptive. (The Weeper is either female or doesn’t have a gender, by the way.) 

The Weeper met the Garden Master at some point. The Garden Master was an asshole, a liar, arrogant, etc.. The Weeper and the Garden Master clashed badly, until the Weeper sent the cleansing flood that nearly destroyed the sect and the Garden Master essentially had to flee to a personal abyss. 

The Garden Master sent the plant as a final “fuck you” to the Weeper. The plant caused the Weeper to slowly go mad. The smashed tablets and destroyed temple are the Weeper’s work. The Weeper (not in a great state of mind) had the temple closed themselves once they realized they and their work had been corrupted. This was a “you destroy my (embellished) reputation, I destroy yours (and your entire life)” plot by the Garden Master. 

The idea behind the tears is the whole “water is cleansing” thing. The Weeper tried to clean away the madness using their magical water-related abilities... and it actually worked for a long time. But eventually the madness began to overpower the effects of the magical water. The Weeper’s tears are from frustration and helplessness at losing control. 

The water inside the temple combats the plant’s physical effects. Also stabbing the root killed the plant and essentially broke its mental/spiritual powers. 

- 

Unfortunately, to get the fuck out of here, they have to go back through the temple. But hey! That’s still a lot better than an extended hike through an underground, haunted desert in darkness! The battle with the now-dead plant caused its growth to writhe around the temple. The vines need to be hacked through sometimes as they travel down through the rooms of broken shelves and shattered tablets.

“So much history lost…” Peerless Cucumber murmurs.

 “He still thinks of himself as a reader - an observer, a visitor, separate from the flow of fate.”

- 

AN: This is... absolutely based on the Heart from the Dishonored franchise. But this sort of item didn’t originate with Dishonored and I need it! It’s a surprise/mystery tool that will help us later! 

The Eye isn’t exactly a mind-reading object. I mean, it kind of is, but it works in a very specific way that I’m looking forward to getting into. 

- 

From there, their path back out of the natural maze is even more careful and stressful than before, now that the Huan Hua Palace Sect cultivators are actively looking for them rather than the temple. It’s slow-going and stressful and silent, except for when the Weeper’s Eye presses too close against his chest.

 “He is afraid that if he starts screaming, he will never stop,” it tells him, when he’s looking at a pale-faced Peerless Cucumber, as they fly over a particularly deathly-looking drop.

 “Oh, me too, bro!” Shang Qinghua thinks. “Seriously! Tell me something I don’t know!”

- 

AN: Having Shang Qinghua be totally unimpressed by an object like this was very funny to me. He’s the author! He’s a transmigrator! He knows these people well! He already has insight into their situations. 

- 

Shang Qinghua groans, but supposes that Peerless Cucumber would have at least been disguising Liu Qingge from the back. “You tell them that you were tracking thieves who stole something from Cang Qiong Mountain Sect,” he says quickly. “Rule of embarrassment! Admitting something that makes us look bad to a rival makes it sound true. Don’t tell them what was stolen and act really offended if they try to poke into Cang Qiong business. I’ll come back as soon as I get these two out!”

Liu Qingge nods and launches forward into the fight.

“We’re just leaving him?” Peerless Cucumber says, as they do exactly that.

“I’ll get changed and come back ‘looking for him for urgent sect business’ as soon as I’ve dropped you two off in the last town,” Shang Qinghua says. “I’m really good at acting stressed and confused, and at desperately needing an unstoppable wandering Liu Qingge back at Cang Qiong Mountain Sect immediately. Now let’s go! Let’s go! Mission isn’t over yet!”

- 

AN: Shang Qinghua is, at heart, a liar. I love him. 

[haloud]

things we could burn in one go (eminence) - chapter 9

also on ao3

Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings Relationships: Isabel Evans & Max Evans & Michael Guerin, Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Forrest Long/Alex Manes Additional Tags: post-s2, Canon Compliant, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Starts Forlex Ends Malex, Other Characters May Appear, Tags Subject to Update, Mutual Pining, Breaking Up, Getting Together

Chapter Summary: Michael and Isobel reckon with the fallout from Michael’s choices; Maria and Max catch up with him post-recovery.

Excerpt:

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

 (Wednesday, 11:00 am)

  Michael flipped Alex’s key over and over in his fingers, running it along his knuckles, pressing his thumb into the teeth until they left a locking-imprint on his skin, then doing it all over again. At some point, maybe it would start to feel real, if he reminded himself of the thing often enough.

The repetition and stimulation of the rough teeth, the cool, smooth metal, soothed him as he waited on Isobel’s porch. She’d called him here in the first place, so eventually she’d open the door. Until then, he waited. And as he waited, he thought of Alex, because what else was there to think about these days?

(A thousand things, like Jones and Project Shepherd, Max and Liz, and all the work piling up at Sanders’s, but Alex had a way of blotting everything else out, and, no matter how much his brain tried to get him to feel stupid or naïve or childish for hoping yet again, he was going to let himself bask in that shade for once in his life.)

He hadn’t left Alex’s house, still, except to go to work and get things from his own place. At Alex’s, he was still sleeping in the guest room, the both of them afraid that they’d fall back into their old patterns too fast if they fell right into bed. But during the day they shared that space, a kitchen, a den, existing alongside each other as they read or cooked or composed, and the routine wasn’t so different from the tense and quiet days right after Michael’s injury, but at the same time they were nothing alike, not when each tiny glance could mean so much, not when fingers on the soft rasp of turning pages were fingers he could touch, that could touch him.

Everything was different. It was terrifying, and exhilarating, brand new and nostalgic. It had only been a day; it had only been half their lifetimes.

“Ew, you’re glowing.”

Isobel’s voice started Michael out of his thoughts, and he jumped, shoving Alex’s key into his pocket. She was glaring at him, but still he relaxed, because Isobel’s snark was a form of love and her turning scorn in his direction was a sign things were getting back to normal between them.

“It’s all natural,” he drawled as she stepped aside to let him inside.

“Right. Did something happen, or is this just some lesser known side effect of being brought back from the brink of death.”

“Uh…”

In a way, sort of, if only because Michael’s own stupidity had driven him and Alex closer together, but that wasn’t exactly a direct correlation or anything admirable.

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p.’ “Just…”

He fell silent. How was he supposed to talk about being in love? He’d never done it before, and this was a first he hadn’t anticipated facing.

“Alex and I…” he tried again, but found himself only able to smile, still without words, and he raised his arms in a helpless shrug.

Isobel’s eyebrows raised. “Oh my god.”

“Yep.”

“I’m still pissed at you, but if Manes is making you his side chick after everything, I’m going to rip his spine out through his—”

“Isobel, no! It’s not like that,” Michael laughed, shaking his head.

“Well what’s it like, then? I cannot handle him breaking your heart again when we’re already dealing with Max.”

He replied, “My heart is fully intact,” as he headed in and dropped down on her couch, throwing a hand over his heart for dramatic effect. “No, uh, Alex and Forrest had a fight, which sucked, but it led to us getting a chance to talk more about, y’know, us, and what we wanted, and each other, so…”

“So this is rebound,” Isobel snipped.

“Can you stop?” Michael said, half-laughing. Even her pessimism on the subject of love couldn’t pop the bubble around his heart right now. He patted the couch beside him, and she hesitated for a few seconds with her arms crossed, before capitulating and joining him.

“Oh, fine,” she groused, leaning against the arm of the couch farthest away from where he was sitting. “Your funeral.”

The words landed like a lead balloon, and Michael winced as her face grew stormier.

“I’m—”

“Don’t,” Isobel held up a hand in his face. “Don’t you dare say you’re sorry. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Well, what do you want to hear?”

“An explanation, Michael! What the hell were you thinking? Why would you do that? What if he’d just straight up killed you, did you want us to find your body in a cave somewhere or, or never, blown to smithereens by a man who literally breathes fire! You’re so stupid, and selfish, and—” She cut herself off, furious tears welling in her eyes even as the rest of her face didn’t change.

“I know! I know, you’re right, it was stupid. I wasn’t thinking, or, well, I was thinking, but my head was all messed up.” He rested his forehead in his hands and running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t think any explanation is going to make any sense now, out of the moment, but I just…everything was going to shit, and I couldn’t do anything for Max, and I thought Jones might have answers, or could help me unlock new powers like you’ve done on your own. So I could protect everyone.”

Isobel threw her arms up and got to her feet, pacing around the couch; Michael tracked her, anxiety dipping and spiking every time she circled him. Her anger pulsing when she passed behind him made his skin crawl, and he shifted in his seat.

“I don’t even know what to say to that,” she finally spoke, stopping in front of him.

He kept his head bent forward, staring at his knees.

She continued, “I really don’t. I’ve been trying for twenty-one years, but I still don’t know how to get through to you. How to convince you that you’re not alone, that people want to protect you. To help you. But I’m not Max. I’ve never pushed or pried or fought to cling onto you when you shook us off. I just hung around because I knew you’d always come back.” She took a deep breath. Her voice stayed steady and deliberate. “But Michael, this has gone on for too long, and you went too far this time. You have to let us help you. Otherwise—I don’t know. I just don’t. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do anymore.”

Drops of water speckled the tops of Michael’s knees, and he sniffed, swallowed, mouth dry, throat tight and aching. His sister’s gentle hands threaded through his hair, cradling both temples, right hand over Max’s lingering handprint, but no matter how careful that touch was, he flinched.

Isobel tipped his head up so he had to look her in the eye and said, “You’re my brother, Michael. I love you so much. And I would do anything for you, just like you would—and have—do anything for me. But you need to let me! From here on out, I need you to fucking work with me. We’ll figure this out, okay?”

Tears trickling down his face and dripping from his chin, Michael nodded, not trusting his voice, and Isobel fell forward, his arms opening up to catch her, and they stayed like that for a long time, Michael rocking her back and forth, her clinging desperately to his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he finally croaked, wiping his eyes with the heel of his hand. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. Or Max. I just, I can’t stop myself, sometimes, I know it’s not an excuse, I know it was stupid, I know—”

“I know,” she interrupted his stream of self-loathing, sitting back to look him seriously in the face. “I was in your head, remember?”

She’d found him beneath a vaulted ceiling, stained glass in shifting, alive, alien colors, walled in with his demons. Defining himself inside the devouring maelstrom by the battles he understood. His whole life, he’d sewed himself back whole, and his work wasn’t pretty, but the patterns made sense, and they kept him sane even when the odds demanded otherwise. The image flashed behind his eyes, but that’s all it was, an image. He shook his head.

“Not really.”

“Well. I didn’t really go snooping, no matter how tempting it was,” she said with a self-deprecating roll of her eyes. “But let’s just say…you don’t owe me any explanations you aren’t willing or ready to give. Those belong to you. I know I haven’t always understood that in the past. We both have things to work on, okay?”

“Okay,” Michael rasped, squeezing her tight again. “I…want to work on them with you.”

“Then it sounds like we’re going to be okay,” she softly replied.

(3:00 pm)

Isobel didn’t let him leave the house until both their eyes stopped being red and puffy from crying; It took multiple episodes of some Food Network show he’d never heard of before she agreed to let him out of her sight, and, in deeply un-Isobel-like fashion, she followed him to the door and pulled him into another hug for the road before she let him leave.

The drive from Isobel’s to the Wild Pony wasn’t really long enough to fully ruminate on how bad he must have scared Isobel to warrant this level of reaction. Logically, he’d known, but emotionally it was just beginning to sink in.

Over the past year, he’d been faced with losing Isobel and with losing Max multiple times—had lost Max, in fact. He knew how it felt. Why should the loss of himself be any different to them? In low moments, sure, thoughts shifted beneath the murk of his mind, lurking demons from childhood, that they didn’t need him, they had each other, a more special bond, he was the odd one out, outside, out in the cold. But on the day to day, he didn’t devalue himself like that, not in so many words, did he? But—

To be surprised? That Isobel was afraid, that Max was afraid, that the both of them stood on the precipice of grieving him and had to process the horror of that fall after snatching themselves back at the last minute? It was a slap in the face, a rude awakening. A lesson that for all these years he’d resisted learning.

The first step to protecting those who loved him was to protect himself. He couldn’t keep shelving it as the lowest priority. They were one and the same.

It sounded fake to his own ears, but he’d just have to say it until the lesson sunk in.

With the windows rolled down, the idle breeze tugged Michael’s hair across his face and cooled the late-summer stickiness from his skin. It was just after lunchtime, a little early for Max to be at work, but since he wasn’t at Isobel’s house, it was faster to check for him here than to drive all the way out to his own place.

If there was one positive to his near-death, it was the way Max was invigorated by a purpose. The healing drained him, of course it did; it could have killed him, and that weighed on Michael’s conscience, but afterward, after it worked and he’d pulled Michael back from death, he smiled. He slept. He bustled around Alex’s house babysitting Michael while Alex was at work, and now, with a little distance from fragile death, that didn’t chafe as badly.

Max deserved a better thanks than Michael had thus far been able to render, and with Isobel’s words still ringing in his ears, there was no better time than now.

He pulled up to the Pony, the fairy lights strung across the patio dancing in the wind, the wood of the old building all pale and real in the sunlight. The old, familiar sign above the door was off as long as the bar was closed, but Michael still took a moment to glance at it nice and long, remembering the feel of fixing it under his hands so the whole place felt less liminal, less like a mirror vision of the beating heart that was the Wild Pony glowing under the night sky, lit from within rather than from the sun.

Faint music played as Michael parked and left his truck, so he rounded the corner of the building to suss it out and smiled at what he saw, leaning against one of the trellis supports.

Maria sat on the steps, an old CD radio of Rosa’s beside her playing a classic Rosa mixtape, a Third Eye Blind track Michael only half-remembered flowing around her, her humming running under it, glittering minerals in a riverbed. She was surrounded by papers, pinned under painted rocks to keep them from being snatched away, her hair tied back by a rainbow scarf, and she bent over to write in a binder propped on her knees.

Michael rapped on the pillar behind him to get her attention, and when she looked up she smiled and set the binder aside.

“Guerin! You’re up! What brings you here with the sun in the sky?”

“Where else am I gonna go to get my sea legs back?”

“Well, come pull your ass into port and sit with me.”

She patted the low stair beside her and Michael did as he was told, swiping his hat off his head as he approached her. For her it was wordplay, but Michael cradled to his chest something more true than maybe she’d intended—Maria was a safe harbor, a port in a storm. No matter how bad things got, her warm heart and practical mind were a reminder to never give up. Just sitting beside her was enough to make him smile, even though he sat with a good six inches buffer between them, still unsure what boundaries were appropriate, still navigating the uncertain waters of being friends with an ex who meant something.

“What are you working on?” he asked.

“Oh, you know me.” She gestured vaguely to the arrangement of papers and tucked her feet up beside her, leaning toward Michael, cutting the space between them in half like it wasn’t worth noticing. Some of the tension in Michael’s chest unwound at her ease around him.

“Hustling?” he prompted.

“Yep. I’m just organizing the events I have planned for the upcoming season and making sure I have space set out for scheduling, details, budgeting, the works. High school me would die with envy; my system was never this good when I was trying to study.”

“I’m definitely impressed. Let me know if there’s anything I can help with, anything you need built, or an extra set of ‘hands’ for decorating.”

“How is that going?” she asked, brows furrowing.

“I’m still getting my strength back. Just gotta keep pushing through and hope whatever Jones did didn’t mess me up for good.”

“I’m sure he didn’t.”

Her hand extended but stopped before touching him, until he turned his hand palm-up, asking her to take it. She did, squeezing him.

“You’ll figure it out,” she said. “And the TK aside, have any of the other powers cropped up? The light, the teleporting? Those were the ones Alex told me about.”

“That’s all I remember, really. And no. I haven’t even tried, honestly.” He looked at their joined hands, her wrist bare of the pollen bracelet he’d promised her and wasted, thrown away like trash in a corner of Jones’s cave. This is blasphemy…

“Do you think you will? Try?” Maria asked, head tilted.

“I…hadn’t thought about it. Been focused on getting back to square one with the TK, but…”

Was doing more with his powers still an option? Was he willing to try, and fail, and fail again, without folding and submitting to all the voices in his head that told him every failure was proof positive of the erstwhile adage that he was worthless?

“Well, you have time,” Maria said, squeezing his hand again.

“What about you?” Michael asked. “Any visions?”

Her face shut down. She let go of his hand to smooth both hers down her knees then fold her arms around herself, turning her head away. “No. Still nothing. A few dreams, but it isn’t always easy to tell what’s a normal dream and what’s a vision, and with you out of the woods, the most dire ones are already Jossed.”

“What about Mimi?”

“Huh.” Maria pursed her lips for a second, then said, “I haven’t noticed any change in her? But I’ll have to ask and see what she says. I’m not even completely sure our powers work identically, with the things she’s said about being unstuck in time…I don’t always get that same feeling.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Michael promised her. “Even if it means having to go back to Jones and ask what he knows—”

“No!”

She wheeled on him and smacked his arm lightly.

“Absolutely not! Michael!”

“Not alone, obviously!” He defended.

“Not at all. Jesus Christ. I’ll tell Isobel you said that—I’ll tell Alex—”

“Maria, c’mon,” Michael whined, taking her hand again in an attempt to connect them and calm them both down. “I just don’t want to rule out that he’s meddling in more ways than we know. I still think he’s fucking with Max. You deserve answers, if that’s what’s going on.”

“Not at the cost of your life. Not ever. It could be a hundred other things, too. Stay away from him, Michael, I’m serious.”

“I will. I promise.”

“Good,” she said firmly, wrapping her arm around his again and leaning into him. He let out a long, slow breath as she relaxed.

“You know, in Jones’s cave…”

“Mm?”

Michael carefully encircled her wrist with his fingers. “I lost the bracelet I made for you. The backup one I promised.”

“Are you feeling guilty about that? Because please, don’t,” she replied, covering the hand on her wrist with her other. “That is the last thing on my mind.”

“But I—”

“Hush. I’m glad you had it with you, whatever happened to it. It’s good that you opted to protect yourself, even if it didn’t work.”

“I thought your powers were offline.”

“The visions, maybe. But I don’t need to see the future to read you, Guerin.”

“You are something else, DeLuca.”

“Oh, I’m aware.”

“Hey, Maria—oh! Michael!”

The two of them turned toward the backdoor at the sound of Max’s voice.

“Hey, Max,” Maria said. “Is the inventory finished?”

“Yeah, I was just coming to report back.”

“No need to be so formal,” she teased, standing up and brushing dust from the seat of her pants, looking at the papers around her with her hands on her hips. “I was hoping to get your opinion on some plans, Number One, but someone interrupted, so they’re not quite ready yet.”

“Guilty as charged,” Michael drawled.

Max reached out a hand, and Michael took it to humor him, letting him haul him to his feet.

“I’ll let you off the hook this time,” Maria said as she led the way back into the bar, cool and dim in the daylight. “You can sweep up to say you’re sorry.”

“My pleasure,” Michael said, reaching out a hand, hoping he could summon the broom as nonchalantly as he once could. It sat unresponsive until a spike of formless frustration zipped through him, at which point it flew to his hand fast and hard enough to sting his palm when he caught it. Great. Just what he needed right now—puberty flashbacks.

“I need to run,” Maria said, stowing her binder behind the bar. “Late lunch with Rosa. I’ll see you later, Max—Michael, it was so good to see you. Say hi to Alex for me, okay? I know you’re gonna see him before I do.”

She left with a wink while Michael was still pink and stammering. Maybe Alex had told her already—or maybe that was just Maria, putting him so at ease it was easy to forget how much she saw. His chest glowed so warm he couldn’t stop blushing at that casual acknowledgement, that easy validation, that he and Alex—that Alex and he were what they were to each other, now, again.

“Wait, is she talking about you staying over there, or does she mean—dude!” Max grinned ear to ear and bounded out from behind the bar to pull Michael into a back-slapping hug. “Congratulations!”

Old, brotherly habit had Michael squirming out of Max’s affections, but it didn’t dent his exuberance; he retaliated with a swipe through Michael’s hair, making him duck further out of range, huffing and laughing all at once as he tried to fix it again.

“Yeah, um, Forrest and Alex broke up, and then one thing led to another, so.”

“I’m really happy for you, man.”

“I—thanks. I’m…I’m really happy, too.”

The sudden urge to comfort Max gripped him, a strange survivor’s guilt that things would be working out for him and Alex and Max and Liz would still be so far apart. But it wasn’t his place to throw that in Max’s face now, so he bit his tongue and basked in Max’s honest happiness for him.

“Could you feel, uh, any of my emotions through the handprint?” Michael asked. He ran his hand through his hair over the spot on his temple where Jones had held him, erased by Max’s healing hands, then dropped it back to his side abruptly, flexing away the phantom stiffness that still plagued him, that probably always would. He gave it a shake as if to chase away nervous tingling.

“Nah. But it’s not like I’m looking; I respect your privacy, man.”

“’preciate that,” Michael snarked, and Max just shrugged.

“Any particular reason you ask? I don’t need to know what you and Alex are up to,” Max joked.

Michael considered his answer for a little bit as he made his way between the tables. After all, it wasn’t as if this was the first handprint Max had ever given him. The ones on his neck and hand cut off by his death aside, dozens of times over dozens of years, Max had practiced healing on him and they’d explored that connection. Michael was always the guinea pig; he never wanted for injuries to work on, after all.

But there’d been a lot of handprinting over the past year and change. Max felt something from Liz; Liz felt something from Noah; Rosa and Max had a connection strong enough to tether Max to the world of the living. And then there was Michael, with Jones’s voice in his ear, dripping condescending words about his lack of psychic ability being phenomenal, considering.

At various times in his life, Michael had looked up at the stars and wondered in the silence what it was in him that was irreparably broken.

“Just curious. It’s been a while, and all juiced up like I was, I was wondering if anything felt different.”

“Nothing different. Just you.”

Max smiled like that was a good thing, a comforting thing. And you know what? In between the adrenaline of change, good and bad, in between the rock of Project Shepherd and the hard place of Jones, on an afternoon in a closed bar, a home to both of them, alone with his brother, Michael let it be.

He cleared his throat. “Good. So there’s no…interference or anything? Nothing weird lurking around up there?”

“Not that I can tell; Isobel would probably know better than I would. Whatever he did to you was bizarre, man. It wasn’t like the way, uh, the way I’ve killed people before. Or the way Noah killed.”

“I don’t think he was just trying to kill me.”

Michael made his way over to a booth and beckoned Max over; he lingered over his work for a glance at the clock and then came and joined him.

He continued, “He kept going on about teaching and knowledge and this being the wrong way but the most efficient. He knew it would hurt me, but maybe it would have worked better if he did it to someone more, uh, receptive than me.”

“What are you talking about?” Max leaned over the table, brow furrowed. This close up, the dark circles below his eyes were more noticeable. “Michael, what he did to you wasn’t in any way your fault—”

“I know, I know, that’s not what I mean. Just…look, I saw the security footage from Caulfield, from the day of the Valenti incident. The way that alien approached Jim Valenti and put his hands on him was identical to what Jones did to me, and I think maybe that guy was just trying to communicate but it fucked up a human in a way he either couldn’t expect or was too out of it to realize. And, well,” Michael gestured to his own head. “I’m the most human of the three of us up here.”

“I…huh.” Max sat back and drummed his fingers on the tabletop as he processed that. “Well, whatever the case, it proved you and Isobel were right about him. He can’t be trusted. Nobody should have any more contact with him. We’ll start doing our monthly drop offs contactless until we all figure out what should be done with him.”

His voice was firm, businesslike. Traffic Stop Max was Michael’s least favorite version of his brother and he’d hoped that his turn to the civilian would’ve put that guy to rest, but he had a tendency to rear his head in a crisis.

But in this case, he saw through him, and that façade was hiding something.

“How do you feel about that?” Michael asked, leaning back and slouching, reflecting Max’s rigid body language the way he had for a decade, cops and robbers style.

“It doesn’t matter how I feel about it. He almost killed you; we’ll do what has to be done.”

“Uh, it definitely does matter. You’re the closest thing to a next of kin he’s got, as far as we know. If anyone gets to decide what happens to him, it’s you.”

“That’s what I’m doing.”

“Is it? ‘Cause, look, I know I fucked up a lot of stuff running off to Jones half-cocked like I did. I don’t want to set off a chain reaction of more bad mistakes that rips us apart again when we’re just startin’ to…” Michael trailed off with a self-conscious shrug. It was realer than he’d intended to get, but it was the root of the issue, wasn’t it?

Max’s face softened, and Michael slumped lower in the booth.

“You’re not. You won’t.”

“You’re just saying that—”

“Michael.”

That tone was always a coin flip if it’d get right under Michael’s skin or if it’d shut him up. It landed on the second one this time, to Michael’s relief.

Max said, “No chain reactions. What we were doing before wasn’t working, okay? I knew I wanted something from Jones, but I couldn’t bring myself to reach out and take it. All you did was force us to make a choice when I would’ve dug my heels in and not been able to for a long time otherwise.”

“The answers you’re looking for, though, you deserve to look for them if it’s what you need,” Michael forged on, battling his clumsy tongue. “I should’ve said that before. You deserve to know who you are and to learn who that is in whatever way you can. Everybody deserves that.”

“Thank you. I mean that. But I was getting so desperate—the things I was thinking of doing—I scared myself, okay? I didn’t think—I don’t think I am that person. And being this person I am right now and who I want to be right now is more important than any answers about the past, if that’s what it means to find them.”

Michael sat with that, looking Max up and down, sitting with his own feelings as much as Max’s words. Parsing his own reactions to Max was something he took steadier, more carefully than most other things in his life. It was a set of muscles he needed to practice with as much as he needed to get power back to his telekinesis.

“Okay, man. I respect that,” he said finally, leaning over the table to punch Max in the shoulder. Max made a face and rubbed that spot.

“Ow, man, thanks, I guess.”

“Damn, did I get you in your writing arm?”

“Try my drink-mixing arm. If I’m off tonight, I’m ratting you out to Maria.”

Michael let out a scandalized noise and slipped out of the booth.

“Where are you going?” Max laughed, dark eyes shining with life in a way Jones’s never could. For all they were identical, Michael barely saw the resemblance.

“To lay low, what do you think? You’re makin’ me a fugitive.”

“Uh huh. Good luck; you know she’s just going to ask Alex.”

“Damn it. The things I do for love.”

A smile on his own face as soon as he turned his back, Michael was almost at the door when Max called his name and he turned to face him again.

“Michael? Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Asking. Listening.”

Those two words held a lifetime of desperate loneliness between them, and Michael would be sitting with that, too, as long as he was holding it in his head, making it a conscious decision, to do right by his brother.

“You don’t have to thank me,” he said.

“I wanted to,” Max replied simply.

“Well in that case…I guess you’re welcome.”

Michael’s phone buzzed in his pocket, not the single pulse of a text but the longer jangling of a phone call. He fished it out, smiling when he saw the name, and he didn’t even wait to get privacy from Max before answering.

“Alex—”

“Thank God. Where are you, Michael? Are you okay?”

“Alex? I’m fine, I’m at the Pony, what’s wrong—”

Max hurried to Michael’s side.

Alex repeated, “Thank god. Don’t come home, do you hear me? Do not come back to the house until I give you the all clear. Stay with Max and Maria.”

“What? No!”

But the line cut off midway through his protest, leaving him with nothing but the dial tone.

[lit-in-thy-heart]

If you want to! Mergwaine and tackle hug (romantic or platonic). Idk Gwaine is just the type and it’d be so cute. Maybe after they’ve been reunited??? Or not whatever works 💗

@rainbowvamp thank you for the prompt!! 💕 i took a couple of liberties in that it's a tackle and a hug, i hope that's alright, and i'm sorry about the tone, they just seem to be getting angstier and angstier...

(set a few days after camlann)

as usual, under the cut, and thank you again!!

Whilst the rest of the court marvelled at Gwaine’s miraculously hasty recovery, Gwaine was embracing his newly-discovered invincibility by patrolling the Darkling Woods alone.

He had been clinging to life by a thread, but even in his deadened state he had recognised the hands that had slowly coaxed his body back to consciousness. Instinctively, Gwaine’s own hand jumped to his chest, where he had felt Merlin’s fingers brush against his skin. He wasn’t sure if he’d called out his name, if they’d even spoken, or quite what Merlin had done to him, but Gwaine had been able to sit up after a day and Merlin had been gone.

Healing spells had never been Merlin’s strong suit and Gwaine knew that they were capable of draining every last trace of a skittish pulse if the healer was already weakened. And Merlin would be weakened after watching Arthur die, that Gwaine knew all too well. And Gwaine couldn’t lose Merlin, not after everything that had happened. Particularly not as a result of Merlin reversing Morgana’s damage.

Gwaine pushed through the branches, tucking his hair behind his ear and pausing for a moment by a large oak tree. His fingers fumbled for the knots on the trunk as his legs threatened to crumble beneath him, seeking out the letters carved into the wood. It had been a ridiculous idea, and childish at that, but that hadn’t stopped him from leaving the scar of his initials interlinked with that of Merlin’s in the soft sunset so many years before. Severing himself from the tree as the strength returned to him in gradual waves, Gwaine moved further into the woods, plunging into the translucent darkness left by the shadows of the sun as the leaves above him obscured its path. He and Merlin had grown apart over the last year, and Gwaine had been trying his best to not let it show just how desperately his feet were treading water beneath the surface in the effort to keep their relationship afloat. Merlin had not left his side for a week after Gwaine had returned from Morgana’s clutches with Percival, but he had been paying more and more attention to Arthur and his well being, which Gwaine had attempted to apply logic to. It had made sense that Merlin was focused on Arthur, particularly with the multiple threats lurking in the shadows, and Gwaine himself had sworn loyalty to Arthur. Though that didn’t mean that his service, as it had always been, wasn’t primarily dedicated to Merlin. Everything he did – or had done – for Arthur had been because Merlin had asked him to, or because Gwaine had been able to see the expression lingering in the eyes that he knew so well, the fear that had darkened the delicate irises for the past year.

For a year, Gwaine had mourned the moments where Merlin would unflinchingly tell him about his father, or his magic, or the numerous dangers he’d encountered – though that last one had usually been reserved for when Gwaine had needed a scare to rid himself of hiccups. He had watched Merlin close off more and more of himself and Gwaine hadn’t even realised that Merlin had been dying until he had collapsed on Gwaine’s bed hours after the attempted assassination of Arthur and begrudgingly told him the whole tale. Even then he’d elected to omit the fact that Gwen was wanting Arthur dead, but Gwaine also knew that Merlin had the opinion of himself that his word was worth nothing, despite Gwaine having told him multiple times that he would believe Merlin over Arthur any day of the week. And if Merlin had spent the last of his spirit on Gwaine before they even had the chance to recover the land decimated by drought, Gwaine would never forgive himself.

Through the hesitant birdsong, the snapping of a twig resounded like a crossbow bolt to the skull. Gwaine pressed himself to a tree trunk and, one hand hovering over his sword, ignited sparks that scattered themselves across his fingertips. Through the branches, he caught sight of a hooded figure and a glint of metal and, putting aside all cautions of taking it easy, launched himself at the intruder. Having knocked them to the ground, Gwaine roughly turned them over onto their back between his legs, hand drawn back behind his head as the sparks evolved into ribbons of fire, his eyes burning with the same heat that Merlin’s had flared with so many times.

The same heat that was flickering right in front of him.

In wonder, Merlin reached up with his fingertips to graze the stubble on Gwaine’s chin, the drawn and anxious expression buried amidst it, the bruises stretched out beneath his eyes. When he spoke, he sounded like he was older than time itself. ‘I didn’t think it would work,’ he whispered, the fire in his eyes fading.

Instead of the vibrant blue that Gwaine was used to, the gaze that held his was commanded by the uncertain watery depths of the sky snatched between storm clouds. It was like all the colour had been drained from him and Merlin had been left with the dregs of his former self, and Gwaine’s hands, dropping the flames like he had dropped his guard around the warlock so long ago, jumped to Merlin’s cheeks to check that he was not some trick of his mind.

‘What happened to you?’

‘I gave you all,’ Merlin breathed back, eyes still roaming his form. ‘Because I couldn’t save Arthur, so I had to save you. Morgana was the darkness to my light, and you are my light. I couldn’t let her corrupt you. So I poured everything I had into reversing her damage. I poured everything I had into you.’

‘And nearly killed yourself in the process,’ said Gwaine sharply, fingers darting to the faint heartbeat beneath Merlin’s shirt. He slid from him, trying to conceal his trembling lower lip, and shook out his hair as he held out his arms. ‘Come here, you self-sacrificing fuck.’

Merlin fell into him like an acorn burying itself in the ground, rooting itself to the very earth it would one day become in the hopes of being able to slowly flourish. Savouring the cool touch, Gwaine wrapped his arms around the warlock in the attempt to transfer some of his body heat. Merlin was still breathing, which was always a good sign, and the heart thumping against him was stronger than it had been mere moments before. They hadn’t held each other like this since the morning that Merlin had been released from the cells after being cleared of poisoning Arthur. When Merlin touched him, it was like a butterfly was darting across Gwaine’s skin and seeking out the nectar hidden in his pores, and Gwaine closed his eyes.

‘Do you still have your magic?’

Merlin’s reply was thickened by the threat of tears. ‘I think so. It doesn’t feel as strong as it did, but I know a way to get it back if it is gone. You didn’t tell me that you’d been practising.’

Gwaine’s fingers were making their way along Merlin’s ribs. ‘There wasn’t really a chance to drop it into conversation,’ he softly said. ‘You were preoccupied with—You were preoccupied with other things.’

‘I’m sorry. For isolating myself. I just—I couldn’t afford to get distracted. I couldn’t allow everything that had been built to crumble so soon after.’ Merlin dropped his head into Gwaine’s shoulder. ‘It has anyway, though, and I’ve hurt you in the process. And I should have stayed by your side, when I healed you. But there were other voices and I was selfish and couldn’t handle the prospect of yet another failure, this time with an audience, and—’

‘Merlin, it’s alright. You’ve had so much pressure put on you for so long and, yes, you’ve hurt me, but you’re a selfless bastard who was doing it to protect me. I’d say that I expect you to make it up to me, but you’ve just saved my life, so I think that counteracts some of the distance that was between us. Not that I’ll say no to flowers, if that inclination possesses you,’ Gwaine added as an afterthought.

Pulling away, Merlin abandoned his fingers to Gwaine’s soft hair, gaze darting anywhere but Gwaine’s warm eyes. Then, he met them. ‘You know I love you, don’t you?’

Had Merlin asked that several months ago, Gwaine would have screamed that he show him, but Merlin had been willing to sacrifice himself for Gwaine. And Merlin being prepared to drain himself of his magic, the one thing that he had defined himself by – which was arguably not the best idea, but there would be time to show Merlin how much more he was worth – was more than enough proof that he loved Gwaine. ‘I know now. And I love you too.’

‘I won’t leave you again, I promise you.’

A lifetime of living as a pariah was screaming at Gwaine to not trust Merlin, to push him away to protect himself, but his heart was weeping and Merlin’s stare was so fierce for one who seemed so fragile. ‘I know you won’t.’ Gwaine pressed a kiss to Merlin’s forehead, lips lingering as he closed his eyes. ‘I know you won’t.’

[ri-ahhh]

what about drunk y/n bluntly saying all the things he wants to do to gray and he’s shocked bc she’s usually really shy. ( inspired by the first lines of pu$$y fairy by jhene) “ i like to suck when i’m drunk” “i like to fuck when i’m drunk”

Loud music thuds in every corner of the West Hollywood house you and Grayson walk into for a random party he had been invited to earlier that day. Ethan had chosen to stay at home, but you and Gray both needed to get out of the house, and while parties weren’t really his scene, socializing felt like a better alternative to Netflix tonight. 

Grayson daps up his friend that’s throwing the party and introduces you to him. He seems nice enough, but you barely catch his name before he’s excusing himself to greet some other people that have just walked in.

You catch Grayson’s eye and lean close to shout in his ear so he can hear you over the YG song blasting through the speakers nearby. He smells even better this up close than he had in the car, clean and masculine with that woody undertone that’s just a permanent part of him now. “Do you see anyone else you know?” 

He shakes his head, switching places with you so his mouth brushes your ear now. You’re sure he can feel the shiver his warm breath and too-close proximity elicits, but you’re glad it’s potentially dark enough for him not to see the goosebumps flaring across the skin left exposed by your simple bandeau top. 

“Not yet!” he says, and his huge hand places itself on the small of your back as he lifts his head to inspect your surroundings. His long fingers radiate warmth and calm your nerves a bit as you also take in the features of the house you’re in. It’s big, but not a ridiculous mansion or anything, which makes you feel a little more comfortable about being somewhere that you know literally nobody else. 

Until Grayson speaks again, that is. “Are you good by yourself long enough for me to go piss? I’ve been holding it since I got in the car.”

‘No!’ screams the petrified introvert inside you.

“Of course,” smiles the rational grown woman you pretend to be most of the time.

He grins back at you gratefully. “I’ll be like, five minutes tops,” he assures, moving his hand from your back to your hand and giving it a squeeze. 

You cling to his fingers until they’re forced to drop away with the distance between you, and watch his broad body thread through a crowd of fellow partygoers as he follows the handwritten sign with an arrow labelled ‘bathroom -- you puke, you clean.’ It’s pathetic how much you miss his presence already, but it’s not like this is the first party you’ve ever been to; if there’s any safe place at a house party for the single person to go, it’s the kitchen.

You’ve only made it a handful of yards away from where Grayson left you when suddenly a large someone stumbles into you, his drink sloshing precariously in his solo cup.

“Woah!” he says, holding his drink up and away as he glances down at you, clearly tipsy. To your dismay, some of whatever is in his cup has spilled onto your jeans, but you try to just chalk it up as a party foul without getting too annoyed. “Sorry about that.”

“You’re good,” you offer with a polite smile, brushing off some of the droplets that cling to the denim stubbornly. At least now you have another excuse to get to the kitchen and preoccupy yourself with something until Grayson returns. 

The guy blinks and looks you up and down unashamedly, and you fight not to roll your eyes. He can only be described as a Chad, looking every bit the frat daddy with his Supreme t-shirt, snapback backwards over his too-long hair, and alcohol-induced predatory gaze. 

He offers you his hand, and out of instinct you take it, but instantly cringe at how clammy it is. Being too nice to douchebags is definitely one of your character flaws. “I’m Brad.”

You can’t help but laugh at the irony, because of course he is, but he must take it as a flirtatious giggle or something, because he smiles back at you. “What’s your name? I’ve never seen you at these things before.”

You tell him against your better judgement, and Brad does that thing where he pretends not to hear. He pulls you by the hand still clasped in his and brings you closer to him, as if to hear you better. This time, you can’t stop your annoyed eye-roll, telling him again with finality and pulling away quickly. If Grayson’s closeness that way made you shudder with desire, this guy makes you do it with disgust.

Really, you just want Grayson again. You need him.

You finally rip your hand out of his grasp and give him a tight smile. He starts to speak again, but you cut him off. “Well, it was nice to meet you. I’m gonna go find something to clean myself up with.”

Whether he’s just an idiot asshole or because of the alcohol flowing through him, Brad doesn’t take the hint. “Aw, beautiful, I said I’m sorry! Let me come with, and I’ll make you a drink to make up for it.”

“Dude, I literally just told you my name,” you say, unable to help yourself as this guy’s douche-meter hits record highs with that. “Thank you, but I’m good. Please leave me alone.”

You turn on the spot, but you can feel him following close behind. Luckily, the kitchen is only one room over, and even more in your favor, Grayson is already there, shining like the beautiful angel he is under the recessed lights.

He meets your eyes when you walk in, and you give him the bug-eyed ‘save me’ look that you hope translates to boy as well as it does to girl. He cocks an amused brow, but then his eyes fall behind you and see Brad trailing you like a lost, horny dog, and he frowns immediately. 

“Hey,” he greets, opening his arms to you at once as soon as you wiggle through the other minglers between you. You fall into them and sigh in relief, so happy to see him that you stand on your tiptoes and plant a warm kiss to his stubbled cheek.

“Hey,” you return, pulling back and looking up at him with a smile. His eyes are still locked on Brad, who has stopped in his tracks but not walked away. “Brad here spilled some of his drink on me by accident but doesn’t seem to think I’m capable of cleaning up myself.”

“Nah, I was just gonna make you a drink, babe, remember?” he slurs, narrowing his beady blue eyes at Grayson, like there’s even an ounce of intimidation behind them.

Grayson scoffs, and shifts so he’s squared up with Brad. He keeps his arm slung over your shoulder to hold you against him protectively, and you hold onto the hand of that arm with one of yours while you wrap your other arm around his back. Both of you glare at him. “Okay Brad, first of all, don't fucking call her that. Second, what decade are you living in? What girl nowadays is gonna take a drink from a random, sketchy guy she doesn’t know? Walk away and leave us alone, please.”

“What, is she your girlfriend, bro?”

“Yeah, she is,” he retorts without hesitation. Your heart drops, and you look up at him with surprise. His jaw is set tight and it makes his profile even sexier than usual. “Go be creepy with your own friends now. And leave the other poor girls at this party alone.”

Grayson looks down at you and cups your cheek. This whole lie has caught you completely off-gaurd, but you’re catching on to what he’s doing. You nod nearly imperceptibly in consent, and Grayson dips down to capture your lips in his for the first time ever. They're warm, soft, pliant, and perfectly insistent against yours. If Grayson is capable of anything chaste, this is it, but there’s still a heat behind it you’re all-too familiar with. This isn’t a ploy kiss; there’s something there, and neither of you are able to stop now that you’ve started. 

You trace the seam of his lips with your tongue to beg entry, and he opens willingly. His hand slips from your cheek to the back of your head, clutching a handful of your hair and tipping your head back to allow himself better access to your mouth as his tongue takes dominance, just how you imagined it would so many times late at night. 

“Uh, Grayson?”

Both of you are startled apart, and jerk your heads to the female voice just a couple feet away that had interrupted you. Brad is gone, but a beautiful dark-skin girl with piercing eyes the color of cinnamon stands there with her arms crossed and a perfectly done brow arched high on her forehead. Clearly, you had interrupted them first.

“Nadia!” he exclaims in surprise, clearly having forgotten she was even there before he kissed you. His chest heaves as he fights to catch his breath and you blush when he swipes his thumb across a patch of your saliva clinging to his lower lip. “Sorry. I, uh --”

“You didn’t tell me you have a girlfriend.”

It hurts your heart to do it, but you look at Grayson and step away. Who knows how long he’s been talking to this girl before tonight; who are you to come between that right now? 

“I’m sorry, I’m not his girlfriend. He was just helping me get rid of that gorilla that followed me in here. You know how some guys are. They respect a man’s ‘territory’ more than the girl just telling them no.”

Nadia’s pretty features soften some, and she sighs. “Yeah, tell me about it.” She looks at Grayson, standing there still somewhat sheepishly. “I have to go. Call me when you get...this sorted out.”

“I --”

“It’s okay, Gray. Trust me.” Her eyes linger back and forth over the two of you. “Figure it out, and call me.”

She leaves the two of you with a small but friendly smile that confuses you some. You heave out a sigh. The night has definitely taken a turn for the dramatic, that’s for sure.

You long for a stiff vodka soda to settle your mind, but there are too many external factors that make that a bad idea right now. You’re suddenly aware that there’s still many people in the kitchen, but they're all impervious to two random people making out next to them. 

You snatch a couple cans of ginger ale off the huge collection of mixers on one of the countertops, and hand one to Grayson. He pops it open gratefully and chugs a huge swallow of it, burping into his hand. You can’t help but giggle, and take a more dainty sip of your own can. You still wish it had alcohol in it, but it’ll do.

It’s like he can read your mind, stuffing his free hand in his pocket. “You know, you can have a drink. I really don’t mind.”

You lean back against the counter and look up at him. He’s blushing, from embarrassment or arousal, you’re not sure. You know your heartbeat is still thumping in your panties at the lingering feel of his lips on yours and his hands trailing over your body. Something has inevitably shifted between the two of you, and Nadia was right: you need to figure it out. 

You’re not the most outspoken person all the time, but if there’s one thing you hate more than putting yourself out there, it’s leaving heavy things up in the air. You take a deep breath and scoot a little closer to him. 

“I know. I just...don’t trust myself to be even remotely tipsy around you right now.”

He looks at you, confused. “You don’t trust me?”

You suddenly remember his complete lack of experience with how alcohol can affect more than your motor movements and decision making. It’s endearing.

“I said I don’t trust myself,” you correct with a smile, reaching up to brush his flop of hair out of his eyes. “I liked that kiss. It made me want more.”

Grayson swallows. “Yeah?” he finally says, a little dumbly.

You giggle. “Yeah. Like, a lot more.”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his lips, and he shuffles even closer so you’re pretty much trapped against the counter and his thick, muscular body. Despite the fact that you’d have a harder time escaping this than you did back in the living room with Brad, you feel more free and confident than ever. 

“Like what?” he asks, setting his can down behind you, planting his hand on the edge of the counter next to your hip.

You smile and allow your hand to rest on one defined pec through his thin shirt. You can feel his heart beating strong and fast, matching your own. It gives you the courage to put it all out there.

“Like... take you to the car and suck your dick; like, have you fuck me once we get home.” You look up at him through your lashes, pleased to see him sufficiently flushed and flustered by your words. “Like, go on a date?”

Your fingers have trailed over the hard ridges of his abs and settled on the edge of his belt, tugging on it playfully. Grayson gasps and looks at you with wide eyes and a disbelieving smile as he snatches it away in his own, bringing your fingers to his lips. “Easy. Wow, I can’t decide which of those I want to do most.” He looks back a little and narrows his eyes. “Are you sure you’re not drunk.”

You laugh and shake your head, taking your hand out of his and wrapping it around the back of his neck. “Nope, that’s all you baby. But who says we can’t do all of those, tonight?”

Grayson smiles brightly, and interlaces your fingers. Your ginger ales get abandoned on the counter as he starts to drag you through the throngs of people. “Let’s fucking go.”