#i need this painted on a fancy ceiling

[potatomountain]

Winter Wonder- CJH

❄️Pairing: Choi Jongho x older fem reader

❄️WC: 7.6k (17 pages)

❄️AU: "holiday trope"? strangers to lovers

❄️Genre: Fluff, Smut

❄️Summary: Either go home for the holidays, or cash in on a free 2 week vacation at a ski resort despite a massive dislike for the snow? The choice was easy, though when a stranger decides that you being alone for the holidays is a travesty, you don't seem to mind the snow at all; not when he's part of the scenery.

❄️Warnings/smut: a lil holiday depression/loneliness, hints of a not great family life, Jongho reading smut, petnames like Darling and Beautiful, some anxiety over the age gap (its like 5-7 years) smut warnings: fingering, penetration without a condom but IUD, a moment of cum-eating, creampie, some cockwarming.

❄️AN: This is for the @lapydiaries winter event with the tropes "Don't want to go home for the Holidays" and "Not a holiday person"! This is also for my secret Santa event in @mirohs-aurora-society, so, @yourlocaljonghoe I hope you love this! (though im sure you guessed it was me as well)

❄️Honorable tags: @bunnliix, @adelusionforyourthoughts, and @yourfatherlucifer for being my beta's as always <3 Banner and dividers made by me <3

Holidays were not your thing, neither was the cold, but this year you had to pick one or the other. Go home for the holidays, endure your family’s questions that were judgemental stabs posed as questions of concern, or use the free vacation you won to a ski resort?

The choice was easy.

You lied to your family, saying these were the only days you could cash it in, knowing that if you had just stayed home they would have bothered you anyways. So the plan was simple, just enjoy the fancy resort, as it had the hot tub and sauna, fine dining, great room service, and plenty of heat in the suite you secured. You could catch up on some books, work out in the gym, just… relax.

That was the best holiday gift you could give yourself, even if it was surrounded by snowy mountains and freezing cold. Stepping into the resort, the heat that seemed to immediately start melting the snow on your jacket and boots, the cold leaving you with a shiver down your spine.

It was definitely a nice resort, you couldn’t even tell there were snowy mountains all around from inside. Everything about the interior was warm and inviting, decorated for the holidays with garland wrapping around the giant oak pillars in the large lobby, an arched ceiling with intricate carvings on the wood, painted golden to match more of the gold accents all throughout the place. All of it flickering light from the stone fireplace against the wall furthest to the right of the doors, right past a curved staircase up into the second floor.

It looked like a nice area to cozy up with a book, considering to the left of the entrance, through glass doors, seemed to be the ski rentals and hub for skiers to head out. It looked a bit crowded, full of mostly men, or small families, even the workers behind the counter had on a thick sweater from the doors outside constantly opening from the foot traffic. You didn’t see yourself stepping in there at all, and no need to: there was plenty to enjoy here.

Like the room. 

After checking in, you had found yourself in a grander room than you had expected, one of the smaller suites. The unfortunate thing was that it was in the wing most skiers were put, with a separate entrance so they could drag their snowy equipment up to their rooms. There was already a trail of snow in your hall, but the room itself made up for it. 

A small metal fireplace in the corner, a chaise lounge just out of reach but close enough you could feel the heat, with plenty of space even with the massive bed on the other side of the bed, with an oak canopy with red velvet curtains and warmer bedding. But the bathroom, oh the large jacuzzi tub big enough to fit two of you with plenty of room to spare looked like heaven, especially with the accommodations of a bath table, candles, and a set of bath oils and bombs complimentary of the store you had won the room through.

And the view? You might not be the biggest fan of snow, but there was something breathtaking about the snowy peak and trees you could see from your balcony. Faced to the side of the mountain that didn’t have the ski slopes, the airlines that took guests up, it was pure untouched scenery. And somehow as relaxing as the small fire you started up.

Hours later, after a relaxing bath, and unpacking half of your things, you wanted to see what else the resort had to offer, especially since the sun had set and you were hungry.

With no one you knew who would criticize your outfit either, you dressed up for your own benefit, just to feel nice in your own skin, before heading downstairs to the restaurant and bar. While only the room and transport to and from the resort were paid for these two weeks, food and other things were on you; having been saving up for a vacation anyways, it wasn’t really a problem.

In fact, why not have a bottle of wine or some drinks with your dinner? Just to celebrate, well, yourself. A nice, stress free, relaxing trip as far from your normal worries as you could get. No shame in sitting at a table near the bar alone, no shame looking at the prices as your mouth watered at the long list of food they did have. No shame, just enjoyment, for once in your life. At least that’s how it felt.

It wasn’t so easy to turn yourself into vacation mode as you thought though, even as you had placed your order and sat with a drink in your hand, book open and eyes glued to the page. Even then, you were well aware of the couples and families around. The groups of friends, the joy they were having celebrating their holidays and each other. One particular group stood out to you, what looked like a bunch of men younger than you, all huddled around the bar with boisterous laughter ordering shots and talking about their skiing for the day. 

There was a tinge of isolation felt in your core, and despite being in such a hurry to get away from everyone you knew, it unsettled you that you weren’t as happy being alone right now as you thought you would. No one judging every choice you make, to be disappointed in you or show fake concern for your lack of a love life and friends.

But there was no one to laugh with like that, to smile genuinely with and create memories to love for years to come. Your family would say your younger years were behind you now that you were “past your prime”, wasted away chasing a career that gave so little back. Maybe they were right, watching the group of men at least five years younger than you, maybe middle twenties, clearly enjoying each other and their holiday.

With a heavy sigh you downed the rest of your drink, turning back to your book to distract yourself. Though it wasn’t much of a distraction, as seconds later you found yourself glancing back up at the bar, this time finding eyes on you.

You didn’t expect him to wave.

A moment later, you also didn’t expect him to be standing at your table, two shots in his hands as he smiled down at you. “If you’re here alone, would you like to share a shot with me?” He hummed out, presenting the pretty soju shot to you.

Accept a shot from a stranger, or continue your dinner alone with just your book? Another decision that, in hindsight, would change more than you bargained for. Returning his smile with a pleasant one of your own, you took the shot. “I wouldn’t say I’m alone now.”

His grin turned flirty, motioning to the seat across from you for permission before he sat down once it was given. He was nicely dressed, a dark sweater, dark jeans, much like a dress casual as you were wearing as well, and less gaudy than most of his other friends.

“Thank you for accepting, I’m Choi Jongho. Is this your first day here?” He immediately started with the questions, holding onto the shot as he leaned forward a bit.

It occurred to you he wanted something from you. Maybe he and his friends were making a joke about the old woman eating alone? Maybe he felt sorry for you? Or… You let your eyes dip down, taking in the sight of him once more, hoping that he was simply here because he thought you were attractive. Now that was an idea, a younger man approaching you just to flirt?

You gave him your name, smile turning a bit flirty just to see how he would react. “I arrived about midday so yeah, first day here. You’re with your friends over there right?” You jutted your chin at the group at the bar, several of them staring this way with varying expressions. Some in disbelief, some proud, some worried. “Mind filling me in why you decided to leave them to sit with little ol’ me?” Now you leaned forward, purposely pushing your breasts together for the bit of cleavage that was on display.

Only because you were expecting it did you notice the subtle glance and the darkening of his cheeks. “We sort of fought for who would come over here, and I won.” He grinned in triumph, holding up the shot glass. “My lucky day. So a shot to new friends?”

Laughing a bit at his admission, you lifted the shot glass to his. “That’s cute, to new friends.”

With a clink, you both downed the shot, but he didn’t move to get up, instead charging forward right into the next question. “So, pardon me for asking, but why are you here alone just before the holidays?”

Your smile faltered, glancing down at your book before pushing it aside. Of course others would find it odd, it’s definitely not the norm. “The simplest answer would be that it’s just a vacation to give myself some personal time, no holiday stress and I won the room and travel expenses so why not?”

“So no kids or partner you have waiting for you at home?” He inquired, leaning in a bit more.

Shaking your head, you bit down on your lip softly. “No, no one. I was content spending the holidays alone.”

“I hear a but there.”

“Well of course you do. That but would be that now that you’re here, being alone doesn’t seem like the best idea. Wanna keep me company for dinner?”

He was eager to do so, quickly falling into conversation. You ordered some food for him, and he ordered a drink, starting off with just getting to know each other but with some mild flirting in the mix.

You had been right about the age, mid twenties, he and his friends had come up to spend their holidays here, some of their families had also come along but not his. He didn’t judge you when you admitted you just didn’t want to deal with your family for the holidays either, the “joy” of it nonexistent for you. In fact, he seemed more offended that you didn’t like the snow or skiing.

Somehow, by the end of dinner, he had convinced you to go skiing with him just once during your stay, insisting you have to. When you mentioned you had no equipment or gear, he offered to pay to rent it all for you, giving you no excuses. 

Instead, you made a deal with him. You’d go skiing, if he read one of the books you had brought with you, since you had talked about your love for reading as one of the topics. You had made sure to clarify it was a romance novel, but he agreed, even if he had a light blush paired with his determined grin.

Once dinner was paid for, and drinks, his friends pulled him away and you could hear them hounding him for questions. One of the taller ones, with a deep voice, not so quietly asked “So is she single? Down to fuck?” before he had gotten far.

“Single, yes.” You called out, answering for him as you stood, feeling the few drinks really taking effect and giving you courage to say things you normally wouldn’t. “Down to fuck? That remains to be seen.” You sent a wink over at Jongho specifically, pleased when he got shy at the attention.

You weren’t against it, but really you had enjoyed just talking to him more than anything.

It was enough of a distraction that you went to your room without much thought of how you were going to give him the book; instead you were more flabbergasted at the fact he and his friends shared a few rooms right across from yours. 

Well it made sense, since he had said they were there to ski, but it was oddly ironic. He hadn’t said anything else to you, but currently, a different friend was stepping into the hotel room with him, and luck had it that you caught his eye. He still seemed a bit shy after his friend’s comment, just giving you a wave before stepping into the room. At least you both knew which room you were in, so he couldn’t hide from you but you also couldn’t hide from him.

With eager anticipation, you constantly glanced at the door to see if maybe he would make the move and come to you. Perhaps you could get out of the deal if he didn’t come grab the book? After all, you didn’t want to go out in the snow if you didn’t have to. However barely a half hour had passed before there was a knock on the door.

No surprise to find him there, the confident smile from before back on his face. “So, about that book?”

Sighing dramatically, as if in defeat, you held up a finger before stepping further into the hotel room and grabbing the book you had set aside. “Here you go handsome, one smutty romance novel for you to read.”

“Smutty?” Ah, there was the shy guy from earlier, nearly fumbling the book as you handed it over. “But-”

“I did say it was an adult romance book.” Now you had a wicked grin on your face, hands on your hips as you tilted your head in question. “Backing out of the bet?”

He went stiff, shaking his head with determination. “Not at all, but, I’m upping the deal.”

You actually pouted out. “No fair- all because you were too busy staring at my tits than listening?”

“Totally not the case.” He was quick to defend himself. “If I get like, halfway through, then I take you out to the slopes to teach you how to ski. Because otherwise it’s dangerous if you don’t have some knowledge.”

You told yourself it was only because he had a point that you didn’t argue- and not because that meant more time with him. “Fine. Halfway then. And I’ll be quizzing you.”

“Make the questions hard then at least.”

“The hardest.”

“Oh? Is that also how you like it?” The drop of his tone, and the fact he was much closer than you realized, made the question quite provocative for your mind.

Now you were the one shy and flustered, scoffing because what else could you do? “Maybe you’ll find out.” You motioned to the book, knowing that the couple was passionate about each other, but in a way that was sweet and romantic. It was one of the softer books you had, but there was a reason the binding was worn out from how many times you had read it and why you chose this one for him to read.

If skiing was a love of his, you were sharing a love of yours.

“I see. Then I should get to reading. Goodnight Darling.” He held up the book as he took a step back, reluctant to leave you, but soon enough you were watching him shut his hotel door. Cheeks still burning from the pet name, you headed to bed as well, feeling like a high school girl who just got asked to prom by her crush.

You didn’t see or hear from him the next day, opting to stay in your own room and attempt to read your current book while snuggled up against the fire. You had ordered room service for snacks and the like, not even leaving the room once since the only reason you would knew where to find you.

Unfortunately he was on your mind the whole time, interrupting your thoughts and making it hard to focus on the book. A bit sad to go to sleep without a peep, the next day was promising.

He knocked early, a wide grin on his features when he saw you wrapped up in the hotel robe clearly just out of bed. “I got halfway. Meet me downstairs for breakfast and then skiing?”

To say you were shocked was an understatement, having begun to doubt if he really would read the book, or if he would do so with time for you to fill your half of the bargain. The fact he was younger was somehow intimidating- or maybe it was the insecurities that usually surfaced around this time of year- that had you questioning constantly if he really enjoyed your company.

So you were touched that he did manage so quickly. Even more so when he answered every single of your questions over breakfast down at the restaurant, showing enthusiasm for the story.

Though he was much more talkative about the skiing equipment as he dragged you to the shop to rent your own equipment. Before you knew it, you were shaking out in the snow but looked like an overpacked marshmallow with rosey cheeks under the hefty goggles. The snow made it difficult, waddling through it like a penguin which had him laughing in his own puffer jacket.

“It’s cold~” You whined for the dozenth time in the last ten minutes, finally making it to the kiddy slopes. Regret was just around the corner, but every time he did laugh it seemed miles away.

There was also a spark in his eye when he looked at you, gummy smile like a mini sun that made the biting cold melt away from your chest; your fingertips weren’t that immune yet.

“You’ll get used to it. Now, almost there. We’ll practice how to stand up at the top of this one hill and then I’ll have you practice going down it until you get the hang of it.”

“I dislike those odds. We’re going to be here forever!”

“I beg to differ beautiful, I think you’ll get the hang of it.” He winked, holding his hand out to help you up the small slope that kids half your size and smaller were managing to go down with ease. If he hadn’t thrown out another pet name that left you cooking in the puffer jacket, you might feel jealous of the kids for doing it so well.

So what if it took all two weeks to get the hang of it if he was teaching you?

The first unfortunate face plant into the snow was a harsh reminder that yes, it did matter how long you were out here. He laughed, but helped you up and dusted snow off your jacket while you puffed out your cheeks like you were the younger one.

“I want a refund.”

“No can do.”

Your protests fell on deaf ears as the teaching continued. Once the skis were on, you fell sideways on your first step. Then awkwardly onto your ass. Being bundled like a fragile vase did not make moving easy, but you were trying.

An hour, maybe a bit more, and you made your first successful, if not clumsy, trip down the small slope on skis. He came sliding down, stopping next to you with ease to help you up as stopping was something you still needed to practice.

This time though, you got payback: you pulled him down ‘accidentally’.

He fell on top of you, laughing at the clumsy entanglement you both were. Despite the ice cold snow against your back, he radiated warmth above you, that gummy smile back on his face you associated with pure joy. The smile was gone when you shoved a handful of snow down the neck of his jacket, starting an unfortunate battle between you both that had you rolling around in the snow, laughing and squealing.

Until you weren’t anymore, skis entangled you were pressed together in a tantalizing way that had you heating from the inside out. Staring up at him, admiring the beauty he was with literal steam radiating off him, you thought the winter sky was a beautiful backdrop. He looked at you as if he was staring at priceless art, wet glove easily sliding into the snow under your head to hold you still as he was leaning in.

Your brain was short circuiting as your eyes fluttered close, accepting the kiss you expected to come, but it landed on your bright red nose. Which, you hadn’t noticed, was so damn cold and snotty until his warm breath fanned over it. “We should get you inside before you become Rudolph.” 

His teasing comment snapped you out of your trance and you slapped his shoulder playfully. His laughter was back, your cheeks just as red as your nose as he leaned back to easily disentangle you both.

The almost kiss wasn’t brought up, not even as he helped you back inside and up to your room. Whatever he was going to say at the door was interrupted by one of his friends calling out to him: it seemed they had afternoon plans. But he left you with a promise to take you back on the hill tomorrow evening.

He kept it, this time you learned how to stop, still pretty clumsy, but the praise and pride on his features every time you did well was enough encouragement to continue with the lessons. That night he invited you to dinner with him and a few of his friends, those that didn’t have family there, and you met Mingi, San, and Yeosang. It seemed the others were spending their evening with their families.

Mingi had been the one to ask if you were down to fuck, a comment he apologized for profusely when you joined them at the table. San was a gentleman from the start, doting on the quiet pretty boy next to him the entire dinner. In fact, so did Jongho and Mingi, a fact you found interesting and even called Yeosang the “baby girl” of the group. That seemed to be the comment that won their approval, and while you didn’t do much talking, you saw Jongho as his age for once.

Being the youngest of his friends, he was playful like a little brother and teasing the others. Even you couldn’t help jumping in on the teasing, pinching his cheek and cooing at him like a baby. After dinner you joined them for a game of billiards which they were quite competitive for, but good. You found yourself a comrade with Mingi, both of you failing almost miserably while both Jongho and San were toe to toe, carrying you both since you had split into teams with Yeosang as the resident cheerleader.

The biggest moment, for you at least, was when Jongho secured the win, the two of you cheering loudly until he was silencing yours with a kiss. You melted almost instantly, a dreamy look in your eyes as he pulled away a second later, blissful grin on his lips.

“Rub it in our faces, why don’t you!” Mingi huffed out while San was grinning like a proud papa, Yeosang holding his hand over his mouth completely shocked. On the walk back to the rooms, Yeosang became a bit more vocal and nosy about you both while San consoled a sullen Mingi.

But really you wanted to know where you were now standing with the man. He had been a stranger days ago, each evening almost like a date, and now you met his friends and shared your first kiss with him in front of them. Like a couple. Yet he was ushered into the room he shared with another friend, and you had no time to question him about it.

Christmas Eve was the next day, and despite pulling yourself out of the room and reading down in the lobby with the big fireplace, you didn’t see him once. Some of his friends you recognized, once more with family, but not him.

You did a video call with some family that night, the few you could stand easily, and went to bed early. For you, Christmas was another normal day, but the anxiety was beginning to settle in.

Was this a real thing with Jongho? Or was it just a fling? Would it end with sex and then forgetting each other the moment you left the resort? Were you okay with that?

You could hear the hotel doors opening and closing often during Christmas morning, having ordered room service you could hear the cheers and joy coming from the nearby rooms and the loneliness hit hard. 

Somehow, like a sturdy rock, Jongho appeared before the heavy thoughts buried you. He knocked on your door, wearing a white fluffy hoodie and a cream colored bearlike beanie and sweats. He had a bag in his hand, that gummy smile back on his face and a near dreamy look in his eyes as he looked over your own cozy outfit. “Merry Christmas?”

Guilt tugged at your heart, as well as some other emotions, but you gently took the bag from him and smiled softly. “I didn’t get you anything though…”

“Don’t have to. We can just enjoy the evening together? Can I come in?” He presented another gift, a bottle of alcohol and juice to mix it with, both items you were familiar with since they made up your drink the night you met.

“Jongho… I’m really touched but you didn’t have to.” You stepped back to let him in, finding him absolutely adorable in the fuzzy clothes, reminding you once more he was younger. It shouldn’t matter, really, but perhaps after so much of your family’s nagging it was just programmed into your mind to hear what they would say, even if they weren’t there.

He shrugged, setting the gift down on the desk provided in the room and then looking around as to where to sit; it didn’t elude you that he avoided looking at the bed. “I know, but I wanted to.” He turned to you once you shut the door and stepped further in, the tension between you palpable, probably from the unresolved kiss. “You don’t have to celebrate, but I just want to spend some time with you today. Is that alright?”

As an answer, you made your way over and grabbed his hand, pulling him over to sit on the chaise lounge by the ongoing fire. You had him sit before going to grab the gift, coming back and taking the spot next to him. “Can I open this now then?” Your words were thick with emotion, a large part of you moved beyond measure by this simple gesture.

It’s barely been a week, you shouldn’t feel this strongly about a stranger.

But he wasn’t a stranger, smiling at you as if he was the sun that you basked in daily; looking at you as if you were his favorite sight. He was a wonder, bringing you to life in ways you didn’t realize you had been dead.

“Open it.”

With apprehension you did, eyes widening as the first thing under the tissue paper was the book you had borrowed him. Your eyes flickered up to meet his gaze, finding him a bit bashful. “I finished it.”

He did?

“You can quiz me on it later but keep going, there’s more.”

Licking your lips you turned your attention back to the bag. There indeed was more, a trilogy of books at the bottom of the bag, a series you weren’t familiar with but could tell would be good. All by the same author as the book you had leant him. 

He started to ramble. “So the shop owner said this is a more recent series by that author, similar genre, and I thought you might like it because of how well worn the book is and-” The books fell to the floor as you reached over and grabbed him, cupping his cheeks to hold him still as your lips collided with his.

Why even question that first kiss when it didn’t matter? You wanted him, desire him physically and emotionally. Even if you never saw him after this retreat, you weren’t going to let the what ifs and questions stop you from taking this chance.

He kissed back with equal passion, matching your lips as you held him still. His hands found your waist, guiding you onto his lap as you were already moving there. Kiss after kiss, heating up the room more than the fireplace could.

“Darling- wait.” Despite your eagerness, he pulled away, breathing a bit heavy from the onslaught of kisses. “We should-”

“Talk? Maybe. But to be frank, Jongho, it doesn’t matter to me if I don’t see you after this resort, or if I do.” You slipped your hand up into his hair, knocking the beanie off and onto the floor. “I want you. I don’t want to have any regrets and I will regret it if I don’t take this chance with you.” It was a bit of a lie, you had a feeling you wanted to see him even after the snow had melted into spring and for the next winter and so on.

But even just these few days up in the snow covered mountains would be enough.

It was a sentiment he seemed to share, picking you with such ease you were squealing and holding on tighter.

“I was going to say move to the bed.” He teased out, already carrying you, a sly grin on his features. “But good to know you want me so bad. Or need me so bad?” He set  you down on the edge, placing a chaste kiss to your nose before his hands began to wander. “I don’t have a condom though so-”

“I have an IUD. Don’t care.” Your robe fell open, the cute fuzzy pajamas exposed underneath. “I do need you so bad.”

His lips were on yours again in the next moment, no more words needed to show how much he needed you too. His hands did plenty of talking. They slid the robe off completely and tossed it onto the floor, your shirt coming off next while his lips only gave you a small reprieve to breathe before they were back on yours.

He gently inched you up more and more, lips trailing soft but needy kisses along your jaw, to your neck, nipping at the skin there. “So beautiful…” 

Your hand found its way into his hair, tilting your neck back to give him more access as his lips trailed lower; over your collarbone, the expanse of your chest, right to your exposed nipple. The second his lips latched on you were tightening your fingers in the fluffy strands, his own fingers pushing down your sleep shorts.

Every touch was soft, but you could feel the passion and need for you. In the way his teeth scraped against your hardened nipple, to the soft way his fingers trailed over your thighs as he pushed the fabric off, your underwear as well. Soon you were bare beneath him, but he wasn’t in a rush as his mouth moved to give equal attention to the neglected tit.

When was the last time you felt so cherished? The emotions swirling in your chest are as heavy as the lust pooling into your lower stomach and between your thighs. It just made your need for him that much more suffocating, impatience surging up that resulted in you pushing him off to the side and quickly climbing on top. “You really think I am?” You questioned, biting down on your  lip as you moved down his thighs to grip his sweats.

His hands grabbed your wrists, expression once more bashful. It was cute, how he could be so confident and in control one moment, and then you do something that makes him so adorable and shy. “Y-yes, I think you are.” His eyes ran down your body, still holding you still by your wrists. You could visibly see the lust clouding his gaze more and more, a subtle gasp leaving his lips when his eyes locked onto your pussy, just inches from his clothed member.

You were pleased by the way his grip tightened and the soft, almost whine he let out when you rolled your hips to tease him. “And I think you are adorable like this. I told you I need you, so please, let me have you baby?”

Dropping your hands, he instead gripped your legs just above your knees, watching with bated breath as you pulled his sweats down finally and exposed him more. The wet spot through the grey boxers had you salivating, tempted just to lower your mouth and get a taste. How would he react?

The temptation was too much to pass up, already leaning forward before he knew what you were doing. With sweet satisfaction he bucked his hips up as you mouthed at the wet spot, feeling his thick tip twitching beneath the fabric. Ah his reaction was so cute, nails digging into your knees and soft pants leaving him while he forced himself to watch. Still in the big fuzzy sweater, you thought he should keep it on, he looked so adorable after all.

“Please, Darling I-”

“Yes?” You pulled your lips away, instead rubbing your cheek against the twitching bulge while your hands worked his pants off, using your feet to help kick them off him. “Tell me what you want, baby.”

He didn’t answer, instead sitting up to grab the back of your thighs and pull you up until you were chest to chest. He manhandled you with ease, but with no aggression behind his movements, just desire. Desire he conveyed even more through the desperate clash of lips and teeth and mixed breaths of you both.

Desire you could feel once his underwear was off and he was pressing your wet lips down on his shaft, both of you letting out a sweet sound of pleasure at the touch. Oh he was thick and it had your inner walls throbbing to feel them around it.

But there was no way you could just take it without some pain, which he seemed to be just as aware of. Pushing himself up on one elbow while he tapped your thigh gently. “Lift, or lay down.”

“But I-”

“You’ll have my cock soon enough, beautiful, but I don’t want to hurt you.” He kissed your cheek to soothe your protest, gently guiding you onto your back. Your legs fell open, making more than enough room for him which he took advantage of, his thick thighs spreading yours even further apart, eyes and hand running down the length of your body in admiration. “Are you sure about this?”

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, fingers threading through his soft hair once more. “DO you want me to beg? Because I will? Please please Jongho, I really want you. Want your cock inside me, want to be as close to you as I can, want- ah~” Your head fell back as his fingers rubbed between your slit before giving your clit the lightest pinch to shut you up.

He was smiling down at you with triumph, taking in the expressions you made as he used your slick to cover two of his fingers. “I get it, so needy it’s cute.”

With a pout you tugged on his hair, though it was instantly washed away when he pushed both fingers in with very little resistance. It had been so long, both fingers already feeling like a stretch inside, making you thankful he had insisted on prep. “N-not cute.”

“No?” He kissed the tip of your nose, pushing his fingers deep and curling them, chuckling at your reaction. “That’s definitely cute.”

“Says the one in a fluffy sweater.” You countered back like a brat despite your hips rocking up to meet his hand, practically putty as the two fingers explored your inner walls, finding the sweet spots that had your breath hitching or body twitching in response.

His smile turned gummy, now tugging at your heartstrings as you had grown to adore that smile. “Do you think I’m cute doing this to you?” To accentuate his words, his thumb started rubbing your clit in circles, humming at how pliant you became, only nodding to answer his question. “Should I take it off?”

Shaking your head, you gripped at his biceps, enjoying the fluffy material under your palms. “Wouldn't be able to think if you were bare.”

“I don’t think you’re doing a good job of thinking right now, Darling.” Slowly he spread you out, thumb increasing its pace just to have you soaking his hand even more. “I think you want to cum, don’t you?”

“A-are you going to let me?”

He chuckled, running his nose along your cheek before placing a kiss. “Of course. I can’t be mean to you.” He was already moving faster, fingers rubbing against your sweet spots he had found earlier in sync with his thumb. Both added more pressure, his thighs keeping yours apart as you started to writhe just a bit beneath him.

Tugging at the sweater on his arms, your eyes rolled shut to just enjoy the pleasure, head falling back into the pillows and shy moans leaving your lips as you realized just how much power he had over you. Yet he was treating you so gently, humming out soft praises about how good you were being.

There was a knowing smirk on his lips before you even started babbling out that you were going to cum, whining and tugging at his sweater as he kept up his pace. “Please, can I come? Can I please please Jongho- baby please.” You panted around the drool, forcing yourself to look up at him and pout between whines.

His grin just widened, glancing down between you both to see the ministrations of his fingers working you up and “then come Darling” to watch you soak his hand with your release, giving him such a sweet moan his impatience roared its head.

You were still twitching and panting as he pulled his fingers out, bringing them to his mouth as he leaned back, guiding his thick member to your cunt while he licked his fingers clean. The contradiction of his actions paired with the fluffy mess of his hair and fluffy sweater was actually endearing.

Though that endearment was pushed to the side as he pushed in, the stretch made your eyes go wide and grab onto him once more. It wasn’t painful, but there was a tight pressure he clearly felt as well. “Fuck- still so tight.”

A whine was your only answer, huffing as you tugged on the fabric to ask for more. You wanted to feel more of him, be as close as possible.

Feel loved.

Because even in just these few days, you had felt seen and cherished and in this moment that was felt tenfold. The way his eyes flickered between your face and where you were joined, eyes soft and looking for any sign of pain.

He was so gentle as he pushed in bit by bit, pausing once he bottomed out and you couldn’t suppress the whimpers that left you even if you tried. The two of you locked eyes, silently checking in on each other before he leaned over and kissed you, stealing what little breath you had left away.

Arms wrapping around his shoulders, you wrapped your legs around his waist as well, pushing the sweater up. The soft fabric grazing your tits with every slow roll of his hips made the entire act softer. As your walls adjusted to his thickness, he picked up pace, panting against your lips before he picked you up.

Now in the air wrapped around him like a koala, he made a show of strength as he gripped just under your ass and moved you in sync with his thrusts. He felt so deep you were already shaking, burying your face into his shoulder and holding on tightly. “Jongho- Jongho please-”

“Please what?” He was breathless but was still thrusting up into you with ease. “Do you need more?”

Bashfully you nodded, gasping out in shock when he obliged. Now you were bouncing on his cock with such fervor your mind was filled with so much cotton you couldn’t think.  The soft grunts and pants by your ear were a good indication he was enjoying this as much as you were, but you loved the whine he let out when you purposely clenched down around him. 

“Fuck- you’re going to milk me at this rate Darling.”

“Want to. Want to be nice and full. Don’t want you to leave.” You panted out, head lifting to press your forehead against his cheek. “Want you to feel good too.”

“I feel amazing. It’s an effort not to cum in your pretty cunt right now.” He gently kissed your forehead, the softness making your heart lurch with affection.

You were down bad, and with the way he was fucking you, it was for more than just his heart. “Then don’t hold back. We can go again and again.”

He chuckled breathlessly, fingers gripping your soft flesh tighter. “Alright, remember you asked for it.” He went silent then, focusing entirely on chasing his release by fucking into you a bit harder.

Loving every thrust your head fell back, only your grip on him keeping you from falling back. Though with the grip he had on your ass you weren’t coming off his dick anytime soon- just coming on it.

Crying out as the pleasure hit you like a ton of bricks, you nearly did fall back but Jongho fell with you. Burying you into the bed like you had been buried in the snow beneath him as he gave a few erratic final thrusts before releasing himself deep inside. The groan he made tingled your spine and brain, unlocking chemistry that made you feel like you were in love at that moment.

Moments passed as he stilled and both of you struggled to catch your breath, but he didn’t pull out. Not even when he placed a kiss on your cheek and rolled over so you were on top of him, you were still seated on his softening cock.

His hands ran up and down your back and then down your thighs, tucking your head under his chin as his breathing regulated. “I don’t want this to be just a vacation fling.”

Smiling at his words, you hugged him as best you could, but were too worn out in the moment to even lift your head. “Doesn’t have to be. We live in the same city right?” It had been briefly mentioned before.

“Yeah… Will you see me there?” He sounded a little insecure over the question, which you were a bit surprised by.

“I’d love to, Jongho. Besides, there are more fun things to do when you aren’t surrounded by snow.”

He huffed at your comment. “Skiing is plenty fun and you still have to try the novice slope with me.”

Laughing softly, you took notice you could see it snowing on your balcony, knowing just how cold the pretty flakes were. But it was plenty warm in this hotel room, with the fireplace and Jongho under you with his fluffy sweater and warm embrace. “I did promise, and you did read my book.”

“It was a bit hard to, since I couldn’t stop imagining that spicy scene as you and I.”

At the admission you did lift your head, laughing at the blush warming his golden cheeks. “Really? You are so cute Choi Jongho, getting flustered over that after you just fucked my brains out.”

He couldn’t meet your eyes. “Well… I wanted to make sure I could compare…”

“Compared to what? What I read?” He shook his head, leaving you frowning. “Do you think I had a lot of lovers just because I’m older?”

Ah, Bingo. “Mingi made a comment that the older woman he had been with had shown him a lot of new things… I’m less experienced than him so I thought…”

You cut him off with a kiss. “Remind me to kick him in the balls when I see him next. I’m not that experienced, and even if I was you were more than perfect.”

There it was, that smile you adored so much lighting up his features. “Really?”

“Yes really. But-” Resting your head again you glanced back out at the balcony. “Now I think I need to quiz you on that book, see if I really should go skiing with you.”

His hold tightened with a whine. “Why do you want to get out of it?”

“Because the snow is too cold, and I like doing this more.” You huffed out in return, hands playing with the soft sweater. 

“Then how about I warm you up just like this after every time we go outside and you get cold?” He prompted, laughing when you jolted up into a sitting position. “I take it you like that?”

With a nod, your grin widened. “I can certainly deal with some snow… especially since it’s not so bad with you.” No, the sight of him in all his ski gear was just as charming as he looked right now, all tousled from sex and blushing.

Snow definitely wasn’t so bad when he was there, so maybe the holidays weren’t that bad after all. 

He took your hands in his, meeting your gaze and practically melting at his own. “So you like me, not the snow?” At your nod, he pulled you back down and kissed you softly. “Then I suppose I wouldn’t be against some summer vacation despite not liking the heat… you know, as long as you’re there.”

Oh he really did make everything more wonderful.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I don't know what to think of this house's updates. The 1882 Colonial Revival in Brookline, MA has 7bds, 5ba, 5,244 sq ft, and they're asking $4m. Take a look. What do you think?

The front porch is interesting, isn't it?

Okay, enter the magnificent entrance hall with bench seating, and a beautiful fireplace. All is intact. But, they painted everything white, only leaving a little trim for contrast.

What in the world possessed them to do this? I'm sure that it's perfectly preserved under the paint. This home was well-maintained.

Look at the details on the stairs. Covered in white paint.

Large sitting room with a big fireplace, long built-in shelves, and dental molding on the ceiling.

Look at this. Each sitting room has the most magnificent woodwork. Look at this fireplace and shelves. Not to mention the molding. The white actually cuts down the contrast and details of the carvings. If they were natural wood the details would stand out.

It isn't any wonder that the dining room would be spacious and have its own wonderful fireplace and wainscoting.

The kitchen is huge and it's not a bad renovation, although I don't know if I like that thing above the island.

At least they chose Shaker cabinetry and didn't go fancy.

The stairs are an example of superb craftsmanship. I can't believe they left the railings natural.

The primary is large and could be much more beautiful with brighter decor.

I don't mind bathroom remodels as long as they use some nice reproduction fixtures, combining new with old.

Lovely colonial bedroom with wide plank flooring.

Adorable vintage looking bath.

Here's a large 2nd level sitting room or family room.

Just beautiful. What a great family room it would make.

The attic level is finished, but there is also a trap door, probably for storage under the eaves.

There are several extra bedrooms up here.

This one is lovely.

This is a pretty room, too.

And, look at this finished workroom in the basement. Wow, this is some craft lover's dream.

This home is beautiful. Not sure it's $4m beautiful, though. Seems like a very steep price tag.

Cozy patio behind the bushes, but there's not much property, otherwise.

Nice 2 car garage, but the driveway needs work.

On the other side of the bushes, there's a nice lawn. .28 acre lot.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/27-Irving-St-Brookline-MA-02445/56571842_zpid/

[martiansodas-blog]

Art x reader meeting the readers parents and it's an absolute mess:(

(bonus points if he finds her old room and plays with her calico critters and plushies)

ok my brain automatically went to older! art soooo…

your parents knew 2 things about your new boyfriend.

1- he’s successful.

and 2- he’s a couple years older than you.

a couple years is an understatement.

but you figured once they met him and saw how sweet he treated you it wouldn’t matter!

this did not turn out to be the case.

your mom and dad took one look at him and made a snap judgment.

they knew his type, (supposedly.)

old money. a younger girl on his arm. cold and aloof. power hungry.

it’s a shame. this couldn’t be farther from the truth.

art donaldson may be a weapon on the court, but behind closed doors he’s the little spoon who makes you heart shaped pancakes.

“so. where did the two of you meet?” your mother asks, more to be pleasant and less because she wants to know the answer.

“at work,” you said , fondly remembering the exchange, “he was-“

“heckling my daughter in the workplace?”

“mom.” you warn “no.”

“honey,” your dad reigns her in

she huffs and crosses her arms in defeat.

“i was needing some more tennis equipment, actually.” art chimes in,

“yeah he was looking for these fancy sweatbands but we didn’t carry any, we just sort of got to talking.”

your dad gave you both a soft smile

“well, you seem to make our little girl very happy.”

incoming call from: tashi

“speaking of little girl, that’s probably her saying goodnight. excuse me.”

art very politely stepped out onto the porch.

“he has a kid?” your mothers eyes looked like they could pop out of her head at any second. “honestly why on earth would you think this is a good idea?”

“yes he does and she’s very sweet. her names lily.” you said firmly.

“so what? you’re gonna be a stepmom in your early twenties? is that what you want?”

“i wanted to introduce the person i love to my parents. but obviously that was a bad idea.”

your dad ushers your mom into their bedroom. he gives you a apologetic glance before he closes the door.

you stood there, frozen in the entryway for an unknown amount of time. as long as it took for art to finish his call and rest his hands on your shoulders from behind.

“hey hey, what’s the matter? what happened?”

you didn’t realize you were crying until you started to speak. well, tried to speak anyway.

“they,” you sniffed, “she…i’m sorry,”

“oh honey,” he pulled you into a hug.

you buried your face in his toned chest.

“i should’ve known this would happen” you heaved, gripping his shirt.

“shh, shh it’s ok. this is most definitely not your fault.”

he stroked your back and pressed feather light kisses to your hairline until you calmed down. when you removed yourself there was a wet patch right in the middle of his torso.

“let’s go upstairs, yeah?” he suggested gently.

he was almost using his dad voice.

you nodded, grabbed his coarse hand and guided him up the steps.

“so this is your childhood bedroom?”

art took in the whimsy filled room. the ceiling was only about a foot taller than him.

“the one and only.” you managed to crack a smile.

it was just how you’d left it at 18. the walls were pink and green. a choice you’d made at 7 and never got around to changing.

you’re glad you never painted over it now, though. it makes you feel innocent again, like a time capsule you can walk into.

art strolled around the room. looking at drama club trophies that lined the bookshelf, the collection of calico critters and the photo booth films stuck on your mirror.

there was a good amount of dust on everything. it caused a pit in your stomach to open up.

“you ok?”

“yeah” you nodded, “just got a little carried away by nostalgia.”

art wasn’t sure if touch would be the right thing for you right now, so he opened his arms, giving you the option.

you hugged him without a second thought. like an instinct. you squeezed him with all your might, like a stress ball. art hardly felt it, though.

figures.

“meeting my family will go better. my grandmas already looking forward to it.”

you lifted your head to look at him.

“really?”

such a simple sentence gave you butterflies.

“yeah,” he chuckled, like it was obvious “i’ve told her all about you.”

you truly didn’t know what to say. so touched by the sincerity and excitement in his tone. it. it caused you to break into a smile, a real smile, for the first time since you’d got to your parents house.

“i’d like that very much.”

[bloodyknucklesforme]

Pomegranate | Nikolai x F!reader

Chapter 1

After a series of misfortunes you've found yourself in debt to Arno, a human trafficker operating in London. You work at his club, dancing and escorting, only to find yourself deeper and deeper in debt. One night you arrive at Nikolai's. He's handsome, abrasive, gross, tender at times and he might be the most dangerous man you've ever met.

cw: cw: dark fic, dubcon/noncon, reader is being trafficked, human trafficking, cockwarming, body inspection, piv, Nikolai is evil but also kind in his own weird way

Masterpost

"Clothes off... all of them," A thick Russian accent said from the intercom. You looked up at the camera in the corner. He must have seen you hesitate, "I already paid. Don't waste my money."

It never got easier. The degradation and humiliation of stripping for strange men, being used like a toy and forced to pack yourself back up into your box till next time.  It'd been almost a year now. As you dropped your coat to the floor your anger and shame hit the ceiling. You'd trusted your ex, he promised to help you when you lost your job, when you couldn't pay rent, when you needed to borrow money. You moved to London for better opportunities now you were in some stranger's house waiting to be used. You'd lost track of how deep in debt you were to him and his 'friends'. 10k? 20k? It made your stomach clench.

"Don't cry. You'll fuck up your makeup." is what those cunts back at the club would always say before you got in the car to a client's.

Marcus, your ex, now trafficker, hammered it in that this was a very important client. Probably another criminal. A rich one at that. His house was more of a warehouse. Large, stretching for almost an entire block. Nondescript from the outside beyond the vault like door and fancy keypad, one you were given a code to on the way there. 

"Turn around," he ordered when the last of your clothes hit the floor. Checking for a wire or weapons you guessed. Knowing you were being watched like this made your skin crawl but it was better than being groped immediately on entry.

The room you were locked in was more of a safe room with steel walls and thick doors. One leading outside and the other leading further inside. No windows, just the camera, an intercom panel and a white gift box that sat on the floor. 

"New clothes in the box. Put them on."

It was a too small lacy bra and matching too small panties. A washed baby blue, all mesh so you were fully exposed. There was a loud buzzer and the door unlocked.

Inside was nice. Made to look like a palace. Wood floors covered in large red patterned rugs. The walls had large paintings you recognized from an art history class years ago. You couldn’t tell if they were real or not. The details were obscured by the darkness. There was only one light on in the hallway, a door was opened down the way. It was a maw that beckoned you toward it. 

You stood at the threshold. The living room was equally extravagant. The walls were painted a wine red lacquer, almost mirror like. The ceiling had complex molding, painted the same color as the walls. The windows were all blacked out with heavy velvet curtains. It felt cold in this room. To the left was a large bar with more bottles than you'd ever seen in your life. To the right was a large couch and projector screen. Soviet era antiques were scattered about. It felt more like a palace than a home. A palace for some dark god, one that ruled pain and death. 

"You're prettier than the photo." You jumped at the voice. He was so quiet you didn't notice him on the couch. He was big, obviously tall but muscular with wide shoulders. He had a layer of fat that only worked to increase his intimidating stature. Dark hair slicked back with a widow's peak. Stubble covered the bottom part of an aged face. He wasn't old, older yes but whatever business he was in had aged him around the eyes. Dark eyes that hid any emotion from you.

He snapped his fingers and motioned for you to walk over. He had a cigar in the other hand. The smell filled the room. 

"Good. You follow instructions. More than I can say for the last one Arno sent me." He motioned for you to spin around again, giving your ass a light spank and laughing when you yelped. "You fuck anyone else today?"

"No," you shook your head. He blew cigar smoke at you, watching the silver bisect around your middle.

"Good. I'd hate to waste more time cleaning you out. They never do a good job at that." He put his cigar in the ashtray beside him. "On your knees."

"What's your name?" He asked, making space between his legs for you. You answered softly, a lie. Never give them anything was what another girl told you. Give anything and they’ll take until there’s nothing left. Even your bones could be used to pick teeth. He held your chin between two fingers, moving your head around like a doll. "Open your mouth."

He leaned forward, looking inside you. A thumb hooked over your bottom row of teeth. It tasted like tobacco and sweat. You'd learned to hold back gags long ago. 

"I don't like girls with rotten teeth." He ran a finger over your teeth, top and bottom, occasionally pressing on one.  He frowned, "Stop shaking. I'm not going to hurt you."

A lie, most likely. Men always said that before fucking you, like they could believe you were there willingly, like they didn't pick you out of a catalogue of girls. You clenched your fists in your lap and willed the fear out of your bones. Docile thing, something to be eaten to the core. You were always good. Arno controlled his girls with an iron hand. You’d heard the beatings other girls got when they disappointed. There were clients who had girls sent to them yet never returned them. Disappointing girls got sent there. Sacrifices to the gods of gold. Arno always wore gold.

"I like girls who like you." He pulled his fingers out of your mouth and pushed your jaw shut. "I paid to have you till morning. Make it worth it."

He leaned back with a sigh, grabbing a remote and turning on the projector. A hockey game flicked onto the screen, the noise from the stadium coming from speakers you never saw. 

"Is there...uh...anything you want me to call you?" Men liked all sorts of names. Daddy, Master, Sir. Rarely creative, often repeated. Some used their real name but not many, no one wants the risk of their whore becoming too mouthy. 

He looked down at you, like he already forgot you were there.

"Sir, when you answer my questions. Kolya, when I fuck you." He undid his belt and spread his legs wider. You knew your job. He picked up his cigar again as you undid the zipper on his pants.

He laid a hand on the back of your head, pressing down your hair. "Just keep me warm for now. Don't want to miss anything."

You took a deep breath before taking him into your mouth. He was thick and uncut. Intimidating even half hard. He didn't push as you worked your throat open, slowly bobbing your head. Sometimes men would ply you with liquor, help you to relax a bit more. You wish he had. The mix of salts from precum and skin filled your senses. A hesitant hand moved to rest on his thigh for leverage. He didn't shake you off. 

You glanced up at him when you took him to the hilt. Hoping for some sign of approval, not for your ego but the sake of your security. Men in pleasure were less likely to be agitated. 

"Good job, Kotenok." He rubbed his knuckles across your cheek, gold rings cooling your skin. He let you rest against his thigh, nose tickled by his dark pubes. Cigar smoke, the drone of the tv and the blood rushing around your head started to calm your nerves. Maybe tonight wouldn't be as awful as you thought.

He thrusted lazily during every commercial break. A hand holding your head steady against his thigh. He chuckled when you gagged. Everything was in Russian so you couldn't follow the game beyond his angry or excited, more so angry, ad libs.

He finally sighed and turned off the tv. He tapped your cheek softly.

"Kotenok, I need you to make me feel better about my team losing."

He made you walk ahead of him, directing you towards his bedroom. His dark eyes dug into your spine. A step below you and still a head taller. This is what a deer feels when the wolf stalks it. 

His bedroom was dark, a single lamp sat on the side table. The walls were a lime washed white. The bed was antique, made of carved dark wood. The sheets were white silk with a matching comforter. It was unmade. More paintings lined the walls haphazardly. When you were younger you used to cut pictures from magazines and tape them up to your own bedroom walls. He had seemingly done the same. 

You crawled onto the bed, swaying your hips as enticingly as you could manage. A hand wrapped around your ankle and pulled you back to the edge of the bed. You yelped as his hips hit your ass, cock bouncing against your cheeks.

"Remember  what I told you, Kotenok?" He pulled your panties down, calloused hands scraping against your thighs. "What to call me?"

"Kolya."

"Good girl." He dragged a hand down your back, knuckles bumping every ridge of your spine. You tried your best not to fidget under his touch, not to let the chill of the air or tickle of his fingers get to you. You heard clothing hit the floor behind you. You stared ahead, picking out one of the paintings to focus on. 

A young woman stared back at you, perched in a carriage and dressed in black, a feathered hat on her head. She looked upset, like you were unworthy of looking at her and you should avoid your gaze. 

Two fingers felt around your entrance. A shiver ran down your spine. You weren't wet enough, you knew that. You clung to the comforter, waiting for pain. 

"I told you to stop shaking. I said I wouldn't hurt you." He rubbed a hand across your ass. He sounded annoyed. You closed your eyes and pressed your face against the silk. It smelled clean and floral.

There was the snap of plastic and cold fingers prodding at your cunt.

"Shhh...I don't break the things I buy." He didn't admonish you for hiding your face as he scissored you open. He was almost tender, rubbing your hip with slow circles. His fingers curved to press against that soft spot inside you, pulling soft whines from you. "There we go, Kotenok."

You were pulled back again till your pelvis was hanging off the edge of the bed, toes curling around the plush of the rug. He ran the head of his cock between your folds, nudging at your entrance. He pushed in slowly, groaning loudly as you whimpered and fidgeted. Despite the preparation it was a stretch and burn. He held you down by your hips.

"Good girl," he purred with one last push. The head of his cock bumped against your cervix , causing you to clench in pain. It only spurred him to start thrusting. Your face dragged against the sheets as he rocked your entire body. His thrusts were hard and deep, like he wanted to mark the inside of you. 

"Close your eyes and let it happen. Most of them don't last long anyways," a girl said to you early on. You didn't remember her name or face anymore. 

You forced out moans every time his hips smacked against your ass. Arching your back so he could think he was pleasuring you. There was a modicum of pleasure, chasing it was too much effort, especially with unreceptive partners.

He wrapped an arm around your waist, hand dipping between your thighs. He pinched your clit till you cried out. His chin tucked against your shoulder, pushing his full weight against you. His body was hot and the thick hair on his chest scratched at your skin. 

"I don't like liars, Kotenok." He rubbed harsh circles till you moaned and shuddered. He hissed, "Cum on my cock or be quiet."

His other hand grabbed your shoulder and hauled you back up with him. Your back still pressed against his chest. Still rubbing your clit, he hooked an arm under yours and rested it between your breasts while holding your chin and forcing you to look upwards. There was a mirror on the ceiling. He smirked at you in the reflection. You dug your nails into your thighs, tears springing up in your eyes. It was horrific and erotic and disgusting and ugly and it made you wet. Some last threads of dignity snapping under the image of him fucking you. 

"Say my name," He panted.

"Kolya...please...Kolya."

"Want to come on my cock? Beg me for it." He licked your ear.

"Kolya please...please Kolya. I want to come. Please. Kolyaaaaa!"

You watched yourself as he forced you up to your peak, clenching around his cock. He laughed harshly and smacked your pussy. He held you up as your legs failed to support you any longer. You came hard, grabbing at his arms, manicured nails digging into his muscles. You would have thrashed about if he hadn’t had such a tight grip on you. 

He growled something in Russian before biting down on your shoulder. He filled you to the brim, his cock twitching inside your still clenching pussy. His cum was a familiar warm that leaked out around his cock and down your leg. He let go and you fell face forward against the bed.

"Catch your breath. I still want my money's worth." He patted the back of your thigh. You hiccuped softly as you regained sense. Limbs feeling heavy, your whole body stretched to its limit. 

You turned your head as he sat down a carafe of water and two glasses on the side table. 

“Need any?” He asked, filling his own glass. You nodded shyly. It was the first time you really saw him naked. He had a litany of tattoos across his chest and arms, too dark to make out details but you could see angels, skulls, cyrillic writing, a fighter jet, the virgin mary and a star on each of his knee caps. Near his groin was a pentagon with letters you couldn’t make out. A gold chain with an Orthodox cross hung around his neck. A layer of black body hair covered him, darkening everything even further. 

“Thank you.” You gulped down your glass, water dribbling down your chin. He wiped it away as he took your glass.

“On your hands and knees now,” He said, pushing back his hair. You faced the woman again, glaring back at her as you presented yourself to him. The mattress dipped behind you. He said something in Russian before pushing back inside you. 

You lost count of how many times he fucked you. You were pliant and submissive, following his lead as he bent you into whatever position he wanted. He was more virile than you expected. More gentle than you anticipated with a grossness you expected. The next time you asked for water he spit his glass into your mouth. He pinched and pulled but never bent you so hard you broke. Gagging, crying and cumming but never sobbing or screaming. 

You woke up sore. Dried cum and bite marks covering your body. He was sitting in an armchair in the corner, watching you sleep. He was already showered and dressed in a silk robe. 

"You’ll shower before you leave. Scrub well." He slapped your ass before shutting the bathroom door and locking it from the outside. 

Another extravagant room. Oxblood tiles and heated floors. A large marble counter and a mirror taking up most of the wall behind it.

It was a large shower but more importantly the water was hot. Not warm but hot. You could have cum just from feeling the jets against your skin. The body wash was luxurious - sweet and woody. You scrubbed well. These kinds of men didn't want their DNA wandering all over the place. 

There was a towel left for you but no clothes and your lingerie from last night was missing as well. He did leave a cup of tea for you on the bedside table. There were painkillers too. You took it all in one scalding gulp. 

You kept the towel wrapped around yourself as you walked back downstairs. You found him through the one open door in the hall.  He was sitting at the dining table, typing on a laptop, cup of espresso cooling next to him. 

"Come here, Kotenok." He tugged your towel till it fell to the floor. He tapped the inside of your thigh till you spread them. "Don't start shaking again. Need to make sure you cleaned up well."

You bit your lip. He spread you open with two fingers, tilting his head as he inspected you. You yelped when he forced a dry finger inside you, moving it around and dragging it against your walls. He pulled it out and stared at his finger for a moment before sticking in his mouth. 

"Good girl." He nodded and got a money clip from his pocket. "I like you. I'll see you again in a week."

He handed you five hundred pounds. You stared at King Charles in disbelief. You'd been tipped before but never this much. You would have to hide it. You didn’t know where but you had to. If he kept tipping you like this it could make a dent in your debt to Marcus and Arno. 

"Thank you, sir."

"Did I ask you a question?" He didn't look away from his computer.

"No...umm...Thank you, Kolya." An offering of affection, appease the god and receive bountiful gifts. 

The corner of his mouth twitched into a smile. An actual smile. 

"If Arno takes that from you, tell me. That's your money. I paid him enough as is. Now go get dressed. Your car is here." He pointed back towards the front door.

You hurried off, afraid to go back to Marcus and Arno but also too scared of what Kolya would do if you delayed. 

Here is the rewritten part 1! Part 2 will go up in the next few days. If you have any questions, comments, thirst messages about this fic please send them. I love talking about Nikolai and his Kotenok.

[vincentbriggs]

I painted my room green! When I moved in here last December the walls were a very cold pastel blue which looked awful with most of my furniture and decorations. I finally asked the landlord about it recently, and he was fine with it and went and bought some paint in the colour I chose, and brought over a stepladder.

I'd never painted a wall before, and going around the edges took a lot longer than expected. I also did a coat of white on the ceiling to cover up some water staining from a (now fixed) leak in the roof, and I learned that painting ceilings is not fun. I also learned that paint rollers were invented around 1940, which is much later than I expected.

A few weeks ago I found a big wall mirror leaning up against a dumpster in perfect condition, but I didn't like the colour of the frame, so I painted it gold and did a little wash of diluted dark brown acrylic. It looks so nice on the green wall! I need to put more art in frames. I do not have enough Fancy Wall Stuff to cover all the available wall space.

If I had my own house and could do whatever I wanted to all the surfaces then I'd put dark trim and dark fancy wallpaper in my bedroom, but for this particular space I think the light green works well.

[allisluv]

saved by the bell.

summary: finnick helps reader during a sensory overload (based off a request i can't find in my inbox </3)

pairing: finnick o'dair x wife!reader

content warnings: post-rebellion, implied neurodivergent!reader, sensory overload + overstimulation, mention of finnick's mutt attack and as a result finnicks scars, reader has hair long enough to tie back, reader accidentally snaps at finnick but it isnt intentional and she does apologise and finnick forgives, fluff, mention of noise-cancelling headphones, comfort, teasing, fluff, not edited (what a surprise)

a/n: been a while since i posted on here, life was hectic i'm sorry! this is based off my own experience during a sensory overload, but not all are the same!

To mark the one year anniversary of the war ending and to commemerate the lives lost during the rebellion, you and Finnick send out invites asking all of the surviving victors to visit District Four for a small get-together. Its nothing fancy, just finger food and conversation. A celebration of life, Finnick calls it.

Everyone RSVP’s to let the two of you know that they will be attending, and it doesnt take long for Finnick to start planning activites and dragging you along for weekly trips to the farmer’s market to buy supplies for the party.

On the morning of the party, you realise that it’s going to be rough from the get go. Finnick is up with the sun, as he so usually is, and you wake not long after him. The bed is empty without your husband by your side, and it makes your heart ache with loneliness.

You turn onto your side and wince when a stream of sunlight drifts in through a gap in the curtain. Your head feels like it’s going to explode at the brightness, and you’re quick to bury your face into Finnicks pillow. You breathe in his scent in an effort to ground yourself, but all it does it send your senses into overdrive.

A sad, pitiful whine gets caught in the back of your throat as you roll onto your back, glaring at the specks of paint on the ceiling. “Why today?” You grumble, burying your face in your hands as you will yourself to hold it together, if not for yourself, for Finnick and the others.

It takes a while, but eventually, you gather the courage to stand. The floorboards feel cool beneath your feet, and it is such a stark contrast from the sweat pouring out of your pores that all it does it make you want to rip your skin clean off your body.

Sucking in a deep breath, you shuffle towards your closet and begin rooting through it in search of something light to wear. Finnick and you had went shopping for new outfits specifically for today, but the prospect of wearing that particular fabric right now makes you want to claw your eyes out of their sockets, so you settle on a sundress that you have previously deemed as safe to wear when you’re in the midst of a sensory overload.

Once you’re dressed, you tie your hair back out of your face so it doesn’t stick to the back of your neck. Your skin is clammy and damp, and realistically, you really should have taken a shower, but even thinking about it makes your frame hum with irritation.

You flap your hands in an effort to rid yourself of the nervous energy that has taken refuge in your body. When it does little to soothe your weary mind, you plant your hands on your hips and let out a frustrated huff.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts by your husband’s voice calling you from the kitchen. “I’m coming!” You call, smoothing out the creases in your sundress before steeling yourself for today, and slipping out of your bedroom. You’re still in your bare feet when you stomp down the hallway and into the kitchen.

Finnick is balancing on a kitchen chair by the entranceway, a roll of triangular-shaped bunting in one hand and a box of thumb tacks in the other. He arches an eyebrow at your foul mood, and your stomping. “Everything okay, angel?”

You brush him off with a dismissive wave of your hand. “I’m fine. What did you need?”

Finnick doesn’t miss the edge to your voice, but he decides not to push it. “Could you hold these thumb tacks and hand them to me when I need them? Or were you busy?” He asks, giving you an out if you need it.

“No, I can help,” You insist, already moving to stand beside him. “Just be careful on that chair. Its decades old.” You warn as you take the thumb tacks. Finnick starts stringing the bunting up along the wall of the archway, and you let out a sigh. “Why do we need bunting, anyway? Dont you think it’s somewhat over the top?”

“Look, I didn’t survive those mutts not to celebrate today.” He teases. “After all those god-damn physio sessions, I deserve bunting if I want bunting.” He pauses. “And Jo’s gonna ask the question you just asked, so you better have my back when she does.”

You roll your eyes fondly and relent. “Alright, alright. If you want bunting, we can have bunting.” You hand him a thumb tack and roll your shoulders back uncomfortably. Chicken curry is stewing in the slow-cooker, and it’s making the kitchen stuffy with heat.

Finnick’s always been observant, and he catches the small movement of your shoulders almost instantly. “Are you sure you’re okay, angel?”

“Mhm.” You shrug non-comitedly and pass him one more thumb tack.

He doesn’t seem convinced, and the second the bunting is secured, he hops off the chair and has a hand on your shoulder. “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing. Come on, angel. Talk to me.”

As if on cue, the doorbell goes and you let out a relieved sigh— you would have likely cracked and admitted the truth if he kept pushing.

Saved by the bell.

“I’ll get it,” You say, pecking his cheek and moving quickly to answer the front door with Finnick hot on your heels.

The door swings open and Johanna struts inside, shooting a smug look over her shoulder at Annie and Katniss. “See? Told you it would be open.” She brushes past both of you into the kitchen. “Oo. Something smells nice.”

Katniss rolls her eyes, and Peeta nudges her in the ribcage, prompting her to say hello. Haymitch, Annie and Enobraia all exchange greetings with the two of you as you usher them inside.

“You know, you should really keep that door locked,” Beetee says as he envelopes you in his arms. “Did you know there are approximately three thousand burgarlies a day? Thats two every minute. And I bet you more than half of them are due to people leaving their doors unlocked.” He explains nonchalantly as he follows the others into the kitchen.

You rub the back of your neck anxiously, feeling your skin crawl at all of the physical contact you had just endured in the last thirty seconds.

Finnicks eyes land on you and he inches closer to you, but doesn’t touch. “What’s going on with you, angel?” He asks gently. You open your mouth to brush him off but he cuts you off. “And don’t feed me another lie about you being fine. I’m able to read you like an open book. Just tell me whats going on in that pretty little head of yours, okay?”

You grit your teeth in an effort to stay calm. You’re not angry at him, you’re just overwhelmed. Its all too much; the noise from the kitchen, the lights, the heat, Johanna calling out into the hallway about the bunting, the smells of the different food. Which is why you don’t mean to snap, but you do. “Just get off my back, alright? I said I was fine.” You snap, brushing past him into the eye of the storm— the kitchen.

Finnick blinks, momentarily stunned by your outburst, until it dawns on him and he follows after you. He pulls you to one side from where you’re pretending to listen to Enobaria. “Excuse me. We need to talk.”

“What—”

“Now.” Finnick says firmly, but not unkindly, as he steers you by the elbow back into your shared bedroom. He closes the door once you’re both inside, and leads you to sit down on the edge of the bed. He crouches down in front of you, resting his hands on his knees, and asks, “Are you having a sensory overload?” You avert your gaze and that’s all the answer he needs. “Do you need space or do you want me to hold you?”

Your bottom lip trembles and you clamp your teeth into it to stop it from wobbling. “Can you hold me?”

Thats all the confirmation your husband needs. He sits cross legged on the floor and tugs you into his lap. “Loosely or tightly?” He murmurs into your hairline.

“Tightly.” You answer. “Please.”

Finnick tightens his hold on you and presses a kiss to your forehead as your breathing starts to even out and you begin to calm down.

“I’m sorry,” You mumble.

“For what?” Finnick asks, kissing your temple once more.

“For snapping at you. It wasn’t fair.”

“It wasn’t,” Finnick agrees. “But you were overwhelmed, and you were stressed. I forgive you. No hard feelings, alright?”

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

“Do you want to come back outside? We can get you your noise cancelling headphones, that way it might be easier to deal with the noise. How does that sound, hm?”

You hesitate. “Johanna’ll make fun of me.”

“Johanna makes fun of everyone,” Finnick points out.

“Fair point, well made.”

“But if she says anything, I’ll fight her.” He cradles your face in his scarred hands and giving your nose a playful tap.

“Will you win, though?” You tease.

“You know it, angel.”

[brayneworms]

shoot it up (straight to the heart).

featuring. childe/reader

word count. 5.7k

content. merc!reader, drinking, kissing, masochist!childe because i am not immune to that agenda, sparring, gender neutral reader, childe is a little shit, blood, finger sucking, biting, handjobs, hair pulling, one instance of degradation (whore), light begging and light crying.

synopsis. childe has always found you fascinating; now that his stint in liyue is up and he's scheduled to return to snezhnaya, he takes the opportunity to get something from you he's wanted for months.

notes. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, i check the notes and you will be blocked.

"Ahh, the scourge of the complacent! Fancy seeing you here on a night like tonight."

You tip your eyes up to the ceiling of the inn; his voice rings out clear as bells over the chatter and rowdiness, and maybe it's a mark of your attunement to his specific brand of irksomeness that you hear the bounce of his footsteps approach over the general cacophony of laughter and drinks slamming.

There are four empty stools at the bar. He takes the one right next to you, sliding home with a boyish grin. You scratch at your forehead with all the fatigue of a working mother-of-five, catch the bartender's eye, and silently flag down another drink.

Tartaglia whistles as you raise the cup to your lips, making you pause; mead sops against your mouth, burning against raw picked skin. "I see even the alcohol of Liyue is no match for you, scourge."

"Don't call me that," you say flatly, and knock the cup back. There isn't enough booze in this whole tavern to make this a bearable conversation, but at least you could soften the edges. If you got drunk enough, you might be able to pretend he was nothing more than a lurid ginger mosquito buzzing around your head for attention.

Attention you always seemed to grant, no matter how much you swear you'll ignore him.

"Your lovely friend at the funeral parlour told me I might find you here," Tartaglia continues talking even though you're staring at the ceiling praying for patience. "She's pretty fond of you, huh? Can't imagine why, with your prickly attitude—oh, barkeep, I'll have what they're having, please." He flashes a pearly grin at the bartender, who pours him a cup of mead.

"Did you come here just to bother me?" you grit out, staring at the dregs in your cup; it sloshes darkly amongst the dull silver, and you can see a glimmer of a reflection, your eye staring back at you.

"What an ego you sport!" Tartaglia sounds righteously offended. "I came here to drink." And as if to prove his point, he raises his cup to his lips and takes a deep gulp. You can see his pale throat flex as he swallows, the bob of bones beneath papery skin.

He coughs a little as he sets the cup back down, empty. You try not to let your surprise show on your face.

"Liyue mead has quite the burn," Tartaglia comments. "You'd think I'd be used to it after being weaned on that Snezhnyan paint-thinner, but what can I say? This place has a kick."

He leans back on his barstool, a vaguely soft, wistful look passing over his features. Then he says, "I'll certainly miss it."

The cup slips from your fingers, and you curse yourself. "You're leaving?"

Tartaglia smiles, a little sadly. "The Tsaritsa summoned me back. I'll have to take off by the end of the week."

"No shit?" Tartaglia's been posted here and bothering you for way longer than you arrived to act as a temporary guard for the Wangsheng Funeral Parlour. You weren't sure why such a place needed extra beef with security, but it paid well, and Hu Tao and Zhongli were well-meaning employers and good company, so you could hardly complain. That was the beauty of freelance, after all.

"Oh? You sound disappointed." Tartaglia leans forward, cupping his chin in his hand; his eyes find yours, gleaming in the low light. "What? Don't tell me you're going to miss me?"

You glare at him. "Do people miss the mosquitoes they swat when they're buzzing around their head?"

"You always act like I'm vermin," Tartaglia pouts. "Still, you're having a drink with me—I consider that a victory."

"One of your few," you toast, raising your cup, and Tartaglia's playful expression sullens a touch, like a cloud covering up the sun. "Oh, don't get all kicked-puppy on me. Thought you could take a little pain."

"Better than you know," Tartaglia says with a stunning return to form and a coy grin. You must be just tipsy enough to entertain him, because you don't seize a handful of his bright hair and ram his face into the bar like you briefly consider doing. There wouldn't be much in it for you beyond the satisfying crack of bone and yelp of pain. As for Tartaglia, he'd probably get off on it.

You both down another cup, and now the lines that make up the tavern are starting to blur pleasantly. There's a soft, fuzzy feeling filling you up, like you're made of cotton instead of flesh and blood and magic. A faint flush has made itself known on Tartaglia's cheekbones, lurid against his hair, illuminating the scatter of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He's surprisingly lightweight, for as hard as you known Snezhnayan liquor to be.

"Would you walk with me?" Tartaglia holds your eye like he's making a promise, though not to you. He says half the things he says like he's talking to someone else, someone you cannot see. He holds out a gloved hand, grinning. "C'mon. I want to show you something."

Your brows knit up, suspicious. "Why me?"

"I'm currently not speaking to any of my other friends," Tartaglia says haughtily. "Sneaks and liars, all of 'em. As, uh, disarming as you are, scourge, at least you're honest. So... c'mon. Humour a man's last wish."

"You're not dying," you say acidly, but you get up. Tartaglia grins, delighted, sweeping up his coat from the barstool and paying out. You follow him out of the tavern; Liyue comes alive at night, you think, the harbour glimmering with a thousand lights, the water lapping at the chalky walls. Tartaglia takes your hand as the tavern door swings shut behind you. He runs warm, and you can see freckles spiralling up his wrist, and before you can protest he's started a brisk pace away from the water.

"The hell?" you mutter, making a weak attempt at taking your arm back. "Hey. Tartaglia. Where are we going?"

"So formal," he calls over his shoulder. "You can call me Childe, you know."

"Like that's even your real name," you roll your eyes. "What difference does it make?"

"Hm. Tartaglia feels more like a title. It's the name I use when I want to intimidate, you know?" He looks over his shoulder at you, the dull blue of his eyes catching in the moonlight. "I'm not foolish enough to think I could ever intimidate you, of all people."

And when he says that, it feels like a compliment. You curse the hot prickling you can feel at the backs of your ears as he leads you through town, up near where the mountains crest. It's all rickety ladders and bridges for a while before you come to a plane nestled between two great rocks. Grass and gravel spill out beneath your feet; in the middle of the wobbly circle is a wooden training dummy with chunks carved out of it. Torches bracket the space, filling the night with shifting bronze light.

It occurs to you briefly that Childe could be luring you out here to kill you, but just as easily the notion flees. He might be Fatui, and he might be insufferable, but the two of you have no real grievances as far as you know.

Besides—you're stronger. And the both of you know it.

You sweep a flat look around the circle and raise a brow. “Homey.”

Childe giggles. “You’re always so sharp-tongued, scourge. I’ve been reflecting on my stint in Liyue in light of everything, you know? What with my leaving so soon. I remembered the first time I saw you fight.”

Your brows draw up, taken aback; this is not a sentiment he has shared with you before. He paces as he talks, starts gesticulating like he’s trying to stir up a wind, though the night is virtually breezeless. Warm and damp and encapsulating. A line of sweat encroaches under your collar. 

“Some treasure-hoarders, they made a chokepoint out in the Guili Planes to intercept traders going down the road,” he tells you, as if this is news. “Zhongli asked me to deal with them myself, ‘cause they were stopping import to the city. But as soon as I got up there to scout it out, I saw you. What you’d left, anyway. This… trail. Like this—this big patch of carnage and you just in the middle of it, going blade-to-blade with this monster of a thief twice your size. Would you believe I was almost arrogant enough to think you needed my help?” His eyes shine feverishly, the moonlight catching off dead-fish-blue. “You brought him to heel like a misbehaving dog. He gave you a bloody nose and you just—just wiped at it like it was nothing. Didn’t it hurt? Always wanted to know if it hurt.”

“It hurt,” you manage, frozen with shock. He’s getting entirely too het-up too quickly, feverish in his excitement, pale cheeks flushed wine-red, and he moves closer as he waves his hands, eyes locked onto you like he’s a dog and you’re his master. It makes your blood feel too thick and too hot in your veins. 

“Thought so,” he breathes. “Thought it must’ve. It kinda… it sings, though. Doesn’t it?”

Stuck, you nod, though you only half understand what he’s talking about. 

Apparently satiated, Childe rubs the back of his neck bashfully. "Hah, sorry. You really get me talking, scourge."

"Don't give me the credit," you mumble. "It's one of your natural talents."

"Wanna see another one of my natural talents?" Childe grins; at your sharp look, he raises his hands placatingly, smile stretching ever wider. "I meant fighting, of course. C'mon. Truthfully, I've been thinking about it ever since that day. Fighting you."

He says that—fighting you—with the same sort of soft reverence one might reserve for making love or worshipping a deity. Like it's the centre of his world, the cell his heart was born from. You wonder how long it's been since Childe's days were anything but fighting, then reckon that that's probably a deliberate choice.

When he holds out a blunt wooden training staff out to you, his hands are perfectly steady. You heft it in your grip, getting used to the weight and balance. You're more accustomed to knives and swords, and small blades you can slip into your boot or belts, but you're not unfamiliar with polearms, exactly.

"Feel good?"

You jump; Childe's pressed closer to you in the time it took to examine your new weapon, and his words are accompanied with a brush of warm air across the back of your ear. "It's okay."

"Good! I want you at top form for this." He slopes off, twirling his own staff between gloved fingers obnoxiously. It makes a faint whistling sound against the warm night air. "Think you're ready?"

"Ready?" You can't help but sneer. "I don't need to be ready to fight a pest. I just do it."

Childe's grin is so wide that the flushed apples of his cheeks turn pointy. "Alright, killer. I've been looking forward to this for a while, and, y'know, I dunno when the next time is I'll meet someone as interesting as you... so don't disappoint me, yeah?"

The first crack of your staffs together sings.

It's an old melody, one you're attuned to, one you think you were born with. Impact shivers up your bones, disturbs the skin in a railroad of gooseflesh, sets your teeth on edge. There's the anticipation, the moment right before the new sensation turns uncomfortable or painful, like pressing down on a bruise, the moment before it starts hurting. The staffs gnash together like wooden teeth.

"You're quick," Childe says approvingly as you draw your arm back to your side, circling him in short steps. His eyes follow the lines of your body like he's trying to set you alight. You're not sure why you're doing this, actually—your relationship with Childe has been nothing but tepid the whole time he's been stinted in Liyue. From your end, anyways. He tends to sort of follow you around like a lost puppy when he has free time. No matter how many times you smack him and send him reeling, he always comes back with a bone clamped between his teeth, looking for fun.

A drink, a fuck. A fight. Maybe it's all sort of the same to him.

Your fight is a dance; Childe is undeniably skilled, and polearms aren't your first choice of weapon, so it's a fairly even fight despite your strength. Several times he moves far too quickly for you to comprehend—like you blink and he's shifted with the moonlight, gone from in front to behind you in a second. Laughing, poking, teasing until your blood is boiling despite the cold.

When you finally land a hit on him, it's sweet. Your staff cracks across his jaw with all the force of his annoyance to you over the last months, and Childe barely has time to widen his eyes before he crashes to the dirt. He lets out a pained grunt as he plants into the earth, and just as you're opening your mouth to gloat—

"Again."

It cracks into the night air like the crash of your staff against his jaw, pursed between wheezing breaths. His voice sings like cut piano strings, dissonant against what is happening. You stand over him, breathing hard, brow cinched as he sprawls in the dirt.

He's got chalky soil all over his pretty light uniform. He doesn't seem to care. Dull blue eyes blink up at you, round as pennies; you can see an angry welt raising on his jaw where your blow had made contact, flaring up scarlet against the pale skin. No doubt it will have flowered into a nasty bruise tomorrow, something the colour of overripe lavender melon.

But Childe grins.

You stumble back, frowning hard, and Childe makes a noise at the back of his throat as he sees you retreat. He scrambles messily to his feet, brushing dirt carelessly from his clothes.

"What?"

Childe cradles his jaw with a hiss. "You pack a punch. But I'm not done yet."

"You said again." You eye him warily, arms still not raised. "What did you..."

He huffs a laugh with a return of that boyish grin. "Ah, caught that, did you? I guess you could say I have a certain admiration for people who can land a hit on me. It's impressive. You're impressive."

Before you can decide whether he's swelteringly egotistical or just a pervert who gets off on pain, Childe lunges, swinging his sparring spear overhead; you shriek and parry it last-minute, your grip faltering enough that the wooden shafts collide with a harsh thwack; you don't fend the blow off completely thanks to your shoddy reaction time, but you manage to avoid getting struck in the head.

"Asshole," you grit out, stumbling left a few paces to get your bearings again; Childe circles you, twirling his spear between deft fingers with a sharp grin.

"I sensed your attention wandering," he shrugs. "You think you can hit me again?"

Your chin juts out, indignant. "Yeah. I'm stronger."

Beneath his lurid red hair, Childe's cheeks colour faintly. "Prove it, killer. Lemme feel it. Hit me—"

And he lunges, spear cracking through the air; this time, you're ready for it, seeing the telltale twitches of his body getting into formation before the pounce. You dodge his first hit, sending the tip of his spear sinking into the dirt, and whilst he's distracted with pulling it out you sweep the shaft of your own against the back of his knees. He buckles with a grunt, staggering, and you use his surprise to barrel your full body weight into his side.

He slips into the dirt, head thudding against the packed earth with a dull thud, and in your momentum you follow. By the time he's blinked the stars out of his eyes, your dagger is pressed up against his throat, nestled amongst the pale skin.

He breathes fast and sharp, a distinct contrast to his general collectedness. Your thighs cage his hips, and even from here you can feel his strength; his skin is shot through with sinew and iron. He could reach up, tussle, throw you off, put up a good fight. But he doesn't. He lays limp like a puppet with its strings cut, looking up at you with big, starry eyes—waiting for you to make the next move.

You come to a rather grim hypothesis.

The blunt tip of the dagger encroaches his skin, pushing in hard enough for blood to bead around it. Childe draws in a ragged gasp.

"Gonna kill me?" His tongue flicks out to wet his bottom lip. He says that like it's an act of worship, like carving his throat out with a cinquedea is akin to leaving incense at a shrine for a far-flung god. Like his blood would be spattered amongst the stars if only you spilled it. Your breath catches; you hadn't been ready for the rush of power Childe's perversion would give you. You can feel it nestling under your skin like a heartbeat.

"I think you could, if you wanted," Childe whispers, and then he shudders at the thought, pretty eyes fluttering closed. He looks like he isn't sparing two thoughts to your hand holding a knife to his throat; skin breaks, and blood makes a thin rivulet down his pale skin. "Mm. Maybe I'd—I'd even let you. You could ask real nice."

"You're hardly in a position to be making demands," you murmur, feeling quite frozen. "Why don't you just be quiet for once?"

At once, Childe falls silent.

His bottom lip has split; probably why he was tonguing at it earlier. Now, with nothing to stop it, blood makes a languid trail down the slope of his chin. With your free hand, with the curiosity of a child petting a stray animal for the first time, you swipe at the trail with the pad of your thumb. You track it up to the seam, the cut, the split, press down hard until the surrounding skin of his lip turns white. You can feel the short, hot shocks of his quick breath against the skin of your nail.

The flash of his tongue surprises you, sliding over the bloody pad of your thumb, cleaning up his mess. A dog licking at its own wounds. Your breath catches, but you've never known when you're wading too deep. It's your one weakness as a fighter. You always think you can take more than you can.

So you press deeper. Your thumb sinks into his mouth up to the knuckle, and Childe lets out a faint groan. There's the ghostly scrape of teeth before his lips close over the skin, tongue swirling over the mess of blood and chalky dirt on the blunt tip of the digit.

Somewhere in the back of your head, you register faintly that this is not normal. Your interactions with Childe have been limited, so far, to snarky deadpans, irritable smacks, and the occasional drink. If you have occasionally caught his eyes lingering on the collar of your shirt, or following you when you enter a room soaked in hilichurl gore, you've made no comment. You'd assumed it would fizzle out, anyway. He's Fatui. They're hardly known for staying in one place a significant portion of time—they're dark-dressed ravens, flocking from place to place and bringing suspicion and misery for a while before taking to the sky again.

But Childe is not scoring the horizon. He's in the dirt with your finger in his mouth, and it looks like he's right at home there.

He releases you with a wet pop. Saliva and blood make a diluted trail down to his chin, and his eyes have peeled open again—heavy and half-lidded, blue slate stone, scoring deep into you. Your body feels hot and too full.

He cracks a lazy smile. "Never seen you speechless before, scourge. Does this mean I win?"

And something snaps.

In a fluid movement, you grab both of his wrists and pin them to the ground beside his head. Childe grunts a sound of surprise as your fingers tighten on his wrists, back instinctively arching from the sudden pressure; one of his legs slips in the earth and knocks against your ankle. He blinks up at you, eyes practically bioluminescent in the night.

"You don't look much like a winner," you snarl.

"Depends on your position."

"You're the Tsaritsa's bitch," you spit. "And if not hers, Zhongli's, or was it Signora who was the last one to get one up on you? Really, you've been failing upwards so much lately it's getting hard to keep count."

Childe's eyes narrow, the first glimmer of defiance sparking in the blue. For the first time you feel him throw his weight behind his halfhearted squirming—he raises his hips to try and buck you off, tugs at your grip on his wrists with renewed vigour. His fighting back shouldn't spark something in you—it shouldn't—but you can feel yourself growing excited.

The thing is, you sort of like killing. People don't get into your line of work if they don't. There's something about holding something down and winning through nothing but sheer strength that makes you feel strong, like you've earned a place on this earth. Watching Childe's jaw tick in frustration the longer he goes without unseating you is making all sorts of dangerous ideas brew in your head.

It's just—maybe it's the drink, or the fight, but the world is still pleasantly pretty and still. And Childe looks sort of gorgeous with his brow all scrunched up like that, the hint of icy anger in his eyes, the gritted teeth. His neck is strained in such a way that bares every jut and bone to you, and you can see his pulse fluttering away under the taut skin, the bob of his adam's apple.

You want to bite it.

Some sort of magnetism pulls you down, nosing at the skin of his neck. Childe grunts, half-frustrated and half-confused when he feels your lips brush over his throat. He smells like salt and mead and copper, labour smells, but his skin here is smooth like it's never seen a day of wear.

"What're you—" Childe huffs out, but his mouth drops open with a choked noise when you seal your teeth in a ring over his neck and bite down. Not quite enough to hurt, you don't think, just enough to satisfy the weird part of you that's sparking for the urge to maim. "Archons, scourge."

Oh dear. His voice has gone all strangled and weak. You dare to release one of his wrists to cup the back of his neck, holding him still, brushing the feathery down of hair on his nape. Automatically, his free hand flies for you, but it stops short, hovering as if unsure.

You can almost feel him weighing his choices in his mind. He has a hand free, and you're not even looking at him. Even if he can't beat you outright, he'd do alright with the element of surprise. He could definitely knock you spinning and flee before you get your bearings.

You wait. Count the fast thuds of Childe's pulse against his neck. The muscles in his free arm go limp, and he wraps it around your waist to pull you closer.

Figuring you're done pretending, you skim your lips up his neck and jaw before catching his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss. Childe moans, softly, into your mouth, hand clenching hard over the fabric of your waist before sliding under. His fingers span out over the small of your back, worn leather and warm flesh, and you shudder despite yourself.

His lips are chapped, and you can taste blood still oozing from the split in the plush lower one. "Someone's sensitive," you gloat, and he huffs. "Not had time to get laid here?"

"What can I say?" Childe's breezy tone would be more believable it it wasn't coming out so strangled. "Been a busy guy. Don't seem to have time for m-many... simple pleasures."

"You always seemed to find time to annoy me, though," you say darkly.

"Less of a luxury, more of a need," Childe breathes. "You make just the most interesting faces when you're irritated."

"Yeah? That get you all wet?"

Childe laughs weakly. "Scourge, please. I'm but a blushing virgin. You'll burn my poor ears off."

You shoot an obvious glance down to the tent straining against Childe's slacks. "I can well believe that."

He squirms in embarrassment, the tips of his ears lighting up scarlet. His eyes blink up at you, the usual lusterless blue fleeing in wake of reflecting the thousands of stars above you, and he seems to glow from the inside out, for a moment. The coppery blood on his face catches the moonlight.

A tongue flicks out to wet his lips, a dog wetting its snout. "Won't you take pity, scourge?" he pleads. "You got me well and truly at your mercy. You win. So..."

Before you can stop to consider the ramifications of your actions, your free hand has already scrambled to his belt buckle. Childe's breath catches, eyes widening as he registers your movements as the brass clinks in the silence. For a moment there's nothing but the hasty shuffling of clothing as you shuck Childe's dirt-streaked trousers down his thighs, his hips lifting to assist. There's a small furrow between his brows, his cheeks alight with a blush that makes his freckles sing against his skin.

The skin of his thighs catches, milk-white in the moonlight. Even here, scars have made their home, pink or bruise-dark, crisscrossing over the flesh in railroads. You get his trousers down past his knees before you stop bothering; he's left in dark underclothes, erection so stiff it's pulling the thin fabric taut, and the slit in his shirt that you've always found obscene betrays the quick, shallow bursts of his breath.

His throat flexes when he swallows. "Are you really going to—mmmgh!"

Childe sputters to a halt with a rather embarrassing high-pitched noise as you cup him through his boxers. You roll your palm experimentally over the tip of the tent, and his eyes flutter shut, rolling back against his skull with a pretty, desperate noise. This side of him is so foreign, but so familiar, so obvious, you wonder why you didn't think of it before.

"Ah, fuck," Childe swears, already sounding breathless. With how obvious he's always been, the lazy slide of his eyes, you'd assumed he had at least some experience—but maybe your teasing just a moment ago was a little more on the nose than you'd anticipated. He's unusually sensitive. "Scourge, I don't—"

"Stop calling me that," you mutter, pulling the fabric of his underwear till it strains against his cock, and he swallows back a gasp, spine arching against the dirt. "Did you want something?"

"You're so cruel," he whines. "Y/n, Archons, please—"

"Alright, alright, you big baby," you sigh, shedding his soaked underwear. Childe shudders, thighs tightening under you as he hits the cold air. The strain of his arousal and the chafing fabric is obvious; pre drips eagerly from the reddish tip, and he fits neatly into your palm when you swipe over the leaking hands before wrapping your fingers around him. Childe jolts into the touch, cursing under his breath, and as you start to jerk him off his lashes flutter. His blue eyes roll to the heavens and his head thumps against the earth with a long, shaky moan.

The night fills with noise, somewhere between what you find obscene and what sends heat rushing between your own legs as your fist pumps lazily up his length. Childe is more receptive than you would've put money on, gasping and swearing, hiccuping small, wounded noises in the back of his throat. His brow is scrunched, lips slack and wet with saliva, eyes screwed shut. His hips jump like they have a brain of their own.

You squeeze, prompting a panicked noise; Childe's eyes fly open and find your sly smile. "You look pretty," you tell him. Childe goes scarlet.

"W-wha?" he dredges up intelligently, frowning. "Why'd you—what?"

You find it funny that you've literally got your hand around his cock, but calling him pretty is apparently what crosses the line in flustering him. You cock your head, grinning.

"You don't think?" you coo. "I think you're lovely like this. I never realised how attractive you'd be once you shut your mouth. Maybe I should beat you in a fight more often."

"W-wouldn't complain," Childe pants, still alight with a feverish blush.

"I'm sure," you say noncommitally. "You fucking whore."

Childe moans, loud and shameless, and his free hand flails to scratch his nails down his own skin. "D-don't stop, fuck, don't stop—"

You stare at the scarlet railroads left on the pale skin of his stomach, and with your free hand yank up his shirt to his chest. Childe lets out a startled sound, looking at you with round, surprised eyes. His torso is littered with scars, raised and pale and dark against freckled skin. He is pretty. You love the marks of his exertions and pains, a history of his losses mapped out over his body. One of his nipple has a healed slash running right through it; when you reach up and tweak it, Childe shudders.

"Anyone would think you like losing," you murmur.

Childe looks at you weakly, crying out when your hand resumes at a faster pace. "Like it when—hnn—when it's real. I like it when they don't hold back. 'S why I'm just—hah!—e-enamoured with you, I guess."

"'Cause I'm ruthless?" you quip.

Childe flutters his lashes. "Nice enough to let me come, I hope," he says sweetly, and it makes your cheeks burn momentarily with embarrassment, the brazenness of his statement. "I'm not above begging."

"I liked you better when you were quiet," you mutter, and swipe your thumb hard over the slit. Childe yelps, muscles melting like butter, and when you start rubbing cruelly like you've found some sort of button his face flames, his mouth drops open, and he lets out a wailing noise, legs thrashing.

"Archons," he keens, but with your free hand you seize and handful of his hair and pull, hard.

"No Archons," you snarl. "Just me."

Tears prick at the corners of Childe's eyes as he rolls his hips to meet your unrelenting strokes, whimpering. "Y-yes, yeah, just you, just you, do that again."

You oblige, dig your fingers into the red hair so deep your nails scrape his scalp, and tug. The tears spill over Childe's lashline as he chokes on the moan that bursts from him at the movement.

"Keep it there," he begs, thighs shaking. "Pleasepleaseplease—"

"You close?" you ask innocently. "Already?"

There's no more pretence; the fine line of pleasure and pain seems to have wrought Childe down to only basic instincts, as his hips roll against your hand as you fist his length rough and quick, head tipped right back against the ground, exposing the heaving column of his throat. The toned concave of his stomach flexes with each punched-out breath, the scars coiling and elongating respectively.

"Please," Childe sobs in answer. "I'll be good, be real good, I'm close..."

You surge forward, digging your face into Childe's neck as you speed up your pace, and sink your teeth into the soft skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Hard enough for blood to bubble under your lips, hard enough for Childe to let out a strangled scream as he comes all over your hand, spilling over your fingers and his stomach in pearly arcs.

He's panting when you pull back, winces as you dislodge your teeth and unwind your fingers from his hair. He touches the bite mark with a wince and hiss, examining the blood on his fingers with light interest. It really shouldn't surprise or arouse you nearly as much when he dips them into his mouth and licks them clean.

"Degenerate," you tell him. Childe smiles crookedly, the flush on his face still stark red.

"There's this old saying about a pot and a kettle," he says, voice still weak and shaky.

The bite mark is leaking. As he reaches for you, you get the fleeting thought that it will leave another scar to add to his masses, another permanent trophy of another loss.

A loss to you.

And you smile.

[stxrsniolo]

⠀⠀ ⠀✦ ⠀ :⠀⠀somnium⠀ ⠀💭 ⠀ . . .

𝐀𝐄𝐆★𝐍'𝐒 notes : dear reader, this story will unfold over approximately 15 chapters, all of which have been meticulously outlined by yours truly (aka me, yes). it’s a slow burn between the characters, filled with a little bit of everything—from scenes not suitable for sensitive audiences to purely comedic moments, and even the classic teenage drama you’d expect from characters navigating this stage of life.

𝐀𝐄𝐆★𝐍'𝐒 pairing : dreambound!matt x lucid dream!reader

Chapter 01: The Dream That Changed Everything

matt was cranky as hell these days, his sleep schedule more like a roller coaster than anything resembling normal. living in LA with his brothers, nick and chris, in a fancy three-story crib, you'd think life was all sunshine, right? wrong. especially when you're one of the sturniolo triplets, where every day's gotta be content for their youtube channel, which had more followers than some small countries.

"hey, matt, you look like you got hit by a truck," nick said, his voice dripping with that LA cheer, as he watched matt drag himself into the kitchen like a zombie.

"yeah, well, i feel like one," matt grumbled, his Boston accent thick, "can't sleep fah nothin'."

chris, now hustling with his fresh love clothing line, was busy sketching new threads but still threw in, "maybe you need some new pajamas, bro. cotton or silk?"

matt just rolled his eyes, pouring himself coffee strong enough to wake the dead. he hated coffee, but he needed this boost for real. "i need more than pajamas, i need like, a new brain or somethin'."

the day dragged on with matt filming bits for their vlog, his heart not in it. he was trying to keep up appearances, but his mind was racing, lost in the haze of sleepless nights. they talked about random crap, from the latest video game drop to chris's newest hoodie design, but matt's responses were half-assed at best.

"matt, you okay?" nick asked during a break, concern piercing through matt's fog.

"yeah, yeah, i'm good. just tired, ya know?" matt forced a smile, but even to him, it felt fake.

the sun set, painting sky in hues of orange and pink, but all matt saw was the dread of another night of tossing and turning. he went through his night routine, hoping tonight would be different.

and... finally, after what felt like an eternity of staring at the ceiling, sleep came, pulling him into a dream so vivid, it was like stepping into another universe. he found himself in a surreal landscape, part urban, part wilderness, with skyscrapers touching the clouds but rooted in a forest floor.

and then he saw her. a girl, with eyes like emeralds and hair that seemed to move with a life of its own. she was there, walking around with an edge of caution to it. she looked at him, her gaze wary, as if she was deciding whether he was friend or foe.

"hey, you lost or somethin'?" matt asked, his accent even more pronounced, making his words sound thick with caution.

"nah, just enjoying the view," she replied, her accent sharp, her tone guarded. "i'm heist, you look like you could use some fun though. but, you know, if you're not up to no good..."

heist... what a weird name. but he brushed it off.

"me? nah, i'm just... tryin' to figure out where i am," matt said, his eyes scanning the dreamscape, half-expecting it to dissolve or change into something less welcoming.

there was a moment of silence, both of them sizing each other up, the air thick with unspoken questions. and without a word, heist turned and ran, her voice echoing in her quick, "gotta go!" her movements were fluid, almost ethereal, as she darted through the dreamscape, blending into the shadows and light.

"hey, wait!" matt called out, his voice a mix of confusion and intrigue.

he chased after her, not out of malice but driven by an inexplicable pull towards this mysterious figure. the chase was like a dance, with heist always one step ahead, her laughter a taunt, a challenge, a melody in the wind.

they weaved through the dream city, up staircases that led nowhere, down alleys that twisted into themselves. every time matt thought he had her, she'd disappear, only to reappear in his peripheral vision, her laughter both a beacon and a warning.

finally, in a moment of stillness, with heist cornered against a dream wall that shimmered like water, they stood there, breathing heavily, their eyes locked in a silent conversation of wariness and curiosity.

"why you runnin'?" matt asked, his voice softer now, the chase having burned away some of his caution.

"why you chasin'?" heist shot back, her tone sharp but her eyes softening just a bit.

but before any answer could be given, the dream world began to dissolve, and matt woke up with a start, his heart racing.

the room was dark, silent, the quiet of Los Angeles outside his window. yet, in his mind, heist's laughter lingered, a reminder of a chase so vivid, it changed everything.

©𝗦𝗧𝗫𝗥𝗦𝗡𝗜𝗢𝗟𝗢 | my little stars: @courta13 @chrislilcumslvt @marrykisskilled @chrislova @sturnshood @inspiredangel @strnilolover @emely9274 @sturns-mermaid

[dokries]

venus

pairing: hong jisoo (joshua) x gender neutral reader

genre: fluff, established relationship

word count: ~1.1k

warnings: weird period era speech at one point, calling each other idiots lovingly, a few kisses

author note: okay so apparently i needed to write compensation after goldleaf so this is the fluff to make up for that 😭 special thanks to regina song for releasing the fangirl album cause this fic would not exist without it! lots of love 💗

masterlist

you come back with a water bottle to see your boyfriend staring at the abstract piece he stood by when he said he’d wait for you earlier. 

“figured out the secret, shua?” you sneak up from behind him, causing him to jump a little before he smiles when he realizes it’s you. joshua wraps a hand around your waist to pull you closer. 

you had been looking at this specific painting for a whole, trying to make sense of its contrasting strokes of blue and orange as best as the both of you could—after all, two minds are better than one, right? …yeah, no, not in your case, considering you were still stumped.

joshua turns back to the painting, and you take his sheepish grin as a no. a few moments later, he pokes your shoulder with wide eyes. “i think i figured it out!”

you raise an eyebrow, gesturing for him to continue. he leans in and whispers into your ear, “i think it means i’m in love with you.”

you look at him from the corner of your eye, and can’t help but giggle at his silly remark, even if you’re already used to the cheesy lines your boyfriend says all the time. 

“is that because you’re the blue strokes in this piece, and i’m the orange that compliments you? hey, wouldn’t that be seungkwan…?” you trail off, suddenly remembering the boy from jeju you’re both friends with. 

your boyfriend shakes his head fiercely. “you first, always.” joshua brings your hand up to his lips, softly kissing the side of it with a wink—your cheeks turn into a red he loves more than any painting, and his laugh echoes throughout the exhibit. 

“you’re cute,” is all he says before taking a look at his fancy watch—you two had dressed up to seem more intellectual than you actually are—to check the time and he winces. “oh, we should leave, the museum closes pretty soon.” 

you nod before waving goodbye to the curator nearby, and walk outside to the hallway, joshua’s hand still interlocked with yours. his friends like to tease him for how they’ve never seen him not holding onto you, whether it’s your hand or arm—he could be very clingy at times if he wanted to annoy you (which he did more often than not).

however, you have no idea where you’re going once you turn into an unfamiliar hallway, lined with doors that lead to ballrooms, judging by their signs. you look back at joshua nervously but he only smiles. “oh darling, don’t worry. i’m sure there’s a map or something in case of an emergency here somewhere, right?” 

you split up to look for any indication of how to get back to the parking lot you came from, roaming up and down the hall after you call joshua a genius—he corrects you, saying he’s your genius only. a few minutes pass as you search along the walls before you hear your boyfriend calling your name. “over here!”

you follow his voice until you get to a partially open door, one that leads to an empty ballroom. this must’ve been used for an event earlier, considering that there’s still tables set up around the main section of the floor for dancing; the person in charge of cleaning it all up is probably on their break. 

you walk over to joshua, who’s standing in the middle of the open space, before whistling lowly. “wow, some fancy stuff must’ve happened here.”

joshua’s eyes sparkle like the huge light gold chandelier hanging from the ceiling, the numerous candles on it still lit up from the extravagant night, as he grabs your hand with his own, and twirls you around a couple of times before stopping with a giggle. “let’s dance!” 

so you do. though you have no music to listen along to, you make due with the sounds of your shoes hitting the ground, and joshua’s light humming of his favourite song at the moment. you spin and twirl, and you now wonder if your boyfriend’s had training in the waltz or something because of how well he’s leading you through the ballroom as you travel along the edges of the tables, the white cloths a whisper on your legs as they move away. 

you don’t know how long it takes for joshua to stop, his hair and clothes slightly untidy, and you suppose yours are as well. he bows, your hand still in his, mocking the period dramas you’ve watched with him. “my wondrous partner, i thank thee for this magnificent dance.” 

you giggle, bowing back to play along with his act, and speak softly. “why, my dear sir, i believe i must thank you instead! if it was not thee who led this dance, i would have been dancing as if my legs had been attacked by a donkey!” 

joshua looks at you in shock before laughing, falling into you as he does so. “what do you mean, a donkey?”

you shrug, wrapping your arms around him in a loose hug, which he returns. “hey, i don’t know! you’re the one who started the weird roleplay, not me.” 

he pulls back and grins at you before grabbing your cheeks gently to kiss you all over the face despite your protests. he stops when you chuckle, hands now pressing your cheeks together so you look like a little chipmunk. “oh, i love you so much, don’t i?”

you puff out your chest and roll your eyes. “well of course you do! i’m quite lovable, am i not?”

joshua smiles softly before placing a sweet kiss on your temple—thankfully, only one this time—murmuring, “yes, you really are.”

when your eyes soften as he pulls back, he smiles mischievously and adds on, “my little lovable idiot, that’s for sure.” 

you groan loudly. joshua really can’t go ten seconds without insulting you lovingly, can he? but you smile nonetheless, and pinch his cheeks as punishment, earning you whines of pain before you let go. “and you’re my lovable idiot, okay? no one else gets to call you that, not even jeonghan.”

your boyfriend chuckles at the mention of his best friend’s name, holding his pinky out. “i promise i won’t even let jeonghan call me that.”

you grin before intertwining your pinky with his, before placing a peck on his cheek. “good.”

[amoristt]

trust i seek, and i find in you | alt finale

part 1 (x) . part 2 (x) part 3 (x)

「 ✦ seong gi-hun / reader ✦ 」

a/n: i had to make this im sorry i couldnt live w myself idc that its a weaker ending!!!!

original ending (x)

Rain poured dense and persistent from the angry sky above, thick clouds akin to raging plumes of smoke miles overheard. The dirt and gravel surrounding you resolved into slick mud under your dress shoes. Droplets of water gathered at the crown of your skull before cascading down the lines of your face, deepend with grief. Fat tears had long since begun to fall from your water lines and race down your cheeks, only hidden by the onslaught of heavy rain, a mirage that only bought you seconds before you would inevitably fall into Gi-hun’s arms blubbering like an inconsolable child. 

The game laid out before you both had already started but neither of you could bring yourselves to move. Just two players standing in static, unwilling. Gi-hun was, as always, as easy to read as a book. Every emotion that coursed through him was plain as day before you. His anger, his fear, his desolation all settled into the wrinkles of his frown, those puppy-dog like eyes downcast and swallowing you whole. You hated seeing him like that- broken. 

How could this be happening. 

Just the night before, in both of your monkey suits with full bellies and reeling from loss, he had said that he knew a way out of this. That since it was just the mere two of you left, he knew exactly how to make sure you’d both go home at the next game. He was confident, with a pipe dream in his eyes and a sense of bright urgency so determined that you couldn’t help but believe him too. You think you would have believed anything that passed his lips. Needed to believe that there was a light at the end of this dark, dark tunnel. He said that just like the first time you’d been chewed up and spat out by the games, you could both hold another vote to end the games and send you both packing. You could start your lives together having found something worth more than the weight of the gold the game makers had dangled just out of your grasp since day one.

Go on, and live for the ones who couldn’t. 

You sucked in every word he said. Leaned on it, depended on it, clung to it equally as desperate as you clung to his chest and buried your face in the scent of him. He said he would find you after you were both dropped off no matter what it took. He’d find you, and it would be the last time you were without each other. 

Clause three, He’d said, a dejection in his sorrowful voice. A majority vote will end the games.

It sounded too good to be true. And yet, you began to imagine it. You and Gi-hun. Life together outside the games, a life you wished you could have found years and years ago. Early mornings spent tangled together in bed sharing one lousy comforter. A dingy roof that always seemed to leak, floors that were always just a little too cold for comfort. Lights would flicker, your neighbors would be less than friendly. But you would be together. You’d patch the holes in the ceiling of whatever ramshackle shithole you’d both scrounged up the money for. He’d stand by the drafty windows and watch the world come to life in the early hours of the day, painted in the beautiful morning sun while you pretend to stay asleep just to drink in a few extra moments of his peace.

Eating dry ramen on a table made from a cardboard box. Sharing a bottle of Soju because you could only afford one. 

You’d work long hours day by day to afford what little you had, but then at the end of every shift your sore feet would wander you right back home and into his arms and it would all be worth it. Sore, tired, hungry. Loved.

It was a lovely mirage. It was everything you never knew you needed. You never needed money, or fancy things. All you needed was someone to push through life with you. Someone like Gi-hun, with his boyish smile and his dark curly hair and his gentle touches with even gentler words. Someone like him who made you feel as if the world wasn’t something to shy away from. Someone like him, whose eyes lit up whenever you were at his side. Someone worth going through the everythings with.

Even then, in the heavy absence of the other players who hadn’t gotten to make it as far as you had, he made you feel like in that moment everything was okay. There weren’t guards just outside waiting for the call to shoot you down. There weren’t mysterious figures and masked men watching every move and over joyously pitting you against one another. 

There was only him. 

Gi-hun had pulled you so close to his chest that you could feel the heat of him. You listened to the rhythmic beat of his heart and the hum of his soft breaths. You longed for the next chapter- the life outside of this that he swore up and down was within reach. 

Yes, you would both be painstakingly poor, but you’d also be richer than you could ever have imagined. 

There, together, money had become just a mere word.

When you were both escorted to the last game, you couldn’t help the way your nerves seized your heart up in the cage of your chest. Something felt wrong. Off. Difficult to wretch down as every step brought you closer and closer to the giant doors you remembered from the first game you played here. And even though Gi-hun squeezed your hand in his own, you couldn't bring yourself to return the sweet gesture he offered you. 

Sure enough, when the doors pulled open, it was that same field. The little girl statue stood looming in the distance. This time, however, something new caught your eyes. A white pattern on the ground- the unmistakable outline of Squid Game. It took your breath away.

A fight to the death. 

Gi-hun was quick to announce that he’d be drawing from clause 3 to end the games before they had even begun. He said it with confidence, without a single stutter or falter in his voice. Over the days, you’d noticed how much of a backbone he’d grown. You feel the opposite had happened to you, your soul crushing with the weight of the dead and your nerves threatening to choke you up at any given point. If not for Gi-hun you’d surely have crumbled into dust by now. He eyed the square guard as he spoke, demanding for the voting to commence. Once it did, you would both get to go home. 

”Player 456 wishes to stop the game,” He said into his walkie-talkie.

This would all just be a terrible memory behind you. You were ready to leave everything but him behind. 

So imagine the surprise when his request was denied. 

Imagine the dread, the pure and sheer defeat and rotten hopelessness that settled over your faces and into your guts like a pound of lead as the masked man spoke. 

“Your request was denied. The vote may not be held during the finale of the Games.”

Gi-hun, initially was at a loss for words, gaping at the guard with disdain and hatred in his eyes. If looks could kill, that masked man would have dropped dead right before him. You wished he would. 

You sputtered from where you stood, your head spinning faster than you could get a grip on. Those sweet and peaceful days you’d imagined with him shattered into nothing in an instant, the fragments running circles in your heads and taunting you. No mornings with him. No dinners. No drinks. No drafty window, no little shitty home that was rundown but still just perfect because it was yours. 

This couldn’t be happening.

“We won’t fight!” Gi-hun announced with grit teeth. His hands balled into tight fists at his sides. “We’ll just stay right here for as long as it takes!”

Without missing a beat, the masked man raised his hand. It was then you noticed he had some sort of remote, and with a single click, there was a great buzzer that sounded in the distance. Flashing lights gripped both of your attentions- the clock from the first game. In bold, striking letters, you saw the numbers flashing before your eyes. Your heart sank into your belly. 

5:00

Your mind could barely register the guards chatter behind you.

“If a player does not win before the countdown, both players will be eliminated.”

That was the moment the rain had first begun. Heavy droplets tapped away before it began to fall in raging streams. 

While you were busy spinning on your heel and pleading with the masked man to have a single shred of decency, of fucking humanity, Gi-hun’s eyes never left you. Memorizing you. Taking down every last detail before he would lose you. You swatted the guards chest and begged with desperate eyes and trembling hands. It didn’t even phase the man, who merely stood there unbothered. Only when your gaze singled with Gi-hun’s and you could see the way vain was written in those beautiful irises did you finally let your shoulders fall in defeated anguish. 

It was over. 

It was all over.

The timer began to count down.

There was no escaping this. You were both going to die here. 

Die, because there wasn’t a chance in hell you would even so much as raise your hand to that man. Nothing could force it from you- not even the always present threat of death hanging over your head closing in on you like walls. You couldn’t do it. Not to him. 

God, not to him. 

Judging by the way his eyes found yours, far away and crestfallen, you knew he was in the same boat. A sinking, drowning boat rocking in the sea of blood. 

But hey, at least you were in the boat. At least you got to be there together. Bearing the suffering and loss wrapped within the gift that was getting the blessing to know, and to love, Gi-hun.

An agonizing fate laid before the two of you, but you’d both accepted defeat before the game had even had a chance to begin. Your lives were laid down and bared, ready to go, only if together. The thought of him dying here struck you worse than your own untimely demise. He had a daughter he longed to see, a mother he wanted to take care of. You had nothing back home. No family. Not even a damn cat. And he was still willing to throw it all away for you. 

A part of you wishes you had brought the knife provided to you at your final supper. You could have plunged it into your neck by now, bled out and died content knowing that Gi-hun would get to continue life anew without the incessant burden of money. He could visit his daughter in America, he could go anywhere he pleased. He could pay for his mothers surgery and see out his days in the utmost comfort. He could leave this all behind.

Your friends wouldn’t have met their demise in vain.

But, you hadn’t brought it.

And neither had he. 

After your meals, when you’d both realized that there was a high chance the final game being a fight to the death, you left those knives abandoned at the table. A pre-refusal to fight. You didn’t give a damn about winning anymore. The prize had become nonexistent. Gone- fucking useless. Nothing more but fucking numbers- nothing compared to the sheer weight of his life. You’d gone through so much, swore up and down that it’d be you at that finish line and you’d go home with your head held high and proud for all to see. To prove to the fuckers back home that you were not the worthless, mooching brat they’d all made you out to be. 

The brat you'd turned yourself into.

Now, you would have given anything to go home with empty pockets and Gi-hun at your side. You truly had thought you would, too. 

All washed down the drain in the blink of an eye. 

You were a damn fool to ever think you could get out together. Of course this would be the end. Of fucking course. Either a final fight between found lovers, a spectacularly brutal scene indeed, or a quiet doom that would reach you within 4 minutes. 

So, you chose to wait. To let death come and find you wherever you may be. 

And it was an easy choice, especially so as he stood there watching you with those eyes. Because compared to him… Nothing else mattered. Absolutely nothing.

He called your name over the now deafening beat of rain. 

“I can’t-...” He’s struggling to speak, his lower lip quivers. It rips you to shreds. “I can’t hurt you.”

A response dies in your throat, caught by the lump you’re struggling to swallow down. You force it out regardless. “I know.”

His eyes fall. The weight of your fallen friends is unimaginably heavy on your shoulders. They’d all died, some so that you could be where you are now. And for what. To watch you throw in the towel from beyond the beyonds all because you found yourself in love with your competitor. To watch you throw it all away at the finish line because you loved him more than yourself.  

The clock ticks down. This is how you both die. When it reaches zero, shortly now, it would tick away at its last second and you would both be put down like miserable dogs. Really, the only comfort you could draw into yourself was thinking how you would find him in the afterlife. Drawn to him so intensely that you wouldn't be able to stay away even if you wanted to. Even if you tried. 

But that wasn't for another three minutes and thirty seconds. Until then, you wanted- no, needed to be near him. If this was truly the end, if you were to die, it would surely have to be in his arms. Your eternal resting place. 

He opens his mouth to speak, probably something so heart wrenchingly horrible that it would shatter you to pieces, but you stop him with a shaky, sad invitation.

“Could I have a second dance.”

Initially Gi-hun is stunned into silence. But then, that shocked expression melts away into a smile dripping in melancholy.  Downturned eyes. He tries to be happy for you but you can see it. The beautiful upturn to his lips that doesn’t quite reach his beautiful eyes. He reaches his hand out and beckons you. 

You all but throw yourself at him. 

Gi-hun grasps your hand gently, you move to him like a moth to flame. His fingers are soaked, yours are too, droplets racing down your wrist as he raises your knuckles to his lips and plants a chaste kiss right over bruises. So sweet, if not for the loaded gun mere feet away itching to toss led through your skin. Sweet if not for the whimpered cry that tears itself from your chapped lips when he brings his other hand up to graze the pads of his fingers down the curves of your face. Over your cheek bones, brushing sopping wet hair from your eyes. Your heart hurts- it aches. You feel like you’re being held up by strings, knees threatening to buckle at any moment now. 

Everything was all too much. It was too heartbreaking. Too bittersweet. Too intimate to display in front of whatever bastards were watching out of view. But yet, you sink into him like you’ve done it a hundred times before. It’s instinctual. You wrap your arm around his neck and squeeze his hand with the other. His eyes soften all over again and you feel tears stream down your cheeks. 

That hand gently tracing over your battered and bruised expression finds its way down to your shoulder, then takes its resting place on your hip. No words were needed this time. You’d remembered the dance down to the minute detail. Back, forward. If you weren’t in the final moments of your life, you’d be proud of yourself for being such a quick learner. Left, right.

Or at least praising Gi-hun for being such an excellent teacher. 

You move with him and let him guide you all over again. You feel the most subtle of tugs and then you’re turning with him, the mud beneath your shoes dragging as you go. He sways to a melody in his head, and this time, you can feel it as well. The gentle rhythm of push and pull. It entranced you. Everything faded into the endless sea of nothingness except for him. No games, no extravagant piggy bank overflowing with the spoils of blood money. Not even the square-faced guard’s looming presence just barely close enough to catch the corners of your eyes.

Just Gi-hun. 

It was almost like being there again- that night. You remembered the terror of watching over your friends while they slept, shaking in your shoes carefully to observe every last movement your field of vision allowed you to soak in. Bated breaths, a racing heart despite the silence. You remembered wondering if you would even survive that night after witnessing the sheer brutality of the evening before. You had wondered how ever survived anything at all. 

Gi-hun had pulled you from that haze of terror so effortlessly you didn’t even realize he’d done it until you were giggling and chatting away. There was something about him that you could never understand, something so unique that you couldn’t process yourself. His uncanny ability to make everything around you just… Vanish. And then you’d be at peace again, even for just that short while. Unafraid. Like death wasn’t waiting for you around every turn. 

You’d have given anything to go back to that now. You’d appreciate it more, let him spin you round and round until you were dizzy and drunk in his presence. Listen to him hum a tune that you couldn’t place and talk you to sleep with that tender voice. He was so full of life that it spilled over his cup and ran into yours. 

So full of life, yet so willing to throw it away if it meant you could carry on. Even now, at the end of the line he fought to climb, to make it to the top and to bring home riches for his family, to change the course of his life and finally do good for those who’d helped him along during his troubles, he wouldn’t finish it. Because that meant finishing you. 

And you did the same. Survived to the brink of winning only to discover that there was nothing worth more than this. More than him. 

How could this be the end? 

Haven't you given enough? Haven’t you both suffered enough? 

Were your lives just some long, cruel pranks played by a God with an abhorrent sense of humor? To throw you into the lion's den, to knock you down peg by peg until you believed the only way out was to kill or be killed, to dangle a prize dripping in blood just out of your reach. 

Even worse, to put this perfect man right in your path. An unmoving, unwavering road block that you couldn’t bear to hurdle over. You’d rather die.

And so, you would.

Gi-hun can see the way you start to choke back cries. Your steps are growing sloppy, your fingers are twisting in his shirt. 

“Look at me.” Rain and tears blur your vision, but you do. He sighs a breath of content. “Ah, there you are.”

He did it again- dragged you from the spiraling pits of your racing thoughts. 

The clock reads 1:00 in taunting LEDs. Time is running out- it’s almost up. Only one more minute with him. 

“Gi-hun,” You sniffle. “I can’t-”

He doesn’t let you speak, swiftly cuts off your incoherent cries by outstretching his arm and gently pushing you at the end of his reach. Before you know it, before you can register that your body is seemingly moving all on its own, you’re spinning. The world is a blur of grey and brown, and then you’re pulled right back into his arms.

He lets you shrink into him. Your chest stutters as you fail to hold back your sobs. 

He rests a hand on the back of your head, and lets you weep. Once the tears fall, really fall, they don’t stop. They faucet from your eyes and disappear into his sopping wet clothes in body wracking, chest heaving cries that almost seem to echo. Every noise you make seems to bounce right back into your ears and then you realize that Gi-hun’s crying too. He holds you so tight to him, so fervently that it almost forces the air from your lungs. Gripping onto you like if he lets up you’ll be gone by the time he could even open his eyes. 

You feel it to be true too, your hands gripping tight fists into the fabric of his shirt. You’d seen countless lives crumble to nothing at the drop of a dime- an entire life born, built and then erased in the blink of an eye. How were you ever supposed to let go of him?

By the time he’s just started to settle, you’re still shaking in your shoes, stuck in place and gripping him like a lifeline. He has to damn near pry you back just to get another good look at your face. Even though you’re sure that you’re red faced, snot nosed, and bleary eyed, he breathes out the softest sigh and the corners of his lip’s turn up to form a sullen smile. He tries to comfort you, wipe away at your tears, but between the rain and your incessant crying there isn’t much to be done. You’re babbling like an idiot, racing out anything you can think of. Desperate to fit it all in before it’s over.

Thank you for everything. You are perfect.

You are everything to me.

“I wanna go home,” You wail. “I want us to go home.”

Go-hun holds your face in his hands preciously. He pets his thumbs down your cheeks. Try as he might to comfort you, the timer settles on it’s final 20 seconds. 20 seconds to live. He shakes and presses his lips to your hair and breathes you in for what could be the last time. It hurts- you can’t breathe, you can’t think anymore. There isn’t enough time. It’s slipping through your fingers and you can’t catch it. 

You just want more time. 

“I love you.” 

He’s the first to say it. There’s tears rolling down his face but he still smiles for you. I love you too leaves your lips before you even have a chance to process it yourself. 

There’s an ear piercing buzz that cries over the sound of the thundering rain. 

0:00

No more time.

Gi-hun doesn't let you see anything. He shoves your face into his chest and buries you, surrounds you with himself as if it’ll stop the bullets from ripping through his wiry frame and slicing through you. Footsteps sound from somewhere you can’t place. Your lives are over. You’re going to die. The dirt shifts under the weight of them, stopping merely a foot away. You don’t get to see what’s going on- he refuses to let you face it. But the way his body tenses, his fingers grip into your skin, his breath pauses, tells you all that you need to know. It’s over. 

You wait, silent and trembling. Any moment and you’ll hear it- the shrill, air-slicing pop of the gun. You prayed it would be a quick death. You prayed there would be an afterlife at all. 

The only thing you can think of beyond Gi-hun’s arms is the selfish wish that you die first. 

But, it never comes. What does sound instead, is a muffled voice over a walkie talkie just quiet enough to be unintelligible over the sound of the rain. Seconds passed by- what the hell was going on?  Are you being lulled into confusion before you’re inevitably wiped out? You try to peek over Gi-hun’s shoulder to see just what in the hell is going on but he keeps you flush to his chest, unwilling to allow you to leave his cover. 

“What the hell is this?” Gi-hun demanded. The voice on the talkie continues to chirp.

”Yes, sir.” The guard suddenly says flatly, before he addresses you both equally as monotone. “Player’s 456 and 307. You are being offered a choice. If both players wish to end the game, you may do so now and forfeit.”

You wrench yourself from Gi-hun’s grasp to stare in bewilderment, but he’s quick to pull you to his side, desperate to keep his hands on you at all times. The guard stands unmoving, that square mask staring holes through you. This had to be a joke. A sick, fucked up joke where the moment hope is within your grasp your hands are chopped clean off. 

“Forfeit…?” You parrot with a wavering voice. You can’t let yourself hope. Not yet. 

The guard nods once. “Yes. You will receive no rewards.”

Gi-Hun swallows thickly. The rain continues to pour. He rubs circles into your shoulder with his thumb. He speaks slowly, unsure, damn confused just as you were. “But we both leave?”

Another nod. “Correct.”

Your heart rate explodes into a race, pumping fiery hot blood through your entire body. You could go home. You could both go home. Gi-hun is immediately in front of you, grasping your shoulders with each hand, capturing your attention in one movement. You reach out and hold his face. You’re floundering in a whirlwind of emotions but one stands miles above all the rest- hope. Real hope- hope that makes you feel weak in the knees and has you buzzing inside and out. You aren’t sure what the change was- why you were suddenly being offered an out, but you jump on the chance in fear it would disappear. 

“I vote to end the game!” You cry. 

Gi-hun’s lips press into a tight line but you can see the way relief floods him as if there was ever a chance in hell you’d say anything else. He smiles- grins and the corners of his eyes crinkle with joy. 

“I also vote to end the games.” 

”Both players have forfeited.” The guard speaks into his walkie-talkie. 

A voice answers back but you can’t be fucked to give a shit enough to listen, too focused on the way Gi-hun’s smile is finally reaching his eyes again. Real happiness, drinking in the toothy boyish grin that you’ve come to adore with every fiber of your entire being, and it reminds you how you never knew you could feel so much for a singular person. 

“Yes sir.” The guard pockets his walkie-talkie and holds his gun close to his chest, taking a step away from the two of you and using his hand to direct you towards the doors you’d both come wavering out of merely minutes ago. 

Your heart is beating so quickly you fear it may burst from your chest at any moment, and even as the guard began to escort you both inside, you still have this gnawing feeling that this was too good to be true. That any moment now you would be sent hurtling back into devastation. You look back at the field one last time. You aren't sure why. You see the Squid Game laid out, the battlefield where you were expected to kill him, your Gi-hun. Where he was expected to kill you. You see the statue of the little girl standing at the end of the field. A gruesome reminder of where you’d started and where you were now.

Along the walls, just as the doors shut and block your vision, you swear you see something almost glistening, like glass. Like a window overlooking the field. But then Gi-hun is tugging you against his side and once more everything was nonexistent but him. 

Don't look back.

There is an entire life ahead of you.

“Let’s go,” Gi-hun whispers as he wraps an arm around your shoulder. “Let’s go home together.” 

It isn’t until you’re inside and those hulking doors slam shut does it finally sink in that you’re really going home- that both of you get to leave here with your lives. Tears well up in your eyes, make it hard to see as you stumble along, but Gi-hun holds you so right that it keeps you upright and walking at his side. He’d carry you if he had to, you were sure. You were sure he’d do anything for you.

And you’d do the same. 

You'd been pulled from the fire.

You can see it clearly all over again. Lazy mornings in bed, sharing every meal. One bedroom apartments and plants lined up along tiny little windows. A long life of making ends meet but doing it with him. 

You reach up to squeeze his hand, a smile finally gracing you. 

“Together.” 

[acotarxreader]

Shadow and Flame pt 3

Azriel X Reader

Warnings: Angst, smut, miscommunications, mentions of burn.

A/N: Right, I haven't written smut in a very long time and I am very rusty so apologies in advance there 😂 the end of this segment I hope it's clear that both situations happen concurrently and that that comes across yikes! I'm still blown away by people's kind words and welcoming nature. Thank you so much loves! Part 4 loading

Part 1 Part 2

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You woke to the smell of cedar and mist replacing the smell of burned skin in your nose. You sighed gently, tempting your eyes to open. You reached to feel the softest silk beneath your hands. This sent fear through you. Where were you? You tried to will your body upright but insurmountable pain shattered through your bones. Your eyes peeled open, to stare up at a delicately painted ceiling, the stars of the night sky looking back at you. You reached for any flame you could find but none came to you, your own fire truly exhausted from the battle with your Father's. 

“Easy there YN” the female's voice stopped your movements, your eyes frantically searching for the source as she stepped out of the shadow.

“Hello, I'm Feyre, please be gentle with yourself you were ravaged” she said quietly and you hated it. Hated the pity. You knew of Feyre, you knew of her and your brother, what happened Under The Mountain and all the things that happened since but mostly you knew she was not an immediate threat unless threatened. 

“Where am I?” You rasped through your smokey throat. 

“Velaris, this is our home, Azriel brought you to us when you landed on the town house steps, we have healers round the clock for you, it won't be long until you're right again” you groaned, trying to move your body, pushing away the pain. 

“I need Lucien” you breathed

“Yes well….about him, he is kind of sort of not available at the moment”

“What?” You gently turned your head to get a look at the beautiful High Lady.

“Az won't allow him to darken the door. I'm sorry if this upsets you but we must let him work through it himself if we are ever to see them in the same room again” Feyre left out the part where Azriel had nearly torn the Prince of Foxes limb for limb, leaving him in his own state of disrepair.

“I have to go, I have to go back to Autumn, he'll come for me”

“Beron will not step another foot in this Court unless he fancies losing it. My mate is handling him as we speak” she spoke with such hatred in her voice for your Father. He had crossed into the territory unwelcomed, certainly ruffling the treaty but you were his to fetch. You knew he'd come back, treaty or not. You couldn't stay here and risk the vengeance. You couldn't stay here and risk them finding out your heritage. You pushed up slightly to sit and rest against the headboard, your skin screaming at you to stop. You glanced around the room lit by sunlight, no flame to be seen

“Feyre, I need fire”

“I think you've had enough of that” she laughed but stopped once she noticed your stony expression.

She cleared her throat before speaking again. “Az has instructed us to keep you from fire until you are rested, he said you're a flight risk, he didn't care to elaborate” she gave a small smile. 

“Azriel is not my keeper. I have to get to flame, it will help me to recover” she weighed up her options as you pleaded with your copper eyes. She moved slowly to the fireplace to retrieve a matchbox and tealight, figuring a small light was of minimal risk. Your eyes followed her hands as she drew the match backwards, watching and waiting for the relief the crackle of fire would bring. The match drew against the red phosphorus as you held your breath. A shadow quenches the flame before it could grow.

“Feyre” her head snapped to Azriel as he stood in the doorway, tea tray in hand. She looked at the Shadowsinger as if she was a child caught with her hand in the cookie jar. 

“I-she said she needs it to recover” he sighed at her before glancing straight to you, the words she said only resonating with him then, you were awake.

“YN, thank the Gods” he dashed to your side, putting the tray down. Feyre allowed a smirk to grow, dropping the matches at the end of the bed before seeing herself out of the room.

“Get me Lucien” his face twisted in anger at the sound of the name and that these were the first words you'd uttered to him in a week. 

“YN, please I know he is your love but-” your loud laugh cut him off, pressure releasing as your ribs shook.

“That is disgusting” you remarked with a smile to the confused Shadowsinger. You swallowed the laugh growing in you again, attempting to swing your legs to the side of the bed to have Azriels hand stop you in your tracks. 

“YN please you must rest”

“I must get out of here before Fa-Beron comes and burns this place to cinders”

“He wouldn't dare, what is it he wants with you?” You glanced down at your feet and back up to meet the hazel eyes. You must have looked like a nightmare, ash still in your hair, cracked skin screaming to be reconnected with itself and yet Azriel looked at you with pure kindness in his eyes. 

“He wants - I can't tell you what he wants but I should go to him before he comes to collect” you said smally. Azriel kneeled to the side of the bed to fall between your legs as they hung over the edge. His hands slid into yours as if they were always meant to be there. You watched the movement with such caution. This wasn't supposed to happen. You weren't supposed to be seen. You weren't supposed to want to be seen. 

“I will not hesitate to kill him where he stands should he cross the threshold of the Night Court without permission again” his eyes searched yours with determination.

“I want to trust you” he lowered his head to your hands at your response. Azriel almost painfully slowly raised your hands to his mouth to place the gentlest of kisses on your cracked skin. This sent tingles through your body, the lovingness of the gesture warmed you, soothing your exhausted internal blaze. 

“Then trust me” His words broke your heart, but you felt you trusted him as much as you trusted your father would come for you.

“Give me a flame” your eyes landed on the box of matches at the end of the bed. His eyes followed yours with trepidation. If your father was to come then you were not going to have him find you broken in a bed. 

“YN-”

“-If I am to trust you then you are to trust me, give me a flame to aid my recovery” your eyes scanned him from side to side, hoping to portray the genuineness you felt. He released your hands, reaching for the match box again.

He dragged a match from its cage and looked into your eyes as he struck it off the red phosphorus, bursting into life. Its glow illuminated the space between you both. You reached a shaky hand towards the flame, it almost stretching out to you in joy of being reunited.

Azriel watched in awe, never had he seen the elements behave in such a way for any ordinary Fae. But you weren't ordinary, you were of pure Autumn Court blood, the flame a friend of yours. Your finger made contact with the heat, Azriel tried not to cringe at the sound of the sizzle. You breathed the energy before diving in. You were pulled from the bed and deep within its heat. Azriel leapt to his feet at the now empty bed in front of him. He cursed out loud, he trusted you and you left. He wanted to help you and you left. He cared for you and you left. The match fizzled out. 

“Told you” he jumped on the spot as you stood from behind him, skin beginning to knit together again faster than any healer could work. Your loose nightdress flowed over the scars now melting back into your skin as you smiled at the Shadowsinger. He exhaled in relief, closing the distance between you.

“Did you think I'd gone?” he caught hold of your hands as you gave a small laugh at his surprised face. 

“I thought you had evaded my touch once again Flame” you tried to hide your blush at his new pet name for you, failing miserably. You felt yourself almost fall into the shrinking space between you both, Azriels shadows dancing with your flames around your feet, finding home in one another. 

“Who are you Flame?” It was hardly above a whisper.

“I-”

“-Excuse me!” Madjas sharp voice split you both apart. 

“Madja I was just-”

“-Leaving Lady YN to bed rest, as we had agreed” she raised an eyebrow as Azriel almost shrunk into himself like a bold school child. You let a little laugh leave you at the sight, until Madja landed her gaze on you and you hung your head almost in shame. She pointed to the bed with a slender finger, you went to protest but her heated stare told you otherwise as you slipped back into the sheets. 

∆***************∆

You sank into the medicated bath. Normally being submerged in water had you feeling ill but the myriad of lit candles surrounding you gave you comfort. Madja had ordered you to soak your stitching skin and you now feared her almost as much as your father so you obliged. 

You hummed gently as your eyes rested in the swimming pool-like bath that was flush with the floor. You wondered where Lucien was, how angry he'd be with you, how enraged he'd be at the sight of you and Azriel earlier. You couldn't help but smile at the discomfort you'd bring your sibling. You reached for the salve Madja instructed you to apply, it's cream-like consistency foaming on the grooves of your skin.

“YN I brought you- Fuck sorry!” Azriel shielded his eyes quickly while dropping the books he held in his hand. You moved deeper in the water, suddenly shy at his presence. He moved to gather the books still blocking his eyes, kicking one into the bubbling water. 

“Shit!” 

“Azriel just open your eyes before you end up in here with me” you laughed retrieving the book, its ink blending into the water. Azriel thought for a moment to keep his eyes closed, the possibility of ending up in there with you making the hair on his neck stand up in excitement. He opened his eyes cautiously to find you staring up at him through your lashes.

“Thank you for lighting the candles for me earlier, a lovely surprise” 

“You're welcome, anything you need” he gathered the books, shivers running through him at the sight of your body beneath the bubbles.

“Actually Azriel….nevermind”

“No, what is it? Tell me” You shrunk in on yourself slightly, your boldness leaving you. He wanted to stay there with you as long as he could, in any capacity. 

“It's just….I need to put this salve on my back and…I can't reach and Madja has gone home for the evening and-”

“Sure” he replied quickly, cursing himself internally at your smirk. 

Azriel lowered himself on his knees behind you, his wings balancing him from teetering over the edge. You passed the jar back to him over your shoulder, trying to keep your anticipation to a minimum, fixing your glance at the navy tiling. 

He hovered his shaking hand above your shoulder as it glistened from the water. Azriel every so gently rubbed the salve into your skin, it foaming on contact. You rolled your head back slightly at the feeling of the soothing balm on your cracked skin causing a breath of relief to leave you. Azriels eyes fell over your shoulder for a moment to glance at your chest, he mentally scolded himself immediately for stealing the glance, pulling his hand back.

“Are you okay?” You noticed the missing sensation straight away, you rolled to lie on your stomach, forearms across the rim of the bath, you looked up at the Shadowsinger on his knees above you.

“I-I’m not sure I've ever felt so okay before in my life Flame” his eyes were so lovingly looking at you with such true sincerity you'd never felt from someone before. You pushed up from the bath to your feet, your whole torso dripping in bubbles gleaming. Azriel swallowed the lump in his throat, he was now eye level with you as you reached for his hand and pulled him closer to you. He couldn't help but trace your whole body with his eyes, drinking you in. Your hand slipped around the back of his neck, pulling him up from his knees and forward to meet your lips. 

Inferno. Azriels whole body felt warm and secure as you kissed him deeply, his hands going to your waist. You shuddered a little bit at his cold hands meeting your wet sides.

“Sorry sorry did I hurt you?” he pulled back suddenly to your surprise. 

“Azriel do you intend on hurting me?”

“No”

“Then no, you didn't hurt me, it's just because I'm all….wet that your dry hand just…startled me” Azriel took a moment to think before a devilish smirk grew across his face, he stood and began to strip down in front of you. Your mouth dried out at the sight of him, your skin felt electric as he sank into the water alongside you. His hand grazed the side of your cheek, pulling you forward to meet him gently. 

“I-was-so-scared-when-I-found-you-on-the-steps” Azriel breathed out between kisses. You passed one of your legs over his lap beneath the water to straddle him, tilting his head back to deepen the kiss. 

“Were you looking for me?” You smiled into the kiss, his hands wrapping around you to pull you flush into him. 

“I think my whole life Flame” your heart sang at these words, your breath taken from you as he attached himself to your neck. You moaned at the feeling of his teeth nipping you, trailing down your neck to your chest. Azriel hardened beneath you even more at the sound. You leaned up slightly, running a hand down his chiselled chest to beneath the surface of the water to his lengthy member. 

“Fuuuck” he breathed at the feeling and you grinned. You slowly lowered yourself back down onto him, moaning loudly in his ear, your nails dug into his shoulders at the sensation. You adjusted to him between your legs, the flames of the candles growing wilder around the bath. 

“Are you going to set me on fire Flame?” Azriel groaned out as you began to bounce slightly on his length. He reattached to your neck to muffle his groans, failing massively. The both of you moved in unison, tension building building building. Azriels fingers gripped into your sides with burning pressure, the flames around you growing taller and taller with your tighting core until the whole bath was surrounded by a ring of your fire. If Azriel was honest with himself, he was a bit afraid of the growing towers of fire but he felt so easily lost in your moans he forgot the fear as soon as it came. You moaned his name so loudly you were sure they heard you in Summer Court, toppling Azriel over his own edge, the flame on the candles becoming small and still again at the release. 

You stayed on his lap for a moment, until he stood with you still in his arms. He passed through the bathroom doors into your adjacent room with your flames dancing around to dry you both before he placed you on the bed. 

“Flame, I have to see to something with Rhys but I will be back before you know it” you ran your hand gently down his cheek as he leaned and whispered those words from above you. 

“I'll be here”

“Do you promise?”

“Do you trust me?” He kissed your cheek in answering your question before retrieving his clothes and redressing. You allowed your eyes to fall close as he slipped out the door. 

********* 

You rolled over to find the bed empty alongside you still an hour or so later. You lifted yourself from the bed, dressing in a robe that Feyre had laid out for you. You wandered down the hall in search of Azriel. 

“I don't care Rhys, she stays!” You heard Azriels sharp tone from the other side of a large oak door. You couldn't help but stop and listen. 

“Az, she is not from the Court, she belongs to Autumn-”

“She belongs to no one” Azriel seethed.

“Brother, she brings a threat to our door. Lucien has told us she must go to Autumn, to Beron, it is beyond our control-” your breath hitched in your throat, had Lucien let the cat out of the bag?

“It is very much in your control Cass” 

“Beron has made it clear that he will help us in our efforts should we return YN” 

“She is not a political pawn!”

“She belongs to Beron, she must go back! I am not going to war for some female that landed on our doorstep! He wants you dead Azriel, I will not have you sacrificed for her!” Rhysands hands banged against the solid wood of his desk. 

You took a step back from the door again. They were going to send you back. Your Father would have you mangled for the embarrassment of having to be sent against your will back to him. You looked at the candles lighting the stairwell adjacent and with a deep breath you knew it was time to go before they took you kicking and screaming. But you didn't want to, you couldn't leave like this, couldn't leave Azriel. The rock of having him hurt because of you and the hard place of returning to a vengeful father is where you found yourself wedged firmly between. You ran from the stairwell to your room, head scrambling.

“I could have said the same when you barraged in on Tamlin and Feyres wedding!’

“Az!” Cass reprimanded Azriel with his eyes for his comments. 

“That was different Az, Feyre is my mate!”

“And what if YN is mine!?” The two were instantly silent to this. Azriel felt such strong and complex feelings towards you, such a magnetic force, the flame to his smoke.  A chill ran down his spine. Something was happening. The three Illyrians took an instinctive fighting stance.

“Y/N” your father stood in a circle of flame in your room, eerily calm with an outstretched hand. 

“Come home now and all will be forgiven” Berons eyes told a different story. He was boiling in anger, anger you knew Azriel would take the brunt of if you didn't go now and yet you hesitated, looking around the safe space Azriel had made for you. You went to speak, to defy, to scream but you were too slow, too weak still, Berons flame engulfed you and pulled you from where you stood. 

 ****

Azriel materialised into your room, the other two warriors searching for the source of their unease elsewhere in River House. 

“Flame, you wouldn't believe the- YN?” He materialised in your room to find it empty. He ran to the bathroom to find you gone from there as well, all the flames in the room doused out.

*******************

What do we think friends?

Part 4

Tag list: @sunshineangel-reads @skylarkalchemist @tele86 @saltedcoffeescotch @impossibelle @quiettuba @thecraziestcrayon @fightmedraco

If you were forgotten please feel every right to give out to me

[the-kr8tor]

In Pursuit of Blood: Vampire or Cowboy?

A/N: just something silly that spawned in @pleaktale and I's dms lol enjoy!

Pairing: Vampire! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.8k

Synopsis: the camera crew finds something amiss.

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, CW blood mention, Vampire! Hobie, Hobat 🦇, Vampire AU, mockumentary AU, set in the WWDITS universe, FLUFF

In Pursuit of Blood/vampire! Hobie Masterlist

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The camera enters Hobie's familiar abode. Red velvet curtains that drape along ceilings and windows greet the camera crew. There's a noticeable lack of dust and spiderwebs around the place, books properly shelved, and no evidence of blood on the now spick and span floors. There's even a fancy lavender scented candle sitting on the newly polished grand piano that's placed inside the interview room that was formerly known as the living room; or as you humorously called it when you moved in— the ‘undead room’.

Even with the mansion clean of any grime since the last time the crew visited, there's a lack of you or Hobie lingering around the vast corridors. The flame on the candle flickers, the producer expects Hobie to jump out at them any second now with his fangs out to scare them. After a beat, there's still no trace of a vampire telling them to fuck off.

There's a sigh behind the camera, the lenses zoom in and out of the opened supply closet that was left open where buckets of murky water sits. Used cloths are hanging from the shelves, jugs of soap and bleach sit half empty next to the dusty fabric. The entire place is like a ghost town where the occupants hurriedly left their dinner on the table, but this time they're cleaning supplies. The crew is left scratching their heads, not even a sound can be heard except for their footsteps against wood, and wires dragging across the floor. The camera whips around the quiet place, paintings upon paintings are the only sign of life left hanging on the walls.

The camera enters Hobie's record room where portraits and things full of sentimental value from your ancestors lie. There's no one in the room, not even a lone spider is left on the ceiling. A whispered “where the fuck are they?” Can be heard from the boom mic guy. The front doors were left unlocked for the crew to enter so that means that you and Hobie were expecting them.

The crew continued on, they passed by the front gates and the porch when they first entered so that means you weren't there doing your afternoon stretching. And with the sun still up, Hobie cannot be caught outside lest he crumples into dust. So there's only one place they need to check, Hobie's mysterious bedroom. The crew hasn't stepped foot in the room just yet, or even seen it for that matter. There was just no need for them to enter, until now. If he's missing, he could be sleeping inside his coffin, and where Hobie is, you'd be there.

Sure enough, when they climbed up the stairs and into the long hallway, the crew sees ripped packages scattered on the floor. Plastic packaging and boxes from an online shop are left like bread crumbs that lead towards the bedroom door that's left ajar.

Every person on the crew quietly makes their way to the door, an almost impossible feat considering there's seven of them lagging behind the main camera. The hallway grows dimmer, as they walk, the light left inside the room acts as a lighthouse to the stalking documentary crew. The cameraman is the first person who made it in front of the door, he kneels down silently despite the heavy camera on his shoulder. He turns the lenses inside the ajar door, peeking inside. With an adjustment of his lens, he zeroes in on your giddy face, grin wide and happy, hands occupied with what looks like a bat doll in front of you.

“So. Fucking. Cute!” You squeal, fists shaking from the adorable sight. You sit on a comfortable chair with Hobie's desk in front of you, already taking hundreds of pictures with your phone.

While you were too occupied with your dress up bat, the camera zooms in on the toy bat. Meanwhile, the other crew members peek overhead, trying not to make a peep whilst they look for Hobie inside the room. His coffin is wide open, red plush velvet lining around the strong oak resting place. The producer is sure that she saw a polaroid of you tucked inside the velvet, and an extra pink pillow with a matching blanket inside. Her thoughts are interrupted by Jared the cameraman, who's currently tugging at her sleeves. She follows where the camera points, failing to see anything except for the unmoving bat, she taps her tablet awake to see what the camera sees more clearly.

She almost gasps at the sight. The camera has fully zoomed in on the bat’s face where a dozen or so piercings lie, the same piercings a certain vampire has. The said bat/vampire has a cowboy hat on, complete with a tiny feather decorating it. Instead of Hobie's black leather vest, a brown fringed vest has replaced it. There's even a gun belt around his tiny waist that has a very miniscule gun that glints in the yellow lamp of his desk.

Bat Hobie's eyes just stare at you, slowly blinking, nose twitching but not from annoyance. The crew can see that he's staying still for you, something they've never thought was possible in their six months of filming him and you. The camera lenses zoom out, showing the vast costumes on the floor next to the desk. There's the classic vampire cloak that's laying on a red chiffon dress, (oh Jared would kill to see bat Hobie in that) a chef hat next to dozens of plastic toy shoes that they're not sure would even fit a bat’s feet. But of course they're proven wrong when you carefully lift up bat Hobie's foot to place the cutest (most accurate) cowboy boots on each of his tiny feet.

You squeal again, Hobie puffs up his chest, posing for the camera. “Hell yeah! Just like that and you're on the cover of Vogue, Hobie!” They can all tell that the cowboy outfit is his favourite from the way he poses.

There's more unopened packages next to you, but you're still not satisfied with his look. In between your fingers, you hold a gilded sheriff badge. The crew watches as Hobie rejects the badge with a screech. He bares his fangs, for a moment, the crew is afraid that he'd bite you, forgetting that he's not an actual bat but an actual vampire that could drain you of your blood within a minute. You're not phased about it, not one bit. The pout on your lips and your puppy dog eyes can be seen from the camera. Hobie shakes his tiny head, large floppy ears swaying around as he moves.

You sigh, relenting. Hobie waddles his way towards your hand, taking it in his claws gently, and then he does what the crew would never expect from the most powerful vampire they've ever known. Hobie leans into your palm, giving you a little kitten lick across the pad of your finger. And then you do the unexpected, even in the entire crew's wildest dreams they could never think of it; based on how you, a vampire hunter from a renowned vampire hunting family could interact with a vampire you were tasked to kill three years ago. You lean down to kiss his fluffy cheek, he even has his eyes closed the entire time, savouring your affection yet chaste kiss. Chuckling, you're still not satisfied, you peck him once again to his delight. Hobie makes a purring sound from the kiss, the crew is sure that they cannot air whatever they're seeing.

“Aww, okay, no badge.” You shift in your seat, talking softly at bat Hobie. Ducking down towards the boxes to take a plastic horse, Hobie now has the perfect view of the peeping camera crew.

His stare freezes them in place, they don't know if he's embarrassed by the whole ordeal they caught him in, or Hobie's trying to intimidate him with a look. Either way, the camera crew is petrified.

“Horsey?” You ask, still oblivious to the danger that lies behind Hobie's red beady eyes. “Or no horsey?” You poke his fluffy side, sweetly calling his name. “You okay? What's wrong? We can stop if you're not having fun anymore.” The crew can barely recognize how sweet you're talking to him. Especially just last week you threw a knife at his head because he watched an episode without you.

Hobie flicks his eyes away from the crew, they sigh audibly, feeling their blood rush through their veins once again. They've seen what true fear was like, and you don't envy them when you turn around towards the sound.

“You guys are early. Again.” You nonchalantly say. “We're not done yet. Do you guys mind closing the door?” The crew is still frozen behind the door, some are gasping for air, some are just flat out terrified.

A puff of black smoke appears, and Hobie in all his glory, comes into view behind the fog like a theater curtain opening for him. He's in his regular clothes, but for some reason, the cowboy costume you've put on him also grew with him. The fringe vest fits perfectly on him, the spurs on his cowboy boots shine in the yellow lamp as he sits on the desk, one leg up on the table as you continue to sit in front of him while you're taking more photos of him.

“I don't understand the logic but holy shit this is the hottest thing ever.” You gasp, the shutters of your phone camera clicking relentlessly. Hobie glances at you, face hidden behind the brim of his hat, shadows covering his face. You smile at him, eyes roaming over him, fingers tugging at the hem of his vest. “Goddamn.” You sigh.

“Later, love. I need to get rid of pests.” He says with a nudge of his boot on your leg, there's tenderness hidden underneath it. But his eyes tell the opposite, with a flick of his hat, the crew has the perfect view of his eyes. The pupils of his wine red eyes move about, shaking in anger. “Get out.”

There's a gust of wind as he quickly moves to the door, crouching down, eye to eye with the camera, he stares at the lenses until the glass cracks. With a glance towards their terrified faces, they all run away for their lives. As if Hobie would actually kill them, especially if he can just tell them to delete the footage. Worst case scenario, he can delete the memory from their minds. It will be like dragging a file towards the trash bin icon but instead of a file it's their brains. They'll just get a headache for a few days, even so, he doesn't want to do that. Maybe he can reason with them by telling them (in front of their camera) a story during his time in the 1920s. Or maybe just pay for the lenses he broke.

As the entire crew runs, the mics capture your muffled yet loud laughter behind the door when Hobie slams the door shut.

Support banner by @/cafekitsune

[scarlettohairdye]

Home Ownership Was a Mistake

This is for @trickybonmot, who may or may not use some of these stories in a fic.

Okay. So.

In the year of our lord 2010, my wife and I were lucky enough to be gifted $20k by my parents, which in those days (given it was a historically low point for real estate prices in Seattle) was enough for a down payment on a house. It was an astounding confluence of luck and privilege that led to us being homeowners, because if they gave us the same money now it would go precisely nowhere.

Anyway, it was not enough money for a large house, or a fancy house. We looked at a lot of places, only some of which were move-in ready (and one of which was absolutely just a tear-down) and eventually settled on our current place, which is a 1910 bungalow with a detached garage that was finished and turned into a studio.

Was it the most aesthetically pleasing house when we bought it? No. The walls were white, the carpet was light beige, and the paint had seen better days. That said, it was move-in ready and the owner was pretty desperate to sell, so we took it!

The inspector let us know that some of the wiring was still the old knob-and-tube, so we'd want that updated sooner rather than later, but it looked pretty good. About half the outlets were grounded, so it didn't stop us from plugging in three-prong appliances. We just had to use more extension cords than maybe we'd prefer.

The Electrical

The first big house thing we paid for was to have the entire place rewired. Our circuit breaker was a mystery, we didn't have enough outlets, and we were tired of being stuck with specific layouts of our stuff due to the lack of grounded outlets. We were expecting about half the wiring to be up to code, and the rest would need an update.

Spoiler alert: HAHAHAHAHAHA.

The rewiring took about a week, and every morning the electrician sat down with us and told us what new fire trap he'd uncovered.

"Yeah, so the knob and tube wiring going to the lights in the ceiling? Knob and tube gets hot when it's running, and yours is under three layers of insulation."

"You know how you thought your outlets were grounded? They weren't, actually, the ground wire just went elsewhere into the house and wasn't connected to anything."

"So there's wiring in your crawlspace? Whoever put that in nailed some sheets of wood paneling over it, so we had to rip the wood paneling out to access it."

I think the job was about $15k when it was done, we had many many more outlets, and our house was no longer one bad day from lighting itself on fire. Victory, I guess?

The Studio Window

This was leaking a bit, and we knew it was leaking when we moved in. (South facing walls get all the weather in our region.) We were not handy enough to replace it ourselves at the time and we also didn't have money because I got laid off shortly after we bought the house and was making my living doing costume commissions. Solution: Trade costuming work to an acquaintance who did carpentry.

The window, we discovered, was not so much a finished window as it was a single sheet of glass sandwiched between some boards.

Badly.

The carpenter was not entirely she that she was qualified for the job, but she did manage to remove the single sheet of glass and replace it with a window that was insulated and actually capable of opening. She used caulk around it. It was way better than we had before. Maybe someday we'll have both studio windows replaced by a contractor who actually does windows, but this is not that day!

The Siding

The cedar shingles were no longer cutting it at a certain point, so we had the house resided. (Houses are money pits, in case you didn't know.) This was a $30k job (MONEY PIT!) and had several layers of badness.

Bad: Our house had no insulation. It was cedar shingles over the original siding, with nothing in between that original siding and our INTERIOR WALLS. There was occasionally a newspaper. Our PM asked if we wanted insulation? And we said yes, please!!! We did not have a lot of time to think about insulation or research the best type, so it's just sheets of the pink fiberglass stuff in there, but it exists and we have it now!

Worse: Underneath our laundry room was a horrorshow. The laundry room is an addition that was added to our house probably sometime in the 50s? And, uh...

Well, the siding guys pulled off the siding, took a look at what was under it, and immediately called the project manager. The project manager came out, took a look, and then called us. He said that the siding guys thought it really needed to be reinforced and stabilized before they re-sided it, which is very fair, because I think the people who built it originally were drunk when they did it. It was a fucking Wild West cowboy construction situation under there.

Yes, you heard that right: A LOAD-BEARING SHINGLE.

Our project manager also informed us that the siding guys couldn't do the reinforcement, because they're just siding guys. They don't do structural. This is very fair.

It also needed to be done by Monday so we could stay on schedule for the siding work.

We learned this on Friday.

I immediately called my general contractor dad and got his voicemail, because (I remembered belatedly) he was in Mexico getting dental surgery. There was absolutely no way we could get another contractor out to do the work over a single weekend.

It was up to us.

My wife and I (mostly my wife) went HAM on it. We rented big jacks from the tool library to prop the laundry room up while we replaced one of the entirely rotten support poles. One of the big telephone poles was so wrecked with dry rot we could kick it out of place. (It didn't even touch the BIG ROCK that was supposed to be its foundation!!! It was floating!!!) Several of the joists were also fucked, so we ran new joists alongside them and married them together. My wife dug holes while crouched in a 4' high space, filled the holes with gravel, compacted it by putting a piece of wood on top of it and hitting it with a mallet, and then installed an entire additional support system from 4x4s and deck blocks. She actually attached the support system TO THE FUCKING HOUSE, which was a big improvement from the way it was originally held on by vibes and paint.

Here's a tasty little before and after:

(Yeah, see how that visible joist at the front just... stops at the far left? There's a new joist right behind it now.)

This was completed with resounding cries of, "Good enough!" and "It's better than it was before!" The siding guys thought it was fine and sided over it. Someday hopefully we will be able to afford to tear the whole thing down and rebuild it with a properly poured foundation, but in the meantime the spin cycle on the washing machine no longer shakes the whole house. Victory?!

Ridiculous: The purple paint saga. My wife and I are lesbians who tend toward maximalism in our decoration style. Construction companies find this baffling. We paid extra to our siding company to get the extended color choices (if you order the siding with the color baked in it lasts longer, but you're limited to a particular range of colors) and spoiler alert: 90% of them are boring as fuck. We basically paid extra to have access to 400 shades of white and 400 more shades of beige. There were like three saturated colors in the whole book. Pathetic.

Anyway, we chose the one nice teal that was available and decided we'd paint the door purple, since all the purple colors were gray at best. The project manager then forgot to put in our order, and when he remembered he'd forgotten, ordering our siding through his company would have pushed back the start time by six weeks. We could still make the original start time if we ordered through a different company doing the same thing, though!

Me, immediately: And we wouldn't be restricted to your color palette, right? Him: Yeah, they can do custom colors. Me, slapping down a color card called "Fully Purple": MAKE IT PURPLE.

Bless this man, he went to the siding company and asked for Fully Purple. They told him they couldn't do that color, and also is he sure anyone wants this color? He called them on the phone and informed them yes, we did want that color, and also that he'd worked for them and he knew damn well they could do that color, they'd just have to custom mix it, so they needed to do their fucking jobs. Suitably chastened, they finally sent us a sample of the siding, and it was... okay. It was purple for sure, but a little de-saturated. Not the purple of our hearts.

I asked if they'd actually started manufacturing our siding yet or just sent the color sample. The project manager confirmed they hadn't, and if we ordered this imperfectly-purple siding now, it would be several weeks before we could get started.

"We're gonna paint," I decided, and our project manager put in the orders.

The paint store called him and said, "Hey, are you sure you want this color?" Yes, he assured them, that's the right color.

The guys doing the painting opened up the can and then called him and said, "Are you sure this color?" and he told them yes! They want that color!

At this point I told him he should just start responding with, "They're lesbians!!! Yes! They want the purple! They're lesbians!!!"

Eventually we cleared every hurdle god and the construction industry put in front of us, and now our house is Fully Purple.

It also has insulation, wiring that won't kill us, and a laundry room that hopefully won't collapse anytime soon. We got a heat pump installed that took shockingly little time and worked immediately, and our next project will be having the roof redone. Check back in to find out what fresh horror awaits us then! I think it'll be a second roof under our existing roof made of lead and asbestos tiles, probably!

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Cute, pastel 1957 mid-century modern ranch style home in Phoenix, AZ. 3bds, 2ba, $489K.

It looks like they may have painted the original decorative stone front.

You don't usually see MCM homes done in pastels, b/c the colors of the period were bold. The creamy white fireplace looks lovely.

There is a skylight and the living room is quite large.

To the left there's a Tiki room and to the right is a dining room.

The Tiki room is adorable. It's like a little bamboo hut and has nice lighting. There's a large window that would probably look nice with the shade up in the daylight. I think that this room also needs a little bar, especially if it had a palm leaf roof.

I like the shutters in this room. You can probably also fit a table for 6 and maybe some nice wallpaper.

The kitchen is all original and all pastels. I love the pastels, especially the peachy pink and turquoise counter. I would do a backsplash, too.

Amazing original oven, cooktop, and exhaust hood.

This bedroom has a very cool floor. It could use a nice feature wall.

Bath #1 is so cute. Look at the little mermaid decals.

This room has wainscoting and a wood floor. I would probably change out the wallpaper.

Bath #2 has a cute new pedestal sink.

I'm wondering if this room, with the fancy ceiling and fan, is the primary.

The yard can use some some work. It's very drab, but definitely has potential. I know it's hot in Phoenix, but it really needs sprucing up. There's also a nice roof-top deck. This can be beautiful.

There's a 2 car garage, the lawn is probably fake turf, b/c Phoenix. 7,086 sq ft lot. It was reduced $6K, but I still feel that it's a little too high, b/c it needs a refresh.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/8026-N-10th-St-Phoenix-AZ-85020/7790268_zpid/

[r3dmooon]

Secret Admirer — Wally Darling x gn! reader

summery: reader starts getting love letters in the mail. join them to figure out just who could it be!

wc: 1.5k

Master List

“Eddie, nice to see you!” I greeted with a wave. “I was just going to check my mailbox.” 

Eddie replied with a chuckle, “Well you’re right on time.”

“I’m guessing you got something for me?” I asked curiously.

“Got it right here,” Eddie beamed warmly, only to accidentally drop a few letters in his excitement. “Shoot!”

I laughed lightly, “It’s okay, here let me help.” I bent down and helped him gather the letters. Once everything was in order once more, Eddie managed to hand me the letter without any more problems. I looked down at the red envelope, my first name written in a fancy bubbly cursive. Little hearts were drawn next to my name as well. I looked up at Eddie with surprise, a knowing expression resting on his face.

“See ya around,” He waved, already walking off.

“Bye,” I replied absent mindedly, gaze falling back to the letter. Whoever wrote this definitely put their heart into it. I tried to open the envelope as nicely as I could, and quickly took out the letter. Reading it made my heart flutter. I felt a bit more self conscious, but in a good way. I felt more attractive. I put the letter away in a safe spot, feeling giddy. A secret admirer, who would’ve guessed? 

I felt light as I made the trek to Sally’s place. I promised her that I’d help paint sets for her newest play. 

“Hey…” Sally trailed off. “Something going on?”

I waved her off, my mind clouded with that mysterious letter of admiration, “It’s nothing.” 

She gave me a disbelieving look, “You look like you’re in la la land.” 

“Is it that obvious?” I asked embarrassed. “I mean…it’s not a big deal…I got this letter today.”

“What kind of letter?” Sally asked, handing me an apron and paint brush. 

I tied the apron and got started on the backdrop and whispered back, “A love letter.”

“Really!” Sally exclaimed, her eyes seeming to have stars in them. “That’s just like the next play I’m doing! Who’s it from?”

“I’m not sure,” I replied honestly. “The signature was from ‘your secret admirer’.”

The rest of the day went on. Joking around with Sally, we were nearly complete with the backdrop, but the sun started setting. I kept trying to think of who could possibly think of me like that. Would they send me another letter tomorrow? Eddie seemed to know…but I know he’d never tell me who. I let out a sigh as I laid in bed. I stared up at the ceiling blankly. I was too excited to sleep. 

The next morning, I woke up as energetic as ever. I dressed up a bit more than usual, styled my hair to the best of my ability and checked myself out in the mirror to make sure I looked alright. Anticipation running through me, I dashed outside. I didn’t see Eddie, and I checked my mailbox just in case. My smile fell as it was empty. But I quickly shook the disappointment away. I got a letter, my name plastered right on it! Someone here admired me! 

…

Unless it was a joke…

No, don’t think like that. I needed to head to Howdy’s Place anyway. I woke up earlier than normal today. Maybe a new letter will show up once I get back. The gentle sound of a bell ringing sounded as I opened the door to Howdy’s shop. 

“Hiya (y/n)!” Howdy greeted with a wave. His other hands put apples in a basket. 

“Why hello friend,” Wally smiled. 

“Hello guys,” I smiled. Walking around, I grabbed items I was getting low on at home.

“You got plans today?” Howdy asked as I placed the items on the counter. I noticed that Wally didn’t leave yet, idly standing by his basket of apples that were also on the counter. 

“No,” I shook my head. “Why?”

“You’re dressed more fancy than usual,” Howdy shrugged, bagging my items. “So, what do you got for me today?”

“Why do cows wear bells?” I asked, pausing before continuing. “Because their horns don’t work!”

Howdy let out a laugh, pushing the bag towards me, but I jumped in surprise at Wally’s laugh. I kept forgetting that he’s here! He’s being so quiet, which I suppose isn’t too unusual due to how lively our friends are. I smiled at the two sheepishly, was my joke really that funny? 

“Thank you kindly,” Howdy grinned as I grabbed the bag.

“Thank you,” I replied with a nod. Turning towards the door, I smiled at Wally. “Walk with me?” I offered as he seemed to be waiting for me to be done shopping. 

“I would love to, friend,” Wally replied back. The sun shone brightly above us as we exited the shop. I smiled a bit at the nice weather. I turned my gaze to Wally, only to find him already looking at me. 

“The weather sure is lovely,” I spoke up.

“Yes,” Wally agreed. “Days like these always give me inspiration.” We conversed some more before we arrived at my house. I checked the mailbox on instinct and my smile widened at the sight. Another red envelope sat waiting. 

“What’s that?” Wally asked and I tensed as I felt him look from beside me. I shoved the envelope in my paper bag and laughed awkwardly.

“Oh, nothing,” I dismissed. I felt a bit shy under his stare, it felt…intense. It was like I couldn’t look away. 

“It was lovely walking with you, friend,” Wally commented. 

“You too,” I smiled back. “I’ll see you around.”

Wally nodded in acknowledgement and I went into my house. I put away the food first before taking the envelope and sitting on my couch. I stared at the familiar cursive lettering of my name. I opened it excitedly and the letter was even sweeter than the last one! Gah, why can’t they just tell me who they were? 

I was kind of hoping it was Wally. I mean how could I not? He was charming, lovely, and a pleasure to be around! It didn’t help that he seemed to always pay attention to me. Sally even brought it up before. I just wanted to give him a peck on the cheek!

What if it wasn’t him though? The thought made my stomach fall flat. I didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, but I liked Wally…I looked down at the letter in slight guilt. This person seemed to really care and like me in a way I’ve never received before…would I really give that away for Wally? Is it just the attention I like? Geeze, I need to calm down. This is only the second letter and I’m making up crazy scenarios. All I can really do is see where this will go. Maybe I should go talk to Sally? 

“Eddie!” I shouted, glad I was able to catch him as he delivered me another red envelope. It’s been a week, and I felt myself fall more and more for this mystery person who has been adamant on sending me these letters. Each one made me swoon, wishing I could know who seemed to like me so strongly. 

“Hello (y/n),” Eddie greeted back with a bright grin. “How are you this cloudy morning?”

“Terrible,” I pouted. Eddie looked a bit concerned at first but lightened up as I continued, “I need to know who's sending me these letters!”

“Now now,” Eddie chuckled. “I’m sure they’ll tell you in their own time.”

“I know,” I groaned. “I just want to meet them so badly.” 

“All in due time,” Eddie smiled, tipping his hat slightly before continuing on his way. I let out an over dramatic sigh. 

“What seems to be the problem, friend?” The familiar voice of Wally spoke up. I turned to him, startled. He always managed to sneak up on me and I wasn’t sure how he did it. I looked at the letter I held in reflex, debating on whether or not to tell him. Wally was a great friend, but so far the only people who knew were Sally and Eddie. “I’ve seen you with those red envelopes a few times,” Wally hummed in observation. “Who's been writing to you? A pen pal?”

“Not exactly,” I mumbled, feeling shy about the topic. “A secret admirer.”

“My my,” Wally teased lightly. “Someone’s become famous. Join me for a walk?”

“Okay,” I agreed, shoving the letter in my pocket. “Any idea who it is?”

“I might,” Wally grinned mischievously. 

My mouth fell open and I huffed out, “Does everyone know but me?”

“Ha, ha, ha,” Wally laughed. “No.” 

I frowned, eyebrows furrowing in thought, “Did they tell you?”

“Silly silly,” Wally teased. “I’m a bit bashful to confess this, but I’ve been the one sending you those letters.” I stopped in my tracks and stared at him in shock. He turned around and tilted his head a bit, his gaze holding light concern. 

“I hope I wasn’t overstepping,” Wally apologized.

I quickly shook my head, “No, no.” I can’t believe the person who holds my affections was actually Wally Darling. The cool and collected (not to mention skilled and stylish) Wally! 

Wally’s smile returned, his gaze never wavering, “I’m glad you feel the same.”

“I said that out loud?” I cried out, hands over my mouth in shock. 

“Ha, ha, ha,” Wally laughed, stepping closer. “You are just so endearing.” 

My brain short circuited as Wally kissed my cheek.

[hotxcheeto]

hii can you write a Caitlyn x fem reader where the reader wakes up in Caitlyn's bed, appearing that they had hooked up the night before and Caitlyn asking if they would stay for breakfast and the reader being all nervous etc.

i love your work btw <33

━ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐅𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐍 𝐁𝐄𝐃

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Caitlyn Kiramman x Fem!Reader

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Cursing, both reader and caitlyn are described as nude, sexual innuendos, flirting, a kiss at the end, mentions of consuming alcohol ( past ), mentions of being drunk ( past )

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah but I'm tired/Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - so sorry this has taken this flipping long! thank you so much for the request, ily sm!! hope you enjoy <3

PLEASE REBLOG MY WORK! I WORK HARD! IT'S APPRECITATED!

The morning sun burned against your skin with delicious warmth. Sheer curtains swaying in the breeze, it made for a peaceful awakening after a not so peaceful night out.

The large window practically blinded you though when your eyes finally cracked open. Your heading turning on instinct, trying to look away from it.

Your brain felt like it pounded against your skull and a faint taste of alcohol resided on your tongue, you glanced around at the ceiling. Trying to gather your thoughts, trying to remember what chaos you'd gotten into. And if you needed to apologize to any poor soul out there that you might've accidentally tortured.

That's when it dawned on you. The ceiling. It wasn't your own, too fancy, and that fact alone made you realize it wasn't one of your friend's ceilings either.

That's when she shifted, just slightly, her hair tickling your chest when you peered down. For a moment you kind of hoped it was a wild animal. At least you wouldn't be embarrassed when it awoke.

Blue, that's the first observation you had, the strands were a dark blue. Pretty if not the circumstances.

And you weren't wearing a shirt.

That was the second observation.

Great.

At that moment, you swore your breath hitched and you looked back up a the ceiling. It was like pretending she'd go away if you didn't look at her. One, two three, and poof. But this wasn't a magic show.

And again, she moved, making it more real than you would've liked.

When the fuck did you meet her last night.

"Well aren't you a flirt.."

She had a thick accent, you remembered it. It's what caught your attention in the first place, the way things just rolled off her tongue. There are plenty of accents where you come from, but you liked hers. It felt elegant, sophisticated.

Maybe it was because she was pretty, but you replied to it.

"I try my damnedest, that's for sure. Now why are you alone?"

You don't remember what she said. Maybe she wasn't alone, maybe she was for a good reason. You racked your brain, but you couldn't remember.

For a moment, the brief idea of leaving and never looking back shook your mind. Grab whatever garments of yours you could find on the floor and make a break for it, but then you shook it away. How the fuck would you manage sneaking out of an enforcers house?

Yeah, you remembered that tiny detail.

The blue hair could only belong to one girl with that accent, Caitlyn Kiramman, and for fucks sake, you ended up in her bed.

"Hm..." She shifted again, sitting up and rubbing her face. Slowly looking around her room as you awkwardly watched her, and something inside you prayed she wouldn't turn to see your face.

But that would be too easy.

"I- uh... would've left but..." You tried to joke, sitting up when she finally pulled away. There was a faint smile on her face, her soft eyes still holding sleep as she examined your expression.

"Sorry..." She'd blushed, cheeks painted in a tint of pink while you tried to avoid staring right into her pupils. "Nah, it's fine." You replied quietly, awkwardly trying to look everywhere but at her.

Your hands were very interesting this time of day, wow you needed to take better care of your nails.

"Did we..." She began to ask, but she'd already knew the answer. Her flustered state only increasing when you nodded your head. "Huh.." Was all she then said, sitting up further while leaning her head on her palm. Her arm resting on her leg.

"I can just get my clothes and-"

"Leaving so soon?"

You looked at her with slightly wide eyes, pausing from any action you'd begun to take to get up. The blanket hovering around your waist but your chest was exposed and you didn't even try to cover up.

Mostly because you were in a state of slight shock.

"I mean- I-" You stuttered, keeping your eyes on her face as to not accidentally get a nice examination of anything else. "I don't want to bother." The sentence finally strung together.

"Who said you'd be bothering?"

Her voice made you want to reach forward and repeat every interaction from last night. But instead, you swallowed, taking in a deep breath. You still felt like you were gonna fall through the floor, there would be no continuation even if you wanted it.

Get it together, damn.

"I.." Caitlyn interrupted you though, "I mean, you can leave if you'd like. But I would like you to stay." Your mouth shut, and you debated your next words carefully whilst biting the inside of your lip.

"Why?"

It came out smaller then you would've liked, you almost sounded afraid. But the enforcer in front of you understood it was nerves, chuckling at your reaction.

"You gave me a good conversation last night, if you... remember?" You laughed slightly, earning a bit of a wider grin from her. "And, I'd like to continue it a little further, if you'd indulge me."

She'd definitely done this before.

The thought popped into the front of your head before you got the chance to stop it. Again you felt like shriveling up and falling right over. Anything would be better then how she was looking at you as you processed what she said.

Like she wanted to reach forward and actually repeat every action from the night before.

"I really liked you last night."

Your face burned, though not visible, it burned. Turning around and screaming into the fluffy pillows would be beneficial about now. It was like being a teenager whilst talking to your crush for the first time. Only it wasn't your first time, you were just sober now.

"I liked you too, from what I remember." She giggled, laying back down beside you. Basking in the way your eyes followed her form as she spread out on the mattress.

"You were quite drunk, huh?" Caitlyn teased, loving the way you playfully scoffed and rested your back on the headboard. "So were you." "At least I can handle my liquor, Y/n."

You sarcastically laughed, shaking your head and looking forward.

"I can.. just not when I see pretty girls that make me nervous, Caitlyn."

"Nervous?" She asked, placing her head on her palm.

"Do I make you nervous?"

Yes, you absolutely do.

"A little." You replied.

A lot.

"Well... if that's the case, maybe we can calm those nerves while eating?" She must've noticed the slight raise in your eyebrows and once again she began to laugh. Shaking her head and sitting up slightly once again.

"I mean breakfast." She clarified, your mouth unintentionally moving into the shape of an 'o', nodding your head. "Depends, will it be just us?"

Caitlyn smiled, leaned forward towards you, so close her breath fanned your face. Her lips inches from your own, catching all the confidence you had and ripping it apart.

"If you'd like. Unless you want to take my parents on the date too?"

"I'll pass on that."

She grinned, finally leaning forward and pressing a small kiss to your lips. Feeling you return almost immediatley.

"Good, then it's settled."