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lady-strange0 · 1 year

Text

astrantia, blue star and aster

By: Lady_Strange0

Words: 2470

Rating: General Audiences

Published on AO3: 30/05/2023

Relationships: America Chavez & Stephen Strange, America Chavez & Wong, Stephen Strange & Wong

Summary:

“You know, in Hindi faith, hibiscus is associated with the goddess Kali who embodies nothing less than the force of life itself. I think that’s you, and your lively energy in my life,” Stephen said after a moment.

The young girl pulls back out of the hug and looks at him, and smirks before saying “you know you info dump fun facts when you are nervous or in an emotionally charged situation.”

-or-

America loves drawing and painting flowers, and Stephen is a supportive dad who likes seeing his daughter happy.

Inspired by this post

https://www.tumblr.com/changes-fandoms-too-much/717769219089006593?source=share

It started off with doodles in the margins of her notebooks. Stephen and Wong had decided early on after America moved to the sanctum that she should be attending a normal high school to make up for the years of teaching she’s missed. And Stephen was enjoying being a tutor in both magic homework as well as her normal maths and physics homework.

He had just been explaining quadratic equations to America when he noticed the little images at the sides of her notes and homework. Simple doodles of flowers and stars, as well as some of a small familiar basset hound, Bats. They were all done in blue pen and often half-minded. He couldn’t help but notice though, that among the messy pictures there was also a drawing of a flower with large round petals and intricate lines in the middle for the seeds. Almost like a poppy, but he couldn’t tell for certain, his botany knowledge went as far as magical remedies that used flowers required, but nothing outside of that really. Stephen also didn’t know much about art aside of the artworks he bought for his house back when he had money to throw around, but he could still tell that America had real talent if she chose to channel it there.

America could tell that Stephen had zoned out while talking and asked, “what? Maths now even too boring for you to bother explaining? Cause then at least we are in agreement.”

“No, no. I was just thinking about something. Those little doodles are very nice. Do you enjoy drawing or was this just from being bored in classes?”

The girl blushed and ducked her head, “thanks, I don’t know, I liked it when I was young, but then the bee incident happened, and I just never had the time or interest to pick it up again.”

“Well, I think it would be lovely to see some more of your art, we could hang it on the fridge.” America just giggled in response, and they went back to doing her homework together.

Stephen didn’t think about it again, until a week later. He was returning some books to the library in Kamer-Taj that America had borrowed and had asked him to bring back for her as she was going for pizza with her school friends. As Wong was now the Sorcerer Supreme, he no longer worked in the library and the new librarian was even stricter on the ‘no portals in the library’ rule then he had been, and had set up some wards to prevent them. Stephen could get around them but he just didn’t couldn’t be bothered.

Just as he was about to walk up to Mirou, the new librarian, he saw the corner of a sheet of paper sticking out the side of the old book, he opened it to find a beautifully sketched drawing of what he thought to be a Gerbera flower inside, this time done in pencil and shaded to look soft and realistic. He moved to sit down at one of the tables to study the drawing further, it was on a A4 sheet that had evidently been ripped from a school notebook, the printed lines still visible in the back. He removed the drawing from the book and closed it. Sling ring in hand, he opened a portal to his bedroom and placed the drawing on his desk.

Over the next few weeks, he keeps spotting drawings and sketches on loose sheets and starts collecting them in a pile in his study. Soon after he starts to leave blank white printer paper around, the drawings start appearing on them instead. America doesn’t mention the missing drawings, but Stephen is certain she knows he has them.

He wasn’t even the one who bought the coloring pencils and watercolours, they weren’t there one day and then they were the next day. He spots America in their living room sitting on the floor in front of the low table with Bats on the sofa behind her, using them. She was sketching small flowers and attempting different techniques to fill them. He also sees that she is watching a YouTube video on her laptop explaining different types of brushstrokes and how to implement them.

America presents him with a stunning watercolour drawing of a collection of small yellow, pink and purple hibiscus’ with a small smile two days later. “Stephen, I think it’s time for me to actually give you a drawing of mine, instead of you stealing and hiding them like troll.”

“Trolls actually aren’t kleptomaniacs, they usually just take things when their homes are in danger and the stolen things are part of the danger. So,-“

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” America said exasperatedly, and Stephen just grinned at her. “Anyways, I want you to have this, yellow hibiscus represents happinesses and sunshine, because you helped me find happiness in a universe that isn’t my own, the pink hibiscus represents love of all kinds but especially familiar and platonic love, and the purple hibiscus shows mystery and knowledge. They remind me of you.”

Had someone asked Stephen ten years ago if he ever wanted kids, let alone a mulitversal traveling, pizza obsessed, and slightly disaster-prone teenage girl, he would have sent them to the psychiatric ward of the hospital. Yet, here he was in the kitchen of their haunted mansion, with a sentient red cloak around his shoulders and a ghostly dog floating into the room, and America starring at him expectedly as she held out one of the best gift he has ever been given, and Stephens eyes start watering.

“Th-thank you, America, they are beautiful,” he was really trying to not cry, with the love and happiness filling him from deep within, “I know the perfect place for it.”

With that he magiced up a small dark wooden photo frame with small carved swirls and curves on it, and placed the painting behind the glass with shaky hands. As he lifted his eyes from the picture frame, he was surprised to see tears in her eyes too, and a quivering lip.

“Hey, hey are you okay, Star?” They were both equally surprised at the nickname, but America looked into Stephens eyes as if looking for something before she threw herself into his arms and hugged him tightly.

“Yes, I am. I really, really am.”

Stephen hugged her back one trembling hand going to her head as the other moved up and down her back.

The young girl pulls back out of the hug and looks at him, and smirks before saying “you know you info dump fun facts when you are nervous or in an emotionally charged situation.”

Stephen rolled his eyes fondly, carefully picked up the frame and moved out of the room, before he’d start getting ‘emotionally charged’ again.

The frame now sits on his bedside table.

In hindsight, the acrylic paint may have been a mistake on Stephens side. Actually the paint wasn’t the problem, it was the movie that was. She had used the paint to draw on virtually everything. The cardboard boxes from the attic were covered in stars and galaxies and planets, her sketchbooks were filled with paintings and still life’s and kinda off looking portraits, as well as the floor and table, but they didn’t look intentional. So, he forgives her and cleans up the mess with a quick flick of his wrist.

See again, the paint wasn’t the problem, the movie was. They had set up weekly movie nights for her to catch up on movies and tv shows she had missed while traveling across the multiverse. Their current favorites list included ‘Star Wars’, ‘The Greatest Showman’, and Disney’s ‘Tangled’. And ‘Tangled’ was the problem.

A girl who loves to paint and draw watching a movie about a girl who paints her entire room and ceiling in stars and flowers? Yeah, it was bound to happen.

So, it comes as no surprise when he comes home from Kamer-Taj to a home cooked dinner as a begging strategy. Actually the dinner was a surprise, he had expected puppy eyes, from both her and Bats.

Yes, he says yes, when she asks about painting the walls of her bedroom. Stephen helps her pick out some more paints and brushes at the shops, and then assists in moving the furniture from her room.

It’s a large room with big windows on one wall and window seats below them. Random colourful pillows are spread across the seats and the bed. The walls are a soft blue colour matched by the large wooden bed with a blue canopy from which glow in the dark stars are hanging. The thick curtains danced as they moved through the air and out of the room, the soft white carpet rolled itself up and walked out and the furniture shrunk until they could be picked up like doll house pieces. Leaving an empty room for her to paint and decorate as she pleases.

It starts with the wall opposite to where her bed was, she paints a green field with flowers of all kinds, roses, lily’s, yellow coneflowers, pink and white daisies, poppies of every colour as well as flowers which Stephen did not recognize. Upon asking she told him stories of the plants from her home planet, the way some smelt like chocolate, while others would bloom to be blue and purple and pink, how some would be used for special medicines or in her moms food. Stephen loved listing to her talk about her home, and see that despite everything she has been through she still has so much love to share.

The next day, he wakes up to his room with a key being missing, the Cloak, and Bats, but he has started sleeping in Americas bed rather than his. But the Cloak missing was bizarre, so he pulled himself from the bed, and wandered down the hallway in just his pyjama pants and an old T-shirt. It’s the sounds of quiet music that leads him to the ajar door of Americas bedroom. Stephen knocks and upon getting a quick “come in” enters.

What he was expecting when he walked into the room, he didn’t know, but he was surprised to see America sitting on top of the Cloak floating quite high to the ceiling as she is painting fluffy white clouds to above her.

“You know, Michelangelo almost went blind after spending four years painting the ‘Sistine Chapel’, because paint kept dripping in his eyes, so can you please wear some goggles or something,” is all Stephen said once he understood the situation.

“Apparently the info dumping is not exclusive to emotionally charged moments, but also when you are still half-asleep,” America giggled from where she was lounging on the Cloak with a paint brush in one hand and a plastic cup of white paint in the other. “Also, I have no idea how a turtle would have painted a ceiling.”

“A turtle?”

“You know, that movie we watched with the crime fighting turtles, one of them was called Michelangelo.”

“I’m gonna have this conversation after I’ve had coffee,” said Stephen as moved to turn around. “Come get some breakfast in the kitchen with me.”

It was only minutes later when they both sat on the wooden chairs of the kitchen table with a mug of coffee for Stephen and a cup of orange juice for America, as well as some toast with honey, that Stephen saw what America was wearing.

“Is there a reason you’ve gone through my wardrobe and are wearing my old college shirts?”

The girl looked down herself, looking at the grey shirt that was so large on her it reached below her shorts to look almost like a dress, before she looked up and simply said, “it’s not like you wear them anyway.”

That was the end of that conversation, but Stephen did leave a pile of them with her, so she could use them when she moved on to paint the rest of her walls, until they where covered in beautiful fields of flowers on one side which transitioned into a blue sky with clouds that looked like they were moving (maybe they were, Stephen would never say) as the painting continued to the ceiling until it evolved into a dark galaxy filled with stars and planets and pinks and blues and purples over and behind her bed.

After America moved all the furniture back into the room with Stephen help, it looked like a cozy place for America to come and sleep, and read, study, watch movies, and relax. He was so proud of his girl, and after she added the glow in the dark stars to the back wall to match her canopy, he added a light spell that allowed the stars in her paintings to twinkle and slightly sway.

It was after she had also painted her wardrobe and night stands as well as the inside and outside of her bedroom door to match her room, that she ran out of space to paint on.

It’s now been a few weeks and somehow Wong is yet to notice the way the living room walls have small flowers all along the bottom edge in different colours and shapes and sizes. Stephen thinks Wong is just pretending to not see them, as he seen plenty of her other drawings and paintings. Stephen also knows that he has a framed painting of a portal opening to a calming landscape hanging above the desk in his office in Kamer-Taj. America had given it to him as a gift for Luner New Year.

But in Stephens eyes nothing will ever top the colour pencil drawing that hangs in the Sanctums living room, directly above the stone chimney in a place of honour. It depicts a bouquet made out of three flowers held together by a large ribbon.

The left most flower is a light pink star-shaped ‘Astrantia’, which is a soft and elegant flower that represents strength, courage and most of all protection.

The middle flower is a ‘Blue Star’ which is a dainty and delicate little flower that symbolizes endurance, strength and determination.

And the last flower is a purple ‘Aster’, a flower that is named after the Greek word for ‘Star’ and symbolizes love, wisdom, and faith.

The flowers each represent one part of their little star shaped family and Stephen is filled with love and happiness whenever he looks over to see it on the wall.

#marvel #marvel mcu #marvel cinematic universe #mcu #mcu fanfiction #doctor strange #stephen strange #america chavez #Wong #bats the ghost dog #flowers #fanfic #ao3 author #ao3 repost #domestic fluff #fluff #drawing #art

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evilasiangenius · 1 year

Text

The Fish Pendant (adapted from the Westcar Papyrus)

Drowsy with the afternoon heat, Crowley leaned against the limestone wall. Feeling the rough stone beneath her palm, she wondered when the humans might call for her to come inside and play. It was cooler here in the shaded colonnade just inside the courtyard than it was inside, but it was also close enough to hear any calls for musicians. From where she stood she could hear something of a ruckus going on in the main hall of the court as the pharaoh moved about his great house, and she wondered what kind of mischief the man was up to. She hadn’t been at court that long, only a few days, but it seemed that the human caused a commotion wherever he went.

Perhaps this would be a good time to take a little nap, she thought, to sneak away and hide out from all the human silliness. But just before she decided to move, she felt the air itself shift, turning a little cooler and damper, and when she turned around, she was no longer alone.

“So.” Aziraphale said, appearing behind her. “What brings you to Memphis this time, Crowley? On assignment?”

Crowley startled at the Prince of Hell’s sudden appearance, flinching back, not immediately recognizing Aziraphale. She had never seen the Prince of Hell like this before, attired like a human being. Aziraphale wore a long plaited flaxen wig, hung with golden ornaments and crowned with dark blue lotuses. Blue eyes were limned with kohl and the voluptuous curves of her body was hugged tightly by a long sheath dress of grayish linen that was woven through with zigzagging lines of dark blue, crimson, and gold. Around her neck was a heavy collar necklace of beads of silver and lapis lazuli of a shade that was the color of the sea at dusk, a luminous blue that verged on charred black.

Crowley glanced at Aziraphale’s hand and there was that iron octopus ring, the symbol of a Prince of Hell, gleaming obsidian.

“My apologies. How do you do? I hope you are well, as I am,” Aziraphale smiled charmingly, and Crowley looked away.

“Eh, you know. Court musician,” Crowley said with a shrug, quickly getting over the surprise. After all, it was not the first time that the other side’s Representative had appeared before her like this. As time passed, it seemed that the surprise was wearing out and the pressing need for a flaming sword was slowly diminishing.

A human walked by, and Aziraphale’s head turned to follow. A moment later the demon’s skin color shifted, becoming a dark umber.

“What-” Crowley blinked.

“Camouflage,” Aziraphale winked.

A pleasant breeze blew through the courtyard, damp and cool as if the wind preceding rain, and the hem of her plain linen dress fluttered in the wind.

“White suits you well,” Aziraphale smiled, her eyes lingering on Crowley. “Makes the crimson of your hair even more striking. Is this sheer linen the style of the court? I should adjust mine to match...”

“White...looks good on you too. Except it looks a bit more, well, gray?”

“Rather. Couldn’t look out of place here where everyone likes their white linens but of course a demon of my stature can’t go around looking like the Opposition.”

“It looks very striking and almost white.”

“Never white, not anymore.” Aziraphale smiled a brittle smile, and then pointed to the pendant that hung from a delicate cord tied around Crowley’s neck. “I see you’re wearing a new necklace yourself. Nice pendant. But don’t humans usually wear such pendants in their hair? Protection from drowning or some such belief?”

“Oh yes,” Crowley tried to suppress a shy smile, touching the cool stone with her fingertips but feeling the heat of its creation inherent in the curves of stone. “But I want to keep it safe. It’s a gift from a friend.”

“A friend? I didn’t know angels were allowed to have friends, much less human friends.” A strangely familiar voice, and Crowley turned, only to feel her heart sink. It was Asmodeus, the Second Prince of Hell, and like Aziraphale, the Second Prince had taken on a female form.

Taller than both Crowley and Aziraphale, the Second Prince was dressed in plain gray linen but with a striking collar of silver and malachite beads. Asmodeus too wore a ring of black meteoric iron, but hers was in the form of a serpent, curled around her finger. Something about Asmodeus wearing kohl around her bright green eyes made her seem particularly nefarious, and Crowley found herself shrinking away before this newcomer.

“Uh...” And Crowley could not speak for a moment, realizing that she did not know how to address Asmodeus.

“You may address me as Asmodeus, darling angel. We’re rather casual here on Earth. It’s not as though this is a formal meeting by any means,” Asmodeus said lightly, tossing back a thick blonde mane that had been braided into long thin plaits, hung with twisted golden ornaments that upon closer inspection were little serpents twined through her hair. “I see you’re here for the ceremony too. Have you come as Representative on Earth?”

“Ceremony?”

“Did you not hear?” Asmodeus said, with a subtle hint of venom in her voice. “Oh, but you’re here for something else, aren’t you?”

“Court musician,” Crowley said, in a small voice.

“Where’s your harp then, little angel?” Asmodeus smirked.

“Not playing the harp? Playing the double pipes. Just made a new set of reeds too...and...” Crowley made an exaggerated gesture of dismay. “Oh no, I really ought to go, I need to replace the reed water and clean out the condensation and-”

“Strange,” Asmodeus said with feigned casualness. “I had it on good authority that you played the harp.”

Speechless, Crowley wondered how Asmodeus would know, and without meaning to he looked over at Aziraphale.

“Well darling,” Asmodeus smiled coldly, “it seems like you’re an angel of many talents. Perhaps we’ll see more of your abilities soon.” With that, Asmodeus strode off, disappearing into the palace complex.

“...wait! Hey!” Crowley startled, realizing that she was supposed to be thwarting any evil that might be coming from a Prince of Hell. But just then, Aziraphale decided to go the other direction.

“Wait!” Crowley cried out, unsure of who to follow.

“Finally, the last one,” a leering court official said as Crowley turned the corner. She had been certain that she was following...well, one of the Princes of Hell, but now she realized she had other more pressing problems. The official was a handsome man of heroic stature in the prime of his life, which meant that he was still a bit shorter than Crowley but it made him nearly a giant among men. Attired like a priest, his freshly shaved head gleaming and the ceremonial leopard skin draped over his right shoulder, the man looked Crowley over with greedy, lascivious eyes. “Young woman, you have a beautiful body and a well-developed bosom. But your hair is not braided. Never mind, someone will do it. Have you been opened by childbirth?”

“Excuse me? I beg your pardon,” Crowley hissed. “You can’t just go around asking people that. It’s...rude. No, of course not, I-”

“Perfect. In you go!” The man gave Crowley a shove and closed the door behind her. As Crowley got her feet under herself, she could hear the click of the door being locked.

“But I’m a court...musician?” Crowley said lamely, to the closed door.

She turned around. Besides herself and two Prince of Hell, there were seventeen other young women who were quickly undressing and putting on beaded net dresses...with nothing on underneath.

“Who was that?”

“The chief lector priest and book-scribe, Djadjaemankh,” a young woman said as she walked past, her voice full of disdain. Crowley blinked; even by Egyptian standards her clothes were particularly revealing.

“He didn’t look much like a book-scribe or a lector-priest,” Crowley said.

“Well, he’s not much of one,” another young woman muttered as she struggled with her clothes.

“Here,” Aziraphale said, waving Crowley over. “Put this on.”

“What’s going on?” Crowley blinked, relieved to see a familiar face. Aziraphale handed her the bead-net dress, long thin blue-green faience beads slithering with a clink in her hands.

“A ceremony,” Asmodeus said, tossing off her form-hugging sheath dress to reveal a body proportioned perfectly to the Egyptian canon of measure, whose smooth lustrous skin and thick braided hair made other human women stare at her with no small amount of envy. She slipped on the bead-net dress with ease, which was not so much a dress as a dress ornament, made in the form of a dress but without any cloth or fabric backing for modesty or comfort.

“They call it a ceremony, but it’s really no more than a diversion for a bored lech,” Aziraphale said with a scowl. “The pharaoh likes to have young women row about his private lake on a boat, before picking one for later.”

Horrified, Crowley nearly dropped the dress. “What do you mean, one for later?”

“I meant exactly what I said. Don’t worry, the odds of getting picked are 1 in 20.”

“Not bad odds, but not good odds either,” Asmodeus smirked. “Though of course, a little demonic intervention means that we won’t be picked.”

“...oh no...” Crowley murmured.

“Oh no?” Aziraphale asked, solicitous.

“I’m allotted only a certain amount of miracles every turn of the moon. And...I might have used them up already?” Crowley said, embarrassed.

“It’s hardly the first few days after the full moon. What did you use them up on? Snacks? Wine? Travel?” Aziraphale teased.

“Healing the sick,” Crowley said. “Kids, mostly. Would have been an epidemic otherwise.”

“Can’t you apply for more?” Aziraphale asked.

“Of course, but I can’t if I’m here. I’d have to report to Heaven, ask the proper authority for permission, then fill out the correct documentation, and wait for it to be processed. Which...usually takes about a year or three. If I need it sooner, I can apply for an emergency waiver, but that usually takes at least five to seven business days to process...and they’ve been very clear what would happen if I go over.”

“Oh, you’ll be fine little angel. As long as you don’t stand out in any way,” Asmodeus’ smile was all teeth. Sharp teeth. “Just keep a low profile and I’m sure you won’t be noticed.”

“Good point. I can do that.”

“Now, you’ll need someone to braid your hair. All those gorgeous curling tresses. Mmm. Unless you’d like to dip into your reserve of miracles...of, which you don’t have,” Asmodeus said, reaching out to touch Crowley’s dark hair.

Crowley’s breath caught, but just before Asmodeus could touch her, Aziraphale batted the Second Prince of Hell’s hand away.

“It’s fine,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll manage this menial task, my infernal brother. You needn’t lower yourself to doing something so beneath your station. Besides, I have quite a few more hands.”

“But you’re a Prince of Hell too...” Crowley protested.

Aziraphale stretched out his hands, wiggling his fingers in anticipation. “Oh yes, but unlike Asmodeus, I’m quite fond of working with my hands.”

Aziraphale’s hands moved gently through Crowley’s hair, and Crowley looked down at her feet, at the plaited leather sandals that she wore, smudged faintly with dust that did not touch her skin. The touch of Aziraphale’s fingers combing through her hair left strange shivering sensations that ran up and down her spine and inadvertently she made a little sound in her throat that surprised herself; as far as she knew she had never made a sound like this before.

“I’m sorry, did I hurt you?” Aziraphale murmured, as fingers and many of them worked through her hair, some of them combing through long strands, others deftly plaiting her hair into braids.

“No, I’m fine, really,” Crowley gulped. “It feels...er...” And she noticed that Asmodeus was watching with a sharp eye, so she looked down, face hot with embarrassment.

“Hmm?” Aziraphale wondered.

“Fine. I’m fine, it’s nothing,” Crowley muttered.

“He’s rich all right,” Aziraphale said as they pulled the oars of the light skiff, sailing slowly past the pharaoh’s lavish pavilion set up on shore. Crowley turned her head to look toward the pharaoh’s entourage as they passed. Below shaded canopies of fine linen that fluttered in the hot desert breeze the pharaoh sat with the great priests and lords of the land, the men entertaining themselves with drinking and watching the women row the narrow vessel about the lake. Musicians played for their enjoyment on harps, rattles, and double pipes, and servants moved through the jovial crowd, ensuring that the cups were full of beer.

“Ebony oars plated with gold, and the handles made of this expensive sqb wood, plated with electrum.”

“A waste of perfectly good wood,” Crowley agreed. “Wood this fine shouldn’t be immersed in water.” She looked to Aziraphale who sat to her left.

“The two of you should keep it down,” Asmodeus said from her seat ahead of Aziraphale at the front of the boat, pulling at the oars in time with the other young women.

“It’s not like he can hear us. No one can-” Crowley began, but Asmodeus turned back to give her an unpleasant smile.

“No, darling angel, but if he notices you not rowing your odds might go from 1 in 20 to something a lot more unpleasant.“

“Actually, because of demonic interference, the odds are 1 in 18 now,” Aziraphale pointed out. “Which are better odds if you’re gambling and want to be that 1 in 18, as the smaller that second number is, the more likely it will happen. But in your particular case, I don’t think you want to be selected.”

“Surely you wouldn’t want to make it any worse,” Asmodeus added.

“Oh. No, you’re right.” Crowley shut her mouth. Shoulders hunched, she put herself to work, diligently pulling the oars of the light skiff in time with the other women. The sun beat down fierce, and Crowley wondered how many people today would be left with the marks of the bead-net dress as pale shadow lines writ across sun-darkened skin.

Some of the women began to lean over and dip their hands into the water of the private lake, splashing themselves to cool off and it seemed like the right thing to do, to appear as the mortals did.

She leaned over the dark water, and by habit, briefly let go of the oar and pressed the fish pendant against her breast as she leaned out, keeping it safe. When she turned back, she noticed that Asmodeus was watching her. Quickly, she grabbed the oar and continued to paddle without missing a beat.

“A gift from a friend,” Asmodeus murmured to herself under her breath, a sly smile crossing her lascivious lips.

Seven, eight...nine times around the lake and it didn’t seem as if the pharaoh was tired yet of their labors as he directed them from his shaded pavilion on the shore. Crowley felt herself wilting in the heat. She was stronger than the humans, more resistant to heat than cold than any normal human but she was not impervious. A higher-ranked angel might have been given the means to stay almost entirely untouched by the effects of the material world but Crowley was not among those lofty beings.

Again, she leaned over the water, but this time as she let go of the pendant, there was a little sound like a snip, the thin cord snapped, and the pendant went flying toward the dark waters of the lake.

“Oh!” Crowley find herself crying out, trying to grab the turquoise before it fell into the water, but it was too late. With a splash, the stone was gone and Crowley dropped the oar, uncertain of whether or not to follow it in before realizing there was no way she could retrieve it. Once it was underwater, it might as well have been in Hell; there was no way for Crowley to bodily enter the water.

“Are you all right?” Asmodeus asked with false earnestness, and Crowley glanced back to see malicious amusement gleaming in the demon’s green eyes.

“I can’t, I’m...” Crowley stared at the water, at the swaying rushes that edged the lake, at a rising flock of birds in the distance as they took to the sky, as if all these things could yield an answer to a question she dared not ask.

“Can’t?” Aziraphale asked, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Crowley’s voice was barely a whisper. “Can’t retrieve things from the water. I’m an angel.” Crowley said, dazed. “We don’t sink.”

“A shame,” Asmodeus said lightly. “It was quite a fine pendant. A fish of some sort?”

“An upside-down catfish...always looking up at the world above from below...”

“Can’t you row?” A harsh voice interrupted, and Crowley jumped, realizing the boat had stopped right in front of the pharaoh’s pavilion, and the pharoah had stood up from his chair to shout at the women.

“Our stroke has become still, without rowing,” explained the one of the rowers.

“I can see that! Girl! Yes, you! The one who stopped rowing first! Why aren’t you rowing?”

Crowley blinked as everyone turned to look at her, the girls on the skiff, the officials and attendants of the pharaoh, the priests, the servants, the great lords. Even the birds seem to pause in their chatter.

“Er...that is...lost something valuable?”

“Speak up!” The pharaoh commanded.

“This...fish pendant? Bout this big? Turquoise? On a string? Er...” Crowley blinked, flinching slightly at the many eyes staring at her. “Uh, erm, I uh, lost. A fish pendant of new turquoise. The cord broke and it fell in the water.”

The pharaoh brushed the fine fabric of his klaft headdress back, the simple plain one he wore when he was at leisure, not like the stiff formal nemes. “All this fuss for a hair pendant? Here. You may take one of mine from the treasury.” He pointed to one of his close attendants, a woman who was wearing a fine pendant of gold inlaid with glimmering stripes of lapis lazuli, carnelian, and chalcedony that hung from a twisted braid. The young woman looked down demurely and began to untie it from her hair.

“Sorry Majesty, but no thank you.”

“What do you mean, no thank you?” The pharaoh sounded peeved.

“I...prefer my own pendant, Majesty. That one is important to me. I’d rather not have a substitute.”

Aziraphale turned and gave Crowley a look of amazement, and Crowley shrugged.

“What, it’s the truth,” Crowley said to Aziraphale.

“That golden pendant is worth ten of the one you lost, at least,” Aziraphale said tartly. “Besides the fact that it belongs to the most powerful man in this part of the world. If you don’t like the one he’s offering, at least take it and sell it to buy a dozen or more pendants of your preference.”

“I’d rather have my own thing.”

“And you won’t continue to row until you get it back?” The pharaoh’s expression changed from irritation to curiosity.

Crowley looked up; she hadn’t realized that pharaoh had been listening in to her conversation with Aziraphale. When she glanced over at Aziraphale, the Prince of Hell was looking a little embarrassed, as the demon had forgotten to mask their conversation from the humans.

“Well, if you really want-” And then Crowley looked around at the other young women. Unlike the Prince of Hell who looked as cool and collected as ever, the young women looked rather bedraggled. Sticky with sweat and splashed with lake water, they were stuck all over with dried bits of algae and duckweed that clung to sun-burnished skin, the kohl around their eyes smeared and runny from rivulets of perspiration. The flowers that some wore in their hair were wilted and dying, wigs were sliding off of lovely heads, and braided hair grew frazzled. Many were starting to sunburn, dark skin growing tender and irritated as the skimpy net dresses provided no protection from the harsh sun. “Actually? Actually, I refuse to row. I won’t continue unless I get my pendant back.”

There was a collective sigh of relief that went through the young women, and they all drew their oars in so that the boat could go no further.

The pharaoh chuckled and waved one of his officials over. “Go and bring me the chief lector priest Djadjaemankh,” he commanded.

Crowley and Aziraphale exchanged a look.

“It seems as though you recognize that name,” Aziraphale said, more of a question than a statement.

“Well. He asked me some rather...personal questions. And shoved me.” Crowley scowled.

“Really now. He laid hands on you?” Aziraphale’s eyes grew cold.

“I think he did for all the young women.”

“He did more than push me,” the woman sitting ahead of Crowley said. “He’s disgusting.”

“Terrible.”

“Incredibly wealthy.”

“Powerful.”

“The pharaoh listens to him more than anyone else.”

“We have no say. I don’t even work for the Great House. I was just trying to run errands for my mother in the marketplace and the priests grabbed me and brought me here,” a particularly young girl said, kohled eyes full of tears.

“I wish there was more I could do to help you,” Crowley began, but just then the chief lector priest Djadjaemankh arrived, beckoned over to the pharaoh’s side.

“My dear Asmodeus, I have a suggestion for you...” Aziraphale said, leaning closer to the other Prince of Hell and Crowley startled; this meant that demonic doings were afoot and he needed to be ready to thwart the work of the Adversary.

But instead of overhearing what the two Princes had to say, Crowley was distracted by the pharaoh and the chief lector priest who were both pointing to and looking at her, discussing something that she couldn’t hear. Aziraphale, in the meantime, had finished her discussion with Asmodeus.

“Then we’re in agreement,” Aziraphale said.

“Of course. After all, aren’t we here to sow dissent?” Asmodeus hissed, pleased.

“What are you two-”

And before Crowley could speak, the chief lector priest came to the edge of the water, his hand holding tight to his leopard skin. As he drew closer to the skiff, Crowley noticed that as the priest looked over the inhabitants of the skiff, his eyes became fixed upon Asmodeus, who hissed in a serpent’s voice:

“You will do magic and perform a miracle before all who will witness it.”

Without taking his eyes off of Asmodeus, the chief lector priest Djadjaemankh raised his hands in an attitude of prayer and began to speak, proclaiming that he would perform a miracle in order to retrieve the fish pendant.

A hush fell through the crowd. The pharaoh watched intently, with a child-like curiosity.

The chief lector priest spoke the words of a magic spell, and nothing happened, though the water burbled just a little.

“Watch,” Aziraphale winked.

The chief lector priest spoke the words, again, and the water began to tremble. The girls clung to their oars and each other, and Crowley found herself clinging to the side of the skiff as the water became unsteady.

And for the third time, the chief lector priest spoke the words in a loud, commanding voice, but Crowley didn’t look at him; she looked to Aziraphale and saw Aziraphale’s hand move in a gesture as if drawing something up from below. Suddenly the entirety of water on the other side of the lake lifted up and stacked on top of the side they were on, as if a thick piece of fabric folded in half, though it seemed an invisible dome surrounded the boat and protected its occupants from getting wet. Alarmed, Crowley looked up and around herself. Fish and frogs, insects of all sorts, a diving bird, lily pads and rushes, and even a small crocodile that glided along blithely, not noticing the humans below it. The young women marveled at the sight, crying out to the gods in their surprise.

Crowley’s eyes were bright with amazement. So it was true, she thought, that Aziraphale could make it so that she could see the place where the fish lived herself, without having to go into the water. A warm feeling welled up within her and Crowley found her hand pressed against her breast, in the empty spot where the pendant would have hung.

“Look! I have found the fish-pendant! It lies upon a shard!” The chief lector priest Djadjaemankh shouted, wading into the muck to retrieve it, gleefully snatching it up from the bottom of the lake before wading out again, his entire body splattered with mud, sludge squelching through his bare toes. He ran over and tossed the pendant to Crowley, who caught it despite herself. Later she would wonder; had it been a demonic intervention that landed the pendant so neatly in her hands? Or was it just a good throw? But at the time she was merely grateful for the heat of the love that she could feel within the cold, damp turquoise, the round eyes of the upside-down catfish staring back at her with a curious detached calm.

Djadjaemankh then raised his hands again and said the magic spell, and the water lifted again, unfolding to return its normal place in the lake.

A great clamor went up, and the ceremonial boating was forgotten as attendants and officials alike swarmed the chief lector priest. Asmodeus gave the command to the other girls; they rowed to the dock immediately and disembarked.

“Go quietly home everyone. The pharaoh won’t need your presence anymore,” Aziraphale said. “And keep the dresses, no one’s going to remember that you’ve been given a fortune in faience and leather cord. Though if I were you, I’d be smart about it and take it apart to hock. All right? Good.”

The young women were too smart to cheer, not wanting to draw attention to themselves. Instead, they smiled and waved, saying their thanks before disappearing into the crowds unnoticed and unmolested. As they left so did Asmodeus, who wandered off into the crowd, appearing briefly by the pharaoh’s side before disappearing altogether.

“Just like that,” Crowley said. She was the last one off the skiff, and she held the pendant tight in her left hand as she stepped lightly onto the dock.

Aziraphale grinned. “Just like that.”

Crowley watched as the chief lector priest was feted by the court, the pharaoh calling for him to be heaped with lavish gifts, and she scowled. “Men like him always seem to prosper, don’t they? Shouldn’t have been grabbing girls from the marketplace for the pharaoh’s entertainment. Makes you wonder what other mischief he gets up to. Pervert. Creep. Bast-” She shut her mouth. Walking, no more like stalking down the dock and back, she stopped before the Prince of Hell.

“Aziraphale. You know, I never asked what you were here for.”

“Oh, I can’t tell you why I’m here, Crowley. You know that. Just as you won’t tell me why you’re here.”

“Right.”

“But...” A smug, amused look came over Aziraphale’s face. “Let’s just say that once a man can perform a miracle for a trivial matter, they’ll be expecting him to perform another one when there is a very serious matter. And if he can’t...well, there’s no telling what the other humans will do to such a man.”

“How very diabolical of you,” Crowley said, impressed. “Serves him right.”

“Quite,” Aziraphale smiled. “Say, I think we’re both done for the day now…?”

“About time for supper, maybe?”

“Oh yes.” Aziraphale said, pleased to see Crowley brightening up. “How about a crisp roasted duck with nabk berry sauce? Oooh, and a good resinated wine.”

“And maybe...” Embarrassed to be caught wanting something for herself, Crowley looked away, busying herself by threading the pendant back onto the cord, and tying the cord about her neck, felt the comfortable weight of the pendant around her neck, the stone warm against her bare skin.

Her hands brushed against her as she finished. Crowley paused, feeling the tightly wound plaits, thinking to take them out, but then with a little shiver, remembered who had braided her hair.

“Maybe?” Aziraphale was gentle, giving the angel time, but then noticed that Crowley would not say what it was that she wanted. “It’s all right, my dear, you know you needn’t fear asking me for anything. I won’t get mad at you, I promise. After all, the worst I could say is no. But is it soup? Like that soup we had last time that you liked so much, the one with the fish?”

Crowley blushed, wondering how the Prince of Hell had learned her tastes so well. “Yeah, I guess, maybe soup?”

“Oh of course! Of course we can have soup. We can have whatever you want. I always like a good soup. Have you ever tried one with barley…but is something wrong?”

“We can’t go to supper dressed like this,” Crowley said, gesturing to the bead-net dress that barely covered her nudity. “It’ll be a scandal. And I’m not going back to the palace. I’m losing out on a good set of double pipes as it is but I don’t care-”

“Oh right,” Aziraphale laughed. “Almost forgot.” And with a gesture, both were clothed in plain linen sheath gowns, though Aziraphale’s was of a shade far grayer than the one that Crowley wore.

“Am...am I going to get in trouble?” Crowley could hardly breathe, feeling the power of the miracle forming around her.

“My dear, this hardly counts as a miracle,” Aziraphale said, adorning her own hair with dark blue lotuses, handing Crowley a big white lotus that somehow appeared as the Prince of Hell plucked the flowers miraculously out of the air. “These are just the clothes you were wearing earlier.”

And at that Crowley had nothing to say, but she pressed the flower to her nose, taking in the sweet heady dizzying scent of the lotus as she followed Aziraphale out of the palace grounds and into the vibrant, bustling marketplace just beyond the gates.

#good omens #angel crowley #demon aziraphale #f/f fanfic #ineffable wives #reverse omens #good omens fanfiction #aziraphale #crowley #ao3 outage #ancient egypt #story originally from The Seventh Prince of Hell #adapted from the third story from the Westcar Papyrus #aziraphale is a prince of hell and the lord of the octopuses #crowley is an ordinary angel without a flaming sword #the fish pendant is a present from Aziraphale to Crowley #here have some reading :)#ao3 outage reading

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rainsoughtflowers · 3 years

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lovers of the stars

tw/cw - brief mentions of blood (coughing out), light angst, hurt/comfort, but overall fluff.

a/n - these are all my ebg sabotages (edited and added on), although most are modern au for my moot keo hhehe (ily)

xiao

- most definitely the quiet kid that sits in the very back of the room, close to the door so he has a proper escape as soon as it allowed. you noticed however, how he’s also the first inside the classroom each and every morning, hunched over his chair as not even the sun was ready for the lecture soon to be taught. most tended to stay away, for they noticed the scowl that painted his lips and the glares he gave to seemingly nothing. and yet you seemed to have no problems approaching him when he was left without a partner for the upcoming project, offering to work together in hopes you could bring him out of his shell.

- at first xiao was reluctant, muttering for you to find someone else. but at noticing there were in fact, no other available participants, he decided to agree to your terms (despite how he sighed heavily against the sleeve of his jacket)

- it was from then on you’d spend your hours within the library walls, sneaking glances beneath the books for your class. up close he wasn’t as intimidating, his head resting on the palm of his hand as amber hues scanned over the words of the book. he didn’t talk much, but he got his work done, efficiently for someone who didn’t even ask questions.

- but it was strange. his eyes seemed to reflect shades of gold you didn’t think possible, and the colored strands of his hair complimented him nicely. not to mention almost every feature in his face was pleasing, including the lip ring and several others to follow along the lining of his ear. surely someone so pretty had to be a loner by choice.

- he’s the type to walk you to and from class, ignoring your protests and insistence, for he’s already taking your bag and leaving you behind. you have no choice but to catch up to his quick steps, almost like talking to a stone wall as you complain along the way.

- xiao slides you your favorite snacks from across the table during lectures, trying to play it off by looking in the other direction. hues similar to the sunset decorate his cheeks, causing you to laugh and tease him for the abnormal coloring. and yet you realize he’s always taking note of the last time you’ve eaten and your favorite foods, rendering you grateful for his consideration.

- he’s picking you up in the middle of the night when you call him, you laughing at the grogginess in his tone and the ruffled strands of hair as he mutters for you to get in the car. he’ll let you blast your favorite songs and roll down the windows, until you stop along the side of the road to gaze at the stars.

- xiao who glides his fingers over the expanse of your skin, tracing constellations and mapping the whole galaxy.

- xiao who lets you use his sweater as a pillow, and brings an extra in case you get cold to serve as a blanket.

- xiao who listens quietly to you ramble on about the history behind each shape, and watches as you reach your fingers up to grace the sky.

- xiao who feels as if no star shone brighter than the ones reflecting in your gaze, for it glows across the dips of your skin.

- xiao who mumbles sleepily against your lips, scolding you for staying out so late but hoping the night never ends.

- xiao who wishes upon the shooting stars that pass by, hoping, despite not being one for wishful thinking, that the love you shared would continue until each star had burned and the end of the world had come.

- xiao who twists the grass beneath his fingers until they’re lacing with yours, breath hitched in his throat at the warmth of your skin bare against his.

- xiao who believes he’d love you even in another life, one far different from the one currently lived. and even if the universe made it so you were destined for something greater, perhaps the sky, which had been your witnesses, would guide you through fate and allow you to cross once more.

- he does stick and pokes, and you both get matching tattoos that you do for the other. the night was filled with scolding each other to stay still and enjoying the firm grip of his fingers wrapped around your body, admiring the furrow of his brows and the lip caught between his teeth in concentration.

albedo

- a true painters hand. his fingers are long and slender, and appear almost graceful each time he moves them with his brush or the scribble of his pencil. they’re pale even against the white landscape of dragonspine, and unsurprisingly enough cold to the touch. and yet you feel nothing but warmth each time he smooths down the mess of hair on your head, and tucks the loose strands behind your ear.

- albedo as an art major, and you find him in the art room while trying to find a club. he’s painting these beautiful flowers, hair pulled back into a loose ponytail and glasses resting low on the bridge of his nose. sleeves pulled up, buttons loose and paint smudging his forearms and face. he gazes at you, chuckling softly to himself when you grow flustered and quickly leave the room.

- albedo who’ll say he has an assignment and needs your help, but really he wants an excuse to paint you. he wants to memorize each line and dip in your face, each color that represents the ones in your cheeks and the smile you gift him. he’ll grow flustered when he realizes he’s grown lost in the stars that paint your expression, clearing his throat while bringing a hand up to have his knuckles brush against the heat of his face.

- albedo who studies in the library with you, choosing the far back of the room where no one could disturb what he would call a study date. he’s admiring your concentrated expression buried in the pages of a book, eyes dropping as sleep tugged at you from the back of your mind. it’s when you finally fall asleep does he rest his head beside yours, slender fingers brushing past the strands of your hair.

- albedo who brings you coffee in the morning before class, and you who brings pastries for him in return.

- albedo who sketches you when bored, and leaves those drawings in any place you can find. tucked in your notebook, taped to your door or taken as a photo in your messages.

- albedo who wishes to paint you, in hopes that history will know of his devotion towards your being.

kaedehara kazuha

- you’d never imagine it was he who wields a sword with hands so beautiful. they showed no prominent muscles, and the first time you sat there and mindlessly traced over the dips, you noted the softness beneath your callouses. kazuha chuckled at your actions, before carefully unwrapping the bandages of his other, one you had always been curious as to why he hid. when the last of the fabric fell and exposed the skin, you were left stunned, also not having expected the clear difference between them both. one, appearing almost untouched, and the other scarred with the burned tissue of a devotion towards fire. you remember cautiously leaning forward to touch it, afraid it would hurt the samurai. but when kazuha showed no prominent signs of pain, you brought the limb to your lap and held it as if it were glass bound to break. gentle, and with a love you wished had no boundaries.

- kazuha who sits by the window in class, staring out as life moves on right before his gaze. he has his chin propped onto the palm of his hand, appearing almost in his own world. and yet a smile graces his lips when his eyes meet yours through the reflection of glass, amused by your flustered state.

- kazuha who brings you outside to study, for he hates being confined within walls lacking nature. you sit beside him, leaning against a large maple tree and the shadows that display across your bodies. hushed whispers, a gentle breeze and the warmth of his fingertips tracing your skin, all aided in the content that eased your body.

- kazuha who you wander the halls with, not one to stay in one place for too long. it’s a natural occurrence especially during lunch, where you both snack on the food he previously brought while walking aimlessly, seemingly no destination in mind but the content of your hearts.

- kazuha and his poetic nature, who mumbles verses beneath his breath and keeps his fingers drumming along the side of your neck. his lips ghost against yours, eyes half lidded and drunk on the honey filled words that leave through the cracks of his tone.

- kazuha who embraces you each time it’s cold, opening his jacket and capturing you within the confines of his fabrics. he’ll rest his chin on top of your head or bury his face in the crook of your neck, allowing his hot breath to graze your skin.

- kazuha who works at a small coffee shop, taking your order with shining eyes each time you walk through the door. he’ll pretend it was like the first time you met, making casual conversation from over the counter as you laugh and play along. he draws a little heart next to your name on the cup, and if it’s a latte, he makes the most beautiful arts with the creamer you requested.

- kazuha who knows how to play any instrument, but prefers to play the flute. he’d join band as one of his clubs, and each time he has a concert you’re cheering for him within the crowd. afterwards, you’re bestowing upon him a boquet of flowers, loving the pink dusting his cheeks and the shy smile gracing his lips.

- kazuha who feeds the campus cat. each time he comes across the small animal he’s crouching down low and holding out his hand, letting its fur graze against the skin and proceeding to feed it the cat food he previously bought. eventually it turns up almost everywhere he wanders, to which he’ll lightly scratch its ears and gift it a small greeting.

hu tao

- hanahaki disease.

- in which she accepts the petals that suffocate her lungs, because death has never scared her. she knew that when her time came then she’d leave peacefully and with no regrets, even if her throat hurt at the sight of you and blood was a permanent color that stained her hands. should she had been scared? knowing it was your smile, soft against the features of your face, that made her chest tighten? your laugh that chimed in her ears that arose the need to cough? the hushed whisper of your voice brushing against her ears that had her hacking into her hands? perhaps, any would be terrified at the idea that it was love, and emotion one of incapable of rejecting, that would be her downfall.

- and yet, no, she could have no protests or any fears, for hu tao already knew she’d love you until her dying breath.

kamisato ayaka

- ayaka who you dance with in the rain, feeling the droplets slide down the curves of your body and your damp clothes cling to your skin. shivers would rush down your spine, the whistle of wind blowing in your ears. and yet you can’t find it in yourself to move and seek shelter, for she’s so beautiful beneath the cloudy skies. so ethereal the way the water catches onto her lashes and her hair sticks to her skin. you can barely breathe feeling her mouth brush against yours as you both desperately cling onto each other, as if the storms and rain would wash away the burn that scorches your skin.

- ayaka who has the prettiest notes, using an array of colors to highlight certain words and with handwriting easy to read. it’s nothing compared to the scribbles unintelligible across your own page, to which she laughs softly and offers to share. cheeks burning, for you can’t ignore the soft press of her thighs against your own and the way she smelled so nice so close to your face.

- ayaka who begs you to teach her to bake, spilling flour across the countertops and brushing frosting against the tips of your nose. she’d burn a cookie or two, and spill eggshells into the batter she helplessly tried to mix. you both eventually give up and decide to munch on the cookies hidden in your pantry whilst leaning against the table, your body trapped between her legs and feeling the warmth that radiates from them.

- ayaka who you catch snowflakes with. you love it, the way the gentle bits of snow land on the top of her hair and on the fabric of her gloves. perhaps there are things, or rather people, far more beautiful than the first fall of winter.

- ayaka who lets you brush through her hair. you’d be seated in her dorm on her bed, gently running through the long strands of snow white that decorate her face and humming a soft tune that’s low in your throat. her eyes are closed while basking in the tender touch, enough to fall asleep in the care of your hands.

- ayaka who does karate, and you watched with a proud smile as she was awarded medals during competitions and seized the spots meant for the best.

- ayaka who you try to win stuffed toys for at a carnival, despite you knowing how rigged those games were. but how could you say no when she had asked you so shyly, cheeks rosy pink and blue orbs averted towards the ground? how could you when she appeared so beautiful smiling while hugging the stuffed elephant close, thanking you as if you had given her more than you really had?

- you could say she rivaled even a gallery of the finest arts. a painting would not leave you the way you currently were, unable to take your eyes off of her when she began to dance with the breeze of the wind and the flow of her fan. not when she appeared oh so exquisite dancing beneath the midnight hours of inazuma, moon drunk the more it rose in the sky. her limbs moved in a way that was graceful, like the flow of water that splashed beneath the soles of her feet. strands of snow white cascaded down the dips of her body, ones you had brushed through with your fingertips with a gentleness you would use towards butterfly wings. and her eyes, they kept you stunned as she shyly glanced up at you at the end of her performance, glowing along with the flowers surrounding the expanse of her stage. no, ayaka was far more than a canvas painted with the hues of color. one could not capture the extent of elegance and beauty she held.

- ayaka who loves you as if she’d never love anyone else. in a way that’s pure and as sweet as the candy she keeps in her bag, the wrappers she made into origami swans and paper hearts.

gorou

- gorou who sends you letters while he’s away fighting at the resistance.

- your hands would smooth down the crinkled edges of the parchment, soft smile painting your lips as your eyes scanned over the messy handwriting. his letters would come around the same time each week, brought to you by endless smuggling to avoid detection of him making any contact. it used to sadden you at first, hating the empty side of the bed that he used to occupy and having little to no information of his whereabouts. but you knew how much gorou’s vision meant to him, and you’d hate to be the one to stop him from what he believed to be right.

- you’d lay in the comfort of your sheets, comprehending the pretty words he spoke of that seemed to drip with the emotions and images he knew so well. he reminisces of the achievements they’ve earned and the hardships endured, speaks of the rain in which dampens the earth and the island they inhabit. you’d laugh when gorou complained about the early hours he has to awaken, and smile when he mentioned wanting to walk along the paths with you by his side. you could practically imagine the scene of bumping your fingers against his while basking underneath the setting sun, all while he flashes you that bright smile in which you adored.

- eventually you’d sigh while clutching the pieces of paper close to your chest, satisfied with the momentary euphoria he had gifted you for the night. it was almost as if he was the one to have spoken to you, and the one to help lull you to a peaceful slumber.

- his hands are littered with scars and the hardships of his battles. you remember vividly the first time you saw them, lining the knuckles of his fingertips, all the way down to the back of his hand. how could one face so much in so little time? how could one have such rough edges, and yet feel so soft and gentle as they caress the lines and dips of your own expression?

yoimiya

- yoimiya‘s hands are small and dainty, although you’d never overlook the soot that smudges the skin and the burned marks of scarred tissue. yoimiya never seemed to mind however, always one to play with fire and the area of her expertise. and ever so playful, shes the one wiping the charcoal pigment onto the tip of your nose, gifting you a cheeky smile while holding up the hands responsible for it all.

thoma

- thoma’s hands are surprisingly soft. you’d imagine that as someone who spent hours using them to clean and spar with the daughter of the kamisato clan that the fingers would be rough to the touch. but thoma proves you wrong the first time he bumped his knuckles against your own, surprising you momentarily before shyly lacing the appendages within his own. warm, encasing you with a fire far past his vision, but they’re gentle as his thumb traces the expanses of your skin.

menu. pomegranate mousse cake.

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cno-inbminor · 3 years

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iterum vivere (childe/tartaglia)

a/n: wow, it’s been fucking forever. first genshin fic featuring childe/tartaglia!!! a very huge thank you to @suspensin for reading this over and being my rock and support, and i love her so fucking much. I couldn’t have finished this without her!

plot: reincarnation and modern/uni!au ft. afab reader!traveler with she/they pronouns x childe/tartaglia

-- in which meeting childe is a bit of a dangerous game of push and pull

wc: 12.1k; angst + fluff

warnings: DOES CONTAIN IN-GAME SPOILERS (1.5? 1.6? + story quest and idek) and NSFW MENTIONS (mdni to be safe). there’s no explicit smut but thoughts do run a bit wild here and there

EDIT: Altered ChiLumi version now posted on AO3 here!

“Haven’t we met before?”

The shine in your eyes does nothing to hide your curiosity, head even tilting a little in observation. He watches them scan his face for any recognizable features, but attempts to focus on the strange, taut string of déjà vu that pulls him toward you. In a moment of absentmindedness, he had heard a faint voice call out his name from your direction. Confusion overtook him as you weren’t looking at him, but something inside his brain said that it had to be from you. And so his feet redirected his path towards your figure in the student union building, as if on a mission.

“A fucking whale, Childe?”

Oh.

“I don’t think so…?” You trail off, curiosity now replaced by perplexed feelings. “Do we have a class together?”

I think I would’ve noticed you by now if you were.

“Ah, what’s your major?” Childe asks quickly to avoid listening to the little voice in his head.

“History and anthropology, you?”

“Economics, but I’ve taken a history course for core credits. Maybe it was then?”

“With Dr. Zhong?”

“Yes!” He snaps his fingers. Part of his brain decides to usefully function and scan his memories to see if he remembers your face or head of hair in the lecture hall then. “Last year? Tuesdays and Thursdays from 10 to 11:20?”

“Actually, yeah,” you affirm in surprise. You think you would remember the relatively attractive ginger in your class, but honestly, it had all been such a blur and you were often pretty sleepy during class. Dr. Zhong didn’t quite appreciate it, but you made up for it with your exam and essay grades, as well as paying better attention in some of his other courses.

“Did you need me for anything?”

“I’d like for you to come visit and meet my family.”

He’s really not appreciating this extra voice speaking for him.

“Well…uh…” Childe stammers and looks away sheepishly, hand rubbing the back of his neck. He honestly had no reason for approaching you, and now, he just looks like a desperate idiot. Think quick, he tells himself, floundering for some shitty excuse.

“I wanted to, uh, take another history course as an elective and um, wanted to know if you had any recommendations?”

“Oh,” you blink. That’s a first. When he meets your gaze, the swirling shades of sapphire strike something deep within you. Flashes of events you can’t make out go by in the blink of an eye, but then you realize you’ve been staring for too long. Blood rushes to your cheeks because you don’t exactly want this guy to get the wrong idea from you, because how are you supposed to explain, “I’m sorry, but I think we have met before, but just a really, really long time ago, and we might’ve been more than just acquaintances because that’s what it feels like?”

“I think you’d like Teyvat Mythology,” your voice wavers on the verge of cracking. “Dr. Zhong might have a TA this time around, but Xiao’s a great teacher. Doesn’t have long, rambling anecdotes, but explains things well and gets straight to the point.”

“C-cool, I’ll look into it,” Childe replies and smiles brightly. “I’ll head out then,” jabbing a thumb over his shoulder, where he just realized he left a grouchy Scaramouche waiting by a vending machine, newly purchased Starbucks Tripleshot drink in hand. “Nice seeing you, (y/n).”

He scurries off before you both realize that you never told him your name.

“Who’s that?” Scaramouche asks, jutting his chin in your vague direction.

“Someone from my Intro to Liyuean History course last year,” Childe waves off. “Come on, let’s go before the line at the pasta bar gets too long.”

The next time you see Childe is by accident, traversing across an open field of grass that many students like to sit out on to relax with friends, sunbathe, hold events, or play casual team sports if room permits.

You had your earbuds in and were scrolling through social media when laughter rang above all other sound, causing your head to snap up and swivel around to find the source. And while it might’ve been strange to an outsider, your steps immediately slowed as you watched the man of your tiring, vivid dreams sprint in your direction, eyes pinned on a frisbee heading towards him.

He’s wearing a grey sports tank and basketball shorts, headband holding back his bangs as he makes a slight jump in the air to catch the plastic disc between his palms. His feet plant into the grass as he looks for someone to pass it to, and you watch (with embarrassment) the muscles in his throwing arm relax and tighten with practice, frisbee steadily soaring through the air in a beautiful arc towards a teammate. He then lightly jogs to get closer to his group, but then his back stiffens.

Before your instincts kick in for you to turn and bail, he looks over his shoulder and stares straight at your now stunned self.

The sole ruby earring that glints in the sunlight catches your attention, and you recall your dreams of terrifyingly dark, violet electric power, blades of water rushing toward you, and then the stomach-churning sensation of falling from great heights pours concrete into your veins—

Childe looks a little amused for having your sole focus, hand lifting up for a quick wave. And as you numbly return the greeting, your heart beats out, “Run from him.”

And so with the flight response pulsing and firing from your synapses, you abruptly speed walk away, almost breaking out into a sprint towards your dorm. You ignore his pointed, confused look, and pretend you don’t feel the two holes of imaginary fire searing into your back. It isn’t until you’re laying back in bed that you release a huge sigh of relief and pray to a deity you don’t believe in that those eyes of mirth will not haunt you tonight.

But of course, with a deity that doesn’t exist, the prayers go unanswered.

“Do you believe in any of the mythology you teach?” You ask Xiao about a few days later when you stop by his cubicle. Luckily, no one else is around for this conversation, and Xiao has always been kind enough to humor your thoughts. Granted, he might feel obligated because you had asked Dr. Zhong to be your advisor for your undergraduate Honors thesis, and Xiao was directed to be your receiver of some general questions and source of information if he wasn’t around.

A quick scan of your complexion tells Xiao everything he needs to know. Your eyes are overtaken with rumination and exhaustion, haziness clouding them as you seem to ponder over your own question. It’s not often that you ask him anything not related to your thesis or coursework.

“Perhaps there’s some sense and truth to the tales passed down,” he softly muses. “What makes you ask?”

You lift yourself to sit on the clean area next to his computer, legs slowly swaying back and forth. “It might sound crazy but...I’ve been having dreams lately. They feel too real, too natural to be anything that my mind would make up. I’ve never had the most creative imagination by any means, which is why there’s some comfort to me being a history major, but I can’t shake these.”

“So why ask me about the mythology?”

“...the Archons are there. I even dreamt that I met the Geo and Anemo Archons. And they controlled various elements, just like we were taught.”

You don’t notice that Xiao has ceased his rapid typing, fingers hovering over the keyboard before one hand removes his glasses from his face. He uses the other to rub his eyes and softly pinch the bridge of his nose before sliding the frames back on. Dark, golden amber eyes survey you as you grapple with the unfathomable possibilities of your nightly visions, at least until you shake your head in disbelief at yourself and lightly scoff.

“Who am I kidding?” You ask no one in particular. “Maybe I’ve been doing too much research and everything’s mixing together.”

“You’re ahead of schedule, if that provides any consolation.”

“Some.”

It takes Childe a grand total of one minutes and 53 seconds to sign up for Teyvat Mythology for the spring semester.

WInter in Liyue is only slightly miserable, being so close to the ocean. It’s chillier than usual on this dreary day, yet something compelled you to exit your dorm and shakily make your way to the campus coffee shop for a warm drink. Coffee, hot chocolate, you haven’t quite decided yet, but just as you let yourself bask in the warm building, familiar ginger hair and blue eyes wash away the comfort.

Or do they douse you in security?

They remind you of your recent dreams that now have shifted away from stress and violence to easygoing summer days by the oceanside, running barefoot in the sand while collecting beautifully patterned azure starconches. Sometimes, you thrust a hand towards an oversized four-leaf clover on a wooden stake with the power of wind and catch yourself in the air, soaring and looking around to find more of the little shells. Other nights, they consist of climbing steep cliffs, only to sit at the edge in the clouds with fatigue wracking through your system and marvel at the view before you.

Someone’s always with you though, ruby earring and maroon mask and cobalt blue gem hanging from the waist, sprinting with you, playfully tackling you down, pulling you up towards mountain peaks, laying their head on your shoulders, brushing their lips against your cheek--

You welcome the change of peace in those dreams, but only because they don’t leave you quite as tired the next day, as if you’d been avoiding an inescapable dark force.

Part of you wants the burning question of why this person, this man, in all his glory and brightness, affects you so fucking much when you barely even know the guy -- why looking at him sends your heart to lodge itself in your esophagus, why your lungs feel like they’re so close to being completely collapsed under the weight of his stare, why feeling like you’re trapped and caught between wanting to run towards yet away from him. It makes no sense, and you’re tired of trying to make sense of anything you don’t exactly want to remember from your dreams for some, once again, inexplicable reason.

But there’s no time to think as he quickly ambles towards you, your own feet shuffling forward to meet him in a warped reference of a distance that constitutes to “the middle” before you can stop yourself. Your shivering hasn’t quite stopped yet, and Childe seems to take notice of it.

“Pretty cold out there,” he softly states. It’s cute, the way you’re curling in on yourself to retain some warmth.

“Y-yeah, not sure why I decided I really needed something warm to drink right now,” you reply and avoid his gaze. He watches you peer over his shoulder to squint at the menu display hanging from the ceiling, seemingly contemplating on what you should get.

“How about I get yours today? My treat for your class recommendation last time.” Anything to keep you here longer. Childe doesn’t realize how much he’s missed you, which confuses him, and chooses to ignore the fact that he’d been camping himself at the study tables in the building where the history department is located in hopes of even just catching a quick glimpse of you.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that,” you immediately attempt to subvert his generous offer, hands shooting out from your jacket pockets and waving in rejection. “It was nothing.”

“Please?” Childe puts on his best puppy eyes before reaching for one of your wrists, gently tugging you to the register. “Just this once?”

You want so badly to squash the tiny flare of disappointment that erupts in your chest from the newly acquired knowledge that this was just a one time thing. Do econ majors hate to feel in debt? That they must be even with everyone, or would rather have people indebted to them than the other way around?

There’s no time to think when Childe gives the cashier his order before turning to you, and without wanting to waste anyone’s time, you rattle off your usual beverage. He’s quick in fishing out his student ID to spend some of his campus currency, shooting you a boyish grin when you pout at your half-opened wallet.

“Go take that table over there,” he says, pointing to one in the corner by some windows. “I’m gonna tell my friends to go on without me.”

“I didn’t mean to intrude or pull you away from them,” you slightly panic. The sooner you can leave, the better. Right? “You don’t need to sit with me, I was just gonna head back to my dorm.”

“I insist. Go ahead, I’ll be right there.”

Why your brain takes his orders over your own is a mystery in and of itself, because before you know it, you’re plopped down in one of the lounge seats and staring off into space, mind reeling over the last two minutes. You pretend you can’t hear the way Childe’s friends nudge his arm playfully with their shoulders, wiggling their eyebrows suggestively as Childe tries to get them to stop being nonsensical.

“You’re gonna scare them off,” he hisses at them, hands pushing at their backs so they could finally leave him to his devices.

“Not before you do!” One of them laughs and Childe groans at their antics. “All right, all right, we’ll go. They’re cute though, might steal them if you don’t make a move.”

The darkening of the aura surrounding Childe is too quick for them to fully process, not before he dampens any of their fleeting hopes with a, “Don’t even fucking think about it.”

But it disappears just as fast when his and your drinks are called out, and he gives them one last shove before retrieving your to-go cups. Childe directs all his focus towards the seat diagonally from yours as opposed to the one that’s straight across, and you’re sharply ripped away from whatever reverie you let yourself slip into.

“Thank you,” you murmur, hands cupping the drink and feeling the heat seep into your fingertips. “You really didn’t have to, it was nothing big.”

“Can you blame me for just trying to find an excuse to finally talk to you?” He asks without a skip and you can’t tell if the quickening of your heartbeat is from a looming sense of doom or excitement. Those eyes, the tiny swirls of the ocean, blue like those shells buried in the sand--

It takes three seconds too long for you to understand where he was going with in his words, and part of you feels unamused at his smooth talking. You’ve always guarded yourself against guys like Childe, devilishly handsome who know their way around language semantics, ready to pull you in and just as ready to push you away. That (possibly unfair) bias, coupled with everything else you’ve been feeling for him, sounded the alarms and set the walls up around your heart. Perhaps you need to stop wearing your heart on your sleeve, because Childe immediately retracts his forwardness.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I promise I’m not looking for anything in return and you don’t owe me anything, but I really did just...want to sit and talk and...get to know you?” Childe trails off a little towards the end. Your body loosens up and relaxes just a tiny bit, feeling bad for your snap judgment. Let the guy do something nice, don’t look into it too much, you tell yourself. It’s a coffee, not a five-course dinner.

You reach out a hand towards him, small smile across your lips, ready for his to join yours in a quick handshake. “I’m (y/n), senior history and anthropology double major. It’s nice to meet you.”

The pounding of your heart against your ribcage has nothing to do with the shimmering of his eyes, nothing to do with the fact that his hand fits with yours just right, and nothing to do with the fact that an eerily similar voice from your dreams whispers, “I love you.”

You learn a number of things about Tartaglia in the four hours, like his family members and their respective interests, which classes he did and didn’t enjoy taking, certain takes on Schnezhnayan politics, his own various hobbies, crazy accidents from the occasional college parties, and more. He’s a bit of an open book, probably telling you way more than any regular person would, and definitely more than anything you revealed during all this time. Everything you tell him seems surface level, nothing too deep. The walls are still there to protect you from the unexplainable, profound feelings his presence seems to elicit, and luckily, he doesn’t prod any further. Childe feels the resistance and respects it, which just adds more brownie points in your book, and you almost feel bad for having given so little in return.

“I wish we were taking Teyvat Myth together,” he sighs when walking you back to your dorm, hands stuffed in his pockets. His ruby earring catches the light from the sunset, the shade almost complimentary to the golden amber rays that streak across the sky. “Would’ve helped having a history major in there.”

“Is that all I am to you, an answer bank?” You jokingly ask, but he watches concerningly as you shoot your gaze to the ground, mindfully stepping over the cracks between concrete slabs.

“Of course not,” a gentle sincerity reaches you, giving you the confidence to make eye contact with him. “I’m sorry for making it sound like that, it wasn’t my intention. I really just meant it as a way of saying if the professor or TA ended up being a total bore, then well, having you would make it more fun.”

“I’m sure I’d bore you even more,” chuckling, speeding up to get away. You’re growing too comfortable in whatever atmosphere Childe has created, like an enclosed air bubble bobbing gently in the depths of the sea and letting the waves carry you both to whichever ends of the earth.

“Hey,” he interjects, hand reaching out to stop you with a soft yank of your wrist. There is no resisting force from you, feet stepping backward until he meets you eye to eye. It’s unfair in the way that he can render you motionless by standing just an inch from you, arms brushing with his head tilted closer to your own. “Seriously, I’m glad we did this today. Are you?”

No, because now I don’t know what to think, I don’t know who you are, I’m not any closer to figuring out why you terrify yet leave me so enamoured with you, I’m torn between punching and kissing you and--

“Yes,” you subconsciously answer, brain immediately short-circuiting to scold yourself. “I had fun.”

His grin, charming, devilish, is so so bright, bright enough to rival the Liyue sun that sits on the pier, on the edge of the ocean, bright enough to rival the love that your fraternal twin showers you with on a daily basis. You want time to stop right here because you’re almost sick of the voice settled deep within your heart that screams, “Don’t get comfortable, you must run from him!”

“Good. Let’s do this again?” And you nod, of course you do. Foolish you. “Don’t be a stranger!” He calls out as he turns on his heel and waves over his shoulder, hand raised in the air, and you’re suddenly transported to another scene, a less refined version of the Liyue Harbor, watching as the head of ginger hair with a red mask in a flashier attire of grey and maroon walks away from you and onto a roaring, magnificent ship; big, ivory sails only seen in books and museums. It’s the same gesture of “see you later”, and just before he turns, you blink, and you’re back to seeing your campus again.

But Childe does look back once, warm and content that you’re still standing there, watching over him, and he can’t help but think about when he can spend time with you again, because suddenly, it truly feels like there’s not enough of it anymore.

“Excuse me, what’s a Red Bull?”

The last thing, or person rather, you expect to see on the last day of finals for the fall semester, is a small boy who looks way too young to be here, tugging on the sleeve of your windbreaker. He’s at most eleven, ten maybe, but he has eerily similar characteristics, as well as an accent that doesn’t quite belong to most Liyue natives. Still gathering your bearings from your own perusing of the fridges that hold all the possible beverages a college student could consume, you kneel down until you’re at eye level with the child.

“Repeat that for me? Are you looking for a Red Bull, you say?”

“Yes!” He beams and holds out a student ID that most definitely doesn’t belong to him. “My brother asked me to grab him one because he was busy with something.”

Your eyes flit over to the top shelves where the aforementioned cans of caffeine are located, and definitely too high for someone of his height to reach. “I’ll grab one for you. Did he ask for a specific flavor?”

“Nope, he said regular. Thanks, you’re really nice! Do you know my brother?” He asks, waving the ID at you so you can get a better look at the name. That’s definitely a face you recognize, but the name leaves you confused.

“Yeah, um,” glance over again, “I know...Ajax…”

“He’s the best toy seller in the whole world!”

Somehow, it suits him much better than Childe or Tartaglia, and you’re not quite sure what toys have anything to do with the matter at hand. Speaking of hands, the little boy grabs yours in sheer delight. “Can you take me back to his room? I kinda forgot the directions he told me, and everything’s so big around here.”

“Sure, just let me buy something, too, and I’ll take you.”

“Okay!”

The cashier isn’t the least bit fazed by the little brunette at your side -- it’s always common for family members to come in around the end of semesters to pick up kids or visit, and being an open building with snacks and drinks and a stopping point of most tours, they’ve seen it all. You even let him pick out a bag of chips and a candy bar for himself for being so polite and not a complete menace, paying with your own campus currency.

Teucer, as you’ve learned in the last two minutes, likes to point out things and ask you questions. Luckily, you have answers to most of them and do your best to pad the time, enjoying the feeling of a tiny hand wrapped around three of your fingers. It’s sweet to any normal passerby, believing they’re witnessing an older sister doting on their little brother around the holidays, but to Childe, seeing the tender sweetness on your face as you nod along to whatever Teucer is rambling about to you, sets his heart aflame. He’s already constantly on the verge of wanting to hug and kiss you and never let go, but you haven’t made any indication that you could potentially like him back, and this is just torture.

“Look what they bought me!” Teucer shoves his rewards in Childe’s face as if he had extremely poor eyesight, and you can’t help but laugh a little as you set his Red Bull down on his desk, clutching your own preferred beverage while looking around his room. Finals must have gotten to him with the unusual lack of tidiness in the small space, some laundry strewn here and there, a couple boxes of eaten microwave dinners in the metal wire trash can, some textbooks left open and marked with more sticky notes than you’ve ever seen. You’d only been here once before to drop off some food that he desperately messaged you about, stuck doing a project that he just couldn’t step away from.

“Pretend you don’t see the mess,” Childe pleads, handing a kid tablet to his brother but holding on before Teucer can take it. “What do you say to our nice friend here for buying you these snacks?”

“Thank you!”

“It was nothing,” you shyly smile, ruffling his hair. “I enjoyed meeting you.”

“Wait, what’s your name again?”

“It’s (Y/n).”

“Okay, (y/n)! Wait…(y/n)..as in…”

Teucer trails off and gives a look to his brother, one that spells curiosity and trouble, before he grabs your hand and pulls you into a corner. Any movement Childe makes to leave his desk chair is immediately squashed by Teucer’s disapproval, and the older man is left to helplessly worry when you’re told to squat down so secrets can be whispered into your ear.

“He talks about you a lot whenever he calls home,” and you want to laugh at Tecuer’s attempt to sound as scandalous as possible. “All the time! I think he likes you, like, like like.”

Oh. Oh dear.

“What makes you say that?” You whisper back, indulging both yourself and him, yet also internally snickering at how troubled Childe looks.

“Sometimes, he video calls mama, but we’ll all sit around and talk, and whenever he’s talking about how he saw you or something, he just looks...happy. Really happy.”

The surprise on your face does nothing to settle Childe’s nerves and he’s about to start wringing his hands together. Whatever Teucer was telling you couldn’t be good, probably embarrassing, like the one time he unceremoniously fell on his ass while ice skating over a frozen lake, or when he tried fitting fifteen marshmallows in his mouth and nearly choked on them when their mother caught them in the act, or--

“I think he just thinks of me as a good friend,” you try to inform Teucer, not letting yourself get any semblance of hope. “Nothing more, nothing less.”

“If you say so,” Teucer pouts. But then he stops whispering and bounds over back to his brother, grabbing the tablet before plopping down on the half-made bed.

“Look, I was overconfident and thought I could execute a perfect single loop on the ice, but there was a rock and I lost balance and--”

“I wasn’t being told any stories about you falling on ice, but do tell me more,” you chuckle and take some joy in watching the blush spread across his cheeks. It’s easy to tell that he’s mentally berating himself for jumping to conclusions.

“Well, first off, thanks for buying him all that, and my drink, too,” he sighs. “I spoil him enough as it is.”

“I can see why it’s hard not to,” you smile knowingly. “So is it just him here? Where’s the rest of your family?”

“Funny story, he somehow managed to convince my parents to let him come here on his own as his first ever plane flight, so I had to pick him up yesterday from the airport. He’s flying back with me tomorrow.”

“And the RA?” You ask with an eyebrow raised.

“Ah...well...what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him? Speaking of, what was Teucer whispering to you about?”

There’s a pensiveness that overtakes you when you look at Teucer again, who’s happily playing some sort of game and completely oblivious to the rest of his surroundings. You won’t, can’t, take his words to heart, and will take them with a grain of salt at most.

“Nothing important. Although I did learn something new...Ajax?”

“Say my name -- fuck, say it, please--”

“I guess cat’s out of the bag,” he chuckles and looks away, absolutely unaware of the flare of heat that swirls in your stomach from the fleeting vision just now. “I came up with other nicknames as a kid to seem cooler, and they just stuck with me. Plus, the business world is full of people who just want something from you, or just a transactional relationship. I’d rather not give my real name to them, if you know what I mean.”

“That’s fair,” you nod and lean to sit on the edge of his desk. A thought pops into your head and you turn the words over in your head like a washing machine on the spin setting, teeth gnawing on the flesh of your bottom lip. If Teucer hadn’t been in the room, he would’ve been this close to kissing you.

“But if it’s worth anything,” your voice slowly, softly starts, cautious and wary of your thoughts. “I think...Ajax suits you best.”

Curse fate. Curse the legendary Archons. Curse karma and deities and spirits because all he wants to do right now is stand and tower over you, trap you between himself and his desk so you can’t escape, take those pretty lips between his until they’re bruised and swollen because of him, hear you call out his name in the throes of pleasure so he can finally replace his fantasies with tangible memories. The unnatural, magnetic pull that draws him to you is unbearable now -- he feels like he’ll lose the last tendrils of his sanity if he doesn’t do something.

You can’t stop him from slowly reaching out to grab one of your hands, lifting it towards him until he’s close enough for you to feel his breath ghost over your knuckles. It sends a shiver down your spine and blood is pounding in your ears because you can’t begin to fathom what he’s thinking about while doing this, even more so when his lips make contact with your skin and your breath hitches, stuck in your throat as he languidly peeks at you beneath his eyelashes with a heated gaze, then lowly confessing, “My name sounds best when you say it.”

Good heavens.

It’s difficult to swallow and keep your composure, especially when Teucer yells out in glee over, what you can assume, beating something in his game, and Childe drops your hand. But his dilated pupils don’t retract in the slightest, refusing to let you look away so that maybe, you can understand what he’s trying to convey to you. He’s taking the first step because he’s terrible and can’t contain his self-control anymore, pushing the ball into your court, ready for you to either play or exit into the sidelines.

When you do blink, there’s a vision of your naked body wrapped around another, limbs clinging desperately to a sturdy and panting frame. Lips, much like the ones that have seared themselves onto your knuckles, are at your neck and sucking, biting, before moving to your ear and laying filthy words into them that drive you closer to the edge. It all happens so fast that you feel you’ve just experienced whiplash, yet also feeling secondhand embarrassment at how lewd some of these thoughts have been.

You can’t stay here any longer.

“I-I have to go,” spills off your tongue before you can really think about it. The way the haze shatters in his eyes is heartbreaking in its own way, but there’s no time for you to explain. Your brain is in overdrive and eager to run, run, run. It detects danger on all fronts, but you muster out a, “H-have a good break, come find me next semester, mmk?”

And you’re out the door with inhuman speed. When the door clicks shut, only then does Teucer look up from his screen and frown at the lack of your presence. “Where’d they go?”

Chlide doesn’t seem to hear him, and Teucer has never seen his big brother look so sad and confused before.

He holds on to that last tendril of hope, because mark his words, he will find you come January.

After about a week at home, enjoying the festive time with his family and mildly unconcerned about next year’s courses because that was a problem for another day, Childe has his first, crazy, nonsensical dream.

At least, that’s what he tells himself when he snaps awake and his body aches with exhaustion. Not only are his joints in agony, he also feels like he’s sporting unforeseen bruises, which makes absolutely no sense because he hasn’t done anything that would warrant them, no matter how much he and his brothers do some rough-housing. His night of sleep was all consumed by flashes and scenes of weapon fighting, lucid enough to remember feeling his arms flex and wield bows and double-headed polearms and being cognizant of all the enemies??? surrounding him. They ranged from deranged looking monsters, floating beings with soulless masks, and large humans in electricity-padded armor, to behemoth machines in the sky that could leave you within an inch of your life thanks to a drill for a hand?!

But what’s even worse is that you seem to have managed a deal with Morpheus himself and infiltrated his dreams. You were there, too, sometimes fighting with him, sometimes against him, much to his dismay, and while it was nice, he just didn’t get it. Why the friendliness and hostility? Why was there an anger that overtook him when looking directly at you, parrying your blade and sending harmful arcs of water toward your figure?

Why did he relish the fear in your eyes when he darted towards you with electricity cracking through the air?

There’s an overwhelming sensation now to grab his phone to text you and apologize -- for what, he can’t fathom and there are no words to accurately convey what he’s thinking. “Hey, sorry for wanting to kill you in my dream :( “? Or “Sorry for being a friend but then stabbing you in the back, but then being nice to you again”?

And the only thing that really made sense was the serenity and contentment that would course through his veins as the two of you danced around on ivory sandy beaches, picking up shiny blue starconches and taking down more weird creatures; the breathlessness when you would fall back into the water and re-emerge to reconfirm his beliefs that you were one of the most beautiful humans he’d ever laid his eyes on; the love--

Hold the fuck up.

He doesn’t love you. He likes you a whole lot and he’s severely and deathly attracted to you, but he doesn’t love you. Your existence has only been made known to him for about two months, and he didn’t really start talking to you until three weeks in. So no matter how comfortable he feels with you, no matter how much he wishes that you were sleeping peacefully next to him so his nights wouldn’t feel so lonely, it was too early, too hasty, to say that he loves you.

“I’ve been wondering, why didn’t you bring them home?” His mother asks him out of nowhere during breakfast, all to add to this extremely tumultuous roller-coaster morning he’s been having. All he wants to do is eat his bowl of milk and cereal, then potentially go back to sleep before fulfilling his promise to go with his siblings to the nearby skating rink. It takes everything in him to not choke on his spoon of grains.

“Agreed, didn’t you mention they didn’t really have any family to go back to and that the move to Liyue was semi-permanent?” His father chimes in, laying a quick peck on his wife’s temple. “It’s never fun to spend the holidays alone.”

“They would’ve felt like they were intruding,” Childe replies quietly, stabbing his bowl a few times before scooping up another spoonful of cereal to his mouth. “I know we’re friends, but we haven’t known each other for that long, and maybe they’d be uncomfortable because that’s a lot honestly…”

“You don’t know until you try,” his mother sings and pats him on the shoulder. “We do have a guest room after all.”

“For them and their twin?”

“And quite a comfortable futon with enough blankets.”

Childe smiles fondly at his parents’ kindness. He can only imagine what this winter break would’ve been like now -- you and your twin floating around, trying to help out with certain chores, sitting by the fireplace and watching TV, huddled up with mugs of hot chocolate, playing board games with everyone and engaging in all the shenanigans…

Laughing. Loving. Grinning. Basking.

Handing over one of his hoodies to you as a sick way of torturing yet blessing himself for seeing how lovely you look in his clothes, standing silently in the doorway as you attempt to help out with mealtimes next to his mother, watching you run around in the backyard and dodging his siblings’ snowballs while lodging a few of your own -- how wonderful it all would be.

But he squashes it down as quickly as possible, because you escaped his grasp. You ran away from his advances temporarily and even though you gave him permission to seek you out come the spring semester, he worries that you might take it back. Something will wake up inside of you to keep him out of your heart and your life, and he’s not confident enough at this point to believe there’s a good chance you will come spend the holidays with him and his family next year.

“Maybe next year, ma,” he sends her a hesitant, yet somewhat broken purse of his lips that’s just the least bit curved. It tells her everything he’s thinking, and the quick patting of his cheek lets him know she understands.

Half an hour later, Childe finds himself curled up on his side under the sheets, phone in hand as he stares at a blinking cursor. It shouldn’t be so hard to send a text to convey his holiday greetings, because that’s all it is -- part of him is becoming desperate and aching for some interaction with you, even if it’s just a text sent back for conventional social pleasantries. He’ll take it for now, right?

Before he can totally chicken out, his thumbs quickly type a, “Happy Holidays, (y/n) :)”, and it’s a little embarrassing how quickly after he hits the ‘send’ button that he tosses it over his shoulder so he’s not directly looking at it anymore. His heartbeat is too quick and he prays for no phantom vibrations or phantom sound notifications to avoid any disappointment of thinking he got a reply. It was a harmless text, yet he’s treating it like he just got assigned on a mission to go and murder someone for the first time. What will he do if you never text him back? Does that mean you really don’t want to talk to him? Are you dead in a ditch somewhere? Did you change numbers and not tell him? Did your twin get all the details and make the executive decision to block his number? Will he never get a chance to talk to you again, even if it’s about something in the Teyvat Mythology class next semester? Will you--

His shoulder screams in protest when he quickly flips himself over at the text notification sound, hands shakily unlocking his phone and opening up your conversation again. His heart rate significantly decreases, reaching back to its normal pace, especially as he reads the little words on his screen.

“Happy Holidays, Ajax ^^”

There is hope.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

You’re huddled under the comforter of your twin’s bed, phone just peeking above the edge as you stare at it with a brightness in your eyes. For the most part, you had been sulking there, apart from meals and going back to your own room to sleep, and mentally berating yourself for the way you reacted to Childe the week before.

“He just texted me to say happy holidays,” shrugging to put on a facade of indifference. It’s stupid that you’re trying to hide your feelings from your twin of all people, who could pick apart and identify your emotions in a heartbeat. A roll of his eyes lets you know that you haven’t fooled him at all.

“So you think that whatever comment he made, which was very suggestive and indicative of clearly non-platonic feelings, was just something...friendly? Remind me again how you came to that conclusion?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking!” You whine, looking around to see if there was anything you could toss at him. “It’s just, with everything, all the dreams and stupid gut feelings, I just -- I don’t know, okay?? I can’t tell you enough how much I wish I had just kissed his stupid face and see where it goes from there.”

“Okay, gross, but don’t beat yourself up. Though...I do have a good idea on how to maybe get a good reaction out of him. You wanna go to the New Years’ celebration at Xiangling’s?”

“I think she’d threaten me with a knife if I didn’t. She wanted to go shopping at some point, too.”

“I’ll drop the overprotective brother act for one night, okay? One night, just to let this happen, and for your peace of mind.”

He does a fair amount of conspiring with Xiangling, a friend they met one time at a restaurant a couple years ago, even tagging along on the shopping trip. Together, the three of you find yourself a dress that Xiangling swears would make any person drool over you, including Childe, because at the end of the day, he was a person with the possibility of being attracted to you.

You think it’s a bit silly, but honestly, what do you have to lose at this point?

At 11:57PM on New Years’ Eve, Childe is standing outside in the freezing cold with his family, arms lifting up bags of sparklers and fireworks. They’ve driven out closer to the wild like they do every year, and everybody excitedly gets lighters ready, making sure someone’s got a clock out there that tells the seconds. As the younger kids open up the packaging and argue over which one to set off first, Childe’s phone vibrates in his coat pocket.

It’s 11:58PM when he manages to fish the device out and thank himself for buying gloves that are touch-screen friendly, excited to see that there are two texts from you, the latter reading, “Happy New Year!”. It doesn’t matter that you’re a little early, but he’s mainly intrigued by the fact a photo came before it. In his mind, you’re probably curled up with your twin brother, hopefully a selfie because wow, he misses your face.

He gets something else instead, and he is so glad that it’s dark outside and the electric lamp they have is too far away from him to draw any attention.

You have your arm around your brother’s waist and another girl’s that he doesn’t recognize, but it’s a full frontal view of your outfit, one that hugs your curves beautifully and shows more cleavage than he’s ever seen from you, sophisticated and elegant, yet fun and leaving enough to the imagination. There’s a bright smile coming from all of you, and you look like you’re at someone’s house or apartment with plenty of other people milling around in the back, but they don’t matter, not when all he can focus on is you.

Gorgeous, breathtaking, arousing, mind blowing, and gods, he wishes he could teleport to Liyue at this moment, find you, and kiss you right at midnight. Fuck the fact that he doesn’t exactly believe in superstitions like, “Kissing your significant other at midnight means you’ll last forever!” but he’s willing to take the chance with it on this night and the ones after, if he’s allowed. He tries not to think too much about pinning you against the wall and letting the world dissolve -- wants to be the one with the privilege to drag down that zipper and feel his bare skin on yours, and --

As Teucer starts yelling there’s only a minute left, he instinctively locks his phone and shoves it away out of anyone’s view. The last thing he needs is his family teasing him about ogling at your photo for a straight 50 seconds, wide-eyed and pupils on the verge of dilating, the visible breath leaving his mouth just a smudge more dense and prominent than usual.

The only thing he can do to distract himself from popping a boner in front of his parents is to join in on the countdown, making sure all the fireworks are set up correctly and grabbing a sparkler for himself. He waves it around with Tonia and promises to fulfill her wishes of taking one of those pictures right as she draws a pattern in the air. Their excitement is palpable and addicting, and even though the larger fireworks set off a few seconds after midnight hits, the nostalgia fills his lungs with fond memories and future wishes that they only continue this tradition for as long as possible, and hopefully, with you at his side.

When it’s 12:04AM, you get a picture message back of Childe bundled up in a black paletot coat, matching beanie and all, a gloved hand holding a sparkler and lips curved upwards, with a caption that says, “Happy New Year’s! See you soon :)”. You show it to Xiangling and your brother, both taking it as a win in their books, although the former does tipsily protest that there should be a better indicator of Childe’s brain breaking at how amazing you look right now. Maybe she’s prophetic, because another text chimes in and the words set you aflame, as well as suggestive whoops into your ears.

It’s a simple, “You look incredible btw”.

If you didn’t want to properly savor this moment, you would’ve found the nearest shot of the strongest liquor and tossed it back with abandon. But you want to remember the warmth in your veins that wasn’t from the alcohol or the heating, the fluttering of your heartbeat, the teeth-baring grin that you couldn’t fight off, the constant re-reading of those four words -- because they’re so different from everything you had been feeling before with him, the need for protection, the need to escape. Instead, you’d like to be in his arms right now and see for yourself how he’d look at you in this moment, and if he would take any action.

You want him to. So, so bad.

Childe spends his last week at home hating the fact that you’re just sitting around somewhere in Liyue, doing whatever you’re doing, probably doing some light preparation for your last semester of classes, and he’s not there to take advantage of all this free time and hang out with you. When classes start, it’ll be busy and hectic. You still have your thesis to finish and revise, and while that won’t eat up all your time, it’s still some that he’d want to fill in with his presence if he could. He debates whether or not he should ask for your schedule and compare it with his, maybe set up meetings every other day or propose that they all eat one meal together every day. Childe’s not quite sure of what you plan to do after graduation, as it hasn’t come up in conversation yet, but either way, he’s determined to stay in contact and make things work out. Long distance isn’t ideal, but with technology now, he’ll take it.

He feels a little bad for how excited he probably looked to be leaving home, uncharacteristic for the most part. His older siblings have already gone back to their respective homes, and it’s mainly Teucer and Tonia that worry and tear up when he starts packing his belongings. Tonia finds it unfair that Teucer got to meet you first and the latter makes sure to rub it into everyone’s faces. It’s hard for Childe to sleep on the plane because he’s thrumming with excitement, yet somehow even more nervous than usual when the plane hits small bouts of turbulence, and he doesn’t seem to relax until he sets foot back on campus.

He’s here. It’s January, and you’re physically closer to him than ever in the last two weeks.

“Found you.”

On the first day of classes, you’re sitting alone with some salad greens in a bowl, poking your fork at some scraps while you watch something on your phone, earbuds in and back towards the entrance of the canteen. It would explain the unannounced entrance of the very person who’s been at the forefront of nearly every thought in the last 96 hours, his fingers gingerly removing an earbud to surprise you as best as possible, and you startle in your seat.

Your heart kicks into overdrive when he hands you back your earbud and pulls out the seat next to you, setting his own plate of food down as he plops down in his chair. But then he says nothing afterwards, instead choosing to send you a cheeky grin before digging in. You’re left to slowly phase out of your state of shock, stuck between either running away or frantically texting your twin to come and save you even though he was off on a date with Keqing.

It’s not that you weren’t elated at the fact that Childe had done exactly as you told him last month, you just weren’t...prepared? It’s a shitty excuse and a cop out -- you’re mainly just having trouble with racking your brain to find the right words. What are you supposed to say? What should you do? Is it socially acceptable to lean over and kiss him on the cheek because that’s what you’d like to impulsively do at this very second??

“So you did,” you settle and steal a roasted potato wedge from his plate. It’s his turn to be taken by surprise, but he gets over it much quicker than you do. In fact, he spears two wedges and drops them in your bowl, smiling at you as best as he can with a mouth full of food. You give them your thanks before the silence settles in again.

“Did you have a good break?” He asks before his next bite.

“I did. You?”

“It was nice. My parents said I should’ve brought you and your twin home to spend the holidays with us. Can’t say it didn’t cross my mind before finals.”

Holy shit, what? “We couldn’t intrude like that, but that’s really nice of you guys.”

“That’s okay, there’s plenty of chances to visit later.”

You tilt your head and furrow your eyebrows. “But we graduate this semester?”

Childe challenges you with one of his own eyebrows raised. “And? Are we never gonna see each other again?”

Honestly, the possibility had occurred to you. You aren’t entirely sure of Childe’s plans after graduation, and if that meant he was staying in Liyue or going back to Snezhnaya or even moving to Inazuma or Mondstat. While people preach on and on about how lasting friendships and relationships are often formed during college, you believe it’s more common to slowly drift apart as life gets busier. And if Childe moved away, or if you did, it’d be hard to consistently keep in touch with 10 hour workdays.

The thought saddens you, regardless. You like him so much and you’re glad that he was even in your life to begin with, because as unbelievable as it sounds, seeing him was almost akin to the feeling of coming home. Amidst all your nerves, your confusion, your spiraling thoughts, something deeply sated in your heart was a comfort that you found with very few people in your life whenever in his presence.

The thought of leaving and never looking back somehow doesn’t feel new -- it’s bittersweet, but the air in your lungs feels like it’s surrendered to something, like it was to be expected.

“You can’t just leave without telling me--”

“It was last minute! I had no choice!”

“You could’ve written up a message, anything--”

“Can you imagine the position you’d be in if the message got intercepted? I wouldn’t have been safe, she’d make you come after me--”

“As if you’d be any safer in Inazuma of all places! That’s the one place I can’t easily get to!”

“I can take care of myself, Childe, I don’t need you to protect me.”

“This isn’t about me protecting you, (y/n) and -- stop walking, will you?!”

“Then what is this about?” You spin on your wheel with eyes aflame. “Why are you so angry with me? It’s normal for me to disappear for weeks at a time, why was this any different?”

“Because you could’ve died!” He yells back in despair, chest heaving. Your silence is his cue to continue. “You could’ve died and I wouldn’t have known until much later. You could’ve died and all I’d ever think about were the things I never got to say to you, and how I wish I had treated every day with you like it was our last.”

It isn’t hard to tell that you’re stunned and at a complete loss for words. Childe often hides behind facades of charm and wit, and only when he is truly weak does he choose to be this vulnerable, baring his heart for you to see.

“I only have two nightmares in this world. One, my family being harmed in any way. Two, reading in a report or hearing from an agent that you’ve been captured and killed.”

“I like to think that we will.”

His hand reaches out to lay on top of yours, giving it a quick squeeze. “Well, let’s make the most of it this semester.”

Conversation afterwards is easy, filling each other in on holiday activities. Childe speaks extensively about several family traditions and you listen with rapt attention, basking in how fond he is of all of them. Even as you both bring your dishes to the return belt and leave, he immediately offers to drive you both somewhere to get boba, noticing your reluctance to part ways. But boba shops have to close, and you both have class tomorrow morning, and you’re both finding any excuse to keep talking, even if that means sitting outside your dorm building on a nearby bench.

You eventually bid each other good night’s and see you later’s, him refusing to walk away until the heavy door locks shut behind you after you swipe your student ID, and you looking over your shoulder to watch his figure disappear into the night.

True to his intentions, Childe makes great efforts to meet you at least once a day, and he can’t get enough. Each parting from you tugs and tugs at his heart, as if there’s a high possibility you’ll never want to see him again the next day, and he wouldn’t know what to do with himself. Your twin and Childe get along well for the most part, and he even meets Xiangling on one of her shifts at her regular restaurant, who sends you a salacious wink and an eyebrow wiggle over his shoulder that nearly causes you to burst from embarrassment.

February rolls over without a hitch, even if you’re a little disappointed that Childe didn’t make a move for Valentine’s Day. Granted, you two still spent time with each other and he’s so darn physically affectionate and he bought you a carnation from the event his dorm held, but you wish you had the guts to fess up and just kiss the man.

It’ll happen some day, you tell yourself. You have time before graduation.

Two days before the end of the Friday that would signal the start of Spring Break, you wake up in a cold sweat, mind reeling and head splitting, heart so so heavy, as a connection is made between your present and your dreams. Not long after, there are tears streaming silently down your face and into your open palms placed in your lap, and you sit in shock as everything comes back to you. Memories are such treasured burdens, you realize.

For the most part, you had gotten used to the dreams, choosing to take charge of what you know and feel now with Childe over succumbing to some strange neurological premonitions. Especially in your dreams when many people’s faces were blurred over and hazy, and the only things you could rely on were voices, touch, and other physical features. You thought that maybe your mind was just playing tricks by transposing Childe’s hair onto a body that was also strikingly similar to his, but for the first time last night, you could see each defining feature on his face as clear as day.

The sight of his figure arching gracefully over yours, the water arrows that appeared out of thin air, the back that protected you from some military men, the voice that said, “Hey girlie, hold still.”

And that was when you had snapped awake to your current state.

Past the initial shock and uncontrollable tears, you soon bent over as sobs wracked your chest, overwhelmed by all the emotions and the pain the memories brought you; losing your twin, finding him to only be left with even more questions after roaming for decades and decades, meeting all your loved ones throughout Mondstat and Liyue, fighting yet falling so hard for Childe, feeling the fear when facing his Foul Legacy form, hating him for Osial, loving him, breathing heavily as the tip of your blade was pointed at his neck and his own just centimeters from yours, tendrils of water inching closer and closer--

Everything makes sense now.

When you meet your twin for lunch at the cafeteria, you pay no mind to the fact that you’re in public and hug him harder than you ever have in years. He’s already a little alarmed that your eyes seem swollen and you look like finals came two months early, but when he asks what’s wrong, all he gets is a shake of your head and nothing more than, “Just a bad nightmare. I love you, y’know that?”

“I love you too?”

“Don’t sound so unsure, now let’s go and get in line before they run out of Jueyun Chili Chicken.”

Even when you meet Xiao later in the early evening to talk about your thesis, you find yourself holding back more tears just two minutes in, reminded of his past and his own life, and he’s moderately concerned, hesitantly handing you a tissue from the corner of his desk when a stray tear escapes. “Is everything okay?” He hesitantly asks, really hoping that he didn’t do anything to make you cry.

“No,” you almost wail and sniffle while dabbing at your eyes. “Sorry, it’s just been a really long day.”

Xiao’s inquisitive gaze softens, remembering how hard undergraduate life could be sometimes. Graduate school was a whole other level, but that shouldn’t discount your own personal difficulties. Plus, in all of the year and a half that he’s known you, you’ve never broken down like this before in front of him.

“You work really hard, Xiao,” you continue, and he’s not sure where this is coming from. “You’re always so helpful and willing to work with me and answer my stupid questions and like-- you practice self-care, right?”

Xiao nods as a white lie, but it seems to comfort you. Maybe too much because you pull him in for a quick and unexpected hug, and you both decide to reschedule this meeting for tomorrow.

As per usual, you wait for Childe to join you for dinner since you finished up earlier than expected. It gives you more time to think about everyone from Mondstat -- Kaeya, Diluc, Lisa, Jean, Amber...funny to think that some things never changed as you compared their past version to the ones you know now.

“Mora for your thoughts?”

There’s a peace that warms your heart when you hear Childe’s voice, one that forces you to smile at him as he sits down next to you. “Just thinking about old friends.”

“I have to admit, I’ll be a little jealous if it’s another guy taking up more space than me in that pretty brain of yours.”

What a flirt. This man isn’t good for your heart. “Who said you had any to begin with?”

He dramatically places a hand over his heart. “You wound me, (y/n). How will I ever recover?”

“You’re ridiculous,” you snicker. Childe reaches over to pinch your cheek and you bat at him in protest. Easily, he grabs one of your hands and simply pulls you towards the food lines, knowing that you’ll stop fighting back soon.

Part of it feels strange now to feel and see his hands with no leather gloves on.

“Childe,” you start halfway through your meal, continuing after he hums back in reply. “Do you believe in reincarnation?”

He freezes briefly, but recovers so quickly that if you hadn’t been watching so closely, you wouldn’t have noticed. “I think it’s neat, the idea of having past lives. Why do you ask?”

What he really wants to ask is if you’ve been having those dreams, too; if he’s starring in your nights like you have been in his.

“Just a thought, especially since you’re taking Teyvat Myth now, too.”

“Do you...do you think if there was a past life, that we knew each other?”

There’s something about the look of content on your face before you meet his gaze -- he thinks that you know more than you’re letting on but you’re holding back for some reason. He wants to know what’s going through your brain right now, why the fondness in your eyes sends a jolt through him like he’s been searching for it all his life, if you know anything about this magnetic pull between you two.

“I like to think that we knew each other well.”

Even though the first day of your returned memories was somewhat eventful, you couldn’t help but feel yourself wanting to pull back from Childe -- at least, until you can successfully compartmentalize which emotions belonged to you past self and which ones belonged to your current mindset. You didn’t quite agree with his duties and his affiliation with the Fatui back then, even if he had his reasons that did make sense, to some degree.

The killing, the threatening, so intent on stealing Rex Lapis’s Gnosis in the name of the Tsaritsa, summoning Osial as a mean to an end -- and you definitely can’t forget how stubborn he was in not listening to your protests, so caught up in his brain that you had betrayed him and sent you plummeting to a near-death experience despite his earlier promise of no intention of killing you specifically.

Everything had been toeing a faint, thin line with Childe then. Undeniable chemistry and tension, guarding yourself for yours and Paimon’s safety, slashing at Fatui agents, whispering out pleas and affirmations of “I’m yours” while riding him, sometimes having to sneak out in the mornings…

The only thing you don’t remember is how everything ends -- maybe it’ll come back to you eventually, but for now, you think you’re okay not knowing.

If Childe still doesn’t remember anything from back then, you think it’d be unfair to spend time with him in all your conflicting emotions, even when it’s spring break, where you have so much more hours in the day to be with each other than normal. Fun plans around Liyue had been made, like a two-day one-night trip to Yaoguang Shoal, and you’re this close to cancelling on him.

But he had been looking forward to it so much, even made most of the preparations for it. Who are you to rob that joy from him when it was you who couldn’t figure out your own shit? Are you self-destructing?

Perhaps.

Before you know it, you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his car, staring out the window at the scenery. Somehow, it pleased you to see that the nature of Liyue had been carefully preserved over the many centuries despite its development into the modern age. You get lost in picking apart the differences between then and now that you don’t notice how quiet you’ve fallen and Childe looks over worriedly when you show no reaction to your favorite songs playing on the stereo.

Even when he calls your name once, twice, nothing gives as you clearly have tuned everything out. So he leaves you be until there’s about half an hour left on the drive, unable to hold back and succumbing to reach over for your hand. You startle so strongly that he almost feels bad for having done it unannounced. But what’s even more disturbing is that this isn’t really the first time.

You’ve been talking to him less, often sitting quietly and staring off into another world that he can’t seem to reach. His texts are answered less frequently and with less wit and enthusiasm, so much so that he just appreciates you still show up to see him. Each time he asks if you’re okay, you always affirm that you are. He’s had a hard time believing you, but Childe believes you’ll tell him when you’re ready, surely.

It’s a little ironic yet fateful that Childe planned to bring you here, of all places. In the past, you had spent many days and nights running around in the sand with him, fighting slimes and hilichurls and collecting starconches for him. You remember laying on a large towel next to him as you both looked up into the sky, pointing out stars and constellations while sharing endless kisses away from prying, spying eyes.

“I’m sorry, I must’ve zoned out,” you sincerely apologize.

“It’s okay, I just wanna make sure you relax while we’re here. This is supposed to be a vacation.”

“You’re right,” you agree and squeeze his hand. “Let’s make the most of it before we become adults who are too busy to have fun like this again.”

And you do. Childe rented a small beach cabin (rich boys) closer to one end of the shoreline, just big enough with two bedrooms, a bathroom, and a small kitchen with a dining table. You help him bring in your bags and some groceries bought the night before, setting them down quickly so you can peer out the window again to take in the view. Childe picked a good time, too. Although it’d be a little chilly at night, the day was still warm and mainly overcast with clouds.

“What do you say we change into our swimsuits and head down to the water?”

“Sure.”

Childe hadn’t really been expecting for you to step out in a large, casual tee and gym shorts, one shoulder exposed. He might have been hoping to see a little more skin, but his mother didn’t raise a chauvinistic pervert for a son.

The light in your eyes as you both approach the water is everything he had been missing the last few days, your excitement and joy contagious. As soon as you place everything down on the sand, you kick off your flip flops and leave him behind to step into the water, giggling at feeling the waves crash over your ankles and bring sand between your toes. Childe approaches you from behind and starts smearing sunblock on the back of your neck, to which you just grin beautifully at him in thanks and he has to fight off the desire to kiss you right then and there.

You’re too caught up in embracing the ocean afterwards to feel the shrinking distance between you two, mistaking his warmth for the general spring air. It isn’t until he’s done with your shoulders that he hands you the bottle to leave you to do the rest of your body, and when you turn to thank him, he’s much closer than you remember. His eyes are gentle, holding your gaze and almost daring you to look away first.

But if there’s one thing you can place without a shred of doubt, it is the unmistakable look of love, because you had seen it many, many times before without knowing until later what it meant.

How so incredibly lucky you were to have Childe back in your life now, loving you all the same, and with no life-threatening barriers. Fate or the Archons have given you a second chance, and you’d be damned to take it for granted.

Childe welcomes your lips against his, wasting no time to bring you into his arms so you’re pressed against him as much as possible. He can’t care for the overt public display of affection because this is everything he’s wanted for months now, waiting patiently for you to give him permission to make you his. Your lips are incredibly soft and pliant against his as you first kiss him patiently, then applying more force and desperation to taste more of him. He mirrors you, one hand cradling the back of your head and the other on your neck with a thumb extended to your jawline, teeth moving to nip at your bottom lip. It’s dangerous, the way you smile against his lips, and when he sinks his teeth in deeper before pulling back, your quiet mewl nearly drives him over the edge.

But you’re in public, and this was an amazing first kiss. You two have a beach to enjoy and a fun night planned, and now that he doesn’t have to hold back on his affections, it’ll be even better.

His lips part from yours regretfully, his eyes languidly opening to meet yours. Out of the corner of his eye, he spots a blue starconch in the sand and freezes.

It’s not that he’s never seen one before, but something clicks. You. The shore. Starconches. Starry nights. His dreams. Monsters. Gods. Fighting. So much fighting. Training. His family. Dragons. You. Falling. You falling. You fighting him. Yelling. Kissing. Loving. Chasing. Him chasing you before you disappear at a teleport waypoint that somehow you only can operate. The abyss. Your twin.

Oh, Archons.

“ -ou okay, Ajax? Ajax?”

He snaps to look at you again. How does he go about this? How does he ask?

“(Y/n)...have you ever heard of the Fatui Harbingers?”

He has to admit that it’s a bit amazing to be able to identify all the emotions that cross your complexion, from curiosity to realization to conflicted. You’re actively trying to piece everything together without revealing too much on the off-chance that you’re wrong, that Childe hasn’t regained his memories and is just asking about something from class randomly and completely out of the blue.

Wait.

“You haven’t reached that material yet in class,” you whisper, heart in your throat at the realization. Could it really be…

“I was once Tartaglia, eleventh Harbinger of the Fatui, who possessed a Delusion and used my Foul Legacy Transformation with you several times,” he murmurs back, tucking a stray tendril behind your ear. “Is it too late to apologize again for summoning an ancient god and letting you fall about five floors with no warning?”

He should’ve been prepared for you wrapping your arms around his neck, pulling him in for a tight embrace. “No, never, but I spent weeks after kicking your ass so you’ve been long forgiven.”

Childe burrows his face into your neck, breathing in your scent and basking in this moment. There was so much to talk about, but you two arguably had more time in the world than ever with nothing holding you back. There was no impending war looming over, no one on the run, no opposing forces. His silent wish for a different life with you seems to have been answered finally. If running into you had been the event to set everything in motion, he only wishes he’d done so earlier.

All that matters now is you’re here together in this plane of existence, given a chance to love again, and experience everything you couldn't before.

As written in the stars, take my soul for it is forever yours.

fin

#childe x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin scenarios #genshin impact scenarios #genshin imagines #childe #tartaglia #childe angst #genshin impact #genshin angst #genshin impact angst #this fic maybe took two years off my life

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shybunny · 3 years

Text

🔞 this post contains erotic writing intended for adults. do not interact with this post if you are a minor/under eighteen

😌 extreme size difference, unusual genitalia, heavy petting

surprise — it’s shadow of the colossus porn

You climb into the palm of his hand and lay down in it, with your head pillowed against his wrist and your legs resting between his fingers. He holds very still. The fur on his hand is thick and comfortable, warm and pleasant to lie on. Without thinking you reach out a hand and begin to run it through the rough fur beneath you. He lets out a long, contented sound like a sigh. Carefully, slowly, he bends his middle finger until it is resting against you, and starts to gently rub it against your stomach. Is he petting you back? It feels nice. His finger makes longer and longer passes over your body, up between your breasts and back, then brushing your collarbones and back. The wide base of his middle finger is pressed right between your legs now, and the higher he runs his finger up your body, the more pressure he puts on your mound, on your clit. You feel a wetness growing between your legs, and it excites and embarrasses you to think that he might feel it. The way he’s stroking you, so carefully… It feels so good… You give up on petting the fur of his palm and wraps both arms around his finger, hugging it closer against you. The pressure against your clit increases, causing a little whimper to escape you. He lets out a low, rumbling growl, a noise like the earth itself might make, and presses his finger more firmly against you. That’s all the encouragement you need. You begin to grind your wet slit against the base of his finger, slowly at first, embarrassed but unable to stop yourself, unable to keep the little mewling noises from escaping you.

“Yes,” he says, in his fathomless voice, rough and rushed in this moment with an unfamiliar excitement. “I remember such things. Yes, little one. Will you cum for me?”

A groan escapes you as he says this, and you buck your hips faster, rubbing against him harder. His middle finger is pressed firmly against your body, and his other fingers have closed gently around you, in a loose cage, pressed warmly against your sides. You feel utterly safe between his fingers. You roll your hips against him, clinging to his finger as tightly as you can, rubbing your whole body against it, openly moaning and panting now as the pressure builds in your core.

“Yes,” he rasps deeply. “Like that, just like that. Cum on my hand. Cum for me.”

You can’t remember the last time you felt this good. You cry out as you cum, head thrown back and mouth open in complete abandon, gripping handfuls of his fur and trembling between his fingers.

“Yes…” he sighs, long and husky.

You collapse back into the palm of his hand, blissed out and exhausted. His fingers are still curled around you, and he carefully strokes your hair with the tip of his thumb.

“You are lovely,” he says, and the vibrations of his deep voice send another shiver through you. You look up at him, and are shocked to see that his swirling eyes — normally blue — are an urgent shade of red as he gazes down at you.

“What’s wrong?” you whisper, almost frightened.

“You have made me feel wild,” he growls.

“What can I do?” you ask.

He carefully lifts the hand in which he is cradling you, then slowly lowers his huge, long body until he is lying on the ground, enormous long legs stretched out for dozens of meters. He takes up almost the entire floor of the little canyon. He holds his long arm steady, careful not to jostle you. Then he slowly lowers you and places you on the grass between his legs. At the apex of his thighs is a wall of thick fur, nearly twice as tall as you. You steady yourself against it, and an enormous sigil begins to glow bright blue through the fur under your hands. It is a strange symbol, full of winding lines and jutting horns. In wonder, you trace one curling shape with the tips of your fingers. The fur beneath you twitches, and a tremor goes through the entire length of the giant; you feel the vibration of it in the earth beneath you.

“I beg you,” he says, and the canyon walls echo his strained plea, and even the vibration of his voice reaches you through the soles of your bare feet. A shiver runs up your spine, and heat pools once again between your legs. You begin to rub your hands up and down, back and forth through the fur that bears the glowing mark, caressing and massaging, sending more deep shivers through the molten, glowing flesh of the colossus and drawing guttural moans from his enormous throat.

“Please, I beg you,” he says in a low, strained voice that makes your knees tremble. You can no longer contain yourself. You press yourself forward into the rough fur, rubbing your whole body against the sigil, bucking your hips against him without thinking and moaning his name over and over.

“Yes…! Yes!” he pleads, voice huge and raw. You hear loud, wet scraping sounds where his fingers gouge into the soft earth of the canyon floor, and as you move against him, as the pressure in your core builds and builds, his groans grow rougher and wilder, and the great mound of glowing fur trembles beneath you.

He roars when he cum, an enormous, inhuman sound that would have hurt your ears if you weren’t so preoccupied with your own loud orgasm. You have to grip handfuls of his fur to keep yourself upright, praying that it won’t hurt him. The bright sigil pulses and pulses; his long legs tremble on either side of you; you moan his name into his fur.

Finally the sigil fades and disappears. You let yourself fall backwards into the soft grass, panting. You are both silent, and after a while the birds begin to chirp again in the distance. Idly you lift your leg and run your foot over the fur where the sigil was, wringing one final guttural gasp from the colossus.

#colossus x reader #size kink #macro/micro #exophilia #smut fic #nsft text #nsft #smut #pwp

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whet-ones-write · 3 years

Text

Baku Birthday 2021

So I’m posting this a /little/ early because I’m just too excited to share this fic! So I joined in with Bakugou’s Birthday Bash hosted by these amazing people!!

@phasmwrites @katsukikitten @bakugotrashpanda @lady-bakuhoe @jodrawssmut & @ramen-rambles

And since joining I couldn’t have found a more supporting and helpful group on Discord!! Special thanks to: @hoe-doroki for being my beta reader and editor!! Thank you for dealing with my sorry, inconsistant ass and giving me the strength to pull though and just do some of my best writing to date! I haven’t written so much in so long and it was rather nice!!

And to @notchesandbullets for telling me I can do this and be those words of praise when I needed them the most helping me pull though and finish this!

Contains: DragonShifter!Reader x Bakugou. Fantasy Setting,

WC: 3755 - Masterlist to all the works!!

Warnings: 18+, SMUT, oral (Female + M reviecing), Cowgirl, unprotected sex, Cum eating, Premature Ejaluations (if you squint), Age gap? It’s implied Reader is much older than Katsuki. Restraining Katsuki, Pervert Kiri

Looking around his throne, Katsuki couldn’t help but scoff at what came to his mind. He had everything a chief could want, but it still wasn’t enough for the young, barbaric male. Vast and grand was his home. People were happy, going about their day, harvest due and bountiful, the river running steady and clean.

Though, he was still missing a vital element to his life. Someone to make him happy, to have by his side and call his own. So the only thing he had left to need or want was someone to walk into battle with him, because not just any person would.

No, they had to have a few key traits to meet his standards. They needed to have a willingness to fight, to want to protect those around him and themselves with everything they had. They had to be able to take flack and a joke but also be serious when the time came. They had to be able to take no shit from anyone and make sure to be willing to put others in their place if they went out of line.

It wasn’t much! Honestly…Or at least he thought so.

“...ugou, Bakugou!” A voice snapped him from his thoughts as he glanced at his adviser, unhappy over the fact he was interrupted from his thoughts.

“What is it?” Katsuki questioned as he lazily shifted his attention to the man standing at his right side.

“As I was saying, there have been some sightings of strangely coloured dragons in the nearby valleys. We do not know if it is one or more or if they’re passing by or staying. Moreover, they have yet to attack the villages, but it would be wise to at least investigate the surrounding areas before anything happens,” his assistant spoke as he looked for what the King was going to do.

Taking a moment, Katsuki couldn’t help but smile as he got up and began to stretch. “Eijirou, prepare for a flight. It seems there might be someone that needs a reminder of who those valleys belong to.”

Though to the Bakugou family dragons were revered and seen as good omens, there was a limit. Dragons that fought over territory could be destructive and wipe entire lands from existence, so if there was ever more than one in an area it could prove to be a bad omen instead.

One dragon or one family were seen as protecting the lands, keeping invaders at bay and being loyal by nature. Though another one could offset the balance, should they prove to be hungry or hostile. The valleys in which the Bakugous lived were famous for having the longest standing relationship with the red dragons of the Kirishima clan. They had served one another for generations with the latest duo being that of the Barbarian King Katsuki Bakugou, son of the late Chieftess Mitsuki Bakugou, and the dragon that protected the lands, Eijirou Kirishima, son to late Hikori Kirishima.

Standing at seven feet, the mostly human nodded and saluted as he walked with his friend outside. “Yes, sir.” He beamed happily, seemingly excited by the prospect of seeing another dragon. “Though, what are your instructions, should they prove hostile?”

“Hostile?” Katsuki mused, placing a hand to his chin as the other morphed into that of a forty-foot-long dragon from the tip of his nose to the very end of his arrow-pointed tail. Once finished, Kirishima leaned down to lower his wing, letting Katsuki get on by walking up the thin bone of the arch of his wing and holding onto his spines, climbing all the way to behind the red horns that adorned his head. “Should the dragon wish to try and stay, we will start through the diplomatic route.”

That was the thing about Katsuki. For all his bloodlust and anger, he was quite the strategist when it came to monsters several times his size. Having worked with Eijirou for some time, they had built up a bond of trust valuable for when trouble arose.

“Should that fail, we will have to take things up a notch. I would like to avoid a fight if at all possible.” He sighed as he clung to the horn while the other took off. “The valley is full of fish making their way upstream for the breeding season,” he muttered before groaning and slapping his face as he remembered something, getting even more irritated.

“It could be a female dragon,” he groaned, looking down to Eijirou. “With breeding season approaching, it could prove very troublesome,” he grumbled as he lay down to keep low as Eijirou took to the sky.

“Hm,” came a deep rumble from the beast.

A female dragon would be far better than a male should they be able to move it along. It could prove worse in the long run, though, as other males came to try and have their chance, destroying the local landscape fighting over the female.

“Not going to be influenced? I know you’re a young male.” Katsuki snickered as the dragon grunted and shook slightly in a ‘no’. “Don’t worry, whatever happens we’ll sort it,” he offered quietly as he calmed down to focus on the mission at hand.

They took to the base of the mountains and looked for any signs of disturbance. With fear running though the nearest village, it was clear to see that the crops were half unattended and in the middle of being harvested. “I’m going to go take a look at the surrounding areas and talk to the locals. You go on up the mountain and scout that out,” the Chief commanded. With a short huff and a nod, Eijirou turned to slowly and carefully make his way up and around the mountains.

It wasn’t long before Eijirou returned with some news. Meeting in the center of town, the dragon descended slowly and waited for Katsuki to approach before he spoke. “I found a trail of blood from the ground leading up to a cave roughly halfway up the mountain.

Nodding, Katsuki signaled for Eijirou to lower himself so he could climb onto his back. “Sounds about right. The locals saw a figure flying unsteadily across the sky and into the mountain. There was a loud thump before all went silent. It’s more than likely a dragon. It hasn’t done harm to the villagers yet, though, so a slow, quiet and careful approach is needed.”

Coming to the entrance of the cave, Katsuki hopped off Eijirou, immediately noticing the plants had been recently crushed and a splattering of dried blood was leading into the cave. Looking up to Eijirou, he nodded and quietly led the way in. Eijirou used a small breath to light the torch that Katsuki would have to use to see.

It didn’t take them long to find the cause of the blood and crushed plants. Lying in front of them was a bronze dragon just as large as Kirishima, if not bigger, bleeding heavily from it’s hind leg, belly and face.

“Holy shit,” Katsukimuttered as he looked over the sight. He froze as the dragon raised its head. Chuckling, you looked over at Katsuki and Eijirou. “If you have come to kill me, at least make it swift.”

“Tch, don’t lump me with most humans,” Katsuki stated as he approached you, looking over the wounds. A huffing could be heard as he made his way closer, your muscles tense and beady eyes watching his form, ready to attack should harm come. “I’m a Bakugou. We don’t harm your kind.”

“You may not harm but you enslave. I feel sorry for the red scaled one over there. Forced to serve you like their ancestors,” you mumbled, laying your head down and closing your eyes to rest.

Eijirou huffed before he sat down. “I’m not. It’s nice to have lands that we don’t have to fight over and live in harmony with humans,” he protested, watching as Katsuki assessed the wounds. “I am from the Kirishima clan.” He beamed, almost a little too excited to say so. “It’s nice to see another shade of red around here. Normally those of the Shinsou clan are around these areas.” Eijirou started, tilting his head to the side. “So what brings you here?” he mused.

Which was how you explained your side of the story. It wasn’t uncommon for humans to attack those of draconic race because of the first dragons causing havoc and turmoil for humankind. You were a young dragon who still had not found some land to live in. So, you were aimlessly looking around for somewhere to sleep before you were ambushed by a kingdom that had a bad past with dragons, driving you out.

“Well,” Katsuki started as he backed off. “If you revert into your human form, we can take you back and give you medical aid. I’m not about to let a creature like you just die pathetically cold and alone in such a depressing state.”

With that, they watched as your form changed into a bloodstained, corseted, sleeveless dress, wings still visible with a tail barely peeking from beneath your long skirt. Their eyes lingered for a little too long to be completely respectful.

Getting up from where he lay, Eijirou gently enclosed you in his claws, protecting you, letting Katsuki onto his back before taking off back to the kingdom to give you the aid you needed.

~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

The next thing you knew, you were waking up to some argument going on outside, though you took no heed to it. After all, you would need to at least stay to repay the kindness the human has shown you before taking your leave.

As the flap to the tent opened, you looked up at the figure that came to inspect you in the cot. “How are you feeling?” The one that entered had torn red wings and a thin arrow-headed tail much like that of the dragon you’d seen earlier.

“Much better, thanks.” He watched you as you got up to move around.

“Yeah, my mother is a great healer.” The man beamed proudly before his face dropped for a moment in realisation. “Oh, that’s right! I’m Eijirou Kirishima!” He offered a hand for you to shake as he introduced yourself. “I’m Katsuki’s dragon companion. Speaking of which, when you feel up to it, he wants to see you in the throne room. He’s currently occupied with some business, so why not come later tonight before dinner? He wants to talk to you about some things.”

“Ah I see” You nodded in agreement though still clearly wary of him.

“Yeah, my mom specialises in herbal and magical treatments for dragons. You should be fighting fit by the end of day! So enjoy yourself and have a look around! You’re more than welcome here as long as you don’t kill anyone.” You found yourself chuckling lightly along with him as he waved. “See ya! Rest up well and don’t push yourself too hard!” He beamed as he left.

As Eijirou left you alone with your thoughts, you couldn’t help but think back to just how trustingly and kindly Katsuki had treated you. Taking your leave from the tent, you looked to the sky to gauge the time of day. Deciding you had at least an hour before the sun would set and you would need to see the Chieftain, you went to see what the town had to offer.

As you walked among the townsfolk, you couldn’t help but notice that dragons and humans walked around one another as if that were a normal thing to do. Had things always been like this? And how had this not spread to other countries? Though be that as it might, you were happy for these people; they seemed to be comfortable and welcoming just like the man who had found you. Perhaps you could stay a little longer than intended…

Still, once the sun started to set you walked back the way you came only to come across a tent larger than most, assuming that was where Katsuki would be wrapping up the day.

You slowly opened the flap as some villagers came out, happily discussing the day’s harvest before you heard. “Come on in, dragon!” Katsuki called as he remained seated on his chair smirking to himself. “Feeling better, I see?” he questioned as he sat up straight. Even like this, you could see and feel the power he irradiated.

“Yes, much, thank you.” Bowing, you smiled before you were told to stand upright. “If there’s anything I can do for you, please just let me know. It’s the least I can do after you saved my life.”

The moment those words left your mouth, you had a feeling that you were either going to live to regret it or thank him.

“Speaking of which,” he started as he leaned back and patted his lap. “Please, come here,” he commanded. Once you approached, he leaned forward, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger as if inspecting you. Up close, you could just see how deep ruby red his eyes were as well as how sharp his teeth were. For a human, he had a great set of fangs on him. ‘Shame he’s a human; he would have made a great and fierce dragon,’ you couldn’t help but think before he spoke, bringing you back to reality.

“Yes, you’re perfect,” he muttered, pulling you into his lap forcefully by your waist. “Strong willed, a fighter, and someone I could learn to grow better with,” he stated as he suddenly captured your lips. “You will be my partner,” he stated as his hands wandered low.

Spluttering and blushing, you thrust your arms at his chiseled chest, putting some distance between the two of you. “B-But how do you know? I could kill you! You barely know me,” you protested, though with his power he forced you to fold your arms, leaning in to whisper.

“But you owe me your life. Surely this is nothing and if you don’t feel like you’re the one you’re more than welcome to leave,” he purred.

You knew he was right. This young, powerful man knew that dragons didn’t back down on their word, and so serving him would mean repaying the debt? A small price to pay, truly.

“So why not get on your knees for your Chief and thank me properly?” he offered, leaning back and letting go of you. You watched as the grin on his face was almost ear splitting as you sunk to your knees in front of him. He let his hands wander down his trousers to help you get them off and down to his ankles.

“That’s it,” he praised, reaching out to gently lay his hand on your head. His eyes watched you with keen interest as you slowly took him into your mouth. He wasn’t completely hard and you shifted to get a better angle and grip him in your hands, though he tried to encourage you with soft words. “That’s it, fuckin’ take it all in,” he muttered as he leaned back, getting more comfortable on his throne. The grasp on your hair got tighter as he started to get impatient and guide your face along his length. “Come on now, no need to be so shy about it.” His teeth showed as he smiled. “You’ve lived longer than I have, surely you have the experience?” he goaded. Which, if you were honest with yourself, was true. You were most likely older than him, and could show him a thing or two while you’re at it.

Straightening your back a little from the floor you looked over his hardening dick. Licking your lips, you took the head in, using the flexibility to weave in between the head of his cock and the shaft before leaning up and taking it in as much as you could. Tongue flat, running along the thick vein underneath, you slowly bobbed your head back and forth, breathing when you could. It wasn’t long before you felt a tug with the hand that ran through your hair to pull you away from him, leaving you panting, and breathless from working so hard to please him.

His cheeks flushed a bright pink he chuckled almost as breathlessly as you, having forgotten how to breathe in the moment before letting go of your hair. “What a good girl,” he praised as he shifted back and patted his lap. “Why not come for a ride?” he questioned as he watched you stand. “I would have taken you back to my room, but I'm feeling impatient. It’s my birthday after all,” he informed, eyes hungrily watching over your form as you stripped naked, and then worked on taking off his trousers completely.

“Your birthday?” you questioned him as you straddled his lap. “I see. Perhaps this will be enough of a gift then?” you mused lining yourself up, slowly trying to sink yourself down on him.

His head slammed back against the back of his throne as he groaned. You were taking your time, though as you hadn’t prepared yourself. You knew your body could and would stretch, but it was painful to begin with. He was stretching you to your limit, but you licked your hand to reach down to let the saliva coating his dick for an easier entry only then were you able to sit down fully on his lap.

Taking a good minute or two you both sat, panting, just feeling one another as you got used to the stretch of his cock within you. His hands empassing your hips, he tried to get you to move, but you had other ideas. It was his birthday? That’s just fine, but you would make sure it would be a ride he wouldn’t forget in a hurry.

You gently grasped his hands and took them off your hips to raise them above his head as you started to roll your hips back and forth. Leaning in close to kiss him and to distract him, you used your tail to wrap his hands above his head. He only just realised when you leaned back.

“W-What the fuck is—shit—the big idea?” he panted as his eyes were glued to your form, which started moving so effortlessly up and down on his dick.

“It’s your birthday. I want to spoil you, so enjoy the ride.” Chuckling a little darkly, you couldn’t help but use your wings to give you some extra momentum and power into your movements as you rode him.

He couldn't believe just how lucky he was to have such a beautiful person ride him within an inch of his life. You knew just what to do and how to please him, which, to his embarrassment, had him orgasming not much longer after you started.

“F-Fuck!” he grunted, unable to couldn’t help it when his hips met yours. Though your gut had only just started to coil with your own orgasm, much to your disappointment. You remained seated on his lap as he came down from his high, letting go of his arms.

He watched you only to frown. Noticing you hadn’t orgasmed yet he couldn’t help but feel like a teenager all over again.

This wouldn’t do. This wouldn’t do at all.

Growling, he forcefully lifted you up from him as he slid to the floor, getting you to sit in his seat. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he brought you to his face and started to lap up not only at his own cum that had started to seep it’s way out from the confines of yourself, but searching for any original taste of your own essence. This surprise had you leaning over with a groan. In all your years, no other man had been so willing about doing this.

Smirking from the inside of your thighs, he knew from your expression that you were loving it or at the very least surprised by his movements. “What?” he questioned, so close to your cunt that you could feel his breath ghosting it. “Never been eaten out before?” He seemed a little too smug, as if he almost already knew the answer.

With a shake of your head, he only shifted closer and got more comfortable as he nudged your clit with his nose. “Hmm, good. I'm a man starving for pussy and it’s delicious, so don’t mind me,” he muttered before his gaze lowered.

Though his dick felt great, this was almost a thousand times better. There was no painful stretch, only a soft muscle, though not deep. The slurping and sucking sounds and sensations were what quickly brought your end. He was more than happy to guide you though your high as you remained hunched over his head, hands which you now realised were in his hair, forcing his face just that much closer.

Leaning back once you had come back to Earth, you watched him as he wiped his chin and cheeks with the back of his arm. “Thank you for the meal.” He chuckled, giving off a lopsided smile, showing off the pearly whites of his sharp teeth. He stood as he gathered up his trousers as he got dressed. “You’re more than welcome to stay for dinner in my home,” he stated as he turned to you and passed you back your clothes.

Slowly taking them, you nodded as you got dressed despite the shake in your legs. “Y-Yeah, I think I will,” you confirmed as you slipped back into your clothes.

“Good choice. I’m not finished with you yet, beautiful.” Leaning in, he kissed your cheek before taking his leave only to find a very flustered Eijirou waiting outside. “Something wrong?” Katsuki questioned with folded arms, knowing exactly what he was doing.

“N-No!” the dragon protested, though the redness that was spread all the way up to his ears gave him away.

“Next time, just ask. It’s rude to eavesdrop.” Katsuki laughed as he walked away, going to join the mass for dinner.

“K-Katsuki! I had to make sure you were safe! After all, she’s a rogue dragon,” Eijirou protested in earnest. Though he wouldn’t admit it, that would be something that Eijirou would very much like to do.

“Sure, sure, whatever you say, man.”

Rolling his eyes, Katsuki took a seat at the head of the banquet table, waiting for your arrival before the festivities could begin.

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smallraindrops-blog · 3 years

Note

Hi, just a heads up my ask is kinda specific and I apologize in advance. Could you do Hypnos x male reader, but the reader is the adopted son of Achilles and Patroclus. He’s usually dazed thinking about when he was alive and dwells on what happened when he was. Hypnos gets really excited when Hades sends for Thanatos to go get him from Elysium (currently stays in elysium with Patroclus) cause that means he gets to see him and watch him train. If you want to reject this, that’s okay, I get it.

Hey anon, sorry for the long wait and no worries about the specification. I actually found it kinda helpful. I just hope i got close to what you were looking for!

Wake me from this dreaming

Word count: 3.8

Hypnos x male! reader

Warning: violence, no kissing, some sexual/romance tension, flashback to death and war. No beta.

Just as quick extra note, this is not how real life ptsd works and any fighting advice is just off of Google, please understand that every thing is fictional.

It was the screaming that you remembered the most.

Achilles hunched over Patroclus' body, broken and bloodied. Screaming an inhuman sound that echoed in your head.

You knew you would carry that sound with you beyond your dying breath.

You should be screaming too you think but all you can do is tightened the hold on your spear.

Someone had to pay.

You thought Elysium was beautiful. Or at least you did whenever you were able to force yourself out of the memories long enough.

Patroclus' voice was usually enough to pull you out. You blinked down at him, "Forgive me, Pa. I didn't hear you."

He waved a hand to the shade that stood before you, their spear at ready. "Another fool seeking glory."

You looked toward the warrior, "I guess I can't ask you to come back another time, can I?"

You stepped forward and Patroclus called out, "Mind your footwork. You were sloppy last time."

Countless Shades had seeked you out for the chance to earn the glory of beating the son of Achilles and Patroclus.

You slammed the bottom of the spear into the ground and walked to the shade without any weapons.

You smirked slightly at the nervous look the shade gave you.

And this fool before you was another thing to take down. And just like all the ones before them, it took a single hit.

You watched dispassionately as the shade fell apart before your eyes. But for a few moments you didn't see the shade but of the every soul you took laid before your vision. And the roaring of a crowd in your ears. You looked down at your fist and you could have sworn you saw it covered in blood.

"Y/n. Y/n." A hand touched your shoulder and you jerked around only to have your wrist caught by Patroclus.

You blinked, before you remembered exactly where you were. "I'm sorry. I-"

"Silence." Patroclus said gently. "Even after all this time?"

You didn't say anything for a moment. "Not all of it." You told him.

Just the worst of it.

Patroclus frowned and looked like he was about to say something when black smoke appeared.

You stared at the god that floated before you.

"Lord Hades had sent for you, Y/N." The god told you. You tried to remember what his name was.

"Why?" You asked.

The god gave you a disapproving glare. Thanatos, you suddenly remembered. You have seen him before...

"Do you need to know why Lord Hades sent for you?"

"Y/N, the god asked you a question." Patroclus shook you carefully. You blinked and pushed the call of the past away.

"A reason would be nice, yes."

"He wishes to speak to you. That is all the reasons you need."

You looked toward Patroclus, "Are you okay with me going?"

"Go. Tell Achilles I expect an explanation soon."

And with that you nodded, "Very well. Take me to Lord Hades."

You weren't sure what to make of the house as Thanatos led you through a hallway. It felt like You were inside a living thing but none of the walls or floors moved.

What you did notice though was another god following behind you just down the end of the hallway. You turned your head around and saw a head full of white curls peeked around the corner, you couldn't quite see their face. A hand stuck out to waved excitedly at you.

You stared, not quite sure what make of the strange being or day you were having.

Thanatos snapped,"Hypnos, I know you have work to do. Leave now."

Hypnos ducked away, only to peek around again after a few seconds.

What an odd creature.

Thanatos opened the wide double door, "This is Lord Hades' private study so mind your manners." He warned as the door closed behind you.

You walked forward to the looming desk in the dark room. It looked just the one you passed with a long line of shades awaiting for Hades to appear.

Achilles stood before it and you could feel his rage coming off of him. When you saw him this angry when you both were alive, it usually meant some people were going to lose their heads. It was a rare sight now to see him almost shaking in rage.

It was all the warning you needed.

Hades looked up from your father and smiled.

It wasn't a kind one.

"Lord Hades, thank you for welcoming me to your home." You glanced over to Achilles, "Father."

You hoped he heard the unspoken words. His blue eyes met your and you almost frowned at the guilt you saw there.

"Now, Achilles, will you explain the situation to your son or shall I?" Hades asked, sounding pleased with himself.

You kept your face blank, not giving away the worries you felt. Achilles took a deep breath before turning to you.

"Lord Hades wants us to make a decision. To keep Patroclus in Elysium, I will be 'retiring' and you will have my current job."

"Or?" You asked. Achilles's mouth tightens, "Or Patroclus will be kicked out of Elysium along with you, and I will not be allowed again to have any contact."

So no decisions, just threats. What did Achilles do to make Lord Hades change the deal?

You looked at Achilles then to Lord Hades. "It would be an honor to serve the house, Lord Hades but may I make a request?"

"Oh? What request is that?" Hades glowered at you but you kept your blank face even if you wanted to personally slam your spear between his eyes.

"My father, Achilles will have his retirement in Elysium along with my other father, Patroclus." You paused, "And the retirement is permanent."

Achilles whipped his head and hissed, "Lad, what do you think you're doing? That was already part of the deal, don't waste it."

"Done." Hades said, "lucky for you, Achilles. Y/N is more like Patroclus, he is able to actually think ahead. You didn't even ask where I was sending you for your retirement. You are both dismissed."

Achilles opened his mouth to argue but you placed a hand on his shoulder to stop him. He glared at you but kept his mouth shut.

"Of course, thank you, lord Hades." You tugged your father to follow you out. As you followed your father down the hallways, you looked over to him.

"Pa is going to be furious." You told him mildly. Achilles just groaned.

You met Hypnos, the odd little creature that followed you around, on the first day of your duty. Even if the first hour was Hypnos just peeking around the corner.

"I've heard of you, even all the way down here." Hypnos told you when he finally found his courage. He was floating but you see the excitement in his body, if he was on his feets, he would be rocking on his heels.

With his curls and his big golden eyes, he reminded you of those too pretty boys that rich politicians would bring along to watch fights while leaving the wives at home.

He leaned forward, his hand resting under his chin. His golden eyes watching your face with a curious look.

"Y/N, the Greek hero who took out monsters in a single strike, was able to hold off Ares and is the son of Achilles and Patroclus. Both great warriors in their own right." He smiled. "Is it true by the way?"

For a moment, all you saw was Ares' mad eyes staring down at you and the taste of blood in your mouth. Everything else had faded away, the sand and screaming of dying men echoed and all you knew is blood and blood and blood and blood -

“Y/N?” Hypnos’ voice, confused and almost too soft, pulled you out.

"Yes. I fought him.” And you said nothing else and stared at the wall. You didn’t realize the memories had taken you for a trip. Normally, only your fathers' voices were able to pull you back.

"You must tell me how!" He filled in your vision, his eyes wide and hopeful.

“No.” You said bluntly. "I'm busy." And you're too attractive for someone so irritating, you thought.

“But-“ Hypnos pouted and you had made yourself look away before you got caught staring at his mouth.

"Hypnos, don't bother him. It is still his first day." Prince Zagreus spoke from behind Hypnos.

Hypnos spun away from you and floated around Zagreus. "Oooh, so how did you die this time? Did a chariot run you over again?"

Zagreus gave a strained smile in greeting. "Forgive Hypnos, I think he forgot his manners when he heard you were joining us in the house."

You shook your head, "It's perfectly fine, your highness." You stared at the prince, the whole reason you were even here was because he looped your father into helping with his runaway attempts.

Zagreus nodded, his face polite but nervous. "Achilles told me I should train with you. That you are actually better at fighting than he is."

"Only in hand to hand combat, otherwise, if you give my father a spear he would win every time." You told him, trying to push away the memories but you could already smell the sharp tang of blood.

"He fought a tribe of centaurs when he was a mere child, Zagreus and he won!" Hypnos gushed, "And he took down Ares!"

You shook your head slightly and the smell of blood went away. Hypnos did it again.

How odd.

Hypnos used Zagreus' head as an armrest much to the latter's displeasure. Zagreus shook him off as he asked, "You killed Ares?"

"No, just knock him out long enough to let my men escape." You left it at that. Ares was more monster than god, and you would rather not revisit those nightmares.

"Zagreus if you like, I can train you later. It would be interesting to see how different our training might be." You said, hoping they would take the hint.

Zagreus nodded, "Of course, I will come find you later."

Zagreus moved to leave but upon seeing that Hypnos wasn't going to leave, grabbed Hypnos' by his cape and pulled him away.

"Come on, Hypnos. I think you do even less work than I do, and I don't even work anymore." Zagreus said pleasantly but an undercurrent of a warning.

You didn't hear Hypnos' response beyond an offended gasp.

You shook your head, no wonder Achilles only wanted quiet when he came to see you and Patroclus.

Of course when it was time for Zagreus' training with you, Hypnos followed along. You thought about kicking him out but knew he would sneak back in later. You know because this wasn't the first time you trained Zagreus and nothing else seemed to work.

Also for some reason, this god ended up being a grounding point for you. You didn't want to admit it but it made being in the house bearable and not a daily fight to stay in the presence. Not that you needed his help.

You pointed toward Zagreus to the middle of the room and turned to Hypnos who beamed up at you. "You. Corner. If I hear one peek from you…" You warned.

Hypnos held his hands and floated silently to the corner. You ignored how Hypnos' eyes followed you around the room. Hypnos wasn't the first fan boy you had and as long you don't feed the attention seeking, he will get bored sooner or later.

Zagreus was a good student. Mostly. But you could tell your father was more careful with him than he was with you.

You shook your head and held up an open hand, "Hit me again."

Zagreus swung a fist into your hand, only to hit the side of your palm. "Alright, step back."

You crossed your arms, "You need to be more intentional in your hits. You're creating more work for yourself. And you won't always have that sword on you."

Zagreus frowned, "I'm fighting monsters down there, not humans. If I don't have a weapon, they're not going down."

"Like I said you won't always have a weapon in you. Lord Hades took away my father, and that was your best tool. What are you going to do if he takes away your weapons and you can't get them back?"

You raised a brow and asked "Are you going to stay down here and obey like a good little boy?"

And you could tell you stuck a nerve at the scowl Zagreus gave you. Hypnos made a mocking sound and Zagreus whipped his head around to glare at Hypnos.

You mentally sighed, your father got soft over the years. Just for arguing back, Achilles would have You running laps from sunup to sundown while carrying bags of feed.

"Here, let's wrap up with a quick brush up for your next lesson." You said, not bothering to comfort him. The sooner you can break Zagreus out of your father's soft training, the better. "Do you know all the weak points of a body?"

Before Zagreus could respond, Hypnos butted in. "Oooh, I do! Eyes and groin!"

You took a breath when suddenly an idea came to you. You turned to the god, "Hypnos, since you're so eager, come on over here."

Hypnos looked at Zagreus who shrugged then back to you. "Okay." He dragged out the word with suspicion in his tone.

"Well?" You asked, keeping your tone friendly with a smile on your face. You waited until Hypnos got close enough to grab his shoulders and forced him to stand on his feet.

You grabbed his face with a hand, squishing his cheeks. He made a squeaky sound and you bit back a smirk. A little humiliation should be enough to get Hypnos to stay away and you can focus on what you came here to do. The only reason you bothered with helping Zagreus was because your father asked you too.

"Pay attention, I expect you to remember this for your next lesson." You told Zagreus.

"Hypnos got two right, but he forgot about the nose and honestly, almost anything you will ever fight will have a weakness here." You tapped Hypnos between his eyes which made him blinked. "Hit here or here if you can get a good upward swing ," you tapped the tip of Hypnos' nose, "With preciseness you won't need much force and you save energy as well."

Next You turned his head toward you and could see the start of a flush. Good, it was working.

You pointed to the area between the ear and jaw, "This won't kill but it will make your opponent dizzy and that could buy the second you need to finish them."

You went on listing other parts of the body for Zagreus and Hypnos obediently went along with it. Moving his arm and lifting a leg up.

"And lastly, the groin like Hypnos said earlier but I doubt I need to go in depth about that area." You finished as you let Hypnos go.

"Got it?" You asked.

"Yes, sir." Zagreus smirked at his friend's misfortune.

`Hypnos just stayed silent, flushed to his hairline.

You were sure you wouldn't see Hypnos for a while but the little god surprised you. Just a day after the training, he seeked you out.

"Achilles didn't teach you how to fight, did he?" Hypnos asked. His dark circles were deeper than normal and you got the feeling he didn't get much rest.

"What makes you say that?" You asked, actually curious about Hypnos' thought process.

"I mean, you're unusually strong and you seem to have, let's say, a more ruthless fighting style than your father does. Not bad, mind you, just different." Hypnos shrugged, "I've seen him train Zagreus. And it's just different."

You thought about bushing him off, but something about how tired he looked made you speak up. "You're right. Kinda. He wasn't my first teacher. I was sold as a child for a fighting ring. And they usually don't let the loser live." You tighten your hold the spear, to ward off the memories.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I couldn't imagine." Hypnos said. "I didn't mean to bring up any bad memories."

You blinked several times, "You didn't."

But the look on Hypnos' face told you he didn't believe you.

Screaming. Inhuman mad screaming.

Patroclus' body broken on the ground and Achilles stared past You even as you tried to talk to him.

You felt like you lost both of your fathers as you trailed behind Achilles on his warpath.

Hands wet with blood and you think you should be screaming too but Patroclus was broken and gone and the screaming never stopped-

"Y/N. Hey, Y/N." Hypnos stood in front of you, his big golden eyes concerned. For a moment, you weren't standing in the East wing with Hypnos.

But a burning city and people running and crying. And Hypnos stood in the middle of it.

What was the little god doing here?

“Y/N!”

You blinked and you were back in the east wing, no smoke or no fire or crying followed.

“Hypnos?” You realized you had a tight grip on Hypnos’ arm as if you wanted to yank him out of the memories.

You let go. “I-i my apologies, Hypnos. I-“

“Wowie, that must have been a bad one huh?” Hypnos didn’t look upset and you frowned at him. “Are you not…?” You trailed off, not sure what to say.

“No.” Hypnos said softly. “I know the story about how you… Died and what happened to your head.” Hypnos waved a hand toward his own head, trying to make his point clear. “I guess what I’m saying is no, I’m not upset or mad or whatever. I just wanna know if you’re okay.”

You said nothing for several moments, looking at Hypnos’s kind face and realized to your great shame exactly how little you understood Hypnos and his intentions.

“Yes, thank you.” You told him softly.

You tapped your foot as you waited on Zagreus to show up. You have been in the house for several months now and Zagreus didn't always show up for training especially since he was getting closer to the surface.

Hypnos floated lazily around the room, waiting for you to look away so he could touch one of the weapons. Normally Skully was here to chase him off but apparently not even Skully wanted to show up.

After a few more minutes and warning Hypnos off on touching the spear, you got tired of waiting for Zagreus.

"Come on, Hypnos I think his highness must be on one of his attempts." You told him.

"Wait, wait or you could train me!" Hypnos circled you. He gave you the puppy dog eyes and you shook your head.

"Please. I've been so good when you're training Zagreus! Just one time." Hypnos begged.

And of course, you gave in.

"Alright. On your feet."

You chuckled at Hypnos' cheering.

Hypnos was… You didn't know what he was. After the day of failed attempts of embarrassment, Hypnos stuck around. He would follow you around like a lost puppy whenever he could.

You knew he was lonely, quietly trying to repair the broken bonds with his family. That he had near encyclopedia knowledge about Greek Heroes and monsters, even about your own fathers'. That he loved sweets but would eat raw honey every time if given the chance.

And the fact that just like your fathers, he was able to pull you back into the now.

He was...

Friend, you think firmly, he had become a friend.

“Can I ask you something? Like super personal?” Hypnos said out of the blue one day. You raised an eyebrow, “I have never known a personal question to stop you before but sure, you can ask me.”

“Why haven’t you drunk from the river Lethe? Wouldn’t it help?” Hypnos said, biting a thumbnail.

Oh. No wonder he was nervous.

“I don’t want to forget. I need to remember as much as I can.” You told him gently. Hypnos tilted his head, confusion on his face.

“If I forget, I won’t be the same person. You can’t forget without losing a part of yourself and I want to keep all of me. The bad and good.” You tried to explain, feeling like you sound like a cheesy philosopher.

“Oh. I think I get it.” Hypnos said. His smile was small but warm. Blood and darkness, you had gotten soft. You couldn’t stop the bust of fondness that your chest and you already looked like a fool so why not go farther?

“Like you, I wouldn’t want to forget you, Hypnos.” You said, a blush forming on your cheeks.

Hypnos blinked as if he didn’t understand what you just said but you saw a blush form on his own cheeks.

“I wouldn’t want to forget you too, Y/N.”

Part two

#hypnos x reader #hades hypnos #requests

128 notes · View notes

pars-ley · 3 years

Note

hi! i just came across your page the other day and i’ve read all of your drabbles and stories multiple times lol! so for my ask, i would love it if you did a college AU with popularjock!jk and have it be similar to the movie ‘A Cinderella Story’. some angst with smut and a happy ending if possible! oh and bestfriendjimin! as well :) hope this is not too much to request! ily

At the stroke of Midnight

Pairing: Jungkook x f reader

Summary: One popular boy + One 'uncool' girl + One school dance + One necklace left behind = A cinderella story.

Genre: Angst / Fluff / Smut / Cinderella au / A Cinderella story au / comedy / popular jock jungkook / best friend Jimin

Warnings: Suggestive language / sex

Rating: 18+ (NSFW)

Word Count: 4k

Beta reader: @casuallyimagining

A/N: I am so sorry this has taken me so long! I had no clue about this film, so writing this entailed some research and me watching the movie...twice haha. I really hope I did it justice for you and you enjoy it. Thank you for the request!

"So, what's prince charming saying now that's so much more important than your best friend?" Jimin pouts, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

You flush slightly. "He wants to meet." Grimacing at the words.

"And that's a problem, why?"

You bury your head in your hands. "Because I'm me and I'm certainly no one special, what if he's disappointed?" You groan, the dilemma churning your gut and making you feel like your breakfast could make a second appearance.

"Hey," Jimin scoots closer to you along the bench and throws an arm around your shoulder. "No best friend of mine gets away with speaking about herself like that. You are lovely, and if he thinks you're anything other than amazing, there's something wrong with him and he needs to be studied in a lab."

You laugh in spite of yourself, hearing Jimin’s words rattle around in your brain, knowing that you should not be this hard on yourself. You lean into his snug embrace.

You open up Tumblr and stare at the conversation between you and @gameoverguk. Your favourite gaming blog you’ve followed for ages, by chance seeing your gaming fan art and following you back was one thing, but conversing with him and finding out that he also attended your school was a completely different matter. Trying to solve the equation of who this mysterious creator might be is harder than you thought. And the way he converses with you, so open and honest and sweet, that had to narrow it down surely?

Something slams into your back, pain immediately in its wake. You and Jimin turn to see the popular boy of your university, Jungkook, gawking at you and his best friend Taehyung in hysterics.

Jimin looks down in the grass behind you at the offending apple and calls, “Hey, watch it guys.”

“Really sorry!” Jungkook calls over, a slight dusting of scarlet across his cheeks but looks like he’s also fighting a laugh. It burns you how someone so smug can still be so handsome, and you hate yourself for even thinking about him in any way other than the airhead jock that he is.

Taehyung jogs over and picks it up, still somewhat amused. “What, didn’t your crystal ball tell you that was gonna happen?” He says to you, loud enough for everyone in a mile radius to hear.

You cringe inwardly, attempting to fight your embarrassment.

“Aren’t you supposed to be one of the top athletes in this university? And you can’t even catch an apple.” Jimin snarks in your defense.

His face drops as he looks like he’s about to take a step towards you both.

“Tae!” Jungkook calls, an air of command in his voice, breaking the tense air as he looks away from you ruefully. Walking off with Taehyung following, eating his apple and laughing between bites.

“Ignore them.” Jimin says sternly. “Speaking of, are you working tonight?”

Your face falls into an unamused expression, as if he even had to ask.

You were working so much you were almost taking residence at your step-mums 'magic shop', as everyone called it.

He smiles at you, his nose wrinkling, and you can’t help your face softening.

“Ok, ok, my bad. Can I swing by later? I need some more incense.”

You shrug, grabbing your bag and chucking it over your shoulder. “Sure. I’d be glad of the company to be honest.”

“Ooooh, maybe we could do a seance?”

You glare at him and head off to class causing his melodious laugh to ring out around you.

Sitting in the bleachers after class, with your sketchpad and pencil, the perfect view of the city line and the departing sun staring back at you, you sketch away. The pencil etching fast across your paper as you manage to block out the sounds of the team practicing and their bodies crashing against each other.

Long after you've lost yourself in your landscape, fingers grey and shiny from shading, you neglect to hear some of the team members leaving, climbing over the seats and headed in your direction. That is until your pad is snatched from underneath you as you frantically grapple for it, without success.

"You know, this isn't where the nerds hang out." Taehyung smirks at his two other buddies, clearly impressed with himself.

You let out a bored sigh. "Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realize you owned the bleachers." Your words drip with sarcasm.

His face drops and a mean glare spreads across his features as he throws your drawing pad in the air. You watch helplessly as the pages flutter in the wind as it flies away and disappears under the stands.

"Have a nice night." He says quietly, an attempt to be intimidating, as him and his friends leave.

Your veins alight with fury, hands balled into fists at your sides. You wanted to stamp your feet like a petulant child. This isn't fair. Why you?

It's only then you notice Jeon Jungkook standing on the field watching. Embarrassment suddenly extinguishes your angry flames as he breaks your gaze first, walking off under the bleachers. You grab your bag to leave for work before you suffer any more humiliation.

As you reach the last step you yelp with surprise as Jungkook appears suddenly in your view, you manage to steel yourself before tumbling into him.

You stare at him, wishing he'd get on with it and tease you so you can go...but it doesn't come. Instead he hands you your sketchpad, gently dusting off the pages.

You take it, a hesitant, "thanks," ghosts from your lips.

"I'm sorry about him." He says quietly.

You shrug. "Not your fault, I guess."

Seconds tick by as you both stare awkwardly at each other, unsure what else could be said.

"You're pretty. I-I mean, it-it's pretty." He stammers, tapping the unfinished sketch in your book. "You're very talented."

Your cheeks flush an undignified fuchsia as you duck your head slightly, letting your hair hide you. "Thank you."

He offers you a weak smile before giving you a halfhearted wave and jogging off across the field, leaving you watching his back, perplexed at the exchange you've had.

You stare at your messages, every moment he can see you're online and not replying makes your cheeks flush crimson and makes your mind run frantic.

Meet me at the Happy Holidays dance.

Could you?

It’s the first holiday dance your university has put on--one you had no intention of going to, because you frankly didn't need the added teasing from the popular kids. It is a masquerade ball however, so no one had to know it was you, you could fall pleasantly under the radar.

Were you really considering this?

What did you have to lose? You can hide behind the comfort of your mask. If he discovers it's you, it's his problem if he doesn't like that, Jimin is absolutely right.

Ok. Where will I find you?

You press send and chuck your phone down, throwing your head in your pillow to scream. Did you actually just do that!? No taking it back now, it's out there.

When you hear your text tone sound you scramble quickly back to it.

By the old sundial outside. At 10.00?

You grin dorkishly at your phone, typing a quick reply.

Sure. See you then.

You call your number one speed dial, two rings in and Jimin's voice sounds.

"I was just going to call you, how strange. Listen, do you remember that time I-?"

"I'm in need of some urgent assistance. I just agreed to go to the holiday dance!"

He cackles excitedly on the other end. "I'll be right over!"

As you step out of Jimin's car you have to lift your ice blue dress up to avoid the floor...and tripping. How Jimin pulled this costume together in time, you'll never know, he's taking that secret to the grave.

You swallow the nervous lump in your throat and adjust your matching lace mask, making sure it's comfortable.

"Ok, go get him tiger." He roars, as he swipes a clawed hand in front of you.

You giggle at his silly antics and take a deep breath before giving him a final nod and heading into the dance.

From the moment you walk in, you want to go home. This is a bad idea. He won't be interested when he finds out it's really you.

You have no time to continue your anguished thoughts as you get swept up in the crowd, fighting your way through to grab a drink. Standing to the side and surveying everyone's costumes, noticing a lot of dark or bright colour choices, you being one of the only people in a pale colour, making you stand out more. Something you were definitely hoping to avoid.

A few songs later and the clock in the hall catches your eye, noticing you had fifteen minutes until you meet your mystery man.

You head outside, footsteps echoing along the cobbled floor, and see that the outside is empty save for a few smoking and talking.

You get to the large, metal sundial and wait. Stomach churning from the butterflies that swarm wildly inside.

"Blue hour artist?" You hear your Tumblr tag spoken behind you and freeze.

You're about to meet him, come face to face with the person who understands you more than anyone, who opens up to you in ways most people wouldn't and who's creativity knows no bounds.

You turn slowly, not knowing who to expect but definitely not who you're faced with.

"Jeon Jungkook!? You're 'game over guk'?" You ask, your mouth popped open in shock.

He smiles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, "that's not fair, you're wearing a mask. How will I know who you are?"

You stare at him, trying to find words to answer his question, but the fact that it's him stood before you blows you away.

How could this be? The person you've been talking to online is the complete opposite to Jungkook and yet, here he is, one and the same.

"You'll h-have to guess." You try to get yourself together.

His mouth stretches into a toothy smile. "Ok, how about we play '21 questions' to help me guess?"

You nod, playing with your fingernails out of nerves.

"Do you want to sit down?" He asks, looking over at one of the benches.

"Um, no, I'd rather walk, if you don't mind?"

"Oh, sure." He agrees eagerly and you head off down the pathway around the building.

A few awkward side glances between the two of you and he finally asks, "Do we have any classes together?"

"No."

"Ok, narrows it down slightly."

You take this opportunity to look at what he's wearing and he's every part the Prince charming. In a white satin shirt, with light blue trousers and a one shoulder half capelet to match, complete with silver, trim detail. Surprisingly similar to your choice of dress, what a strange coincidence.

"You take art I assume?" He asks, into the comfortable silence.

You nod. "That's an obvious one." You refer to your Tumblr page full of your fan art and projects.

He smiles bashfully and your stomach flips at the sight, feeling like a true-life Disney princess with heart eyes and birds singing above your head.

"I don't know many girls in art." He admits,

"Ok, what about outside uni, do you go to any popular hangouts?"

Your cheeks flush, knowing you're admitting how dorky and uncool you are. "Nope."

"Ok, harder than I thought." He laughs, revealing his perfect teeth again. "Do you have a job?"

Nodding again, you play with the hem of your lace sleeve, channeling your nerves into the action.

As you're about to answer, your heel gets stuck in between the paving stone, causing you to buckle. Panic strikes you. You cannot fall over and embarrass yourself! Not when finding out who you are will be embarrassing enough. Luckily, you steady yourself against a nearby lamppost before falling on your face but at the cost of leaving your shoe stuck in the ground.

You tuck your leg up under your dress, steadying yourself against the street light, directly underneath the assaulting brightness, illuminating you like a spotlight.

Jungkook rushes over to your lonesome blue stiletto and retrieves it before crouching on one knee in front of you.

You stare at him, eyes wide and alarmed by his sudden closeness as he holds out your shoe in the most sincere way.

You bring your foot down and arch it back into its rightful holster. As you do, his fingertips graze your ankle, sending a flush of heat cascading up your body and neck, stopping only at your hairline.

He lingers there, looking up at you with huge doe eyes, but with a severe intensity you've never noticed from him before.

His fingers skate up your leg slightly as he rises, sending a delicious shiver through you. His fingers tips hint at your hand, you yearn to reach out and hold it, as he stands mere centimeters away from you. His intoxicating scent swirling around you like your own personal hurricane, taking your composed state and tearing through it, leaving it whimpering weakly on the ground. His face is too close to yours and yet not close enough. You feel feverish from his proximity and yet you need him closer to sate your heat.

Your breast vibrates from the aggressive pounding of your heart. Having him here on his knees in front of you, something not even acceptable in your wildest dreams and yet, here he is.

The person you've gotten to know so well, such a contrast to the person you've seen around campus. But then again, he seems to like the person he's gotten to know too, maybe he won't be as disappointed when he realises who you are? Maybe you can kid yourself into thinking that.

A chiming sounds in the distance, barely there and yet it creeps further into your subconscious.

"Your phone is ringing." He whispers, his breath tickling your face, as his eyes still blaze into yours.

'My phone. My phone? Oh, my phone!' Your muddled thoughts clear themselves enough for you to understand his words. You pull it out of your little silver handbag and see Jimin's number on screen.

"Hello?" You ask, staring dreamily at Jungkook who is rooted firmly in his spot.

"Ok, I apologise if you're throat-deep around prince charming’s dick but I really need to make it home before midnight so my dad doesn't turn me into a pumpkin...and by that I mean, pounded, pulped and pressed into pumpkin pie."

You snap out of it suddenly, realising Jimin's words and not wanting him to get in trouble because of you. "Of course. I'm coming, right now."

Jungkook's eyes flit back to reality with a deep frown. His hand clasps yours as you hang up and tuck your phone back into your bag. Your legs, already moving towards the front entrance where he would be waiting.

"Wait," Jungkook's pleading pierces right into your chest, feeling your resolve bubble up to the surface, enticing you to stay and see where the night takes you. But you don't.

"I can't, I have to go." You say, gently slipping your hand from his and jogging elegantly to the front parking lot.

When you see Jimin's dads silver Rolls Royce, you're suddenly eager to get in and share your news.

"So...did you meet him!?" An excited Jimin shakes your arm as you close the door behind you.

"Yes. You will never guess who he is." You fasten your belt and Jimin pulls off quickly, both of you wincing as he narrowly misses a barrier post on the way out of the campus.

"Who?"

You smile to yourself, heart fit to burst. "Jeon Jungkook."

Jimin's foot taps on the brakes, lurching you forward.

"I'm sorry. What?" He turns to you, eyes wider than you've ever seen them. "As in, popular boy, sex god Jungkook?"

You scoff. "Who told you he was a sex god?"

"I'm making assumptions. I'm sure you'll find out soon enough." He grins as he elbows you in the ribs and sets off driving you home, while excitement rapidly blooms inside you.

You dropped your necklace.

You read the words over and over, unsure what your response should be. You needed that necklace. The simple silver chain holding the tiny teardrop pearl. It was all you had left of your dad. When he died, your step-mother sold most of his things, including gifts he bought for you. This was your last, most cherished item. The only reason you were allowed to keep it is that you were wearing it at the time and you haven't taken it off since. Losing it had your chest aching. You stared at Jungkook's last message until sleep over took you.

Monday morning. Eyes gritty and burning, you wake to the sea of sleep trying to entice you back to its darkening depths but you fight your fluttering eyelids and get ready for a new day.

How are you going to look at Jungkook now? You should tell him who you are. Yes, you'll do that and get your necklace back and it'll be happily ever after.

Only it won't.

From your experience happily ever after doesn't happen for most people, even accomplished, brilliant, beautiful people. You're entirely average and ordinary, why would it happen for you?

By the time you get to campus, your manic mind has been changed numerous times. You decide to wait until you see him, which you spend every moment of your arrival scanning the faces that pass you.

"Hey, hey, Jelly Bean. Looking for me?" Jimin's cheerful face comes into full view, distracting you.

He's clearly unimpressed with whatever expression you're portraying currently, as he pouts and turns to the sea of faces. "Clearly, I no longer matter, now you've got big dick Jungkook."

You hush him loudly, looking around to ensure there were no listening ears. "Firstly, I'm begging you, stop talking about his dick and secondly, stop being stupid."

He laughs at your stressed rant. "Ok, ok, jeez. Is he meeting you this morning?"

Your body tenses, knowing, already hearing the lecture he's about to scold you with.

"You didn't tell him, did you? He still has no idea it's you!?" He sighs, throwing his hands in the air dramatically, typical Jimin fashion. "I swear to god...If you don't tell him, I will."

Your head snaps over to him as you walk side by side into the building, glaring menacingly in his direction. "You wouldn't dare."

He shrugs. "Try me, scaredy cat."

You huff and scrub at your tired eyes. "Let me just get through my classes then we shall discuss this."

He laughs as he tussles your hair and heads off in the opposite direction.

Your day passes fairly quickly, even though your struggle to stay awake during lectures only grows.

You do not see Jungkook, which is not unusual as you're not even in the same wings of the building most of the time.

Jimin's frantic waving has you puzzled as a deep frown creases your brow as you walk towards him, his jumping and pointing most unusual. It's only when you see a set of hands directly in front of you and feel your necklace land on your chest as it's draped across your collar bones, that you stop in your tracks.

Those hands, warm at the back of your neck and a mouth next to your ear saying, "I told you I'd look after it and return it." Unmistakably Jungkook's voice whispers in your ear making you quiver.

When his hands are gone you look down and find relief washing over you with the familiar feel of your necklace, having felt bare and empty without it.

"Why didn't you reply to my messages?" He asks, stepping in front of you with a big bunny smile.

Wide eyed with shock, your mouth gapes open with the slow realization that he is, in fact, talking to you. "How-how did you…" Words fail you as you frantically think of any way you might have let slip your identity but coming up empty.

"How did I know it was you?" He asks, mouth pulled on one side in a smile. "When you dropped your necklace as you left the dance, I recognized it instantly. "

"Wh-what?" You squeak out. You attempt to swallow your confusion enough to form a coherent sentence. "On what planet would someone like you notice anything about someone like me."

A look of hurt flashes across his face, almost as if you'd slapped him as he takes a step towards you, a hair's width away now. "How could I not notice you? You're beautiful and smart, you don't follow the crowd and you're kind to everyone, I've noticed everything the last two years. I've just never spoken to you properly because….well...what do I have to offer someone like you, with endless talents and interests, a charming personality to boot and just when I think that's all there is, I discover something else about you. I'm just the school jock, popularity gets me opportunities, I don't have to work hard for anything...I feel...inferior to you. Worthless."

Your heart aches, hearing the words you feel escaping his mouth. How could that be possible? How on earth could he be so utterly mistaken, so completely wrong about himself?

"But gameoverguk is nothing like that person you're describing. If that's truly who you are?" You question quietly.

He nods, placing a finger under your chin and tilting your head up to him.

"Hi, I'm Jeon Jungkook, I'm a gamer geek, I'm good at sports, I enjoy bike rides on the weekend and finding new food spots and I'd really like to take you out sometime...if you'll let me."

You feel your lips stretch into an undeniable grin. "Nice to finally meet you Jungkook. I'd love to."

As you aim the plastic machine gun, keeping it steady in your armpit and pointed towards the screen, you and Jungkook race through the game, taking down your enemies at every chance. When your team name, "Blue Hour Gamer" flashes in neon letters on screen as the winners, your hollering and hooting fill the arcade.

You don't even care that people are watching, not when you jump up and high five each other or when that high five turns into a hug, or when that hug very quickly turns into a kiss. You don't care.

You pull away quickly, embarrassment finding its way to dust your cheeks scarlet. Until you feel his hand press your lower back to him, your bodies crushing together and moving in perfect sync, making their own rhythm and inviting you to sing with it.

Heat blazes inside you like a wildfire, capturing everything else in its path and turning into thoughtless ash in the wind. Nothing else mattered, just him, his lips against yours, his hands on your skin, caressing so gently and yet setting your skin aflame.

Before you knew it, you were at his small, studio apartment, realising you had no clue he lived alone but thankful for that just the same.

When your back finds the bed, you sink into it, disappearing into a cloud of euphoria as he roams your body, slow and meaningful. Every touch makes you feel things you never have before, and every movement brings you closer to the edge of the precipice.

The way his mouth feels on you as he explores your body sends sparks of electricity racing through you. The way he feels inside you with each perfect, controlled movement lights you up like the sunrise after dark, warming you with its rays as you stare off the cliff edge and brace yourself for the impact. His hand caresses your cheek as he looks deeply into your eyes, something so sweet and pure in the action that your chest swells with emotion. His forehead touches yours as he moves in perfect time with your pounding heart. Suddenly you're falling, everything going past in a rush before crashing onto a sea of ecstasy, writhing and moaning until your climax subsides and his has joined in unison.

A tender kiss on your head, his arm winding around you, pulling you to him and encasing you in the perfect safety net is enough. Maybe he'll be your happily ever after, after all.

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august-bleeds-red · 4 years

Text

A Job Well Done - Part Two

Jason Voorhees, Bo Sinclair, Lester Sinclair and Michael Myers wet their S/O’s whistle (NSFW under the line)

Part One (Brahms Heelshire, Thomas Hewitt and Vincent Sinclair) here

Jason Voorhees (2009)

Summer is dying, the leaves changing to auburn and yellow, and Jason’s machete lies forgotten against the maple trunk. The tree stands alone in a large meadow of long grass, painted gold from the fading season, its crimson coat of leaves like fire against the azure September sky.

So many colours, yet the only shade you have eyes for is white.

You trace the patterns of Jason’s mask with your fingertips, like you don’t know them by heart already, couldn’t conjure the image in your mind from anywhere in the world. His hand rests easily on your skirt, the tip of one finger just brushing your thigh. You take his hand in yours and press it against the swell of your chest, leaning forward to plant a kiss at the place on his mask where his mouth would be.

“Jason.”

He’ll never grow tired of hearing his name spoken in your sweet voice. You begin to push your fingers beneath the hockey mask’s edge, pausing to kiss the exposed skin when his body freezes in fear. You’ve only seen his face once before – the first time you met – so you understand his hesitation to allow you a second view. When you get to his mouth, you kiss his twisted lips with enough passion to still his breath, and his hands grip tightly to your upper arms, holding you so close you can feel his heartbeat against your chest. The mask falls to the ground, gazing with empty eyes at the romantic scene playing out next to it. You feel so small, so safe, wrapped in his muscular arms, the heart beating beneath his torn shirt pulsing with vibrant life for you alone. Your hand trails down the bulky layers of clothing and settles on the crotch of his pants, causing him to shift in embarrassment at the hardness beneath. He’s still not used to the idea that his attraction to you won’t be met with disgust on your part. You chuckle and rub a little harder.

“It’s okay, baby.”

Struck by a sudden impulse, you get to your feet and look around the empty field to check that it’s . . . well, empty. The only sounds for miles are the rustling of leaves and the calling of birds; not even the faintest rumble of traffic reaches all the way out here. You pull your dress off in one quick movement, revealing the modest bra and boy-shorts you’re wearing underneath. You’ve never been this exposed under open sky before, and your heart dances as you unlatch the clasp at your back. You stand before him exposed to the world, the sun on your shoulders, the wind gently ruffling your hair. He rises to his full, considerable, height, his eyes never leaving yours, and backs you up against the trunk of the tree. The bark presses into your bare skin, imprinting the soul of the woods onto you as Jason leaves his own marks on the side of your neck.

“Hold still,” you whisper against his ear, dropping to your knees in the damp grass, your fingers already making short work of his belt buckle. He knows what you’re doing, although he can scarce believe it’s really happening. You, so pure, so perfect, blessing him with your beautiful lips and unconditional affection.

He’s even bigger than you thought he’d be. There’s no way you’re going balls-deep with this one, that’s for sure.

“A shower and a grower, huh?” you smirk up at him, appreciating the bashful expression that flits across his features.

He tastes like the wild, of soft earth and clear spring water. He bucks his hips involuntarily and the back of your head bumps the tree behind you, making you wince and rub your scalp. Leaning over slightly, Jason cups the base of your skull, protecting you from further injury.

“So thoughtful,” you smile, returning to your task, the shadow of his large torso now shielding you from any prying eyes. Not that anyone would need two guesses to know exactly what you were doing. You take him in as far as your throat will allow, and then a little further, so you gag a little on the thick head. He moans, deep and long, and you feel a surge of strange power – this giant oak of a man, brought to such tender passion by your hands, by your mouth. You run the flat of your tongue up the underside of his cock, feeling the bumpy veins against your sensitive taste-buds. You imagine how incredible it would feel to have this inside you, to have Jason pumping into you, spilling his seed into you, making you his and his alone.

You can tell he’s trying not to lose control, but his knees are shaking from the exertion of it. You’re determined to snap that final straw. Keeping one hand on his shaft, you lick at his balls, sucking them in and rolling them between your tongue and the roof of your mouth. He braces his free hand against the tree and begins to rock his hips in earnest, and you let your mouth drop open enough for cockhead to slide in and out freely.

He cums almost without warning, just two short spasms of his hips and your mouth is full of bitter-tasting seed, spilling out over your lips and dripping onto your exposed breasts. The sight of you coated with the evidence of his desires is almost too much for him. Swallowing what’s left on your tongue, you smile and wipe your lips as daintily as you can with your fingers.

Jason’s fingers hover over your chest, clearly wanting to help with the clear up but unsure if fondling your breasts is the best way to do it. Collecting as much of the translucent fluid on your finger, you put it to your lips and suck, keeping careful eye contact with the stunned man the entire time. You laugh as he tackles you to the ground, his eager lips already working their way down your body, large hands pushing your legs apart.

Looks like it’s your turn.

Bo Sinclair (warning: Daddy kink)

It’s not often that Bo condemns you to the garage basement, but when he does, you know its going to be a good few hours before you’re released. The man has the stamina of a jackrabbit and can go at least four times before he’s fully satisfied, or at least until he gets hungry and wants supper.

You try not to think of how many less compliant girls Bo has restrained in the chair as he tightens the straps around your wrists. Now that he has you, any victims are given straight to Vincent for the museum, but you know there have been many who have passed through his room first. As you watch him secure your ankles in place, you marvel at how such a beautiful countenance can conceal such a dark and twisted history. But, for your sins (and his), you love him.

“That not too tight for you, is it, sugar?” he asks. “Hate to mar this perfect skin of yours.”

His large hands cover your wrists over the buckles, the sleeves of his shirt riding up just enough for you to see his scars. You shake your head and he flashes a wicked smile. The chair has a crank on its side that adjusts the height, and you can only watch as he turns it round and round, the entire mechanism dropping you further down towards the floor. Ah, so he was in this kind of mood. He’s already undoing his belt, the clinking of metal like an orchestral warm-up to the main event. Lifting one leg high, he plants it firmly on the other side of the chair so he’s basically straddling your shoulders, his head silhouetted against the ceiling light.

“You go ahead and open those pretty lips nice and wide,” he says, stroking his cock languidly and rubbing the tip against your mouth. You know he likes to sing for his supper, likes to work for it a little, so you don’t give up the goods immediately, rolling your head to the side and keeping your lips firmly closed. Bo growls and cups your chin firmly between his fingers.

“I said open,” he squeezes harder and your mouth opens a crack, giving him an in to force his cock onto your tongue and straight to the back of your throat. You cough and splutter a little, but he doesn’t want to break you when you’ve just started playing.

“Y’like that, huh, bitch?” he moans. “Y’like taking daddy’s cock?”

In this space, in this world of just you and him, the words send a thrill right down to your toes. He frames your head with both hands, keeping you in place as he fucks your mouth. The back of your head bumps against the chair and your fingers flex against their bonds.

Bo hisses through his teeth, gripping and releasing your hair as he thrusts. “Fuuuuuck, babe. You feel so goddamn good.”

Reaching behind him, he forces his hand under the waistband of your jeans, two thick digits probing your slit, coming away wet.

“Such an eager slut,” he grins, sucking your juices from his fingers with obscene pleasure. “You’re so wet for my cock in your little whore mouth.”

You whimper around him, spit bubbling at the corners of your mouth, your tongue slick with precum. His rhythm is becoming more erratic, the dirty names coming thick and fast in the way they always do when he’s about to cum inside any of your holes. In these moments, he might call you a slut, a whore, a filthy bitch, but you’re his, goddamn it, and he’ll mark you as his territory a thousand times to let the whole world know it.

You screw your eyes shut tight as he cums in the back of your throat, forcing his hips as far forward as possible to ensure you can’t spit any of it out. You’re gasping for air when he finally pulls away, mascara smudged under your eyes, your hair tangled from his grasping fingers.

His eyes turn soft as he bends down to kiss you, fingers toying with the straps. “You want outta these?”

You know the answer he wants to hear, and this time, you’re gonna give it to him. His grin turns wolfish as you shake your head.

“That’s my girl.”

Lester Sinclair

“No offense, sweetie,” you say as you pull away from Lester, “but you kinda stink.”

He pulls a face and sniffs unceremoniously under his arms. “Ain’t no worse than Vinny.”

Okay, not true – the worst Vincent smells like is an accident in a Yankee Candle shop. “Well, I don’t share a bed with Vincent. In the tub, mister.”

Since you moved into the Sinclair family home, the extra efforts Lester had made during your courtships seemed to have slipped slightly. Not that you minded, really – you loved him anyway – but it was nice when he wasn’t sporting Eau de Man Smell.

“Tell you what,” you purr, running your fingers down his shirt to rest over his belt buckle. “You hop in that tub, and I’ll do things that Vinny will hear from the House of Wax.”

Like a racoon into a garbage can, Lester rips off his shirt and hops in the direction of the bathroom, one foot already tangled in the leg of his jeans. By the time he emerges, skin pink from the hot water, towel wrapped around his waist, you’re waiting on the bed. His dark eyes sweep over your body, naked and ready for him, and the bed practically bounces off the wall in his eagerness to reach you.

“Lie on your back,” you instruct, pulling the towel apart to reveal his dripping cock. He watches you with thinly-veiled adoration as you start to lick the head, fingers squeezing and rubbing along the shaft.

“Baby,” he strokes your hair and you raise your head to meet his gaze. “Turn ‘round.”

A knowing grin on your face, you swivel to face his feet, giving him a front-row view of your soft, moist slit. His hands on your hips ease you backwards, far enough for his tongue to reach you, and you lean down to take his cock back into your mouth. At this angle, it slips easily to the back of your throat, just big enough to make you gag when you try and hold it there too long. You moan as his warm tongue licks at you, inside you, and the vibration of your voice sends a thrill running through his body. As you bob up and down, licking the head of his cock like a popsicle, he alternates between worshiping the folds of your pussy, and sucking on your clit. The sheer intensity of his administrations combined with the taste of him on your tongue has you almost whimpering with arousal. You take him in as far as you can and swallow around him, making his hips buck and drawing a choke from your throat.

“Ah shit, baby, that’s feels so fucking good,” he moans, breath warm against your sex. You cum first. Lester feels the muscles inside you contracting again and again around his probing tongue, and soon after empties himself into your waiting mouth. Adjusting your position to right-side-up, you snuggle into his side, his arm holding you close, and breathe a contented sigh.

Sure, it might be a little annoying having to remind him to bathe, but if this was the pay-off, it was fucking worth it.

Michael Myers (warning: Michael likes it rough)

As the door slams shut, every muscle in your body tenses in the fight-or-flight response you’ve grown to ignore when around your boyfriend. When he’s in a good or apathetic mood, you never hear him coming, but when his mood turns sour, the foundations of the house rattle.

He’s dripping blood as he looms in the doorway, six-foot-eight of chest-heaving, seething anger. Usually an evening of mindless slaughter is enough to sate him in a dark mood, but when that fails, it comes down to you. You love him – you’ll always love him – but in these moments, you can’t deny the fear that spikes at the back of your neck.

“Hey, babe,” you say, trying to keep your voice light. “You . . . welcome home.”

You try not to wince as the bloodied knife in his hand sails through the air to land with a deadly *THUNK* in the wall behind you, dark crimson oozing down the wallpaper. You’ll have fun trying to explain that to the landlord.

“Michael—”

He crosses the room in three long strides, grabbing you by the elbow and yanking you to your feet.

“Ow! Hey, what’re you—”

Grabbing the back of your head in one enormous hand, he smothers your lips with his, forcing his tongue in deep in a kiss that tastes of blood, his teeth grinding cruelly against your mouth. It has the desired effect, stealing your voice as he drags you through to the bedroom and throws you down onto the bed. Still trying to catch your breath, you watch helplessly as Michael rips down the zip of his jumpsuit, pulling it down over his shoulders. His mask is thrown into a corner of the room, his long hair falling loose around his face. You catch a brief glimpse of his hard, muscular body, straining against the fabric of the black T-shirt he wears underneath, before he grabs a fistful of your hair and wrenches you onto your back, not hard enough to hurt, but enough for you to know you’re to Stay Put. Your head hangs over the side of the bed and, from your upside-down perspective, you can see him working his long, thick cock into hardness.

Oh boy.

You just have time to open your mouth before he’s pushing inside, sliding easily to the back of your throat and then still further. Since you got together, your deepthroating skills have had to evolve quickly. Fisting handfuls of the bedsheets, you catch the smallest of breaths before his pace quickens, fucking your throat as he would your pussy, drawing out those deep, wet choking noises from you that get him even harder. He rumbles deep in his chest, hands wrapped around your throat to keep you in place, thumbs pressing on the spot where he can feel his cockhead bulging against your skin. He pulls out for a moment to let you gasp and cough before plunging in again, one hand at your neck, the other roughly fondling your breasts. You clutch at his thick wrist like a lifeline, nails digging in. Your eyes are streaming, your throat already raw from such a brutal attack, and you know this is just the first of many assaults.

Michael swears under his breath, voice low and animalistic, his body tensing like a marble statue as he cums directly down your throat, the taste barely touching your tongue.

Sinking to his knees beside the bed, you take a moment to catch your breath before rolling over and reaching out a tentative hand. His strong fingers grip yours – to stop you or feel your touch, you can’t tell – dark blond hair obscuring his face. Slowly, he draws your hand to his mouth, not to kiss, but to simply feel against his lips. It’s not always easy, having Michael Myers be the owner of your heart, but you’ve no desire to claim it back. Not when you know, in your soul, that you own his in return. He doesn’t push you away when you stroke his hair, even going so far as to move a little closer.

“It’s okay,” you say, your voice hoarse. “You’re home now.”

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