#blazed bc there’s no reach otherwise

[azovyon]

through arteries untold

[holy-puckslibrary]

━ 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐡 𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝐛𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐞. 

main masterlist

pairing(s) — JAMIE DRYSDALE x reader (est. relationship) wc — 1.5k synopsis — jamie can’t keep his hands to himself, and neither can his girlfriend. (prompted on this ask)

note — title’s from summertime by bon jovi + yes, this is a re-upload from the main blog (@holy-pucks) since nothing of mine posted there shows up in the tags. if you’ve already liked or shared that post, i would really appreciate you doing the same with this new one :) thx a million in advance! xx 

specific content warnings listed below the cut.

cw — alcohol consumption/tipsy!reader x tipsy!jamie, accidental exhibitionism (jamie getting handsy at a bonfire bc he just can't resist lol), suggestive lang + innuendo, + general fluffy filth but nothing super explicit really, pretty tame for me tbh 

jamie drysdale has never been so pleased to have lost a fight in his entire life.

he didn't think it'd get cold enough to warrant lugging around an extra blanket (meaning him, not you—he's a gentleman). you thought otherwise, and pestered him until there was one neatly folded in the backseat.

objectively speaking, jamie was right; it wasn't even chilly. he was actually a little warm, if he was being honest, but that had a lot more to do with his wandering, beer-soaked mind than the weather or a superfluous layer.

—and he had a tent in his pants to prove it.

it's his own fault. he pulled you into his lap when there were more than enough lawn chairs scattered around the blazing fire, knowing full-well you fidget when you're tipsy. jamie knows you can't sit still to save your life, yet he sat you across his thighs anyway. and now he—and his raging hard-on—are paying the price.

he isn't embarrassed he's turned on, that's not the problem. that's never the problem. you've been dating for years, and anyone who's shocked by the effect you have on him has bigger problems than jamie's attraction to his own girlfriend.

it's the fact that he's about ten seconds away from pulling your suit to the side and rutting into you in the middle of a public beach with his friends not even a foot away.

someone across the half-moon crowd says something that makes you laugh—makes you wiggle. jamie's hands tighten on your hips to keep you still, but, by this point in the night, his body is too lax to be of much help. if anything, the impassioned touch eggs you on, and it isn't long before his hips are moving to match your mostly-involuntary movements.

jamie hisses through gritted teeth, jaw clenched so tight it aches. "baby, quit it—please."

fluttering half-lidded eyes meet his, clock his internal struggle, and immediately twinkle with mischief. under the guise of shifting your attention, you rub the outside of your thigh against the bulge threatening to tear his trunks.

"quit what?" you ask with a demure smile, your hands looping themselves around his neck. warm fingertips play with the feathered locks tickling his sunburnt neck, making him shiver.

"you know what," he glares. "i don't know when we'll get back home, and you're driving me insane."

"touch me here."

blinking in disbelief, he balks. "w-what?"

"touch. me. here."

each word is punctuated with a chaste peck to his ever-reddening cheek. the succinct affection bounces you in his lap, and jamie can't help but slide his hands further beneath the sandy blanket. at first, to halt the infuriating friction but, like usual, once his hands wander he just can't stop. consequences—and shyness—be damned.

"s'not a good idea." jamie nips your jaw, dotting a line of warm kisses along your neck, stopping once his nose brushes your ear. "my baby's loud as shit, and i'd rather not have an audience."

you swat his chest in offense, but giggle nonetheless. "am not!"

"are too." he smiles up at you.

"i can be quiet," you huff, determination furrowing your brow.

jamie reaches up to smooth the crease with his thumb. you catch his arm and press a sweet peck to the inside of his wrist. he shudders.

you hum into his skin, "i think you're projecting."

"that right?" your boyfriend feigns ignorance, amused.

"let me prove it," you whisper before leaning in to kiss the tip of his nose. with your forehead flush to his, you try again. "please, jamie. i can't wait anymore—and i certainly can't wait until t strikes out with whoever he's obsessed with this week."

jamie snorts.

you make a solid point; it could be another ten minutes or upwards of two hours. his guess was as good as any—trevor himself included. jamie's really starting to hate that him finally fucking his own girlfriend hinges on his best friend's ability—or inability—to seal the deal.

"you make even a peep, and i stop. got it?"

what's the worst that could happen if he indulges you a bit? no one's even paying attention to either of you, anyway.

you nod, bottom lip pinched between your teeth. jamie tugs it free, fingertip dancing over the fresh indentations. your tongue slips out to tease his sun-soaked skin, and it isn't long before the digit is flush to your hot tongue.

jamie's eyes are almost black with lust as they watch your lips welcome and release his finger over and over again. your eyelids fall as he slips into a trance, mesmerized by your mouth.

"words, baby. gimme words," he prods, the words barely audible.

you surrender his hand with a faint pop, blinking down at him like you're already teetering on the precipice. "no sounds or you stop—i got it," you parrot. "now are you going to touch me?"

"needy, needy, baby," jamie teases after stealing a kiss. "i've spoiled you rotten, haven't i? can't even go a couple hours without begging me to touch you... s'alright, i can barely keep my hands of you. 'specially when i've got you sittin' all pretty in my lap like this."

"—jamie, please, just... just touch me already—need t'feel you."

chuckling to himself, jamie mercifully pushes the sodden material out of the way. he nearly moans at what he finds.

how much of it is from the evening dip you took with a couple of the other girlfriends, it's hard to tell, but he'd put good money on it being little to none. no, the damp patch growing in his lap is all you. sweet and warm, and perfectly you.

you gasp when he collects some of the escaped arousal with a few of his fingers. jamie raises a brow in your direction and you cover your mouth apologetically. he bites the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. you're trying so hard to keep quiet, it's adorable.

"—haven't even done anything and you're already breaking your promise," he chides. "how am i supposed to give you what you want when you're already misbehaving?"

"the other one," you breathe. confused, jamie hesitates. "give me your other hand."

you fish his free hand out from between your bodies and bring it up to your mouth. his eyes bulge out of their sockets once your intentions become obvious; you mean to silence yourself by sucking on his middle and marriage as he fucks you with the other hand. your back is mostly to the group, but he's still paranoid as all hell.

yet, jamie can't bring himself to deny you—or himself.

"you're gonna be the death of me," he groans as your head dips.

too turned on to care, jamie relents and slips a gentle finger into you. your eyes pinch shut, teeth catching on his other hand, but no sound leaves you. as a reward for your good behavior, he sinks in even further, until he's knuckle-deep at both ends.

his movements are much slower than normal, but, somehow, it doesn't matter. jamie's thumb seeks out your clit, sensitive and swollen despite its neglect, and he traces lazy circles between deep, measured thrusts. all the while, he mouths at your neck with little concern for what evidence he might leave behind. jamie's sole focus is making you feel as good as he does right now with his half-naked, hot-as-hell girlfriend writhing in his lap, her pretty pussy clenching around his lucky fingers.

"—j-jamie," you warble around his drenched hand, hips bucking into the other with what little leverage you have positioned like this. "—close, s'close."

oh, he knows. he can tell. jamie knows your body better than you do; he's a diligent student.

"are you, baby?" jamie can't resist a bit of taunting. you're too far gone to push back. "poor thing, what do you need from me? tell me what you need to get there."

you're slow to answer, overwhelmed by the sensations attacking your mind from all angles. somewhere along the line, a second finger was added... and then a third. the burning stretch aches so good your vision blurs.

jamie, jamie, jamie—the beginning, middle, and end of your thoughts—jamie, through and though. he's everywhere, but it's still not enough.

"my n-neck," you eventually gasp. "please—kiss my neck again."

your boyfriend is more than happy to oblige. lips latched to the tender spot just below your ear, jamie lets his hand take control of the pace; he's no longer content to drag this out. it's been a long day, and all he wants is to watch his pretty girlfriend fall to pieces in his lap.

your peak is ushered in by a series of pitiful little whines and whimpers, mostly muffled by his spit-stained hand, but jamie doesn't have the heart—or the sanity—to chastise you for it. if he had it his way, his mind would play those beautiful, broken sounds on a loop.

but the reverie is too good to last. it always is.

"get a room, you two!"

a chorus of laughter and vulgar remarks succeed trevor's call-out. and, hot under the collar, jamie's cheeks burn pink as he buries his face in the safety of your neck.

⤑ to my inbox💌

⬸ back to the catalog  (writing masterlist) 

⬸ back to the main blog 

All of the stories and fantasies written or discussed on this blog by the owner or by followers are purely fictional and are not intended to offend any parties.

©2024 holy-pucks, all rights reserved. I do not give consent for any of my work to be copied, re-posted, or translated here, on Tumblr, or on any other platform. Reproduction of any content from this blog is considered plagiarism.

[garlicbreadbatstarion]

BG3 Companions Headcanons❤️

💨🌿🍃the party smoking🍃🌿💨

This mental image of the party passing a joint (or several) around a campfire makes me lol irl frequently so I thought I'd share some of my thoughts on here! 😁

Astarion:

Would 110% open up unintentionally and share things he probably wouldn't otherwise

But it would be one of those "yeah, but we all have trauma am I right?" And everyone would gentle parent him which would make him irritated (but secretly, deep down he would feel so supported 😭)

Also likes to vibe to music! Never is he kinder to a bard than when he is blazed lol

Also likes to burn candles/incense/simmer pots because he really loves a good fragrance

Gale:

Professor!Gale helloooooooo

He would naturally fall into a lecture about whatever exciting topic he's currently researching

"No really! It was previously believed they only grew in the underdark, but some researchers have found them in the wilds of Faerun! How are they reaching the surface?! It is fascinating!"

Would also get handsy with his romantic interest 😉 a little hand on the arm when he says something exciting. Putting his hand on your thigh and giving a squeeze before he gets up to stoke the fire. Ughhh this man.

Shadowheart:

I feel like she'd be gone

Like snapping fingers near he face bc she's not responding gonzo

She'd come back into focus once in a while to annihilate some snacks and then doze off again

Wyll would put a blanket over her, and, at the end of the evening, he'd carry her back to her tent🥺

She would pretend to be asleep, and Wyll would totally know she was faking it, but he would never tell a soul and he always cherished that moment in their friendship

Wyll:

Gets philosophical!

Really loves to listen to others and ask questions to keep them going

Def the mom friend that takes it easy to make sure everyone else is okay

Definitely a flirt! His inhibitions are just a tad lowered so he lays it on thickkk (to everyone, but especially so to his partner!)

Halsin:

Definitely wanders when he's high lol

You joke about putting a leash on him and he gets visibly excited

Loves to interact with nature (duh) like stargazing, wading through water, and lifting rocks and looking for creatures underneath

Likes to use his bear form and lay on his back with all 4 legs in the air

Lae'zel:

Idc what anyone else thinks Lae'zel would get the giggles

And everyone would be so shocked, most of all her, but then she'd think about how ridiculous it was and start giggling again! And everyone would join and the camp would get the giggles until everyone was out of breath clutching their stomachs

She'd also drop some funnyyyy one-liners just casually responding to other people

Also the only time she ever relaxes the tension in her body

Karlach:

Gets extra chatty!

Like she just extra loves everyone even more than normal and ends up having some really cute, heartfelt side conversations throughout the night

Also she gets extra clumsy and when she's animatedly telling a story she makes a big gesture with her arms and accidentally falls backwards off the log she's sitting on

Also loves to relight the j by holding it to her arm and it's a fun party trick she loves to pull out

[isa-ghost]

Perhaps some headcanons about qPhil and the hardcore deities?

YESSS

qPhil headcanons masterlist

Okay so like, with all of these keep in mind my current personal headcanon/theory is that qPhil is hcPhil with his memory lost/altered by The Federation prior to arriving on the island. However it is that they got him, they wiped/suppressed his memory of his past just like other islanders and clipped his wings.

So TECHNICALLY these are hcPhil headcanons but also qPhil.

He's ofc closest with Rose. Unless you count Kristin as a hc deity. Rose was extremely fond and pleased of the way Phil would come along and take it upon himself to restore or touch up the builds that document the history of the gods, purely for fun and curiosity's sake. His love for the beauty of it all attracted her.

He's next closest with Ocean Overlord, though you'd assume otherwise because OO almost never personally connects with Phil in any way. No spiritual or supernatural signs, no personal talks or showing himself. (It's because the fool is sleeping or off catering to his whims). But Phil fishes a lot, and speaking as someone who practices witchcraft, you don't need to formally work with or worship a god to please them with the things you do. Fishing would be considered a devotional act to OO from a Pagan pov, so the fact that Phil does it so often and also cleaned up some of Flowerfall for him and Rose means OO likes Phil a lot. He's "a funky lil bird dude."

Phil is next closest with Blaze. She's also very hands off but deliberately so compared to OO. However, she still has a deep respect for Phil despite her distance and he admires the shit out of her in return. He thinks she's an absolute badass. His skills and wit impress her and his frequent visits to her domain and his love for her servants He & She amuse her. She's never seen a human so set on visiting the Nether frequently, let alone her domain specifically. Also he won't hesitate to take down a Piglin, and that's always a plus to her. (His gold farm pleases her deeply).

And ofc, of the deities we know of, he's least close with Ender King. Phil isn't exactly sure what specific event kicked off the way things are now, but EK just generally isn't something you want to mess with no matter what. EK probably disliked Phil from the get-go because he has friendly relations with the other gods, who all contributed to his failure & death. On top of that, the cave he rots in under Endlantis is like one of those haunted places you just Do Not Ever Go because it's very likely you'll go home with something attached to you (and Phil did). EK picked up on Phil's penchant for stealing & collecting cool things and how strong he can be (he has to be, he's a survivalist!) & did exactly that. He's been cooking on the potential vessel stuff since the day he met Phil.

Rose is the one who's always left him a sign of some sort that would confirm his assumptions about the history of builds and their relation to the gods. She never left him direct communication like she does with the books on QI bc she never intended to get that direct, but it's much harder to leave him subtler hints in a totally different world so she speaks to him via books instead.

I've said this before somewhere but basically the reason Rose (& EK, but him for malicious reasons) reached out to Phil on QI was not only to warn him of & protect him from EK but also to try and trigger Phil's memories of his life in the world he's really from and break him free of The Federation's meddling with his memory. She's had little success so far, kinda timed things badly given that the Feds had JUST locked him in the Birdhouse and fucked with his sense of reality. And EK kinda made that worse.

Ender King chose to officially act on his desire to possess Phil outside of the hc world because a) the other gods can't protect him as easily on QI and b) Phil himself is also nerfed and therefore easier to fuck with (thanks Federation <3)

Even now that EK's attempts to possess him are done with (for now), Rose is continuing to protect Phil and his family. She intervened when the Purgatory workers attacked, she'll intervene on other threats. But she only can if he's not around others. She's trying to keep herself secret from anyone outside the Death Family. Though she wouldn't be object to Fit knowing since he knows about EK. And she likes Bagi too. It's just easier to not start making tons of exceptions. Though overall, Phil is the one who's more strict about keeping the deities secret. Rose is more lax about it but acknowledges it's easier this way.

Part of why EK is the lil asshole that he is is bc he Knows Phil and Rose want the gods kept secret so he went out of his way to be like HEEEEY THIS IDIOT BIRD HAS A SECRET OOOO and intentionally made it look like it was a dark secret at that. Sewing mistrust among Phil's allies further isolates him and makes him an even easier target. : )

Phil has a feeling Blaze wants nothing to do with QI (and he's right). Any contact from her will be done begrudgingly and probably not until the Nether is opened bc otherwise she has to not only realm hop but world hop and that is more trouble than it's worth in her eyes.

Phil's honestly surprised he hasn't heard anything from Ocean Overlord while on QI yet. Especially post-reset. He lives beachfront more or less, he fishes a fuckton as of late, he goes on boating adventures often. And QI's whole shtick is that it's a vacation island or whatever, which is like OO's entire vibe. Phil's a bit baffled.

Semi-related, Phil's insistent that OO isn't JUST a bit of a sleepy or lazy idiot. That's a fucking god. Who rules the ocean. The unforgiving motherfucking ocean. He truths OO as a crouching tiger hidden dragon in terms of power. He thinks it just takes A LOT to piss OO off. (*side-eyes Ruthlessness from EPIC the Musical and wrings my little gremlin hands maniacally*)

Phil isn't entirely sure of the inter-deity relationships/dynamics and leaves it at "it's none of his business." They can tell him or imply it on their own time, if ever. All he knows is that Rose/Blaze/OO strongly dislike EK and that's all that matters to him. Anything else is assumption on his part and he's just Not gonna do that.

If he didn't want to avoid being asked 9487385728 questions from his friends, he'd probably have lil altars of some sort for Rose, Blaze, OO, and Kristin to honor them. And they'd maybe have an easier time communicating with him through them.

He's been wondering if/when the other deities reach out to him on QI if they'll ever make lil domains or something the way Rose has made her Sanctuary

[anxietywithasideofexplosions]

Here you go Tumblr. Here's an excerpt from one of my stories that's heavily Myerhees fluff. Enjoy! (Blaze is a self insert bc I had the idea of slashers appearing in their yard & using it as a safehouse).

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

When they got back to the house, they found Blaze hadn’t made it much farther than the door and had just barely taken off their shoes. Good thing we came home first, huh? Jason signed jokingly.

Michael nodded. Better text Billy. The two snuck down to the basement, pausing only to drop off their machete and knife and to take off their boots. Once downstairs, they both gathered their small, spare bundles of clothes and retreated to opposite corners to change.

Jason would be lying if he said he didn’t want to glance back at Michael. The two had started dating almost subconsciously, just getting closer and more comfortable with each other until Blaze teasingly pointed out they almost seemed like a couple. Jason knew he was attracted to the other man. He was just so pretty, and the way he seemed to evaluate himself from everything else reminded him of the stories his mother used to tell him about angels.

But deep down, where even Jason didn’t really realize it, Jason felt unworthy to date him. Jason was insecure about his face- he always had been- and sometimes he felt guilty for dating Jason. He’s pretty, he deserves some just as pretty, he’d think.

Of course, that’s not what Michael thought. Not even close. If Jason had looked like any ‘normal’ person, Michael probably wouldn’t have even considered dating him. It was undoubtedly the fact that Jason looked different from anyone else Michael had met that made Michael so attracted to him. Michael thoroughly enjoyed looking at Jason’s face when the big man let him.

Jason finished changing and shuffled over to the washer, placing his bloodstained clothes inside. The outfit was remarkably similar to the one he was now wearing, with dark jeans and a large brown hoodie. Only now he had a shirt that read ‘Camp Crystal Lake - You Won’t Survive The Summer!’. He’d taken off his mask to change but quickly pulled it back on.

Michael had also finished changing, and he also walked over to place his dirty clothes in the washer. Blaze thought themself funny and somewhere had dug up a navy blue varsity jacket with an ‘M’ varsity letter, and ‘Haddonfield High’ embroidered on the back. Otherwise, Michael had a black t-shirt and bootcut jeans on. One of the first things Jason noticed was that Micheal, unlike him, hadn’t recovered his face.

Jason felt his face flush- or the feeling that would’ve come with it if he could’ve. His zombie, rotting body didn’t feel much anymore, and he occasionally noticed things he didn’t feel that he wished he could.

Will you take your mask off? Michael signed without looking at Jason. He paused. Please?

Jason looked away. It made him uncomfy taking his mask off- Michael had assured him he found his face nice (Michael wasn’t good with words, or affection) but Jason still didn’t like the chances of others seeing it. Michael sighed.

“Please? I wanna see you,” Michael said, in a hoarse and unused voice. Jason attempted to continue playing dumb, but Michael could almost see his ears flushing. Michael stepped closer to his zombie boyfriend, who still somehow managed to tower over him even though Michael was over 6 ft (182.88 cm). He reached hesitantly towards Jason's hand, only linking their pinkies. Michael was still unsure how he felt about physical affection, but he knew it helped Jason. Especially when Michael wanted Jason to do something- like take off his mask.

Jason continued looking away, before finally he started breaking. He glanced at his boyfriend, who was still looking at him with a deadpan expression (Jason wasn’t sure if he could make any other expression). But there was a glint in his eyes that suggested he really did just want to look at him.

Jason turned his head so he was looking directly at Michael (and down, just a little). Michael hesitantly slightly, reaching up lightly. He gently grasped one side of Jason’s mask, causing Jason to flinch just a little. He paused, waiting for a few moments until Jason reached his open hand up (the other was still holding pinkies with Michael) and rested it lightly on Micheal’s. They stood there for a few more seconds before Michael’s started attempting to move Jason’s mask.

He slowly took it off, dropping his hand loosely to hang by his side. Jason shifted his hand a little, enveloping Michael’s with his. Michael lightly dropped the mask before lifting his hand to cup Jason’s face.

“P- pr- p- pretty,” Jason finally managed to stumble out. His malformed vocal cords and head made it difficult to speak, on top of barely using it, so he didn’t talk often. Actually, most of the other slashers thought Jason just couldn’t talk. Blaze knew better, but only because they’d accidentally overheard Jason attempting to say his boyfriend’s name one night while they were finishing up some chores.

Michael felt himself warm somewhere deep down and he almost smiled. He hesitated before responding, “I think you're pretty too.”

♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

(I apologize if I upset anyone with this or messed up any part of the slashers, I just enjoy the ship and thought maybe someone else would like this little chunk of my story. I hope you enjoyed!)

[shopwitchvamp]

i wanted to add a dose of positivity and say thank you for blazing your posts bc that's how I found you and your stuff is super excellent!!

Thank you 🥰!!!

I think like 98% of people that interact with the posts I've blazed have had a similar reaction to you, and honestly that's WAYYYY more positive reactions than I originally anticipated, haha.

I will continue to unrepentantly blaze away, because it's generally been really great, a lot of fun, and really the best way for me to reach new people outside of my current circles on Tumblr. Sorry to the haters I will mildly annoy along the way, but it's so worth it to find tons of cool people I'd have never encountered otherwise 😁

[yoonpobs]

may I please request a heartbreaking angst drabble where jungkook cheats on the oc with her best friend and is completely heartless about it

thank you in advance ✨

THE AMOUNT OF JK ANGST REQUESTS I RECEIVED 😭damn jk stans ... are u ok?

anyway ... here u go bc I love me some angst too 🤣

pairing: cheater!jk x oc

genre: angst

warnings: infidelity, heartbreak, oc deserves better friends and a better man

words: 1, 235

“Wait—can we talk—please? Please look at me—” The desperation in his voice is clear when you turn around, face thunderous while the flutter of your dress swings with the motion.

“What is there to talk about, Jungkook? You humiliated me in front of my parents—in front of everyone,” you seethe, teeth barring when you poke into the pocket of his suit blazer. Your eyes strain to the rose tucked prettily inside. 

You were allergic.

“I know, I know,” He exasperates, hands reaching out in an attempt to hold your arms down, “I’m sorry.”

The weather is too bright for you to be outside the wedding hall, your hands holding onto the heavy drapes of your dress as your makeup thaws under the blazing heat. The birds are singing a tune you’re unfamiliar with, a mocking cry to a special day turned sour.

“What the fuck is sorry going to do?” You hiss, “And you don’t know Jungkook. If you did you would’ve never fucked up the way you did today.”

Jungkook stands with a forlorn expression, his hands draped helplessly by his side as he attempts to assess your features. But the only thing you allow him to see is the vexation that plagues your skin, the usual, polished and prim girl was no longer there—but was replaced with a re-extinguished flame and he was the only person to blame.

“I didn’t mean for them to find out!” He defends, eyes scrunching in annoyance when you hurl out accusations in the open air, for the wind to breeze past and for the leaves to trickle down.

“What were you even thinking?” You sneer, pushing at his chest in hopes of transferring the ache in your own to him. Whatever transference of energy that you could ever conjure is poured out into your fingertips, even as they shake. “God—why couldn’t you have fucked Soojin after the wedding? Why before you were meant to walk the aisle? Huh? Am I a fucking joke to you, Jungkook?”

Jungkook’s jaw ticks, a sign that he was attempting to level out his own anger the more you retaliate with your grating tongue; unapologetic when you stare him down with eyes of a snake, venomous and hostile when you recall the events that unfolded.

“You said we could see other people!” He exclaims, throwing his hands in the air as a futile attempt to reason with you.

You laugh humourlessly, “Not on the day of our wedding, Jungkook.” You say softly, “Not when my parents and your parents, and the hundreds of business associates in that damn hall are waiting for me to walk down that aisle.”

He purses his lips.

“My best friend,” You scoff in disbelief, a tight smile appearing on your face, “She took being there for you a little too literally, huh?”

Your emotions took a one-eighty, the subdued tone in your voice escapes your lips when you stare blankly ahead, eyes far away from Jungkook’s face. You couldn’t bear to look at him, not when the last thing you remembered was seeing him and Soojin, in the dressing room of the bride—making love to one another like it was the very last time they could do so.

You were the villain, the person in-between their love story. The person Jungkook’s obligated to where his heart lays in your best friends palm. You were the instigator to the events that unfolded, the same person that gave Jungkook the ammunition to wreak havoc and destroy your heart. There was no way he would’ve known Soojin otherwise.

“We’re not marrying for love,” He reminds you in a soft voice.

You scoff, shaking your head.

“Did you think I wasn’t aware?” You narrow your eyes at him, taking an intimidating step into his direction so that you’re nearly pressed up against his chest, “I never asked you to love me, Jungkook. I asked you to respect me. And you couldn’t even do that.”

Jungkook’s eyes darts away, a mechanism he opts for to push aside the guilt that eats him whole.

“I’m not stupid, Jungkook. But you made me look like an absolute fool in there. While I was mingling with your family and telling them how much you’ve taken care of me, how much you’ve loved me throughout our engagement—you were fucking my best friend in broad daylight. All while I had to put on a plastic smile and pretend like I was happy.” You say hoarsely, “you found your happiness in a loveless marriage. You couldn’t even pretend to be happy with me for a day?” You finish in a soft whisper, fists clenching by your side.

Jungkook sighs, a deep exhale that has him moving forward until his arms are wrapped around your body; all while you try to level your breathing so that you wouldn’t cry. But it’s to no avail, especially when he whispers apologies like they meant something into your hair, his strong arms rubbing soothing circles onto your shoulder blades. He holds you almost like a lover would—but you would be an idiot to burn twice.

“I’m so sorry,” he croaks, “I couldn’t help myself … I just—I wanted to be in love, I wanted to feel loved.”

You wanted to scream. Because Jungkook was smart, a son to two genius’ and a genius himself—excelling in everything he did and topped medical school—but he was so stupid; that he couldn’t even see that you were trying. That you tried so hard to love him.

And that you did.

You sink into his hold even if it’s temporary, even if his heart is set on you only when you’re vulnerable. Because he would never love you at your best, never love you if it weren’t for show.

“I’m still going to marry you.”

Jungkook’s arms rest loosely around your waist, a pause in his ministrations as he considers your words.

“I disrespected you,” Jungkook says softly.

You bite your tongue because, amongst all the other things he’s done, the disrespect hurt the least.

“And I’ve told white lies my entire life, Jungkook. At least now I have the dress to match.”

You push him off and swipe at your tears, taking a deep breath as you compose yourself. It’s terrifying how in just two seconds you were smiling widely, as if your heart wasn’t shattering in your ribcage, or that you had to walk into that wedding hall and marry a man that didn’t love you and would return to where his heart laid the moment it was all over. And that everyone knew where he’d run to if he had the wings to fly.

You smile, even if your face is tight. You take the first step to return to the hall, to tell everyone that your love for Jungkook was stronger than anything else and that you’d move past this. Even as you keep Soojin by your side. Because a friendship of two decades with a woman that’s seen you through your worst is just as important—if not more, than the person you fell in love with.

Just as you’re about to leave, his hand darts out to grab at your wrist to turn you around.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, murmuring the words into your hair when he presses a kiss to it.

You smile. Again. You smell her on him.

You turn.

[comfortbucky]

I asked for the doctor!bucky andd you don't have to write but I forgot to ask... He is like a really busy doctor and it surprises the female reader that he is going to do her stitches... Wanda is his assistant. He has to give you a pain numbing shot in your cut and he comforts you when you scream and writh in pain... Thanks xxx

𝗻𝘂𝗺𝗯 ⋆｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ ｡˚ ☁︎ ˚｡⋆｡˚ ⋆ ⋆｡˚

pairing: doctor!bucky x fem!reader

warnings: descriptions of bloody injuries, medical settings, stitches, needles

A/N: omg i’ve never written for doctor!bucky before so i’m excited hehe :) thank u for ur request! // i changed around who was administering the numbing agent and doing the stitches btw i hope u don't mind, just made more sense in my head for bucky to be able to comfort her if his hands are free!

hope u enjoy! <3 sorry if this isn't that good asjdfhaldf

Y/L/N = your last name

also let me just indulge myself and sprinkle some of my own experiences in this bc a couple months ago i literally slammed my head into a wall and cut my eyelid😃nothing bad enough to get stitches but i do have a scar💗

word count: 2k

my masterlist!

completed requests!

“Y/N! Come quick!”

Y/N was digging through her dresser for a sweater when her roommate, Darcy, called out for her. She lifted her head up and spun it without thinking, completely forgetting that her dresser was situated in the corner of her room, slamming her head into the wall.

Her ears started to ring and she bent over in laughter, her natural response to pain, as tears threatened to fall down her face.

“Y/N?” Darcy was met by silence, Y/N struggling to respond, her body overcome with laughter so hard she was inaudible. Concerned that Y/N had knocked herself out cold, Darcy peeked her head around the corner of Y/N’s doorway, to find her hurled over, a hand over her left eye, drops of crimson blood on the ground.

“Holy shit, are you okay?” Y/N lifted her head, calming down from her fit of laughter, and nodded.

“Yeah, of course, this would happen to me,” she replied chuckling, taking a tissue from Darcy to put pressure on her cut.

Carefully making her way to a mirror, Y/N grabbed her phone on the way. She stared at her reflection and slowly removed the tissue from her face to examine the extent of her injury. It was steadily bleeding, most likely a bad sign. Y/N placed her tissue back over her cut and reached for her phone and Facetimed her friend Matt, an EMT.

“Hello- What the fuck happened to you?”

“Hi Matt,” she replied, shooting him a grin through the screen. “Slammed my head against the wall, by accident.”

“I would hope so,” he sighed. “Let me guess, you’re wondering whether you should go to the ER or not?”

“You know me so well, Matty.”

“Has it stopped bleeding?” Y/N removed the tissue and felt a warm liquid trail down the side of her face.

“No.”

“Go to the ER, please.” She groaned.

If there was one place in the world she despised, it was a hospital. But Y/N knew she wouldn’t be able to convince either of her friends otherwise, and dragged her feet as she reluctantly followed Darcy to her car.

It was a normal night in the ER, which meant a fury of organized chaos. Bucky found himself needed in 6 places, all at the same time. But this was an environment that he had become accustomed to, almost finding comfort in the madness of it all. Although the ER was bustling with patients, there weren’t any injuries that were very severe, mostly just broken bones and lacerations. Simple enough to the point where Bucky felt like he was operating on autopilot mode. Going through the motions of whatever task he needed to do, but not anything more than that. He felt numb. For the last several years of his life, the hospital was all that he knew. Bucky kept himself busy with work, leaving him with only a small social circle and his cat, Alpine. It was enough for him, but he never really felt complete. Which is why he threw himself into his work, drowning out his inner thoughts about a missing piece he never thought he’d find.

“Dr. Barnes, paging Dr. Barnes to bed 25.”

Bucky took a quick sip of his coffee and sighed before heading off to see his next patient. Wanda appeared from around the corner and started walking with him.

“This one’s a simple laceration, just might need stitches.” Bucky nodded in response to her, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

She was one of the select few who he considered a friend. Which was a little odd considering he was an attending and she was only a resident. But she was a good student, a fast learner, and one of the only residents he was ever willing to work with. He took her under his wing, fostering a friendship by spending time together in his office, reviewing various medical cases and files.

“Alright, you up to do them?”

Wanda came to a halt, Bucky taking a couple steps before looking back at her, tilting his head, waiting for a response.

“Y-Yeah, yes!” She stammered. “T-thank you, Dr. Barnes.” He nodded his head and turned back around to continue walking, Wanda close behind.

Y/N was sat on the edge of the bed, one hand holding a blood-soaked tissue over her left eye. Her leg was bouncing, a nervous tic she had developed from a young age. The adrenaline had worn off, forcing her to feel a throbbing pain, her eyes brimming with tears. She avoided crying in front of people whenever possible, so as soon as Darcy left to grab some coffee and snacks from the cafeteria, she let the floodgates open. The sound of footsteps approaching made her freeze and she used her sleeves to sloppily wipe away the tears that were streaming down her face.

“Ms. Y/L/N?”

A firm, but somehow also gentle, voice called out to her before the curtain was pulled open to reveal a tall man with dark brown hair, a stubbly beard, and stunningly blue eyes standing next to a woman with blazing red hair and contrasting green eyes. Y/N’s gaze was immediately fixated on the man’s eyes, unable to look away for a moment, before she realized she was staring. She quickly looked down and cleared her throat.

“Y/N, you can just call me Y/N.”

The man nodded and set down his clipboard at the end of the bed before speaking.

“I’m Dr. Barnes and this is Dr. Maximoff.” The woman gave a slight wave as she began charting on a computer. “Can I take a look at your eye?”

Y/N nodded, feeling her anxiety rise as the doctor pulled some gloves on and approached her.

He pulled over a stool to sit on and carefully removed the tissue that Y/N had been holding in place to assess the injury. While Bucky looked at her cut, he stole a glance to study the rest of her face. He couldn't help but take note of the pained look on her face, her eyes still watery and her button nose red from crying. It was the first time in a long time that he felt a twinge of pain while looking at someone's injury, that he felt practically anything at all during a shift. She felt his warm breaths on her face for a moment before he pulled away and replaced her bloody tissue with some gauze.

“Do you mind if she takes a look as well?” Y/N nodded again. Bucky got up from the stool, allowing Wanda to take his spot and assess her eye.

“So it looks like you just need 2 or 3 stitches, very simple procedure.”

Y/N felt her entire body tense up at Wanda's conclusion. She could barely stand sitting in a hospital bed alone and now she was about to get poked and prodded with needles. Bucky noticed and attempted to ease her worries.

"We'll administer a numbing agent, so you won't feel any pain, just pressure at the site."

She looked up at Bucky, who had a kind, tired expression on his face. It looked like he was having a long night and she didn't want to make his job any more difficult than it probably already was. Y/N gave him a small nod and Wanda started to gather the necessary supplies.

She laid back in bed with Wanda and Bucky sitting next to each other on her left. Her hands were folded on her stomach, eyes shut.

"You're gonna feel a slight pinch, okay?" She nodded and bit her lip to try and distract herself.

Wanda proceeded to administer the numbing shot and Y/N squeezed her hands tight, whimpering in pain. Bucky observed the pained expression on her face and placed a hand on her forearm, reflexively rubbing his thumb in small circles. When Wanda pulled the needle out, Y/N slowly fluttered her eyes open and was greeted by Bucky's warm smile. A blush crept to her cheeks and she turned her attention to the ceiling. Immediately, Bucky realized how unprofessional his action was and removed his hand. He had no idea what had come over him, but he'd never felt so drawn to someone like this before.

"Now I'm going to do the stitches, okay? You should just feel a slight pressure." Just as before, Y/N shut her eyes after Wanda spoke and gripped her hands tight. She felt the pressure that Wanda was talking about and couldn't help but squirm at the feeling. Another wave of anxiety rushed over her and she felt herself start to hyperventilate.

Wanda removed the needle and quickly turned to Bucky, a panicked look on her face. He gave her a reassuring look before speaking softly.

"Y/N? Do you think you could hold still for just a little longer?" She opened her eyes, brimming with tears.

"Sorry, I just, I hate needles." Y/N fiddled with her hands as she kept her gaze up, trying to avoid the tears from escaping. Bucky felt his heart sink in his chest at the sight.

"What do you think would help you relax?"

Thoughts ran through her head as she tried to find a solution to relieve her anxiety. Y/N thought back to when she was young and chuckled, remembering a stuffed whale that she got at an aquarium, that went everywhere with her.

"This is stupid but, when I was a kid, I would carry around this stuffed animal around and it helped to hold it whenever I had to get shots."

Bucky thought for a moment and ran a hand through his hair, wondering if he was going to regret the words about to leave his mouth.

"You could hold my hand."

Y/N and Wanda both looked at him with surprised expressions, regret instantly hitting him.

"If you're comfortable with it," he quickly clarified. Y/N felt the corner of her mouth curve into a smile as she nodded.

She laid back down and Bucky took her hand in his. The instant transfer of heat soothed Y/N and she shut her eyes to allow Wanda to get to work.

When she felt the pressure on her eye again, her hand automatically gripped Bucky's tighter, and he squeezed it back to help calm her. Y/N focused on the callousness of his hands, how his hand seemed to fit into hers perfectly. Suddenly, she was thinking about his eyes again, those glimmering blue eyes. Blue was always a calming color for her, reminiscent of her trip to the aquarium where she got her beloved stuffed whale. As she felt Bucky's thumb gently rub the top of her hand, she realized that her whale could never provide as much comfort as he did.

Bucky felt a sense of pride as he watched the tension in Y/N's face disappear. Suddenly, he found his eyes wandering, looking at the loose strands of hair on the right side of her face, the rosiness of her cheeks, how she glowed. His heart started to palpate and Bucky realized a flame had kindled inside him. He was feeling again.

"All done!" Wanda chirped, stepping aside to let Bucky check her work. He smiled at her patted her on the back with his free hand.

"You did good." Wanda beamed and thanked him, walking away to complete her charting.

Y/N's eyes fluttered open, still feeling the warmth of Bucky's hand in hers. He greeted her with a tender smile and slowly helped her up, placing his other hand on the small of her back.

"See? Wasn't that bad after all," he grinned, releasing her hand. Y/N's smile faltered, missing his touch, and nodded.

"Thank you, Dr. Barnes."

"Bucky," he stated. She raised an eyebrow. "Call me Bucky."

The pair stared at each other in silence, enjoying each other's presence before the PA system snapped them both out of their trance.

"Dr. Barnes, paging Dr. Barnes to bed 16."

Bucky sighed, slowly getting up from his seat.

"Well, it was a pleasure meeting you, Y/N."

"You too, Bucky."

He turned around and was about to pull the curtain open when he paused, turning back around to face Y/N, scratching the back of his head. It took one look at her face and Bucky knew he didn't want to let her go just yet.

"Would you like to get coffee sometime?" She beamed up at him and Bucky felt his knees go weak.

"I would like that very much." He chuckled in disbelief and smiled.

Bucky had finally found his missing piece.

[jinkicake]

Periods Don’t Stop Nothing But A Sentence

Akaashi, Kageyama learn about the benefits of having sex while you’re on your period and offer their help. 

Akaashi Keiji x Reader

Kageyama Tobio x Reader

Anon,,, you know Kageyama makes me act up so this might be a little wild... I hope you like it!!!! I love writing for Akaashi,,,, Kageyama is so difficult but I also adore writing for him too. That is my baby! Bruh, not @ me being on my period and writing my feelings out through this bc I want Ushiten to double team me.

SMUT // NSFW

WC- 1,182

~~~

Akaashi Keiji

Allow me to be bold and state that Akaashi is a freak… you can’t convince me otherwise,,,,, It doesn’t really have anything to do with this but I don’t think I have ever said it before

Knowing his relatively calm and blunt personality, I don’t think Akaashi would care much that you’re on your period

He might have to warm up to the idea though, he would only do it if you wanted it or if he knew it would make you feel good

I think he would have to be convinced in the sense that you actually want it and you’re not just doing it to satisfy him,,,,, he’s selfless what can I say

“It’ll really help you feel better, (Y/N)?” He’d sound so skeptical and then look it up, scrolling through the multiple articles with tired eyes,,,,,,,

Akaashi would prepare everything beforehand, he would make sure it will all be clean before and after just to make you feel better and can go right to sleep after you’re done,,,,,,,, yeah Akaashi gonna fuck you to sleep!

He is doing this for you because he wants to take away some of the pain you are suffering from, and maybe it’ll help shorten your period! Thanks for letting Akaashi know that, period sex guide 101 !

Akaashi is going to act like he is doing this solely for you but you know….

Of course, he is getting something from it too!!! You know deep down he is riled up and excited

I feel like when he fucks you,,,, he is going to confess how hot he thinks the entire situation is HAHAHA It is kinda out of character, which makes it even more ideal~ 

Akaashi has you pressed against the shower wall, your chest is pinned against the cold tile while one of his hands is wrapped around your waist and the other is gripping your hip. His first initial thrusts are slow and shallow, dragging himself in and out of your tense walls to leave you blazing inside. His slender cock just barley brushes along your g-spot, leaving you speechless and unable to form a coherent thought.

“Keiji,” You whisper out before another loud moan takes over your voice. Akaashi kisses your shoulder, not letting up his slow pace, you can feel him smirking against your skin. His touch leaves a trail of fire in its wake and you press your cheek against the cold wall for relief, to cool down just a little bit.

“The way you are so weak for me,” Akaashi whispers in your ear, his voice lowering, the air he blows into your sensitive ear makes you thrust back against him. “is the hottest thing I have ever seen. You’re such a good girl, aren’t you?” He chuckles quietly and grits his teeth before bottoming out inside of you. The grip he has on your hip tightens and he forces you to grind down against him, your walls pulsate around him and Akaashi moans at the sensation. “Go at your own pace, pretty girl.”

You sway yourself on his length, moving your hips in circles as you desperately hold onto the wall. Akaashi removes the grip he has on your side and reaches up to grab the showerhead, putting it on the softest setting before bringing it down to your clit. The stream against such a sensitive spot makes you jolt and you glance at Akaashi, squeezing your thighs together in pleasure.

“It’s all yours my love, all for you, use it exactly the way you want.”

Kageyama Tobio

Pls… Kageyama is so clueless,,, I feel like he wouldn’t know shit about periods…. At the same time, he also has a sister so maybe he isn’t as clueless as I think???

I can imagine Kageyama walking in on you curled up into a ball because of cramps and he’s like “you good?” …. man would not have any clue why you were in so much pain

Then you tell him you’re on your period and Kageyama is like ‘oh’….. cue him to researching ways to help you feel better

He’d buy you a heating pad and warm foods because the internet told him to do so,,,, then he comes across an article talking about how orgasms can relieve your period pains and Kageyama is like 0.0

Because,,, he starts thinking about having sex with you and wow, now he has a boner

He continues to read the article and many others because when he brings it up with you, he doesn’t want to seem like a perv who is only suggesting it because he wants to get his dick wet!

I feel like Kageyama would send you the link via text message or simply slide you his phone with the page already pulled up,,,, I don’t think he has the nerve to straight out ask you

And you’re like….. uhhhhh and Kageyama is all red-faced with his lips pushed together in a little pout

“I want to help you with your…. pain” He motions his hand in-between your hips and can’t even find it in himself to say the word ‘period’ LMFAOOO

Kageyama does not care that you’re on your period, he is not scared of blood or grossed out in any way,,,,,, if he wants to fuck you and you want to fuck him, nothing can get in the way of it LOL

“T-Tobio,” You mewl and wiggle your hips, pressing your ass down into the mattress. “that feels so good.” Tears prick at the corner of your eyes and Kageyama swallows the groan that desperately wants to leave his lips. He glances at the towel and makes sure it is still in place so he can clean you up afterward. He doesn’t focus on it for long, not with the way you’re sucking him in like this, Kageyama can’t get over how tight you are.

“Relax, babe.” He grunts and dips his head, his hips stutter when he feels his knees go weak. “Is this too much?” Kageyama glances at you cautiously as he gently stimulates your clit. Mr.-PhD-in-period-sex-after-reading-four-articles remembers how sensitive the body can get during the monthly flow. He’s worried, Kageyama wants it to be pleasurable and not painful.

“Keep going Tobio, just like that, I’m okay.” You reassure him and arch your back at one of his particularly hard thrusts. Something about Kageyama being so attentive makes this experience that much better, it is like he is doing it solely for you and that control you have with him makes your knees weak. With shaky, wobbly legs you lift your bottom half up so you can bend one of your legs towards your chest. You aren’t able to hold the position long but at that moment Kageyama was able to thrust so deeply inside of you, you felt him in your guts.

“More, I need more Tobio!” You whine frustratedly as your walls convulse around him, your much-needed orgasm washes over you and can’t help but demand more. “Please, I want more."

Kageyama glances down at your pitiful eyes and leans forward to kiss your forehead before taking the same claim on your cheeks.

“Be patient baby, I’ll give you another. Relax for me, first."

~

Taglist.

@yams046 @why-am-i-sad-and-sleepy @xhanjisungiex @xxashshs @chaosamu @angelkogane @augustdearly @kunimwuah  @lovellucy @osamuonigiri

[annabethy]

“never do that again” and/or “that was embarrassing”

perhaps,, in the tiktok au if you want😳 bc i’m way too excited about that one

in which annabeth embarrasses herself but doesn’t mind too much,, percabeth,, part 3 of tiktok au

The way Annabeth wakes up is not at all what she expected. Her eyes blink open slowly, and she is in a bed with sheets too soft to be hers. Her senses are on high alert when she sees a wall that definitely isn’t the color of her bedroom, and she spends so much time observing the area around her that she fails to notice the strong arm that’s curled around her waist until someone shifts behind her.

A featherlight kiss is pressed to the curve of her ear, and she suddenly recalls who exactly is behind her and why. It brings a flush and a smile to her face all at once.

“Hey,” Percy whispers, a delicious low scratch to his voice. He stretches his legs, and she can feel is very bare skin against her own naked legs. “You awake?”

Annabeth smiles softly into the sheets when his arm tightens. “No.”

“Mh-hm.” His face presses into her neck, nose nudging the soft skin. She can hear him yawn quietly, and she certainly agrees with the action. There’s a subtle ache in her body and she is absolutely exhausted. “Are you as tired as I am?”

“Entirely spent,” she says, voice pausing when he bends down to brush his lips against the spot of smooth skin right between her shoulder blades.

Annabeth isn’t sure what she should say when he doesn’t answer. She had zero intentions of coming and sleeping with him when they were supposed to film tiktoks. It’s not something she usually does either, but she can’t say that she regrets it in the slightest. It’s the best thing to happen in the last week, if she’s being honest.

Percy sits up behind her, the thin sheets pooling around his hips, exposing her back to the cold air of his apartment. She’s not facing him, but she can hear his breathing and when he scratches at his chin, no doubt lining with stubble. The thought makes her bite her lip. The bed dips slightly when he slides off of the mattress, and then there’s a quiet curse at the cool touch of the hardwood floor.

When he comes around the bed so that he is within eyesight, she notices that he has thrown on a pair of sweatpants but kept a shirt off. She lets herself shamelessly scan over him, and he just squeezes her foot accusingly.

He smiles at her softly, fingers scratching her lower leg from over the blanket. “Breakfast?”

She groans, shoving her face back into the mattress. As much as she would love staring at Percy while he makes her food, no doubt a sight she doesn’t want to miss, her brain is also still too hazy for it to possibly be time for her to get up. “What time is it?”

“Eight.”

Annabeth chokes. “Eight?!”

“What? Do you have something against the number eight?”

“Eight a.m.,” she mutters in disbelief. “Who wakes up at eight in the morning?”

“I do,” he says, laughing.

Annabeth lifts her head just to scrunch her nose at him in disgust before she very pointedly turns over in bed. “I simply cannot wake up before ten or else I don’t work.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she confirms, closing her eyes and smothering a smile when his fingers pull the blanket down her back a little bit so he can rub the skin soothingly. “Unless you’re going to kick me out?”

Percy blows air through his lips dismissingly. “Kick you out? Never.”

She looks over her shoulder. “Can I please go to back to sleep?”

“Go for it,” he says kindly. “What do you want to eat though? So I can have it ready when you wake up?”

“Cinnamon rolls,” she says, not at all expecting him to actually make it. Her eyes flutter shut again, and she hears him give a low chuckle. She is surprised when he bends down to her side to press a kiss to her cheek, and when he walks out of the room to leave her be, she wonders what exactly it all means.

Certainly this isn’t the way a one-night-stand plays out, but is that even what it really is? Surely Percy doesn’t treat all of his hookups with cuddles and kisses the morning after. She decides she’ll figure it all out later because she’s already beginning to knock back out.

Annabeth thinks the only reason she truly wakes up is because of the warm smell wafting in through the open door. The sweet scent makes her smile. She stretches, back popping deliciously, and she feels much more awake. She decides it’s probably best to get up. It takes her a good few minutes of searching for the shift she’d had on last night before she settles on throwing on his oversized t-shirt and calling it a day. It falls just below the curve of her ass, and the sleeves almost reach her elbow, but it also smells like him and makes her feel happy.

She stumbles out into the living room. Percy is sitting at the kitchen island, his back to her. He’s thrown on a shirt sometime while she was asleep.

Annabeth reaches behind him, settling her chin on his shoulder as her arms wrap around his waist. “You actually made cinnamon rolls,” she notes, smiling into his neck.

Percy tenses, and her mind blares with alarm. Her head whips toward him, expecting to find his face filled with annoyance, much like any other experience sleeping over with a guy.

Instead, he’s suppressing a smile, and a second later, dropping his face into his hands.

“Annabeth,” he whispers, a touch of humor in his voice, “I’m on a live.”

She blinks and looks towards the screen she just noticed in front of him. It’s a live recording, and she sees over one-hundred thousand people are joined.

Oh god.

She just about dies from mortification on the spot.

“Oh.” Annabeth takes an immediate step back, her face blazing with heat.

She just walked up to him wearing nothing except his shirt, and she just kissed his neck, and this is not good.

Percy, of course, just smiles and drags her closer. “Do you want to say hello?”

“Absolutely not.”

He shakes his head, laughing. He reads from the screen, “Why is Annabeth naked in your apartment?”

She groans miserably.

“She’s not naked,” Percy says. “Next question.”

Annabeth covers her face. “Percy.”

He looks at her again. It’s a soft glance, understanding, and he turns back to the camera. He ends the live rather quickly, but she knows the damage is already done. He has twenty million people following him, and every single one of them is going to know within hours.

“Come here,” Percy says, tugging her closer. He wraps his arms around her waist. “Are you okay?”

“That was embarrassing,” she whispers miserably.

“I’m sorry,” he says, but he’s laughing. “I thought you’d be asleep for at least another hour.”

She just makes a sound that’s a mix between a groan and whimper.

“It’s not that bad,” he soothes. “They’ll all forget about it soon enough.”

“We’ve both been doing this long enough to know otherwise.”

Percy laughs.

“This isn’t funny,” she accuses.

Percy’s hand moves from her waist so he can pinch his fingers together. “It’s a little bit funny.”

Annabeth pushes his shoulder without force, but even her lips are turning up in a smile. His grin is just contagious – it’s hardly her fault.

“You’re so beautiful,” Percy whispers, brushing a loose strand of hair out of her face.

She raises an eyebrow but makes no comment. This feels like so much more than a hookup, and she finds that she likes the thought.

“I like the clothes,” he says in admiration. “You look good in my clothes.”

“Yeah, well I couldn’t find my shirt.” Annabeth’s face drops back into the crook of his neck as his hands trail down slightly beneath the edge of the shirt. She breathes him in and says the first thing she thinks of to change the subject. “You made cinnamon rolls?”

“Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“I didn’t think you’d actually make it.”

“Of course I did.”

She spots grabs a half-eaten cinnamon roll from his plate and takes a bite out of it. It’s amazing, really, still warm and gooey. Annabeth thinks she could eat a million of these, and she tells him just that.

“I made it with a touch of love.”

“Do you always make cinnamon rolls with love for all of your hookups.”

“There aren’t enough hookups to make a definitive decision on that,” he tells her. “But I wouldn’t call you a hookup.”

“You wouldn’t? Then what was that we did last night?”

“Hookup sounds too neutral, like I don’t care about you, and that’s not true at all.”

The words make her tingle. “You like me.”

Percy laughs, and it’s a melody in her ears. “Yes, you’re like my middle school crush.”

“So what does this make us then?”

“You tell me.” It’s exactly what he said last night, except she hadn’t answered him that time. At least not with words.

“I mean, people definitely think we’re dating now that they saw me wandering around in just your shirt.”

“I guess we have an image to uphold then?”

“We also met yesterday,” she reminds him.

“Then let me take you out. A real date.”

She smiles. “A real date?”

“We never did make it to that diner.”

“And then what?”

“Then I take you on another date?”

“Then?”

“Another, and another, until you fall in love with me.”

It’s a bold statement but based on how she’s feeling after only one day, she doesn’t doubt that it’ll happen, as long as he keeps looking at her like she has the stars in her eyes.

“I don’t know,” she says. “I think you might fall in love with me first.”

“A part of me already has.” Percy kisses her once. “I love your personality.” He kisses her forehead. “Your humor.” Nose. “Your selflessness.” Neck. “Everything about you.”

“You know all of that already?”

“I’ve been following you for a while,” he says. She laughs slightly because it’s a statement that would sound creepy if it weren’t for why they met. “But you can call it intuition.”

And she thinks that this might turn into something beautiful.

She surges up to catch his lips. It starts sweet – she can taste the frosting from the cinnamon rolls on him – and quickly turns more fiery. He bites at her lower lip, hands roaming on every piece of skin he can possibly reach. He rucks up the shirt slightly, kisses her harder, and she’s dizzy with affection. But he stops himself, and she does too.

“Do you have anything to do today?”

“Depends on what you have in mind,” she says, sly.

He hums and picks up the abandoned cinnamon roll to take a bite before speaking. “How about we go to a diner, and then we spend the day out? Maybe we’ll fall in love in the process.”

She plucks the treat from his fingers and takes her own bite. “I think I’m ready to fall in love.”

Annabeth would never admit it, but she thinks that’s the day she really does fall in love. He’s everything she never knew she was missing in her life. He takes her to eat, and then they walk around the city. It’s a simple date, but one that fits them so well. His eyes never leave her, and it leaves her even deeper into this love they’ve created.

They definitely run into a few of their followers while they’re out, and every single time, it’s a show trying to explain themselves. But they always leave hand in hand, smiles plastered on their faces. It consumes all of her, and she doesn’t mind one bit.

It’s insane to think that this is because of tiktok of all things, but she supposes love has always been mysterious.

After all, the goddess of love sprang from the sea, and the handbook of love was written in invisible ink.

[tessiete]

If you still take prompts: Rumors of the Duchess of Mandalore (bc patriarchal bs and misogynistic beliefs about female leaders) potentially getting married reaches Coruscant and Obi-Wan copes as well as can be expected. Cue sad boi sadness with maybe fluff at the end? Or go full angst I’m ok with either

I AM! I am still taking prompts, and I know this took a while to get around to because I’m also sloooooow at filling them. But here we are, dear anon. I hope you enjoy this little snippet! <3

THE GRAVITATIONAL DEFLECTION OF LIGHT

There is some silly, selfish part of him that he never outgrew, and like a weed in his gut it twists and writhes when he hears that the Duchess Kryze is to marry.

And suddenly, he finds himself thinking of her more often, and more frequently during situations where his attention would best be put to use elsewhere. In council, he is forced to ask Master Windu to repeat a question he’d failed to hear, his mind being drawn by the gleam of light off the Senate dome on the horizon. During a sparring match, he takes a hit he’d never have missed except that Anakin threatens to deliver him a close shave at the end of his saber, and he’s struck dumb by the memory of her hand upon his cheek. There are peace lilies in a vase in the Archives, and pure beskar changes hands in a deal he’s meant to disrupt at a Separatist camp, but by far the most egregious lapse comes in the midst of relief efforts in a small village on Taskeed. He is caught, for a moment, by the sight of a woman with blonde hair and a young boy on her hip turning away from him. His focus slips. A blaze of light flashes more quickly than he can see, and by the time he hears the retort of a blaster rifle he is already on the ground.

The clones close ranks around him. Cody kneels, calling in a medevac even as Obi-Wan tries to rise. 

“No, sir, stay down,” he says, laying one hand against his shoulder. Obi-Wan winces at the contact. His muscles strain at the effort, the nerves at the site of his injury ruptured and ragged.

“Cody,” he chokes out. “There’s a hostile.”

His second is a merciful man and makes no comment on the idiocy of that statement. Instead, he bites open a pain tab, and shoves it between Obi-Wan’s teeth. Then, so rapidly he has no time to protest, he removes his belt, and tears apart the fabric at Obi-Wan’s waist, sprinkling sulfa powder over the gory wound, and pressing a bacta patch down to cover it.

There is no more blaster fire to mark their passage back to the ship, but the wound is too serious to treat on board The Negotiator. He is sent back to Coruscant as a consequence of his foolishness.

There, he is dipped in bacta, where he doesn’t dream, and he spends the next week of his convalescence thinking of her.

It had never been this bad during their first separation. The months following her ascension to the duchy had been painful, that he cannot deny, and he spent hours in his room lonely, and self-pitying, but he had been a child then and he can forgive himself now of the folly of youthful indiscretions. There followed more than a decade between them and he had gone days, weeks - upon the outbreak of war even months - without thinking of her at all.

But with one touch of her hand, he’s fallen again, his resolve crumbling into dust as though his indifference to her were only a veneer grown thin and brittle with being stretched over so much time.

The Duchess of Mandalore is to marry.

Why should that matter to him? They are friends. Hardly that, and nothing more. And it was he who had defined those terms. So why should he be restless, and anxious, and fretted up like some craftsman’s handiwork at the thought of it? It is silly. It is demeaning - to her, and to him.

And yet...he wants to know.

Who is she to marry? And when? How did they meet? Is he a Mandalorian, like her? Or did she meet him here? Did they meet at the Senate while he walked in the Temple only a few klicks away? Have they much in common? Do his political aims match hers? Does he long for peace like she does? Will he stand by her side in upholding it? Would he die for it? Would he die for her? Does she love him?

She must, he thinks. She must love him. She would not choose him, otherwise.

And that, perhaps, is the cruelest thought of all.

He is confined to medbay with nothing to occupy his time but his holopad, his dispatch reports, and her when he sees a news story flash on his screen.

At Last! The Lily is Plucked

He cannot help himself as he reads about a chance meeting, a whirlwind romance, and plenty of private assignations held at various hotels and restaurants across Capital City. There are holos, too, and reels. He sees her leaving the Bal Silvestre on the arm of Corellian senator, Garm Bel Iblis.

Senator Bel Iblis is older than her, and seems a bit unkempt, his long hair pulled half back in a simple style. Obi-Wan knows of him by reputation, and heard him called a rake. His politics brand him a maverick, and a rogue, and he has been known, once or twice, to engage in backdoor negotiations in order to ensure a vote swings one way or another in his favour. Beside him, while he stands smug in his dark brocade, she shines. She is spotless. Luminous. They are not well matched.

He scours the net for more, and because he is looking, he finds it. There are many articles - hundreds. Some map out timelines of their courtship (they met years ago, apparently, at some gala held while Obi-Wan was still helping Anakin with Basic), some tell the history of their previous romantic entanglements (he was engaged to a woman now dead. She was once rumoured to be promised to a Vizsla. Obi-Wan’s name is not mentioned). Some merely provide pictures of their exploits, and comment on their mutual friends, making conjecture after conjecture about how their romance came to be, and what must happen next now that the flame has been rekindled. It is torturous. And tedious. And soon, Obi-Wan loses track of the details that appear in one article, and again in every other.

But one thing remains clear to him: Satine Kryze is going to be married. She has forever slipped his reach.

A reach, he pathetically reminds himself, he never intended to extend. All this self-flagellation is for naught. He is being ridiculous. 

So he thumbs off his pad, turns out the lights, and tries to sleep with the image of Satine, smiling and resplendent flickering in his mind. The next morning, feeling no better for the little rest he managed to steal, he deletes the history of his pad, and determines to feel absolutely nothing at all about Satine Kryze.

Then Padme comes to the Council and requests a padawan be sent to Mandalore’s aid.

It is Ahsoka who goes. Of course it is. He takes small solace in the fact that it had not been he who suggested her, but since she was assigned, he feels well within his rights to enquire about the Duchess upon her return.

“She seemed fine,” Ahsoka tells him. He has invited her for tea following her report to the Council, hoping he might, in his hospitality, coax a few more personal details from his grand-padawan. “I mean, there was a moment where Almec - that’s the Prime Minister, or rather was - anyway, there was a moment where he had her in a shock collar, but like I said, the cadets and I managed to sort it out.”

“Right,” he concedes. “As you said.”

A moment passes between them. Obi-Wan sips his tea, struggling to swallow as the fist around his throat grows tighter and tighter. Ahsoka, blissful in the aftermath of a successful solo mission, grabs another biscuit and a strip of perami gammon. 

“And tell me,” he ventures. “What of her - her consort? Any word of him? Where was he during this mess?”

“Her consort?”

“Her husband.”

Ahsoka scrunches her nose, and cocks a brow at Obi-Wan’s wild inquiry.

“She had a nephew,” she says. “But no one ever said anything about a consort.”

“Ah,” he says. “Perhaps he was occupied elsewhere.”

“Maybe,” she agrees, amicable and amenable to letting the whole thing slide. He only hopes she won’t think it significant enough to mention to Anakin later. His curiosity won’t be as easily sated with tea and deflection.

--

He is not a lucky man.

Anakin comes blazing into his room with an ambitious stride, and a grin that speaks of imminent mischief.

“Heard you were asking Ahsoka about the Duchess’ consort,” he says, throwing his cloak over the back of a chair and dropping to lounge across Obi-Wan’s low couch.

“I was asking about her mission,” he corrects. He turns his back to set some water to boil, knowing that such an entrance by his padawan indicates a visit of extended duration. “And the key players, therein. Purely professional.”

“Purely.” Anakin smirks.

The subject is dropped when Anakin is diverted by the service being laid before him, and the inclusion of several of his favourite confections.

“Noorian memba tarts!” he cries. “Where did you even find these?”

“An old recipe,” Obi-Wan says. “But I remember you enjoyed them when we dined on Belasco and thought I’d try my hand at it.”

It is not a bad effort either, judging by Anakin’s display of enthusiasm. He eats the first with some degree of etiquette, but the fourth, fifth, and sixth are gone with no display of decency or shame whatsoever.

Obi-Wan sips his tea. He is thinking of Tahl while Anakin is thinking of the sweetness on his tongue, and making excuses for his absence the previous night.

“I’m sorry, Obi-Wan, but I was unavoidably delayed after the Senate recessed for the evening. I had to - to assist a delegate with a personal matter.”

Obi-Wan says nothing, but remembers how Qui-Gon, too, used to invent reasons to disappear unchecked. He invents nothing. He only cleaves to his duty, while time and fate conspire to keep him absent anyway. 

Anakin must hear something in his silence, because his expression loses the tension of equivocation, and he falls to studying Obi-Wan’s face.

“I was only teasing, master,” he says. “Before. I didn’t think to ask Ahsoka anything about the Duchess. She spent most of her time with the nephew, but he seemed a bright kid. Close to Satine. I can ask her to ask him if he knows anything -”

“Absolutely not,” says Obi-Wan. The words are soft, but definite. He rises swiftly to clear the detritus of their meal. “Thank you, Anakin, but Duchess Kryze is only a friend. I merely inquired out of a desire to assure myself that the report issued to the Council lacked nothing in the thoroughness of its presentation. I should hate to think that such a personal association might be overlooked as an avenue for effecting harm.”

“Oh.”

“But I thank you in any case. Ahsoka’s report was well done, and you should be very proud of your padawan,” he says. “As I am of you.”

He turns to Anakin then, smiling and benign. His padawan meets his look with a vaguely skeptical one of his own, before patting him on the shoulder, and shrugging back into his cloak.

“Alright, master,” he says. “I’ll let her know how thorough she was.”

“Goodbye, Anakin.”

“Goodbye,” his friend replies. Then, just as he crosses the threshold of the door and moves into the open hall, he looks back. “Oh,” he says. “There’s a quick supply run being made to Mandalore for relief in light of Ahsoka’s investigation. Scheduled for tomorrow, but unfortunately, I’m needed back at the Senate. I meant to ask - you wouldn’t mind making the trip for me, would you? You don’t even need to get off the ship.”

---

There is nothing he can say to Anakin, so of course, as contrived and embarrassing as the whole thing is, he goes. And he does get off the ship.

Satine is there to meet him.

“Master Kenobi,” she says, extending her hand. “To what do we owe this pleasure?”

He drops a brief, and reverential kiss then lets her go. 

“Cleaning up after my padawan and his padawan, it seems,” he says. “Apparently, a master’s work is never over. Congratulations on your recent engagement, Duchess. I hope you’ll both be very happy.”

The look which passes over Satine’s face is one he cannot decipher. He thinks she looks in equal parts shocked that he has heard, disgusted by his presumption in speaking of it, embarrassed by his boldness, and wearied by his presence. But she doesn’t deny it, so he makes his excuses to leave.

“Excuse me, Duchess,” he says. “But this was only meant to be a very brief visit, and I should prepare for departure.”

“Can you not stay for midmeal?” she asks, and he hesitates upon the precipice of her invitation. “Surely you don’t mean to tease me with a visit as brief as this? And surely your men would enjoy some rest and repast before you go?”

The troopers at his back shift, and he can feel their eagerness undulate in the Force. It would be cruel to deny them for the preservation of his own fragmented dignity, so he relents.

“Of course, your grace,” he says. “We would be most honoured.”

“Captain,” she says to the Protector at her right. “Have these men fed and watered immediately. The kitchens and my staff are at their disposal.”

He clicks his heels, and disappears, while she steps forward, and wraps her arm around Obi-Wan’s as though completely uncaring of any beau or consort or husband who might see.

“You, my dear master,” she murmurs slyly by his ear. “Are to be attended elsewhere, at my discretion.”

He does nothing to resist as she pulls him along.

Soon, they are at the Palace. Soon, they are sat at a small table in her private quarters, drinking Mandalorian kava, and eating freshly baked land’shun. Soon, they are alone.

She sets her drink aside, and dusts her hands on a fine silk napkin before broaching the subject trapped between them.

“Now, what is this about my nuptials?” she asks. Her blue eyes are steady upon his own, and he feels his palms slick with sweat. She is radiant. She is regal. There is no holo or reel or word that could do justice to the beauty of this woman in the flesh, and he feels that insidious root of jealousy writhe with agony.

“Satine -” he begins.

“No, no,” she protests, seeming to anticipate his deflection before he has begun. “I should like to hear why you think I ought to accept your congratulations, and why you felt you ought to offer them personally, in particular. Mandalore seems a rather dull trip for a High General to make.”

“I came in Anakin’s stead, actually,” he replies pertly. Another sip of kava lends some sophistication to this claim.

“Of course,” she says, but she does not look away. He can feel her gaze upon him. He can feel her glittering in the Force. She is laughing.

And he cannot bear it.

“Forgive me, your grace,” he says, rising to his feet. He sets the cup upon a saucer where it clatters inelegantly against the pot of sucre next to it, overturning the dish and sending the crystals spilling across the table. “Forgive me,” he says again. 

She lunges forward to right the pot, and still his hand beneath her own. For a moment, he doesn’t breathe. Then, he pulls away.

“I read about it on the net,” he says. “I saw the holos, and the reels. I only wanted to see you one last time, to see...I wanted to see that you were happy. That’s all.”

“Oh, Ben,” she says, his name like a sigh upon the breeze.

“It is nothing,” he says. “A foolishness all my own. I am sorry if I have troubled you, and I offer you my sincerest congratulations.”

He bows, though when he raises his head, his eyes do not rise with it, so he does not see the look of sorrow upon her face. Still, he imagines it as pity, and moves to make his escape. She is faster than he is. 

“No,” she says, standing between him and the door. “I will not accept your congratulations, and I will not accept your departure on such callous terms as these.”

“Duchess -”

“Ben,” she counters, leaning on the name. “I am not engaged. I am not married. And I do not intend to be, no matter how devoted to the idea of it you are.”

“I - devoted?” he asks, his voice rising to the height of his indignation. “I am devoted to no such thing. I have only - only been reconciled to it for weeks, thinking only of you and your happiness.”

“And your own misery, too, I’d wager.”

He chokes on his denial because he knows it is too big a lie to fit through his lips, and stares at her in dismay. She is smiling. Force, he thinks. She is incandescent. Like she has swallowed a star, and he can’t look away. He would that he could be consumed by her too, and finally, he gives in.

“Yes,” he says in an admission of guilt so great it brings relief. “I was miserable. I am, I think, an infinitely miserable person.”

“You are,” she agrees. “But I am not getting married, I am not engaged, and I am only as in love as I ever have been. And if you are foolish enough to forget that, then you are deserving of every misery you heap on yourself.”

“Have pity,” he begs.

“None,” she says.

“Have mercy,” he pleads.

“For you?” she says. “Always.”

They fall together like gravity and sunlight, and for a moment, whole galaxies bend to their will.

[miki-snake]

Officer or Kitten?

📖: just some small thirst drabble/half-fic (?) on stripper!kuroo

⭕️: Smut, 18+!, stripper!Kuroo, unprotected sex (warp it before you tap it)

🔍: 1.7k+

A/N: I hate tumblr for deleting the draft i already finished😾. Nonetheless I tried to write it again but it’s not as satisfying as the first one😿. Also you can thank Ana (@mrs-kuroojinguji )for this bc she was the one who broke my thirst meter for stripper!kuroo;; Also thank you tetsu anon from Ana who suggested the stripper name kitten but i decided to turn that kitten into something else😼

━━━━━━━━━━    ༻✧༺    ━━━━━━━━━━━

When your friends told you that you were gonna go out and party as a celebration for acing the exams, you thought of a nice get together at your local bar or a karaoke night with broken voices and some kbbq beforehand. What you didn’t expect was a night in a strip club with a hot ass "police officer" grinding his dick against you.

Well, here you were, sitting in a rather large red velvet seat, while a tall, strong built, handsome man looming over you. He wore a blue police uniform that stuck to his body like a second skin, you saw a light outline of his broad chest, already teasing what was hiding underneath the fabric.

"Oi chibi-chan, cat got your tongue?", he taunted you, his sugar sweet breath fanning over your face as you felt how he traced his fingers up your arms. His touch left a trail of goosebumps, your body already anticipating what he would do to you. The throbbing in your cunt became more apparent as you watched how he leaned back up, hands moving up to the buttons of his shirt, slowly unbuttoning one after another. He smirked at you, what you could only describe as a cat-like grin, like a predator playing with his prey. Your eyes followed the continuous reveal of his glistening skin, the button up now fully open to present his scandalously defined abs. You wanted to feel his skin, feel the heat radiating off of him, feeling if his heart beats just as fast as yours. Your gaze fell down to the impressive bulge in his pants and suddenly the air felt even hotter than before, nearly suffocating, the blazing heat prickling against your skin. Just the sight of his covered bulge made your pussy clench, more slick dripping out of your cunt, wetting the already ruined panties. The dimmed lights fitted perfectly, accentuating his dangerous aura. But it was the kind of danger, kind of risk you wanted to jump into. You wanted him to pounce on you, devour you with his mouth like he did with his eyes.

You caught him fixating his gaze on your mouth and unconsciously your tongue slipped out, licking over your lips. A deep chuckle echoed through the room and he moved over to the side, pressing something on the touchscreen mounted at the wall. A light, rhythmical music filled the room and as he turned around, hips swaying to the beat, his hand moved down to his pants, opening them and you could already see that he didn’t wear anything underneath it. Throwing his shirt to the ground he turned around, slowly pulling his pants down and teasing you with the shake of his hips. He didn’t fully pull them down, they hung low in his hips and the urge to just stand up and rip those damn pants from his body overcame you. Looking at you, he must have sensed what you thought, that teasing smirk adorning his lips again, as he walked back to you. 

“Do you wanna touch me, chibi-chan? Well, I hate to say it but that would cost you something, chiiibi- chan.”, your thighs clenched at the sound of his deep voice, vibrating through your whole body. Looking into his dark auburn eyes you could clearly see the teasing glint, a burning fire that just waited to set your body aflame. Not that your body didn’t already feel like it was on fire, the sexual tension between you guys like thick gasoline pouring into your burning desires. Your heart was beating a hundred miles per minute, the thought of just throwing all inhibitions into the wind crossing your mind. “You know, just for you little rebel, I could make a special deal. How about the only price you’ll have to pay would be something like four to five of your orgasms? I’ll promise you, we’ll get you there pretty fast.”, his breath fanned over your ear, lips slightly grazing your skin and a shiver ran down your spine. 

The smell of his cologne invaded your senses, sandalwood and dark chocolate clouding your mind and you wanted nothing more than to bury your nose in his neck, while scraping your nails down his back. His hands moved up to graze against your arms, mouth trailing down to your neck as his breath caressed your heated skin. Kneeling on the cushion of the seat, both of his knees on either side of your right legs, he started to grind his raging boner against you. That was it, that was the moment you snapped and your right hand reached up to grab him by his neck, while the other one went inside his open pants, taking his burning cock into your fist. A strangled moan escaped him as you pulled him closer until your foreheads touched each other. “That sounds very generous of you, officer. Wait, no, I see no real officer, all I can see is a little kitten. So, behave my kitty cat, alright?”, you told him in a sultry voice, the grip on him tightening as you started to move your hand along his cock. 

Eyes half-lidded, you saw how the glint flared up into an inferno, ready to burn everything that was touching it. “Oho chibi-chan, you think you can make the rules here? Think you can handle someone like me?”, he tried to sound composed but his breathless voice and the throbbing cock in your fist told you otherwise. Without another word you flipped the two of you around, his back crashing against the seat, while you straddled his lap, grip never wavering. Diving into a searing kiss, it was clear that he wouldn’t back down so easily, a battle of dominance occurring between the clashing tongues. Rubbing your fingers against the tip of his leaking cock elicited a guttural groan out of him, his lips temporarily leaving yours just for you to follow him and suck his tongue into your mouth. You couldn’t wait any longer, the lust consuming your mind, so you pulled your soaked panties to the side, not bothering to take them off and rubbed his twitching tip against your dripping cunt. 

“Whoa chibi-chan, you work fast huh? I can’t let you run me over like that.”, he panted as he tried to regain his breath from the sloppy kiss. It wasn’t the first time a woman tried to take control over him but you somehow got him to stay put, making his knees feel weak from all the intoxicating pleasure. His tip moved along your folds, gathering all the pussy juice you had to offer and circled around your throbbing clit. He felt heavy and thick in your hands, your slick slowly covering his velvet skin. “I thought I told you to behave, kitten? How about you stop talking and use your mouth for something actually useful.” You grabbed him by his hair and shoved his face into your chest, his mouth automatically finding its way to your nipple, lips closing around it and sucking the hardened bud into his mouth. “Yeah, good kitten, I knew you could learn to listen AH-.”, you teased him but it was cut off by his teeth biting onto your nipple, the sharp sting shooting down to your pussy, making it clench around nothing, more of your sweet arousal flowing out. 

You glared down at him just to find him with a smug face looking back up at you, mouth still working on your bud. “You think you’re that clever huh?” Without another word you slammed yourself down onto his cock, both of you letting out a deep moan. Throwing your head back from all the stimulation you slightly regretted the decision to try and put everything in at once. Your pussy was burning from the stretch but it was a good ache, his cock snuggly fitting into your tight cunny and the veins rubbing against your walls. You both panted like animals in heat, driven by nothing but your carnal desire. Lifting your hips up until only his head was inside of you, you dropped yourself again, his cock bottoming out in your pussy. The sight in front of you nearly made you moan out, he looked at you with half-lidded eyes, lips slightly apart and a small trail of drool slipped out of his mouth. 

Both your breathings were ragged as you sped up the pace, the sound of skin slapping filling the room along with your cries and his stifled groans. The need to hear him scream for you made you rip his hand away from his mouth and pin his wrists against the wall behind him. “Come on, be a good kitten and mewl for me.”, you told him in a wavering voice, his cock hitting the right spot deep inside of you. The moment you said it he let out a string of curses, moaning like the mess he was. You two moved in sync, his hips starting to thrust back up into you and no matter how often he went inside of you, a light burn from the stretch still prickled in your cunt. 

The build up wasn’t slow, it all came crashing down. His cock thrusted deeper and deeper into your pussy, shaping it into his own fuckhole as your pussy clamped down on him. Your walls closed down on him, while his cock started to swell up, both of you nearing the high the two of you desperately chased. He was wildly twitching inside of you and you felt even fuller than before. A particular hard thrust against your g-spot made you see stars, the sight of yours spotting as you tumbled over the edge. Your pussy clenched down on him in a vice grip, unabling him from moving as you milked every single drop out of him. Spurt after spurt bursted out into your pussy, painting your walls white as your slick gushed out of your cunt, flowing down his cock. His lap was drenched with both of your juices, a mess made by the moaning mess you two were. He had his eyes closed, head thrown back as his groans slowly faded, hips still twitching from the aftershock. Your walls were also still fluttering from the fading high, slowly coming back down to earth. Exhausted you fell face first into his chest and he caught you in his arms, a small chuckle rumbling through his chest.

“The name is Kuroo by the way but I’m okay with you calling me kitten.”

[glassworkspiderlilies]

every ribbon you used (to tie yourself to me)

Genshin Impact | Albedo & Rhinedottir, Albedo/Lumine | AO3 Summary: A life is created within a flask and learns to be human. A shooting star from another world falls to the earth. There are words for such things, and for when such things come together. And when they fall apart. (Sometimes, even when a Prince and a Princess meet against the odds, they do not get idyllic ever afters.) Notes: approx 9k words. another albelumi fic that i basically speedwrote to ride the strength of my albedo feelings before xiao drops bc i don’t trust my own fickleness!! aka...will i abandon my sad good boy for one (1) sad rudeass boy....:'(

.

.

.

“Look at her, touching his cheek to make a truce, her fingers cool with spring rain; in thin grass, bursts of purple crocus—

even here, even at the beginning of love, her hand leaving his face makes an image of departure and they think they are free to overlook this sadness.”

—From “The Garden”, by Louise Glück

.

.

.

Albedo’s first memory is, of course, of his Master. His vision is filled with her when he is newly born, and though the sight from within the flask is a little distorted, he knows the hands that created him. Much later, when he gains the knowledge to formulate opinions, he will describe her as stern and severe, but at present, scant moments after his birth, his Master smiles at him with something that might be affection.  

Otherwise, Albedo does not remember much of his early, early life. Still so new to existence as a whole, it was a long process to just learn—to learn to learn. He starts from the very basics on how to function like a human being, especially once he outgrows his flask. By all appearances, he is a human, and the differences are minute, or simply indiscernible by humans proper.

To breathe, to eat, to talk, to move. The constant asking of questions comes much later, when he becomes an actual thinking being—and that is when he earns his name too: Albedo, the stage of alchemy in which change begins. Rhinedottir is exceedingly patient with him, never once growing angry at the crawling slowness of this entire process.

She knew, and still knows, what it means to take responsibility for one’s actions.

.

Once Albedo becomes—properly situated, he takes to learning anything and everything with a voracious appetite. This appears to please his Master as she teaches him everything she knows—and her knowledge never seems to run out. She seems to have an answer for everything, though she does not always give them to him so readily, preferring that he come to his own conclusions with less guidance now that he can think for himself. Eventually, she starts asking him questions, knowing he does not have an answer. He learns to formulate his own theories and conduct his own experiments in order to find them, and such projects take anywhere from a few scant minutes to several years. Both of them are rarely working on only one thing; there is always some study or another in progress, and Albedo does not think it remiss to think that Rhinedottir is pleased to have another being keep up with her. His Master has had other students before, he learns, but none whom she could impart her knowledge to so fully, for various reasons.

It is a joy, for a very long time, to live his life like this. There is simply so much, to do and see and hear and figure out. But as the months pass, then years, then decades…life begins to grow monotonous.

It is not that he begrudges it overmuch—Rhinedottir still has things to teach, orders to give, and expectations to be met, which only increase in difficulty. Still, he comes to recognize a certain dullness in his pattern, and he cannot fully ignore this knowledge now that he is aware of it.

Nevertheless, his routine has been as such for so long that he does not even consider the possibility of it changing.

But it does, one day, when the sky lights up in a brilliant blaze of solar gold and electric white, and a shooting star plummets to the earth.

.

It is a phenomenon that even his Master has never seen in all her years, so it is inevitable that they go searching. The landing site of the mysterious star is not so far away according to Rhinedottir’s calculations, which furthers the imperative nature of their search—for how could they pass up such a golden opportunity for an absolutely unprecedented study? Albedo feels excitement beat warm in his chest, primarily owed to his Master’s enthusiasm. It is a new expression on her, this anticipation, which he finds fascinating; it is exceedingly rare that he is able to observe new facets of his Master. Even after all this time, there is still much he does not know about her, and she thus remains one of the greatest mysteries in his life.

Neither of them make any fantastical preemptive guesses as to what they might find from such an occurrence, but they do consider unusual possibilities—though logically, the basis will likely be rock Yet despite their openness of mind, they are not prepared to find what they do: an unconscious young girl, dressed in foreign white clothes, curled up in the center of a scorched crater.

Rhinedottir, usually always so sure of herself, checks her coordinates again to make sure there is no mistake.

“Well,” she says finally, moving closer to the figure, “This is unexpected, indeed.”

She tries to wake the girl to no avail. Albedo half-unpacks their supplies to take out his sleeping bag, unzipping it and laying it over the strange girl in attempts to keep her warm. After she is neatly tucked in, the two of them set up camp a little ways away, so as not to startle her overmuch with strangers looming over her when she does wake.

The girl opens her eyes as they are making dinner for the night, the slight rustling of the sleeping bag alerting Albedo and Rhinedottir of her wakefulness. They watch from the distance as she sits up, slow and lethargic as if every bone in her body hurts. She turns her head to the side a little then looks up to the sky, not yet spotting them, coming to the realization that she is in an unfamiliar place.

A small sound escapes her, like an aborted sob, hopeless and despairing.

It is at that moment that the wood in their fireplace pops, and her head swivels around at the loud noise. She throws herself back when she spots them, a sword suddenly in her hand, her stance combative; she says—something, her voice sharp and demanding, but they do not understand whatever language it is that she speaks.

Rhinedottir raises an eyebrow at the sudden appearance of a weapon from thin air, but puts out her hands in a placating manner to show that she means no harm. The girl glances at Albedo, who inclines his head towards her in greeting and continues to stir the stew that is beginning to bubble.

Her sword disintegrates from her grip as she does so, much to the alchemists’ surprise. To her credit, she seems to work out the situation fairly quickly, and slowly makes her way to the fire. It is not so much trust but logic that wins out—given their already laid out camp, if they had wanted to do her harm, they would have done so earlier when she was unconscious. She does not miss the sleeping bag that had been draped over her either, and brings it with her, saying something that might be a thanks when Albedo reaches out to take it.

Gingerly, she sits down, drawing her knees up and crossing her arms atop them as she stares into the flames, then looks between Rhinedottir and Albedo. She says—or asks—something, but neither Master nor student can understand her, and they reply so in Teyvat Common. She furrows her brows and tries again, as if testing whether or not they are pretending, a lengthy monologue spilling forth. But after a while, they notice that the sounds and syllables change every so often, and realize that she must be trying other languages as well.

But no matter how many she knows, it becomes apparent that she does not know Common.  

Her distress grows as they fail to recognize sentence after sentence, and she eventually falls quiet, looking close to tears before she buries her face in her arms. Rhinedottir is nevertheless even more fascinated, for even though they cannot communicate at present, it is evident that the girl is something extraordinary.

Albedo too, is curious, if perhaps in a different way. There is something—familiar, about her situation, something that he thinks he might be able to understand. He finds himself reaching out a hand, lightly touching her arm to draw her attention. She raises her head, blinking as she focuses on him, her eyes both wary and despairing.

He points to himself, then enunciates his name very slowly.

“Al-be-do,” he says, and then, pointing to his Master, “Rhine-do-ttir.”

The girl’s lips purse, and he repeats himself several times, until finally she puts a hand to her chest and stares him straight in the eye. He does not think he mistakes the brief flash of gratitude before she speaks.

“Lu-mine,” she says, and Albedo smiles.

.

Lumine has nowhere else to go, of course, and so it is a given that she travel with them. She seems alarmed at first when they pack up their camp, but is relieved when Albedo holds out his hand, and tilts his head in question.

She doesn’t take it, but she nods and follows after them.  

She is merely a silent shadow for some time, trailing along and watching them perform their experiments, both combined and separate. It is interesting that she raises her brows at the alchemy, yet does not seem entirely surprised at the art.

Even so, she is not dead weight. She is an able fighter, a fair huntress, and surprisingly, a decent cook. For the two alchemists whose meals tend to be the same time after time and primarily focus on nutritional value only, her cooking skill may perhaps be the most valuable skill that she can offer.

Lumine’s most interesting skill, however, is solidly her fighting prowess. It’s the sword-summoning she had done that first night that draws their attention the most, initially, the weapon appearing out of thin air and disappearing the same way. She seems confused by their fascination with it, but patiently performs it a few times for their observation.

The three of them soon form a comfortable routine. Lumine does not speak again for quite some time, and while the alchemists are intensely curious, they give her the space that she needs. There is no point to rushing her.

When she does finally begin to warm, however, it is Albedo that she begins drifting closer to. It is likely because he looks to be of the same or similar age, and compared to the forbidding severity of Rhinedottir’s countenance, he is much more approachable.  

Rhinedottir watches, the first time that Lumine engages Albedo first, bringing him an apple and making a questioning noise. He blinks at her, looking at the fruit in her hand.

“Apple?” he asks, and she tilts her head at him.

“Apple?” she repeats, very slowly, adjusting her mouth around the sounds.

“Apple,” Albedo repeats, also very slowly as he touches the fruit, understanding now what she is trying to do.

“Apple,” Lumine says back, with the proper accent, her lips quirking up in a smile.

She says something more, then, and of course he does not understand, but she gestures to various things around her, then points back to herself. She taps two fingers to her lips, then holds them out to him, and then gestures between them both.

“Ah,” Albedo says, smiling back, “Yes, I will teach you.”

Rhinedottir watches this all, and wonders about the results that will come out of this union.  

.

Lumine is a quick learner, picking up the basics of the language in a few scant months. In return, she begins teaching them a little of her own language—the one of her homeland, they learn much later on—but the accents and conjugations are much harder to get down, so utterly different from Common as it is.

Albedo takes to it far better, as he practices it more, fascinated by this new thing to learn given to him outside of his Master’s expectations. Lumine is inordinately pleased once he starts to string sentences together properly, and Albedo finds that he enjoys her pleasure.

In any case, they finally start to learn Lumine’s story from her in bits and pieces. She and her twin brother, Aether, spent their time traveling different worlds, but at some point, they had been blocked by some unknown god, and cruelly separated. The last she saw, the god had sealed her brother into a small red prison, and then done the same to Lumine.

When she woke up, she was here and stranded, without much of her previous powers.

Now, with enough language finally at her disposal, she can finally ask the question she has wanted to since the beginning, though she knows the answer by now.

“Have you seen him?” she asks, and Rhinedottir shakes her head.

“No, child, my apologies,” she says, and despite expecting this, Lumine’s face falls a little before she composes herself.

“I see,” she says softly, looking down.

She hesitates before she speaks again, meeting Rhinedottir’s eyes with determination, and without fear.

“I will leave you one day,” she says, and Rhinedottir smiles faintly.

“We all leave one another someday, child,” she replies, and Albedo glances at her, then at Lumine as well. “But you will stay for now, will you not?”

Lumine looks up at the sky for a moment before answering.

“Yes. I will.”

.

The years continue to pass less dully. Lumine picks up more and more of the common language, Albedo continues to pick up more and more of hers. She also learns a bit of alchemy during this time, enough to play assistant to the two alchemists proper if necessary.

And—also during this time, she consents to have tests and experiments run on her, in attempts to understand her better and perhaps find a way to regain her past abilities. Though she shows a little apprehension at first, the tests turn out to not be even remotely fearsome; she drinks potions and has her movements observed, and though the potions are not tasty and the physical regiments are sometimes rather strenuous, the tests are almost boring.

It is Albedo who does most of the testing and observing and compiling of research on Lumine, later bringing his notes to Rhinedottir for review. His Master is content to let the two youths spend more time together as she focuses on her own work—and anyway, unbeknownst to them, she is conducting her own new study. Albedo has grown much since his creation, and she tracks each minute difference—which have grown more steadily now—with precision. Lumine still has many unfathomable mysteries about her, but even so, Rhinedottir can see the changes about her as Albedo teaches her the names of various flowers and words like “grace”, “strength”, and “gentleness”.

In return, Lumine teaches him the words for “happiness”, “kindness”, and “warmth”.

These children know not what it is they are doing, Rhinedottir thinks, as she watches Lumine trace letters onto Albedo’s bare palm, but oh, she does, old crone as she may be.

And so, she watches, and does nothing to encourage or deny them.

.

Albedo cannot yet recognize what the slow molten, seeping feeling is that is growing inside of him, only that it reminds him of rubedo.

Lumine has an inkling of where the path of her feelings could go when she looks into Albedo’s sky blue eyes, but pushes it aside, for she cannot afford to take it.

.

He is not meant to share the secret of his birth—or rather, creation—carelessly, but Lumine is not just anybody, and nor does she seem particularly surprised by this revelation when he eventually entrusts her with this knowledge.

“Soil is the origin of alchemy, and the basis of all life,” he explains, using Lumine’s native tongue, for he likes the way her eyes shine when he does so, “And chalk, spotless soil, is the substance which primal life is molded.”

She hums, musing over this new information.

“And stars?” she asks, “What about stars?”

Albedo purses his lips, thinking.

“I don’t know,” he admits, “And it may be too difficult to be able to study, when one is so land-bound.”

She chuckles a little, tilting her head back to look at the sky.

“My first memory is of the sky,” she says, “And the light. So perhaps Aether and I were born of stardust. You said, didn’t you, that the day I appeared, I had looked like a shooting star?”

“It was a brilliant sight,” Albedo says, with a nod, “Neither Master nor I have seen anything like it, in all our years. Hmm…chalk and stardust…I wonder what could be created by the two combined?”

Lumine glances at him, eyebrow raised, but he is not looking at her nor thinking about the implications of what he’s said, hand to his chin in deep thought.

“Well, we are here,” she says after a pause, her tone light, “A child of chalk and a…potential child of stardust. What will you call us?”

He looks at her then, responding without hesitancy.

“Remarkable,” he declares, smiling.

Lumine’s eyes widen at his response, and then she throws her head back and laughs, bright and delighted.

“Yes,” she says, “Yes, remarkable indeed.”

.

There is a market happening in the nearest town, and so Rhinedottir sends Albedo and Lumine on an errand to pick up things they usually cannot get so easily. Normally, the three of them camp out when they can, and head into civilization only if strictly necessary—they cannot conduct the bulk of their experiments in such quarters as an inn. Of course, they must make exceptions when the weather turns for the worse, and there are no caves or such shelter to bunker in. But neither alchemist is overly fond of human interaction, and they avoid it to diminish various complications.

In the past, picking up supplies was a task Albedo had never thought much of previously. But now, with Lumine by his side, he finds that the errand has a new color. They peruse the market, Lumine looking around with more curiosity than he, and Albedo watches her take in the sights and wares. Since the time she has joined them, they have not had many chances to go into towns, and none so far had a market as lively as this—apparently due to some celebration going on.

Just as he is musing what kind of festival might be happening this time of year, he realizes that Lumine is no longer by his side, and has to backtrack a little to find her stopped in front of a taciturn stonecutter’s stall. Her fingers have half-lifted a pendant from his display closer to her as she scrutinizes the stone.

The man’s necklaces are no expert things, their focus mostly on the stones themselves with a chain looped through them, though some are a little more interestingly caged or bound with metal. The rather intimidating stonecutter himself does not push them to buy, and merely watches them with keen eyes as they browse.

“It is a good stone,” Albedo supplies as he steps closer, and Lumine looks to him. The stonecutter smiles faintly as well, pleased that someone is able to recognize its true worth. “I did not know you were interested in such things.”

“It’s the color of your eyes,” Lumine says simply, and Albedo blinks in surprise. “I’ll take this, sir.”

The man’s smile deepens as the transaction is completed, his visage not so frightening like this.

“If I may ask…” Lumine says, just a touch hesitantly, “If I…gave you a stone, could you make another pendant of it, like these?”

The man raises an eyebrow, but gestures for her to show him. She reaches into her pocket, then drops the stone into his palm. The stonecutter’s eyes shoot up when she moves her hand away, and Albedo also blinks at the multicolored facets of a kind of yellow diamond he has never seen before.

“…Best take it to a master,” the man says, but Lumine shakes her head.

“I haven’t the time,” she says, and Albedo blinks at her, unsure why she says such a thing, “Nor do I want this to turn into something too…flashy.”

The stonecutter hums, then shrugs, reaching for some tools, and they wait as he fiddles with the gem. In a few moments, he has it bound up in a simple cage of silver wire, and a chain looped through a little opening. Lumine smiles with satisfaction when he hands it back.

“How much?” she asks, and the man shrugs.

“No need,” he says, “Got to see something incredible. Not every day you get to see a stone like that. I’d like to ask dearly where you got it, but I shan’t.”

Lumine smiles, and pays him for the chain anyway.

They complete the rest of their task with quickly; Lumine says nothing more about her purchases, and Albedo does not ask.  

It is Rhinedottir who notices something remiss with her when they return to their camp in the outskirts.

“Oh,” she says, “It is time, then?”

Lumine’s lips thin, her expression mulish as she tilts her head down a little.

“A few more days,” she sighs, not looking at her. “But no more.”

Albedo attends to his chores, and pretends not to know what they are speaking of.

.

It is a parting gift, the necklace she had made.

She drops it into his palm the day she leaves, looking apologetic. Albedo knew this day would come, of course, but it does not lessen the sting.

He stares at the pendant while Lumine says her goodbyes to his Master.

“You’ve come a long way,” Rhinedottir says, her gaze piercing, “Do you finally feel welcome in this world?”

Lumine glances at Albedo before looking back to the older woman.

“Perhaps,” she says, “But the red god did not call us Outlanders for nothing.”

Rhinedottir shrugs.

“Then make your place,” she says simply, “And you will be an outlander no longer.”

Lumine purses her lips in thought. But she is in no place to consider this with the depth that it needs at present.

“Thank you, Madam,” she says instead, “For your care and teachings all this time.”

Rhinedottir simply cackles and waves her hand before making her way back to the camp, so that the two youths may speak alone. There is no parting gift for her; she has no need for such sentimentality, and she has already been given the greatest gift by being able to observe and test and research this fallen star of a girl.

Lumine turns to Albedo, and the two are silent for a while. Then, she reaches out to take the necklace from his hand, and gently loops the chain over his head.

“Will you stay upset with me long?” she asks quietly.

Albedo looks down at the brilliant stone of the pendant against his chest, turning it this way and that in his fingers. It sparkles in different colors as it catches the light.

“Of course not. It is not—your fault.”

She smiles a little at that.

“Ah, but I am undeniably the cause.”

“We have known since the beginning that you would leave one day, to search out your brother. I must simply confess that I…enjoyed our time together so greatly that I no longer thought of that fact so consciously.”

He finally looks at her, and her breath hitches for a second. They stare at each other for a moment before she reaches into her pocket and pulls out the other necklace she had purchased at the stall, holding it out to him.

“Will you do the same for me, please?” she requests, and he complies.

He steps closer to put the chain over her head, and does not step away when he is done.

“I enjoyed our time, too,” Lumine whispers, her eyes gentle, “More than I thought possible, after I fell to this land. Thank you, Albedo, for…for bringing me back to life.”

He blinks, unnamable emotion welling up inside him, and he does not know what to do.

Lumine reaches out to cup his cheek, her thumb brushing gently across his skin, and he sighs as he leans into her touch.

“Do not forget me,” she murmurs.

“I will not,” he promises.

She smiles, and steps back, his skin cold when her hand leaves him.  

“Goodbye,” she says.

“Goodbye,” he echoes.

He grips the pendant as he watches her go, and cannot help but wonder—

If finding those necklaces at the market spelled her departure…if she had not seen them, if he had not received this gift, would she have stayed a little longer?

.

He mopes afterwards, though he does not know it for what it is. Albedo is ashamed to say that he is unable to properly notice his own behavior until his Master snaps him out of it.

Rhinedottir does not do so in a scolding manner—rather, she brings it up lightly, with amusement.

“Tell me,” she says, her attention more on the bottle in her hand, as she shakes it and considers the changing color, “Do you know what it is you feel?”

He realizes he does not. There is an emptiness inside of him, not exactly great and yawning, but palpable and difficult to ignore. It is heavy even as it is intangible, and though it feels so much like a stone within his chest, he cannot take it and toss it away.

He is not miserable. With Lumine’s departure, his life has simply returned to its old routine with him and his Master. It is not even as dull as he remembers, and he is still glad to be by his Master’s side, learning and working alongside her. There is still value that he finds in his experiments, and meeting his Master’s high (and rising) expectations.

Except—every so often he cannot help but wonder…where is Lumine now, and how is she doing? Has she managed to find clues to her brother’s whereabouts, or has she found him entirely?

At night, Rhinedottir watches her protégé’s face furrowed in deep thought as he reflects upon himself. It is a difficult thing to do, but Albedo has always performed admirably, and this is yet another part of his growth. Distantly, Rhinedottir thinks that for the everyday person in a similar situation, what Albedo is currently experiencing is meant to be part of a rose-colored period in their life.

But she, he, and the one in his thoughts…well, none of them are everyday people.

Rhinedottir tucks a hand under her chin as she muses, ready when Albedo turns to her.

“Master,” he says, perfectly calm, “Is this loneliness?”

Only a faint upward twitch of her lips confirms the correctness of his answer.

“Albedo,” Rhinedottir says, “You have grown up well.”

He blinks, unsure of where this is going. Her praise never comes lightly, and she is not a warm person to give such compliments undue. This acknowledgement makes him…apprehensive.

“And yet, this is only the beginning,” she adds, and Albedo furrows his brows.

Rhinedottir turns away to prevent further discussion. Even with Lumine gone, there is still his Master. Though he has determined what loneliness is, he has not yet realized what it means to be alone.

He has grown well, and continues to do so—but this is not the first of hard lessons, nor will it be the last.

.

Change comes again some years later, in the form of a letter, delivered to them by the hands of a hilichurl.

It is Albedo who receives it. He’d been trying to observe the unique patterns on its mask that he has not seen before, but when it spots him, it calls out to him. His name is mangled, yet still recognizable, but despite the address the hilichurl is wary and holds out the letter as if it thinks it will be the last thing it does.

But it completes its mission; Albedo takes the envelope gingerly, nonplussed at this sudden, unexpected interaction.

The hilichurl scampers away the moment Albedo’s fingers close on the paper and secures it.  

“Master,” he says, when she ambles up beside him, having noticed this interaction from afar, “Have you ever seen the like?”

“No,” she says, her voice absent as she stares at the envelope in his hand. “Open the letter, Albedo.”

He obeys. Inside in a single folded sheet, with a single line in careful print.

I’ve found my place.

“I see,” Rinedottir murmurs.

She looks thoughtful but says nothing else, merely looking to the sky before walking back to their camp.

Albedo stares at the letter, at the familiar handwriting, at the emptiness of the remaining space. He should be glad for Lumine, and gladder still that she has managed to notify them that she is alive and well.

But the fact that it arrives to them after all this time, not from her directly but in the hands of a hilichurl of all things…he knows how to read the letter for what it is.

A severance.

Her place is elsewhere, somewhere out of reach, some place that he cannot understand.

(And yet…to turn the unknown into the known…that is what he does.)

Albedo stays out for a long, long time, until the sun sets, and his fingers turn cold.

.

Rhinedottir watches as her boy stands outside in the wilderness and navigates through heartbreak.

When Albedo comes back to the fire to warm his hands, she smiles a little at the resolution set on his face. He has nothing to ask her.

Yes, she thinks.

Soon, she will have nothing left to teach him.

.

Albedo wakes one morning with his Master nowhere to be found.

Her tools are gone. Her notes are gone. Nearly every trace of the fact he had been traveling with another person is gone.

All she leaves behind is a note, a recommendation later, and the Opus Magnum, the ancient alchemical manuscript which she had so carefully protected during their travels.

He reads her note with trembling hands.

Albedo, when you have put your own affairs in order, go to Mondstadt. Find my old friend, Alice, and give her the recommendation letter. Complete your final assignment.

He surveys the camp once more when he is done, still in disbelief. His Master, Rhinedottir, suddenly gone from his life with nary a warning. He had feared such a thing before, that if he had failed to complete the assignment he’d been given, she would leave him—she had threatened to do so before often enough, as a motivator. But he had and has done everything she has asked, met every expectation and even beyond.

He had not thought that the opposite too could be true, that she would eventually run out of things to teach him, and leave him thus. What she deems her final assignment had not been delivered in any unusual manner the other day. The truth of this world…he had thought like any other task—that she already had the answer, and would watch over him like always as he struggled to reach the same enlightenment.

The sun is already high in the air but the morning is nonetheless dark. He cannot move. The routines he performed with his Master are gone, because his teacher is gone. Nothing is the same. He does not know how to adjust.

Albedo reads her letter over and over again, until he finally reads the recommendation letter she has left too. It is an impersonal detailing of his abilities and accomplishments—so like his Master, and not at all unexpected, and yet he feels emptier having read it.

“Master,” he whispers, “Is this what true loneliness feels like?”

It is more debilitating than he could have guessed.

He watches the sun rise and fall, rise and fall. He does not eat or sleep.

He does a study in hunger, in dehydration. In inertness. He presses his cheek to the ground and watches ants and beetles traverse the dirt. He is not looking to die—though he would not be able to die in this manner to begin with. But nor can he bring himself to move.

And then, one day, a sunsettia plops onto his head.

And then another, and another. He peels his eyes open and looks up to see a hilichurl retreating to a safe distance. It watches as he slowly rises to his knees before running away fully.

If he recalls correctly…it is the same one that had delivered him Lumine’s letter, the one with the unique mask patterns.

Lumine.    

Do not forget me, she had said, and he promised that he would not. But he confesses he did, for this snatch of time where he could not think of anything at all.

Complete your final assignment, Rhinedottir had said, and as her loyal student, his compliance was inherent. But that is not the path is he currently on, nor attempting to be on.

…There are still things he has to do, wants to do.

Albedo eats the sunsettias slowly, and then goes searching for more when his stomach settles. The hilichurl does not appear again, but the reminder was enough. His studies in stagnation are done; they do not achieve what he actually wants to achieve.

Logically, he knows, but pulling himself back together is still slow going. He takes one step at a time, and begins going through the motions of the everyday life he had shared with his Master. It becomes familiar again in due time, and he realizes, perhaps, that Rhinedottir had prepared him for this for quite a long time. He has everything he needs, including the routines, even if he is alone.

The rest depends on him.

For the first time, he cries. He does not realize he is doing so until the tears drip off his chin and onto the back of his hand. It is a curious feeling; a part of him marvels at this new, uncontrolled response, the force of his feelings so overwhelming that he cannot contain them.  

“I am still learning, Master,” he whispers, and wipes the tears away.

When you have put your own affairs in order, Rhinedottir’s letter had begun, and so he shall begin to do so.

The first order of business: to once more find the shooting star that had fallen to the earth.

.

It takes a few months, though even that is sooner than he expected. He spends that time simply roaming…and attempting to communicate with hilichurls. Not all the encounters go well—he cannot always get close, and sometimes even if he can, it results in battle. He does not know how to begin learning their language, but he can observe their culture. He seeks out the shamans and brings food to showcase goodwill, shows Lumine’s necklace to them if he is able to establish communication. Albedo cannot tell if they understand, but he tries anyway, and continues to try.

It pays off.

After many other failed attempts, this group of hilichurls exclaims after looking at the necklace a bit, and gestures wildly for him to follow. They lead him to a field of sweet flowers, and at first, Albedo takes this to be another misunderstanding, sighing.  

But then he sees the Ruin Guard ambling towards it, and the figure perched in its hand.

The Guard stops in front of him, and Lumine’s face is expressionless as her eyes meet his. The Guard lowers its hand for her to step down, and he sees that there are also apples and sunsettias in its palm.

These she gives to the hilichurls, who exclaim in delight, carrying off the fruits immediately. The Guard itself ambles away slowly once its hand is empty.

“You’ve been kind to them,” she murmurs, watching the hilichurls go. “Thank you.”

“Lumine,” he breathes, his voice hushed.

“Albedo,” she says back, turning to face him.

For a moment, it feels like they are meeting for the first time again, though now they already know each other’s names. Like him, she looks the same as she did all those years ago, and yet much has changed since then.

“You’ve been looking for me,” she says, her voice flat, “Why?”

“I felt I was in danger of losing you,” he replies, not at all offput by the coldness of her attitude, “So I came to keep my promise.”

Her expression changes at that, a flicker of pain flashing across her eyes.

“I am not the girl you once knew,” she tells him.

“And yet, my life’s purpose is to turn the unknown into the known.”

Her brows furrow at his response, the corners of her mouth tugging downwards.

“This is not for you to know.”

“All knowledge is worth having. If you will not share it, I will attempt to discover it myself, in due time.”

Her lips thin with displeasure, her eyes bright with anger. He tilts his head a little as he scrutinizes her.

“You let me find you,” he says gently, “Why?”

Lumine tenses and does not answer him.

“You are afraid,” he continues, and she begins stepping back, her eyes wary, “…And you are lonely.”

At that, she hisses and turns away as if she will leave him entirely, but he reaches out to grab her wrist.

She stills at his touch, and does not pull away.

“How funny that I should feel the same,” Albedo says, with something of a self-depreciating laugh.

Her head whips back to look at him, and the two stare at each other before she finally sighs, the tension draining out of her body. She looks…small, like this. Terribly so.  

“Madam Rhinedottir left you,” she says, her voice defeated.

“Yes.”

“You almost died.”

“That is not true, though I was indeed indisposed for some time.”

She raises her eyebrow at that, and he gives her a sheepish look. There is not much more explanation he can give about that, and Lumine shakes her head.

“I did not send that letter so that you would come find me.” she says, her voice distant.

“I know. But why did you send the letter?”

She hesitates before responding.

“…I…thought you would rather know, than not.”

“Ah—a kindness then.”

He smiles a little here, tilting his head just a little teasingly, and her face softens against her will before she turns her face away.

“If…you wish to view it as such.”

A few heartbeats pass before they speak again.

“Are you still searching for your brother?”

“…Yes. But so far, it has been fruitless. I suspect I will only see him when the dust settles. In the meantime…I’ve discovered something else I cannot walk away from.”

“And will you tell me what it is?” he coaxes warmly, but her response is icy.

“Do not ask of me such a thing Albedo, when you are not here to stay.”

He pauses, deliberating whether or not he can answer otherwise to hear her answer, but he will not lie to her. Her lips quirk up at his quietude, but her expression grows melancholy after a moment.

“There is something you cannot walk away from as well,” she says, and he nods.

“My Master’s final assignment is to find the truth of this world,” he says quietly, “I…wonder if I will be able to see her again, when I do.”

Lumine blinks, faintly surprised, though she says nothing on the subject.  

The two fall silent then, looking at each other. Albedo is still holding onto Lumine’s wrist, though neither of them comment on the matter.

After a while, Lumine sighs, and reaches out a hand to touch his cheek.

“Albedo,” she says, switching to the language of her homeland, “I confess it is good to see you. But it was not…a good choice.”

He blinks at her and leans into her touch, holding her gaze.

“I wanted to see you,” he says simply, and she shivers to hear the language from him in return.

“Do not do this again. The next time you find me, I will kill you.”

He smiles a little at that.

“Then when it is time for me to die, I will come to you.”

She frowns, and drops her hand as if burned.

“Ah, so you intend to make me do it,” she says, shaking her head. “You are cruel, Prince of Chalk.”

“It is not about making you do it. It is about having a reason to do so.”

She looks at him sharply, her eyes and posture demanding. But he smiles, and says nothing more. The bargain for this information is not something she is willing to make at present.  

“Don’t come,” she hisses.

“I will, if I must. You have already made the declaration.”

Her jaw is clenched at his refusal, her body trembling slightly, and it is another moment before she speaks again.

“…Then if you must come, at the time, if I am nothing like you remember, if I am no longer who I say…you must be prepared to do the same. You made me a promise. Do not forget me. Me. As Lumine. Do not let a stranger kill you.”

He tugs off one glove, and holds out his hand.

Slowly, she takes it, intertwining their fingers. Hers are warm as his are cool.

“So once more, we make an exchange,” he says lightly.

She blinks at him, then peers at his neck. She reaches under his collar and tugs out the pendant she had gifted him so long ago by the chain, the yellow diamond still glittering as brilliantly as ever. He reaches under her scarf to tug out hers, the blue crystal still beautifully clear and luminous.

Lumine sighs, and leans her forehead against his.

“You make this difficult,” she mutters.

He chuckles.

“Master used to say that if it was easy, you were not learning.”

Her lips quirk up into a wry smile. After a while, she squeezes his hand, and does not let it go when she steps back.

“Go,” she sighs, “This is hard enough already. Do not make it harder.”

He looks at her, then lifts her hand to press her knuckles to his lips.

“Until death unites us, then,” he says, and lets her go.

She does not say goodbye this time, and he does not turn back. She watches him, until he is out of sight, gripping the pendant hanging in the center of her chest so hard it hurts.

.

Mondstadt welcomes him with open arms, and his skill is so far beyond what everyone else is used to that even without the recommendation letter, he could have easily made a place for himself. Even so, he is new to the city, so to make him Chief Alchemist is too hasty still.

He does not mind; he does not need a position at all, so long as he is still allowed use the resources that they have.

Instead, he accompanies his Master’s friend, Alice, and her little daughter Klee, on various adventures to better acclimate himself to the country. It is very different than traveling with his Master; Alice is rambunctious and destructive, attentions everywhere all at once with whatever new thing catches her interest. Klee watches her mother with big eyes and a wide smile, and listens with rapt focus whenever Alice sits her down to teach her how to make bombs. (Surely that is not conventional, but…Albedo has not exactly lived a conventional life, and does not have “normal” parenting to compare Alice’s to.)

It is chaotic, and yet he does not wholly mind. It is a new experience to consider.

And yet…in three years, Alice too is gone. She leaves Klee with Albedo and the Knights of Favonius, and then she and her partner are gone in a flash, into the depths of the world.

Klee holds Albedo’s hand tightly when her parents leave with nary a backwards glance, and he squeezes it gently back, understanding her feelings. They are similar—an absent mother and an absent Master, the ones left behind and lonely, their abilities just a little too much for Mondstadt’s walls.

He and Klee sleep side-by-side that night, and for a little while to come. But the little girl handles it better than he, ultimately; she is perky and bright within a few days, pouring her attentions into crafting new bombs and terrorizing the fish in Starfell Lake. (He mitigates this where he can, but…Klee’s shenanigans become commonplace and well known amongst the Knights as they all pitch in to watch her.)

During their travels, Alice had said they were now a family, and that Albedo could call her Mother, if he so wished. But he did not, and the word stuck oddly when he tested it.

But as for Klee…it is not so strange to call her little sister. She had already endeared herself to him early on, with an unprecedented affection so whole and pure and innocent. Despite his lack of previous interaction with children, he does well in caring for her, and he cannot help but marvel a little at the responsibility of watching over another life like so, perhaps a little like the way his Master had when he was brought out of his flask.

They are, perhaps unexpectedly, a good pair. With Klee, Albedo learns about a different kind of contentment, and comfort. There are nights, after Klee has had a nightmare and Albedo simply cannot sleep, that they sit together and watch the stars with a hot drink, or go out to catch fireflies. Together, they forget to be lonely.

“Albedo,” Klee says sleepily on one such stargazing and hot-drink night, nestled up beside him, “I’m really glad that you came to Mondstadt.”

Albedo strokes his sister’s hair, and smiles tenderly.

“Thank you, Klee,” he murmurs, picking her up with great care to put her to bed, “I’m very glad I did too.”

.

Regardless of previous misgivings, Albedo gains two titles, aside from the one his Master left him, very quickly: Chief Alchemist, and Captain of the Investigation Team. He is truly a Knight of Favonius by the time this happens, with even his bladework adjusted to better suit their style.

Besides Klee—and Sucrose and Timaeus, whom he has taken under his tutelage in the past months—he still primarily keeps to himself. He is satisfied with the relationships he has, and is not interested in cultivating too many new or deeper ones. The work that is required for such things…it is troublesome.

The official assignments required from him by the Knights are, quite frankly, easy, just barely requiring five percent of his energy. But this suits him just fine, as it allows him ample time for his own pursuits.

His life in Mondstadt is colorful, and though here too he forms his routines, there is never a dull moment—especially with Klee, and two students to teach.

Albedo wonders if something like this was the reason his Master sent him to Mondstadt. He is…happy here, in this gentle and free city.

He wonders if, as they had traveled the world just the two of them for so long, his Master had been, too.

.

He is not in the city proper when Stormterror attacks, but he hears about the Traveler the moment he returns. The knights on duty inform him that the young man and his floating companion had been taken to see Jean in her office, and then the group of them had headed out again afterwards posthaste. Albedo walks towards Headquarters with renewed curiosity, but expects he’ll hear more about everything in due time, and simply goes to his workshop as usual.

There is a knock on his door a little while later, and he calls for whoever is on the other side of the door to come in. He is observing the color change of a potion in his hands, and turns only when it has settled into the proper pale shade.

When he finally looks up from the bottle, he nearly drops it in surprise.

A young man in foreign clothes stands next to Jean, about the same height as Albedo, if perhaps a touch taller. He is slim, his long blond hair tied in a braid, his golden eyes open and curious. A small fairy-like child floats next to him, but Albedo’s focus is on the Traveler, and blinks as he takes in his visage.

They are not identical, but nevertheless, Albedo knows him for who he is.  

“Good afternoon, Albedo,” Jean greets, “You must have already heard the stories, but this is the Traveler, Aether, who I’ve deemed an Honorary Knight of Favonius for his assistance. His companion is Paimon.” She gestures back and forth as she introduces everyone. “This is Albedo, Chief Alchemist and Captain of our Investigation Team.”

“Hiya!” Paimon says, waving cheerfuly while Aether dips his head politely in greeting.

“Hello,” Albedo returns, finally settling down the bottle into a rack. “Thank you, for your service to Mondstadt. What brings you here to see me?”

“He is looking for his sister,” Jean explains, and Albedo keeps his face impassive. “I was hoping that he might sit with you awhile to tell you about her, and you could sketch her likeness for some missing person posters?”

“Ah,” Albedo says. “Yes, of course. I will clear some space.”

“Excellent,” Jean smiles, making to leave. “My thanks, Albedo. And—Aether, Paimon, please get some rest afterwards. Arrangements with the inn have been made, and they are ready to accommodate your stay for as long as you need.”

Aether bobs his head again, murmuring a thank you, and in the next moment it is just the three of them.

Albedo is curious about the floating child, but…he puts this aside for now, clearing some notes off a stool for the Traveler to sit. He does so gingerly, looking around the workshop with fascination. Paimon floats, of course, but she moves this way and that in excitement.

“We heard that you’re really great at drawing—Paimon can’t wait to see a master at work!” she exclaims, and Albedo smiles wryly.

“I hope I will not disappoint,” he demurs, as he moves around to locate his materials.

“Thank you, for agreeing to do this,” Aether adds, hesitating a little on the words. “I’m sorry—my mastery of the language is…not so good, yet.”

Albedo prepares the proper paper and pencils, then glances at him sidelong.

“You speak it well, but would you prefer to use a language more comfortable to you?” he asks, and watches Aether’s eyes go wide with shock.

A heartbeat passes, and Aether rises from his seat—

And slams Albedo into the wall by the collar, his hands fisted into his shirt.

It is an aggressive action, yet not one fueled by violence, but desperation. Aether’s eyes are begging as they well up with tears, and his entire body trembles. Paimon watches with her hands over her mouth, completely taken aback by this turn of events and unsure of what to do.

“Where? How?” Aether chokes out, his voice raw, “Tell me—you’ve met her, haven’t you? She taught you. There is no one else left besides she and I who know this tongue.”

“It was many years ago,” Albedo says, putting his own hands gently over Aether’s. There is already a lot understood in that statement; neither Albedo nor Aether are quite human, and neither are quite willing to reveal such personal secrets so openly just yet. “The last I saw her was in a nameless flower field, when I was on my way to this city. I know not what she is doing, nor where she is now. I am sorry.”

Aether loosens his hold, breathing ragged, and steps back.

“I am sorry too, for my reaction,” he says, running a hand through his hair, still distressed. He paces a little, unsure of what to do with all the adrenaline thrumming in his veins. “It has been…quite some time, that I’ve heard our language, and from someone other than Lumine.”

“No harm done,” Albedo assures him, though he suspects his back will be a little sore.

The two regard each other for a moment, and Paimon looks between them.

“Will someone please explain what is going on?!” she demands, and Aether rubs the back of his head sheepishly.

“He…knows a language I thought was lost,” Aether says, then pins her with his gaze. “Paimon…you can’t mention what happened here to anyone else, I mean it. Please.

“Wha? Paimon doesn’t get it, but…if you say so. It’s unfair to leave Paimon out, though!”

“I’m sorry,” Aether says, ruffling her hair. “I’ll…explain to you later. And I’ll buy you more Sticky Honey Roast.”

“Yes! Alright, Paimon will do whatever you say!”

Albedo smiles a little, and motions for Aether to sit.

Neither are sure how much to reveal, and also in front of Paimon, so they go through the motions of the situation. Aether describes Lumine in vast detail, and though Albedo does not need it, it is fascinating to hear of her through the eyes of her brother, and match his words to what he knows.

By the end, Paimon marvels over the final drawing, and Aether goes quiet over the portrait. It is a remarkable likeness, down to the way she holds herself and the gleam in her eye.

“Thank you,” Aether murmurs, and Albedo knows he means more than just for the drawing.  

“Alright then! Let’s go to Good Hunter now!” Paimon cheers, and flies off first without waiting for an answer.

Aether lingers, as expected, handing back the sketch with reluctance so that it can be copied.

“You may have the original, once the posters are produced,” Albedo tells him, and Aether smiles.

“My thanks,” he says, then hesitates before continuing. “Please…could we meet up again? I’d…like to speak more to you, about…a few things, really, but about Lumine especially. And...I cannot express how much it means, to be speaking this again.”

“I may be difficult to find,” Albedo admits, “But if you can get word to me, I will make time. I would like to speak to you, as well.”

Aether’s smile is brilliant, and he leaves the workshop in a mood just as bright.

Albedo watches him go, and wonders what to tell him, and how much. He looks at the sketch in his hand, unsure of the result of putting up these posters will be. There may be a danger in that it is too good a likeness.

She had said…not to look for her. The next time you find me, I will kill you. But surely that did not apply to Aether, whom she was looking for to begin with all the years.

He sighs deeply and wonders—

Lumine’s goals, and the truths she has found…what are they?

.

A thousand miles away, underground, Lumine stares down into a pit she cannot see the bottom of, gripping her blue pendant tightly. She holds it over the edge of the abyss, then loosens her fingers, the stone swinging freely.  

After a moment, she sighs.

She retracts her hand, holds her fist to her chest.  

She slips the chain back over her head.

[worldwidemochiguy]

Dancing On My Soul (M)

“Come on, baby, you knew what would happen if you danced with someone else. You wanted it, don’t try to deny.”

“I didn’t.”

“Yes you did. You wanted me to fuck you right there in front of everyone, show them who you belong to.”

“A-and who is that again?”

➵ Warnings: Possessive! Taehyung, Voyeurism, Fingering, Penetrative Sex, Humiliation, Degradation, Creampie, Unsafe Sex (ALWAYS wrap it before you tap it, kids) (not that any kids should be reading this lol if you’re below 18 then kindly scroll away)

➵ Word Count: 2.3K

➵ Masterlist

➵ a/n: requested by anon! sorry if this is nastier than u expected lol, i have to say this is 87% inspired by the above pic of taehyung at the vanity fair trendsetters thing bc hot damn

Taehyung’s eyes burn as you twist on the dance floor, the undulating gyrations of your hips easy to see beneath your tight dress. The strobing lights of the club catch on the sequins that decorate you like a second skin, giving you an almost angelic glow. But, as Taehyung knows, you are far from pure…

You are teetering on the edge, one false step from falling and, as always, Taehyung is close behind. Perhaps he’ll be the one to shove you off.

You are breathless, panting to the heavy beat of the music that shakes through the very foundations of the club. The pulsating vibrations force their way into your blood stream, pumped around your body as your heart contracts. When you catch Taehyung’s eye, it skips a beat, before leaping into overdrive.

He is splayed out in the otherwise empty VIP lounge, legs wide apart in masculine arrogance. You are sure that if you were to reach in between them, you would find him hard and waiting for you. You knew he would be watching you, just as you knew this would anger him. The result of his anger, however, remains a mystery to you. You bite your lip in anticipation.

Raising your arms above your head freely, you twist around, hoping to taunt Taehyung with a glimpse of the open back of your dress. But, a man you had been previously unaware of is waiting eagerly behind you.

As soon as the two of you are face to face, he grins, his teeth flashing as they catch the light, and loops his arms around your waist, tugging you closer.

“You’re so fucking hot,” The stranger says, barely audible above the noise of the club, and you can practically feel Taehyung’s glare intensify, burning a hole through the man’s hand, now splayed across the base of your spine.

His hand is uncomfortably clammy, and his alcohol-soaked breath fanning across your cheek is not the most pleasant sensation, but the only thing you can feel now is excitement. You had been hoping to rile Taehyung up, to bring out that deeper level of depravity you know is buried within him, and this… this is certain to do exactly that.

Your grin wavers slightly as the stranger’s hands slide down to grip your hips harshly. You had been intending to tease Taehyung but that doesn’t mean you’re willing to allow a stranger to grope you.

You start to shift away from him, donning a falsely apologetic grimace.

“Sorry, I’m taken.”

“That doesn’t mean we can’t dance, sweetheart.” The man smirks, attempting to tug you back into him.

Suddenly, a familiar warmth spreads itself across your back. You are pulled backwards until you hit a firm chest behind you, arms securing themselves tightly around your waist.

“You’d better keep your hands to yourself,” A deep voice growls, the reverberations echoing through his chest and into you, traveling right down to your core. “-or I’ll have each individual finger broken. Then, maybe you’ll learn to not touch what is mine.”

You tilt your head to see Taehyung snarl the last word, eyes blazing as he watches the man stumble away into the throng of drunken dancers, writhing to the beat of the music. You know by the look in his eye that Taehyung has already memorised the face, and you suspect the stranger won’t be leaving the club without injury.

The heavy bass pulsing through the building fades away as Taehyung flicks his eyes down to you.

And you see that he is furious.

A hand closes tightly around your wrist, and suddenly you are being dragged along behind Taehyung as he stalks back to the VIP lounge. The few partygoers that had dared to occupy the lounge in Taehyung’s absence quickly vacate the couches and exclusive bar, leaving it empty once again as Taehyung sits down, yanking you onto his lap.

“I thought you were a good girl.” Taehyung hisses in your ear as you squirm along his length, fully hardened and pressing insistently against your upper thighs. “That’s what you told me, right? When I asked if you deserved to go to the club tonight, you said, oh yes, Taehyung, please, I deserve it, I’m your good girl.”

“I- I am muh- I’m a good girl.” You whine as he grips your hips tightly and slots you directly above his cock, grinding you against it.

All that separates the VIP lounge from the packed club is a simple cordon. If it weren’t for the poor lighting, anyone could glance over and watch as you rut against him like a bitch in heat. They might still be able to see, if they look closely enough.

That thought drags a choked moan from your throat, and you feel Taehyung’s hot breath against the shell of your ear as he chuckles derisively.

“Are you a good girl? Really? Even though you’re moaning and panting on my cock right here in front of everyone?”

“Nooo~” You whine pathetically, even as your grinding speeds up.

“I think,” Taehyung murmurs, and you feel his hand slide down the heated skin of your bare back and underneath the tight fabric, coming around to grip the side of your thigh under the dress, “I think that you’re a slut, and you’re desperate to let all of these people watch as you come undone.”

“No!” You protest tearfully, writhing as Taehyung’s hand comes around to cup your sex, only a thin layer of lace separating his fingers from your dripping core. To the average drunken partier, you might just appear to be perched on his lap, but if they look any closer it would be obvious to see Taehyung’s hand working underneath your dress.

The humiliation and powerlessness combine into a heady shot of arousal and you slump against Taehyung’s chest bonelessly as he pushes your panties aside and plunges a finger into you.

Your moan drowns out Taehyung’s smug laugh as he begins to pump his finger into you without mercy.

“Fuck, you’re dripping.” He mocks you, and you let out an ashamed whimper, “You really like this, don’t you? You like being used in front of everyone, like a good slut.”

You shake your head weakly, even as you obediently spread your legs for him. He adds another finger, and you groan as he begins to scissor the digits, stretching you out roughly.

“I bet you’d let anyone fuck you, huh?” Taehyung growls, and his other hand comes up to squeeze your throat, cutting your airways just enough that dark spots begin to appear around the edge of your vision.

“You’re so desperate for cock, you probably would have bent over in the middle of the club for that bastard and let him pound into your tight little hole. Is that why you’re so wet, huh?”

“No!” You cry as he adds a third finger, pressing insistently on the bundle of nerves inside you.

Tears stream down your face from the overstimulation, ruining the makeup you had spent hours perfecting. “I wouldn’t let anyone elsetouch me! I swear! Just you.”

“Just me?” He repeats sceptically, curling his fingers inside of you making you sob with desperation.  

“I promise, I’m yours, only yours.”

“Okay baby,” Taehyung murmurs as his hand recedes from your throat. You gasp, so focused on the sensation of the air flooding back into your lungs that you don’t register Taehyung pulling out of you slowly. You whine as his fingers, glistening with your arousal, come up past your face.

He seals his lips around them, closing his eyes in bliss as he tastes your essence, before drawing them out of his mouth and into your own. You gag slightly as he shoves them down your throat. His lips curl up in smug satisfaction as you swirl your tongue around his digits, coated with both your arousal and his saliva.

“You’re a good girl?” He asks expectantly, and you nod, moaning wantonly around his fingers. You know anyone is free to glance over to the VIP lounge and catch a glimpse of you, dress askew and lips swollen, but you can’t deny the arousal that shoots through you at the thought.

You whine unhappily as Taehyung takes his fingers away, but you are soon distracted by the feel of his mouth pressing hotly against your neck. You whimper as his teeth sink into a bruise he had marked you with a few days ago, and his tongue laves over the wound soon after, as if in apology.

You barely hear the sound of his zipper over the music in the club. But the catchy EDM song playing out of the loudspeakers flies out of your head the moment Taehyung lifts your hips and sinks you down onto his cock.

“Tae, wha- ohhhh,” You moan as his cock stretches you out, and he releases a strained snicker.

“Be quiet, baby girl,” He admonishes you, bouncing you slightly on his cock, causing you to hiccup on another moan, “They’ll hear you, and then they’ll all know what a slut you are.”

You gaze helplessly out at the crowd of dancers, ignorant as Taehyung yanks you down on his cock again and again. If anyone simply looks over at the two of you, they’ll know.

Your head lolls back against his shoulder, listening to his rough grunts as he pounds into you, biting your lip to hold back your own noises.

“So… fucking…tight.” Taehyung growls, punctuating each word with a sharp thrust. On the last word, the forehead of his cock presses against your bundle of nerves again and you let out a high-pitched whine.

Taehyung’s hips still for a second, before he adjusts his angle and starts pounding into you with renewed energy. Each thrust batters that spot within you and soon you cannot control the steady string of moans that pour out of your mouth.

“Just can’t keep quiet, can you?” Taehyung pants, still managing to sound smug even as his balls slap against your thighs obscenely, “You love cock so much, don’t you? You’re desperate for it.”

“Taehyung,” You wail, breath hitching as he leans in to suck another bruise on your neck. God, as soon as you leave the club everyone on the street will be able to tell that you were just fucked. “Please.”

“‘Please’ what, slut?”

“I need to come.”

You grip one of his wrists, trying weakly to tug it to the front of your dress.

“You want to come? In front of all these people?”

“Yes.” You gasp as he thrusts particularly hard.

Instead of sneaking around the back of your dress like before, Taehyung simply reaches underneath the front. As his fingers move up to toy with your clit, the hemline is dragged upwards so that anyone who looks can clearly see Taehyung’s cock pounding into you at a brutal pace.

He barely needs to touch you before you’re shattering around him with a piercing cry that conveniently coincides with a bass drop by the DJ. You continue to moan mindlessly as he rides through your orgasm, bucking into you with a few sporadic thrusts before you feel his come spill into you.

You simply sit on his softening cock for a few moments, both of you exhausted after the intense orgasm, before Taehyung pulls you off him, replacing your panties which he had shoved to the side so that his come does not leak out of you.

You wonder at how he is seemingly unaffected, neatly tucking himself back into his pants before rising to his feet. He pulls you up with him, placing a quick peck on your forehead to comfort you as you whine from the soreness, his hands darting around to fix your dress and your mussed hair. You know you must look like sex on legs, and the way he smirks at you pretty much confirms it.

Your mind is so dazed, you don’t protest as Taehyung leads you through the club and to the exit. You feel the gaze of several people resting on your runny mascara, shaky legs and bruised neck as you pass. The shame on your cheeks burns almost as hot as Taehyung’s come, which has started to trickle down the inside of your thigh.

Soon, you are in the car Taehyung had waiting for the two of you, and his nose buries itself in your neck as the driver wordlessly rolls up the partition.

“You smell like me.” He remarks in satisfaction, and you laugh weakly.

“I smell like sex.”

“Hm, I wonder why that is.” He replies cheekily, and you unfortunately don’t have the energy to shove him away.

“I hate you.” You moan halfheartedly, and he grins, dragging a protesting you onto his lap once more.

“I’ll leak come on you.” You threaten, before moaning as he grinds his thigh against your over-sensitive core. You feel slightly bad for the driver. That partition is definitely not soundproof.

“Come on, baby, you knew what would happen if you danced with someone else. You wanted it, don’t try to deny.”

“I didn’t.” You deny anyway, squirming as his lips curve into a smile against your marked neck.

“Yes you did. You wanted me to fuck you right there in front of everyone, show them who you belong to.”

“A-and who is that again?” You pant. Taehyung’s hands fit over the bruises his fingerprints dug into your hips, squeezing slightly. The sharp sensation of pain makes you moan.

“Do you need a reminder, baby?”

His cock twitches beneath you, and you grin.

“I think I do.”

[gulfportofficial]

Gp Gp gp 

I wasn’t going to pre-share this on tumblr bc it really should be in context but it’s just taking me so fucking long to finish this and I want GP readers to know what’s up.  Anyway, tw for rape trauma; gulfport scene 

He slid his fingers under my pajama bottoms, against my skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he said. “So very beautiful. I love you, you know.”

“Don’t tell me, show me!”

He kissed me again, messy and deep, and rolled me on top of him. His hands felt me all over, excitedly, under my shirt, over my ass again. He both fondled and held tight and there was something so very sweet about that, that he hid himself beneath me, as if he were sheltering, nesting. He buried his nose in my collarbone and inhaled. I gripped his body back and ran my hands along it.

He wriggled down and pulled my pants down with him, kissing and caressing me as he did, then easing my thighs apart to nestle his face between them. I giggled and he spread my legs a little wider. He kissed there. He sunk his teeth into the very top of my thigh.

It hurt. It hurt a lot and I gasped and felt my skin prickle and come alive and I waited for the delight of it to take me over. But it didn’t. Instead it burned so much that it was if my spirit pulled back from it and I jolted out of myself and sailed away.

It was such a shock that my stomach lurched up into my mouth. With it came the memory of human acid burning there, when I’d had a real body, and fear came too. It was dark all around me and a smell rose and smothered me and I caught glimpses of tattered gold hair.

I whimpered. “Louis,” I said. My heart beat hard. I thought it was my heart. “Louis?”

“Hmm?” he said.

“I’m not sure I can.”

“Can what?”

“I don’t think I can have sex, I don’t want to have sex. Please stop.”

When I said it aloud I was sure I’d throw up in earnest and I had to turn my face to the side in case I did. How could I have done something so stupid? I’d said that when I could have endured it. It would have been momentary! And he’d insist on knowing and I didn’t want anyone to know!

I couldn’t even resolve my face. I wasn’t inside it. I couldn’t make it sit spitefully to protect myself, I didn’t know how it read to him. His movements seemed small and unconcerned and painfully out of step with my apocalypse. He smiled somehow and he shifted himself out from between my legs and wiped his mouth and after a moment he leaned up and kissed my cheek. I could feel my thigh hemorrhaging open and pulling me down with it and I knew I would bleed to death now, bleed to human death as I had already done, but this time I would wake up even more monstrous than before, and he kissed my cheek!

I could hear myself making a sound. I tried to stop. I had to be healing, surely. I had to be.  

“Too tired after all?” Louis said, in a normal, impossible voice. He lay down next to me and pulled the covers up.

My voice sounded stupid. “You’re not mad?”

“No?”

“Well, I mean, I… I mean, I started things.”

Louis frowned. “I did too, but it doesn’t matter.”

“You really don’t mind?”

“I don’t mind,” he said. “What’s the matter? Are you alright?”

“Yes, I’m fine, I’m…”

He was making his concerned face. The one I knew so well, with his brows together and his lips in a neat little line. Predictable. I tried to anchor myself to the familiarity of that face, my annoyance with that face, to tell myself that it was really him, only Louis, and that I knew how to deal with him. But then he reached out and stroked my hair back from my face and the touch was so gentle that I felt it like a blow. “I want to throw up,” I blurted.

Louis blinked. “Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry?”

“I want to yell at you,” I said desperately. “I’m not yelling at you!”

“Thank you?”

“I’m going to… I don’t know that I can… Louis!”

“It’s alright,” he was saying. “It’s alright. Can you tell me what’s happening?”

He absolutely was angry with me. I wanted to shove him away from me and slice him open and tell him how dare he feel anything about me at all. His eyes blazed but he spoke so gently. So gently! It made me furious! It felt like a trap. Like he was trying to worm his way into me.

“I didn’t want to say that but I didn’t know what else to do and now it feels bad!” I said, uselessly, desperately. My voice was so high.

“Didn’t want to say to stop?” Louis said.

“Yes!” I said, and now my voice was even worse. It was ragged and too loud and I prayed my mother wasn’t awake or nearby enough to hear it.

“But it’s alright,” he said. “I don’t mind at all if you want to stop, everything’s alright.”

He wouldn’t trap me with that either. I’d tear his face off before any trap snapped shut, see if I didn’t. The muscles in my hand were ready to do it. They would do it! He’d be sorry! “I didn’t have a good reason!” I yelled. “I just! I got in my head and… listen, it’s fine now, it’s fine, you can start again.”

“No, I…”

“Do it!” I said. “Stop looking at me! Do it!”

“Lestat,” Louis said. He swallowed. His eyes seemed to shimmer for a second or two. Then he blinked. “Lestat, I don’t want to do that and I’m not going to.”

“Then don’t be mad!”

“I’m not… Lestat, you are allowed… you wanted to stop.”

“And I said you could start it again, just get down there!”

“No, I don’t…”

“Stop being angry with me, then! I said you could do it!”

“I’m not angry at all, or if I am it’s only that…”

“Don’t make me wait for it! Whatever punishment you have for me just hurt me now! Otherwise get down and do it!”

He moved his body up. Suddenly. One fluid motion and then he was covering me. I bucked against it and I would have pushed him off, but he cleared his throat and it made him wheeze and that forced a whining sound out of my own throat because paradoxically as much as I wanted to kill him I also didn’t want him to suffer any hurt at all. It stopped me as surely as if my back had been broken in place, and I couldn’t speak.

“Mon petit Monsieur,” Louis said. The closest he’d ever gotten to a pet name. “I’m so very sorry. If I’m… I’m very… of course I’m not angry with you.”

I felt myself choking again. His eyes were red-rimmed for some reason, like he was trying not to cry. I felt the smell of that blood in my throat, the real promise of real violence, but he was speaking still and I had to listen. It hurt to do so. “Louis!” I said.

“Please, please understand,” he said. “You have done nothing wrong. I am not angry with you, not at all.”

“But how are you…” I said but I didn’t know what I was asking. “Louis! How are you…”

“I’m…” Louis said. “Oh mon petit, come here.”

For a moment the impulse to break him open at the throat overwhelmed me. But then he moved his hands up to my hair and I buried my face against his body and he folded himself around me all the way. I dug my fingernails into his skin, but he didn’t seem to notice. I couldn’t even be angry now. All I could do was press my face into his naked chest like an animal.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, from somewhere out in the world where I couldn’t see him. “Mon dieu, I’m so sorry. I’m…”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I said.

“Nothing’s wrong now, and you have done nothing wrong. I’m… oh, I’m…”

“It’s alright, Louis,” I said. “You didn’t do anything either.”

“No,” he said. “No it isn’t that at all, I’m...”

“Louis,” I said. I tried to say it firmly but I couldn’t make it sound firm and it didn’t stop him.

“Lestat,” Louis said. “Please. You do not have to do this if you don’t want to. I’m so sorry you don’t seem to know that.”

“I know it, Louis!” I said, and as panicked and plaintive as my voice was, it could have been so much worse and I have no idea how I managed to restrain it. My mind raced in utter desperation and the speed of it had made me violently sick again. My voice seemed to say all of that, though it was also hard to say anything. “I just got confused. Don’t go on about it.”

“Mon petit monsieur,” Louis said, “please, it’s perfectly alright.

I didn’t know what to say to that. “Don’t call me that,” I said.

“You don’t like it?”

I love it with all my heart. “No, I hate it.”

“Then I won’t say it. But please, I must... you don’t owe that to me, or to anyone, and I’m so…”

I wrenched myself up out of his arms. I looked him dead in the eyes. “You don’t have to do any of this,” I said. “It’s fine.”

Louis gave me a skeptical look. I glared at him. It should have destabilized him but it didn’t. He just put his hands to the side of my face and sighed.

I let him have his hands there and I tolerated the sigh, as difficult as that was – they were concessions, concessions to the greater goal – but I wouldn’t have him doubt me. “It’s fine, Louis,” I said. “Stop fussing.”

“It is not fine at all.”

“It’s fine! I just… I tripped myself up. I did it because I’m an idiot. There’s no more to it than that.”

“And it has nothing to do with what we discussed yesterday, or with the fact that your mother is here?”

That hit me in the chest like a cannon. I don’t know how I didn’t gag. Perhaps I did. I jerked away from his hands at any rate. I sat up. “Shut up!” I said. “It’s got nothing to do with anything.”

Louis frowned again. “I’m not going to press it now,” he said. “I’m not equipped for that. We figured that out, I think. I’ve got the subtlety of dynamite on this matter, and I apologize.”

“But you do have an opinion.”

“Yes.”

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh in his face or punch him in it. Both options felt equally hysterical. “Suppose you just tell me your opinion, Louis.”

“You know what it is.”

“Say it,” I demanded. “Say whatever stupid thing it is you think.”

Louis cleared his throat. Then he cleared it again. His hands had followed my body when I’d moved, but he’d taken them away now to cough into them. How insulting.

“Louis,” I said.

“No, I…”

“Louis,” I said, and my tone, I hope, conveyed how exactly how little I wished to fuck around.

It did, evidently. He met my eyes, and his expression was not, I thought, altogether kind. “There is…” Louis said. “You must know this. There is a relationship between your assumption of desert on certain traumatic issues, and your desire to have people love you by any means necessary. And it is culminating in... in this behavior.”

“What traumatic issues?” I said, furiously, but we both knew I knew exactly what he meant. The fury was more desperate ritual than it was actual accusation, but I hoped it would protect me anyway. I drew it around myself like a magic cloak. I suspect Louis observed that, because he spared me and didn’t answer my question. At least not directly.

Still, what he did say was almost worse. “You must listen to me,” he said, reaching out his hand again. I slapped it away but he went on. “Please. Please listen. You do not need to… there is no requirement for you to have sex you do not wish to have.”

“I know that!”

“You don’t know it,” he said. “You are demonstrating that you don’t. And you must know… that I don’t… surely if nothing else, everything that’s past must make you understand. I’ve loved you even when I couldn’t stand you. You are so dear to me, don’t you understand that?”

“Oh sure,” I said, my chest heaving against the bile. “You know, you don’t always have to mention that you couldn’t stand me.”

Louis ignored that. “You don’t have to do anything to secure this. You don’t have to favor me.”

“I’m not favoring you!” I said. “I like fucking! I don’t know what happened just then!”

“Yes,” he said. “You do.”

“Shut up, Louis!” I said. My intestines would crawl out from between my teeth if he didn’t stop. “I know all of that! I just confused myself. It’s not important like you’re making it. Shut up.”

“I am sorry,” Louis said.

“Stop being sorry!” I said. “It’s my own fault!”

“How could that possibly be?”

“Because I shouldn’t have said anything,” I snapped.

Louis’ face collapsed. “And I wouldn’t have known,” he said, and just like that I wanted to weep.

It’s actually strange to me, upon reflection, that I didn’t. I suppose it was too great a feeling for mere tears. Tears would have required some clarity or some human feeling and I had none. My chest had filled with one impossible sob but I could not and did not release it. Maybe, I thought, he might actually not have known.

“I can’t tolerate that,” Louis said. “I don’t want that. Please. I must tell you that… please know that my love for you is not conditional upon… that you are not required to… you don’t deserve to have to... I know you think you… please…”

He had nothing to say. He’d already run himself aground. How typical of him. How feeble and uninteresting and pointlessly intellectual. My mouth was sour and I wanted to leave, but some part of me was compelled to stay and make the point. “No,” I said. “I would have wanted to again soon enough.”

Louis frowned again. He wrinkled his nose up. He opened his mouth but then he shut it again.

“I would have,” I insisted.

“That’s… well…” Louis said. “Ah. That, I think, is a problem.”

“That’s not a problem!”

“Shh,” Louis said. “Shh, it’s alright.”

“Stop trying to make me calm down, Louis! I’m perfectly calm! It’s not a problem! I know my own mind and I’m telling you, it’s fine!”

Louis took another pause. He seemed to gather himself. “If that is how you feel,” he said, “then we’ll stop and start again when you do wish to. There’s no reason you must… play through…”

Did he play golf? For some reason that question was stupidly pressing and I wanted to ask it. I think he does sometimes actually. But it wasn’t relevant here. “Why are you trying to make this some big and stupid deal, Louis!” I said. “I just got a little in my own head! I shouldn’t have said anything. I regret saying anything! Because now you’re making it into an event and it just isn’t one!”

“Is there perhaps a little truth in what I’ve said?” Louis asked me, in the softest voice I’d ever heard. It twisted my guts into knots again just to hear it and I turned my face away.

“No,” I said.

Louis’ tone didn’t change. “Will you please consider,” he said, “just consider, that’s all I’m asking, that some of your instincts on this matter are a little wrong?”

“No!” I said, furiously. “I absolutely will not. Because they are not.”

“But don’t you…”

“Shut up, Louis!” I snapped. “You’re so full of bullshit. If you’re weak and stupid enough to beg for love you cannot be fussy about the way people give it to you!”

Louis looked straight at me, but he didn’t need to. The moment I said it I knew what a fucking idiot I’d been. What an absolute buffoon. With that one pathetic statement, I’d managed to say something so imbecilic and so revealing that he’d won against me with in this patronizing, aggravating, nauseating argument without even having to do it himself. I bit down on my lip, hard, and tried to roll away. Even my own blood made me feel sick.

Louis wouldn’t let me get away. He caught me by my waist and turned me back around until I was facing him. I fought him every inch of the way. My hands were in fists and I had opened my mouth to bite him like an animal, but I didn’t. Because then I was facing him and his expression arrested me. He didn’t look like somebody who had won. He didn’t even look like someone who disapproved of me for being this much of an idiot, though I was one and he might reasonably have disapproved. “Lestat,” he said, his eyes huge and bright and imploring, “Lestat. Please let me tell you this. You did not deserve it. You never could have.”

The sob in my chest was still stuck there. Aching and with no noise and I did not weep. I thought it would choke me not to weep. And then all I could think of were the worst of his implications.

“Louis,” I said. “Louis is this… yesterday were you… was this… did you cry because you didn’t want to and you didn’t know how to make it stop?”

Louis looked surprised. “Excuse me?”

“Louis, was it?”

He smiled, in a strange, incredulous way. “No, that was much worse,” he said, dryly. “It doesn’t matter. Let’s think about you at the moment.”

He said it like he was joking. I think he did it to comfort me. But it didn’t sit right with me. It wasn’t the time to joke. “Louis, please,” I said.

“That’s not relevant now.”

“It is! Because if it wasn’t that then what was it?”

“It’s not necessary to explain.”

“Please try. Please. I have to know. I can’t… I can’t bear it, Louis. Please.”

“Well, perhaps it’s similar.”

“Oh darling!” I said. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!”

“Shh,” Louis said. “Be calm.” He brushed my hair back again and I let him. He stroked my face and I let him do that as well. How strange it was to have him pet me like this, how strong it made him seem. I couldn’t have bitten him now if I’d wanted to, I was that spellbound, and how afraid and how safe that made me feel.

And how panicked that combination made me. “Louis!” I said.

“Shh, it doesn’t matter.”

“Louis, please…”

“Look,” he said. “Do you really want to know about that? Is that what you really want to talk about now? Wouldn’t you rather just try to rest?”

“No.”

“It’s morning.”

“Louis,” I said. “No.”

He thinned his lips, but I kept staring at him. I might have even made my own eyes wider, sweeter, on purpose. In fact I think I did do that because it made him frown in that particular way he does when he is annoyed by me but too sympathetic to say it. I didn’t relent though. I kept at it until finally, he said., “would it really ease your mind to hear about it?”

“Yes.”

“Alright,” he said. He sighed.

“And?”

Louis moved and shuffled down so he was lying beside me. Even this momentary absence hurt me and I reached out my hand for his. Thankfully he took it. He held it over his heart and I shuffled down too. “Alright,” he said. “Look.”

I looked. I waited.

“I am sympathetic to this concept of… reciprocal desert, I suppose,” Louis said.

“Louis,” I said. “You are correct that it is morning. And that I’m very tired. Please pontificate less and explain more.”

He gave a desperate little snort at that. It was painfully adorable and I felt a stab of real affection at it. It was the first thing I’d felt in some time that wasn’t fear or nausea and I clung to it. I squeezed his hand. “I’m listening, chéri.”

Louis closed his eyes. He took a breath through his nose before he opened them again. “Look,” he said, once again. “I’m not sure you understand how… little sustained sexual experience I had before you and I became acquainted… how little sustained experience I had with sex I even enjoyed.”

That both surprised me and didn’t. It wasn’t news, but it also wasn’t true enough for him to say in this candid situation. When I’d met him he’d been depraved. “What about all your sex workers?”

“My what?”

“Your whores, Louis. It’s the term people use now. It’s polite.”

Louis appeared to take that in. “Look,” he said, “the fact that I enjoyed… enjoyed… liked, ah… that I… I enjoyed… ahem… Jesus fucking Christ, I beg your pardon. I…”

I waited for as long as I could, but it seemed that he wasn’t going to make it. “Louis?” I prompted.

“… that I enjoyed the, ah, culmination.”

“Oh, you liked getting off. You liked when you came. Sure.”

“Yes,” Louis said, sharply. He flushed, but then he pushed it back and forced himself onward. “Yes. Obviously. I had a human body, as base as it was. But the fact that I liked… that aspect of… ah… look. It did not negate that I could seldom bring myself to be… present… during the act itself. And there were some… brief exceptions in my youth but as I had aged that had become… increasingly difficult.”

“Then why keep doing it at all?” I said, probably stupidly. “Why didn’t you just jerk off?”

It was stupidly. Louis looked at me in exactly the way I deserved for speaking so stupidly. But he went on. “Because I didn’t… look. It isn’t that I didn’t want to… have… look.”

“I’m looking, Louis,” I said. And please, dear God, won’t you finally tell me what I’m supposed to be looking at.

He cleared his throat again. “When I fell in love with you,” he said (and I loved hearing him say that, because no matter the circumstances I always will), “when I decided to follow you as I did, you were so new to me, you were like nothing I’d ever felt. I told myself that it was entirely because you were my first vampire. That you were spellbinding to me only because of that. I knew that this was not true, but it is what I told myself.”

“But what do you mean?” I said. “I mean, thank you, because… well, I mean, just thank you, it’s nice to know that I’m actually somehow unique to you instead of just, you know… your symbolic supernatural end, but I mean… that doesn’t seem to warrant all of this anxiety, it’s just nice to know but…”

“Alright,” Louis said, again, cutting me off. “Some of the reason I decided to go with you, that what I felt for you was so remarkable to me is that…”

“I’m delightful.”

“You are but...”

“But what? I’m delightful.”

“You are,” Louis said. “You are also another man.”

It was not something I had expected him to say. I hadn’t known what to expect, certainly, but this absolutely wasn’t it and I found I had to calibrate myself to hear it properly. To do so felt like threading myself through time, as if my body were in multiple places at once, and it was already so difficult to stay inside it. Because it hadn’t even occurred to me, but it felt so uniquely strange and so very deliberate that it had not.

I doubted he could hear any of that when I spoke, however. “You didn’t like women you mean? Is that what you mean or are you still talking about that choir boy thing where you’re not allowed to like any of it?”

“I’ll never know,” Louis said. “Was it about the people I did it with or only about myself? Original sin or very specific? I don’t know. I’ll never know. The man I was no longer exists.”

“Well then why does it matter?” I said. “I’m not trying to be hard, I just don’t… I want to understand.”

“Because this intimacy I have with you now,” Louis said, “it makes it difficult to read things against how they used to be. Particularly… some sexual things.”

“What?” I said.

I knew I was out of sync with myself but this did seem genuinely confusing. Louis frowned again. He flushed again too, but that just seemed to make him angry with himself. He looked down, away from me, and he bit his lip. “When you would… when you’d push me. And dominate. And demand. When it would be a part of a fight or part of some despairing series of events. When it hurt me. I think it gave me permission. To do something I had always wanted to do.”

“You mean…” I said. “You mean you’re allowed because you’re not wanting to, you’re letting me.”

“Yes,” Louis said, looking up. “That’s what I mean.”

I sucked in a breath. Part of me knew how wrong it was of me to press my advantage like this, to use his sympathy to draw these confessions out of him, but another part knew I’d never hear this any other way. As painfully and embarrassingly candid as he’d been in the therapist’s office, this, I knew, was too personal even for that. This was about him, not us. And I’d known, I wanted to say. I’d known I’d played this part in your self-flagellation all along, but never known how to ask it.

“But isn’t this just…” I said. “Aren’t you just arguing that you asked for what I did to you? Because I don’t agree with that, I don’t think that’s right, the logic doesn’t hold. If I “didn’t deserve it” then you didn’t either and I’m not going to accept that you did. There aren’t different rules.”

“No,” Louis said. “I’m parsing something quite complicated here, and it is not the same. I have made conditions. There are certain things I will not permit you to do. Certain ways you are not to speak to me, impositions, including sexual impositions, that I will not let you make. That problem of mine, it does not… it does not permit all else.”

That was enormous. It was patently unfair that he said it in this moment because it was so enormous and I was already so weak. But it was also necessary that he said it, because it was true. I swallowed hard but I did not let myself react. “Yes,” I said. “Yes, I know.”

“I will not accept things as they used to be,” Louis said. “I was about to say that I cannot, but that is not the truth, and that is the crux of what I am saying here. The truth is that I will not. I have learned, I think, to consider that I might value the fact that I do not want to. But I also hesitate because I fear it’s… Bartleby the Scrivener in a very particular setting. Because if I’d prefer not to, I’m not sure I can prefer anything. Does that make sense to you?”

I was too tired to figure out what that meant, or which part of this I was most upset by. All of it, certainly, but also by each part of it individually at the same time. My heart clenched and unclenched around each particular and it made it hard to look at him. But I made myself do that anyway. Because it didn’t matter how I felt. What did matter was finally hearing what he had to say, because this would be the only chance I would get to hear it.

And I loved him, of course. I know you think that I don’t, but I do, and I loved him then, more than I ever had, loved him in the marrow of my bones, and if it hurt him then it hurt me too, and I wanted to know. “No, Louis,” I said. “It’s good to have wants. They don’t automatically lead you to complete existential failure.”

“However,” Louis said.

“However what?”

“However,” he said, “There were elements of that dynamic that I suspect… produced… something I… possibly enjoyed. Sexually speaking.”

I held my tongue. That was difficult to do, since I had two equally weighted thoughts, and one was a delighted “really!” and the other was “no fucking shit, Sherlock” in a sarcastic manner. Neither would have been appropriate.

Louis went on. “I don’t like the relationship it was part of. And that’s not a criticism of you, or not only of you. But… but.”

“I understand,” I said. “I’m with you.”

“Are you? Do you?”

“Perhaps not, but I’m following the line you’re drawing. Can you… do you mean you want me to… what do you mean?”

“I mean I’m not sure I know how to do it without the penance built in,” Louis said. “I’m not sure I know how to enjoy sex at all without some elaborate punishing construction I’ve built myself to make it acceptable. Some Kafka’s penal colony of my own making. And so part of me sincerely wonders if, by insisting upon this different relationship – and I do insist – I haven’t spoiled sex for myself forever.”

“Louis,” I said. “That’s absolutely fucking certifiable.”

“Is it?”

“How is it that I am the crazy one if you’re the one who thinks these things?”

“Well, you’re not…”

“That’s absurd. You’re insane.”

“Are you sure?” Louis said. “Are you really sure that the concepts are not mutually unintelligible?”

“No, I’m not letting you do this,” I said, before I caught myself. “I hear it. Shut up. I’m not letting you make some intellectual mess of an argument you think I’m too stupid to understand. Well, I do understand, and it’s your argument that is stupid, not me.”

“I don’t think that…”

“You’re absolutely fucking filthy, you depraved slutty idiot. You’re the horniest person I’ve ever met. Nobody and nothing on this earth could have stopped you from liking sex. These past few months should have proven that. You’re just a little bit anxious about it at the moment, and that’s absolutely alright, but I assure you it will just be temporary.”

“I beg your pardon,” Louis said. He was clearly affronted, and I knew I’d gone too far, but I wasn’t about to let him derail things.

“Nobody is punishing you!” I said. “There aren’t all these traps you imagine! It’s alright to like sex. It’s alright to like sex with a man! You’re allowed to… you’re allowed to be alive and to like to fuck and it doesn’t excuse anything! You haven’t done anything wrong, Louis!”

Louis stared at me. “You put it so… you’re so certain.”

I knew what he meant. I knew how much he wanted to say something arch about having told me so. But I wouldn’t talk about that now. I wouldn’t! “Don’t you dare get bogged down in if we’re allowed to be alive as we are,” I said. “I am too tired and I love you too much to entertain that. You are allowed, because I say so.”

“I wish it were that easy,” Louis said.

“It is that easy,” I said. “I love you with the whole of my ugly little heart, Louis. And so you are right to be on this Earth, if only for my happiness.”

“Yes, but then that begs the question of whether you… whether any of us…”

“Shut up,” I said. “If you’re going to argue that I am not right to be here, I will weep. I am too fragile for that this morning, so don’t... If you’re going to make me discuss… if you’re going to make me… if you’re going to bring up… if you do love me at all, then please grant me the kindness of saying that you’re at least glad I’m alive.”

He held more firmly on my hand against his chest. “You will never know how glad,” he said. “But that…”

“Then shut up,” I said. “I’m almost already crying. Shut up.”

I meant it. I’d fought so hard not to cry all evening, but it felt so close to me now that I even felt myself sniffling, like a sad little child. It is possible that a tear or two did fall, actually, but I certainly didn’t acknowledge them. Even then I refused to let myself be that pathetic.

But “please don’t,” Louis said, so tenderly. He had let go of my hand, but both of his were upon my face again, softly. He kissed my cheek, high up on the bone, like he’d done to the girl at the bar. “Please don’t cry, monsieur,” he was saying. “Everything is alright.”

“Then don’t do this,” I insisted. “Just… we are here, Louis. We’re here, and I want to be here with you, and I want you to want to be too.”

“I do want to be here. Very much.”

“Good then,” I said. “That’s enough. Please let it be enough.”

He didn’t answer that. He did stoke me though. Softly, feather light. I still felt like crying. I shut my eyes, though I found I had to open them again to implore him.

“We can do better,” I said. “We can do those things when we want to do them, we can talk about them and manage it like adults. I’ll fuck you exactly like you want me to and if it’s awkward for a while then, well, it will just be a little awkward for a while. We can tolerate that, can’t we? We have the language.”

Let’s do it now, I almost said. But thankfully, I didn’t.

“I don’t…” Louis said. “I don’t find that easy. Discussing such�� fleshy concerns. As you know. It’s not my forte, I’d say if I were you.”

What a way to say it. “I know, chéri,” I said. “I know you don’t. But some things are worth doing, even if they are hard. Haven’t you said that? Aren’t you saying that to me?”

“I wish I didn’t feel this way. It’s hypocritical of me, really, to let my own shame restrict what I communicate and what I do not, when I say what I say to you about yours.”

“Yes, well. It’s always easier to dictate than to do.”

He winced. “I am sorry,” he said, and he looked like he meant it. But I wasn’t going to let that be the end of it that.

“Why are you still ashamed?” I said. It felt so strange to ask him that. A bedtime confessional, mirrored throughout time. Lovers like us and like I had been, stretching back centuries asking the same questions. “Is it all because it’s lust or because it’s your vampire life? Or is it because… is all of this also because we’re both men?”

“I think some of it is,” Louis said. “I know what you’re going to say about that, that it’s a stupid, mortal hang-up that I shouldn’t have, and you’re right of course, but there it is just the same. A stupid human anxiety that I have always felt and that somehow still dominates my un-life.”

“You don’t really believe you’ll go to Hell for it,” I said. “Not you.”

“I never think anything so specific. This… sense of punishment is far more global than that. The sense of having made disorder in the world. Of being at odds with it. Of being so fundamentally incorrect that I have brought all of this upon myself. I don’t know.”

“Oh Louis,” I said. I moved up on my pillow so I could kiss him. He did let me. There was an edge of reluctance to it, or of despair perhaps. But he did let me.

“Oh Louis,” I said, again, stroking his cheek with my thumb. “Oh my love. You make everything so dramatic and symbolic when sometimes it’s just small and sad.”

He pressed his lips together in a resigned way. “Perhaps that’s so.”

It was polite of him not to point out my hypocrisy. Though it’s also possible he was too caught up in himself to notice it. “We’re still consumers,” I said, following him there. “And you’re still a Catholic.”

“I am not. You are, I’m not.”

“You absolutely are,” I said. “Don’t be stupid. You know you are. Don’t you know that?”

Louis didn’t answer me. He seemed far away, contemplative. But then he turned his face back to me, set his sparkling eyes upon me, and for some strange reason, I held my breath. “In San Francisco, I did try,” he said. “It was the writing, and the music, and that it was entirely new to me, but also it was… I wanted to go where I could love men. Where it would not be entirely out of place to do so. A lot of things were beautiful there, and I was so past caring about any of it. It was easy to be convinced. I tried to let myself be convinced. And sometimes I succeeded.”

“I know that,” I said. “You met Daniel in a bar. It was 1976, Louis. You talked to him in a bar in the fashionable part of San Francisco in 1976. Do you think I don’t know what kind of bar it was? That I don’t know what you went there to do?”

“I went there to kill someone,” he said. “To murder someone in order to sustain my own cowardly life.”

“That’s not all,” I said. “And you know it isn’t and you just admitted it too. You went there to kiss boys. And you think it’s the same thing, but it isn’t. Because it’s alright to kiss boys, Louis. God doesn’t think like you think about it. That’s a mistake. We were taught something that is not true.”

“Perhaps,” Louis said. And he looked strange and embarrassed, but then he smiled. He looked at me and he smiled. “You’re not afraid of anything, are you?”

His gaze was one of admiration, and ordinarily I would have liked it. Ordinarily when he looked at me that way, awed and trusting like that, I felt pleased with myself and pleased about the world. But it seemed wrong now. It seemed not truthful.

“You think I never…” I said. “I made up my mind not to care, don’t you see? I wasn’t going to let something so stupid as people’s opinions stop me if I was in love. It’s not because I never… of course I was afraid.”

I’d expected that confession to have more impact than it did. It made a lot of impact upon me to say.  But Louis spoke as if he hadn’t heard me. “It’s just that you always seemed fearless. As if you were daring people to try something. As if you thought it would be funny if they did.”

“People died for it, Louis,” I said. “Even in Paris. Let alone in the country.”

“Of course I know that, but…”

“And my father… said… he told me… when I…”

I couldn’t finish that. But it seemed I didn’t have to. I suppose Louis had heard me at last, because he curled his hand into mine and squeezed it. I squeezed back. His fingers felt warm to me, and I didn’t know why they did. His eyes were so wide when he looked at me. Quietly. Waiting. I felt the need to be soft with him, and I felt, again, the need to tell the truth.

“So I understand you,” I said. “I’ll admit that I do. I’m not going to say what you think I’m going to say this time. Not anymore. I’ll admit it instead.”

Louis kissed me this time. He moved forward to do it and I held my breath again, it was that sweet. “It’s you,” he said. “You. You were not fearless, but instead very brave.”

“No, I was just in love. There was nothing brave about it. It wasn’t a choice to be in love.”

“Of course there was something brave about it,” Louis said. “Isn’t that what we’re doing here together, discovering just that? Doesn’t everything we’ve talked about tonight tell you? To love another person, to commit to loving them truly and honestly is an act of such bravery, just because to be in love is to accept that you not only want to be alive, but that you have designs on how you want to live?”

“You really think so, don’t you?” I said. It made me grin. No doubt incredulously, though I would have tried to temper that, just a little. Nobody else could have made it that dramatic, but that wasn’t his fault. “You really think it’s brave just to be in love.”

“Yes,” he said, seriously.

“You really think that?”

“You’re brave to be here with me,” he said.

“Oh, stop.”

“You’ve been brave all your life,” he said. “And I want to be brave as well.”

My grin fell right off me. That declaration had pierced my heart and I couldn’t be anything but serious. I must have stared at him. I must have gazed in utter wonder. I could never love somebody as much as this, I thought. Nobody could ever be so gentle and so earnest or sway me so fundamentally as he did without even trying to. Certainly, nobody else could have made me admit any of these soft and vulnerable things. Nobody else could have made me want to admit them.  

“But you’re already brave, mon cher,” I said. “Everything you’ve told me is brave. I’m more proud of you than you’ll ever know. And I want to fuck you like you want to be fucked. I don’t want you to regret any of this, what you’ve said to me.”

“Well,” he said, and he then grinned himself, suddenly, and it startled me. I’d forgotten he could do that. I’d forgotten his face could even move. “Perhaps we can negotiate.”

“Negotiate what, Louis? I told you what I’d do.”

“Because you like it as well, don’t you?” he said. “Being put in your place, during sex.”

I felt like I could blush. My heart felt hot enough to make me. It’s even possible I was blushing, though perhaps not very likely. I certainly spoke like the sort of person who blushed, however. “Louis!” I said. “Louis!”

“Oh, isn’t it true?”

“No,” I said.

“Not true at all?”

“Shut up!”

“What a sweet little discovery that was,” he said. “What a sweet little thing you are.”

“Just you shut up right now.”

He smiled so indulgently. “As you wish.”

I scowled, but I didn’t really mean it. “Well maybe you make me feel like I could be sweet,” I said. “Like maybe I’m not all over evil after all.”

“And you make me feel that I could be interested for all eternity,” he said. “Even if nothing else was interesting, I could always be discovering more about you. You can change, you know. I once thought you couldn’t, but you can.”

I didn’t even have the wherewithal to be embarrassed at him saying that. Obviously, telling you about it now I am so embarrassed by it I have earnestly considered not telling you, and the fact that I am telling you has begun to make me wish I still had the capacity to make earnest suicide attempts with the possibility of success. But I wasn’t embarrassed then, not at all. This is all so saccharine and I so very soft that it seems that it could barely have happened. And it did happen. Worse was about to happen. But somehow, in that time I was not ashamed of anything. I just stared at him, stunned and in love until he kissed me.

I kissed him back. We pressed our bodies together and entangled each other in our arms and kissed and kissed and kissed. I gasped from it. When we broke apart, his face was pink and warm and his arms were still around me and I wanted to stay there forever. I felt as if I had already half bled into him, but I wasn’t afraid. It made me honest in a way that hurt. “Louis,” I said. “I do like it but it… it makes me…”

“I know,” Louis said. “I know.”

“I didn’t even say what it was!”

“You’re so…” Louis said. “You’re just so… I want to be… more careful with you.”

“You’re careful already.”

“No,” Louis said. “Listen to me. I will. I will be careful with you. You’re so dear to me.”

I couldn’t say anything to that. I think my face must have done something dramatic, because Louis smiled at me sympathetically and touched me and told me it was alright. “Be calm,” he said. “It’s alright.”

“I know it is,” I said. Snapped, really. But he didn’t react to that.

“It was brave of you to stop,” he said. “I know it was hard for you. I’m glad you did.”

Oh, but I had no chance coming out of this alive. My heart had cracked and the liquid of it lit my chest up from the inside and my eyes welled and I had to blink my tears away again. “Louis…”

“I know,” he said.

“No, but Louis…”

“I do know, monsieur.”

“Your petit monsieur.”

“Mon petit monsieur.”

I buried into him. I pushed my nose into the crook of his shoulder. “Is it really brave just to be in love?”

Louis seemed to hold all of his breath inside his body for a moment. “Yes it is,” he said when he let it out. His arms were around me, strong.

“Are we really in love then?” I asked him.

“Yes,” Louis said. “We are really very much in love.”

So you can say what you will about our thoughts and prayers. Don’t you see it? Don’t you understand? Between us, we earnestly believed we could clean up the gulf.

[captaincartervalues]

Season 5 rewrite

Imagine how great season 5 would have been if the Crisis lead up and Lena’s and Kara’s storyline had been the sole focus, front and center all season long:

We get Team Supergirl and the DEO learning a Crisis is coming and figuring out what exactly that means while analyzing the catalog of DEO alien records at their disposal and searching for any instance of the “Monitor” or “Anti-Monitor.” The team inevitably asking Brainy as he is from the future and Brainy explaining his knowledge or lack thereof concerning the historical event of Crisis while theorizing that Crisis must be the root of the loss of records and certain information in the future.

We get Dreamer trying to tap into the core of her powers to dream Crisis and interpret her visions. She gets stuck and has problems understanding what she is seeing until her mom comes to her and points her toward the solution she’s been ignoring: her sister. Her sister studied her whole life waiting to become Dreamer so of course she has more knowledge than Nia who avoided it her whole life. She is forced to reach out to her sister and work through their issues toward reconciliation so they can both help stop Crisis and become closer as sisters once again.

We get Kara having to face the possibility that her biggest trauma and worst fear may happen again if they don’t figure this out. We get her and J’onn discussing the loss of their worlds and how while their pain is shared the process of their loss differs greatly. Because while J’onn had to watch the gradual and torturous genocide of his people, Kara lost her people and her planet in an instant, forced to relive that firey blaze over and over in the phantom zone, literally and figuratively trapped in time. J’onn asks how she has dealt with that and Kara says she hasn’t, not fully and with tears in her eyes she turns to him and says how can I survive losing it all again? Losing more than what I lost on Krpton? Losing a home I chose to love? Losing a sister? Losing Eliza and you? Losing my best friends? Losing Lena?

We get Kara struggling with preparing for Crisis as Supergirl and not reporting on it as Kara. She struggles with not being able to inform the masses, not letting loved ones cherish the time they have now and say goodbyes they wouldn’t otherwise get. Alex tells her it’s for the best and for their security to keep it confidential but Kara isn’t as sure and resents having to keep yet another secret. She has seen how secrets hurt those you love and she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to keep this one too.

We get Kara telling Lena all about Crisis after saying no more secrets and that Lena will know everything in 5x01. Lena works with the team trying to stop Crisis while also continuing her secret project thinking that the worlds won’t be worth saving unless people stop hurting each other first and that only once she gets them to stop hurting each other will they be able to truly come together to stop crisis. After all, the multiverse may be in physical crisis, but humanity is in a moral crisis. She has to stop both.

We get Kara having vulnerable and open moments with Lena about Krypton and how scared she is of Crisis taking another home. Kara shares more with Lena than she ever has all while Lena shares nothing of her true feelings and anger towards Kara as she continues to use her. Though unbeknownst to Lena, her own emotions are becoming mixed and blurred the more Kara shares with and confides in Lena.

We get Alex trying to bear the burden of DEO Director as the biggest threat to Earth, all the Earths, is before them. We see her second guessing herself and her decisions asking J’onn for help only for him to show her the answers within herself and to trusts her instincts, reminding her of the questionable and wrong decisions the DEO made under him and the times she instilled hope and compassion in him.

We get Alex sharing small and big moments with Kelly knowing they might be the only ones they’ll ever get. We get Kelly dealing with her fears of losing her loved ones and realizing loving someone and loving Alex is worth the fear of losing them and you can’t run from a crisis, you have to run towards it with the support of your people.

We get Kelly having individual talks with the team about coping with something as huge and stressful as Crisis. Kelly talks through some of Nia’s mental blocks so she can dream more clearly and more freely. Kelly talks with Brainy after he breaks down about not having the answers and not knowing which courses of action are statistically better. He becomes indecisive out of fear of leading the team down the wrong path before crisis which prompts him to realign with his original cold and calculating side. Kelly helps him embrace his emotions again reminding him that sometimes the statistically inferior choice is the right choice bc statistics can’t always replace instinct. Kelly talks with Kara about the struggles of living an every day life reporting on things that are trivial compared to the end of existence. Kelly helps Kara realize that in the face of such overwhelming catastrophe, it can be the mundane and the menial that grounds us in reality. Lena refuses to talk with Kelly insisting she is fine but Kelly senses the opposite becoming increasingly worried. She keeps trying to let Lena know she’s there but Lena keeps isolating herself as much as possible.

We get Kara repeatedly skipping meetings about Crisis strategy to help Lena or spend time with Lena and when she is at Crisis brainstorms (with and without Lena) Kara seems distracted at times. Alex talks with Kara about Lena and tries to be understanding but Lena says she forgave Kara and they have bigger things to worry about so Alex gets increasingly frustrated with Kara’s behavior until she explodes. Alex and Kara get into a big fight when Alex confronts Kara accusing her of not putting enough energy and focus into their Crisis prep. Alex demands her full focus and Kara yells back saying she can’t when her focus is Lena. Alex says this is more important than Lena and Kara saying nothing is more important than Lena. Alex reminding Kara there are literal worlds at stake and Kara saying Lena is her world and there is no world worth living on without Lena in her life. (You thought Kara choosing Lena over the world was gay? We could have had Kara choosing Lena over infinite worlds! INFINITE GAYDOM)

We still get the juicy confrontation with Lena and Kara but this time with more emotional stakes bc of all the extra intimate moments they have shared and time spent trying to stop crisis together while Kara thought they were also getting so much closer than they ever have. Kara telling Lena, she knows why she helped them with Crisis but why did she keep pretending to be her friend for so long? And Lena has less of an “I needed you for my plan excuse” and it’s purely “because I wanted to hurt you as much as you hurt me” stab you the heart. Imagine Lena being able to complete her plan and steal myriad without pretending to be Kara’s friend bc under the guise of crisis she could manipulate Kara into thinking they need whatever from the fortress for Crisis and instead actively choosing to get closer to Kara emotionally just to devastate her as much as Kara did her.

We get another confrontation between Alex and Kara where instead of Alex doing a character 180 and using the “sHe’S a LuThOR” excuse, it’s her just saying Lena is my friend too and I care about her but we don’t have time to try to save her, Kara. We have to stop her now so we can get back to Crisis. And Kara refusing to accept that, saying they have to try bc it’s Lena and she can’t lose Lena. She won’t lose Lena. Alex trying and failing to convince Kara they don’t have the time and asking Kara if she’s really willing to risk the fate of the multiverse on a friend. Kara saying she’s not a friend. She’s Lena. I would risk it all for Lena. And Alex being like wait that’s like super gay my dude but we’ll chat about that later. Okay you useless bi let’s go save your girlfriend.

Bonus:

We could have still gotten some spicy Andrea+Kara conflict along the way as Kara tries to balance reporting with dealing with Lena and Crisis while establishing Andrea’s character as CatCo and Obsidian CEO more

Getting only hints and foreshadowing of leviathan and William’s investigation of them for an epic and surprising reveal of Andrea’s involvement in 5B

James deciding that his best role for Crisis isn’t as Guardian but as a photographer capturing human/alien moments on film and documenting the beauty of life while he can because sometimes it’s not just about fighting tooth and nail to survive but about living while you can. Knowing that his photos can later deliver some hints of comfort of pre-Crisis life during post-Crisis grieving

Alex introducing Kelly to Eliza bc they might not get the chance later

Alien/challenge of the week sent by the Monitor to test certain aspects of Team Supergirl and give each character a moment of reflection and growth before Crisis begins

Idk maybe an actual freaking conversation between Kara and her mom for once that actually deals with the shit she went through