#i’ve already started on the second portrait!

[megarywrites]

from The Silent Shore, the first book of the Seafoam trilogy

↳ Part I — Tremor | Ch4 — Laid to Rest [excerpt below] [Part II]

Steep stone steps lead down into a circular room, a half-ringed platform embracing a pool of water that let out into the sea. Columns protruded from the water, barnacles clinging to them. The steps continued into the water, though how far down they went, I couldn’t tell. Our Droma was waiting for us on the steps, the water up to his knees. He beckoned for us to join him, and I started down the steps after Ma did. The other mourners and the Stoli filed onto the platform, fanning around us or staying on the stairs so that it was only us and the Droma in the water.  He took my hand, then Ma’s, and guided us down to the same step he was on.  “It is only fitting that this is where we say our farewells to Arteras, given that the sea was his final resting place.” My throat started to burn when tears pricked my eyes, the edges of my vision going watery. “Since the unfortunate news of his passing reached me, I have been gathering accounts of his life. Of how he was a loving father, a devoted husband, a loyal friend, a dedicated sailor, and above all else, a devout man. He will be sorely missed by us all in Psari, though his memory will live on in us who knew him best. Grief will turn to fondness someday. Sooner than you might think.”  He took his hand back from mine and Ma’s and held his hand out to someone on the platform. One of the Stoli. She came forward, kneeling by the pool and offering a glass orb to the Droma. An unlit candle sat inside, the hardened pool of wax gripping the curved edges. He handed it to Ma, then turned to reach around me to take a thin, lighted stick from a Stoli on my side of the platform.  He gestured for us to hold the orb, so Ma held it out before him and I reached out to hold the other side.  “This flame,” he said as he poked the flaming end of the stick into the orb. “It is an offering to the gods, to beg them to allow Arteras safe passage through their realm. It is a sign that he was loved, here. That he will be remembered fondly by those he left behind. In this life, however, it is time to say goodbye.”  He nodded, and I peered around him, waiting for Ma to release the orb before I did. It bobbed away, the waves carrying them out past the columns and amidst the craggy rocks that lined our coast. It would have watched it longer, to make sure that it made it into the open sea, but the Droma had already turned around, offering an arm to us both, and guided us back up to the platform. 

[solxamber]

Trash Novel Chronicles: I'd Rather Date the Male Lead's Dad - Lilia Vanrouge x reader

When you end up in your best friend's favourite but absurd novel about breaking a fae prince's curse, you didn't expect to get attached to his little family too. Even more unexpected? You fell for the male lead's dad, but hey it looks like he likes you too.

Series Masterlist

You love your best friend. You really, really do. But sometimes—sometimes—the things they drag you into make you question your life choices. This time? It’s a novel. A bad one.

The plot is borderline unreadable, but somehow, it’s now your problem. Because of course it is.

“So, listen,” your friend had said, waving the book around like it was some kind of literary masterpiece. “Malleus Draconia, the fae prince, is cursed—chained up in this forest. The curse can only be broken by someone who isn’t attracted to him. But here’s the kicker: he’s so hot that no one can break the curse. For ten years.”

“Uh-huh.” You’d nodded along, already feeling your brain cells start to wave white flags of surrender. But your friend continued.

“The main character stumbles upon him after years of drama and frees him because they’re the only one not drooling over him. Then they fall in love, blah, blah, blah.”

At this point, you were barely listening. But then they dropped the bomb. Your eyes were shutting and you felt the sweet embrace of sleep call to you.

“Also, there’s this subplot where a magical plague of squirrels overruns the kingdom, the Saint betrays everyone by secretly being a double agent for some shadowy organization, and—get this—there’s a surprise paternity reveal where the devil is the father of the Saint who turns out to be the evil villain controlling everything.”

Your face had hit the pillow as your soul left your body.

And somehow, the next thing you remember is waking up dead. Or, more specifically, reincarnated. In the body of the heroine. In that story.

You can't believe the story was so terrible that it killed you.

The first thing you notice when you wake up is that the room is way too fancy for your tastes. The bed is massive, the sheets feel like they cost more than your entire existence, and the walls are adorned with tacky portraits of people who are probably supposed to be important.

“Oh, no,” you groan, rubbing your eyes. “This can’t be happening.”

But it is. You’re in the novel. The very one your friend had been yammering about. And not only are you in it, but you’ve woken up a full year before the plot is supposed to kick off. A year of waiting for terrible drama, an ex-fiancé who can’t take a hint, and a poor fae prince you’re supposed to rescue.

But you? Yeah, you’re not that patient.

“No way am I waiting a whole year for some garbage plot to unfold,” you mutter, throwing the covers off. “I’m just going to free Malleus now, take my reward, and live a quiet, drama-free life by the beach.”

With that plan firmly in mind, you march out the door.

It takes a bit of wandering through some overly cursed forest, but you eventually find Malleus’s “prison.” And honestly? It’s not nearly as dramatic as you expected.

There he is, sitting in the middle of a clearing, chained up in some kind of spooky-but-also-weirdly-ornate setup. He looks just as the novel described: tall, dark-haired, horns giving him an air of mystery and power. But what you weren’t prepared for? The way his eyes widen slightly in surprise when he sees you.

“I wasn’t expecting… company,” Malleus says, his voice soft, almost tentative.

You pause for a second. He looks intimidating, sure, but there’s something oddly… sweet about him. Like a guy who’d get excited over a party invite and then be too shy to actually show up.

“Yeah, I’m just here to get this whole ‘curse-breaking’ thing out of the way,” you say casually, walking up to the chains. “I’ve got stuff to do.”

Malleus blinks, looking a bit confused. “You… are not attracted to me?”

You snort. “Nah, not really. You’re nice to look at, don’t get me wrong, but I’ve got my own problems. Let’s just get you free so I can collect my reward and move on.”

He still looks mildly surprised but nods. “Very well.”

With a shrug, you reach out and touch the chains. There’s a brief flicker of light, and they dissolve. Just like that.

Malleus looks down at his freed wrists, clearly shocked. “It… it worked.”

“Yeah, wild, right?” you say, brushing off your hands. “So, about that reward…”

Before you can finish, Malleus stands and, in a tone so polite it makes you feel guilty, says, “You have freed me. Please, allow me to invite you to stay at my castle. As a guest.”

You blink at him. “Uh, no thanks. I’m good.”

Malleus’s expression falters for a moment, and you swear he looks a little sad. “But… I would like to repay you for your kindness.”

He’s giving you this look, all wide-eyed and hopeful, and you realize—he just wants to hang out.

Oh no.

“Ugh, fine,” you groan. “I’ll stick around for a bit.”

The way his face lights up is honestly too pure for someone who was supposed to be all intimidating and all-powerful.

When you arrive at Malleus’s castle, things get interesting real fast. You’re greeted by his entourage—Sebek, who looks like he’s one insult away from going Super Saiyan; Silver, who’s napping on his feet; and Lilia, who seems like the embodiment of chaos.

Sebek is the first to speak, scowling at you with righteous fury. “How DARE you approach Lord Malleus with such insolence!”

You roll your eyes. “I just freed him. You’re welcome.”

Sebek looks like he’s about to explode, but Lilia steps forward, his sharp grin making you instantly suspicious. “Oh? You broke the curse? Without being… swayed by our dear Malleus’s charms?”

“Yup,” you say, popping the ‘p.’ “Didn’t even break a sweat.”

Lilia’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Fascinating. You must have quite the willpower. Or perhaps…” He looks you up and down, clearly intrigued. “You simply have different tastes?”

You blink. Then, without thinking, you point at him. “Actually, yeah. You’re hot.”

There’s a beat of stunned silence, during which Sebek looks like he’s been hit with a brick, and Lilia lets out a delighted laugh.

“Oh, you are a delight,” Lilia says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Perhaps you should stay longer.”

“You think I’m joking, but I’m not,” you deadpan, earning a grin from Lilia.

Silver, meanwhile, is still half-asleep and completely unfazed by your chaos. “Good job on freeing Malleus,” he mutters, yawning.

Malleus, who has been silent this whole time, finally speaks up. “You… do not find me attractive?”

You turn to him and sigh. “Look, it’s not that you’re not attractive. You’re, like… objectively pretty. But I don’t really go for the whole cursed prince thing.”

Malleus seems to process this slowly, his brows furrowing slightly. “I see…”

“But don’t worry,” you add quickly, feeling a bit bad for the guy. “You’re sweet. It’s a compliment, really.”

Malleus looks a little less confused and a bit more happy. “Sweet? No one has ever called me that before.”

You snort. “Well, I’m calling it now. And hey, you’ve got your freedom, right? Now you can get invited to all those parties you wanted.”

At this, Malleus’s eyes widen slightly, and you realize—oh no, he’s the type who really just wants to be invited to stuff.

“Oh,” you mutter under your breath, “you’re like a giant puppy, aren’t you?”

Malleus tilts his head, clearly confused, but before he can ask, Lilia leans in with a knowing grin. “I think you’ll fit in just fine around here.”

You sigh, rubbing your temples. “This is gonna be a long stay, isn’t it?”

Lilia’s smile widens. “Oh, most definitely.”

Later, you’re sitting around the dining hall with the group when Lilia casually brings up the dreaded plot points.

“So, when do you think the magical plague of squirrels will hit?” he asks, almost too casually.

You nearly choke on your drink. “The what now?”

“Oh, didn’t you know?” Lilia smirks. “There’s a prophecy. The squirrels will overrun the kingdom unless someone stops them.”

You blink. “This is real? I thought that part was a fever dream.”

Malleus nods seriously. “The squirrels are quite the threat.”

You slam your head on the table. “I’m trapped in a nightmare.”

Silver, half-asleep as always, just yawns. “I’ll take care of them. Probably.”

And that’s when you realize: maybe you should have let the curse be.

You didn’t mean for it to happen, but you and Malleus… well, you’ve become friends. It started small, mostly casual conversations where he’d hover around, awkward but eager, just happy to be included. There was this one time you invited him to tea, and the poor guy looked like he was about to cry from happiness. Now? You’re taking your frienship to the next level.

“Hey,” you say, strolling into the throne room where Malleus is doing the farthest thing from brooding. He’s just kind of standing there, staring out the window like he’s daydreaming about a really nice picnic. “Want to go to the market with me?”

The look on his face is priceless. His eyes widen like you’ve just handed him a golden ticket to the best party of the year. “You… want me to accompany you?”

“Yeah,” you shrug, as if this isn’t the biggest deal of his life. “I need to pick up some stuff, and I figured it’d be more fun with a friend. Plus, y’know, maybe someone will actually give me a discount if you’re there.”

Malleus looks like you just offered him the world “I would be honored.”

And that’s how you, Malleus, and the rest of his chaotic entourage—because of course they followed—ended up at the bustling market.

Sebek? Less than thrilled. In fact, you think he might actually be foaming at the mouth. “I cannot believe you are fraternizing with Lord Malleus so casually! Do you not understand the honor you’ve been given?!”

“Sebek,” you sigh, waving a hand dismissively, “we’ve been over this. I’m his friend. Friends do normal stuff together. You know, like going to the market.”

Sebek glares at you like you’ve just insulted his entire bloodline. “Lord Malleus does not engage in such trivialities!”

“Uh,” you glance over at Malleus, who is currently inspecting a row of intricately carved fruit. “He’s literally doing it right now, Sebek.”

Malleus turns to you, holding up a fruit shaped like a tiny dragon. “Would you like to try one? It is said to bring good fortune.”

You grin at him. “If you’re offering, I’m down.”

Sebek looks like he’s about to explode from sheer indignation.

“You dare—!”

“Sebek,” Malleus cuts in, his voice as gentle as ever. “I am quite enjoying myself. There’s no need to worry.”

You grin at the sight. “You’re really into this, huh?”

Malleus glances at you, a little bashful but still smiling. “I have never been invited to something like this before. It is… a new experience.”

Oh god, he’s so sweet. You feel like you’re corrupting a baby deer by dragging him into the real world, but it’s so worth it.

Lilia, however, is having the time of his life. He leans over, grinning like the mischievous little gremlin he is, and whispers in your ear, “I must say, you’ve got quite the charm. Lord Malleus rarely accepts invitations. You might be more important to him than you think.”

You snort. “Yeah, well, maybe he just really likes fruit.”

Lilia laughs, a sound that’s equal parts endearing and dangerous. “Or maybe he enjoys your company, hm?”

“Careful,” you say, flashing a grin. “Keep sweet-talking me like that, and I might start flirting back.”

Lilia’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Oh? I think I’d enjoy that.”

Oh god, he’s not backing down. Now you’re in the deep end. “Listen, if you keep going, I’m gonna have to ask if you’ve got plans for dinner.”

“I’m free this evening,” Lilia replies smoothly. “Shall I prepare a feast? Or perhaps we could have something more… intimate?”

You blink at him, unable to tell if he’s messing with you or if this is just how he operates. Either way, you’re so down to find out.

Before you can respond, Sebek cuts in, voice raised to what can only be described as ‘angry airhorn.’ “You will not speak so casually to Master Lilia!”

“Oh, Sebek, relax,” you say, patting him on the shoulder, which is a mistake because it feels like patting a brick wall. “He likes it.”

Lilia winks at you, thoroughly enjoying the chaos. “Indeed, I do.”

You smirk, shooting Lilia a playful look. “See? The man’s practically begging for attention.”

Malleus, meanwhile, has been watching this entire exchange with mild confusion. “Is this what humans call… flirting?”

You give him an exaggerated nod. “Yup. It’s a sacred tradition. Very serious stuff.”

“I see,” Malleus muses, looking between you and Lilia. “Perhaps I should try it as well?”

“Oh, please don’t,” Sebek groans, looking absolutely horrified at the idea of Malleus flirting. “Lord Malleus, you are above such trivial pursuits!”

Lilia is practically cackling at this point. “Now, now, Sebek. It wouldn’t hurt to let Malleus explore new experiences.”

You grin and elbow Malleus lightly. “Don’t listen to Sebek. You can totally flirt if you want.”

Malleus, sweet as he is, looks completely serious when he asks, “What would I say? I do not wish to offend.”

You pause, trying very hard not to laugh. “Okay, how about this? Try complimenting someone. Like…” You glance around and point at a vendor selling flowers. “Tell them they have lovely flowers.”

Malleus nods, taking this very seriously, and walks over to the vendor. You, Lilia, Sebek, and Silver (who’s been napping the whole time) watch as Malleus, ever the gentleman, says to the vendor, “Your flowers… are as radiant as the moonlight.”

The vendor looks flustered, blushing furiously. “Oh! Thank you, My Lord!”

You can’t help but laugh. “See? You’re a natural.”

Malleus returns to your side, looking pleased with himself. “I believe that went well.”

“Yeah, now you just have to work on *accepting* compliments,” you say with a wink, and Malleus tilts his head slightly in confusion.

“Accepting?”

“Yeah,” you grin, “like, if I were to tell you you’re the sweetest giant fae-dragon puppy I’ve ever met, you’d say…?”

Malleus looks genuinely flustered, his cheeks tinting the faintest shade of pink. “I… would say… thank you?”

“Good enough,” you laugh, nudging him playfully. “We’ll work on it.”

Sebek is muttering to himself about ‘disrespect’ and ‘sacrilege,’ but Malleus looks… happy. Like, really happy. He’s still a little awkward, sure, but you can tell he’s having a good time. Probably more fun than he’s had in years.

Lilia, meanwhile, is back at your side, leaning in close with that smirk of his. “You’re quite the influence, you know.”

“Yeah, well,” you grin, “someone’s gotta drag him into the real world.”

“Perhaps you’ll drag me into something as well?” Lilia purrs, his voice low and teasing.

You blink at him. “Keep talking, and I might actually propose to you.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” Lilia says, eyes glinting with mischief. “Perhaps later tonight?”

“Is that an invitation?” you quip, raising an eyebrow.

Sebek practically has steam coming out of his ears. “Master Lilia!”

But Lilia just laughs, utterly unfazed. “Oh, Sebek. You really must learn to loosen up.”

Silver yawns loudly, cutting through Sebek’s rant like a chainsaw through butter. “Can we get food now?”

You snort. “That’s the best idea I’ve heard all day.”

Malleus, ever the polite host, nods eagerly. “Yes, let us dine together. A family outing is not complete without a meal.”

You pause, blinking. Family? Did he just call this a family outing?

Lilia catches your expression and chuckles. “Oh dear, it seems Malleus has grown quite fond of you.”

You shoot him a playful glare. “You make it sound like a bad thing.”

“Not at all,” Lilia says, smiling knowingly. “In fact, I believe it’s quite the opposite.”

Before you can respond, Malleus steps up, still radiating pure joy. “Would you do me the honor of joining me for dinner tonight? I would very much enjoy your company.”

Sebek looks like he’s about to self-destruct from sheer disbelief, but you? You can’t help but grin. “Sure, why not? But if I catch you stealing my dessert, it’s game over.”

Malleus chuckles, his awkwardness fading just a bit. “I shall do my best to restrain myself.”

Lilia leans over, voice low and teasing again. “Perhaps you’ll save dessert for me, hm?”

You snort. “Don’t push your luck, old man.”

“Ah, but I’m a fae. Luck is my specialty.”

You shake your head, grinning as you walk alongside Malleus, who’s positively glowing with happiness. Yeah, this is one weird, dysfunctional family, but maybe you like it that way.

It’s quiet tonight, the kind of quiet that settles deep in your bones, making you feel both peaceful and unbearably restless. You find yourself standing on a balcony, overlooking the courtyard bathed in moonlight. The cool breeze whispers through the trees, the scent of night-blooming flowers drifting lazily through the air.

Lilia stands beside you, leaning against the stone railing, his usual playful demeanor absent. In its place is a rare solemnity, something you’ve only seen glimpses of before. You glance at him, noting the way the moonlight catches in his hair, casting soft shadows across his face. It feels... strange, seeing him like this. So serious, so quiet.

After a long silence, he speaks, his voice soft but weighted with emotion. “I was terrified, you know. Of losing him.”

You don’t need to ask who he’s talking about. Malleus. The curse that had wrapped around him for so long, a dark cloud that threatened to take him away. You had been the unexpected catalyst for breaking it, and while you hadn’t fully understood the gravity of it at the time, you’re beginning to now.

Lilia continues, his gaze fixed on the stars above. “I’ve lived a long time. I’ve seen many things, lost many people... but the thought of losing him...” He trails off, his voice catching in a way that makes your heart ache. “It would have broken me.”

You swallow, unsure of what to say. What can you say to something like that? You’re just... you. You never asked to be involved in any of this, never imagined that you’d become such an important part of these people’s lives. But here you are.

“I didn’t do anything special,” you finally manage, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I was just... there.”

Lilia turns to look at you, and there’s something deep in his eyes—something raw and real that takes your breath away. “Sometimes just being there is enough,” he says quietly. “You saved him. And in doing so, you saved me too.”

You shift uncomfortably, not because of his words, but because of the way they tug at something deep inside of you. A part of you that you’ve been trying to keep buried for as long as you’ve been in this strange, unfamiliar world.

You’re silent for a long time, your gaze fixed on the moonlit sky. The memories of your old life swirl in your mind—your family, your best friend, all the people you’ve left behind. You haven’t spoken about it to anyone here, not in detail. It feels too dangerous, too vulnerable. But standing here, under the moonlight with Lilia, you feel like maybe... just maybe... you can share a piece of it.

“I miss them,” you admit softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “My family. My best friend. I miss... home.”

Lilia doesn’t say anything, but you can feel his presence beside you, warm and steady. He doesn’t press for details, doesn’t ask questions you’re not ready to answer. He just listens, and somehow, that’s enough.

You take a deep breath, the cool night air filling your lungs. “It’s hard,” you continue, your voice shaking slightly. “Being here. Being away from them. Sometimes it feels like... like I’m losing pieces of myself. Like I’m forgetting what it felt like to be... whole.”

Lilia’s hand gently rests on your shoulder, a comforting weight that grounds you. “You haven’t lost yourself,” he says quietly. “Not even a little.”

You close your eyes, letting his words wash over you. You don’t know if he’s right, but in this moment, you want to believe him. You want to believe that despite everything, despite the distance and the pain and the uncertainty, you’re still... you.

For a long time, the two of you stand in silence, the only sounds the soft rustling of the trees and the distant chirping of crickets. The moon hangs heavy in the sky, casting everything in a silvery glow. There’s a quiet understanding between you and Lilia, a shared pain that neither of you needs to fully explain.

Eventually, Lilia speaks again, his voice so soft it almost blends with the wind. “The world can be a cruel place,” he murmurs. “But it can also be kind. And in moments like this... it feels just a little more bearable, doesn’t it?”

You nod, your throat tight with unshed tears. “Yeah,” you whisper. “It does.”

The night stretches on, and though neither of you say anything more, there’s a comfort in the silence. A bond formed in the quiet acknowledgment of each other’s pain. And for the first time in a long while, you feel like you’re not quite so alone.

Maybe, just maybe, you’ll be okay.

You’re not entirely sure how you ended up here, but somehow, you’re on a date with Lilia. Yes, that Lilia—lord of chaos, culinary adventurer, and general source of havoc.

The setting is picturesque enough: a meadow at sunset, complete with wildflowers and a gentle breeze. At least, it would be picturesque if not for the feast Lilia has prepared, which has a worrying amount of color, movement, and mystery.

“Surprise is the key to a romantic evening,” Lilia declares as he gestures proudly over the assortment of dishes.

You take a moment to assess the display. There’s a vibrantly colored stew that seems to be emitting steam with a life of its own. A platter of vegetables is twitching as if they’re reconsidering their life choices. And there’s a pie—definitely a pie—with something that looks suspiciously like an eyeball poking out from under the crust.

Lilia smiles at you, eyes glinting. “Would you like to try the stew first, my dear? It’s my own special concoction.”

You stare at it, then at him. “How many people have survived eating this?”

Lilia leans in, eyes full of mischief. “Define survived.”

You grin. “Only one way to find out, right?” Before he can respond, you reach for the bowl and take a large spoonful of the stew. Lilia’s eyebrows rise, clearly impressed by your boldness.

It tastes... unusual. Like someone mixed spicy peppers, sweet berries, and some kind of very sharp herb. You take another bite, considering.

Lilia watches you, waiting for a reaction. “Well?” he asks, a hopeful glint in his eye.

You swallow, then nod thoughtfully. “It’s... actually good. Really good, in fact.”

Lilia blinks, his expression shifting from mischief to genuine surprise. “Really?”

You nod again, going in for a third bite, savoring the strange combination of flavors. “Yeah! I mean, it’s different, but in a good way. The spice, the sweetness... it kind of works.”

Lilia’s face lights up, his delight palpable. “You truly mean it? My culinary prowess is usually met with... trepidation.”

“Trepidation might be an understatement,” you say with a laugh. “But honestly? I think people don’t give you enough credit.”

From somewhere nearby, a strangled gasp echoes across the meadow.

“Master Lilia!” Sebek’s voice rings out, sounding more horrified than ever. You glance in the direction of the bushes where, sure enough, they’re rustling. Apparently, Sebek has taken it upon himself to supervise this date from afar.

Lilia chuckles, clearly enjoying Sebek's reaction as much as yours. “Oh, my dear Sebek. One day, you shall learn that adventure begins in the kitchen.”

You take a sip of the iridescent liquid before you—a drink that looks more like a potion than anything else. It’s sparkling, and it has the distinct taste of... glittery fruit juice? You’re not sure, but it’s oddly refreshing.

Lilia eyes you, his smile turning softer, more genuine. “I must say, you are full of surprises. Most would have fainted by now.”

“Hey, I can handle a little excitement,” you say, reaching for one of the twitching vegetables.

Lilia watches in awe as you pop it into your mouth and chew. “And?” he asks, almost breathless.

You blink. “Crunchy. Kind of earthy. I like it.”

Lilia’s smile widens, his eyes twinkling with delight. “Oh, how wonderful! My dear, you truly are one of a kind.”

Sebek’s dismayed groan echoes once again, and you laugh, glancing toward the bushes. “I think we’re breaking poor Sebek.”

“Well, that’s part of the fun, isn’t it?” Lilia replies, leaning closer to you. “And speaking of fun, I have something special for you.” He produces a bright blue flower, presenting it to you with a flourish.

You take it, giving it a cautious sniff. It smells like fresh-baked cookies, and you look at Lilia, raising an eyebrow. “A flower that smells like dessert? Now you’re really spoiling me.”

Lilia’s eyes soften, his voice lowering. “Only the best for someone who appreciates my unique touch.”

Before you can reply, there’s another voice—this one distinctly sleepy. “Father, what... what’s going on here?” Silver approaches, looking like he just woke up from a nap. He takes one look at the scene—the half-eaten dishes, the flower in your hand, and Lilia’s delighted expression—and sighs. “Are you actually eating this... willingly?”

You nod, grinning. “Turns out Lilia’s cooking isn’t so bad. It’s actually kind of great.”

Silver looks at you, then at Lilia, then back at you. He blinks, his brain clearly trying to process this information. “Father, are you using magic to manipulate their taste buds?”

Lilia puts a hand over his heart, looking offended. “Silver, how could you suggest such a thing? I assure you, our dear friend here is enjoying my cooking purely of their own volition.”

Silver sighs again, rubbing his temples. “I think I need another nap.”

Lilia laughs, turning his attention back to you, his eyes filled with affection. “You truly are something special, my dear. Few have ever dared, let alone enjoyed, my creations.”

You smile, giving his hand a squeeze. “Well, I guess I’m just full of surprises.”

Lilia leans in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Would it be too much to say I find you... irresistible?”

You chuckle, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Don’t push your luck, old man.”

Lilia smirks, his gaze full of warmth. “Ah, but pushing my luck is what I do best. Perhaps next time, I’ll cook an even more adventurous meal for us.”

You pretend to consider it, tapping your chin. “Define adventurous.”

Lilia’s eyes glint mischievously. “How about roasted phoenix feathers?”

“Phoenix feathers?” you echo, shaking your head with a laugh. “You know what? I think I like you just the way you are—absurd cooking experiments and all.”

Lilia’s expression softens, his smile turning tender. “I’m glad to hear it.”

With that, the two of you rise, arm in arm, leaving behind the bizarre remains of the meal. Somewhere in the bushes, Sebek is probably fuming, and Silver has most likely already fallen asleep again.

But as you glance at Lilia, whose eyes are still filled with excitement and warmth, you think that maybe absurd is just what you need.

You love this little family, but you had to gain equal footing with Sebek before you got attached any further. So you did what you thought would work the best— Challenge him in something he enjoys.

You and Sebek had been circling the field for a while now, your horses galloping side by side as you both tried to outpace each other. The competitive tension was thick in the air, though not hostile—it was more of an unspoken game to see who would crack first.

“So, you’re telling me you’ve been riding horses for *years*?” Sebek shouts over the wind, his eyes sharp with determination.

“Yup,” you reply, grinning as your horse picks up speed. “Equestrian club, since I was a kid. Surprised?”

Sebek huffs, his posture straight and rigid as always, but you can tell he’s impressed. “It’s… commendable. For a human, you’ve got some skill.”

“Some skill?” you tease, glancing over at him with a mischievous smile. “Is that all I get? Come on, Sebek, I thought you were competitive.”

He narrows his eyes at you, spurring his horse faster to pull ahead. “I am competitive! You’ll find I do not lose so easily.”

You laugh, nudging your horse to keep up. There’s a thrill in it—pushing each other, but not in a mean way. Sebek’s passion for horse riding matches your own, and it’s fun to finally find common ground with him. Plus, you’re enjoying the challenge.

The field blurs by as you both race toward the far fence, neither of you backing down. As you approach the finish line (or rather, the arbitrary spot you both decided was the end), you both cross it at nearly the same time, pulling your horses to a halt, panting slightly.

Sebek is the first to speak, wiping a bead of sweat from his brow. “Hmph. You’re not bad.”

“Not bad? I’d say I’m pretty good,” you shoot back, grinning ear to ear.

Sebek scoffs, but there’s a lightness in his tone that wasn’t there before. “You’re still a human, but… I’ll admit, you ride with some honor.”

“Wow, high praise,” you tease, but you soften your smile. “Thanks, Sebek. You’re not half-bad yourself.”

For a split second, you think you catch the ghost of a smile on his face, but it quickly disappears as he straightens in his saddle. “Of course. Riding is in my blood.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Oh, obviously. I bet you were born in the saddle.”

“Perhaps I was,” Sebek says, completely serious. You stifle a laugh, realizing he probably believes that.

But before you can retort, Lilia rides up, his usual mischievous grin firmly in place. “Ah, what’s this? A friendly competition between two of my favorite people?”

“Master Lilia,” Sebek says, immediately shifting into soldier mode. “We were just—”

“Competing, yes, I can see that.” Lilia’s grin widens as he glances between the two of you. “I must say, the sight of you both racing like that was… quite exhilarating.”

You smirk, not missing a beat. “What, did we impress you?”

Lilia leans closer, voice dropping into a playful tone. “Oh, darling, I’ve been impressed by you for quite some time now.”

Sebek looks like he’s about to faint from sheer mortification. “MASTER LILIA! HUMAN!”

You laugh, waving Lilia off. “Careful, Sebek, you’re gonna scare your horse.”

But surprisingly, Sebek doesn’t snap back. Instead, he looks at you, something softer in his expression. “I admit… you’ve shown me something today. Perhaps you’re not just a reckless human after all.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Wow, Sebek. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re starting to like me.”

Sebek grumbles, looking away. “Do not mistake my words. I merely acknowledge your competence. Nothing more.”

“Sure, sure,” you reply, still grinning. “But hey, anytime you wanna ride again, I’m game.”

Sebek glances back at you, his usual harshness softened just a bit. “Perhaps… I will take you up on that.”

Lilia chuckles, clearly pleased with the budding camaraderie. “Ah, it warms my heart to see you two bonding. Who knows? Maybe you’ll become the best of friends.”

You wink at Lilia. “Well, if Sebek keeps up, maybe I’ll make him my official riding partner.”

Sebek, for once, doesn’t argue. Instead, he gives a small, determined nod. “We shall see, human. We shall see.”

As you ride back toward the stables, you can’t help but smile. You’ve earned a bit of respect from Sebek, and who knows? Maybe you’ll turn this into a full-fledged rivalry—one with a bit more fun and a lot less shouting.

Lilia, of course, flirts all the way back, making sure to keep the mood light and teasing, much to Sebek’s increasing exasperation. But even he can't deny that today was fun

The day should've been as normal as you could have these days—your stomach had other plans. There’s this nagging craving in the back of your mind for ramen, but of course, you’re stuck in a medieval isekai world where even the concept of instant noodles would make heads explode.

You groan, pacing back and forth in your room. "Ramen, ramen, ramen..." You’re practically chanting it like a spell. Finally, you snap your fingers. "Alright! Let’s get some ramen going!"

With all the determination of a contestant in a cooking show, you head to the market, a list of makeshift ingredients mentally prepared. You have no clue how you’re going to explain seaweed or soy sauce to the vendors, but hey, you’ve gotten this far in life on sheer audacity.

Except, ten minutes later, you find yourself hopelessly lost. You had been walking with confidence, chest out, head high, until you somehow managed to wander into a part of town that definitely wasn’t on your mental map. Instead of bustling vendors and cheerful shoppers, you’re now looking at a spooky, abandoned-looking area, complete with dense fog and suspiciously creaky trees.

“This... This isn’t the market,” you mutter, pausing in front of a seriously ominous cottage. If there were ever a sign that said "DO NOT ENTER" in flashing neon, this would be it. And yet, for reasons unknown even to yourself, you approach.

Before you can bolt in the opposite direction, the door swings open with the most dramatic creak you’ve ever heard. A woman, dressed in black robes, stands in the doorway with a gaze that could curdle milk. Her aura practically screams witch, and not the cool kind either—the villainous, melodramatic kind.

“Well, well, well,” she sneers, stepping out with all the grace of a Broadway villain, “look who wandered into my lair.”

“Uh, yeah...” You trail off, scratching the back of your head. “So… this isn’t the market?”

The witch gives you a look so condescending it could melt iron. “No,” she hisses, “it most certainly is not. You’ve trespassed on my domain, little fool!”

“Right, so sorry about that,” you say, trying to backpedal. “I’m just trying to make some ramen, and I—wait, hold on, who are you exactly?”

Her eyes flash with annoyance. “You don’t know who I am?”

You blink at her. “Is this the part where you tell me, like in those cartoons? ‘Cause I’m getting major ‘I’m about to monologue’ vibes right now.”

The witch’s face twitches, clearly not used to people interrupting her villain speech. “I,” she says, pausing for dramatic effect, “am the witch who cursed Malleus Draconia!”

Oh, that witch. You’ve heard some stories about her, mostly from half-paying attention when your friend geeked out over the original plot. But now that you’re face-to-face with her... this is not how you pictured it. You tilt your head.

“So, wait,” you begin, trying to suppress a snicker, “you’re the one who came up with that whole 15-year curse plan? And your big finale was… what? Swooping in at the last second to save him and then expecting him to marry you?”

Her eyes narrow. “That was the plan.”

You stare at her for a moment, the absurdity sinking in. “...That’s ridiculous.”

“How dare you mock me?!” she shrieks, her voice reaching a pitch that probably scared some birds out of nearby trees. She raises her hand, dark magic swirling between her fingers, and you swear you can hear thunder crack in the distance.

“Okay, hang on,” you say, taking a cautious step back. “Let’s not get all zappy here. I’m just saying that’s a lot of effort for a plan that has, like, a one percent success rate.”

“Silence!” She’s fuming now, throwing her hand forward to launch the magic at you—and you brace yourself for the worst. You’ve seen this in movies before. This is the part where you get turned into a frog or something equally terrible.

Except… nothing happens.

The magic fizzles out midair like a dud firecracker, leaving a puff of smoke and an awkward silence in its wake. You blink. She blinks. You both stare at the spot where the magic should have been.

“Uh…” you begin, rubbing the back of your neck. “Was that supposed to do something?”

The witch looks at her hand, then at you, then back at her hand again like she’s having a serious identity crisis. “What...?”

“I mean, points for the drama, but I’m still standing here,” you say, waving your hand in front of your face as if checking for damage. “And I don’t think I’m a toad.”

She tries again, gathering more magic in her hands and launching it at you with renewed fury. But once again, nothing. The magic stops short, fizzling out like it’s hitting an invisible barrier around you. Now she’s just staring at you, dumbfounded.

You, on the other hand, are absolutely flabbergasted. “Okay, this is getting weird.”

That’s when Lilia appears—literally, out of nowhere. He casually steps out from behind a tree like this is all a normal Monday for him. “Ah, I thought I sensed some familiar mischief afoot,” he says, his voice cheerful, though his eyes glint with something far more dangerous as they lock onto the witch.

The witch recoils, visibly shaken. “Lilia Vanrouge,” she hisses, sounding more like a disgruntled cat than a fearsome sorceress.

“In the flesh,” he says with a light bow, his grin all sharp teeth and mischief. “What brings you out of your little hidey-hole?”

She glares at him but doesn’t say anything. She’s outmatched, and she knows it. With one last seething look at you, she vanishes into thin air with a dramatic whoosh of smoke, leaving you and Lilia alone in the now eerily quiet forest.

You turn to him, utterly confused. “What the heck was that about? Why didn’t her magic work on me?”

Lilia’s grin softens, his gaze turning fond. “Ah, I see I’ve forgotten to tell you. I placed a fae’s blessing on you some time ago.”

“Wait, what?” You gape at him. “When did you do that?!”

He chuckles, as if you asking when he bestowed a magical shield on you is the most amusing thing he’s heard all week. “You tend to attract trouble, my dear. I thought it best to give you a little extra protection.”

You blink at him, still processing. “So… you’ve been secretly protecting me this whole time?”

His gaze turns a bit more serious, the usual playful air dropping away. “I don’t want to see anything happen to you,” he says softly, the words carrying a weight you hadn’t expected.

For a moment, you’re left speechless, flustered even. The teasing and jokes you’re so used to from Lilia are gone, replaced by something… deeper. It throws you off your game.

“Well, uh…” You clear your throat, desperately trying to recover. “I appreciate not getting turned into a frog or whatever she was planning.”

His grin returns, and the moment passes. “You’re welcome. Now, shall we head back to the market? I believe you were on a quest for... ramen, was it?”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head as the absurdity of it all catches up with you. “Yeah, let’s do that. And maybe next time I’ll avoid wandering into spooky villain lairs.”

“An excellent plan,” he says, offering you his arm. “Shall we?”

And just like that, you’re back on track—albeit a bit more shaken than before, but at least you’ve got a magical blessing you didn’t know about and one very charming fae escorting you through the mess.

You’re sitting under a large tree in the courtyard, soaking up the rare bit of peace and quiet that’s fallen over your life. It’s a nice day, the kind that makes you feel all warm and content, the sun shining gently through the leaves. Beside you, Silver is leaning against the trunk, dozing off as usual. You’ve become used to his tendency to fall asleep mid-conversation, and honestly, it’s kind of adorable.

He stirs a little, blinking his sleepy eyes open and looking at you with a soft smile. “It’s nice to have moments like this,” he says, voice a bit groggy. “Especially after everything.”

“Yeah,” you reply, leaning back on your hands. “It’s been... a lot.”

Silver glances at you, his gaze thoughtful. “You really helped us. My family,” he says, his tone a bit more serious than usual. “Freeing Lord Malleus from that curse... it was no small feat.”

Your stomach twists a little at the mention of Malleus. It still feels surreal that you had a hand in such a monumental event. You shrug, trying to play it cool. “Eh, you know... just another day of accidentally stumbling into chaos.”

He chuckles lightly, his smile softening even more. “I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to thank you properly for what you’ve done. You really saved us all.”

You wave your hand dismissively. “Stop, you’re going to make me blush. I was just trying to make some money, and suddenly I’m in the middle of an epic quest. You know how it is.”

Silver hums, half-amused, and then casually drops the bomb on you like it’s the most normal thing in the world: “You’d be perfect with Father.”

Your brain short-circuits. “...Sorry, what?”

Silver, utterly oblivious to the internal crisis he’s just unleashed within you, looks at you with that serene, peaceful expression of his. “Father. You’d be perfect with him.”

The world screeches to a halt. *Perfect? With Lilia?* You stare at him, wide-eyed, your mouth hanging open in a most undignified manner. “I’m sorry, did you just—did you just suggest that I—me—should be with your father?!”

Silver nods, looking completely at peace with his assessment, like he’s just commented on the weather. “Yes. You two get along well. You make each other laugh, and he seems fond of you. And Father... well, he deserves someone who can make him smile like that.”

Your mind is racing at 100 miles per hour. “Silver. SILVER.” You clutch your head as if physically holding your brain together will stop it from spiraling into madness. “Do you have any idea what you just said?”

Silver, ever the calm and composed knight, merely tilts his head. “Was it something strange?”

“STRANGE?!” You’re flailing now, completely losing your cool. “You just casually suggested I should date your father! Who, may I remind you, is an ancient fae with enough power to casually toss me into another dimension if he wanted!”

Silver blinks, seeming to consider this for a moment. “I don’t think he’d toss you into another dimension. He’d probably just... laugh and then take you out to dinner.”

You’re having a full-blown existential crisis. Your face is bright red, your heart is doing somersaults, and you’re not sure if you want to scream, faint, or throw yourself into the nearest fountain.

Silver, meanwhile, is just sitting there, serene and utterly oblivious to the emotional chaos he’s just unleashed upon you. “Father’s a good person,” He says softly. “I think you two would be happy together.”

“I... I...” You sputter, trying to form words but utterly failing as images of Lilia’s teasing smile and playful banter run through your mind. And then you imagine the alternative: Lilia’s serious side, the one that is somehow even more terrifyingly attractive, and you feel your heart skip a beat.

“Oh no,” you whisper, clutching your chest. “Oh no, no, no... Silver, what have you done?”

Silver looks at you with concern now, finally noticing that you’re having what can only be described as a breakdown. “Are you alright?"

“NO!” you cry, standing up and pacing back and forth in front of him. “You’ve broken me! You’ve ruined me! I’m—Silver, your father is... He’s... and I... Oh, gods, this is too much. TOO MUCH!”

Silver watches you pace for a moment before quietly saying, “You’re thinking about it, though.”

You freeze mid-step. “I—NO! Maybe? Yes? I—Why would you say that, Silver?!”

He just smiles, a soft, knowing smile. “Because it’s true.”

You slump back down beside him, groaning loudly as you cover your face with your hands. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

Silver chuckles softly, resting his head back against the tree again. “I’ve heard that before.”

And as you sit there, your mind spinning with thoughts of Lilia and all the ridiculous, impossible implications Silver’s comment has brought to life, you can’t help but think that maybe—just *maybe*—he has a point.

But you’re not ready to admit that yet. Not even to yourself.

“I need a drink,” you mumble under your breath, and Silver hums in agreement.

“Father would probably help you make it,” he says, and you let out a loud groan, flopping onto the grass in dramatic defeat.

“Silver, you’re killing me.”

He just smiles that peaceful smile of his.

It’s a quiet afternoon, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the courtyard. You’re standing with Malleus and Sebek in one of the palace’s gardens, the tranquil hum of life around you contrasting with the more serious conversation that’s about to unfold. You can feel the weight of what Malleus is about to say, and your mind spins as you prepare yourself for another emotionally charged moment.

Malleus takes a deep breath, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon. “For the longest time,” he begins, his voice soft and filled with an unspoken vulnerability, “I thought I would be stuck. Trapped in that cursed state forever. I had resigned myself to it, believing that it was my fate to be alone.”

You shift slightly, unsure how to respond to such raw honesty. Sebek, standing next to Malleus, is silent for once, his usual loud and defensive nature tempered by the gravity of his lord’s words.

“But then you came along,” Malleus continues, turning his glowing eyes toward you. “You broke the curse, something no one had been able to do. You gave me back my freedom, something I had lost hope of ever regaining.”

Sebek clears his throat loudly, his usual dramatic flair coming to the surface despite the tenderness of the moment. “Yes, well,” he says, voice gruff but tinged with the awkwardness of someone who isn’t quite used to expressing gratitude. “I... suppose we should be... grateful. After all, if it weren’t for you, Lord Malleus would still be... cursed, and we wouldn’t be here together as we are now.”

You blink at Sebek’s begrudging admission, feeling a small smile tug at your lips. The fact that he of all people is thanking you, even in such a roundabout way, is oddly touching.

“Wow, Sebek,” you say, voice teasing but soft. “Who knew you had it in you?”

Sebek bristles at your words, his expression a mix of indignation and embarrassment. “D-Don’t misunderstand!” he exclaims, face turning a shade redder than usual. “I’m merely stating the facts! Nothing more!”

Malleus chuckles softly at Sebek’s outburst, his usual gentle smile returning to his face. “Sebek’s gratitude, no matter how begrudging, is indeed a rarity,” he teases lightly before turning his attention back to you. “But truly, I am grateful. You’ve given me back more than just my freedom. You’ve given me back... this.”

He gestures around him, indicating the garden, the palace, the sky above. “This life, this chance to be with those I care about. And for that, I owe you a debt that I may never be able to repay.”

You shift awkwardly, feeling a strange warmth bloom in your chest. “I mean, I didn’t really set out to save anyone,” you admit, your voice light but with an edge of honesty. “I just... wanted the reward. And then maybe to go home.”

Sebek’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise, and he opens his mouth to argue, but Malleus holds up a hand, stopping him before he can launch into one of his dramatic tirades

You hesitate, glancing between Malleus and Sebek. “I didn’t think I’d get attached,” you admit quietly, your voice softening. “But I have. Somehow, I’ve found myself... caring about all of you. This weird little makeshift family.”

Sebek looks as though he’s about to protest the “weird” part, but a stern glance from Malleus keeps him quiet. You can see the begrudging acknowledgment in his eyes, though—he knows it’s true, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

Malleus hums thoughtfully, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he speaks again. “Well,” he says casually, as if discussing something as simple as the weather, “if you’re so attached, perhaps we should make it official. Perhaps you should marry into the family."

You freeze. Did he just—?

You whip your head towards Malleus, completely flustered. “M-Marry?! What?!”

Sebek, on the other hand, looks as if someone just punched him in the face. His mouth opens and closes like a fish gasping for air, his eyes wide with outrage. “L-Lord Malleus, what are you suggesting?!” he sputters.

Malleus blinks, as calm as ever. “I’m suggesting marriage,” he repeats, as if it’s the most logical thing in the world. “If they are so attached to us, it seems a reasonable next step. Perhaps they should marry Lilia?”

Your face turns a bright shade of red as your heart pounds in your chest. “Wh-What?!” you stammer. “Lilia?!”

Sebek turns even redder, his face contorting in disbelief. “Master Lilia?!”

Malleus nods sagely, completely unfazed by both of your reactions. “Yes, Lilia. He has shown great affection for them, and they would fit well within our family. Would you not agree, Sebek?”

Sebek looks like he’s about to explode, but there’s an uncomfortable silence as he realizes… he can’t argue. He knows Malleus and Lilia both care about you. He knows that you’ve proven yourself to be a good person, despite his initial distrust. His mouth twitches, the words clearly struggling to escape his throat.

“I—well—Lord Malleus,” Sebek starts, looking every bit as if he’s been defeated by sheer logic. “I… I must admit… They are a suitable companion for Master Lilia… even if the idea of them marrying… well, it is quite… outrageous.”

You feel your soul leave your body as the conversation continues. Sebek can’t quite bring himself to fully agree, yet he doesn’t outright refuse the idea either. His loyalty to his lords binds him, and his begrudging acceptance of your presence has left him caught between duty and outrage.

“I—This—” you stammer, completely overwhelmed. “I—This is insane!”

Malleus looks at you with a calm smile. “Think it over,” he says, voice gentle. “You’ve already become part of our lives. Why not make it official?”

You open your mouth to protest, but the words die in your throat as you see the sincerity in his eyes. This isn’t just a flippant suggestion—it’s Malleus genuinely offering you a place in his family. But the idea of marrying Lilia? That’s… that’s a whole new level of madness.

“I—I think I need to lie down,” you mutter, pressing your hands to your temples. “This is too much.”

Malleus chuckles softly, and even Sebek seems to relax—if only a little. But as you glance between the two of them, you can’t help but feel a strange warmth in your chest. Even with all the absurdity, you know one thing for sure: you’ve found a place with them, whether you intended to or not.

The cat was just sitting there. Innocently perched on the branch, fluffy and regal like a tiny, judgmental king. You don’t even know what possessed you, really. Maybe it was those huge, adorable eyes or the way its tail flicked back and forth. But somehow, someway, you ended up halfway up a tree. Climbing a tree. For a cat.

“I just wanted to pet you,” you mutter, feeling slightly ridiculous as you hug the branch for dear life. “And now I’m stuck. Great.”

The cat stares at you, completely indifferent to your plight. You sigh, glancing down at the ground, which now seems alarmingly far away. Heights were never your thing, but in the moment, with that cute little furball teasing you, logic flew right out the window. Now, you’re clinging to the tree like a cowardly kitten yourself.

“Why did I think this was a good idea?” you groan. The cat blinks at you. “Don’t look at me like that. This is all your fault!”

And then, because fate has a terrible sense of humor, you hear a voice from below. A familiar, unmistakable voice—playful, with a hint of amusement laced through it.

“Well, well, what do we have here? It appears my dear little beastie has gotten themselves stuck.”

You nearly slip off the branch as you glance down to see Lilia standing at the base of the tree, arms crossed and an infuriatingly amused grin on his face. He looks every bit the mischievous fae, eyes twinkling with barely suppressed laughter.

“I—uh—this is—” You stammer, trying to come up with some kind of excuse, but nothing comes. You’re halfway up a tree. Because of a cat. No explanation is going to save your dignity now.

Lilia tilts his head, chuckling. “Were you planning on living up there from now on? Or should I assist you in returning to the ground?”

“Hey, don’t judge me!” you huff, cheeks burning. “The cat—look at the cat! It was really cute, okay?”

Lilia glances up at the feline, which is now licking its paw in complete disinterest. He raises an eyebrow. “Ah, yes, the cat. I see now. How could anyone resist such a noble creature?”

You groan, feeling your face get even hotter. “I—um—I might need help getting down.”

Lilia’s grin widens. “Of course, my dear. I was planning on catching you anyway.”

You freeze. “C-Catching me?”

“Mmhm. Just jump down, and I’ll catch you,” Lilia says, his tone so casual, as if catching people out of trees is just something he does every day. He spreads his arms out, waiting expectantly.

Your heart races as you eye the distance between the branch and the ground again. It’s not terribly high, but… still high enough to make you nervous. But Lilia’s standing there with that easy confidence, and the thought of staying stuck in this tree forever doesn’t exactly appeal to you either.

Taking a deep breath, you inch closer to the edge of the branch. “O-Okay. I’m going to jump.”

“Go ahead,” Lilia says, his voice soft. “I’ll catch you.”

With one last look at the disinterested cat, you finally push yourself off the branch. For a split second, there’s nothing but the rush of air—and then you feel yourself land securely in Lilia’s arms. You’re caught. Easily, gently. Like it was nothing at all.

He looks down at you, his face much closer than you anticipated. “See? I told you I would catch you.”

You’re breathless for a moment, your heart doing flips as you realize just how close you are to him. His arms are around you, holding you steady, and you can feel the warmth of his body through his clothes. He’s staring at you with that soft, amused smile, and you’re suddenly acutely aware of just how handsome he is.

“Oh no,” you whisper to yourself, “I’m swooning.”

Lilia raises an eyebrow. “Hmm?”

“Y-You’re really smooth,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “Like, catching me so easily and looking at me like that. It’s—it’s really unfair.”

He chuckles softly, clearly entertained by your flustered state. “Unfair, you say?”

“Yeah, like—like, you’re so effortlessly cool and charming, and I—” You freeze, suddenly realizing what you’re saying. You clamp your mouth shut, but it’s too late. The words are out, and your brain has completely short-circuited.

And then, before you even know what’s happening, the words just spill out of you in a panicked rush. “Okay, I like you! No, wait—I think I’m in love with you! I mean, how could I not be? You’re so amazing, and I just—Oh god, I’m confessing! I’m confessing right now, aren’t I? This is a confession. Oh no, this is terrible. I didn’t mean to—”

You feel your entire body heat up as you bury your face in your hands, completely mortified. Of all the ways you could’ve confessed your feelings to Lilia, this had to be the worst possible way. You weren’t ready! You were supposed to be calm and collected, not blurting it out after getting caught in a tree!

For a moment, there’s silence. And then, you hear the softest chuckle from Lilia. His arms tighten around you slightly, pulling you just a little closer.

“You’re adorable,” he says, his voice soft and full of warmth.

You peek through your fingers, confused. “Huh?”

“I’ve known for a while that your feelings for me were more than friendly,” Lilia continues, his smile gentle. “But hearing you confess like this… it’s endearing.”

You blink, trying to process his words. “Wait—you’ve known?”

Lilia nods. “You’re not as subtle as you think, my dear.”

You groan again, hiding your face in your hands once more. “This is so embarrassing…”

Lilia laughs softly, and before you know it, he leans in and presses a light, gentle kiss to your forehead. Your heart skips a beat, and you lower your hands, looking up at him in surprise.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed,” Lilia says, his eyes soft. “I’m honored to be the one you’ve chosen.”

Your heart flutters as his words sink in, and you realize that, despite your mortification, he’s… accepting your feelings. He’s not teasing you or brushing it off—he’s genuinely acknowledging your confession. And more than that… he’s reciprocating.

“Lilia…” you whisper, your face still burning with embarrassment, but also with a warmth that you can’t quite describe.

He leans in a little closer, his nose brushing against yours. “You don’t need to say anything more, my dear. Just know that I feel the same.”

And with that, Lilia closes the distance between you, his lips meeting yours in a soft, sweet kiss that makes your heart race even faster. All thoughts of your earlier panic melt away, replaced by the warmth of his touch and the feeling of being completely safe in his arms.

As he pulls back, you’re left staring at him, wide-eyed and breathless. Lilia smiles down at you, his eyes twinkling with amusement and affection.

“So,” he says, his voice teasing, “was that worth climbing a tree for?”

You blink, still dazed from the kiss. “I… I think so.”

Lilia laughs softly, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before setting you down on the ground. “Next time, though, perhaps we’ll find a more dignified setting for your confessions, hmm?”

You groan, covering your face again as you mutter, “Please don’t remind me…”

But despite your embarrassment, you can’t help the small, giddy smile that creeps onto your face as you realize that, somehow, things turned out perfectly anyway.

You sit with Lilia on a bench beneath the shade of a massive oak tree, the same one he caught you from, nerves simmering beneath your calm exterior. He’s as composed as ever, leaning back against the tree with a small, amused smile playing on his lips.

Across from you sit Malleus, Silver, and Sebek, all three watching you with varying degrees of curiosity—Malleus with calm interest, Silver with that sleepy, gentle acceptance, and Sebek with what you’re sure is the beginning of a tirade bubbling just beneath the surface.

“We have some news,” Lilia says, breaking the silence with his usual playful tone. His hand slips into yours, squeezing lightly. “About us.”

Malleus’s eyes light up with interest, his draconic gaze honing in on the subtle intertwining of your hands with Lilia’s. “News?” he repeats, leaning forward slightly. “What sort of news?”

You exchange a glance with Lilia, and he gives you a nod, as if to say go on, it’s safe. Taking a deep breath, you steel yourself and blurt out, “We’re together. Like, romantically.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Malleus’s eyes widen, his entire face brightening with delight. “Truly?” he asks, a rare, genuine smile spreading across his face. “That is wonderful news! You will be joining the family then?”

You blink, momentarily thrown off by how happy he is. “Uh, well—eventually, I guess. We haven’t exactly planned a wedding yet…”

“But when we do,” Lilia interjects smoothly, eyes glinting with amusement, “you will be the first to receive an invitation, Malleus.”

Malleus beams, the delight practically radiating off him like sunlight. “I would expect no less. To witness your union—ah, it will be a grand day.”

Meanwhile, Silver gives you both a small, approving nod. His expression is calm, though there’s a softness in his eyes that shows he’s happy for you. “I’m glad,” he says, his voice as gentle as ever. “Father deserves someone who makes him happy. And you… you seem to do that.”

Your heart warms at the approval from Silver. “Thanks, Silver,” you say, offering him a smile in return.

And then there’s Sebek.

For a moment, he just stares at you and Lilia, his mouth working as if he’s trying to form words. You brace yourself for the inevitable protest, expecting him to shout something about how inappropriate it is, or how you could never be good enough for Lilia, or—

“You…” Sebek finally speaks, though his tone is less outraged than you anticipated. He scowls, but there’s an undeniable hint of reluctant acceptance in his eyes. “You’re together, then?”

Lilia nods, his smile never wavering. “Indeed, Sebek.”

Sebek inhales deeply, closing his eyes as if preparing for some kind of inner battle. You can almost hear him wrestling with his instincts, wanting to object but also unable to deny the truth of the situation. After a long pause, he finally exhales and mutters, “Well… I suppose… if it makes Master Lilia happy, then…”

You’re about to breathe a sigh of relief when Sebek opens his eyes again, pointing an accusatory finger at you. “But that does not mean you should grow complacent! Just because Master Lilia has chosen you does not mean you are exempt from proving yourself worthy!”

Lilia laughs softly at Sebek’s stubbornness, and you can’t help but grin. “Of course, Sebek,” you say, teasing him lightly. “I’ll do my best to live up to your high standards.”

Sebek huffs, crossing his arms. “See that you do.”

Despite his bluster, you can tell he’s not truly upset. There’s a begrudging acceptance in his stance, the same way someone might finally accept that their favorite hero isn’t perfect, but still worthy of respect. Sebek might not be able to fully wrap his head around the idea of you and Lilia being together, but deep down, you can tell he doesn’t disapprove. Not really.

Malleus, meanwhile, is still beaming. “I look forward to your wedding,” he says, sounding genuinely excited. “It will be a grand celebration. And I will be the first to celebrate your union.”

You laugh, finally feeling the tension melt away. “You’ll be the first to get an invitation, don’t worry.”

Lilia squeezes your hand again, his eyes warm as he looks at you. “Indeed,” he says softly, “and I think it will be a lovely celebration.”

As you sit there, surrounded by Lilia’s peculiar little family, you can’t help but feel a swell of emotion. For all their eccentricities—Malleus’s dragon-like mannerisms, Silver’s sleepy but sincere approval, and Sebek’s stubborn loyalty—you’ve somehow found yourself among people who care. Who, in their own ways, are happy to see you and Lilia together.

And as you glance at Lilia, who’s still watching you with that fond, amused expression, you realize something important: this makeshift family of fae and knights… they’ve accepted you.

Flaws and all.

The living room felt a little too tense for your taste today. You were sprawled out on a chair, arms crossed, listening to the absurd conversation that seemed to have spiraled out of control.

Malleus, sitting at the head of the table, had the "serious prince" expression that made you roll your eyes every time you saw it. Lilia was perched on the back of his chair, his legs dangling, thoroughly amused by the current predicament. Sebek stood in his usual soldier-like stance, ready to protect everyone from... squirrels, apparently. And Silver was doing his best to stay upright while leaning on a wall. He was losing that battle.

“It’s time to discuss the prophecy” Malleus said, his voice carrying an ominous weight you found ridiculous. “The Squirrel Plague will bring misfortune. Entire kingdoms will fall to their tiny paws.”

You blinked. “We’re seriously talking about squirrels?”

Lilia nodded with an overly grave face. “Indeed, my dear. Squirrels are resourceful creatures. Vicious even, if the stories are true.”

Sebek puffed up his chest, eyes blazing with his trademark fervor. “MY LORD, IF THOSE RODENTS BELIEVE THEY CAN THREATEN YOU—"

You leaned forward, waving your hand dismissively. “Alright, alright, let's not hype up the squirrels too much, okay? This whole situation is ridiculous.”

Silver, who had just about managed to pry his eyes open, muttered, “It’s not just the squirrels. I heard some people talking about... uh, the Saint being accused of spying or something.”

The room fell into silence for a second, everyone digesting that little bombshell.

Lilia’s grin widened as if the idea of spies delighted him. “Spies, you say? This is getting quite intriguing.”

You groaned, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Yeah, no thanks. Squirrels are bad enough, but spies? I’m not dealing with this.”

Malleus turned towards you, a slight frown on his lips. “I assumed you wished to stay here. You haven’t mentioned wanting to leave before.”

You sighed, shrugging. “I mean, I don't have any attachments to this place. I stayed because you guys were here. But right now, let's bounce. Immediately. The squirrels can have this place.”

Silver, rubbing his eyes, nodded. “They're right. It’s a lot of hassle, and honestly, the squirrels are starting to weird me out. I saw one trying to chew through the wall this morning.”

Sebek turned to Silver with his mouth agape. “A SQUIRREL DARED TO ATTACK OUR DOMAIN?!”

Lilia chuckled, nodding. “They’re getting bolder, indeed. I even had one throw an acorn at me this morning. It was a declaration of war, I tell you.”

You waved your hands at them. “Guys, seriously. I don’t care if we’re at war with the squirrels. I just don’t want to be here. Briar Valley sounds much nicer, doesn’t it? No plagues, no spy accusations, no rabid rodents.”

Malleus blinked at you, then slowly smiled. “If you wish to leave, then there’s no reason for us to stay. I thought perhaps you'd not want to leave the place you grew up in, that you would be attached.”

“Attached?” You gestured dramatically at the window, where you swore you could see a squirrel watching with beady little eyes. “Nope. I’m only attached to you four, and I’m not risking my life for some acorn-flinging rodents.”

Silver yawned, already giving in. “I say we go. Less hassle, more sleep.”

Lilia gave a theatrical sigh leaning on Malleus. “Well, I suppose the adventure ends here. Back to Briar Valley it is! And I’ll be sure to bring along some acorns... perhaps we can keep the spirit of battle alive.”

Sebek, his voice still full of misplaced enthusiasm, nodded fiercely. “IF MY LORD DECIDES TO RETURN, THEN I SHALL ENSURE OUR JOURNEY IS WITHOUT PERIL! THE SQUIRRELS SHALL NOT—”

You interrupted with a grin. “Yes, yes, Sebek. You’ll protect us from the squirrels. Good job.”

Lilia hopped off Malleus’s chair, already halfway to the door. “I’ll go prepare the portal. Who knows, maybe we can get there in time for the fireflies.”

You got up too, stretching and giving one last look at the living room. “I think I’ve had enough of prophecies, plagues, and espionage.”

Lilia grins "Maybe we could have our wedding in Briar Valley". Malleus, now entirely on board, nodded with regal finality. “Then we shall return to Briar Valley. I trust the squirrels will not miss us.”

Lilia snickered, and you felt him squeeze your shoulder. “Perhaps we should bring a souvenir,” he mused. “A squirrel, perhaps, as a reminder of this peculiar little chapter of our lives.”

You shook your head, laughing. “I think I’d rather forget it altogether.”

With that, you and your four favorite Briar Valley residents left—leaving behind the squirrels, the spies, and every bit of drama that had nothing to do with you. Peace, it turned out, was just a portal away.

With that, the group made their decision—no heroic stand against the prophecy, no attempts to sort out spy dramas. Just a swift, sensible retreat to where things were far less complicated. And honestly? That suited you just fine.

Alright! I liked writing this a lot, It's not as chaotic as my other isekai ones but I like how it turned out!

Also if the formatting is off, I'm so sorry but I fell spectacularly on my ass while ice-skating and can't sit long enough to edit on my laptop.

Also quick poll for the next trash novel one, I'll definitely finish all of them, this is just for which one should I post first. They're all almost done.

Series Masterlist ; My Masterlists

[darlingdaisyfarm]

Tourist trap (Stan Pines x fem!reader)

minors dni

Stan is very fond of tourists who believe his stories.

tags: nsfw, smut, p in v, fingering, riding, desk sex, semi-public, praise, sir kink, rough sex

You shifted nervously from one foot to the other, wide-eyed and excited, as you clutched your little Mystery Shack brochure in your hand. It was all crumpled from being folded and unfolded too many times, but you couldn’t stop reading all the incredible things advertised on it.

"See the world-famous Sasquatch Skull up close! Touch the Alien Artifacts nobody else believes in!" 

You believed it all. Every last word. After all, you’re such a lover of the unknown.

Your group of tourists shuffles around you, mostly adults who looks really unimpressed, grumbling about the entrance fee. You’re the only one whose eyes are wide with excitement and who literally trembles from excitement to see everything the Shack have to offer. And that’s exactly what catches his eye.

Stan Pines stands in the doorway, leaning on his cane, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. You don’t notice how his eyes scans over you, how he takes in every little detail: the innocent excitement, the way you’re practically throwing your money at the gift shop already and that naive, gullible glow about you. You practically skip forward, not noticing how Stan’s eyes linger on you. He can tell right away — you aren’t just any tourist. No, you’re special. Too trustful. Sweet. The kind that believe every ridiculous thing he’d ever put on display.

And isn’t that just. . . adorable?

The tour starts and you trail behind him eagerly, eyes wide and shining as he tells stories about the various "creatures" and "relics" in the Shack. Part of you is convinced that every word is true, that you’re standing in the presence of real magic, real mystery. 

Stan notices you hanging on his every word and it makes something stir in him. The way your lips parts just a little, these little “wow” and “ohh” you make, the way your eyes follow his every move. Meanwhile other tourists roll their eyes or sigh, bored out of their minds, but not you. You’re his favorite kind of visitor — the kind that made his job fun

"So," Stan starts, turning to you with a glint in his eye as the rest of the group wanders off, "what do you think of this, doll? Pretty impressive, huh?"

You nod enthusiastically, clutching your bag of over-priced trinkets and souvenirs. "It’s amazing, sir! i can’t believe im seeing all this in real life! i mean, is the Sasquatch skull really real? And the alien artifacts, are they, like, actually from space?!"

"Well, aren’t you just the cutest little tourist I’ve ever seen,” he smiles, leaning slightly towards you and letting out a chuckle “most people come in here and they laugh it off. Say it’s all fake, but not you. You really believe in this, don’t you?”

“Yeah! ive always dreamed of visiting such a cool place! thank you, sir, it’ll remain a good memory,” you giggle.

“Ohh, sweetheart, if you’re such a fan, maybe i can show you some of the mysteries we keep hidden from the average tourists.” he absolutely loves how wide-eyed and trusting you are. You really believe every word he tells you?

Your eyes light up, completely oblivious to the hungry look in his eyes. "Really? You’d do that?"

Stan rubs his chin, pretending to think it over, though the grin never left his face. “Hmm,” he looks at you for a couple more seconds before he tells you you. “for you, dear? Anything.”

He leads you away from the main part of the Shack, down a hallway lined with dusty old portraits and broken light fixtures. You don’t even notice how quiet it is now as the rest of the tour group far behind. All you can think about was the excitement bubbling inside you, the thrill of seeing something “exclusive.”

Stan opens a creaky door at the end of the hall and motions for you to step inside. You eagerly obey, stepping into a dimly lit room filled with more strange objects, things that weren’t part of the normal tour. At least, that’s what Stan told you.

He closes the door behind him with a soft click, the two of you now alone and you never really noticed how close he suddenly got, his hand resting on your lower back as he guides you further into the room, its cluttered with strange artifacts, most of which hadn’t made it to the main display.

You’re buzzing with excitement as you look around at the dusty shelves. "Wow!" you gasped, wide-eyed. “What’s that? and that?! oh my gosh, is that a real shrunken head?!”

Stan chuckles, settling himself down in an old chair near desk before patting his lap. “Why don’t you come here, doll? I’ll give you a closer look.” there was something in his voice. . . something that should alert you, but you’re too caught up in your excitement to notice it.

Without a second thought, you plop yourself down on his lap, leaning forward to inspect the nearest artifact, still firing off a barrage of questions. "What’s this one? and where did you get it? oh god, is it really cursed?!"

Stan grunts, adjusting you a bit closer as his hands settled on your hips. He leans forward slightly, his mouth near your ear as he begins to explain some ridiculous story about the origins of the objects. But you barely notice how his fingers start to slip lower, just lightly brushing along the hem of your skirt.

You keep talking, completely oblivious, your words spilling out in an excited rush. “This is so cool! i can’t believe no one else gets to see this! i-“ your voice hitches as Stan’s hand slides further up your thigh, his thick fingers grazing the edge of your panties.

He continues talking as if nothing happens. “This here is an ancient artifact from South America. Supposedly cursed, but, eh, I wouldn’t worry about it too much.” he pauses, his hand gently pressing against the softness of your thigh as he keeps you pinned on his lap.

Your breath caught in your throat, but you tried to focus on his words, nodding as you squirmed a little. “W-wow, that’s- that’s so cool!” your voice breathy as Stan’s fingers brushes lightly along the edge of your panties, teasing you.

“Yeah, real cool, huh?” he asks you, still as if nothing happened, his other hand sliding up your waist to grip your side, so you wouldn’t move that much. His fingers dip lower, grazing the fabric of your panties before slipping just beneath it. “aaand this one here,” he continues, “it’s said to have belonged to an ancient tribe. Powerful stuff.”

You can barely process what he’s saying, your mind blank as his fingers lightly tease along your slit, collecting the wetness that was beginning to pool there. You shift in his lap, trying to stifle the soft whimper that escape your lips, your legs pressing together.

“Something wrong, doll?” he asks in a playful, no, mocking tone, while his fingers now lightly caressing your clit. “You seem a little distracted. Thought you wanted to hear about all these mysteries*.”

“I- I do!” you stutter. “It’s just- s-sir!”

“Just what?” Stan interrupts, his fingers now slipping lower, pressing firmly against your entrance. His other hand grips your waist, holding you firmly in place as you instinctively try to buck your hips against his hand.

You whine softly, barely able to form a coherent sentence. "I-I just. . . oh god-“

Stan smirks. “You’re so cute, sweetheart,” he nuzzles your neck, his fingers now teasing your entrance, pushing just the tip of one finger inside your throbbing cunt. “asking all these questions while sitting in my lap like a good little girl.”

You sob, your hips rocking against his hand without even realizing it. You can feel his cock, hard and pulsing beneath you, pressing against your ass, but Stan keeps his focus on you, his fingers slowly pumping in and out of your wetness, never stopping his stories.

“This one is said to have special. . . powers. Like it can make someone go crazy with just one touch.” he chuckles, his finger curling inside you, hitting that spot that made you gasp and clench around him.

Your head spinning, your body aching with need, completely at his mercy as he tease and play with you, all while still pretending like it was just another tour.

Stan’s smirk widens as he feels you trembling in his lap, the way you quietly moan, your face and body both hot. He keeps his voice steady, still saying some ridiculous story about the artifacts, but his fingers never stops their teasing.

“So, this piece here was said to be used in rituals. Uhh, something about unlocking a person’s deepest desires, makin’ ’em lose all sense of control.” its not difficult for him to imagine these false stories, he is an experienced lier after all. You try to listen, try to understand what he’s saying, but that’s just impossible to do as he presses his thumb harder against your needy bud, his fingers sliding through your slick folds. You whimper, barely able to focus on his words. Your body burning, every nerve ending tingling as his rough fingers stroke and tease your throbbing pussy. Your hips rock against his hand, desperate for more, but you’re too shy, too embarrassed to ask for it.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart? you were askin’ so many questions before, now you’re all quiet?” his thumb circles your clit a little bit faster and your body jolts from pleasure, a soft cry escaping your lips before you could stop it.

“I’m just-“ you stammer, your cheeks flushed with embarrassment as you squirm in his lap. “I c-can’t, sir, can’t think”

He chuckles, now pushing two thick fingers deep inside your tight, clenching cunt. You gasp and your back arch against him as he starts to pump them slowly, curling and scissoring his fingers just right, hitting that spot inside you that made your whole body tremble. What a lovely sounds you’re making.

“Aww you poor thing, so lost, huh? cant even think straight, can ya?”

You whimper, biting your lip as you try to stifle the noises that are spilling out of you, but it’s useless. Your hips are moving on their own, grinding against his hand as you clung to his shirt, “sir” and “please” leaving your mouth as his fingers stretch you so well.

“Just relax, doll, I’ll take care of you. Just listen to me.” his fingers pumped harder inside your pulsing pussy. “you wanted a tour, right?”

You nodded weakly, not even listening him, unable to focus on anything but the way his fingers were fucking into you, the wet sounds of your dripping pussy filling the small room. His thick digits stretch you open just good, making you lose your mind.

“So this here,” he continued, his voice still calm despite the way you were practically writhing in his lap, “was used by an ancient tribe. Supposedly, they thought it could help them communicate with the gods, but I think it’s more useful for somethin’ else. . . don’t you, sweetheart?”

You could only sob in response, your body trembling as his fingers drove deeper, stretching your tight walls, his thumb never leaving your poor sensitive clit, your muscles clenching around his fingers as he pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

“You’re such a good girl,” he praises as he watches you squirm in his lap, your wetness coating his fingers. “so cute, all worked up like this. You gonna cum for me, doll?” you nod , your hips bucking against his hand, his fingers thrusting deeper inside your aching cunt. Stan laughs at that pathetic sight, his fingers moving faster now, fucking you hard and deep, your pussy clenching around his digits. “Go on, princess, cum on my fingers.” you exhale when Stan finally let you finish. With a strangled cry, your body shakes, your cunt clenching around his fingers as your orgasm crashes over you. Your eyes rolled and brain fucking melted as you shudder in his lap.

Stan grinned, watching you with a satisfied smirk. “Good girl, such a good little doll for me.”

His hand rests on your breast, first slowly and gently caressing it. His fingers find your nipple and give it a light squeeze, drawing another sound from you. Stan smirks to himself as he feels you shaking in his lap, your body responding to every little touch he gave you. His fingers still buried deep inside you, moving at a slow, teasing pace that had you on edge, desperate for more. You can barely sit still, squirming against him, your breath coming out in soft, shallow gasps.

His fingers curling inside you again, and you whimper, your hips jerking in response. “You want somethin’, don’t you? you gotta tell me what you need, doll.”

Your mind foggy, every nerve in your body on fire as his fingers keep working you over, drawing soft, desperate noises from your parted lips. You could barely think straight, let alone put together a proper sentence. “pl-please, sir”

He chuckles, clearly enjoying your struggle. “Please what, sweetheart? you gotta use your words if you want somethin’ from me.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep yourself together, but it’s damn impossible with the way his big fingers thrusting inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over again. You can feel the heat building inside you again, that desperate, aching need, but of something bigger than just his fingers. You need to be filled, to have your brains fucked out. “I need more. . .”

“More, baby? you want my fingers to go faster? is that what you mean?”

You shake your head frantically, your whole body aching for something else. “No, I need- need your cock, sir-“

He raise his eyebrows in a fake surprise. “Oh, is that what you’ve been tryin’ to say this whole time? you’re beggin’ for it now, huh? pretty little thing, all desperate for me to fuck you?”

You whimper softly, your hips moving on their own, trying to push down on his hand for more friction, more pressure, but he holds you still, keeping you right where he wanted you. “Please, sir,” you whisper and nearly cry because of horrible emptiness you’re feeling. “please just fuck me, sir, i need you!”

“You’re lucky I’m feelin’ generous today, sweetheart,” he tells you, his hand finally pulling away from your dripping slit. “don’t say i never gave you nothin’.”

Before you can even process whats happening, Stan shifts you in his lap, his strong hands lifting your hips and positioning you right above his length. You can feel his cock, already hard and throbbing beneath you, pressing up against your soaked entrance, and your whole body tense, your breath catching in your throat.

Stan’s hands grip your hips tightly, holding you steady as he lines himself up with your glistening cunt, spreading your folds. “You ready for it, doll?” he asks. “this what you’ve been beggin’ for?”

You nod quickly, fuck enough of questions, you thought. “Yes,” you whisper. “yes yes yes, ple-“ but before you can even finish, he slowly pushes inside you, stretching you open inch by inch. You immediately gasp at the new sensation, your hands gripping onto his shoulders as your body adjusts to the sudden fullness. Oh god, it’s thick, so hard, filling you completely and you can feel every inch of him throbbing inside you, every vein, it feels so hot.

Stan huffs out, his grip on your hips tightening as he buries himself to the hilt. “Fuck, you’re tight. like you were made for this, doll.”

You whimper softly, holding on him, your body trembling as you try to adjust to the feeling of him inside you. It’s almost too much, the way he stretches you so perfectly, the way he fills you completely. You can barely breathe.

Stan gives you a moment to adjust. his cock pulsing inside you. “There we go,” he mutters watching your brows furrowing. “Just like that. . . you’re doin’ so good, babygirl.”

You moan again, your hips shifting slightly in his lap, and you feel him twitch inside you,. “I. . . nhhah, s-sir”

He leans towards you and kisses your forehead, his hands guiding your hips to start moving, slowly at first. “Go on, princess. Ride me, let me see how bad you want it.”

You bite your lip nervously as you’ve never been in this pose before, you slowly start to move, lifting yourself up and then sinking back down onto his cock. It feels incredible, the way his cock stretches you open, hitting all sweet spots inside you. You feel the tension building inside you again, that same desperate, aching need, and you whimper again and again, your hips moving faster as your cunt tightening around him.

Stan’s eyes locks with yours as he guides your movements, kissing your neck. “That’s it, sweetheart, you feel so fuckin’ good, yesss, such a good girl, ridin’ me like that.”

You cry out at his words, what a sweet praise, your body moving on its own now, your hips grinding down against him, taking him deeper with each thrust. You can barely think, barely breathe, the pleasure overwhelming your senses, your mind clouded, you can’t even maintain the eye contact.

Stan’s hands moves to your waist, holding you steady as he starts thrusting up into you, meeting your movements with deep, powerful thrusts. You whine, your hands gripping onto his shoulders for support as he fucks you, your mouth hangs open while he fucks you faster and harder with each thrust, he holds you so tightly, squeezing your body while you ride him.

You gasp. “I- I’m gonna-“

“Go ahead, doll, cum for me, let me feel it.”

Your body tensed, your walls clenching around his cock as your orgasm hits you hard. Your body shaking, trembling in his lap as you cumming, rambling pleas leave your mouth when you feel the tip of his cock rubbing sweetly against your cervix. Stan groans, his grip on your waist tightening as he thrusts up into you harder, deeper, drawing out your pleasure as long as he can. “That’s it, such a good girl, baby. . . so fuckin’ tight.”

You fall on his chest, still shaking, your mind still spinning from the intensity of it all. You can feel him still throbbing inside you, still hard, and you whimper softly, your hips shifting slightly in his lap, he’s clearly not planning on pulling out.

After you manage to get your breathing back to normal at least a little you feel his hands still all over you, roughly dragging you up and laying you out on the old wooden table. Your legs tremble, spread wide as he stares down at you, taking in the sight like you’re his prize, his fucking reward.

“Not yet, sweetheart,” grin crosses his lips as he grabs your thighs, pulling you right to the edge of the table before slamming his cock back inside your pussy, forcing a cry from your throat. Your body jolts at the sudden penetration, and you moan again, legs wrapping around his waist as he starts pounding into you again. Hard. Rough. Fast. There’s not a drop of mercy in his movements, he's not holding back, fucking you like you're just a thing for him to use. Your sweet moans and that pathetic "sl-slow down!" sound like music to his ears.

His hands all over you, squeezing, groping, touching. He grabs your breasts, kneading them, pinching your nipples through your shirt so hard you whimper, arching your back off the table. He groans at that, leaning in close, his breath hot against your neck as he whispers, “Fuck, you feel heavenly, baby, can’t get enough of this sweet little cunt.”

His fingers finds your clit, rubbing circles around it, teasing you until you can’t stop the pathetic whines spilling from your lips. He keeps fucking you harder, his hips slamming against yours, the table creaking under the weight of it all. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, mixed with your gasps, your moans, your begs and his grunts as he’s pounding into you like he was starving for it.

“Look at you,” he looks down at your flushed, wrecked body, his hands gripping your waist tight enough to bruise. “Such a fucking good girl for me, huh? letting me use this pretty little pussy however I want.”

You can’t really form words, can’t do anything but take it. Your so brain fucked, body burning, you’re so close you can’t think straight. He’s rough, fast, his fingers rubbing your clit in time with his thrusts, pushing you higher, higher, until you can’t hold back anymore. You cum hard, again, your pussy squeezing his cock well.

But Stan doesn’t stop. He just keeps going, fucking you right through it, ruining your pussy, even harder now, his hips snaps into you, faster, rougher, and you can feel the slick mess between your thighs, the obscene sound of it only making it filthier. You're choking on your moans.

“Ugh, gonna cum inside you, doll,” he groans. “Gonna fill this sweet pussy up, you want that? you want me to fucking fill you up?”

You nod frantically, too far gone to care about anything else, and with one last, hard thrust, he buries himself so deep, his cock pulsing as he finishes inside you. You feel how warm it is, his cum filling you up, spilling out of you as he keeps thrusting, riding out his high.

Finally, he slows down, pulling out with a groan, and you collapse back on the table, spent, utterly wrecked. Youre literally shaking, panting, his cum dripping out of your used pussy onto the wood below. Stan stands there, catching his breath, looking down at you and all that dirty mess, what a beautiful sight: your legs trembling, your body marked with his touch and his cum leaking from between your thighs.

He leans over. “you know, guess I'll give you a discount for that pretty face of yours.”

[honey-tongued-devil]

↠The last drop tour

| Part 1 | | Part 2 | | Part 3 |

Alright, alright, I know I’ve already shown you the Last Drop, so here we’re looking at the one from the alternate timeline, as seen in Episode 7. The elements and layout don’t change too much, but there are variations, and since my story is set in this universe, I imagine this version is the most helpful for anyone wanting to explore the universe I write about. The link to the story is HERE, but I hope this can also be useful for anyone writing or reading their own work.

Here we are once again! This tour might be a bit challenging, but don’t worry—your guide has got you covered! This time, we need to start outside.

I know we all recognize the exterior of the bar, which hasn’t changed, but I ask you to take a closer look at the streets. They’re clean and bathed in sunlight. (The Last Drop is in the Entresol, the middle level of Zaun’s three depth levels.) While it may seem almost normal or expected, the smog that used to accumulate made it impossible for light to filter through the thick air, even during the day. As a result, the underground city never got to see this much light. This is the first time.

In Heimerdinger’s sequence where he’s seen playing "Spin the Wheel," we can catch glimpses of glass greenhouses protecting plants, and people in wheelchairs, hinting that the city is now more accessible.

This is the third post where I’ve mentioned this damn ceiling, so I went back just to show it to you, because it was necessary at this point. Let’s start with the fact that the Last Drop has been renovated. The fact that Ekko is wearing a gold earring and is so well-dressed suggests that their profits have increased, and the first thing they did was fix up the place. But enough talk—let’s get to the proof. Now that natural light reaches Zaun, the LED lights on the ceiling aren’t needed anymore. What is needed? Glass, to let the light in.

And so, we move on to another small but significant difference. Scattered throughout the Last Drop, but especially at the bar counter, there are terrariums with plants. Claggor and Mylo are even working on plants capable of converting the dense air of the Sump into clean oxygen. But why do plants have such prominence here? In Season 1, we’re shown that in Zaun, only one place had plants: the Chembarons' meeting room. It was so high up and so clean, thanks to the ventilation on the ceiling, that plants were a privilege of the oligarchy, not something for everyone. But here, even ordinary people in Zaun have plants around, and they thrive.

The bar counter remains the same, the barrels behind Vander are still protected by the same glass partitions as always. The difference now is that everything is adorned with what used to be a symbol of luxury.

Did you recognize these booths? Now, instead of the Chembarons' photos, there are sheets with dart game scores written on them—both for the kids and the three older men. To be honest, the one I’m showing you in the photo from Zaun’s original timeline is actually the first booth on the left from the entrance. Meanwhile, the one shown where the kids are sitting is the second booth, a bit closer to both the bar counter and the narrow hallway that leads to the arcade area and the pool table.

Which ones? These. Actually... this photo was taken in front of the first booth, and we can see Powder's drawings hanging there. Basically, we understand that they’re portraits of all of them together, happy. Maybe some are solo portraits, but they’re definitely very different from how things are now. (the comparison)

I imagine that the basement where Vander and his children used to live is now the place where they store alcohol and reserve drinks, or maybe it has become a boiler room. We don’t have photos of the lower area (which, I remind you, can be accessed by taking the door to the right of the bar counter and going down a long staircase) nor of the upper area, which is reached by climbing the stairs to the left. So, I can’t show you more parts of our beloved bar, but I can tell you that according to what we’re told in episode 7, they now offer both live music and events. So, the Last Drop has continued both Vander’s family-oriented, rustic management and Silco’s vision of a nightlife hub and heart of the city.

As for the rest—how we got to this point, what brought the change, how Silco's eye healed, how they managed to reach such an economic development to renovate the bar in that way—I can only speculate. But, I won’t do that here.

The theme of the universe’s development from episode 7, starting with Vi’s death, is what I talk about in my fanfiction. So, I’ll take a moment to advertise myself during this tour and let you know that if, in addition to the objective facts, you'd like to hear my opinion, I address it HERE (Everytime it rains).

From these three tours, I think you've gathered that I’m someone who pays a lot of attention to details, which is why a superficial analysis of the differences wasn't enough for me. I needed a bigger space to narrate (and analyze) the politics and the domino effect of events. So, I don't know, I hope to see you again at the bar.

Sincerely, your guide, provided by...

-Kiramman's chronocare

[starclancy]

I just had the best idea! perhaps reader (already in an established relationship with sanji and at her wits end with his flirtatious antics) somehow learns about the kiss pudding gave him towards the end of the WC arc?? a little angsty and a desperate sanji trying to keep his girl and solve this issue.

This is so cute! i love it

~ Secrets ~

PAIRING: Fem!Reader/Sanji

CONTENTS: 💔 - angst / 🩷 - fluff

WORDCOUNT: 715

Request status: Open

The Thousand Sunny rocked gently on the waves, the salty sea breeze carrying the scent of dinner from the galley. But tonight, the air between you and Sanji wasn’t the warm, comforting kind. It was cold, tense, and charged with unspoken words.

You sat at the table, arms crossed, staring daggers at the man who had somehow managed to go pale and red at the same time. Sanji, your ever-charming and flirtatious boyfriend, was pacing the room, running his hands through his blond hair in a frenzy.

“So… you’re not going to say anything?” you demanded, voice low and sharp.

Sanji stopped in his tracks, swallowing audibly. “Mon amour, I… It’s not what it sounds like!”

“Oh, really? Because it sounds like you let some girl kiss you while you were off playing hero!” You stood up, slamming your palms on the table. “And you didn’t think to tell me?!”

“She didn’t mean anything!” he blurted, raising his hands in defense. “It wasn’t even my choice! She—she caught me off guard!”

The words were meant to placate you, but they only stoked the fire. “Caught you off guard?” you echoed, incredulous. “Sanji, do you have any idea how that makes me feel? While I’m here, worrying about you, you’re—”

“Stop!” His voice cracked, and he grabbed the back of a chair to steady himself. “Do you think I wanted that? Do you think I wanted her kiss when the only lips I ever want to taste are yours?”

Your heart faltered for a second, but you shoved the feeling aside. “You still didn’t tell me,” you said, quieter this time but no less angry.

“I couldn’t.” His voice broke, softer now. “I was scared. Scared you’d think I wanted it. Scared you’d think I betrayed you. But I swear to you, it didn’t mean anything. You mean everything.”

Tears welled in your eyes, but you blinked them back. “Then why do I feel like I’m just another girl to you, Sanji? Like I’m no different from anyone else you flirt with?”

The words struck him harder than any punch. He crossed the room in three strides, kneeling before you, hands trembling as they cupped yours.

“You’re not just anyone, Y/N,” he said, voice hoarse and eyes shining with desperation. “You’re my world. I flirt because… it’s habit, stupid and meaningless. But you—you’re the one who holds my heart. And if I’ve made you doubt that, I’ve failed you.”

His words made your anger waver, but the ache in your chest lingered. “How do I know you won’t hurt me again?”

He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small, folded piece of paper. Unfolding it, you saw it was a sketch he’d drawn—a crude but heartfelt portrait of you.

“I keep this with me,” he whispered. “Every day. To remind me of who I’m fighting for. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving to you that you’re not just anyone. Please… let me.”

The raw emotion in his voice broke through the walls you’d built. Slowly, you knelt before him, meeting his gaze.

“Sanji,” you said softly, “don’t ever keep something like that from me again.”

He nodded fervently, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I swear, I won’t. I’ll do better. For you, always.”

You let him pull you into his arms, and for the first time since this whole mess began, the storm between you started to calm.

Because despite everything, you knew Sanji’s love was as boundless as the sea he sailed.

[ps-cactus]

Shades of Silver Lining - Ch. 4 - posted ✅

Ch.3 <- | Ch.5 (coming soon) the first post aka story teaser + tags

word count: 4135 ✨ [ AO3 ] ✨ [ Wattpad ]

photos by @acslytherpuff girl you are amazing 💕

Thank you @accio-bagel for beta reading and encouragement 😭💖 love you 3000

a/n: Welcome to the other side ✨ Unreliable narrator✨ ! author's opinion ≠ narrator's pls I mean it

Summary: It's the only chapter there will be from an Antagonist aka Officer Roland Foster POV. He he doesn't trust people. Especially he doesn't trust a girl recklessly wielding the wild and destructive magic. And he despises the Gaunts, including that Gaunt boy, who thinks he's being clever with his defiance masquerading as wit. And he can't stand that stubborn and incompetent Ruth Singer.

a/n2: oh, and the next chapter will be Ominis POV. Boy has to go home to try to settle some things.

・・・

The officer’s eyes darted restlessly over the lines, ensuring the enchanted quill hadn't missed any details.

" … Why didn’t you contact the Aurors yesterday, Miss Salters?"

"People were already being threatened around here not so long ago. Contacting Aurors didn’t help. But Sebastian did. … " 

“... … you would entrust your safety to a schoolkid?”

"Yes, I would." 

"And how has that worked out for you, Miss Salters?"

The faintest smirk played in the corner of his lips. Sallow must enjoy regaling his peers with tales of his supposed importance here. Officer Foster didn’t mind. Though an unconventional addition to the office, his trainee was bound to be exceptionally helpful in so many ways.

・・・

This morning, right after Salters stepped out of his private office, was supposed to be the best chance to probe the youngest Gaunt for answers while they were still untouched and unrefined. The brief private conversation—not an interrogation, of course, that would have required too many formalities—had been fruitless, a combination of polished deflections, vague acknowledgements, and no actionable leads. 

The Gaunt boy’s posture, his deliberate pauses, even his final “Officer” and a curt nod as he left—all was too calculated. That kind of control didn’t come naturally; it was learned and practised.

・・・

Roland Foster slid his hand into his jacket pocket, brushing against the medallion he always kept with him. The faded portraits within would forever remind him of the danger posed by magic that strayed too far from the ordinary. Norms existed for a reason—everything beyond them would lead only to ruin.

・・・

“Tell me, you’re sure she remained in the castle the entire night?”

“Yes, sir.” Rexley’s patience in calmly repeating answers to Foster’s questions, as often as the latter required, was one of his finer traits. “She returned early and stayed there until Dinah Hecat escorted her here.”

・・・

“The Gaunts, yet again,” Rexley remarked grimly, gripping the letter. 

“You’re telling me.”

“Officer,” Rexley said, looking thoughtfully at the letter. “I’ve heard you want to investigate everyone who was in Hogsmeade last night. But with Bell’s absence still unresolved, I’d suggest it’s only fair to include Aurors in that ‘everyone.’”

“That’s exactly what’s going to happen, Rexley. But maybe you are implying something specific?”

“Merely that Singer’s squad appears rather prejudiced against the local criminals,” Rexley said, leaning slightly over the desk, eagerness sparkling in his hazel eyes. “After all, Bell is among her team. Naturally, we’ll include our people, too, so they can’t object,” he added, straightening again. 

“How about we start with you then, Rex?” Foster said with a grin, looking up from the second letter he was hurriedly writing. “Set the standard for the rest.”

“Not an issue, sir,” Rexley replied, mirroring the grin. “You know exactly what my wand’s results will be. Just make sure the others don’t get overly anxious.”

・・・

P.S greatly inspired by:

[thewhumpcaretaker]

Well here I am ehehehe >:]

Santino having a breakdown and he breaks stuff around him, whatever he grabs and well accidentally hurt himself. John tries to calm him down and help him AGHH JOHN GET YOUR MAN HE IS HAVING A BREAKDOWN

Just get everything sharp or that can break away from him when he's like that, see what happens 😭

Hello hello! I’ve been thinking about this scenario all the time, ever since your asks for “Salt in the Wound” and “A Slap from a Saint”!! I made it really sad, like those fics.

🖤💙 The Boy in the Picture Frame 💙🖤

TW: panic attack, crying, accidental self-harm, blood, past physical and emotional abuse by a parent, discussion of disownment

John had spent all afternoon texting, in between pacing around his living room. He was trying to keep his lover talking - giving in to his flirting and doing anything possible to make him laugh. Santino was upset by a mistake he'd made the day before during negotiations with a Ruska Roma representative. The man had tricked him into boasting about the ferocity of his forces, revealing critical information about how security operated for the Camorra in New York. It was a rookie mistake, made because he was running on high emotions and little sleep, and Santino was taking it hard. It could mean punishment from the Camorra.

So, when John looked down at the screen and saw, "I'm sorry I just can't keep talking right now. Something came up, but don't worry," he froze.

Was it too much to call? Santino probably just wanted to be alone, and if that was the case, he'd be annoyed. But...well, better annoyed than hurt if things were really bad.

The shaky voice on the other end did nothing to encourage him. "John, please. I have someone on the other line. I just...he's really angry with me."

"Who? ...Your father?"

"I can't - I...." He switched to the other call again and was gone.

Suddenly, John found himself in his car and found that the speed limit was a mere suggestion.

They didn't live so far apart - Santino had chosen an apartment close to his boyfriend on purpose, and even gave him a second key. But by the time he burst through the door, it was already too late to stop Santino from getting hurt. John made his way through a trashed living room, stepping around overturned chairs and over glass from a broken picture frame, and calling Santino's name without any response.

He noticed, with a bittersweet twinge in his heart, that their photo together from Santino's birthday at the beach was the one thing that seemed untouched. Santino had chosen instead to destroy a family portrait, including both his parents, a young Gianna, and his own chubby face at four years old. Looking more closely, John noticed a smear of blood across the edge of the frame. He had torn out the picture, heedless of the jagged glass, and ripped the image in half...straight through little Santino.

A muffled, wounded sound in the bathroom distracted John from the horrible sympathy that was threatening to crush his ribcage. "Santino?" He ran to the bathroom door. It was unlocked and there, finally, was his lover - although the sight of him couldn't be called a relief. He was sitting on the ground against the wall with alarming red droplets glistening all around him and a messy bandage trailing from his hand. The only reason he wasn't actively sobbing seemed to be the shock of John's sudden entrance.

"What - John?"

John dropped to his side, not knowing what to say. He felt huge in that room, as if he might crush Santino further. His hands hovered over Santino's shoulders, wondering whether it was okay to touch him, before Santino just collapsed against his chest and started crying even harder.

"Thank you," he managed after a few minutes. "Thank you for coming. And look at the thanks you get in return... I got blood all over your shirt." He laughed hollowly.

"It's okay." John took his half-bandaged hand and felt him wince. "Sorry." He started unraveling the gauze. It was a pretty deep cut in Santino's palm, probably from grabbing carelessly at the broken picture frame. At least it didn't look bad enough to need stitches, but Santino was incredibly tense at every touch.

"You don't have to do that. I can do it myself."

"I know. But I don't want you to have to do that anymore." They'd talked about this - how it brought back bad memories for Santino to treat his wounds alone, as he'd had to do in childhood.

"I'm sorry, John. I was so stupid."

"No." That was all, a simple rejection of the very idea that any of this was Santino's fault. John didn't trust himself to say more without getting angry - not even remotely at Santino, but at all the people who had failed him throughout his life. He kissed the finished bandage and then looked up at Santino's anguished, watery eyes. "Do you have another copy of that picture?"

Santino hesitated. "It's on a flash drive. I think Gianna has it. But I don't want it anymore. I think..." He took a deep breath, on the verge of saying something crucial. "I think I'm not a part of my family anymore."

"What? What do you mean?"

"Well...my father asked me to come back to Italy. He said I'm failing out here in New York, and he wants me to come back immediately. And I'm not doing that. Fuck him." He laughed, and it wasn't so hollow this time.

John couldn't help grinning. "Good."

"Good? That's all?" Another laugh. John could feel him getting stronger in his arms. More at ease. "You really never say anything, even at a time like this. I'm still getting used to it."

John thought for a moment. "No, it's not all. I want to know why you ripped through the picture of your own face instead of theirs."

He tensed up again. A long time passed before he spoke, but John had promised never to judge him. Always to listen. So, finally, he extended some trust. "I fucked everything up. I was broken from the start. I was weak. That's why he..."

Again, "No."

A mocking reply, dripping with stubborn, defensive sarcasm, "Yes." John could hear the wavering undertone. Really? Do you promise? Say it again.

"No. You were hurt. It's not on you. They lost you and not the other way around."

The reassurance was too much for Santino and he crumpled against John's chest again. For a while, John held him, listening to his sobs and to the dripping sink. In his rush to try to patch himself up, he must not have shut it off properly. He must have been struggling. John wove his fingers deeper into his hair, trying to massage self-love straight into his brain.

"Do you think Gianna will still talk to you?"

He huffed and pulled back again, tired but finally calm. "...Maybe. In secret. Who cares?"

"Well, I still want you to get a copy of that picture if you can."

"Why?"

"I want to cut out the little Santino and frame him by himself, for my mantlepiece. He was the good part. You are the good part. Not the rest of them."

[succumbtothenightmare]

Arranged-nineteen

credit to whoever made the gif. found on google/pintrest.

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: language, smut, angst, fluff, mentions of death.

Summary: Reader would do anything to make her parents happy and that included agreeing to an arranged marriage. She never expected it to be to one of New York's most feared Mob Boss: Bucky Barnes. He is anything but loving towards Reader however when her parents are mysteriously killed, Bucky makes it his mission to find out who were at fault. And in the process, ends up coming close to losing Reader.

Authors Note: So I think I have an idea for a new mob!bucky barnes story. I might post the summary of it and if it sounds interesting to you all, I'll start it! There are probably a few chapters left of this one, just trying to decide on how to end it. Happy or sad. Who knows!

Tags(closed): @alexxavicry @mdpplgtz03 @broadwaybabe18 @samsgirl93 @cherryflavoureds-blog @findthebeautyinbreakdowns @capsgrantrogersclqrosmgc @loumaaria-blog @queerqueenlynn @pampeop @cjand10 @purplerain85 @savannahcole99 @evanstanhoney @sebastianstansqueen @portrait-ninja @honeyglee @saranghaey @almosttoopizza @lilya-petrichor @valsworldofcreativity @buckycallsmeaslut @romanoffjohansson @themayzittcha @sapphiredreamer26 @buckybarnessimpp @itjustkindahappenedreally @mavrellover91 @esoltis280 @playboystark @legendarytrashcopeclipse @pansexual-4-all @elizacusi-blog @dnc331 @tee-swizzle @lovsalpkn @yourfavunsub @madebylilly @cerberusmybeloved @lclove2012-blog @onelmstreetett @tesseract69 @monique2281 @wayward-gypsy @wholesomewhorelol @ozwriterchick @pono-pura-vida @bogwaterswamp @s0urw00lf @daydreaming-mood @maggiemae5 @big-heart-ninjasblog @alexa4040 @screaming-les-bean @loustan90 @buckys2lut​ @marnle @pattiemac1

Arranged Masterlist

The sound of gunfire echoed in my ears, loudly, and the gun clattered to the ground below. My eyes were wide with shock and despair at what had just happened. There was an intense pain shooting through my heart all the way down to my stomach as I looked at Bucky, who matched my own expression. 

“Doll?” His voice shook, tears filling his eyes. 

I blinked and tried to speak but failed. Words felt so foreign as I tried to say something, anything. 

Bucky’s gaze traveled low as he tried to understand what happened. Time seemed to have slowed down when, with shaky hands, I pressed them against my stomach. The warm liquid seeped through my fingers and when I pulled them away, I choked out a sob when I saw them covered in something dark red. 

Blood. 

The new hole in my stomach poured out blood as I locked eyes with Bucky, fear on my face. 

“Bucky?” My voice cracked. 

I collapsed in front of him and with quick hands, he had them wrapped around me in order to stop me from hitting the ground. 

“It’s okay, Y/N. I’ve got you,” he cooed while setting me down gently. 

He applied tight pressure to the bullet wound on my stomach and I hissed out in pain. 

“What happened?” 

I tried to talk but even that simple action caused a pain to shoot through the entirety of my stomach. As I looked up at Bucky, I noticed his eyes well up with tears and guilt filled me with what I was seconds away from doing. 

“I wasn’t-.” 

A painful cry erupted from my throat when Bucky pressed down harder on my stomach in hopes to stop me from losing more blood than I already had. 

“Just breathe, try not to talk.” Bucky said. 

My eyes squeezed shut and did what he ordered me to do; deep breath in, shaky breath out. I did this a few times hoping it would ease my rising fear of dying that filled me. 

Suddenly, Bucky was knocked away from me, John straddling him. He began laying his fists into Bucky’s face, who was unable to protect himself because he had been caught off guard. 

“Fuck!” I cursed as I tried to sit up in order to help Bucky. 

Anytime I tried to move, more blood would pool into my hands so in defeat, I leaned up against the wall and watched with broken gaze as John continued to lay fist after fist into Bucky’s face. 

That was until Bucky wrapped his legs around John’s waist, rolling him onto his back and now Bucky had the upper hand, slamming his vibranium fist into John’s face, stomach, neck, anywhere he could. 

I pulled my hand away and grimaced at how stained it was, the smell of copper filling my senses, and I silently prayed with closed eyes to whatever Gods would listen to not die. 

“She’s so in love with you that she couldn’t even shoot you. Even after all of the lies you told her.” 

Through lidded eyes, I noticed John was laying on the ground, broken, and Bucky was standing over him. The gun in his hand grabbed my attention right away. 

“So you fucking shoot her?” Bucky seethed, laying a bone cracking punch to his cheek.

John spat out some blood. “The serum will heal her soon, you know that.” 

The serum.

Even with the rage I felt for being injected with it, I was somewhat thankful for it at this moment knowing that I wasn’t going to die. 

Right?

Bucky cocked the gun. “What gave you the right to inject her with it? She didn’t want it!” 

“I think we both know that you were going to do it to her anyway. I simply rushed the process,” John chuckled. 

My heart slammed in my chest at John’s words and as Bucky locked his gaze with my own, he rapidly shook his head. 

“That was never going to happen, Y/N.” 

I licked my dry lips and rested my head against the wall, the pain of being shot almost doubled, not letting up anytime soon. My entire body throbbed in tangent with my heart, I could hear the beat of it in my ears. 

“I don’t care anymore,” I breathed. 

Bucky moved his attention back to John and with a swift kick to his stomach, John choked on his own blood. The gun was pressed hard into the side of his skull, Bucky leaning on his knees. 

“Bucky,” I choked. 

He ignored me, almost as if he knew what I was going to say. 

With a deep breath, I put more pressure on my wound while getting to my knees, then my feet. I stumbled a little, becoming a bit lightheaded, but reached for Bucky. 

“Bucky,” I repeated. “Give me the gun.” 

The gun shook in his hand as his bottom lip trembled with hatred the longer he started at John, not pulling the trigger. He shook his head, refusing my request. 

“He deserves to die, Y/N.” 

I nodded. “I know. But I want to be the one to pull the trigger.” 

Bucky took his eyes off of John and shook his head towards me. “No!” 

His face had been cut and bloody from his fight with John but I could see the way it broke at the mere image of me killing someone. 

Tears fell from my eyes and with one hand on my wound, I extended the other one towards him. “Please. I need to do this.” 

He wanted to fight with me on this but in the end he knew that I wouldn’t stop until I got what I wanted; and that was John dead. 

With a soft sigh, Bucky reluctantly placed the gun in my hand. 

“You won’t be able to do it, Y/N. It’s not who you are,” John said while kneeling in front of me. “You’re not a killer.” 

I chuckled dryly with a darkness I never felt before filled my veins. I chalked it up to the serum.  “I thought the same thing about you.” 

Bucky stood behind me, a silent metaphor of always having my back, no matter what came my way. I could feel his hot breath on the back of my neck as he asked one more time if I was sure about this. 

With the gun raised, pointed in the middle of John’s forehead, I gave bucky his answer by pulling the trigger. John’s body fell to the ground in a heap and I let the gun fall on top of him. 

I thought that I would have felt relieved and happy that my parents' killer was finally found and justice was served. However, I felt disgusted and my body shivered with how dirty I felt. My skin crawled with the knowledge that I had taken someone’s life. This wasn’t legal, I had committed a crime but knowing the circumstances of what happened tonight, there was no way I would get in trouble for this. 

But with being married to Bucky, I knew that the body would be gone before anyone could even question what happened to John. 

Vibranium fingers brushed against mine, bringing me back from the darkness that took over, and I gave Bucky a sad look. 

“You don’t feel any better, do you?” He asked. 

I shook my head with tears in my eyes. “I feel worse.” 

“Let’s get you home,” Bucky suggested while trying to link our hands together. 

Even with everything that just happened, I didn’t forget about how he knew about the deal between our dads in more detail that he led on. He only saw me as a cash in, someone to have when he needed a warm body to lie next to. I refused to allow myself to be lied to anymore. I deserved to have someone that felt the same and wanted me because they loved me. 

I was in love with Bucky but he wasn’t in love with me. Because of that, I was ready to walk away from everything.

My free hand clutched the wall to steady myself when I felt the room beginning to spin. I could feel all the color drain from my body as my eyes rolled to the back of my head, darkness and death yanking me into its abyss.

[larkingame]

hello folks! I hope that January has treated you all well and that the beginning of 2024 has been kind to you so far. welcome to the second public update for larkin's monthly development of 2024! 

Personally, January seemed to fly by for me, and while it did provide a lot of time for work, it also posed some challenges and taught me a few things. The first of which, is the fact that the new Larkin is a //big// undertaking, bigger than I think even I realized when I first set out on this journey. While turning Larkin into an RPG, with dice rolls, stat checks and the like is a decision that I'm still very happy with and proud of my progress on--it's going slower than I'd necessarily like. To illustrate this to you, the prologue of Larkin currently sits at about 55k words, while the original twine prologue was at just about 21k words in it's complete scope. The big difference there being, in those original 21k words I managed to get the plot moving and the Preacher and Wyatt on their way to Nevada, but in the time that I've been working on the RPG version of Larkin, I've only just about gotten finished with the first major encounter. It's slow going, and I'm working really hard to ramp up the production speed--adjusting my schedule to wake up at 5:00 am to work for a few hours before work and school, and then coming home and working on larkin until about 1:30 am (as much I hate this fact, I //do// in fact need //some// sleep.) Even with all of my free time dedicated to work on Larkin or catching those few precious hours of sleep, I'm still not entirely happy with the speed at which I'm working on it--and I'm still experimenting to try and figure out what works best that helps me produce quality work with a quick turn-around. 

That being said, one of my new systems I've implemented to try and alleviate my production stress is that I've started dropping two updates to the game every week. The first update comes on Thursdays and is called what I've dubbed a 'Bulk' Update, it essentially builds on the choices/routes that have already been presented to the player, giving you room to explore your environment/develop your character compared to the Sunday 'Streamline' Update, that furthers along the plot of the story. Later tonight I'll be posting an update roadmap for the month of February on Patreon. 

Other brief updates about the progress of the game. For one, I've been working with two artists—one who is producing some art that'll be used as future patreon physical rewards and another who's putting together portraits of all the game's main characters that I am. Sickeningly excited about, considering that this artist is my current favorite working artist of all time. In total there's going to be sixteen character portraits that you'll be able to unlock throughout the course of the game, with slight variations depending on our relationship with that character. Other than that, me and my assistant Phillip are in the process of really trying to build a bigger social media presence for Larkin, so we'll be launching twitter/threads/bluesky/instagram and editing the tiktok pages for Larkin, that I'll drop in a card later tonight as well. I’ve also introduced another patreon tier of $1 for those of you who are wanting more consistent updates on the game development on Patreon!

STATS: 

PROLOGUE WORDCOUNT: 55, 750 words

ROUTE TRACKER: 1.5/11

PROLOGUE WORDCOUNT GOAL: 150k

[lulublack90]

Prompt 15 - Smart

@jegulus-microfic August 15, Word count 744

Previous part First Wolfstar part

Regulus can’t believe he didn’t think of it himself. He was in Slytherin after all. He'd seen that portrait nearly every day for seven years and yet a Gryffindor had come up with the incredibly smart idea of asking the portrait of one of the most famous wizards in Britain for help with the locket. 

“When can we go?” Regulus says excitedly. If he had been his brother, he’d have been jumping off the walls by now, but luckily he wasn’t and had more decorum than to run amok like Sirius would have. 

“I need to get a message to Dumbledore so he knows I’m coming.” James scratched his head as he thought. He pulled out his wand and was about to recite the enchantment when Regulus interrupted him. 

“What do you mean you? We’re both going. You are not leaving me here with Flitsy,” Regulus argued. If James Potter thought he could go waltzing off and take all the glory for himself. 

“Love,” James started gently. Regulus steeled himself, ready for whatever lame excuse James was about to try him with. “Everyone thinks you’re dead. You’re only safe while everyone keeps believing that. The second Voldemort finds out you’re still walking about, he’ll stop at nothing to get to you.”

“I can take care of myself,” Regulus scoffed, folding his arms across his chest and turning his head petulantly. 

“Against someone who’s basically immortal?” James questioned, his eyebrow raised. Regulus sighed. He had a point. 

“But Salazar's more likely to give information to me. Isn’t there a way for me to get in without Dumbledore or any of the professors needing to know I’m there?” He asked, his mind already sifting through all the possible spells he could use. James groaned, which made him look up. It was an exasperated groan, something Regulus had never heard from James. James dragged his hand down his face and groaned again. 

“I have a way that will keep you hidden better than any spell.”

“You’d better not be about to transfigure me into a mouse or something,” Regulus warned, pointing his finger at him. James huffed out a laugh. 

“No, love, something far better than that. But you have to promise me you won’t tell anyone about it.” Regulus agreed instantly. He was intrigued by what James could possibly have that could fool the protection spells surrounding the castle. 

“Accio, cloak!” James called into the house, pointing his wand in the direction of his bedroom. Something silvery floated across the room like a partially hidden ghost. But when it landed in James’s hand, Regulus couldn’t see it any more. “This is one of the things that made the marauders so successful at getting up to mischief while we were at school,” James said before he disappeared. He was standing there one second, making his speech, and then he'd vanished. Regulus blinked hard, looking around the room to see where he’d gone. 

“James?” He asked the empty room. 

“Yes, love,” James’s voice came from behind him, startling Regulus. He jumped and spun on the spot to see nothing but thin air. 

“Where are you?” He said suspiciously. 

“Right here, love,” James’s arms were around his waist, pulling him under a heavy cloak. It clicked then what James had in his possession. 

“An invisibility cloak,” Regulus said in awe, reaching out and running his fingers over the fabric. “Where did you get this?”

“Family heirloom passed down over the years. I’ve no idea where they got it, but it’s mine now.” Regulus could hear the smugness in James’s voice. 

“And this will get me in and out of Hogwarts undetected?”

“Yup,” James popped his p. 

James took the cloak off of them and carefully folded it. He raised his wand again. “Expecto Patronum!” He called, casting the patronus charm. Regulus took a step back as the giant silver-blue stag erupted from the tip of James’s wand. The great beast bowed his head to them, his antlers dipping to eye level. “Tell Dumbledore that I need to come to the castle. It’s of the utmost importance. I need access to the Slytherin Common room as soon as possible,” James finished his message and the stag raced from the room on its way north to Scotland. “Here, you’ll need this as soon as we get the okay,” James said, holding out the invisibility cloak. Regulus took it with trembling fingers. This was it. The fight against Voldemort had truely begun.

Next part

[rubyreduji]

charcoal stained hands — wjh

summary: jun falls in love on a tuesday afternoon in an art studio

tags: fluff, college!au, artist!reader, gn!reader wc: 3.1k an: perpetuating the sexy artist trope im sorry. also i apparently don’t know how to characterize jun so if it’s off don’t tell me

Jun’s never been inside the art building before. He’s not really the artsy type so he’s never had a reason to, but now he’s gotten himself a bit lost as he wanders around the building looking for his best friend.

The art building is huge with multiple floors and lots of long winding hallways that lead to nowhere. Not to mention the countless number of studios that Minghao could be hiding out in. This could take him all day just to find one person. 

Jun turns the corner and walks right into a drawing studio. The room has a high ceiling and there’s easels and stools all over the room. There’s only one person occupying the room.

You sit on a stool, frowning at a half filled piece of paper. There’s black charcoal all over your hands and up your arms and smeared across your jeans. The drawing itself looks to be a portrait of someone, but it hasn’t taken enough from yet for Jun to guess who it is. 

You turn when you hear someone approaching and Jun has to take a moment to take all of you in. Jun’s never been someone who believes in love at first sight, but he just might now. You’re probably the most beautiful person Jun has ever seen in his life, and he’s friends with Jeonghan.

Everything about you is perfect from your facial features to the style of your hair to the clothes you’re wearing. It wouldn’t surprise Jun if a glowing halo just appeared atop your head.

“Oh, hi.” Even your voice is pretty. “Are you looking for something?”

It takes Jun a few more seconds to realize you’re talking to him. “Uh, more like someone. Would you possibly happen to know where Xu Minghao is?”

“Minghao…Minghao…”

“You might know him as Myungho?”

“Oh Myungho! Yes, I actually do know where he is. Here let me show you, it’s easy to get lost in this building.” Jun doesn’t have the heart to tell you he’s already lost just standing in this room.

You jump up from where you are sitting and quickly wipe your hands off on a towel sitting on your easel. Your hands are still covered in the black pigment but it doesn’t seem to phase you as you make your way out of the room, Jun following behind you.

“I haven’t seen you around the art building before. Are you new?”

“No, I’m a second year, I’ve just never made my way into the art building before. I’m usually over in the dance studios,” Jun explains.

“Oh, the dance studios? Do you and Myungho dance together?”

“Yeah we do, but we go way back. He’s my best friend.”

“Oh, you’re Jun!” You turn around to look at Jun directly, your face lighting up. Jun flushes from how pretty your smile is. “Myungho talks about you all the time. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

You two walk for a bit more in silence before Jun starts another conversation. “So, are you an art major?”

“Yep! I love art, all kinds of it. Thankfully I’m pretty good at it as well,” you giggle. “Are you a dance major or is it just a hobby?”

“I’m a dance major. Being a dancer is the only thing I’ve wanted ever since I was little.”

“Wow, that’s so cool. I’ll have to come see you and Myungho dance sometime. I love dance, but that’s one art form I personally do not excel at. Oh, speaking of Myungho, here we are! He should be right in there.” You lift your hand to point into the studio but you accidentally brush Jun’s hand while you do, rubbing charcoal dust onto Jun’s skin. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry!”

“Don’t worry about it, it’ll wash off,” Jun reassures you, more focused on the tingling sensation your touch left rather than the black marks it left. “Thank you for guiding me here though.”

“Of course! See you around Jun!” With that you head back off to where you came from and Jun heads into the studio you lead him too, his mind still flooded with thoughts of you.

Just like you said, Minghao is standing at a canvas, glaring at it. It’s blank except for two small blue marks that look like Minghao tried to wipe them off with his hand.

“Minghao,” Jun approaches the younger boy.”

“Jun,” Minghao says when he turns to face his friend. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been texting you all afternoon and you never responded so I decided to come find you.”

“What did you need?”

“That’s not important anymore, I need you to tell me who this person was.”

Jun describes you to Minghao who takes a moment to contemplate who Jun may be talking about. “Ah, you’re thinking of Y/N. Why? Did you meet them?”

Once Minghao says the name it clicks in Jun’s mind who you are. Like Minghao has talked about Jun to you, he’s talked about you to Jun. Minghao has mentioned a couple times of how you’re some art prodigy who practically lives in the art building. Minghao has been lucky to get close to you as it seems that as friendly as you are, you don’t have very many friends.

Minghao assumes it’s because almost everyone in the art department is obsessed with you, desperate to gain your attention. Jun can see why now. He figured it was just to trade art tips or to get close to someone who is the professors’ favorite, which might actually be a part of it, but it’s not unlikely there are ulterior motives as well. 

“Yeah they showed me to this room. You never told me they’re gorgeous.”

Minghao rolls his eyes. “I didn’t know that was something I had to state. C’mon, don’t be like all the other jerks who inhabit this place.”

“I’m not trying to be! I’m just saying that they’re very attractive. And nice.”

“I know that. If you remember, they’re my friend, not yours. Now what did you actually need me for?”

“Hoshi is calling an emergency dance crew meeting.”

Minghao just sighs and moves to put away his art supplies.

Your existence in Jun’s mind has waived for the time being until he walks into dance practice one day and there you’re standing, talking to Hoshi and Minghao. Jun hesitantly approached the group, a bit nervous to be in your presence again. You don’t seem nervous to be around Jun though as you shoot him a giant smile.

“Jun! Hi. Soonyoung is allowing me to sit in on practice so I can work on drawing figures in action.” You point over to a folding chair in the corner where a sketchbook and a pencil bag sit. “Don’t worry, I won’t be in the way. It’ll be like I’m not even here.”

You move over to where you’re stationed and Hoshi starts to lead stretches. Jun can’t help but keep taking glances over at you. Despite being the one performing, you’re wildly more interesting in this moment.

Jun studies the way your eyes flit over his and the other’s forms, dissecting every move made. Concentration has settled into your face and Jun doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone be beautiful while being serious. There are moments where you chew at your lip, like you’re contemplating your next move, before you make a mark on your page. Your eyes stay on the bodies in front of you, more than the page you’re drawing on. It’s like your eyes are laser focused on the dancers, not wanting to miss a single move.

At some point Jun comes to the realization that you’re also performing your own kind of dance, choreographed between you and your paper. Your arm and wrist move fluidly, creating swift and smooth marks on the paper. Just as much detail goes into your drawing as it goes into Jun’s movements. It makes him think about how you called dancing a form of art. You are aware of all the time and effort that goes into a performance because you put the same amount of time and effort into your pieces.

Practice is over before Jun knows it and he realizes that he spent the whole time staring at you rather than actually doing what he was supposed to. He can’t do anything about it now other than hope for forgiveness from Hoshi.

After Jun is done packing up his things he walks over to you where you’re still adding finishing touches to your work. You look up when Jun stops next to you. He looks down at your page and is amazed to see all of the figures filled on your page. Your drawings are as fluid as the dance moves they were performing and Jun doesn’t think he’s ever seen a sketch that so perfectly communicates what was happening in real life. 

“Wow Y/N, your work is incredible,” Jun tells you.

“Oh, thank you. They’re not my best though. I was so entranced by you guys dancing. You guys are amazing, I could barely look away,” you gush. “I love the way you move in particular. Your limbs are just so long they move so smoothly. I’d honestly love to do a study on you and draw you more. Sorry if that’s weird. Sometimes art takes over my brain before I can think before I speak.”

“No, that’s not weird at all. I’d be honored to be drawn by you. I’m not kidding when I said our work is incredible.”

“Would you actually let me draw you?” Your face lights up at the proposition.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Oh my god, that would be amazing! Here let me give you my number and we can coordinate times to meet up and discuss more.” You quickly scribble your phone number down on the corner of your sketchbook and rip it off to hand to Jun. Just like before your hands are covered in your art medium (graphite this time) with some of it even rubbing off on the paper you’re holding out to Jun.

Jun takes it and tries not to be too excited to receive the piece of paper. You quickly bid your goodbyes and Jun thinks about how quickly he can text you without it being weird.

You two decided to meet up later in the week back in the painting studio. You’re already there when Jun walks in. Your supplies are all laid out and it seems you’ve already applied an underpainting on your canvas.

You light up when you see your model walk into the room. “Jun! Yay, I’m glad you didn’t get lost getting here. I was thinking that you could just pose here for me. I just love your body, your limbs are beautiful. Just spread out, something dynamic, yeah?”

You’re nearly rambling as you talk but Jun just goes along with it. He moves to the center of the room where there’s a small platform. He steps onto it and looks back at you to make sure he’s doing it right. You help guide him into a pose that’s both visually pleasing and comfortable for Jun to hold.

“Not to be weird or anything, but you are really pretty. Just aesthetically attractive,” you say to him as you start to sketch out his figure.

“O-oh, thanks.” Jun’s face starts to heat up. He hopes you don’t notice. “I uhm, think you’re pretty too. You and your art.”

You laugh a bit. “The art probably more so, but thank you.”

You and Jun continue to make conversation while you lay your pigments down on the canvas in bold, confident strokes with your brush. Outside of being drop dead gorgeous, you’re also just a genuinely nice person to be around. The conversation flows well between you and Jun and it seems you guys even have the same sense of humor.

“Here, you probably need a break. Let’s order lunch, yeah? On me.” You set your paint brush down. You pick up your phone to look up nearby restaurants. “Hmm. Or, I know this place close by. We could go and get lunch and get out of the studio all together.”

“Yeah, that would be nice,” Jun says as he internally freaks out a bit. It’s obviously not a date, you’re just being nice, but still it makes him giddy and slightly flustered.

You gather your things and start out the door, Jun following behind you. As you walk Jun glances over at you and smiles a bit. There’s something endearing about how whenever you’re creating art you make a mess. It’s all a part of the process and Jun thinks that it would honestly be weird to see your hands not covered in some kind of medium. There are paint splotches all over your hands and arms and Jun can’t tell if you don’t notice them or just don’t care. Maybe it’s both.

The walk to the spot you were talking about isn’t long and you buy both you and Jun a sandwich.

“Thanks for doing this for me. I know you probably didn’t plan on spending the whole day with me.”

“It’s okay,” Jun reassures you, and he means it, “I like spending time with you.”

You smile at Jun. “I like spending time with you too.”

Ever since the first time you worked on your painting of Jun you guys have been spending more time together, whether it’s to work on art, or just enjoy each other’s presence. Your painting of Jun still isn’t finished but you don’t seem to be in any rush and Jun enjoys being your ‘muse’ as you call him.

You and Jun are hanging out together in the painting studio when Minghao walks in. He rolls his eyes at the sight of you two.

“You know Y/N was my friend first,” Minghao complains as he approaches you guys. 

“It’s not my fault they enjoy my company more,” Jun shrugs.

“Hey, I enjoy you both!” You interject. 

“But I’m your favorite, right?” Jun looks over at you.

“You would just love that, wouldn’t you Jun?” Minghao teases. Jun’s crush on you hasn’t gone away and Minghao knows that. He never misses a chance to make a dig at Jun for it.

“It’s not my fault you won’t model for me,” you say to Minghao, ignoring the comments both boys just made. “Jun here at least appreciates my art.”

“I appreciate your art and you know I do.” Minghao rolls his eyes.

“Sure, sure,” you sigh dramatically. “At least I still have Junhui.” You drape yourself over Jun with false despair. Minghao doesn’t seem to appreciate your dramatics but Jun lets out a chuckle. “See, he also appreciates my humor.” 

Minghao ignores you. “I’m just here to grab the coat I left earlier. Make sure to go wash your hands when you’re done Y/N, there’s still ink all over the keys to the printmaking studio.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter, not caring to listen to Minghao’s advice. Minghao just sighs and makes his exit. “He just can’t appreciate good art making techniques.”

“I like how you get messy when you make your art. It’s cute.”

“Aww thanks Jun. I just don’t have time to be neat about it and it makes it more fun! It's like I’m a part of the art piece as well. If you can’t get a little messy while making art then what’s the point?”

“You really are something amazing L/N Y/N,” Jun says.

“I think you’re talking about yourself there, Moon Junhui. Have you seen yourself dance? It’s beautiful.” Your voice softens a bit as you look at Jun in the eyes. “You’re beautiful.”

“Y/N?”

“Will you go out with me?” The words leave your mouth in a whisper. You’re still staring into Jun’s eyes, your face painted with worry.

“I- uh, yes!” God Jun wishes he was cool. “Wait- wait, you like me? You like me back? You just asked me out?”

“Has it not been obvious?” You laugh a little bit. “Of course I like you, why do you think I spend so much time with you? I compliment you all the time.”

“I thought you were just being nice!”

“I don’t like people! Hasn’t Myungho told you that?” Now that Jun thinks about it, Minghao has told him that. Huh. Maybe Jun is just oblivious.

“I’ve liked you since I first saw you,” Jun admits, “sitting in that drawing studio with charcoal all over your hands. Ever since then I’ve been telling myself that you’d never like me back and here we are.”

“The moment I saw you dance I was gone for. Why do you think I’ve made you my muse?” Jun cannot believe this. “I don’t just call you attractive for no reason. You are very pretty Jun.”

“Minghao is never going to believe this,” Jun whispers and you laugh.

“Y/N-ah!” Jun comes barreling into the drawing studio. You’re sitting at a stool in front of a canvas, just like so many months ago when Jun first met you. You’re working on a charcoal drawing once again, this time it’s a self portrait.

There’s a mirror set up next to you and a scowl plastered on your actual face. You turn when you hear your boyfriend approaching and suddenly a smile spreads across your mouth. “Junnie!” You stand up and run over to your boyfriend.

You grab his face and press a kiss to his lips.

“Baby,” Jun laughs. “Your hands.”

You pull away and look at your hands as if you’re just now noticing the charcoal dust all over your fingertips. Jun’s not actually upset though as this is nearly a daily occurrence. You decide to make the best of it and take your thumb and swipe it against Jun’s cheek twice.

Jun moves over to the mirror to look at himself and see the small charcoal heart you’ve smeared onto his cheek. Jun turns back to you and kisses you again.

“So I called you here for a reason,” you say as you move around the room, grabbing a canvas sitting in the corner. “Look what I’ve finished.”

You turn the canvas around to reveal the painting of Jun you started the first time you two spent time together. The painting perfectly captures Jun’s atmosphere when he’s dancing. The painting is fluid and colorful and Jun can barely believe it’s him in the piece.

“Oh wow Y/N this is…stunning,” Jun says. 

“I’m pretty proud of it and I’m even more proud of what came out of it,” you say with a cheesy grin on your face.

“Oh you wanna kiss me so badly right now,” Jun teases. You don’t respond, just lean forward and press your lips to Jun’s cheek on the heart you made.

“Let’s go get lunch, yeah? We can talk about my next portrait of you.” You motion to grab Jun’s hand and Jun happily accepts, along with all of the charcoal stains that come with it.

taglist: @pandorashbox @leejihoonownsmyheart @soonhoonietrash @chaimi-yuta @embrace-themagic @kayleeshinee @coupsgyus @joonsytip @heyxxitsxxtay @synthetickitsune @chwecardcaptor @candidupped @dreamhannies @d0nghyck @niyizh @baldi-2 @wolfgurl2600-blog @enhacolor @noniestars @heavenly-mobo @sunnyteume @debsworld23 @m1nghaos @just-here-to-read-01 @blxckswxnxge @17kwans @jeanjacketjesus @x-veex @namjoonbaby @ovai @belladaises @todorokiskitten @jihoonliker @raevyng @valentxi @1694 @honeylovemoon

join my taglist: here!

[expatesque]

Monthly Recap - Nov

Second round of this, under the cut

Read

Mansfield Park, Jane Austen - Do not recommend, was decent in the start but a slog by the end. Fanny is the most insipid protagonist I’ve come across in Jane by a mile, truly wishing her the worst.

Death in the Clouds, Agatha Christie - a top notch Poirot, very fun and twisty.

The absolute drama around Yellow Bittern has been so jokes, Vittles as ever had a great take

Ann Helen Peterson on how to show up for friends (meh, some interesting suggestions, very American oriented) and whether the kids are too soft (oriented towards journalism but a good question to be asking in any industry).

So much about the last 6 months of the economy (tuned out for my gardening leave, now have to catch up).

Watched

This month included Halloween so we had Practical Magic (an absolute must watch for the season for me), Beetlejuice (first time watching, more entertaining than I thought it would be), and I Married a Witch (the second you see Veronica Lake in this you understand why someone would risk their eternal soul and stay married to her)

A lot of West Wing - election season always gets me back to here, one of the best shows ever

Drop Dead Gorgeous - a fun one for a wine-filled night in with a friend

A hungover binge of Man on the Inside - sweet and cute and sad, especially if you know people who've had memory issues.

I am continuing to watch Charmed at night before bed, which is low stakes and amusing enough. Also watching Vampire Diaries, which is terrible but great fun mainly because I live text my reactions to my friend who’s already seen it while I watch, so it’s really half a friendship exercise.

Did

Attended: The ballet! Saw Encounters: Four Contemporary Ballets at the Royal Opera House which was largely eh but (1) the Royal Opera House is amazing, worth seeing anything there for the venue (and esp the bar), alone, and (2) the final piece, The Statement by Crystal Pite, was absolutely mind-blowing, one of the best things I’ve seen in a long time.

Went to three V&A Young Patrons things: Portrait Miniatures handling session (v cool), opening party for the Great Mughals (v fun), private viewing of the Great Mughals (v good, see below).

Learned to: Use hot rollers. Really recommend, they're a super easy way to look way more polished and genuinely take <10 min start to finish. I used this tutorial (and can confirm the volumizing spray she talks about is very good).

Made new friends!: Ana I think is going to be a good one, maybe Parker too. And Beatrix is a perfect tennis friend, not sure if we'll graduate beyond that.

Revarnished my outdoor furniture: trying to help it survive this winter better than last.

A lot of soaking in oxygen bleach of towels, tea towels, stained shirts, etc: getting things into shape for when I go back to work.

Went to a Thursday singles event and went on a date off the back of that: event was scary and kinda meh but I met someone so, worth it.

Found someone to play tennis with during the week (and played twice outside of drills): a big accomplishment, she’s lovely and a good player and available the same kinds of times that I am. Jackpot.

Last Month’s Goals

☑️Use all class pass classes: Actually had to buy more passes, did a lot of F45 and Qigong this month.

☑️Read a book: see Read section above.

☑️New Recipes x4: (1) Confit Chicken Legs - so good and how amazing that they keep for months, (2) Rick Bayless Slow cooker mole - a really good mole recipe (available on YouTube) with a huge amount of depth for (relatively) little work, (3) Brazilian Stroganoff - made this for the Brazilian GP (I try to make themed food for every GP) and it was decent but not my fav and I’m unlikely to make again, (4) Not proper recipes but did a lot of making my own condiments and syrups, e.g. rosemary simple syrup, pickled chillis, slow roasted cherry tomatoes.

☑️Go to a new museum: The Wallace Collection, can’t believe I haven’t been before, it’s free and lovely. The Swing is actually very cool in person, I hadn’t realized how small it is. And the recently completed conservation is wonderful, the colors are really stunning. There’s also a nice cafe. Recommend!

☑️☑️Go to an Exhibition (x2): The Great Mughals at the V&A (very interesting, lots of little details, was glad to go to private viewing with two of the curators as that added a lot), Silk Roads at the BM (incredibly good but also incredibly packed. Try to go first thing in the morning). Note: This one means a major exhibition at a museum I’ve been to before.

☑️Go to the theater: See above, Did section.

🟧Crochet: Making progress, still want to get better about doing this more regularly at night.

❌Write More: Total fail here, need to reconsider how to prioritize this and figure out what the main blockages are.

❌Lay morning foundation: Also total fail on this, probably should reconsider what's realistic for these colder months.

☑️Budget: Barely, was tougher this month. I'm ready to have income coming back in.

🟧Memorize a poem (x2): okay really this is a fail but I had to memorize a rap for Russian class so I'm counting that as a half tick.

☑️Russian flashcards: This is going better and my vocab is improving.

🟧Screen time: Better but still not good. May need to think about how to cycle this through the week / month vs blanket bans/reductions.

🟧Job prep: Unlikely to have any interviews until Jan so this has slowed down but is in progress.

Next Month’s

Carrying Over

Use all class pass passes (I expect to use less because I got home for Xmas midway through the period)

Four two new recipes (shrinking this as I will be doing less regular cooking and more holiday cooking)

Read a book

Visit a new musuem

Go to an exhibition

Go to a show (off for this month, busy start to the month and then I’ll be home)

Crochet

Write more

Morning foundation

Budget

Memorize a poem

Russian flashcards

Screentime

Job/interview prep

New

Quality time with people at home (grandmama, gran and pa, Jack, parents, Grace, Anna, M&M)

[uzlolzu]

Every characters of yours feels so believable and real in the way the look

How do you go about creating them do you collect references first or do it entirely from imagination?

First off: Thank you!

I have far too much to say about character design, but I’ll try to keep it brief-ish and not answer ten other things in addition to your question.

It’s nearly always from imagination these days. Sometimes I look for photos if I’ve decided to draw a type of person I’m unfamiliar with and feel specifics are important, but I constantly try to expand my mental library so that I won’t have to find references. I pretty much live for character design and I have spent the last twenty-five years or so developing the skills I find useful for it. Perhaps my efforts weren’t very focused when I was nine, but the ambition to “make a better heroine” was there. So, I’ve read a large number of anatomy books and keep on reading new ones, I do studies, and I continuously question my tastes, experiences and go-tos to be able to grow past them – little by little. Still, I absolutely use references sometimes, just generally not for design purposes or to a particularly large extent when I work on illustrations. I mainly use them when I struggle with an angle (in which case I usually find a mirror or take a photo of myself) or when studying. I often consult my anatomy books, however, and the two anatomical models on my desk, Mr. Skeleton and Mr. Half skin-half exposed superficial muscles. (I won't show a picture, since I know many people find them nasty and I don't want to tag this post as nasty. But they're beautiful friends.)

Anyway. How do I actually go about it… When drawing? Well, I usually have a pretty good idea of a character’s personality before I pick up a pen. That’s important to me. If I don't have one already, I mostly start with a written description rather than anything visual. Just a few words, to get an idea. Those texts aren’t based on anything and usually not very detailed, but they have the essentials. Being able to describe someone for myself and work from there, instead of from a vague thought, helps me to start. After I have a clear picture in my head, I usually make either a painterly portrait or a number of small head sketches.

For example, this is my first picture of Tege:

And these are my first pictures of Liam:

...When that’s done and I’m happy with the restult, I’ll have a perfect reference for later pictures. Eventually I’ll have a bunch of pictures of a character that I can start second-guessing and slowly change to perfection. Maybe I’ll get there one day.

[redandbrown]

Swotty

(Swot: British/ Irish slang for nerd)

Rated: G

3rd Year

“Honestly, Ron. If you wouldn’t wait ‘til the last minute to study, your marks would be much higher,” Hermione chastised him leading the way into the common room.

Ron looked at Harry and rolled his eyes as Harry suppressed a grin.

“Well not all of us are as swotty as you, Hermione. Some of us actually struggle to learn this stuff.”

Hermione stopped abruptly and turned on her heel to face Ron. She did it so fast, Ron and Harry almost walked right into her.

“I do too, you know,” she said narrowing her eyes at him.

“What?” Ron asked confused.

“I struggle with it too, Ron. That’s why I study so much.”

“Oh bullocks,” Ron said, rolling his eyes at her again.

Harry raised his eyebrows in disbelief, but had the good sense to hold his tongue.

Hermione huffed in frustration. “I do, Ron! Everybody does when they first learn something. The only difference between you and me is the amount of practice I put into it. That’s all studying is - just reviewing and practicing what you have learned.”

Ron looked bemused. Harry looked down at the floor, clearly not wanting to get involved.

“Ok, Hermione. You’re not going to convince me you’re actually stupid, so just stop trying.”

“And you’re not going to convince me that you are either! I know you, Ronald Weasley. I’ve seen what you can do when you put your mind to it. Nobody in Gryffindor tower has ever beaten you at chess. Ever. And when you play Quidditch at the Burrow, you’re almost unbeatable as a goalie-

“-keeper-“ Harry corrected her rolling his eyes this time.

“-Yes, keeper,” Hermione said impatiently.

Ron was staring at her slack jawed and dazed, his ears turning redder by the second.

“My point is,” she said angrily. “You’re just lazy!”

And with that she turned on her heel again and headed for their favorite table.

Ron’s dazed look immediately morphed into anger as he followed her.

“Oi! I am not lazy! I just have more interests than drooling over a book all day!” He said pulling his chair out rather forcefully.

“Well you better learn to like books! O.W.L.S. will be here before you know it!”

Harry sighed and patiently listened to his friends bicker for another twenty minutes before settling down enough to start their homework.

***

6th Year

Ron leaned back in his chair and rubbed his face in exhaustion.

“I honestly can’t look at this book anymore.”

Hermione reached over the table and grabbed his wrist to read his watch.

“Harry still has another thirty minutes or so with Dumbledore. I really wanted to wait up for him. I guess we can find out what happened tomorrow. I’m getting pretty tired too,” she said with a yawn.

Ron pushed his seat away from the table and grabbed her hand.

“C’mon. Let’s head to the kitchens,” he said, pulling her up. “I want a sandwich before bed.”

“Ron,” she groaned. “It’s so late. And I’m not hungry.”

“Bullocks,” he said, using his hand on her back to guide her through the portrait hole. “You barely touched your dinner. You have to eat something.”

“But I hate disturbing the house elves,” she protested, even though she was following him down the stairs.

Ron snorted. “You only hate bothering them because you know they don’t like you.��

Hermione blushed. “Well who doesn’t want to be free anyways?!” She said defensively.

“House elves apparently,” Ron quipped. “Especially when you keep trying to free them against their will.”

Hermione’s blush deepened. “Well, I haven’t hidden clothes in the common room in ages,”she said quietly.

Ron bit back a grin, keeping his eyes focused on the corridor ahead. Most of the students were already in their houses, but prefects had a later curfew to allow for rounding.

A tall bloke with brown curly hair, Ravenclaw robes, and a prefect badge was coming up the hall towards them, smiling at Hermione.

“Hi, Hermione,” he said brightly ignoring Ron.

“Oh, hi,” she replied distractedly.

Ron scowled at him.

“Who the hell was that knobhead?” He asked annoyed.

Hermione’s head snapped up in surprise at his tone.

“That’s Murphy Jackson. He’s a Ravenclaw prefect. We met him on the train ride here, along with the other prefects. Don’t you remember?”

“No,” Ron said simply, still sounding annoyed.

“Well, you were there. We met him at the same time,” she insisted as they reached the giant portrait of the pear. Ron reached up and tickled it, making the door magically swing open.

“He looks a bit swotty to me. Bloke needs to get out more. I bet Percy would love him. What do you want to eat?” He asked as an eager little house elf approached.

“You think I’m swotty too,” Hermione said in a small voice. Ron turned to face her quickly. He had just requested two turkey sandwiches from the elf who was running away eagerly to fetch it for them.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Hermione!” He said quickly, watching her face intently. “You know I was just taking the mickey.”

Hermione wouldn’t meet his eyes. “Yes,” she said simply. “Cheers,” she added to the house elf who gleefully handed her a wrapped sandwich.

They walked back to the common room in an awkward silence. Hermione could feel Ron turning to look at her every few minutes, but she didn’t know what to say.

Finally Ron gently grabbed her arm to still her movements. He pulled her behind a tapestry of a very grumpy looking wizard sitting regally on the shoulder of a troll.

“Ron, what are you-

“Look Hermione, I didn’t mean anything by it. I like that you’re smart,” he said looking down at her imploringly. He was still holding her by the wrist and she felt his thumb start rubbing her skin in a comforting rhythm.

“Yes, well, I’m good with homework I suppose,” she sounded bitter even to her own ears. She still wasn’t looking at him.

Ron took a step forward and lifted her face toward him. “And figuring out Lupin was a werewolf in third year, and how a basilisk could roam Hogwarts undetected in second, and how to get out of devil’s snare alive. Harry and I would have died our first year if it wasn’t for you.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, and looked down at the floor. “Yeah that’s me the walking textbook.”

“Well, yeah,” Ron said. Hermione’s head snapped up to glare at him, and he had a mischievous look in his eye. “But I’d much rather look at you than a textbook.”

His ears turned red, but he didn’t look away.

“Roon!” Hermione complained, but she felt her cheeks heating up. Ron smirked at her and pulled her from behind the tapestry.

“C’mon,” he said “Harry’s bound to be back by now.”

And with that they headed back to Gryffindor Tower.

[httpseungmxn]

Painting Prince

Hwang Hyunjin x Reader(afab)

🍧🍬 - angst and fluff

Author's note: It took me a lot longer to write this than expected, I apologize for that. However, I did put a lot of work into this one and tried my hardest to sound as close to hyunjin as I could. I hope you all enjoy this one!

Warnings: Depression and anxiety are mentioned, reader starts to have a panic attack.

Triggers: N/A

You had gotten lost. Far away from the love of your life. One minute you had been telling him you wanted to look at a group of sculptures, and the next he was gone. You didn’t know what direction he had gone in, and panic began to set in. You never did have much luck when it came to being out in public. Due to your height, it was easy to get lost from your people.

This museum was rather packed due to an event they were having today. Normally you would try to avoid such big crowds and go the day after. However, Hyunjin just looked so happy when he spoke about watching the fireworks at night and exploring the lit up gardens. You could never say no to that beautiful face.

Now you were craving the thought of saying no to him. You should’ve known this was going to happen because it always did. That didn’t stop the tears from welling in your eyes.

Your hands get sweatier than usual, and every single sense heightened. You were absolutely petrified. Trying desperately to keep your breathing steady as you looked around for your boyfriend.

Checking all the exhibits nearby but seeing no sign of hyunjin. You couldn’t even smell his expensive cologne because there was just so many people around.

Bumping and shoving you around as you pushed against the crowd in the opposite direction. You had to get away from them before you lost it and passed out. You couldn’t ruin hyunjin’s day by doing that.

Noticing an empty space in front of a large portrait nobody paid any mind to. You stood there and stared at the painting while calming your breathing. The eyes of the man in the painting reminded you of Hyunjin’s beautiful siren ones.

Actually everything about this unknown man reminded you of him. From the beautiful white grin he held, to that gorgeous beauty mark near his eye. If you didn’t know this painting was from the 1600s, you would’ve mistaken this for a fan made art piece of your darling boyfriend.

Hearing someone calling your name brought your attention to behind you where your darling boyfriend was staring at you in relief. Immediately rushing to him and hugging him as tight as you could. Letting out a breath you seemed to be holding in for god knows how long. His voice brings you home and comforts you like it always did.

“ Jagiya, I’ve got you now. Don’t worry. “, looking at the photo behind you that you had been previously looking at, and grinning. A grin that you happened to notice and looked back behind you to see what he was looking at.

Smiling sheepishly, cheeks burning a bright red as you looked away from him quickly. “ Shut up. “. This is the shyest you had ever been in your life and all because your boyfriend caught you staring at a painting that looked identical to him. You didn’t care though, you were just glad to be with the man you loved most.

You hadn’t even realized it was dark outside until the loud bang of a firework broke out, stopping the loud chatter of the crowd for just a few seconds before they began to freak out over the colorful explosions.

Happily following your lover to a more secluded area that had a perfect view of the fireworks in the sky. Pressed close to hyunjin as you watched the beautiful fireworks light up the dark sky. This was paradise to you, this is exactly where you wanted to be. You would trade all the time in the world if you could just stay in this moment for the next ten minutes.

Looking up to stare into his eyes and immediately feeling yourself blush when you realized he had already been staring at you. Leaning up to press a short but loving kiss to his lips as the fireworks went off in the background. Pure bliss, that was the perfect description for how you were feeling as you kissed him.

Your painting prince.

—

Authors ending note; How'd we feel about this one? I was so nervous about this one because I feel like it can be really easy to mess up Hyunjin sometimes. I hope you all enjoyed this one though! Maybe I'll try hyunjin again in the near future! I'm working on a Choi San x Reader right now, but after that I'll be working on a part 2 to the I.N x reader fic! I think in the near future I'll post a Bang Chan x reader as well! So stick around and get ready for those 🫶

[eleanorfenyxwrites]

The Man From Y.I.L.I.N.G.

Chapter 8: "You Can Trust Me, I Swear"

--//--

SUITE 191 - 监理处 LUXURY RESORT

Jin Guangyao wakes abruptly, as per usual. He’s got a hand under the too-loose waist of his borrowed pajama bottoms to grab for the knife strapped to his thigh quicker than thought, because it’s far too early to be awake on his own which means something’s wrong, and he’d rather face it armed—

“Shh, it’s just me,” Xichen breathes, a restraining hand curling around his forearm. Jin Guangyao grips the hilt of his knife a little harder for a second before he lets go and exhales, a little unsteady. “I’m sorry I startled you, I just needed to move. Go back to sleep, it’s alright. I’ve got you.”

That shouldn’t be as soothing as it is. That shouldn’t make Jin Guangyao’s eyes grow heavy again, it shouldn’t calm the rabbiting of his heart in his chest, it shouldn’t make him feel safe. He’s never safe.

Lan Xichen brushes his thumb back and forth against his forearm to match the steady rhythm of his breathing, and Jin Guangyao feels the heaviness of sleep dragging at his limbs again entirely without permission. He can’t remember the last time he was able to sleep with someone at his back, but Lan Xichen tucks up against him, a warm pressure from knee to shoulders, and Jin Guangyao falls asleep again between one stroke of Lan Xichen’s thumb and the next.

When he wakes again it’s because he’s suffocating, and when he grumbles and pushes at whatever it is that’s smushed up against his face it doesn’t budge an inch. He squints his eyes open against the sunlight coming in through the curtains to find himself staring at a patch of tightly-woven cotton, and when he jerks back it’s to find that said patch is in fact a very small part of the greater whole of Nie Mingjue’s white undershirt he’d worn as pajamas.

“Not a fuckin’ word, A-Yao,” Nie Mingjue mutters out of the corner of his mouth, eyes shut and face relaxed, looking for all the world like he’s still asleep. “Doesn’t count if ’s in our sleep.”

Jin Guangyao sits up — dislodging Nie Mingjue’s arm from around his shoulders in the process — and ruffles a hand through his hair with a yawn, looking blearily around the room for Lan Xichen.

“Don’t worry, I already have evidence,” he pipes up from the sofa. Jin Guangyao squints at him and he lifts a folio of papers from his lap with a smile and a little waggle of the pencil in his other hand. “I sketched you together, I couldn’t resist.”

“A-Yao, burn that when he’s not looking,” Nie Mingjue grumbles as he turns over onto his other side and promptly goes back to sleep deeply enough to start snoring every few breaths.

“How long have you been awake?” Jin Guangyao asks around another yawn, nodding towards the folio in question. It can’t be much later than midmorning judging by the light, yet Lan Xichen looks like he’s been awake for hours already. He’s bright-eyed and dressed for the morning in something soft and luxurious, clearly meant only for lounging around in and looking devastatingly handsome (mission accomplished). 

“I couldn’t sleep past dawn — too many things on my mind.”

That admission wakes Jin Guangyao up a bit more and he hauls himself out of bed with a groan for all the aches and pains last night’s activities left him with, his legs a little stiff as he crosses to the sitting area with quiet scuffs of his ridiculously long pajama trousers across the floor. “Are you worried about seeing your uncle today?”

Lan Xichen returns his gaze to his lap, hand moving slowly, almost thoughtlessly across the page. Jin Guangyao takes a sleepy moment to admire the way his long fingers curl around his short scrap of a pencil, his hand completely dwarfing it until it almost looks like the lines are appearing as if by magic.

“I don’t think I would say that I’m worried, necessarily,” he muses. Jin Guangyao leans against the back of the couch to get a better look at the page and finds that whatever incriminating portraits Lan Xichen may have drawn earlier, right now he’s working on a landscape, something with rounded mountains and trees blended together beautifully under the faint wisps of clouds he’s sketching in. “My uncle is an honorable man, whatever he has to say to me will be in my best interest. But I find myself coming up with too many possibilities as to what the day could bring to be entirely comfortable with not being certain of what he plans to discuss with me.”

Jin Guangyao hums and leans a little more heavily on the back of the couch, laying his head down on his folded arms to watch Lan Xichen continue sketching, mesmerized by the way the side of his hand smudging across delicately laid lines can turn them into swirls of smoke, or hazy summer clouds.

Before he can be lulled into falling asleep standing up, he pushes himself fully upright again with a sigh and a squeeze to Lan Xichen’s shoulder in silent comfort as he passes behind him to the phone over on the bar.

“Room B203, please,” he requests of the receptionist, and he waits with, he feels, the patience of a saint as the line rings. Rings. Rings.

Connects.

“Good morning, Zixuan-ge,” he greets, poisonously polite. “I trust you slept well?”

“Oh god don’t look at me like that,” Zixuan groans despite the fact that they are (mercifully) in different rooms. “I know you’re doing that creepy smile thing. Stop it.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Jin Guangyao says through his patented most unsettling smile. “I’m calling about a bit of a business we need to wrap up this morning, you and I.”

“…Go on.”

“I’m meant to have a meeting with Jiang-guniang and her brother sometime today at Jiang Shipping, but something has come up for the morning. I’m assuming she won’t object to holding the meeting after lunch?”

“Ah…no, she won’t mind. She’s not uh…feeling very well this morning. You know how it is. Is that all, A-Yao? I should really be helping her.”

Jin Guangyao turns to survey the room only to find Lan Xichen turned at the waist to watch him with an irrepressible little smile on his lips and Nie Mingjue beginning to stir, little more than a suspicious lump over on the bed that rustles around every few moments.

“That’s all. I do need to get back in my room at some point before noon to change my clothes, though, so when your girlfriend’s bout of morning sickness has passed and you’re both fit to be seen in polite company again long enough to leave my room, could you please ring suite 191?”

“Yes okay fine, A-Yao, fuck. Stop with the smiling, I get it!!”

“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” he smiles and hangs the phone up to the sound of his brother huffing at him in that fussy way he has (that does him no favors when combating the frequent assumptions that he’s a haughty brat). “Good news, Jiang Yanli is currently indisposed and so I am free to help Mingjue play guard dog during your meeting with your uncle.”

“Behold, the miracle of life,” Lan Xichen teases with a widening smile that crinkles up the corners of his eyes before he returns to his sketching. Jin Guangyao drifts over towards him again only to stop in his tracks just behind the arm of the sofa Lan Xichen is propped up against when Nie Mingjue sits up in a flurry of rumpled bedding, his unfocused glare trained somewhere in the middle distance between the bed and the sitting area. Jin Guangyao blinks as he abruptly yanks his undershirt off over his head and chucks it toward the closet with an irritated grumble that sounds something like, “ ‘S too fucking hot for this.”

Jin Guangyao gets a shockingly nice view of heavily scarred, deeply tanned skin, a not inconsiderable amount of chest hair, and dense muscles flexing across Nie Mingjue’s chest and shoulders as he stretches his arms over his head in the moment before he collapses back down into the sheets, arms outstretched as he sighs long and slow…and promptly starts snoring again.

“Good god,” Lan Xichen breathes. Jin Guangyao must reluctantly but wholeheartedly agree.

“Hardly seems fair, does it?” he mutters out of the corner of his mouth before he can think better of it, lingering sleepiness and the sudden shock of realizing that he’s comfortable here, with these two men of all people, loosening his tongue.

“Hm? What does?”

“That we got stuck with the Nie brother who’s morally opposed to honeypots.”

Lan Xichen covers his mouth to try to hide his startled laughter but it escapes anyway. Jin Guangyao smirks to himself as he crosses the room again to stand next to the bed and start poking Nie Mingjue’s bare and stupidly firm pec with a fingertip.

“Hey. Wake up.”

“You’re not the only man here capable of stabbing someone, you know,” Nie Mingjue threatens without any heat, just sleep-mushed mumbling and a little pinch between his brows.

“Yes you’re very scary Big Red, consider me properly chastened. Come on, wake up.”

Jin Guangyao stops his poking only because Nie Mingjue’s hand darts up to wrap around his wrist, fingers overlapping with the strength of his grip. Nie Mingjue cracks one eye open to glare at him but his heart doesn’t really seem to be in it, which Jin Guangyao is going to pretend he can’t see for the sake of their little…whatever it is that they’re doing. Pestering each other? But in a way that Jin Guangyao has never pestered anyone else before in his entire life.

Now’s probably not the time to examine it too closely.

“Good morning,” he says instead with a dimpling smile, not nearly as unsettling as the one he’d had for his brother. “What’s the plan?”

Jin Guangyao yelps as Nie Mingjue tugs on his wrist and somehow manages to get his other arm far enough around Jin Guangyao’s waist to flip him straight over him and back into bed with a downy-soft fwump. He blinks up at the ceiling, momentarily disoriented, and then turns a betrayed glare on Nie Mingjue chuckling next to him.

“What the hell was that for?!”

Nie Mingjue, infuriating monster that he is, doesn’t give him an answer but instead just sits up and rolls out of bed with a few pops from his joints and a satisfied sigh as he stretches his arms over his head again. Jin Guangyao takes only a moment (or three) to admire the pull of equally well-defined muscles across his back before he sits up and raises an eyebrow at Lan Xichen, seeking a, ‘Are you seeing what I’m seeing?’ sort of solidarity. It goes tragically unacknowledged, seeing as Lan Xichen is blatantly staring at Nie Mingjue with a slack-jawed laser focus. (Though he supposes that’s answer enough — yes it would seem Lan Xichen absolutely does see what he’s seeing.)

Lan Xichen thankfully snaps his mouth shut again when Nie Mingjue turns away from the window to trundle across the suite and into the bathroom, looking like nothing so much as a grumpy bear emerging from hibernation.

“Well then,” Jin Guangyao says, for want of anything better. He clambers out of bed again (seriously, what the hell was that for??) and sits down at the other end of the couch opposite Lan Xichen, one knee up on the cushion to turn and face him as the man returns to his idle sketching.

“I assume you two will want me to wear a tracker,” Lan Xichen muses a few moments later with a small pucker of a frown between his brows. “We’ll need some time to ensure it’s working before my uncle arrives.”

“Mhm, that’s true. I’ll let Big Red handle that, you know how fond he is of invading people’s privacy.”

“I heard that,” Nie Mingjue calls, muffled through the bathroom door.

Jin Guangyao raises his voice just enough to call back, “Very good, you were meant to.”

“A-Yao stop teasing him, it’s not even 11 yet.”

“I don’t see what the time of day has to do with anything,” he sniffs but magnanimously does as asked, lapsing back into comfortable silence. Nie Mingjue re-emerges from the bathroom and heads for the phone to order room service, and then seems to find himself at something of a loss. Jin Guangyao, for all that he’d like to pretend like they have nothing at all in common, finds that he sympathizes. Lan Xichen seems perfectly at ease with sitting around to wait for their next move in the chess game they’re playing with their motley collection of highly dangerous people, but Jin Guangyao is far too used to…doing. He hates to sit still like this, and doing nothing with two other people makes it feel worse somehow.

Nie Mingjue wanders off to fiddle around with something from his suitcase, Jin Guangyao does his best not to fidget sitting there in his borrowed pajamas, and Lan Xichen hums a soft tune to himself as he flips to a fresh page to start a new sketch like he can’t sense the restless energy starting to build.

It’s a relief when the phone rings, shattering the quiet, and Jin Guangyao hops deftly over the back of the couch to beat Nie Mingjue to it with a little smirk up at him and, not for the first time, the urge to stick his tongue out at him.

“Hello?”

“It’s me,” Zixuan says, sounding slightly less harried than he had earlier. Jiang Yanli must be done getting sick for the time being.

“Oh good, may I return to my own room then?”

“Yes, we’re heading off. She said it’s fine to meet with her later; Wanyin apparently had to hurry off on some urgent errand this morning and he won’t be back until later today, so you’d just have to wait around for him anyway.”

Jin Guangyao stands up a little straighter, all his restless attention narrowing down between one heartbeat and the next. Nie Mingjue instantly clocks the change in his posture and comes to stand right next to him (ugh, personal space?) to peer down at him, too close, too intense.

“Oh?” Jin Guangyao asks as nonchalantly as he can as he motions for Lan Xichen to pass him a scrap of paper and his pencil. He accepts both when Nie Mingjue passes them between them as he adds, “That seems like awfully short notice for an important errand, where’s he going?” He scribbles a quick note, ‘Wanyin is gone,’ and brandishes it for the other two to read as Jin Zixuan muffles himself to say something away from the receiver.

“A-Li says he had to go do a pick-up, something high-priority that can’t be delayed, but it isn’t very far. He should be back sometime after lunch and you can meet with them both at the office around 3.”

“Mm. 3 will work just fine,” he says as he scribbles quickly on the backside of the scrap to hold it up again.

‘Moving something.’

Nie Mingjue spurs into action to start getting dressed for the day in a rush as Jin Guangyao finishes saying goodbye to his brother and hangs up again.

“Our priority is Xichen,” Jin Guangyao reminds Nie Mingjue as the man fumbles his way into a pair of trousers, only barely hidden behind the jut of wall that separates the bedroom from the rest of the suite. “Whatever it is that they’re getting, it’s too late for us to stop it and we need to be here for Huan-ge.”

“They’re receiving something? Not delivering?” Lan Xichen asks. Nie Mingjue stops dressing long enough to poke his head around the wall to look at him, his expression tightly controlled, concentrating.

Jin Guangyao meets both of their eyes in quick succession then nods. “Zixuan-ge said Jiang Wanyin is off doing an urgent pick-up, not a drop. I imagine it’s some..material for the warheads or perhaps it’s got nothing at all to do with their nuclear project, I’m not sure. But whatever it is, they’re bringing it here, to us, so we don’t have to worry about chasing it down to find out. We’re in Yiling for a reason — this is where everything will happen, they won’t send anything important away without us hearing of it first.”

“I think A-Yao’s right, da-ge,” Lan Xichen says after they both take a moment to think it over. “And if both of the Jiang siblings truly do intend to meet with A-Yao this afternoon then what they’re retrieving will be somewhere you should be able to reach here in Yiling to investigate while he distracts them.”

Jin Guangyao meets Nie Mingjue’s eyes with a little tilt of his head that he hopes communicates that he’s thinking about how well that sort of plan had gone for them last night. Nie Mingjue smirks at him (not like he’s amused, but more like tentative camaraderie) and turns back to the closet, continuing to get dressed with less urgency, just his usual brusqueness.

“Alright, fine. We’ll focus on A-Huan for now and worry about the rest after the meeting with Lao Lan.”

“Good,” Jin Guangyao says and turns without further ado to retrieve his own clothes from last night with a little wrinkle of his nose in distaste for the fact that they’re still vaguely clammy and reek of brackish river water. Still, it’s not like he can go traipsing through the resort in Nie Mingjue’s pajamas, so it’ll just have to do. He changes in the bathroom, and when he reemerges to give Nie Mingjue his clothes back he’s pretty sure he spots a flush in the man’s ears as he takes them without quite meeting Jin Guangyao’s eyes.

“I’ll be back before Lan Qiren arrives,” he promises them, and when he slips out he holds the elevator doors open with a smile for the porters bringing up the room service Nie Mingjue had ordered.

His room is mercifully empty when he arrives and he goes through all the motions of the morning with his mind turning all the pieces of their little puzzle over and over, checking for anything he’s missed. Last night aside, perhaps, this is all going a little too well for his liking.

Case in point: The Jiangs were remarkably easy to get to. Lan Qiren doesn’t seem to suspect anything at all strange about his eldest nephew’s sudden engagement, or his escape from East Yunping. Every close call they’ve had has been just that, a close call, and nothing worse. Jin Guangyao is very good at what he does — the best in Jinlintai by an enormous margin — but Jin Guangshan just uses that as an excuse to send him on missions that regularly require him to cheat death, and very rarely does he walk away from his assignments unscathed. Sure, he’s got a few knocks and bruises from last night, but he’s willing to blame Nie Mingjue for that with his reckless speedboat driving rather than the inherent danger of his mission.

So — it’s going too smoothly.

Something must be wrong, but his restless examination of the evidence so far leads to nothing he can put his finger on. He gives the exercise up as futile with an irritated huff and just focuses on getting ready for the day in time to head back upstairs and steal whatever’s left of Lan Xichen and Nie Mingjue’s breakfast rather than bothering to call anything down for himself.

“Are you sure it’s not working?” Nie Mingjue is asking when Jin Guangyao lets himself back into their suite and his eyebrows creep up towards his hairline to find Lan Xichen standing in the center of the living room, his foot popped up on the coffee table to expose the entire length of his bare leg. And it’s quite a bit of length to put on display, as it seems Lan Xichen’s considerable height is nearly all leg.

“Shouldn’t the light be on if it were?” Lan Xichen counters with a gesture towards something high up on his thigh, just below the hem of his boxer briefs exposed by the silken drape of his trousers hanging straight down from his hip, the slit in them is so high; Jin Guangyao tears his gaze away from the marble-sculpture-perfect curve of his calf to look at where he’s gesturing and honestly that’s even worse, because what he’s pointing to is a lacy white garter stretched taut around his thigh with a clunky transmitter clipped to it.

He clears his throat to announce his presence but the other two barely glance at him before they go back to examining the problem at hand. Jin Guangyao allows himself exactly three seconds to stare at how good Nie Mingjue’s strong, sure hands look wrapped around the pale expanse of Lan Xichen’s thigh before he forces himself cross over to the writing desk in the corner opposite the bar, upon which rests Nie Mingjue’s ‘I don’t care about anyone else’s privacy’ hardtop case sitting open and attempting to locate the transmitter.

Jin Guangyao pokes curiously at a few dials under the portable radar screen pinging nothing and confirms, “It’s not sending a signal, Mingjue.”

Nie Mingjue sighs and rubs his thumb against his forehead. Jin Guangyao drifts over to the room service cart next to the bar to pick up a fluffy steamed bun and watch the show being so kindly put on for him.

“Alright, get up there and let me take a look at it, then.”

“Up..there? On the table?”

“Yes? What’s the big deal, you’ve already got your foot on it anyway!”

Jin Guangyao stifles a laugh around a bite of his bun at the scandalized look on Lan Xichen’s face. (He can only imagine, having met Lan Qiren for approximately two entire minutes yesterday, that standing on the furniture was a big no-no in their house when Lan Xichen was growing up.)

“It’s made of glass!”

Nie Mingjue snorts and shoots Jin Guangyao a glance, though he doesn’t get why until Nie Mingjue smirks at Lan Xichen, shrugs, and says, “Well it survived me and A-Yao rolling around and knocking into it a few times the night before last, so I think it can stand your weight for a minute.”

They did not do that! But…Jin Guangyao’s indignant protest dies before he can even voice it, killed by the memories from yesterday morning, so hazy that they barely qualify as ‘memories’.

(Warm weight between his legs, the clatter of xiangqi pieces strewn across the glass tabletop and the floor around it. And, perhaps most telling of all, the beginning of Nie Mingjue starting to treat him with a begrudging sort of cordiality rather than irritated disdain.)

Jin Guangyao finds that in the face of the ‘evidence’, such as it is, he can only shrug when Lan Xichen looks at him, his confused expression a silent request to know if what Nie Mingjue said is true.

“Well…alright,” he sighs. Nie Mingjue steps closer and curls a hand firmly around the back of Lan Xichen’s thigh to help boost him up, which Jin Guangyao can’t help but feel is thoroughly unnecessary considering the tabletop is roughly two feet high. But then again Lan Xichen’s got a hand curled over one of Nie Mingjue’s shoulders, thumb brushing against the side of his neck, and that doesn’t really seem all that necessary either, so it would seem that neither of them mind.

Once up on the table and looking thoroughly discomfited about it, Lan Xichen stands still and looks down to watch Nie Mingjue do something Jin Guangyao can’t see with the transmitter on his thigh, and really, do they need to stand that close?

Jin Guangyao picks up another bun and ignores the urge to offer them privacy for whatever the hell this is; they know he’s here. If it bothered them, he’s sure they’d tell him to leave, so he might as well just stay. For no reason whatsoever.

-... .-. . .- -.-

Lan Xichen’s skin is soft under his hands, and all of Nie Mingjue’s attempts to ignore that little fact feel pointless when the man is barely giving him space to breathe. He lets Lan Xichen keep up the charade that he needs to prop a hand up on his shoulder to hold his balance in such a way that he isn’t putting too much weight on the table, and he does his best to focus on the task at hand even under such circumstances. 

Lan Xichen is wearing another flowing pair of trousers like what Nie Mingjue had put him in in Hong Kong, though this pair is slit up to the thigh — a daring choice, in Nie Mingjue’s opinion, for a lunch with his uncle, but since it makes it easier for them to reach the tracker he keeps his thoughts to himself. Without his foot propped up on the table, Lan Xichen’s leg is once again hidden under fluttering layers of silk chiffon and it somehow feels more…just more as he has to slide his hands under the lining fabric to get at the transmitter, rather than when Lan Xichen had rather boldly displayed it for him.

It doesn’t help that as soon as he brushes his fingertips up the front of Lan Xichen’s thigh, attempting to find the garter by touch alone, Lan Xichen jumps a little bit and asks him, “What are you doing down there?”

“Trying not to get lost.”

Nie Mingjue ignores Jin Guangyao’s poorly-muffled snort in favor of clicking the reset switch on the underside of the tracker, and within a moment there’s a muted ping from the receiver on the desk. With that problem solved, though, another immediately becomes clear and he tightens his grip on Lan Xichen’s thigh without thinking, eyes darting up to attempt to get a look at his face.

“You’re trembling,” he notes. Jin Guangyao is beside them in a heartbeat.

“I’m afraid.” He says it so plainly that Nie Mingjue’s heart squeezes in his chest. They’ve asked so much of Lan Xichen these last few days, and they’re going to have to ask more of him before this is all over, for good or ill. He looks up at Lan Xichen glancing between them anxiously, Jin Guangyao, to him, and back.

“It’ll be alright,” he attempts to comfort. Judging by the way Jin Guangyao steps very deliberately on his toes, the platitude wasn’t the correct choice, even though he really meant it.

“How can you know that?” Lan Xichen asks with a slight tremble in his voice. Jin Guangyao reaches up to brush his fingertips across Lan Xichen’s knuckles and Lan Xichen turns that fretful gaze on him again instantly.

“We’ll be close by, Huan-ge,” Jin Guangyao says. “We won’t let anything happen to you.”

Lan Xichen still doesn’t look entirely convinced, but he lets Nie Mingjue help him back down off the table anyway. He sticks close to let Nie Mingjue fuss over getting the leg of his trousers to hang right again to hide the tracker while Jin Guangyao crosses the room to step out onto the balcony.

“Lan Qiren just arrived,” he calls back into the suite, and Nie Mingjue glances out the window himself to spot the man’s sleek car pulling to a stop in front of the steps down at the street. Nie Mingjue feels Lan Xichen stiffen at his side. 

“Are you ready?” Nie Mingjue asks him, because if he’s not, if it’s too much, he knows they can come up with some excuse not to let him go. They can try something else, they can..they can readjust their plans, there has to be something else they can do.

Lan Xichen looks at him and manages to dredge up a smile that actually reaches his eyes. Rather than receiving an answer, Nie Mingjue stands perfectly still in shock while Lan Xichen leans in to kiss his cheek. It’s little more than a soft brush of warm lips against his skin, but it stops everything in its tracks (besides Jin Guangyao, who steps back into the room and raises both eyebrows at him as if Nie Mingjue is at all in control of anything that’s happening right now).

(And then it’s a moot point anyway because Lan Xichen steps away from his side to cross to Jin Guangyao and kiss his cheek as well, ducking down and lingering there until Jin Guangyao’s cheeks turn pink and he doesn’t seem to know where to look or what to do with his hands at his sides. So there.)

“I’ll see you both soon,” Lan Xichen tells them and sweeps out with his head held high.

Jin Guangyao clears his throat when the door clicks softly shut behind Lan Xichen’s retreating form. “Going soft, Red Blade?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Nie Mingjue ignores Jin Guangyao’s skeptical look up at him in favor of retrieving his case off the desk. He breezes past Jin Guangyao still watching him and holds the door to the suite open with a gesture with the case for him to go ahead. “Let’s go, I know we’ve got the tracker but I still don’t want to fall behind.”

Jin Guangyao rolls his eyes at him but at least he doesn’t try to talk about it again, he just strides out of the room with Nie Mingjue on his heels.

The one — one — good thing about working for Wen Ruohan is that he never wants for resources, no matter what he wants or when. He sends Jin Guangyao outside to ensure they part ways before they reach the lobby, and all he has to do is ask the Wen agent on duty at the reception desk for a car for a valet to pull a powder blue Fenghuang right up to the curb by the time he’s joining Jin Guangyao on the front steps. They pile into it without a word and Jin Guangyao directs him through Yiling with Nie Mingjue’s case open in his lap to keep an eye on the glowing dot that marks Lan Xichen’s location.

They skirt around the bulk of the historic district (at an entirely legal speed that puts Nie Mingjue’s teeth on edge) and wind up at the foot of the mountain that marks the western boundary on the opposite side of the city from the river. Nie Mingjue spots Lan Xichen and his uncle stepping out of Lan Qiren’s car at an inn still decorated in the old style up on a bit of an incline, just a few streets further up the mountain than the narrow road they’re trawling down.

“There’s a teahouse just over there, Mingjue,” Jin Guangyao murmurs as they draw up closer to the inn a mere two streets below it, and Nie Mingjue parks in the alley behind the building in question to try to keep the car out of view. They hurry inside and seat themselves at a table in the back corner of the restaurant, tucked away from any potential prying eyes and the majority of the rest of the patrons. Jin Guangyao orders them something Nie Mingjue doesn’t pay close attention to in favor of popping his case half-open beneath the table to begin fiddling with the radio transmitter beside the radar screen. It’s a bit of a risk to stake out just a few streets beneath the inn, but it at least means that when Nie Mingjue tunes his radio to the signal that should be coming from the bug he’d had put in Lan Xichen’s replacement engagement ring it connects immediately with a burst of static.

Nie Mingjue passes Jin Guangyao an earbud and wrinkles his nose at the other man’s judgmental little huff as he takes it — yeah yeah, no privacy, blah blah blah. It’s useful, so whatever!

Their pot of tea and a small selection of savory snacks arrive as they listen to polite smalltalk while Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren are led to a table in the inn’s restaurant, some of their conversation lost amongst the background noise as they pass through what sounds like a crowded dining room. Nie Mingjue frowns and turns the volume dial a few notches, but it doesn’t help clarify anything before the noise abruptly cuts off with the closing of a door.

“Private dining room,” Jin Guangyao mutters to him. Nie Mingjue just nods and turns the volume back down.

“You told your Mingjue that I apologized?” Lan Qiren asks after they order and their waiter leaves them alone.

“Yes, Shufu.”

“You understand my reluctance to approve of your consorting with one of Wen Ruohan’s pets?”

Nie Mingjue breathes through his ever-simmering anger and tries to focus on the feeling of Jin Guangyao’s hand covering his fist on the table between them to distract himself from the ringing in his ears.

“Of course I do…But Mingjue can be trusted, Shufu, I promise you. He’s been nothing but kind to me.”

“Hmph. Very well then.”

Nie Mingjue forces himself to sit back and nibble at a snack he doesn’t identify before he picks it up, if for no other reason than he’d really like to do something to help dissipate the adrenaline pumping through him. Across from him, Jin Guangyao sips calmly at a cup of tea and only the fact that his knuckles have gone white with how hard he’s gripping the cup betrays that he’s just as impatient as Nie Mingjue is for Lan Qiren to get to the point.

“There’s someone here that I’d like you to speak with, Xichen,” Lan Qiren says after an agonizing five minutes of nothing but the sound of tea being poured, sipped and poured again. Nie Mingjue glances up sharply to meet Jin Guangyao’s gaze.

“Oh?”

Nearly too distant to be picked up by the listening device, there’s the distinct sound of wood sliding against wood as the door to their dining room is opened once again.

“Tian ah, I love a dramatic entrance,” the newcomer laughs, bright and carefree. Nie Mingjue frowns — it isn’t a voice he’s heard yet on this mission, but that doesn’t necessarily mean much. “Lan-laoshi, who knew you’d be so good at this!”

Lan Qiren scoffs over the sudden clinking of jostled porcelain and a heavy thump against the wood floor. “How many times have I told you to sit up straight? You dare call me Laoshi and yet you retain nothing of what I attempt to teach you!”

“Aiyah, yes, yes, this humble student apologizes,” the newcomer teases, his indulgent smile clearly audible. “So — Lan Xichen, it’s good to see you.”

“Wei-gongzi,” Lan Xichen replies smoothly. Nie Mingjue nods his acknowledgment of the way Jin Guangyao’s eyes light up. “May I cut straight to the point?”

“Ah?? All business so soon! But — of course, of course, what would you like to say, then?”

“I know Wangji arrived with you. I want to see him.”

Wei Wuxian exclaims again, laughs lightly, and Nie Mingjue wonders (not for the first time) just what kind of a man this Yiling Laozu really is. Every photo of him from his days with the Jiangs shows nothing more than a carefree boy, happy and laughing and clearly a bright spark amongst the Jiangs’ glittering social circle. No proper photos exist of him since those days, as far as Nie Mingjue is aware, only rumors and blurry wisps of a ghost barely captured on film, but if he’d really become such a violent mastermind during the war as they’d been told during their briefing, then surely he wouldn’t still be…like this? He wouldn’t laugh at everything, he wouldn’t tease someone as strict as Lan Qiren, he wouldn’t sound so…young.

It would hardly be the first time Wen Ruohan spun him a story that was only partially true.

“Oh, is that all?? Of course you can! Lan Zhan!!”

Nie Mingjue jumps a little for both the sudden shout and the ease with which the request was granted. He meets Jin Guangyao’s equally startled gaze and leans in close.

“It can’t possibly be that easy,” he mutters. Jin Guangyao shakes his head sharply in agreement.

“No, it can’t. I had the same thought this morning — about all of this.”

Nie Mingjue thinks that’s maybe a bit rich considering Jin Guangyao hadn’t nearly died last night choking on smoke and scummy river water, but now’s not the time to argue.

The dining room door in the restaurant slides open once more just as there’s a burst of noise from what sounds like a large party entering the main room of their teahouse with much scuffling of feet and the scrape of chairs against the floor. Nie Mingjue presses his earbud more firmly into his ear to better listen to the approaching footsteps, the rustle of cloth as a fourth person joins the inn restaurant table and sits down much more quietly than Wei Wuxian had.

In contrast to the bright clarity of Wei Wuxian, the new voice is deep and cool, nearly monotone save for the slightest inflections where necessary as he says, “Xiongzhang. Shufu.”

Nie Mingjue watches Jin Guangyao nod to himself in confirmation — he would know Lan Wangji’s voice, after all, considering he’s been working for the Jins for years.

“Wangji,” Lan Xichen breathes, the relief in his voice palpable. “Is everyone in place nextdoor?”

“Mn.”

Wait.

Nie Mingjue is already looking across at Jin Guangyao, which is probably the only reason he sees it in the gasp of a second between Lan Xichen’s question in their earpieces and the sudden flurry of activity around them. He wishes he hadn’t had to see it, the betrayed, raw anguish in Jin Guangyao’s eyes. He wishes it didn’t make his chest ache. He wishes he didn’t suddenly want to protect Jin Guangyao from ever having to hurt like that again, but now isn’t really the time to examine the new feeling.

By the time Jin Guangyao is sliding off his seat to sink to his knees with his hands held up shoulder-high in deference to the guns being pointed at them by every single person in the teahouse no longer minding their own business, he’s wiped his face of all expression save his blandest smile. Nie Mingjue would know from that alone, if nothing else, that his pain is somehow deeper than Lan Xichen’s betrayal, but he doesn’t have the luxury of trying to figure it out or, heavens forbid, ask Jin Guangyao why he’s so viscerally upset. 

He obeys the order shouted at them from somewhere in the crowd for him to get on the ground as well. He skirts around the end of the table to kneel close enough to Jin Guangyao’s side that he can feel the other man trembling, and raises his empty hands to shoulder-height in a mirror of his partner.

“If you have the chance to get out, take it,” Jin Guangyao tells him out of the corner of his mouth in the agonizingly long moments between their surrender and the door to the teahouse banging open.

Nie Mingjue already knows that he will do no such thing unless it’s a chance for both of them to escape together.

“You know, I have to say it — you two ended up being much better players than I’d expected! What do you think, Lan Zhan?”

Nie Mingjue looks up from the floor to find that (amongst the round two-dozen or so pistols pointed at them) Wei Wuxian himself has strolled into the cafe calm as you please, the same wide grin on his face that he’d worn in the photo of him with the Jiang siblings when he was still nominally a ward of the family. It’s the same grin they’d heard so clearly in his voice mere minutes ago.

“Wei Ying accurately predicted their commitment to their goal and set his expectations accordingly.”

Lan Wangji is standing just behind Wei Wuxian’s right shoulder, his icy calm a perfect counterpoint to Wei Wuxian’s (entirely inappropriate) sunny brand of enthusiasm. The difference between them is even more striking in person, accented by the fact Lan Wangji is dressed entirely in white next to Wei Wuxian’s head-to-toe black.

“Aiyah, Lan Zhan, you flatterer. I guess I have been doing this long enough to know how these sorts of things pan out. I mean honestly, I’m a little insulted that you think you’re the first ones to try to come after me and my research in all this time! Don’t you think I know the signs of someone trying to use the people close to me? That’s the oldest trick in the book!” Wei Wuxian tuts at them and shakes his head, as if their attempts to undermine his work aren’t worth more than the sort of scolding one would give a child.

Nie Mingjue risks a glance down at Jin Guangyao next to him, but his face is still terrifyingly blank, eyes fixed somewhere on the floor as Wei Wuxian paces closer, his black military-issue boots thudding across the wood floor. Nie Mingjue doesn’t bother trying not to glare as he looks up at him again.

“Ah ah ah!” Wei Wuxian chides. “Don’t look at me like that Chifeng-Zun, it wasn’t even my idea to doublecross you! I’m a very busy man you know and a scheme like this takes so much planning to execute properly, I was just going to kill you both and be done with it.”

“Wei Ying.”

“Alright fine, I’m reformed so maybe I wouldn’t have,” Wei Wuxian huffs, pouting. Nie Mingjue has no idea how much of this is a bluff, but judging by the unhappy pinch between Lan Wangji’s brows it’s not as much of one as he would hope. “But still! I don’t normally have the patience for all this…back and forth. So really it’s lucky for you that we’re working with the Lans on this one, they’re the ones willing to play the long game.”

Nie Mingjue can’t help but curl his hands into fists, though the sound of at least a few guns cocking is enough to convince him to relax his grip again and grit his teeth instead.

“The long game,” he repeats.

“Sure,” Wei Wuxian shrugs. “You think this all started when you two walked into Yunping? We’ve had Lan-da-ge doing fieldwork for years already! Actually you very nearly ruined everything we’ve been working on for so long, so I was doubly tempted to just get you out of the picture before you could get as far as a li beyond the Wall. Say thank you to Lan Zhan for convincing me otherwise.”

Nie Mingjue stays resolutely silent, but his refusal to play along doesn’t seem to make much of a difference one way or another. Wei Wuxian is still smirking, still pacing back and forth like he hardly realizes he’s doing it, gloating so obviously Nie Mingjue is growing more and more tempted to stand up and see if he can land at least one solid punch to the man’s nose before one of the goons surrounding them guns him down.

“Aiyah, I’ll forgive your manners under the current circumstances I suppose. A-Ning?”

Nie Mingjue watches a pale, mild-looking man step forward out of the crowd, unique mostly for the softness of his features and the fact that there’s no gun in his hands.

“Get them ready for transport, will you?”

“Transport?” Jin Guangyao asks, hollow enough that Nie Mingjue nearly shivers. “Where are we going?”

“Not far,” Wei Wuxian shrugs. “As much as I like this part of town it’s not really the best place to have the sort of meeting we need to have. Better to do it somewhere we can have all the shidimei keeping lookout, hm?”

“Why the fuck do you think we’d go anywhere with you?” Nie Mingjue spits and tries to shift a little closer to Jin Guangyao, to offer any kind of support the other man may find in his presence at his side; on his side, when nobody else seems to be.

Wei Wuxian, already heading for the door, turns enough to smirk at him over his shoulder. He raises an eyebrow as he asks, “You don’t want a happy reunion with your brother? He’s been so excited to see you.”

Nie Mingjue’s stomach drops to his knees and he knows in a burst of clarity that his number’s up. He doesn’t resist as his wrists are tied together behind his back. He watches numbly, head buzzing, as Jin Guangyao is similarly restrained.

They’re frogmarched outside, Wei Wuxian calling instructions back to the agents left behind in the teahouse as Nie Mingjue and Jin Guangyao are ushered into the backseat of a car. He tries to get comfortable with his wrists pressed between his back and the seat, and when he’s managed it well enough he checks in on Jin Guangyao again to find that nothing’s changed. He’s still sitting there in silence, perfectly (worryingly) docile as he’s guided into the car.

“A-Yao?” he finally tries, pitching his voice too low to carry as this A-Ning climbs in behind the wheel.

Jin Guangyao sucks in a deep breath and turns that horrible blank smile on him, not quite raising his eyes to meet Nie Mingjue’s searching gaze.

“I’m safer for now in their custody than if we escaped,” Jin Guangyao says. “My father will likely hear that I’ve failed within the hour, and he’s already made it clear what my punishment will be if I do. I won’t try to run.”

That’s not at all what Nie Mingjue was trying to ask, but it does still answer his unspoken, “Are you alright?” strongly enough in the negative that he doesn’t try to ask again.

They pull away from the curb to start heading for the river, and Nie Mingjue glances over his shoulder to find another car trailing close behind them, Wei Wuxian in the passenger seat, Lan Wangji and Lan Qiren in the back. He makes eye contact with Lan Xichen looking perfectly calm and collected behind the wheel for the briefest moment before he faces resolutely forward again and tries not to think about just how easily he’d fallen for it all, in the end.