#if it truly was something that bothered someone they would read the warning

[perpetualcontrolleddrowning]

Zui Xian Peak Fic

alright, that's enough, let's get you home

JRaylin441

Summary: Liao Qinglan spends her days making wine, drinking with Shang Qinghua, and having a good time. Surely, this will never be disrupted.

Written for the Gotcha for Gaza prompt "would love a fic about Zui Xian, the Cang Qiong Mountain devoted to...alcohol. What are they doing over there?"

Content Warnings: there isn't much here beyond a LOT of drinking and getting drunk. It's not presented as an unhealthy coping mechanism but please just take care of yourself. Also Liao Qinglan has some bias against demons that she works through. It's not a whole deep thing and I keep the tone light, but be aware of that too.

Read it on ao3 here (x)

Cang Qiong Mountain Sect has twelve peaks. That's something they don't talk about a whole lot. Well, okay, so they talk about the fact that there are twelve of them, all the damn time. Twelve peaks. A nice, round number.

But who can actually remember all the peaks? Who could actually name them? Sometimes it feels like the literal members of the sect can't do it, let alone any of the common folk or the people from other cultivation sects around them.

Sometimes, Liao Qinglan lets this get to her. Sometimes, it really bothers her, that no one seems to give enough of a shit about her peak to even remember that it exists, let alone the names of its peak lord and disciples.

Usually, though, it kind of kicks ass. Like, all of the benefits that come with affiliation with the most prominent and highly-revered cultivation sect in the jianghu but none of the actual obligation, expectation, or responsibility. Not too bad a deal, when you think about it.

"I'd take that any day. Please, someone come and give me a single day when some peak lord or another isn't pounding on my door, begging me to come fix another thing, give them more money to replace the wall again, and they pinky-promise that this time, this time they definitely aren't going to break it. I mean, fuck, you know? What am I beyond a money purse, if you think about it?" Shang-shixiong flops his head down into his arms, resting against the fine oak table in Liao Qinglan's home and groping across it to take another sad sip of his wine. It drips down the side of his mouth and onto the wood, since it's almost impossible to drink when you're laying down like that. Liao Qinglan can do it, but she's kind of an expert, when it comes to things like this.

"I mean, what was I thinking? Why does a money purse need to have feelings and the ability to be tired? Could have just made it a magical, floating cave full of riches. Psychically read the mind of everyone who comes and gives them the money they need if they deserve it. Fuck. But no, had to go and make an overworked lackey of it all. Should have known, with my luck."

"Truly, your suffering is never ending," Liao Qinglan drawls, reaching out to refill Shang-shishu's cup, because she's nice like that. He's not making any sense right now, and he'll start making even less sense if he drinks the new cup, but that's fine too. What kind of peak lord could she call herself, if she wasn't prepared for such things?

Liao Qinglan, peak lord of Zui Xian Peak. Specializing in alcohol.

You might be wondering how it is that a person can ascend to peak lord status on alcohol alone, but anyone who had ever partied with Liao Qinglan back in the day wouldn't dare. She knows how to hold her liquor. Can really put it away. Will trounce your ass at literally any drinking game, just come and try it.

And then, of course, they all ascended, and suddenly the other peak lords were so busy being all prim and proper that they forget about the person who literally ascended with them from the force of their partying together. They're pretty much all on her shit list, if she's being honest.

Well. Not everyone. Shang Qinghua is fine. He comes by every couple of months to get rip roaring drunk and then cry on Liao Qinglan's table, and that's not too bad. Certainly isn't a change from how he always used to behave. Pretty much the only change she's seen in him since they first met is the increase in workload and, subsequently, the volume of tears he can produce when three sheets to the wind.

Shen Qingqiu was as stuck-up and reserved as ever, but he never really talked to her in the first place, certainly never went out drinking with them. So, you know, he was fine. Didn't drop her when he achieved notoriety because he never really picked her up in the first place. Can't be too pissed off about something like that. Then, in the last decade or so, after the huge change in personality (Liao Qinglan is still betting on possession, fuck what the relics and artifacts all said), he mostly just smiles vaguely when he notices she's there. Harmless and inoffensive and unremarkable. She's pretty sure he doesn't know her name.

And, you know, Huang Qinghao. Fuckhead of all fuckheads. The stuck-up asshole who has never had a drink in his fucking life, certainly never went out partying with them. Where Shen Qingqiu has always been a distant and vaguely superior presence, Huang Qinghao has always been the vocally judgemental and holier-than-thou dick who Liao Qinglan kind of wants to push off the mountain. Over on his all-male, ascetic peak. Sure, fine, to each their own, fucking enjoy it. But don't come over to Liao Qinglan's peak to give her another fucking lecture on why everything that she has built her peak on is stupid. Just because he's sworn to be a lonely and boring stick in the mud for the rest of his life doesn't mean everyone has to.

She's complaining. Again. It's fine. Shang-shishu is drunk as a skunk and definitely not processing anything she's saying. There's no one else around to overhear, because she always clears them out before he gets drunk like this. Says a whole lot of shit that might freak out the other peak members. Better to keep this kind of thing just between them.

Liao Qinglan has a few working theories. She isn't dedicating any particular effort to investigating or anything, but she toys with them now and then, notices when something happens that adds more evidence to one column than the other.

Theory One is that Shang Qinghua has fully and completely lost his mind. He's living in a daze or lost in some memory of a past life or something else equally disorienting, and it's making him think he designed this world. Sure. He seems to be managing the finances fine and hasn't died yet. If this is what that does to a man, then she's just glad An Ding was never for her.

Theory Two is that Shang Qinghua is actually a fucking god. Like, fell from the heavens, currently walking among them, had a hand in the creation of the world kind of god. Which, obviously, is completely stupid and impossible. He's literally laying on her table right now and drooling while he tries to work out the very complicated technique behind taking a drink while keeping your head flat on a horizontal surface. That's barely even advanced disciple shit.

So, of course, it's impossible and ridiculous. Still, though, she's been around him drunk more than probably anyone else in his entire life. People say things, when they're drunk. And, you know, while those things are almost always ridiculous and dramatic and overblown, they're also often true. Rarely the whole truth. It's all base emotion and instinct. The things you don't say on a day-to-day basis because some other part of you is blocking it. Whether that's common sense, shame, manners, morals, or some horrifying combination thereof. That's a part of people too. It's not like the things people say when they're drunk are the whole truth. There are other parts of them that matter as well and are also true and are the reason they haven't said this before.

But it's really, really rare. Rare, like, the peak leader of Zui Xian Peak has never seen it happen, for someone to get drunk and then start just spouting off reckless lies without any kind of truth behind them.

If Shang Qinghua is here, drunk at her table every few months, murmuring about the fact that he should have designed the world in a different way, well. That's something that someone as smart as Liao Qinglan has learned to pay attention to. Besides, she didn't get to the point of Theory Two just because he likes to talk like he's a god. If that were true, she would probably think he just has some kind of heart demon that's twisting his perception of reality. But, beyond mumbling about design choices for the world, Shang Qinghua has an uncanny ability to mention future events, that he couldn't possibly know about, that come true. He has a tendency to casually throw out very secret and personal details about people that they never would have told him but that also turn out to be true.

Like she said, Liao Qinglan isn't the type of person to go digging into mysteries like this. She's found that things in this world mostly unfold in the most dramatic way they possibly can but have the good-nature to ignore her peak and her disciples. Zui Xian Peak tends to mostly sit back, watch it happen, and make drinking games out of the events. Nothing she does either way has much of an impact, so it's more about just keeping her head down and keeping her peak safe.

Some people might think it's shameful. Huang Qinghao certainly makes it clear that he thinks so. But he's been slamming his tightass head against the solid wall of the higher peaks' indifference for literal years and has made exactly no progress. It's kind of pathetic to watch. He can feel as superior as he wants, over there on his all-male peak where Liao Qinglan assumes they sit around telling each other what a good job they're doing and punishing anything that even looks a little bit like pleasure, every hour of the day.

Liao Qinglan provides a service, here. Sure, night hunts and Qian Cao Peak's Dragon-Bone Cantaloupe seeds help bring in a lot of the income that the sect relies on. But that's all external stuff.

Liao Qinglan has been in charge of the alcohol peak for long enough that she knows the truth of things. Cang Qiong Mountain Sect is enormous, practically a small town unto itself, between all the peaks. There are a lot of people who need to live in the same space, endure incredibly physical training, experience upsetting things.

They may not be the source of income for the peak, but Zui Xian Peak is the thing that keeps all the members of the sect able to talk to each other. They keep conversations calm and civil, provide a break from all the work, set a framework for socializing.

What Liao Qinglan knows, and Shang Qinghua knows, and no one else on this entire mountain range seems to know, is that this whole place would collapse without the work that they do. So, you know, every now and then, when it all gets to be a little too much, she and Shang Qinghua meet up and get absolutely wasted and complain about what it's like to be the two most underappreciated and easily-forgotten of all the peak lords.

Which, of course, brings her right back to this little tableau.

"Shang-shixiong," she calls, laying her head on her arms, so that they're both looking at each other, sideways on the table. "I have a question for you. How do you think this is going for you?" Even as she asks the question, Shang Qinghua tries to tip his cup into his mouth and ends up dribbling onto the table and his chin in a way that is definitely going to drip down onto his robes. Liao Qinglan isn't even sure that he managed to get any of it in his mouth.

Because she's always been competitive and a little bit petty, and because this is her best buddy Shang Qinghua, which means he's her most frequent victim, she reaches for her own cup and tips it gracefully into her sideways mouth. Advanced techniques. Like she was saying.

"Your elder sect brother thinks that you haven't been doing your part to drink this wine." He pushes the jar in her direction, and Liao Qinglan is more than happy to refill her cup. He's not wrong. They've been drinking the same amount, but her tolerance is much higher than her dear Shang-shixiong. It's going to take some work to meet him where he's at.

"As my Shang-shixiong says," she demurs, then reaches out to take a hold of the jar, raises it in his direction, and knocks it back.

There's another jar beside the table.

They're just getting started tonight.

*~*~*

After that lovely night, it's an unusually long time before they have the chance to visit again. Shen Qingqiu, who was always kind of distant and tragic after the loss of his most treasured disciple, just recently died in some dramatic self-destruction. Right in front of the disciple that was, supposedly, dead all this time. Which sounds like a whole lot of drama that Liao Qinglan knows literally nothing about and will probably never get answers to. The way that they do things in this sect, though, with not appointing another peak lord until everyone is ready, means that Shang Qinghua probably just had to take on a bunch more work to adjust. She's waiting to offer a warm smile and listening ear, when he finally finishes figuring out just who will be in charge of what, but that's going to take a long time and they both know it.

Until then, she supposes she should focus on her own disciples.

Yan Yazhu is her head disciple, and she knows better than to think for even a second that the place would survive without her. Sure, Liao Qinglan's got the whole charismatic-leader and maintaining-relationships-with-other-peak-lords thing down. And she generally has some pretty spectacular ideas about how to make everything run even better than it was already, but that's, sadly, not all that it takes to run a place like this.

Sure, you can have all these fabulous ideas, and even start them up, but a lot of time they require ongoing and consistent daily check-ins, after that, and the minutiae of things like that is not at all where she tends to shine. So, when she picked her head disciple, she picked her carefully.

"It's been a while since our friend Shang-shishu came around for a visit. Who else is supposed to be sympathizing with me about all of this work we have to do?" Yan Yazhu sits upright at the same desk that her peak lord is currently slumped across, because she's also one of the most proper and polite people on the entire peak. Sure, Yan Yazhu can cut loose with the best of them when it's time, but she tends to enjoy things like gently plucking out the notes of flavoring in an expensive liquor, and sipping slowly, rather than getting involved in some of the proper games that younger disciples on the peak like to make.

"You could always come and complain to the cruel peak lord who assigned you so much work," Liao Qinglan drawls, because this is how this conversation always goes.

"Ah, but how could this lowly one dare to do such a thing, when surely her peak lord has assigned so much work in order to better manage her own, much larger workload?"

"Yes, yes, the head disciple of Zui Xian Peak is humble and devoted." Liao Qinglan nods sarcastically in Yan Yazhu's direction and she grins the same smile that she does every single time they have this conversation. Liao Qinglan has tried to delegate the head disciple's workload before. Yan Yazhu ends up claiming that no one else is handling it correctly and taking it all back anyway. Liao Qinglan has also tried to do more of her own tasks. Yan Yazhu doesn't tell her that she's doing them wrong, but she does follow along behind her and redo all of it anyway. So, for now, she lets it be. "This Peak Lord will have to drag Shang Qinghua back to this peak by his ear if he does not come back to visit soon."

Yan Yazhu grins and waves her out of the room before she can distract her further.

Liao Qinglan takes a leisurely stroll across her peak. It was so thoughtful of the sect to claim these twelve lovely mountains for themselves. Sure, the scenery and environment are perfect for meditation and cultivation and all that. More importantly, though, the view kicks ass, and it makes for a lovely backdrop to all sorts of activities, no matter the time of day.

There are disciples training in one of the fields, since it is late in the afternoon. She watches as some of the older disciples guide the younger in slow drills. Some focus on combat, but most of the efforts are focused toward learning how to properly circulate qi through the body. A good way to burn off alcohol as you drink it. A good way to stave off a hangover. A very good way to recover from a hangover, should you forget to do any of this in the middle of all the fun.

There are disciples napping in the sun, just beyond the training fields, draped in the dappled shade from some of the trees. Some of them might be sleeping off a long night. Others may simply be joining their friends in a lazy way to pass the time. Liao Qinglan lets them be, either way.

Deeper into the peak, and there are a few of the elders sitting in a hot spring. A cup floats between them. When it drifts within reach of someone, from the natural current, they raise it to their lips, drink, and then utter a line of poetry. The cup goes back to floating toward the next person, who will have to drink and then add a line to the verse. Liao Qinglan knows that, when the other players judge a line to be insufficient, someone will have to drink the entirety of the cup and go to refill it. She also knows that, after playing games like this for as many years as they have, that will rarely happen. They can keep this kind of lazy game up for shichen without tiring.

Other members of the peak, crouching together before barrels of liquor as they debate over tastes and notes and distilling techniques. A visit to the class where some of her most precise and attentive students are teaching others the art of drinking and appreciating a fine rice wine. Checking in for just a moment on the juniors who are only just about to reach full adulthood, pretending not to notice as they hide the disastrous and far-reaching impacts of the newest drinking game they have tried to invent.

It's a mess, and it's silly, and it's her favorite place in the whole fucking world. Liao Qinglan still wonders, sometimes, what possessed Cang Qiong Mountain Sect to have a peak like this. She suspects it was simply a group of twelve friends, there at the beginning, and they let everyone do what they wanted and went back and made it sound mysterious and important later. That's her favorite theory, and so it's the one she chooses to believe.

No other sects have anything close to this. They take themselves so seriously, focus on meditation and fighting and ridding the world of evil. That's good and all, but is that really all that they want to focus on, throughout their whole life?

Liao Qinglan's cultivation is legendary in its fine technique. She can take effortless control over her own body. There's always been a bit more trouble, though, when it comes to pushing it outside of herself, in a fight or with some kind of seal or talisman.

So, maybe she's not out ridding the world of evil. But she likes to think, sometimes, that she's putting a little bit more peace and comfort into it. And that's always been enough for her. The world is chaotic, and the struggle for power is endless. She isn't strong enough to go out and make anyone stop what they're doing, but she guards a peak in the shadow of the strongest cultivation sect. They are secure, protected, and forgettable. The trials and tribulations of the world may lap against the edges of the sect, but they rarely ever touch Zui Xian Peak. There's something good there, for the disciples that live here.

Maybe she keeps an eye out, when the kids are out there in the dirt, digging their little holes. Everyone else watches eagerly for the ones that are particularly strong, particularly determined, particularly strategic. Liao Qinglan tends to focus on finding the ones that seem frantic, desperate. The ones with arms a little too thin, or marked up with more than just dirt.

It's not everything. She can't offer them strength or notoriety or the ability to fight back. She can build the kind of peak where people like that can come and rest in the sunlight all day, learn to take care of their own bodies, and pass the time away with games.

It's nice, to see them working to perfect the taste of alcohol. To watch them teach each other the ways and methods they have for preparing such things. It's even nicer to see them lazing together in the sun.

So. It's nice. It's a good time. She likes it. Fuck off, why is anyone interrogating her about this shit anyway? Liao Qinglan can be whatever kind of peak lord she wants to be and she doesn't have to explain herself to anyone. That's one of the many great things about being a peak lord in the first place.

Shut up.

*~*~*

"You know, I really should turn you in. You're not supposed to be here." She's teasing, a little, with her tone, but only because she doesn't know how else to talk about something like this, with her oldest friend. With someone she could genuinely get in trouble for seeing. With Shang-shixiong.

"You wouldn't do that to poor, little old me, would you?" Shang Qinghua slumps across her table again, a perfect mirror of his previous positions from every other time they've done this, even though he's defected from the sect and run away to join up with the demons and shouldn't have been able to get through the wards in the first place.

"You shouldn't be able to even get onto the mountain." She wants to send him away again. She wants to be the kind of person who holds the line and cuts him off, after it was revealed that he had betrayed the sect to the demon realm. She wishes that was all that it took for her stupid, soft little heart to leave behind all the years of shared friendship.

"No one else knows how to go through the process of banishing someone from the mountain except for An Ding Peak, and they still keep reaching out to me to help make sense of my notes and shit." Shang Qinghua throws back the wine in his cup. Liao Qinglan doesn't refill it. When it becomes clear that she's not going to do that, Shang Qinghua sits up and focuses a little bit more. Maybe the break in their routine is making it clear enough that she's certainly not happy with him. Maybe they won't have to talk about feelings at all, and he can just leave, and then she doesn't have to learn that she's not the kind of person capable of sending him away.

"You know, my Yan Yazhu is ending up with more work, now that you're not here to take it on. She already works hard enough." Liao Qinglan is holding onto the parts of this that are easy to be angry about. That make more sense. She doesn't know how to make the version of Shang Qinghua that has fallen into drunken sleep on the floor of her home make sense alongside the version that apparently colluded with demons to plan the massacre at the Immortal Alliance Conference.

She doesn't know how to make those two things make sense. She is maybe hoping that this evening will help with that. It's almost definitely a wasted effort.

Still. She reaches out, grabs the jar of wine, refills his cup. Hers is still full. She hasn't even touched it.

"It's not my fault I was banished! Besides, if the sect wanted to be able to carry on without me, then they shouldn't have made me the one in charge of literally every single thing." He drinks from the cup. Shang Qinghua has been sloppy in his movements and whiny for the past hour, but she is suddenly aware of the focus of his gaze. He is not nearly as drunk as he has been behaving. It's a trick she's pulled on people before. She doesn't particularly care to have it reversed on her now.

"I would argue that there is no one else we could blame for your defection. If you didn't want to be pressured into leaving the sect, perhaps you should have pondered that prior to causing the death of hundreds of children."

Shang Qinghua flinches at the unsheathed steel in her voice. If he hasn't been able to talk to anyone in the Human Realm, other than his own disciples begging for his help, then she might be the only person who has taken the time to address this with him. Or, maybe no one else has tried to do this because they know better than to think it will make any difference. Maybe she should listen to their wisdom.

"Ah, well, I could see how you would say that, yes. I definitely could see why it would look like all of this was my fault. And why you would blame me for, you know, all the things that...happened."

"The child murders." She refuses to let him run away from this. If she is going to let him sit at her table, if she is going to be the kind of person who cannot send him away, then he is going to explain himself. She needs an explanation for the fact that she still sees him as a friend.

"Yes, ah, the child, ha, the child murders." She lets the laugh slide, because Shang Qinghua has always been the sort of man to laugh when he is feeling uncomfortable. It still pisses her off, though.

"So. You're seated at my table. You're drinking my wine. Are you going to offer any kind of defense or explanation for yourself?"

He looks a little cornered, a little frantic. She watches his eyes dart around the corners of the room, stare off into the distance for a bit. Maybe he's swept up in the memories of it all, feeling guilty. Maybe that's her soft heart again, and he's just putting on a show to manipulate her. Before she can get an answer, he starts to shift like he's getting up.

"Ah, I can see that Liao-shimei is upset. Rightfully so, rightfully so. Maybe it wasn't the best idea, for us to try and meet up for drinks like this. I'll see myself out. Don't worry, don't worry. I won't be seen by anyone else on the peak."

He's got a jade token in his hand, carved with a sigil she is unfamiliar with. It strikes her, suddenly, that this is likely an artifact of the Demon Realm. It strikes her, suddenly, that he is so casual with such a thing because it is familiar and rote to him. It strikes her, suddenly, that she does not know much about her friend at all.

Still. This is her friend. She wants to cast him away, but she cannot just yet. When he moves toward the door, she rises to her feet and steps in his path. They pause there, staring at each other, neither of them as drunk as they have been pretending to be. Neither of them drunk at all, really.

"Sit back down, Shang-shixiong." He sits, unable to avoid following the command in her voice, even though he outranks her. Outranked her. It doesn't matter. He sits. "You are seated at my table. You are drinking my wine. For many years, I have considered you a friend." She meets his eyes, raises her cup, takes a long drink for the first time since he walked through her door. "Show that friendship the respect that it deserves. Explain this to me."

She is not pleading. She is ordering him. It's the sort of thing he usually folds beneath like a golden foil palace. This time, he acquiesces, but his eyes are still and clear while he takes a drink himself.

"Our friendship is important to me. I will not be able to explain the Immortal Alliance Conference in enough detail to set your mind at ease."

"Shang-shixiong has yet to explain the Immortal Alliance Conference at all. Perhaps he should try before he determines what would be enough for this peak lord." She can't believe this happened. Her friend betrayed their sect and then succeeded in hiding that for years, while she was still meeting with him for drinks and gossiping with him late into the night. It's been years that they've been doing this. At least seven, since everything happened at the IAC. How is she meant to reconcile that?

There is something strained and tense held in the air between them. This is not what their friendship looks like. Liao Qinglan will cry about this, later, if it remains like this all through their evening. This will be enough to make her stay up the rest of the night, weeping alone in her room, as she almost never does. But it is not her job to fix it. She is not the one who broke it.

"Ah, yes." He takes another drink of his wine and she stares at him unceasingly, feeling rather like a snake watching a mouse, quivering in the grass before her. She does not like feeling like this. She reminds herself that it is necessary. "Well, there is very little that this humble one can say." She bares her teeth at that, tired of him pretending to be helpless, tired of the equivocation, and he flinches at the face she is making. "This humble one knows that his actions are unforgivable. He cannot explain why it was necessary for the Demon Realm to attack at the Immortal Alliance Conference. Would Liao Qinglan accept the explanation that this was what fate decreed was necessary?"

He is cringing underneath the insufficiency of his words, and Liao Qinglan is sick to see it. The decree of fate, as if that would be enough to explain the death of so many Cang Qiong Mountain Sect disciples. So many Huan Hua disciples. Zhao Hua Monastery and Tian Yi Overlook.

And yet, despite it all, she cannot help but look closer at her dear friend. He looks shifty and suspicious, knowing that his words are not enough to explain his actions, just as he said they would not be. Beneath that, though, he looks sad. He looks resigned. As if he has already accepted that there is nothing he can say to convince her.

She cannot help but think again about Theory One and Theory Two. Fully lost his mind or a fucking god. It was funny, to think about, for all those years while they were building a friendship and nothing was serious and no one's life was at stake. Back when it didn't really matter one way or another, because he was doing his job just fine and it was more of a fun thought experiment than something that she actually wanted or needed to solve.

And then, the Immortal Alliance Conference.

And then, the death of hundreds of children and young disciples.

And then, defecting from the sect.

Now, her friend is sitting before her. He didn't even have to sneak back onto the mountain, because no one knows how to stop him from coming and going. He is telling her that this was fated, and already looks like he is preparing to lose her over that explanation.

Maybe he should lose her over that explanation. It's not enough. Of course it's not enough. There would never be something that could justify actions leading to this kind of atrocity.

Fully lost his mind or a fucking god. Sitting before her and saying that it was necessary. If this is all part of some great delusion, pushing him to do this because he thought it was right, then he has the potential to be someone very dangerous. If he is a god, and he knows this was right, then he absolutely is someone very dangerous. In either situation, he should not be sitting at her table.

So, what, is she meant to kick him out? Send him back to the Demon Realm, so that he can live among demons and never interact with another human again, except when his own disciples reach out to him for help? In what way will that help to prevent him from hurting anyone else again? In what way could any of her actions prevent him from doing something like this again?

Perhaps she should not allow him back on her peak. It is a space that she has built to be calm and safe and unremarkable. A place to protect the members of her peak. If there is someone dangerous and unpredictable, perhaps she should prevent him from ever setting foot here, for all the danger he brings with him.

But to what end? So that he could wander alone, only talking to those who might agree with his actions? And, if she starts removing anyone who could potentially be a threat to her peak, where does that stop? Does she throw off her own disciples, when they are teenagers and angry at the world and lashing out at everyone?

"I want more of an explanation than that. I want to know why you think fate required you to do such a thing. I want to know if you will ever do something like that again."

He is shrinking down smaller and smaller with each word, cringing in on himself. He glances again at the corners of the room, the door out of her home, vaguely into the middle distance. When he looks back at her, finally, Shang Qinghua's eyes are cold and distant. His voice is a dead thing.

"I cannot answer why I did what I did. I cannot tell you how I knew what fate required. I can tell you that I have no intention of doing such a thing again."

"And, if Fate were to suddenly make such a demand again? Would you take such an action then?"

It's his turn to grimace and hang his head, an answer unto itself.

"Would you be able to tell me, warn me, if Fate were to make such a demand of you again?" At least this, maybe this much, and then she would be able to set her mind at ease. Feel like she isn't betraying the whole of her sect due to her soft heart.

He hunches in even further, so small now that she can barely see him over the low rise of the table. That is an answer. That is a perfectly clear answer, and she should throw him off the peak right now, before her heart has any more of an opportunity to argue with her.

"Do you regret it?" She cannot help it. The words are stone cold, but they come from a desperate place and they both know it.

"How could this one even deserve to regret something like that, when it changes nothing of the actions he took?" He still won't look at her, but he's speaking now, and the words are drenched in distance and emptiness. Cold. His words are a windswept tundra. This is not how her friend speaks.

"That is not an answer. Do you regret it?" Her voice is hardening, the fury boiling up within her, that he will not give her anything at all to hold onto and justify the fondness that still lives within her.

"It is the only answer that I can give."

And that is not enough. She slams her palm against the table, frantic, breath heaving through her like the flame of a dragon. Her sword is in her hand and she is across the room, holding its point to his throat. She is not an incredibly strong cultivator, but she is stronger than him, and they both know it. They have dueled a few times, when they were both still disciples, and then as a game when they were older. Shang Qinghua has reached again for that token around his waist, but he has not done anything with it. He is watching her, calm and steady, waiting to see what she will do next.

"Shang Qinghua, banished peak lord of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect, do you regret the actions you took, resulting in the deaths of hundreds of disciples across the jianghu?"

She wants to see him break. She wants him to cry and fall into a kowtow, apologizing and begging her to forgive him. His eyes, when he finally responds, are flat, dead things.

"Of course this one regrets. What would that matter to the disciples lost? What would that matter to their families, their friends, their sect? It is the action this one took, and there is nothing this one can do to bring them back, and so what would anyone care about whether or not this one regrets?"

Is that enough? It shouldn't be. It really, really shouldn't be enough to justify his return into her regard. It certainly has not erased all that he has done. But, in all of this, what would be gained by casting him out now? What could she do to punish him that has not already been done by his sect? That he has not already done to himself? To leave him alone now, how would that accomplish anything other than to put more pain into the world?

Many would say that she is wrong to do this. Many would disagree with her actions, and perhaps they would be right to do so. But she has spent so many nights with this man, and they are friends, and he has done something horrible. She wishes that would wipe away all the good that exists between them, but it doesn't and it won't. Not when a friend of hers looks like that. Not when he is sitting calmly and dully at the end of her blade, waiting for her to decide his fate.

"Leave my home," she bites out, because she cannot look at either of them, knowing the choice that she is about to make. She needs some time alone, some space from him, to make sure that this really is the decision that she's going to make. (She knows herself, though. She knows what she is thinking and feeling. She will take him back as a friend, and she needs some time to come to terms with this fact. Come to terms with the fact that she has just learned what kind of person she is, and she's not proud of it.)

He stands without argument, drawing back from her naked blade and moving toward the door again. He makes it only a step before she reaches out to take his arm.

"I will expect you back in a month. Just because you are living in the Demon Realm now does not mean you can neglect your friendships here in the Human Realm. If it's so simple for you to enter this sect, then there is nothing preventing you from continuing our meetings."

She watches the words hit him, a physical force in his eyes. Shock, then confusion, then a creeping hope and wonder. What does it mean, what does it mean about her, that she is happy to see something like that? Is she willing to accept this about herself? What else is there to do, now that she knows it?

"This one will return." The words are faltering. They both pretend not to notice.

"See that you do. And next time, maybe you could bring some wine with you. I have heard about the spirits of the Demon Realm, but no one has ever been willing to retrieve such a thing for me."

He stares at her for a moment longer, nods once.

He steps through the door. By the time she moves to the window to watch him walk away, he is gone.

*~*~*

"You shouldn't have him around. It's not safe," Yan Yazhu scolds when she comes in the next morning, tiding up the room even though that very much is not her job.

"I don't know who you're talking about," Liao Qinglan replies, because she's the peak lord and also because she doesn't want to talk about any of this until she has had at least another week to ruminate on it. Late at night. Without anyone else's input, thank you very much.

"I know what it looks like when Shang-shishu has been to visit." The tone is chiding and frustrated, because this is the dynamic they have made for themselves after decades of shared leadership. Yan Yazhu is trying to lean on their trust in each other to get more of the answers that she wants. Too bad. She is underestimating Liao Qinglan's ability to avoid thinking about things.

"This peak lord does not know why her head disciple would be so daring as to imply that this peak lord is violating the banishment of that traitor Shang Qinghua."

Yan Yazhu, who had been stooped to pick up another empty jar of wine off the ground (something Liao Qinglan may have drunk all by herself after Shang Qinghua left), straightens up. She stares, dead-eyed, at her peak lord for a long moment. Liao Qinglan tilts her head innocently back. Yan Yazhu quirks an eyebrow. Liao Qinglan smiles winningly.

"Okay," Yan Yazhu says. The doubt on her face smooths into the perfect expression of a filial disciple. She smiles the same sort of smile Liao Qinglan has seen her give to members of other peaks when they suddenly remember that Zui Xian Peak exists, just in time to come and acquire the alcohol they'll be needing for this or that ceremony.

"Great."

"Then, Peak Lord Liao, this humble disciple would like to discuss the plans for the upcoming ascension celebration."

What a good head disciple. That's more like it. The ascension celebration. The annual commemoration of when this generation of peak lords stepped into their positions.

"Sect Leader will be wanting his mulberry wine," Liao Qinglan ponders. Yan Yazhu wrinkles her nose and she cannot help but sympathize. "How are we stocked in that?"

"The batch from several years ago should still be available and prepared. It is not as though anyone else in the sect will be drinking it."

Their poor sect leader and his poor, terrible taste in alcohol. What a shame, what a shame. Yan Yazhu and Liao Qinglan spend the rest of the day talking through the annual plan to pretend as though everyone is drinking the same wine while working to provide a much more palatable option to everyone else at the banquet.

Here. She's competent at this. It's all fine.

It's going to be fine.

*~*~*

The next time she sees Shang Qinghua, it's been exactly one month. She is fairly sure that he counted down the days. She is only able to make that kind of guess because she definitely counted down the days, and so she can't bring it up at all, because then that would show what she had done.

Okay. Maybe the point of this is that she's trying to repair the relationship and everything. Maybe it would be helpful for him to know that she was eager to see him again, worried that he wouldn't come back. Too fucking bad, though. If he wanted her that open and vulnerable, then he shouldn't have betrayed the peak in the first place.

It takes a while. A long while. That first visit, they end up sitting mostly in silence. They keep trying to start the conversation up again, complaining about their days and the kind of people they have to put up with, but the rhythm's all off, and they keep getting distracted by thoughts in their own heads, so that they're missing the natural flow of when it would be their turn to talk again. Liao Qinglan is a sharp, vicious thing at times, and she wishes that weren't the case but she doesn't know how to make herself stop. Shang Qinghua is cringing and anxious, sweating and laughing too loudly at jokes that aren't funny. It's terrible. She wishes it weren't like this at all.

He brought some of the most expensive wine available in the Demon Realm. It's delicious, made from wolfberries grown in the Human Realm but fermented with methods that are legendarily secret to the one particular family that makes it. It's light and delicate on the tongue and burns like a song down the throat. She would normally spend hours talking about the finer details of it with Shang Qinghua. He might not have been brought up on Zui Xian Peak, but after all their evenings together, he is more than able to keep up in a conversation about wine.

It's even worse, then, that they're just sitting here, drinking the best wine she's ever tasted, and they're not even talking about it. They're not talking about anything. Nothing that matters, anyway. Or, maybe, too much that matters and not enough that feels like the way that they have always talked in the past. Whatever it is, it's awful, and it's turning this beautiful wine into tar in her mouth, and she wants nothing more than to crawl out of his skin and fly away from all the vulnerability and discomfort of this.

They sit and drink until morning, then both go their separate ways to sleep it off.

She wakes up without any of the effects of a hangover, and by then she's furious.

*~*~*

"We haven't even thought about other kinds of fruit wine that we could have at the Ascension Celebration."

"Right," Yan Yazhu drawls in a way that she clearly stole from Liao Qinglan. They are walking through the peak together, today, even though there are never really any emergencies on Zui Xian Peak that would require the presence of both the peak lord and the head disciple. There's never really any emergencies at all. That's kind of the whole point. "Because we both agree that the peak lords are much more willing to accept a rice wine and that fruit wine is rarely worth the effort it takes to prepare."

"Of course," Liao Qinglan replies absently, still thinking about the delicious way that the demonic wolfberry wine had sat on her tongue and left no after-effects. "Unless, of course, we've been neglecting fruit wine because of that and haven't actually figured out the way to prepare it correctly."

Thinking about it, this is a glaring oversight on Liao Qinglan's part. Who knew that it was possible for any fruit wine to be so delicious? Especially for it to leave no hangover or negative effects the next day? But, then, who else on this earth should have known, if not the peak lord of Zui Xian Peak herself?

Yan Yazhu is staring at her questioningly, as though she has just opened her mouth and let out a donkey's bray instead of words, but Liao Qinglan barely notices it. She's distracted, too busy running over the exact taste and notes that she detected in that demonic wine. It's hard to remember, because everything was tainted by how stiff and awkward the conversation was. She was too busy tasting the stilted air to notice what she could detect of the specific flavor profile and techniques used.

They continue their walk through the peak, resting for a while in the sun with those who are circulating their qi and napping. They check in on the little junior disciples, which is one of Liao Qinglan's favorite parts of her job. They aren't allowed to be drinking much yet, but that doesn't mean that it's too early to begin developing a discerning palate. The juniors spend much of their morning cultivating and learning various techniques for the circulation of qi, and then much of the afternoon cooking and tasting and working on developing the ability to channel their qi to their mouth. Tasting at a level most people could never dream of.

It's important, when you're working on creating new drinks. Just because a normal person, or even another cultivator, might not be aware of the nuance, it doesn't mean that it won't influence their experience of the drink. Even if they can't put their finger on what it is that they like, the Zui Xian Peak disciples should be able to take account for every note of flavor in something they produced.

It's fun, to sit with the juniors and talk through every detail of what they are tasting in the food and drink that they're eating. It's fun, to watch them start to find the perfect words to describe things, even if it means making up new words or metaphors. It's fun, to show off a little when she takes a turn at their little tasting game.

Best of all, it's easier to focus on something like this than all that nonsense going on with some big-shot traitor out doing who-knows-what.

*~*~*

The month after that, Shang Qinghua comes to visit again. It's still stilted, and it's still awkward, but it's a little bit easier, because at least this time they both knew what to mentally prepare for. Also, he brings more of the wine, and Liao Qinglan sets one of the jars aside without providing anything close to an explanation for her actions. Shang Qinghua, wisely, stays silent and allows her to do as she will.

*~*~*

"Yan Yazhu, did you know that we have an entire section of the peak that is set aside for making fruit wine that we've been neglecting?" She is slumped across the cluttered desk of her head disciple, because this is the proper pose for bothering one's head disciple.

"I believe that we have a section dedicated to fruit wine that you have been neglecting. If I'm not mistaken, some of the older peak members have been teaching a few of the previous class of juniors about how to use it. They gather there every few nights for a club that they think is secret." Yan Yazhu sits at her desk and casually ticks off another number on her incredibly comprehensive rota. She's a little bit terrifying, the kind of head disciple who can keep track of the schedule of every other member of the peak while also keeping up to date on secret goings-on. Every few weeks or so Liao Qinglan lets herself get smug all over again at how clever it was to pick this one for this position.

"Right, well, that's only because fruit wine is a waste of time compared to the other kinds of alcohol we could be making." The words jump to her tongue with the practice of the thousands of times she's said it before.

"As you have said before. Repeatedly," Yan Yazhu says dryly. "Which, again, might make someone wonder why it is you are suddenly speaking of it so much."

"Just because something doesn't taste good doesn't mean that it's a reasonable excuse to ignore it! How can we call ourselves Zui Xian Peak if we are neglecting such an enormous sector of alcohol production?"

"An inspired question, Peak Lord Liao." Yan Yazhu isn't even looking at her anymore. Might not even be listening. "Truly, your wisdom is endless."

"When did you say that secret club was meeting, again?"

"Every three days, with their next meeting tomorrow evening, shizun."

"Ah, good, good. I knew there was a reason I keep you around, Yan Yazhu."

Without looking up from her rota, Yan Yazhu throws an ink stone in her direction. It misses, because she wasn't looking. Liao Qinglan yelps like it hit her anyway, and she bustles herself out of that room to go find a place where she is more appreciated and respected.

*~*~*

Don't get it confused. Liao Qinglan's whole life does not consist of staying up late in the night and engaging in drunken gossip with an old friend! Just because she's been spending most of her time thinking about Shang Qinghua, recently, doesn't mean that she doesn't have a whole lot going on. She's a very important peak lord for the most prestigious cultivation sect in the jianghu!

No, she also stays up late in the night to engage in secret preparation of fruit wines! See? There are layers here. She's a complicated person.

She does eventually make it over to the part of the mountain that was set aside for fruit wine. She's known it was there since she was a very young disciple, and she did her lessons on fruit wine when they were required of her. She's been here before. It's just been a while.

Pretty much as soon as she had enough power to make such decisions, Liao Qinglan left the fruit wine life behind. She hasn't missed it for even a moment. The rest of the peak, following the example of their dazzling and charismatic peak lord, also left the practice alone. Maybe she should feel bad about all the ancient techniques that would potentially be forgotten by an entire generation of Zui Xian Peak ignoring research on fruit wines. But, well, there are certainly more than enough records, for anyone who might choose to take it back up someday! That's a central part of Zui Xian Peak! Even if every disciple tends to guard their personal recipes with the kind of possessiveness and ferocity of a dragon before its young, there are still a great many peak-wide records and references for the recipes everyone follows.

There are records of the teachings, and there are elders who have been here since long before Liao Qinglan took control and that will remain here long after the next generation steps up. The practice of fruit wine preparation won't die. Besides, she never forbade anyone from coming here. It was merely that, again, she knew what the correct opinion was and was not afraid to share it. Once everyone else was shown the error of their ways, what could they do but sing her praises and fall in line?

Well, she supposes, the thing they could do was form a secret club and continue to do it anyway. There is evidence of their efforts all over this room. (Though, the workspace in the building remains spotless. Good. Her disciples know better than to allow any kind of rot or decay or disarray to develop in their preparation spaces.) It's all so dramatic. She wouldn't have actually stopped anyone from doing what they wanted. The elders didn't need to go this far. That said, it's a little bit cute. She kind of wants to keep letting them have their fun. Besides, it's fun to feel like you're sneaking around and conspiring. Really, she was helping her peak by giving them the opportunity to have a secret club.

This is why she's here on a night when no one else is supposed to be. She's here at this time because she wants them to keep their cute little secret. It has nothing to do with the fact that she has been ranting against fruit wine for literal years and can't stand the blow her face would take if she were suddenly spotted here in the building they have fully devoted to the preparation and fermentation of fruit wine.

Liao Qinglan, peak lord of Zui Xian Peak, would never go back on her word. She still hasn't. If it wasn't for that fucking demonic fruit wine, she wouldn't have to be here at all. It's really all Shang Qinghua's fault.

She knows what she tasted in that wine, and she's made more than enough wolfberry wine herself, over the years she's been in this sect.  Liao Qinglan knows how to work with wolfberries. She doesn't know how to make them taste like that, though. She's done everything that's done with wolfberries, even preparing the pulp and residue to be used as feed or fertilizer across the peaks. It's all part of the approach to cultivation on the peak. She's experimented. She's labored. She's done this shit before. It's unfair, that someone else figured out how to make them taste like that before she did.

Wolfberry wine usually just tastes like almost nothing at all, slides down your throat, and leaves you without a hangover. Fine, sure, but what's the point? This demonic wine, though, still had all the positive effects of a wine made with wolfberries, but had somehow turned into something that she actually wanted to drink! She needs to break down the barrier between the human and demon realms so that she can pressure the demons into telling her everything she could ever want to know about their techniques.

There was other stuff in there, of course. She could taste it. She's trained her whole life to be able to taste it. The demonic wine was, at its core, a simple wolfberry wine fermented with a base of rice and qu. There were notes of du zhong, gancao, camomile, and lilyturf. She's fairly sure she identified them all, sitting alone in her office and taking slow, meditative sips of her pilfered jug of wine while circulating her qi through her mouth.

It should be simple, to make such a fruit wine. She has all the ingredients on hand. Even the wolfberries, since they often will use them to flavor some liquors or to brew medicinal tonics for Qian Cao peak. No one in the sect will notice that she took a few baskets of the dried fruit for herself tonight.

All the minor, long-term steps of the process have already been done. That's what a lot of the juniors do, to practice their cultivation. The peak makes meditation out of all the preparatory steps: sorting through fruits and grain to pick out any detritus, bugs, leaves; grinding steamed rice down into the finest powder and mixing it with water to pack into qu; preparing the base rice wine that is used as a foundation for so many other steps in more complex processes.

It means that, tonight, it might be possible for Liao Qinglan to move through the process and start something fermenting before anyone on the peak even wakes up to see her.

She prepares the flavorings first, just as she detected the notes of them earlier. It is an automatic process to begin adding the dried ingredients to a large pot. She throws in some dried leaves and roots from the wolfberry plant as well, to allow more of the flavor to come through. It is a long, slow boil to draw out the flavors. She knows that she's not going to get the proportions quite right, not without a few more attempts and failures, but she'll never know what she needs to change until she's already fucked it up once! So, she measures with her heart and writes down what she did, boiling the ingredients until the water is a rich, dark color like over-steeped tea.

While that is boiling, she also starts the dried wolfberries to boil in another pot, so that the bright red color pops out again and the water starts to take on some of the flavor as well.

There's time to pause after that, because she needs to allow the berries, the water they're in, and the steeped flavorings to all cool. It's easy to stay calm and meditate through the long cooling process. She's actually really good at stuff like this. It's how she ended up as the peak lord here

Simple, simple. She's done this thousands of times.

It's dark in this building. She has brought a lantern with her to light the way, but it is dim so that the light does not move beyond the circle of her work space. It would ruin everything, for someone to see her light from somewhere else on the peak, come to investigate, and find their peak lord in the one place that she had sworn never to go again!

In that circle of dim light, she waits for her first few steps to cool. Liao Qinglan pours the water with the flavorings through a cloth as it cools to filter out any of the bits left over from the dried roots and flowers and leaves. Finally, when there is no difference between the temperature of the berries, the brewed ingredients, and the air around her, she mixes the two together and begins making a large, fresh batch of rice.

Calm and patient. There is so much waiting in this process, so many starts and stops. That's a large part of the beauty of it. She has something she is focusing on. It will take as long as it takes and she will patiently wait throughout that time. Liao Qinglan breathes deeply as she feels her mind empty out of any thought but this one. It has been so long since she took the time to prepare something herself. She can't remember why, but that doesn't matter at the moment. All that matters is the project before her.

The rice is done. While it is still steaming and warm, she spreads a cloth across the floor of the building, in the space cleared and cleaned for this exact purpose. The rice spills warm and steaming and cloud-like across the wide swathe of cloth.

She breaks apart the cake of qu that she has brought with her. The dried, malted rice crumbles apart under the firm pressure of her fingers and she sprinkles the resulting crumbles out over the expanse of fresh rice. Mixing the two together was always one of her favorite parts of this process. The rice is warm and giving under her hands. It is a slow, repetitive motion to knead at the ingredients until the two separate parts become one, uniform mass. The qu was mixed in at just the right temperature. She knows it was, because she has done this before.

After that, it is nothing to pull over one of the enormous, smooth wooden bowls that the junior disciples have carefully and diligently carved. Their elder sect siblings have checked over every bowl for cracks or flaws anywhere in the process, before they are distributed throughout the peak.

Into the bowl goes the base rice wine, the fresh mixture she has just created, the combination of wolfberries and brewed water. This is a different motion, a different technique, but she combines all of these in the bowl with a rhythmic kneading as well. Then, all of it into a large clay pot, enough water to rinse out any residue in the bowl and fill the pot to just the right level.

She can easily lift and carry the pot out to the place where they set such things to wait and ferment, out in a large field and marked with the name of the disciple working on whatever is inside, as well as the date it was placed there. She is a cultivator, after all. It is no effort to pick up her large pot, carry it into the woods, and creep around the outside edge of the peak so that she can come up near where they brew their baijiu. From there, she finally starts making her way toward the fermenting field. Just in case anyone sees her and tries to guess what she's been working on. They'll never be the wiser.

No one does see her. They all seem to be settled in with their friends and their games or well asleep by now. Good for them, good for them. Liao Qinglan sets down the pot, labels it under today's date and Yan Yazhu's name, and then heads back to the the woods. She slinks back around to the building set aside for the fruit wines and cleans up thoroughly after herself.

As the sun is starting to just peek over the edge of the horizon, she knows that not a soul on her peak will be awake. The building is clean and the only things left behind are the fruits stolen by the secret fruit wine club and the pots they have secretly fermenting out at the back of the building.

Now that she has gone back through the whole process all over again, Liao Qinglan can admit that there are maybe a few parts of fruit wine making that are pleasant and enjoyable. She still stands by her belief that they are more effort than the product could justify, when there are so many other fantastic alcohols that could be created in the same amount of time.

Her final project, that wolfberry wine she just dedicated her whole night to, should be ready to be tasted in just 20 days. Of course, she could leave it to clarify for six months past that, but just those 20 days should show whether the taste will be worth justifying all that extra time spent to refine it to perfection. Given the fact that nothing she did tonight was any different than things she has done in the past, she probably won't go through the effort.

She doesn't have high hopes for any of this. She has made wolfberry wine more times than she can count. Of course, some of the flavors are different this time, and the proportions have been shifted. Maybe that will miraculously be enough to change the taste into something sweet and mellow and refreshing instead of watered-down juice with a little bit of medicine hidden in it. It shouldn't be, though. It wouldn't make any sense.

There is no way to make wolfberry wine taste like that. It is impossible. The very peak lord of Zui Xian Peak cannot make it, so it cannot be done!

She will wait the 20 days. And then she will try the wine.

Hopes are not high.

*~*~*

It's a simple thing, to sneak back into the fenced-in fermentation field where they leave their clay pots to sit. The peak has never been particularly active during the night. Or, that is to say, they are much more likely to be settled in by the night and are rarely out running across the outdoor work areas of the peak. That's left for the daytime hours, while the evening is for fun, resting, spending time with friends.

Liao Qinglan is quite proud of the culture she has created for her peak. She was proud of it even before she realized that it makes it very easy for her to sneak around on secret, fruit-wine-related missions.

It's been 20 days since she left the pot to ferment and the qu to work its magic on the liquid within. When she pulls off the lid, it's to see the thick, pale gruel of the rice and wolfberries that has gathered at the top. She stirs it up a little and then wedges a close-woven reed basket into the center. The thin spaces between reeds filter out any of the larger particles in the wine and allow only the foggy wine to gather in the center.

It could still be clarified, and it will take longer than just a few minutes for the wine to separate out from all the detritus. Still, she knows what wine tastes like at this point in the process. She knows how to taste for the flavor it will develop into.

She uses a small hand bowl to scoop out some of that clouded liquid in the center of the basket. It is dark. There is no one around to see that she is doing this.

A small sip, swirled in the bowl before it is raised to her lips. The wine sits light on her tongue. There are hints of wolfberry, the rice wine base. She can tell that there is camomile, du zhong, gancao, and lilyturf. Just like she could taste in the demonic wine that Shang Qinghua brought.

The notes and flavors are all there. It should be the same as the wine that her friend brought. If anyone in the world should be capable of recreating a wine, after having tasted it multiple times, it should be the peak lord of Zui Xian. In fact, the wine that she prepared should be even better that whatever dreck the demon realm is making.

So why, then, does it still taste mostly of diluted, slightly medicinal rice wine?

It's exactly the same thing that she is always complaining about, when it comes to any kind of fruit wine. Sure, it tastes fine. But why bother with something like this, when there are much more flavorful versions of liquor available? Why bother with something like this, when it is so much more satisfying to pull out the subtle notes of flavor in a well-prepared batch of simple rice wine?

Fruit wine, as far as Liao Qinglan is concerned, is rather like striking yourself over the head with a bludgeoning club of flavor. There is so little subtlety or nuance, when compared to the rich and various ways that one can bring out notes of flavor in rice alone. And then, even worse, once the fruit has drowned out all the nuance, it doesn't even have the decency to stick around. It hits you in the face and then leaves you with no aftertaste at all.

This batch is boring, even for fruit wine. She has never particularly enjoyed the taste of wolfberries. It isn't a surprise that she doesn't enjoy this. As far as the actual technique behind fruit wine goes, the flavors are delicately balanced. She has never tasted something prepared better than this. She should be able to walk away from all of this with her dignity intact, having proven that she can make a perfect wolfberry wine that she doesn't have a taste for.

But, if it were so simple as that, then she wouldn't have even been in the fruit wine building in the dead of night in the first place. No, the point of this all is not that she is doubting her ability to follow the steps and her own artistic ability to create a delicate and perfectly balanced wolfberry fruit wine. Her resulting product is as high quality a wine as any that might be purchased in the human realm.

The problem, is that, somehow, that anxious disaster of her best friend has brought her a version of wolfberry wine that sits mellow and sweet on her tongue and sparks along her senses as she swallows it down. He brought her wine that tastes rich and verdant, with a scent stronger and more alluring than any fruit wine she has ever encountered before.

She is the peak lord of Zui Xian Peak, dammit, and if there is a technique to making wine that can be learned, then how could she ever let herself rest without learning of it?

She does not pour the wine out of the pot and directly onto the ground, even though she really wants to. This is the field where so many other alcohols are fermenting in their pots in the sun. It would be careless to invite pests to the sweet residue the wine would leave behind, or to risk any kind of cross-contamination to some other wine that a disciple has been perfecting for years on end.

Instead, Liao Qinglan channels all of her anger at this situation into her arms, in order to hoist the pot of fruit wine over her head and haul it back out into the woods, where she can pour it out upon the ground without feeling any kind of guilt about it.

Well, okay, maybe there is the smallest amount of guilt. Someone might have benefited from this wine. It was perfectly fine the way it was prepared, by anyone else's standard. Perhaps it would have been more logical and reasonable to keep the wine and clarify it until it could be distributed out like many of the other products on this mountain.

But, unfortunately, every export of Zui Xian Peak goes before the careful eyes and thoughtful brush of Yan Yazhu herself. As the only fruit wine currently leaving the peak is the result of the secret club and the mulberry wine they prepare specially and specifically for the sect leader every few years, there is no way she would not notice the sudden export of several small jars of wolfberry wine.

There would be questions. And Yan Yazhu has an uncanny ability to sniff out any lie or deception on the part of her peak lord. It makes things terribly inconvenient for her, if Liao Qinglan is being honest, but that's the price one must pay in order to have a competent and self-sufficient subordinate. Think of all the work she would have to be doing herself, if Yan Yazhu weren't there to do it for her.

So, the wine, mixed all together with the pulp and residue, spills out onto the forest floor, far away from where any casual wanderer might come across it. Liao Qinglan lugs the pot to a stream nearby to rinse it out until it no longer smells distinctively of wolfberries, at which point she can place it with all the other pots that need washing by the younger disciples. They like to make a game of singing and cleaning them up, and she allows them this one chance to have fun with the tasks rather than turning it into meditation. Cleaning should be fun, anyway.

She's going to think about her cute little juniors and forget all about the infuriating demonic wine that she cannot reproduce even with centuries of research and experience and wisdom on this exact topic behind her.

It's fine.

She doesn't even care.

It's literally fine.

*~*~*

Months pass. Recently, it had turned out that Shen Qingqiu wasn't actually dead and was instead running around the jianghu causing problems. This had very little to do with Liao Qinglan's life, and seems to have recently settled down a bit, but she heard the rumors.

The fifteenth month after their falling out, Shang Qinghua doesn't visit at all, even thought they've been sticking to an unspoken, very strict schedule. Liao Qinglan does not worry, because she is a peak lord with a thousand very important duties to hold her attention. If that means that she spends the entire evening sitting in her home and completing any paperwork she can find, just so that she can be present and available should anyone else arrive, that's her own business.

Well, her business and Yan Yazhu's business, since she's the one who comes through the house the next day, gathers up everything that Liao Qinglan did, shoots her a very passive-aggressive glare, and redoes all of it to her own specifications. But, well, that's what she gets for being the kind of over-controlling head disciple who won't allow anyone to help.

Maybe Liao Qinglan's in a bad mood. Maybe she didn't sleep well the night before. Who can say for sure.

When Shang Qinghua finally arrives, three nights after the time when he was scheduled (not actually scheduled, but they both fucking know that he was) to arrive, he looks harried and panicked. There are no bruises or cuts visible on his body, because such things never trouble immortal cultivators for more than a few minutes, but there is blood on his robes, bright and still fresh and blooming out from a point on his shoulder. Not the way that blood tends to look when it's coming from someone else.

Liao Qinglan hasn't been worried about his absence for days, and she certainly isn't worried about him now, so she walks at a very normal pace to greet him and ask how his day has been. She can hear the ice in her voice. She still does not know how to go about melting it, even for a friend.

Shang Qinghua accepts her worried hand-patting like he knows what it means, anyway (which, rude, how dare he), and they stand in front of each other awkwardly for just a moment before moving this whole embarrassing display of emotions indoors and over to the table. Where there are cups that can be filled with wine. If this happens to be a convenient excuse to avoid eye contact and conversation for another second, no it isn't.

"Ah, it's been a few days longer than we scheduled. This one apologizes for upsetting Liao-shimei."

"Why would I be upset?" She snaps. "We didn't have anything officially scheduled. I didn't even notice if you missed the night, like you're saying."

"Of course, of course. This one apologizes for the presumption."

They sit in silence for a little bit longer, because Shang Qinghua is the talker between the two of them, and she is not going to ask about any of his injuries when he's been so secretive about his life over in the demon realm. She doesn't actually know where the lines are anymore. It fucking sucks.

After twitching and growing more and more visibly uncomfortable, Shang Qinghua finally speaks.

"This one genuinely didn't mean to be late. There was an uprising in the North, and we've been so busy on the front lines that I lost track of days."

"You've been fighting?" She can't help the skepticism in her voice. It's not fair, maybe, but it is also valid. She and Shang Qinghua always pair up for the showy spars between peak lords, because both of them are absolutely terrible at cultivation with the sword. She knows the kind of prowess he would be bringing to the table. They both know that neither of them are built for the 'front lines.'

"Ah, no, not me, not me. I have been attending to and advising My King, as he leads the charge."

"There's blood on your robe." Her voice is as flat and hard as the oak table between them. She doesn't know how to make it softer than that. She's furious. She's so worried. She had no idea any of this was going on.

"Ah, well, yes. Not from the front lines. There was an..." he trails off, gauges her reaction to all this talk of his new life, continues, "an assassination attempt on My King. Just before this, after the fighting had mostly wound down. There were some minor members of a noble family that we deposed and they were...less than satisfied with the results of the battle." He pauses again, still so hesitant to speak in anything more than vague generalities. One of his hands has come up to rub absently against the blood stain at his shoulder.

"I fail to see how an assassination attempt against a demon king would result in your injury." Unless the king had thrown his servant in front of the blow, in which case Liao Qinglan is worried that there will be no force in the human or demon realms capable of stopping her from going on a furious rampage. Even if she would likely be killed quickly, due to the aforementioned lack of martial prowess.

"That would be because I may or may not have gotten in the way of it. My King was asleep, you see, and he hadn't rested in days. I thought it best for him if I just...took care of it." There is a flicker of darkness in his eye as he says that last bit, and maybe this is the part of him that is able to be responsible for the deaths of hundreds of children and keep on living?

None of this is painting the kind of picture that Liao Qinglan was expecting, whenever she thought about her friend's life in the Demon Realm. Which she doesn't do. None of this is full of the kind of abuse, violence, horror that she has always heard, when listening to stories about the Demon Realm before now.

Shang Qinghua, in the months that they have been repairing their friendship, has not talked about the Demon Realm. Not really at all. It's been an explosive array that they have both danced around on the floor without ever allowing themselves to touch it. They could, presumably, do that forever. It's also, probably, fairly impracticable, considering everything about her friend's current living situation.

It doesn't make any sense. Nothing is matching up with her expectations. It doesn't make sense, until she starts listening back to everything he has said so far. Particularly, the emphasis that he has been putting on the words My King.

Liao Qinglan has shared a sect with Shang Qinghua for years. She knows what it sounds like when he says their sect leader's name.

This is, Most Definitely, not the way that he says their sect leader's name.

This is something very different. Something reverent. Something soft. Something overwhelming.

And she wasn't paying close attention before, because she was too busy making sure that her friend wasn't fucking dying. But, now that that's all resolved and put away for now, she can really dive into the fact that that's not how anyone says the name of their boss.

That is, rather, the way that someone talks about someone they are desperately in love with. Someone they idolize and worship.

She is starting to get a picture of what may or may not be going on here, and it is absolutely ridiculous, and it is far beyond anything she could have ever known to prepare herself for.

"Oh," she drawls. "So it's like that, then."

Shang Qinghua's head whips up, and the cup of wine in front of him teeters on its side, almost tipping over and spilling everywhere before it spins its way back to center. Guilty, guilty, guilty. He's already completely given himself away.

"What do you mean?"

And it's against everything she expected, when her friend was heartily encouraged to leave the sect. When he ran away to live in the Demon Realm. She's always heard that demons are cold and cruel and violent. But, then again, demons are also always coming in, spouting all sorts of nonsense about cultivators. It seems that the hatred and misinformation might be going both ways. Either that, or her dear friend Shang Qinghua is more unwell than she ever considered before.

She never expected anyone might feel this kind of fondness for a demon, especially not a demon king. That said, Liao Qinglan likes to think that she is the kind of person who stands by her friends. Some might even argue that she stands by them long past the time when she should have left them behind. Those people may even be correct in that statement, but it's never stopped her before and it certainly won't stop her now.

"Tell me more about this king of yours, Shang-shixiong." He flushes underneath her knowing look, looking around all panicked again. At least, this time, it's not the kind of cornered panic of someone worried his life is in danger, or that his friend is about to throw him off the mountain or report him for crossing back over a rainbow bridge following his banishment from the head cultivation sect. She knows what that kind of panic looks like on her friend's face.

This is the much more familiar, much more damning, look of a person who has been caught out on a secret they very much hoped that no one would notice they were keeping.

Too damn bad. This is what he gets, for maintaining a friendship with the peak lord of the drinking peak, even after cutting almost all ties with the Human Realm.

Liao Qinglan reaches out and refills his cup, even though he hasn't taken a drink from it yet. A little of it spilled when it twirled earlier, and she's not really doing it for the practicality of the thing. Rather for the drama of it all. The unspoken implication.

They are going to get drunk tonight. They are going to get absolutely shit-faced and she is going to hear all about this king of Shang Qinghua's. It is her god-given right as one of the only humans that he still talks to and one of the few friends who has stuck around. This is the reward for all the effort they have put forward these past few months, rebuilding the relationships and finding all the new boundaries and limits within it.

And, miraculously, it all sort of goes to plan. Shang Qinghua talks to her about the king of the Northern Desert, his king, his Mobei-Jun. He doesn't provide details about tactical information, or the exact specifics of how they came to know each other. She can tell that he is still wary of giving her any kind of information that may be used against his precious king, but that's not what she's interested in anyway.

She wants to know what they talk about. How he makes Shang Qinghua feel. If they are together yet.

And she gets to learn all of it. One blustering, stuttering, blushing sentence at a time, she gets to hear about the story of a young disciple of the An Ding clan and the relationship that he built with the young, not-then-king of the Northern Desert in the Demon Realm.

Of course, it's not quite as simple as all that. She is a master of obtaining information from other people, and not all of that information is from what people will tell her directly. Shang Qinghua, as much as he likes to talk and ramble, isn't actually the sort to provide endless information about his life. The drink certainly helps with all that, as it always has with him, but there is also much to be inferred from the places he pauses, the information he omits, the look on his face while he's talking.

It's actually, strangely, kind of sweet. In a confusing, paradigm-shifting kind of way. Liao Qinglan would never have thought, for even a moment, that this would be something that her friend would want, but the more he talks, the more it makes sense. He's always been the type to need someone to ground him, stay calm while he sprints from one panicked task to another. She had thought, if he chose to have anyone, it would be a human, but there's really no reason it needed to be.

If this Mobei-Jun is capable of caring for Shang Qinghua in the same way that Shang Qinghua so obviously cares for him, well, then she supposes that she wishes them all the best. She just needs to take the time to make sure this demon king is treating her friend kindly.

"Are you actually his advisor, then?" She asks, because it's starting to sound like much more of a soulmates, best friends, lovers sort of situation.

"Oh, no, not officially or anything. I'm just a servant for him. A spy, for a long time," he cringes at that but they both continue on as if he hadn't said anything. "I guess, now, I'm not even that. Mostly I follow him around and do all the busywork that comes with running a kingdom that no one else wants to bother with."

And, well, that doesn't sound accurate at all. Not with the way that Shang Qinghua has been going on about his king. That can't be right.

"It doesn't seem like he's the sort of man to put up with someone if he doesn't enjoy being around them."

"Oh, god, no, not at all. You have no idea the number of times I've had to follow behind him and clean up all the messes he makes while speaking to the other members of demon royalty. My King will just say whatever he's thinking or feeling at the time and doesn't care at all about how that might impact the very delicate balance in the Demon Realm. Sometimes, if he's in a very bad mood, he'll just kill someone who frustrates him, and then I have even more work to do." He's wringing his hands, clearly still very caught up in his worry about all of this, now that he's been reminded that it exists. "Honestly, I almost never leave him alone. Can't be trusted not to go off and do something ridiculous. The nights when you and I hang out are probably the most amount of time I spend away from the court."

"Right," Liao Qinglan drawls, because she's starting to put a few clues together and it's not looking too good for poor Shang-shixiong. "So why would he spend time with you unless he was enjoying it? It sounds like you spend nearly every moment together."

The shock of the words slaps him right across the face and leaves Shang Qinghua's cheeks burning.

"What are you talking about? No, that's not. No, it's not like that. He tolerates me because I take care of all the things that he doesn't want to have to deal with."

"Sounds like a lot of trust to be putting into a random subordinate."

"No, it's not. It's really not like that."

"And he listens to you, when you tell him not to do something?"

"I mean, sometimes." Shang Qinghua is viciously uncomfortable, clearly. Too fucking bad. He made her reevaluate her entire opinion on what it means to be friends with someone. He can take some teasing.

"He doesn't sound like the sort of man to listen to someone's input if they don't matter to him."

"I mean, no, of course not, but that's not-" His voice is shooting up an octave, hands in his hair and tugging at the loose strands. It's all falling out of his bun at this point, and he looks scattered and frayed. Honestly, as far as Liao Qinglan is concerned, it's about damn time he be the one to feel that way.

She takes another long sip of the delicious demon wine, paying close attention to savoring the notes and flavoring and technique of it all. If that has the added bonus of making Shang Qinghua stew in the ideas she's been putting before him, then good. That was the fucking point in the first place.

"He wants to be with you. And you want to be with him. You should probably do something about that." She gestures toward him with the cup of her wine, but quickly tilts it back to make sure that not a single drop of it spills on the table from such a careless motion. Damn her tendency toward dramatic body language. Sure, it gets her point across, but the number of drinks that have been lost to it are far too high. If only she didn't look so cool doing it, she would think about stopping. Instead, this is where a significant portion of her effort as a cultivator goes: in maintaining perfect balance of her drinks until she is too drunk to keep it up.

"I can't talk about this." Shang Qinghua stumbles to his feet. "I have to go. This isn't-. I can't talk about this anymore."

He doesn't look like he wants to stop talking about it. He's wringing his hands and glancing at her in between every word, and there's something in his eyes that is desperate to talk about this further. This is similar to the look he usually gives her when there's some fabulous gossip about another peak lord and he wants her to drag it out of him. What kind of friend would she be if she didn't comply?

"Are you going to go back to the palace, then? Perhaps your king is wounded as well and needs someone to tenderly nurse him back to health?" He makes some kind of horrified, shrieking squeak but, importantly, doesn't argue. "If you leave now, I'm afraid that's the only explanation I'll have."

"I can't talk about this. I really can't. You don't understand, it's not like that." He's shaking and mumbling a little bit, which is cute, if he thinks that's going to be enough to deter her. He still doesn't actually look upset. More like a man who is being forced to talk about a thing he hasn't allowed himself to think about for years on end. What is Zui Xian Peak for, if not something like this?

Liao Qinglan leans over the table and refills Shang Qinghua's cup. It actually was getting a little bit empty this time but, more than that, this is a well-established message between them. It is not time to leave yet. Shang Qinghua watches the wine pour from the jar into his cup with wide, round eyes. When she sets the jar back down, he lowers himself to his seat along with it.

They sit there until late in the night. The wine flows freely. Shang Qinghua's words are blocked for a while, but everyone's tongue loosens under the pressure of enough liquor, and Shang Qinghua is a beautiful accomplice in accomplishing that goal. By the time the rest of the world has been asleep for a shichen, they're both drunken messes and Shang Qinghua is finally willing to go into depth on just how desperately he yearns for his king. By a shichen after that, they have compiled a list of evidence that this king might see him the same way back. Perhaps some of it will even continue to make sense in the morning light.

It's strange, whenever she takes a step back to realize that she is helping her friend in his efforts to seduce a demon. That they are evaluating the behavior of another person as a potential romantic option, and it's a demon, and that's really not making all that much of a difference, beyond the fact that they're having to do all kinds of hasty research on demonic courting rituals and culture.

A year ago, she never would have even considered something like this. It was not simply taboo, or repulsive, or any other negative word. More truthfully, the thought would have never even entered her head for her to have a reaction to it. This reality is so incredibly unthinkable that there hadn't even been the precedent to establish a taboo.

Or, well, that can't be quite true, can it? Because the most recent story that's been flying through the jianghu is that the little disciple over on Qing Jing Peak actually turned out to be some kind of big-shot half-demon. So, presumably, at least one other person has violated the not-yet-a-taboo before. Strange, that no one ever really talked about that. It would have been super convenient for her to get the chance to start changing her opinion on demons years ago.

And then, now, that disciple is supposed to be in a relationship with his shizun. A little scandalous, perhaps. Liao Qinglan tends to live and let live when it comes to love and politics. As long as no one seems to be hurt, and just looking at them shows how pleased they both are with the arrangement.

Why has she been okay with hearing about that side of things? If that Luo Binghe is half-demon, why did she not have a problem with Shen Qingqiu's relationship as well? Would she have considered that relationship taboo, if she'd thought about it further?

This is stupid. And it's not the point. And she's drunk. It doesn't matter whether or not it's a taboo, because the point is that it's not taboo, or at least it doesn't feel like it. It feels like talking to any of her other friends about someone they are interested in. Not that it happens all that often, considering she has something of a reputation on her peak for being unsympathetic. As if that could ever be the case. She simply knows exactly what everyone should be doing and finds it ridiculous when they decide to do something other than what she said to do. Is that so wrong?

The point is that her friend, one of her closest friends, went off and fell in love with a demon king. Something that was completely unheard of and now it seems to be happening to two different peak lords of Cang Qiong Mountain Sect. And it doesn't actually seem to be that bad of a thing at all, when she gets to hear some of the details about it.

She's drunk. This is ridiculous and she is so drunk and so is Shang Qinghua and they shouldn't be having any kind of revelations like this when it's this early in the morning and they still haven't even gone to sleep.

With that thought, and with their written-out evidence spread on the table between them, Liao Qinglan tips over and falls asleep. Presumably, Shang Qinghua follows suit, since he is still there when she wakes up hours later to a throbbing headache and scribbled sheets of paper she can barely read.

*~*~*

The next batch of wolfberry wine is remarkably similar to the first one. Because she knows how to make wine and she knows how to do it well, so why would she have created anything other than the most perfect result possible on her very first attempt?

She had changed some of the proportions of ingredients around, switching out some of the camomile for the lilyturf and adding in more of the wolfberry leaves and roots to deepen the flavor a little. She knows what she's doing. She knows how to create a delicious fruit wine, even if it's objectively inferior to all other kinds of wine. She knows what she's doing.

This time, she doesn't even taste it when it's first done fermenting out in the field. She filters it, just as it is meant to be, and leaves it to clarify for another month before she even touches it. Maybe that's what it will take for the flavor to develop. Maybe that's what's necessary for the taste to develop the same way that it does over in the Demon Realm.

When it is finally ready, she sneaks out at night to find where she has hidden her pot, separate from all the others and out in a clearing in the forest, because she cannot find a way to keep hiding this under Yan Yazhu's name without her finding out and getting suspicious.

Instead, she's become some kind of common, sneaking criminal. Apparently. There's a secret pathway out from her house and a secret setup and everything. It's ridiculous. She can't believe she's going this far for something as simple as wolfberry wine.

She sneaks out at night and brings a little snack along, because wolfberry wine pairs well with salty, light, fried things. She knows her shit. She knows how to make these things taste as good as it's possible for them to taste.

The drink pours clear and settled into the little porcelain cup that she brings with her. Liao Qinglan sits peacefully on a small cushion that she has brought with her and sets the cup and the food out on a folding lap table. If she is going to enjoy this drink, then she is going to set herself up to properly enjoy it. Perhaps that is the problem at the root of all of this. Perhaps it is not that the wine is better-tasting, just that she was drinking it while comfortable in her home and happily talking to a good friend. That's got to be why it tasted so much better than any other wine before.

When she sips the wine, the balance of flavors are delicate and much closer to those that she tasted in the original wine. She knows how to balance flavors.

It also has about one tenth the potency and richness of the fucking demonic wine.

It's not even worth it. She pours the rest of her cup out onto the ground and throws the pot with every bit of cultivator strength in her body. It flies through the air and smashes to pieces against a tree at the edge of the meadow. The wolfberry wine runs down the bark of the tree.

It's perfectly prepared. It's perfectly paired. It's perfectly balanced.

It's bullshit.

She goes back inside.

*~*~*

"And how has my friend been faring this month? Have you successfully seduced your demon king yet?"

"Ah, ha ha. Not yet. But, um, no, what have you been spending your time on this month? Anything interesting here?"

"Oh, no no no. Nothing interesting going on here. Besides, I asked you first, and I'll be needing more detail than that."

*~*~*

"I cannot help but notice that my shizun has been spending more time than usual outside of the house, particularly in the late hours of the night."

"Is there something you're implying, Yan Yazhu?"

"This lowly one would never dare to do such a thing. This one merely wondered what the peak lord could possibly be doing, to return home last night so covered in stains."

She returned home last night so covered in stains because this whole fucking fruit wine experiment is fucking bullshit and no one should ever try making something like this ever again. What's even the point, when the Demon Realm can come along and so effortlessly and indisputably crush any one of your efforts right into the ground?

She returned home last night so covered in stains because another one of her attempts to recreate the wine had matured enough for tasting and had turned out to be the same faint, inscrutable mess as the batch before it and the one before that.

She returned home last night so covered in stains because, after tasting the results of her weeks of effort, she had punched straight through the heavy clay of the pot so that the wine had spilled all over her. She was covered in the light pink-orange wine that smelled undeniably of wolfberries. And maybe she ran into Yan Yazhu as she was trying to sneak back into her home after that event. Maybe she could smell the guilt and secret missions all over her. Who can say? Liao Qinglan certainly won't. And, if she doesn't confess to anything, then no one can prove that any part of this is happening.

"This peak lord wonders what her head disciple's work load must be like, to have so much time leftover to wonder about her peak lord's personal business."

"Ah, of course, shizun."

*~*~*

"Did you hear? Shizun has been working with fruit wine again!"

"Do you think that means she'll start teaching us how to make it ourselves? I've always wanted to make loquat wine for my mother. She says it's one of her favorite things in the whole world, and I wanted to join this peak to make some for her."

"I heard that she's been working on a special project and that she's going to show it off and share it with the whole peak when she finishes! Maybe we'll have to wait until then before she's willing to share any of her techniques with any of us?"

*~*~*

"Liao Qinglan, I would like to officially introduce you to my friend, Red Tree." Shang Qinghua gestures between her and the enormous demon that towers behind him. He is quite a bit different, like this. Liao Qinglan had, of course, noticed the changes in his outfits as he became more willing to talk to her about his life in the Demon Realm. He has slowly and gradually taken to wearing more furs, more deep blues and soft silvers and greys. The cut of the clothing itself is a little different, even if he never tends toward some of the more revealing styles that can be popular among some of the demons Liao Qinglan has encountered.

Apparently, even the changes she saw were significantly toned down in an effort to make Liao Qinglan comfortable during visits, because that is not at all how her friend is dressed today. Sure, there is some of the same essence, but Shang Qinghua is carrying himself so differently. The overall picture is so different.

His simple cultivators robes have been set aside. Instead, he is draped in layers of thin blue fabric. They are all see-through on their own and, when layered together like this, make a beautiful scale of deepening blue as it moves away from his throat. As the color deepens, so does one's ability to see through the fabric itself. All this to say, she can definitely see much more of Shang Qinghua's chest than she has ever wanted to before this moment.

Over top of the thin blue fabric, he is wearing a luxurious cape with a thick ruff made from some kind of monster pelt that shines the brightest white and is flecked with little spots of black. It looks like it cost about the same amount as the entire budget for her peak in a year. As if that isn't enough, Shang Qinghua's wrists and neck and ankles all tinkle with the weight of dangling silver bangles and charms. Even his guan is elegant and detailed silver, dripping with diamonds and sapphires.

This is still her friend. He doesn't carry himself like this is the natural way that things should be, or with the elegant lines of old royalty. Instead, and even more unnervingly, he wears them with a kind of patient exasperation. She watches as her dear friend talks, occasionally huffing in frustration when one of his hand movements jostles his bangles in the wrong way. His irritated adjustment to the way they lay is practiced and automatic.

Shang Qinghua may not have been raised in this kind of luxury, but this is not a new way of presenting himself. Truly, there is much she has not known about her friend's life.

Liao Qinglan takes the time to look away from her friend. There's no more time to analyze all the ways that he is different when there's something much more important to focus on.

Her frustration had boiled over the last time he came to visit, several weeks ago and several hours into their drinking of the delicious wolfberry wine. She never would have allowed any of her shame to show itself without at least a jar or two of wine in her. But, when it had, and she took another sip of that damned wine, she couldn't help but explode her frustration all over Shang Qinghua, about how ridiculous is was that someone in the Demon Realm could come up with a recipe for wine like this when she, the peak lord of Zui Xian Peak, wasn't able to even replicate it. It was keeping her up at night and bringing shame to her entire peak and he had better take responsibility for the crisis he had caused by bringing it into her life.

She hadn't thought it would actually go anywhere. That's pretty much how their drinking nights have always gone. The two of them get drunk and shoot the shit and complain at length about anything that is pissing them off in the world. Then they yell at each other a bit and pass out on the table. It's great.

When Shang Qinghua had shown up at her home in the middle of an afternoon, long before he was due for another monthly visit and dressed like he was born and raised in the Demon Realm, she had been suspicious as hell. She is also very much not the kind of person who can leave a mystery alone when it arrives at her doorstep. Or, well, she's actually usually very good at ignoring mysteries, but not when they involve her friend.

Now, less than a shichen later (after a short flight through a hidden gap in the border between the realms), here she is: standing in the middle of a small plateau in the center of a desert in the Demon Realm. There is a pagoda nearby, a demon standing behind her friend, and very little else to be seen.

"A pleasure to meet you," Red Tree (the demon in question) says, through lips that are really more like a beak than any other kind of mouth Liao Qinglan has ever seen. The hands that are raised in a mocking salute are lightly feathered along the knuckles and fingerbones, with longer, showier feathers sprouting from the wrist like wristguards. Red Tree is huge, several heads taller than Liao Qinglan could ever hope to be. The feathers crest like hair atop their head and flow down their back. The feathers themselves are bright red and glaring in the afternoon sun. With so many feathers about them, there is very little need for clothing. They are wearing a few wrapped layers of thin red fabric in a shade that matches the feathers. Rather than the bangles that Liao Qinglan has seen so many demons wear, Red Tree seems to prefer golden jewelry that wraps closely against their skin. Likely in a way that keeps anything from interfering with their work. They would maybe be fascinating to look at, if they weren't so clearly uninterested in anything Liao Qinglan has to offer.

"And you, Red Tree," Liao Qinglan replies, dipping into a proper and sincere salute, because fuck you, that's why.

"Consort Shang has shared that a cultivator has developed quite a taste for our wolfberry wine." Liao Qinglan wants to roast the hell out of Shang Qinghua for the fact that people are running around calling him "consort" and he still doesn't know if his king is interested in him.  Instead, she shoots him a betrayed look, deciding to focus on the fact that he is going around telling everyone about the things that they discuss in confidence. "This recipe has been in my family for many generations. To think that such a great cultivator might take interest in our humble wine."

The words themselves are humble, but the tone is scathing and sarcastic. Red Tree watches Liao Qinglan with a fire in their eyes. The eyes are small and black, like a songbird's. Liao Qinglan can't believe Shang Qinghua brought her here for something like this.

"It would be this lowly demon's honor to share such a treasured and secret family recipe with Liao Qinglan, great cultivator of the Human Realm, at the behest of someone so renowned as Consort Shang himself." The smile that stretches across Red Tree's beak reveals that there are razor sharp teeth behind it.

"This is ridiculous," Liao Qinglan snaps, because it is clear that this demon does not want to do this and that Shang Qinghua is out here making some kind of political move that he doesn't even know he made. Liao Qinglan doesn't even want to be here in the first place. Also she is not the kind of person to go around taking someone's secret recipe when they clearly don't want to share. She has more honor than that. "Why are any of us here? Take me back home, Shang Qinghua."

She turns to leave but, before she can take another step toward her traitorous friend, the towering figure of Red Tree moves between them. They have returned to their mocking salute and the sharp smile on their face is so ingratiating that it loops back around to being threatening. Shang Qinghua cowers behind the figure of Red Tree, as if this entire situation is not of his construction in the first place. Liao Qinglan is going to kill him.

"Surely, Liao Qinglan would not depart so soon after Consort Shang went through all the difficulty of arranging such a meeting." Those sharp teeth are incredibly close to Liao Qinglan's hands. She grips tighter at the sword that she brought with her. Only she and Shang Qinghua know that it's a bluff. She is not competent with the sword. Red Tree doesn't know that. "This lowly one has prepared such a thorough tour of the process we use."

There is something going on here that Liao Qinglan does not understand and that no one seems willing to explain to her. Which, whatever, fine. It's a tour of a wine-making process. She knows how to do this sort of thing. And, besides, she has been trying to recreate this flavor for months on end. If the demons want to give away their secrets, if they're insisting on it even after she gives them an out, then that's not Liao Qinglan's problem.

And so, she smiles back, just as gratingly and insincerely. Red Tree gestures her over to where the materials for wine-making seem to be gathered, and Liao Qinglan goes without comment. Fine. If this is what her day is going to turn into, then she might as well get something out of it.

Red Tree, when they aren't threatening humans, does actually know quite a lot about the wine making process. It seems that they were right to say that their family had perfected this recipe over many generations. Liao Qinglan's knowledge of alcohol is broad and sizable, spanning all the various forms that it can possibly take. Red Tree's knowledge isn't wide, but it is deep. Clearly, their family has dedicated much of their time to the study of this sort of thing.

"I didn't know that demons spent much time on the preparation of food and drink," Liao Qinglan remarks, as Red Tree shows off their stores of preserved, dried wolfberries, shipped from the Human Realm. Red Tree doesn't have skin around their nose to wrinkle, but their brow furrows in a way that suggests a similar bad smell.

"Humans are unable to consume raw meat and remain safe. Of course you would develop ways to prepare food in a way that is pleasurable and safe to you. Don't look down on demonic cuisine simply because we are able to enjoy our meals with less effort required."

Liao Qinglan snaps her mouth shut, feeling chastised, even though that didn't actually answer the question she had been asking. Well, maybe she hadn't phrased the question as a question at all. Still, Red Tree doesn't seem like they would be much in the mood to answer no matter what she says, so Liao Qinglan decides to simply listen now and interrogate Shang Qinghua later.

Red Tree seems to have batches of the wolfberry wine sitting at all stages of preparation, as most families do, when they are responsible for meeting a demand. Red Tree shows how they prepare the malted rice and form it into qu. They show the store rooms where the qu sits until dried and ready. They show the rehydration of berries and brewing of additional flavors. The preparation of fresh rice as well as the base rice wine. They mix it carefully and store the entire thing in a pot, explaining that it will sit for 20 days before it will be filtered and left to clarify.

And.

It's.

The.

Exact.

Fucking.

Same.

It's the same. It's the exact same process that Liao Qinglan has been completing over and over and over again. She watches every single step. She takes visual measure of every proportion. She compares every timeline Red Tree mentions with the ones used by her own disciples. It's all the exact same damn thing that she has been trying for months with no result to fucking show for it.

"Is this some sort of trick?" She demands, when it is impossible to stay quiet for a moment longer. Red Tree, who is actually fairly pleasant in demeanor when they are so focused on their craft, straightens to their full height and turns their fathomless black eyes back on Liao Qinglan.

"Surely Liao Qinglan misspoke." It's a warning, and Liao Qinglan isn't going to listen to it. If this is the whole process that they're going to go through and she isn't even going to get the secret to the recipe out of it, then what the fuck are they doing here?

"Liao Qinglan did not misspeak." She gets up in Red Tree's space, even though they could easily crush her and they both probably know it. "The honorable Red Tree is speaking of the basic steps of the wine making process, as if this peak lord would not already have extensive knowledge of such things." Liao Qinglan is hissing with the fury of a thousand nights of secret wine preparation. "This lord has followed the exact process laid out today and the results taste nothing like the wine that I have tasted from this very winery."

A sneer starts to spread across Red Tree's face. "Has the great peak lord Liao Qinglan considered, perhaps, that it is not the process that is flawed, but rather the craftsman?"

Liao Qinglan is not the type of person to become upset easily. She could never survive as the peal lord of Zui Xian Peak if she were the kind of person who needed everyone to remember her and think she was great. But, she is good at one specific thing, has built her life around one specific thing, and it is unacceptable to her that Red Tree might challenge her here. Without another thought, Liao Qinglan draws her sword.

The razor sharp sneer grows even sharper, and then Red Tree is flying toward her and Liao Qinglan is discovering that, beneath those feathers, there are talons. She is discovering this as she feels them dig into the flesh of her bicep and press her flat on the dirt ground. There are razor sharp teeth pressed right up alongside her neck, a promise of retaliation for any further efforts. The fight is over before it even starts, with Red Tree so soundly defeating her that it would be heinously shameful were anyone else around to see it. Speaking of-

"Where is that coward Shang Qinghua," she huffs.

"I do believe he left us to ourselves ages ago, oh mighty cultivator. And," the teeth draw even closer. Liao Qinglan can feel the heat of breath against the join of her neck and shoulders. "I do believe you have more pressing concerns."

They're right. Liao Qinglan definitely should be more afraid right now than she is. Why is that? She supposes it just seems difficult to be scared of someone after you have just watch them talk for several shichen about a craft that they are passionate about. Red Tree has their teeth pressed right to Liao Qinglan's jugular, and it would be very difficult to kill her like this, but not impossible. Liao Qinglan is good at circulating her qi and healing herself quickly. Is she good enough to heal a torn-out neck before it kills her? She should definitely be more scared than she is.

"If you were going to kill me, you would have already done so." She's pretty sure. At least 60% sure. Red Tree certainly has every opportunity and hasn't taken it.

"You seem sure of that."

"I'm still alive, aren't I?"

Red Tree huffs a scathing laugh before pulling their teeth back. Just far enough that their unnerving bird's eyes can meet Liao Qinglan's own. They stay there for a moment. The talons dig deeper into Liao Qinglan's shoulder, drawing up blood onto her robes. When nothing changes, when Liao Qinglan doesn't make another move, Red Tree finally pulls away, flopping to sit in the dirt next to her. Liao Qinglan hauls herself up so that she's mirroring the position, circulating her qi so that the punctures in her shoulder are already almost healed.

"That's a handy trick," Red Tree murmurs, gesturing toward the place where the skin is already showing fresh and new through the blood.

"There is actually a reason I have managed to survive this long. A very good reason I don't have to be afraid of you."

"You are alive only by the influence of your friends, you know. Horrifying as it is that the king of the Northern Desert has taken a human as his consort."

Liao Qinglan can't argue much with that. She had felt much the same about Shang Qinghua's choice of romantic interest.

"Where did that little rat go, anyway?" She glances around before following the line of Red Tree's finger where they point at a small figure, dressed in blue, laying down on a flat rock and tossing and catching a pebble above his head. While they watch, Shang Qinghua fumbles the catch and it slaps down onto his face. He rubs at his nose, glances around to see if anyone noticed, misses them watching him, and returns to his little game.

"He stepped away just a few minutes into the explanation of the process. It seems not everyone is as interested in the noble process of wine making as you and I."

"You are hiding something," Liao Qinglan persists, unable to leave the point alone, even if much of the anger has left. "I've been trying to replicate your recipe for months now and I've done the exact same things. It does not carry one third the flavor of the wine you produce here."

"And it could never be true that the Demon Realm is simply better at wine production than the Human Realm?" It's the same conversation again, but some of the poison has been drawn out of it.

"It's not a matter of demon versus human. I am not upset because I think a demon has done something better than me," Liao Qinglan explains, realizing as she says it that it's the truth. "I am the peak lord of Zui Xian Peak. It is a peak dedicated to the production and consumption of alcohol, and I have labored my entire life to master the craft. There are generations of research and similar experts behind me. How can it be that I cannot even detect where your recipe might differ from my own?"

"Your crisis of identity isn't my responsibility to solve." Red Tree huffs again, and it rustles some of the feathers on their face and neck. "Doubt me or no, I would not dare to lie or conceal information when it is at the request of the King of the Northern Deserts."

Liao Qinglan flops back into the dirt and stares up at the way the bright sun of this realm turns the skies red.

"What did Shang Qinghua threaten you with, to make you so willing to share a secret family recipe?"

"Your little rat did not do anything," Red Tree says drily. "It was his king that came to visit, threatening to wipe out the entirety of my family home if I did not follow his consort's every request to the letter."

"So you're doing this out of fear for your life?" Liao Qinglan cannot believe that she is feeling protective over this demon she tried to attack only a few minutes ago, but this is not something she would have thought Shang Qinghua capable of. Red Tree waves a dismissive hand through the air between them.

"It is not an unusual thing. With demon kings, that's just how life is. They're powerful. Demons feel their emotions so strongly, when they fall in love, they might be willing to do anything at all to keep the one they love happy. It's best to just follow along, when there is someone stronger than you, asking for something on behalf of someone they love. I should be thankful he asked at all."

"Still, I didn't know that your family home was in danger." Liao Qinglan is waiting for some kind of further response, but Red Tree just kind of grunts a little and goes back to looking around them. There are more questions bubbling up inside Liao Qinglan, and this might be the only chance she'll have to ask any of them. "Where is your family home?"

Red Tree laughs again, clicks their beak mockingly, and gestures grandly to the dirt ground they are sitting on.

"Oh," Liao Qinglan murmurs, wrong-footed. "Right. It's beautiful."

"You're stupid," Red Tree snipes, spitting onto the ground. "Demons don't build above ground. The grand mansion of my ancestral home extends for stories into the ground beneath our feet."

"Right." Liao Qinglan shuts up again. She keeps fucking this up, so she's just going to shut up for the day.

"I'm not hiding any part of the recipe," Red Tree finally says, after they've sat in silence for what feels like half a shichen. "I don't know why the wine tastes different here. It simply does."

Liao Qinglan sits with that for a moment.

"I don't think I can accept that."

"Accept it or not, it is the truth." Red Tree stands up, brushes the dirt off their clothes and shakes it off their feathers. "And the time we are scheduled to speak is up."

Sure enough, Shang Qinghua is walking back from his perch on the rock. He's gaping and gesturing frantically about the dirt on both of their clothes, as if that was something they did on purpose.

Liao Qinglan shares one final commiserating look with Red Tree, and then they leave, mystery unsolved.

*~*~*

"So, oh honored peak lord, is there going to come a day where you start to explain to me where all of our spare budget is going, or am I going to have to go talk to Shang-shishu myself?"

Yan Yazhu comes striding into the room as if they are continuing a conversation, even though Liao Qinglan has been happily enjoying her time alone in her room, reviewing the notes she took so many months ago. When she returned from the Demon Realm, Liao Qinglan had copied down every single step of the wolfberry wine making process that she could remember, before it left her head. Every single thing that Red Tree did and said and showed, to see any moment when there may have been an opportunity to do something secretively.

It's possible, of course, that they had merely intentionally done a step incorrectly while Liao Qinglan was there, willing to throw out the results of that particular demonstration, so that there would be one ruined batch and no way to worry about the secret of the recipe escaping into the Human Realm. Which means, of course, that Liao Qinglan needed to write down not only everything that they did, but also everything that she saw while walking around the preparation area.

She had done all this right from the beginning, but there really wasn't anything that caught her attention. Now, two failed batches later, she figures it can't hurt to look through all of it again. The notes are...significantly lacking. In her defense, Liao Qinglan isn't accustomed to running spy missions like this, or actually putting effort into solving all the mysteries and theories she quietly forms in the back of her mind.

Also, and this is something she just realized the other day and has been incredibly frustrated about ever since, Red Tree had pointed out that all of their family's infrastructure was underground. Meaning that there was actually very little for Liao Qinglan to notice, visually, beyond the flat dirt plane and the roof under which the wine was prepared. There was an entire mansion's worth of places to hide the things actually used in the recipe.

"Right, so, is this how we're going to be playing this? You're just going to ignore me until I go away?"

"Huh?" Liao Qinglan realizes quite suddenly that her head disciple had definitely asked her a question earlier, and she hadn't done anything even close to acknowledging it, let alone answering.

"I asked if you were going to provide an account for where all of our peak's money has been going, recently." Yan Yazhu's voice is as flat and dry as the dirt in the Demon Realm where Red Tree makes their home. Maybe that has something to do with why the wine tastes different...

"Ah, no." No, Liao Qinglan is not eager to share things like the answer to that question with everyone. Shameful enough that it's officially become impossible to hide that she has been working with fruit wine. This can't get out too.

"Okay, so I'll just go ask Shang-shishu, then." This is possible because, infuriatingly, Shang Qinghua has recently been reinstated as the peak lord of An Ding Peak. After all that work that Liao Qinglan had personally done to decide what she thought of him, her friend was welcomed back to the sect as if nothing had happened in the first place, all because no one could figure out how to do the things that he does.

Yan Yazhu strides from the room before Liao Qinglan can stop her.

*~*~*

The money, of course, is going toward the very expensive process of sending letters back and forth between the Demon and Human Realms. With the improvement in relationship between the realms (mostly due to several specific members of demonic royalty), recently, it seems that a few enterprising demons have seen the opportunity for moneymaking and have started a business conveying letters through the few borders where the boundary between realms is weak.

It's not cheap, though. It's a very specialized service.

It takes Yan Yazhu a few more weeks before she comes back with the answer to her question. There is no reason that Shang Qinghua should have known the answer, but Liao Qinglan accepted, when processing through all the shit that came out, that her best friend is a sneaky, conniving snake who always knows more than he should about everything. So, when Yan Yazhu starts looking at her significantly and sighing loudly every time she sees her peak lord sitting at the desk in her room, scribbling away at another sheet of paper, well. It's pretty obvious that she's figured out what's going on.

The first time that Liao Qinglan sent a letter to Red Tree, it was mostly full of pleasantries and thank yous and politeness, because that was the only excuse she could think of for writing a letter in the first place. And because that was how a peak lord probably should write a letter to someone from a realm they were recently in a sort of angry stalemate with. And it also seemed like Red Tree had agreed to the tour in the first place because of the influence of someone from royalty, so why not remind them that Liao Qinglan also has a title and some level of clout?

She wrote the letter in her best calligraphy, with the finest ink, on her heaviest paper. She signed it with her full title.

When that hadn't worked, Liao Qinglan had sent another letter every day for a week straight, so that they all arrived one after the other. She had to pay extra to make sure the post didn't pile up and arrive in one big lump. She wanted there to be a letter arriving every day. She wanted Red Tree to feel pressured.

When the first return letter finally arrived, with simply a bold fuck off written across the thick paper, Liao Qinglan knew that she was starting to have an impact. It was a reaction. A response.

The next letter she had sent merely said no.

The one after that involved a breakdown of every part of the process that she had noticed Red Tree following during the tour, along with a request for them to edit any part of it that was incorrect.

It took a few more tries for Liao Qinglan to realize that Red Tree tends to ignore any letter that comes right out the gate asking about wine. But, if she just rambles on about this or that from her day to day, she can sometimes get a brief response. If she asks a question or two about Red Tree's day, she will sometimes even get a few word long response directly answering those questions. It helps when she includes enough of a payment for a return letter as well, because it is (again) not a cheap process and Red Tree could easily use that as an excuse.

It had taken months. It really had. But! As of yesterday, Liao Qinglan can finally say that it is starting to pay off! Entirely separate from the potential friendship that she may or may not claim to have with a demon, she also officially received a package of the specific dried wolfberries that Red Tree uses in their wine.

They may be from the Human Realm initially, but Liao Qinglan has tentatively given up on the idea of there being a secret ingredient that Red Tree is refusing to tell her. They are close enough now that Liao Qinglan can say that they are probably not the sort of person to maintain a lie for such a long time.

If there isn't some secret ingredient or technique, that means that there is a larger secret, unknown to both of them. There is definitely something different between the two recipes. If it's something that Red Tree genuinely doesn't know, then it's something hidden either within the ingredients or the process. Which means that Liao Qinglan has chosen to start by focusing on isolating which of the specific ingredients is causing the change in the flavor, since the process is (as far as she can tell) the same. No ingredient can be above suspicion.

So, Liao Qinglan finally managed to convince Red Tree to send her their wolfberries. She'll make a batch of the wine with this and see if it changes the flavor at all. It shouldn't, because, again, these berries are from the Human Realm and Zui Xian Peak already receives the best fruits available, but there's no way to know until she's experimented, and Liao Qinglan is not willing to leave any stone unturned.

Maybe Yan Yazhu figures out just what is going on, and maybe she sends a few dark glances over Liao Qinglan's way every now and then. She can't blame her. It would be confusing to her as well, to see the peak lord suddenly reverse her opinion on fruit wine in general, dedicate herself to the production of a very specific kind of fruit wine, and spend all the extra budget on communication with the demon realm, when that has never been an interest before now.

Maybe Yan Yazhu would understand better if she would just get a taste of Red Tree's wine. But that's not going to happen, because Liao Qinglan is not willing to share even a drop. The wine is too delicious, too rare, too precious for her to go sharing it around with anyone who's interested.

The important thing is that she's finally managed to convince Red Tree to share some of their materials, even if it's just one thing at a time, with the requirement that Liao Qinglan share any findings she makes as soon as she makes them. That's the part that matters.

She keeps sending the letters, though, even while the wine is fermenting.

*~*~*

This is an absolutely terrible idea, and Liao Qinglan is pretty sure that everyone here knows it. If they are all smart enough to know it, then it really shouldn't have happened in the first place, but they can't seem to actually live out any of that wisdom everyone says that these immortals are bestowed with.

All this to say: Liao Qinglan is sitting at a table in her house. Not the one that she usually sits at for the monthly bitch-sessions she has with Shang Qinghua, because that one would be too small. Instead, Yan Yazhu helped her cart in a huge table earlier in the day. Seated at the table are Shang Qinghua, his emotionless ice demon king, Red Tree, Yan Yazhu, and Liao Qinglan.

They've been here for almost half a shichen at this point, and you would think that would mean that some of the tension would have died down into a calm pattern of conversation. Not so. Not at all. Liao Qinglan is the most charismatic of them all by far, and they all know it, which leaves her to chatter away while almost everyone else sits in silence. Shang Qinghua is talking too, because he's literally never not talking, but he's so anxious and uncomfortable that his voice is two octaves above where it usually is, and it's just drawing everyone's attention to how weird this is.

Red Tree is sitting calmly on their cushion, sipping leisurely at the cup of wine before them. Liao Qinglan was maybe, potentially, showing off a little bit when she was planning this, so she set out rice wine and fruit wine and liquor and baiju and this delicious mixed drink that one of the older juniors has been trying to get everyone in the sect to drink. There are options and cups within reach of every single person at the table, and Liao Qinglan has been graciously pouring for anyone who indicates a preference.

Red Tree had brought a jar of their own wine and is drinking that. Yan Yazhu took the opportunity to finally try this drink that her peak lord has been trying to recreate and has been expressing her appreciation with little happy noises and praise. Mobei-Jun asked for tea and indicated that he did not intend to drink while he was here. Shang Qinghua has been trying the mixed drink and keeps talking about how delicious it is, even though he grimaces every time he takes a sip, and he's not drinking nearly as frequently as he usually does when he comes to visit.

Liao Qinglan has been sullenly drinking one of the rice wines that she takes the most pride in creating and that she believes is the finest drink produced by her peak. She is also moments away from slamming her head against the surface of the table until she passes out and wakes up once everyone has left.

"So glad that we all got together like this." Red Tree's voice is as dry as the desert they live in and Liao Qinglan considers wrestling them to the ground right there, even though they've already shown exactly how a fight like that would go.

"Yes, well, this lowly one thought it might be time for all these friends to have the chance to get to know each other." She can play this overly polite, shit-eating game as well. Take that, Red Tree. As if anyone wants to be here.

"Ah ha ha," Shang Qinghua, the motherfucker who actually planned this whole disastrous event, pipes in. "Yeah, there have been so many times where one or two of us has been talking to another and talked about someone else here. I though it might be good to all get to know each other, that way everyone has a little more context for the people everyone else is always talking about. In a good way! Like you do when there's a bunch of people who you think would all get along!" Liao Qinglan smiles at him and inclines her head in a graceful acknowledgement. It is a threat and they both know it. Shang Qinghua laughs again, even more uncomfortable.

"I had no idea that a peak lord of a righteous cultivation sect was spending so much time talking about the Demon King of the Northern Desert," Red Tree snarks.

"And I had no idea you spent so much time talking to Shang Qinghua about me." Liao Qinglan may not be able to win in a physical fight, but damn if she is going to let Red Tree get away with that when they're on her peak. "Had I known you thought of me so often, I would have been sure to write more. Although, I cannot blame you for being fascinated by someone who is an expert in your field." She smiles at Red Tree this time, a knife's blade in her mouth.

"Pretty sure Red Tree isn't the one spending all of our peak's budget on sending letters back and forth between realms." Yan Yazhu adds, the traitor.

"Can confirm." Shang Qinghua raises his cup in Yan Yazhu's direction and they both take a long drink in solidarity with each other. Shang Qinghua's nose wrinkles up when he remembers that he's only pretending to be enjoying his drink. Good. Suffer. Mobei-Jun doesn't say anything, but reaches over to refill Shang Qinghua's cup from the teapot sitting before him. Shang Qinghua glances up at him in worshipful gratefulness.

"Well, it would be quite rude to expect someone else to pay for such an expensive service. Of course this immortal master is more than willing to assist Red Tree in this method of communication."

"Of course, as someone capable of creating a wine that is so thoroughly enjoyed and treasured by so many," Red Tree gestures around at everyone except Mobei-Jun, "this one has never been lacking in funds. Perhaps, if someone finds that they are the only one putting forward all the effort to engage in communication, that may be a reason for that other than money."

"If the honorable Red Tree has something to say, then perhaps they should be so principled as to state it clearly."

"Oh, I'll speak clearly when I-"

"SO!" Shang Qinghua jumps to his feet to interrupt, speaking loudly and quickly while clearly unaware of what the next word to leave his mouth at any moment will be. "I'm just so happy that we all get to spend a time in community like this! How lovely, to be able to unite the Human and Demon Realms over something so simple and universal as a good drink."

"A very good drink," Red Tree mutters under their breath, at the same time that Liao Qinglan hisses out "as if anyone has even tried the drinks." They scowl furiously at each other before Shang Qinghua sidles over to stand directly between their line of sight.

"And how lucky we are, that the night has only just begun, and we will have the chance to try so many new things. There may be a few bumps in the road, but community can only grow stronger over time. Perhaps, next time, we could even invite Liu Mingyan and Sha Hualing, or Shen Qingqiu and Junshang!"

And that, the idea of the absolute catastrophe that would result from something like that, is overwhelming. The thought of that terribly shameless couple, one an immortal and untouchable peak lord, the other his adoring younger disciple who also would outrank everyone in the room in terms or status and power, sitting at this table and in this terribly uncomfortable moment with everyone else, it's so funny that it pierces right through all the tension and frustration that Liao Qinglan has been feeling all night. She finds herself suddenly slumped with her cheek against the smooth, cool surface of the table and giggling uncontrollably. Across the table and out of her line of sight, Red Tree lets out a single, derisive snort.

"That would be such a terrible, awful idea. I really can't think of a single idea worse than that," she stutters out between helpless giggles.

Shang Qinghua blusters a bit, but Red Tree backs up Liao Qinglan with "If you invite them to something like this, I am afraid I will fall suddenly and terribly ill and be unable to attend." Mobei-Jun doesn't say anything, but calmly pulls Shang Qinghua back down to his seat beside him. The message is clear enough.

Shang Qinghua slumps in defeat for a bit, but something about that really cleared the air anyway. And, suddenly, it isn't quite so awful to sit with all these people that she doesn't know very well. The night goes on, and Red Tree actually tries some of the wine that Liao Qinglan made, after all the wine that they brought runs out. Yan Yazhu seems to strike up an easy and cutting rapport with Red Tree, which is a horrifying thing that Liao Qinglan needs to keep a very close eye on. Shang Qinghua seems to actually calm down a little bit, once everyone else starts to, and Liao Qinglan gets to see the quiet and unspoken way that he and Mobei-Jun look after each other. The way that Shang Qinghua effortlessly directs attention and conversation away from him, and the way that Mobei-Jun pours him a cup of tea between every few drinks and makes sure that his cantaloupe seeds are always within reach.

And maybe Red Tree, at the end of it all, makes a quiet comment about how the rice wine wasn't all that awful. And maybe Liao Qinglan treats herself to one cup of the wolfberry wine before it all goes away. And maybe the night isn't actually that awful after all.

*~*~*

It has been months. Months and months and months of meeting up for drinks in any combination of the original five at that first night. Of making all kinds of wine. Or, more accurately, of making the same exact wine from the same exact recipe over and over and over again. There shouldn't be any difference in taste. There hasn't been any difference in taste, even as she substitutes in every ingredient from the Demonic Realm, one after the other. At some point, she started to come to terms with the fact that she is going to have to figure out what to try next. Nothing is changing and there is very little else that could be a secret factor. She is starting to prepare to travel to the Demon Realm herself for every step of the process, to see what individual stage contributes to the unique flavor.

She's tasting this most recent batch because it's the last one and she needs to check every option off the list before she starts trying something else. The only thing they changed this time is the qu, and that's barely anything at all, so she's not expecting any impact on the taste. It's not involved in the actual ingredients or flavorings, really.

That's why it's the last thing she tried. That's also why it's such a surprise when she draws a bowlful of wine from the woven reed basket straining out the pulp and rice from the actual wine.

The taste hits her at the tip of her tongue and floods along her taste buds. It's light and mellow and sweet, but the flavor is richer and more complex and layered than anything she has ever managed to draw out of a fruit wine in the decades of her residence on Zui Xian Peak. It's ridiculous. It slides down her throat like a song, leaving a warm tingle behind, followed by the sharp cold of alcohol.

She has, at this point, drunk enough of the wine produced by Red Tree to know that she has perfectly recreated it. She's the peak lord of Zui Xian Peak. More than that, she has trained for almost her entire life to taste every note in a beverage, beyond what any other human, demon, or cultivator could. If she can't taste a difference, then there isn't a difference.

This is a perfect recreation of the wine produced by Red Tree.

It's perfect. It's exactly the same. She takes another careful sip, cycling her qi through her mouth as she does so, just to make sure. Then she takes a deep gulp, because she really has to make sure.

And it is. It's the same.

She lets out a loud whoop.

Her project stopped being a secret ages ago. She has thoroughly trampled her pride and eaten her previous words about fruit wine, and all the peak already knows about it. Embarrassing, sure, but it means that she can shout one more time and then leap to her feet.

She's in the fermentation field, surrounded by so many other deep brown pots full of various fermenting things. It makes for a lovely little obstacle course. Liao Qinglan leaps on top of the jar that her wine is in, jumps from the lid of one to another, landing light as a fluttering bird's wing. She keeps throwing her hands in the air, shouting and howling, stomping the ground.

It's been over two years, at this point, that she has been so focused and fixated on this one thing, and it's finally done. She finally did it. Fuck yeah, she's literally amazing. She did the thing that no one thought she could do.

The qu. It was the qu all along. Fascinating, because she has managed to get Red Tree to write out the whole process at this point, if only to make her shut up about it in all her letters. Liao Qinglan knows that Red Tree makes theirs the same way that the disciples of Zui Xian do. Or, well, because they make so many different types of alcohol here, they have multiple techniques for creating various types of qu. The one that Red Tree uses, though, the one from malted rice, is prepared exactly the same way that their malted rice one is. It's the one that both of them use in their preparation of wolfberry wine. There shouldn't be a difference. There really shouldn't be a difference here.

However, the qu is the part of the recipe that takes the longest to prepare. That's an important part of the process, allowing the malted rice cakes to sit in the dark until they color and dry out. It can take months before it is ready to be used. Out of any ingredient, the qu is the one that has the most time to take in the qualities of the environment its in, if you think about it that way.

Red Tree had said something about that, right at the beginning. That merely being in the Demon Realm made them better at this than Liao Qinglan. Actually, Shang Qinghua might have said something too, back when she was hearing about this amazing wine for the first time. Something about the location of the winery being the reason that it was so famously perfect.

Yan Yazhu comes running before Liao Qinglan can think any further on this, presumably because some disciple or another went to her and told her that the peak lord looked like she was having a qi deviation in the middle of the fermentation field. Tattle-tales.

Still, this is a good day, and she's happy to share. She doesn't need to solve every problem right now.

"Yan Yazhu! Come try! I figured it out!"

She can finally stop worrying about it.

*~*~*

She can't stop worrying about it.

If it's the qu that's causing the wine to taste as good as it does, then that's complicated. If it's the fact that the qu came from the Demon Realm that makes it taste so good, rather than some technology in the preparation or some secret ingredient, then what does that mean about the wine that Liao Qinglan finally managed to make?

If the thing that finally makes her wine good is the qu from the Demon Realm, then does that mean that she's going to be taking credit for a taste that she is actually incapable of creating?

Or, is it just like ordering a very special and rare ingredient from somewhere else? Maybe the act of incorporating it into her recipe means that she is making it her own, and can still take credit for it.

But, then again, the actual process of making the wine is no different between them. Red Tree does it the same way. There's no difference at all between the art the two of them are making, except that Red Tree's is better. Because it was made in the Demon Realm.

*~*~*

Red Tree,

If I pay you for some of the qu that you make and then start properly making my own wolfberry wine (instead of just as an experiment), what are the odds that I end up being attacked in the night by a very offended demon? Just trying to get an idea of how much of this would be considered stealing your recipes.

Liao Qinglan

Qinglan,

I get wolfberries from the Human Realm. This is stupid. Stop worrying.

Red Tree

Red Tree,

Got your letter. Can't believe you're being so quick to dismiss this. If I start making the same exact wine that you do then you'll lose a lot of your income. This is serious. I don't want to take a step and then realize later that it was a mistake.

Liao Qinglan

Qinglan,

I'm telling you it's fine. Everyone who makes wine has a similar recipe. If you're paying me for the qu, then I don't know why this is such a concern.

Red Tree

Red Tree,

Is there something I could provide in exchange? Feels like this is going to make a strange imbalance between us. We have a supplier for our wolfberries that provides high-quality fruit as long it is in season. I am willing to send you the name, as well as potential access to our base rice wines. Additionally, we could compare closer notes on the exact proportions of flavorings you're adding? See if we can perfect the combination together?

What are your thoughts on this?

Liao Qinglan

Qinglan,

Holy shit. I'll just talk to you about this in person tomorrow.

Red Tree

*~*~*

Shang Qinghua still isn't quite sure how he got to a place in his life where he is cleaning up after a wedding ceremony between himself and the Demon King of the Northern Deserts. It all feels like something of a whirlwind, even though they have spent the last few decades knowing each other better. Even though there is not a single part of their relationship that moved quickly.

Still, he feels somewhat in shock, as he starts to sort through all of the gifts and tributes that arrived to the palace. They were piled onto several large tables in the receiving room of the royal suites. The wedding was several days ago, but this is the first chance that Shang Qinghua has had to actually start going through everything. There will need to be thank you notes sent out and appropriate appreciation shown to the clans that actually impact their political standing.

Mobei-Jun is lounging on the bed in the other room, with the door wide open, so that he can watch and throw judgemental looks in Shang Qinghua's direction. He is not thrilled about the decision to begin doing important work again, rather than spending another day in bed.

It's several shichen into the work before Shang Qinghua stumbles across it. He's been picking through each table methodically, writing down detailed notes on each item as he encounters it, as well as who it is from, what he thinks should be done with it, and potential implications of this particular choice of wedding present.

The jar of wine, when he comes across it, is elegant but, overall, quite unassuming when compared to all the other presents. It isn't eye-catching all on its own. Simple and light brown, with a detailed impression of a wolfberry vine on the outside. It looks, at first glance, exactly like the jars of wine that Shang Qinghua procured so many times to bring to the monthly hangs with Liao Qinglan. Expensive, but worth it in the effort to rebuild one of the only friendships he was actually able to make. (He'd put so little effort into writing Liao Qinglan, when he first made the world, that meeting her in person was actually like getting to know a real person, for once.)

He only notices, after setting the bottle to the side and catching an inconsistency from the corner of his eye, that a new seal has been added to the rim of the bottle. Rather than the simple red wax seal with a tree pressed into it, it now features a high mountain peak, with a tree growing from the top.

When he checks the letter that came with the bottle, he sees that it is from both Liao Qinglan and Red Tree.

[starryyskies]

That Jax and Ragatha comic is deliciously drawn, and deliciously evil, but you shouldn't put it into ANY main tags like the show, or the ship, without a tag to blacklist for rape. If you wanna keep only tagging tw, I get it, but it shouldn't be in any tags people visit often then. I'd tag it rape, and abuse, personally. Now!! Torture on!!!

<3 You're very nice, thank you for being so kind to address this. I added 'tw rape' to it, and will from now on if it is directly related to the topic, everything else will be tw c:

I was afraid if I added 'rape' it would be taken down. Hopefully it stays up, but I plan to torture more~

[i2sunric]

I KNEW YOU WERE TROUBLE part 2 (s.jy)

pairing: rich boy!jake x reader (f)

summary: after jake’s betrayal, you tried try pick up the pieces of your broken heart by replacing him with heeseung, even if they never truly fitted back together— not until your realised jake’s heart was in worse shape.

warnings: sexual tension, angst, hurt/comfort, making out, kissing, smut (blowjob, missionary, doggy, riding, creampie, hair pulling, chocking), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap your willy!) fighting, alcohol consumption, usage of weed, curse words, pet names (baby, ma cherie), hyung line (minus jake) are actually a conspiracy for jakeyn. Imk if more. PROOFREAD → READ PART 1

published: 13th May 2024

wc: 6.8k

taglist: (permanent) @stolasisyourparent @jaeyunsbimbo @heelvsted @jwnghyuns @seunghancore (one shot) @anittamaxwynn @jvjsssnaa @slut4hee @kgneptun @nyxtwixx @laurradoesloveu @star4rin @capri-cuntz @eneyiri @samouryed @heyniki @ineedsomezzz @nanamomgmong @aishigrey @naurrjakeu @ak-aaa-li @sjakewrld @nikiswifiee @koralira-kira @daisycottage @yunhoswrldddd @smisworld @cloud-lyy @avaleyshin @soobinbunnie5 @ikeulims @tuituibzhe @starggukies @icywinter1999 [BOLDS COULD NOT BE TAGGED]

a/n: aight this actually turned out longer than i intended and did i really write smut while listening to windows down by big time rush? yes. having a keylock doesn’t mean you’re poor btw (i also have a keylock). please REBLOG & LIKE to share! also lmk your thoughts by commenting 🎀 tysm for loving this fic!

You stared yet again at the reflection in front of you. Tear stains had ruined your makeup, your mascara that claimed to be waterproof was now coating your cheeks until your chin.

You gripped the sink in anger, your knuckles turning white at the force.

A lot of curse words flashed in your mind, but none were strong enough to represent your current state.

How could you be so oblivious? You thought Jake and you had something, something that went beyond just two people who met at a frat party.

You felt it, inside your heart, the way it tickled every time you heard his sweet chuckle leave his lips, seeming like the only light in the darkness of life.

You took a deep breath, trying to gather all the shattered pieces of your heart, laying open there. If that was how it hurt, you sure as hell weren’t going to give anyone else the key to access to it.

“What’s a pretty girl crying in the bathroom for?” A voice snapped you out of your trance. You raised your face and met a pair of known, dark eyes.

“Heeseung.” You breathed out, not even bothering to turn around. That moment almost felt like a deja vù, probably because that same bathroom was where your lips first met Jake’s.

Trying to block out all the memories of that Australian man, you turned around and leaned back on the countertop.

“Glad you still remember my name.” He said, licking his bottom lip, “Found out your prince charming wasn’t as innocent as you thought?”

You frowned at his words “How’d you know?” And Heeseung just chuckled bitterly in response “I invited you to my party in hope of having you for myself.”

His eyes roamed all over your body “Just to find out you were at it with my best friend.” You rolled your eyes. “We just made out, nothing more.”

If you thought Jake was bold, Heeseung was shameless. He was looking at you like you were a gazelle in the lion’s den, eyes scanning your body, probably imagining you without clothes.

“Well, he’s busy now.” You turned around and looked at yourself in the mirror, trying to clean the mascara stains on your face.

“With Karina?” Heeseung nodded at himself, “She was there before you.”

You turned around again, a deeply offended expression painting your features “Excuse me?”

Heeseung smirked, cleaning your cheeks with his own thumbs “You really thought Sim Jake would fall in love with a mediocre girl?” He cooed “Aw, poor you. Jake had always been greedy, he would never settle for someone who isn’t from his own neighbourhood.”

“And why are you telling me this?” You asked warily, not fully believing the words leaving his mouth. You wanted to stay with your impression of the kind and playful Jake. Not the player, not the heartbreaker.

“Because he isn’t worth your tears, pretty.” Heeseung’s voice was husky and hoarse, you couldn’t almost understand his words “But I am, when I’ll fuck you so hard.”

You pushed his chest away, “Disgusting.” But Heeseung only laughed in response, “I was kidding.”

You rolled your eyes and stepped aside of him “I’m going home.” You were almost out of the door when his big hand wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush on his chest.

“Or, I have a better idea.” You raised a brow. “You don’t look like someone who has nice ideas.”

“Just trust me.” He wiggled his brows “I know you’re known for seducing and then leaving.”

You scowled “If that’s my reputation on your side of the town.” His fingers trailed your arm until they reached your shoulder, caressing the bare skin “In my opinion, that’s hot.”

“I don’t remember asking.” You sighed, having heard his flattering already when he was courting you, a couple of weeks before.

“I’m saying, we go downstairs.” Heeseung bit his bottom lip, playing with the strap of your dress. “And we get a taste of each other, just let your mind drift off.” He said, lowering down to whisper in your ear.

You honestly weren’t in the mood to make out with someone, let alone be in a room full of teenagers drunk off their tits— But what could you do better to fix your broken heart?

“I hope you improved your kissing skills.”

𓆩♡𓆪

If stares could kill, then the ones Jake was giving you as you basically straddled Heeseung in the middle of his living room got you dead a few minutes before.

Your lips were attached, rarely pulling away, just enough to catch your breath while his hands were wrapped around your waist, holding you in place on his laps.

Jake was still with that pretty woman whose name you learnt was Karina. And in fact, she was deadly gorgeous, you almost didn’t blame Jake for leaving you for her. But you were Y/N, nobody should’ve dared to play with your heart that same cruel way Jake did.

“You don’t mind making out with me in front of him?” You asked on Heeseung’s lips, licking his bottom one “Nah,” He cupped the back of your neck, pulling you closer “You weren’t a thing anyways, were you?”

Your heart stopped at his words, because in fact, you and Jake weren’t anything. You had never been, it was foolish of you to even hope for it.

“No, we weren’t.” You replied in a whisper, “Perfect.” Heeseung resumed kissing you, more roughly this time.

Jake needed something stronger than the mild cup of beer in his hand to forget your presence in the room. Smashing his head on the wall seemed like a good option since not only did you attend the party but were also making out with his best friend.

He called it on himself, he knew nothing good would come with playing with you, but he couldn’t erase all that he had done.

Trying to cancel the image of Heeseung with his hands all over you, he turned to the side to give his attention to the raven haired girl beside him “So, when’s your brother coming home from Paris again?”

Karina smiled at the mention “Sunghoon is coming back in two days!” She informed him, “He also wanted to invite you guys over.”

Jake beamed back at his other best friend’s older sister and nodded “That sounds good, I haven’t seen him in one month or so.”

Karina rolled her eyes “Yeah, I came back as soon as work finished but he claimed he wanted to ‘sightsee’ the city before returning here.”

He smiled “Living his best life, I see.” He patted her shoulder, the touch on her exposed skin only made him remember how your body felt when it was wrapped around his, kissing you all over.

He hoped he could have done more, to be with you longer so that he would have experienced having you laid down beneath him, in your whole essence and beauty. He wished he had a chance to do that— But the universe wasn’t on his side.

You hadn’t realised how much fun those rich kids could have. You thought they talked about horses and lake cottages in their free time but they actually were so much more than that!

Or maybe it was whatever Heeseung made you smoke that was altering your thoughts.

You were currently sitting on his laps, your back pressed against his chest as you took a drag out of the joint between your fingers.

You giggled at something one of Heeseung’s friends said, you weren't even sure why you were laughing but it sounded fun.

Heeseung caressed your back, trailing circles on your shoulder as he took a drag from his own joint “Having fun, Y/N?” He asked and you nodded “Much.”

“Mhmh, I bet you are.” He smirked, “First time smoking weed?”

You nodded again “Jake said I looked like I did it daily,” You chuckled “But I never tried.”

“Did he?” He whispered, getting close to your neck, leaving kitten licks “You talk a lot about him.”

“No.” You frowned “I don’t.” Heeseung chuckled and started sucking on your sensitive skin, making you let out a moan.

His big hand went to cover your mouth as he worked on your neck, sucking and biting enough to leave a hickey “You talked about him the whole night, haven't you even realised?”

You widened your eyes at his statement. No, you hadn’t realised, but when his name rolled out of your tongue it just sounded so right.

You just shook your head, unable to reply verbally since his hand was on your lips.

You closed your eyes, trying to block out any thought at the feeling of Heeseung’s lips on your neck and the weed clouding your mind.

“Are you mad?” A strict voice suddenly snapped you out of your state of trance as you felt yourself being ripped away from Heeseung’s grasp.

You opened your eyes just to find a very rather and deeply angry Jake standing in front of you, if he was in a cartoon you’d see his veins pulsing on his forehead.

“He’s Jake!” You exclaimed happily to Heeseung, the effect of the amount of alcohol you drank and the intoxication from weed made you act hyper “I know.” Heeseung replied calmly.

Jake pulled you behind his back “What were you thinking? Making her smoke this shit?”

You frowned “It’s good—“ But Heeseung cut you “Relax man, we were just having fun.”

“This is not having fun.” He took the joint from your hand and threw it to Heeseung “Don’t get her into your addictions.”

Heeseung raised a brow, his expression remaining stoic “She was willing.” Jake snapped back “She’s drunk!”

He took a deep breath and pointed a threatening finger toward Heeseung “Do not pull this ever again.” He stated before taking your hand in his and dragging you out of the party.

Meanwhile, Heeseung smirked as he saw the two of you walk away; Maybe that was when his best friend would finally wake up and realise all the things he was losing.

𓆩♡𓆪

“Hey!” You exclaimed, trying to pull away from his iron grip “Yunjin is still inside.” Jake let out a small groan “I’ll drive her home later.”

You pulled hard on his hand, making him stop right in front of his crimson car “Let me go.”

Jake’s eyes were full of rage, you were almost scared at their intensity “Are you angry?”

“Yes.” He stated, voice serious “At me?” You asked, your voice was so soft and quiet it made his heart jump out of his ribcage “No, not at you.”

Your eyes were red and bloodshot, your breath heavy “How many did you smoke?” He asked, trying to contain his tone.

You gulped down, lowering your gaze “Two.” Jake nodded and opened the door of his car, letting you in.

“I’m going to kill Heeseung somedays.” He mumbled, walking to the other side and entering the driver seat.

He started the engine and drove in silence, the late hours of the night not as lively as they usually were.

When you reached a stoplight, Jake opened a small bottle of water he had in his car and handed it to you “Drink, I want it all finished before we reach your house.”

You raised a brow, your mind was already puzzled and his actions only added to your confusion “Why?”

“Just listen to me.” He dismissed your question and started driving again while you drank small sips from the bottle.

You soon reached your house, this time Jake parked his car unauthorisedly in front of it, exiting the car to open the door for you.

You looked up at him, your vulnerable state making him want to protect you even more. Damn Heeseung.

“I couldn’t finish it all…” You murmured, showing him only the half-empty bottle of water.

His eyes softened. “That’s ok, at least you drank some.” You smiled up at him and stumbled a little as you tried to reach your house door.

Jake helped you, holding you up with his arms under your armpits “Shoot, Y/N. Why did you drink so much?” He let out a huff, as he was basically supporting all your weight.

You leaned on the wall and handed Jake your purse, not really in the state to open the door.

“What’s the code?” He asked and looked at your door, just to realise there was no code to access inside it, your door still needed a key to be opened.

His stomach dropped, another mental check of how different your lives were “Inside the purse.” You murmured.

Jake nodded and opened your purse, taking out the keys and opening the door, holding it open.

“You’re mad at me?” You asked again, your eyes half-lidded and you could barely hold yourself up— yet you were ever so pretty.

The moonlight shone on you, lighting up your skin, your hair falling down your face, messy but gorgeous. So dishevelled but so pretty.

“No, Y/N. I’m not mad at you.” He repeated, his tone sincere “Then… Then why you ignored me?” You asked, the pout on your lips only making him want to bite on them.

He gave you the purse back and pushed you a little so that you walked in “Go straight to bed, don’t wake your parents up. You don’t want them to see you like this.”

You nodded obediently and Jake caressed your cheek with his thumb before turning around. He stopped right in front of your door and smiled “I’m doing this for you, ma chérie.” And then closed the door.

𓆩♡𓆪

“Hey man,” Jake greeted Sunghoon as he entered his house, giving him a high five, “Good to see you again.”

“Yeah, glad to see you too.” Sunghoon nodded and closed the door behind his back.

“Am I the last one?” Jake asked, walking to the couch and sitting on it, bouncing a couple of times.

“No,” A wild Jay appeared from the kitchen where he was cooking something for dinner, already busy since late afternoon. “Heeseung texted he’d be late.”

“As always.” Sunghoon rolled his eyes and sat down beside him “I swear, he never changes.”

“Jay told me you will take over your father’s company,” Sunghoon smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes “Congratulations.”

“Yeah.” Jake laughed “Thanks.” Awkward silent filled the room, the only sound being Jay’s pots as he cooked. Sunghoon eyed him up and down, leaning back on the couch and resting his head on his hand “Hadn’t you rebelled to your parents?”

“Rumours fly.” He smiled forcefully “It was just a silly thing. I actually realised I should make them proud after eveything they did for me.”

“And what exactly did they do for you, Jake?” Sunghoon’s voice was low, his gaze piercing.

Jake just cleared his throat and changed the topic “So, how was Paris?” He asked “I know you booked a hotel near the Eiffel Tower. Bet it was awesome.”

Sunghoon tsked “Indeed. I’ll show you the picture if you want.” Jake answered positively when the doorbell rang.

“You get the door, it must be Heeseung.” Sunghoon got up from the sofa and patted his pockets “I’ll search for my phone.”

Jake got up as well and walked to the door, the doorbell rang again and he sighed “Yeah, coming.” He opened it and widened his eyes when he saw another familiar figure beside Heeseung.

He took in the sight of you, wearing comfortable clothes, looking ever so dreamy.

His gaze fixed on the hickey Heeseung made you a couple of days before, now all dark and purplish. He gulped “What is she doing here?”

“I invited her.” Heeseung shrugged, stepping aside Jake and walking inside the house.

You were left with him, staring at each other’s faces, acting as if both of your hearts weren’t pounding “How’s the after effect?”

There was no context but you knew what he meant “Good, I’m a big woman. No joint can kill me.” You replied, walking beside him when no more words were exchanged. Truth to be told the next day you woke up with a throbbing headache, regretting all of your life choices— though the biggest one was the hickey on your neck.

“I thought you didn’t want to hang out on this side of the town.” Jake spoke, his tone sounding mocking. You scowled “Maybe I changed my mind.” You walked faster toward the kitchen where everyone was gathered.

You got to know Jake’s friend group. Aside from Heeseung and him, you had only seen Jay at the last party. You later found out Sunghoon was on a business trip in Paris which was why you hadn’t seen him before, but even if you did he wasn’t the happiest about your presence, so you thought you wouldn’t have been friends.

Jay, on the other end, was sophisticated and kind, the two of them looking ever so the stereotype of rich kids.

Heeseung and Jake were rather normal, they could’ve passed as the kids from your neighbourhood if you didn't know their true identities.

“I brought some snacks.” Sunghoon announced, placing a sachet on the table. He took out all kinds of sweet things, but your eyes lit up at the sight of macaroons.

You had only seen their pictures and let your mind wander at what their taste would be like, but now they were in front of you, so you reached your hand and took one.

“You like ‘em?” Heeseung asked, taking the chocolate flavoured one and eating it “I’ve never tried them.” The whole table fell silent, all the boys stopping in their tracks.

“Never?” Jay questioned and you shook your head “That’s a bummer though, I only bought four for the four of us.” Sunghoon was about to take the vanilla flavoured macaroon out of your hand when Jake slapped it away.

“I don’t like them anyways, she can have mine.” Jay frowned at his friend’s words “You love macar—“ He was shushed by a biscuit placed in his mouth by Jake “I don’t like them.” He repeated.

You bit on the small treat and your eyes formed hearts “It’s so good!” You said, munching on it. And you didn’t know it, but Jake’s heart skipped a beat at the sight of you so happy.

You continued to spend time with them, playfully beefing with Sunghoon as if you weren’t an intruder in his house until they decided to go in the free time room to play billiard.

“But I don’t know how to play billiards.” You pouted, watching all the men gather around the pool table.

“That’s ok, you can just watch.” Sunghoon dismissed you quickly, placing himself in front of you to posionate the balls inside the triangle.

You just scoffed and sat on the kitchen counter, crossing your arms on your chest.

You watched the game develop in front of your eyes, never truly understanding its rules. They were too useless and complicated and you stopped paying attention in the middle.

After what seemed like forever, where you had the time to walk around Sunghoon’s big house three times and even have a chat with his maids — cause apparently, rich kids could even afford maidens — you entered the kitchen again just to see it was empty.

You looked around, checking if anyone was there before following Sunghoon’s previous actions, placing the balls in the triangle to align them.

You didn’t know what they found interesting in billiards, and trying to understand it wasn’t going to get you killed.

You took the cue stick and positioned yourself, copying the boys’ postures.

Something must’ve gone wrong, though, because as you pushed the cue you embarrassingly missed it.

“You are too far with your back.” The same voice that haunted your dreams spoke from behind you, making you flinch.

“Chill, it’s just me.” Jake stated, munching on some chips “Heeseung wondered if you wanted something to eat.”

You smirked, leaning on the table “Heeseung or you?” Jake rolled his eyes but didn’t deny your questioning.

He gulped down his food and stared at you “You want to play pool?”

“I already said I don’t know how to do that.” You repeated, glancing back at the untouched balls “I don’t even understand the rules.”

“Here.” Jake’s accent tickled your ears as he made you turn around with his hands on your hips “Bend just a little.” You didn’t know if his voice was really that low or if he was doing it just to tease you— Whatever was his plan, you were down for it.

“Mh? Like this?” You said with your most innocent voice, bending slightly more on the table, just enough to make your ass touch his front hips.

He let out a faint groan “Yeah.” He tried not to show the effect you had on him and trailed his fingers along your arms until he reached the cue stick in your hands. Goosebumps formed on your skin at the contact.

“Then?” You asked, eager for him to touch you. “Then you place the cue like this.” He shifted your fingers so you could grip it the right way and turned his face, you could feel his breath on your skin and the tip of his nose poking your cheek.

There was also something else poking your ass cheeks, which was why you started moving, briefly. Just to tease him.

“Take the aim.” The combination of his voice and the proximity of your bodies made your mind hazy, making it hard for you to concentrate.

You just let him guide you “And… Shoot.” You pushed the cue between your fingers and finally, all the balls moved around the green table.

One went into the hole and you jumped happily “I did it!” You exclaimed, laughing “You saw?” You asked, turning around.

Jake was staring at you with ever so deep eyes, full of emotions you didn’t quite get but felt inside of you as well “I always see you.”

𓆩♡𓆪

You weren’t sure why Heeseung invited you to yet another party, or the reason as to why you seemed to be the only girl at a boys hang out, but you weren’t going to complain.

The hotel you guys were staying in was huge, apparently it belonged to Heeseung’s parents and you could have it all for yourself the whole night.

Wearing the best dress you owned you presented yourself at the location beside the raven haired man.

You greeted his friends group and noticed there were many other people, unlike you thought, all partying and dancing together.

It was very different from the ones he usually threw at his house, this one was huge and packed, there was almost no space to go through the crowd.

“And you said I couldn’t bring Yunjin along.” You side eyed Heeseung, earning a shrug. “One girl from the other side is already enough.”

You slapped lightly on his shoulder “Rude.” Heeseung laughed and pushed your back a little. “Go have fun, I have guests to greet.”

Feeling like a mouse surrounded by cats, you made your way through the crowd, trying to ignore the thirsty stares you were receiving. Since that fateful night where you willingly let your heart out for Jake you had become more careful with your possible make outs.

As you turned your face to look at the big pool where people were swimming, you accidentally bumped someone's chest, which made you stumble backwards.

“Sorry,” You murmured, about to walk away when a hand came around your wrist. It wasn’t Jake’s, the one you were used to, it was much rougher and tighter.

You glanced up just to notice a tall guy, probably high judging from his bloodshot eyes and twitching nose. Holy Moly.

That guy lowered to match your height, his hot and smelly breath made your nose scrunch in disgust “Hey, gorgeous.”

Your whole body froze and your heart stopped beating for a few seconds “Uh… Hi.” You laughed awkwardly, trying to remove your hand from his grip.

“You bumped me by mistake?” He asked, getting dangerously close “Or did you want my attention. You didn’t have to pull that act, my attention is all yours now.” His words were so slurred you could barely understand them.

“Actually, it was a mistake.” You said and again tried to pull away from him, but the more you tried the more he got closer.

“Don’t lie.” He whispered and wrapped one arm around your waist. You were trapped, your breath hitching.

“I truly am not.” You pushed his chest away, resulting in him only tightening his grip “Come on… Let’s have fun.”

“She said it was a mistake.” A familiar voice with a thick accent, thicker than usual, commented, placing one hand on the guy’s shoulder.

The guy groaned and raised himself in all his height, turning around in slow motion — or maybe it was just your panicked vision playing tricks — toward Jake.

He stood in front of him, unfazed by how big and tall that guy was as he stared at him with a dark gaze.

“And who are you to interrupt us?” The guy asked, his voice too low for your own likings “Her guy.” Jake said as if it was the most obvious answer, raising a brow.

“So, I suggest you walk the fuck away before I throw one punch on your nose and break it.” You had never seen Jake angry, you had a few fantasies about it, but you would’ve never imagined him being so scary (and hot).

His whole aura was inky, arms crossed on his chest, showing his excessively veiny arms.

That guy was surely drunk but not enough to risk his own life. He raised his hands in a submissive manner and nodded “Alright, sorry man.” Jake tilted his head “It’s not me you have to apologise to.”

He took a moment to comprehend his words “Oh.” He then turned to you and scratched the back of his neck “I’m sorry.” He didn’t wait for your reply and just walked away.

Your eyes then met Jake’s, filled with wrath “I—“ You said but were met by his hand around your wrist, this time your body not repulsing it as that guy’s and he dragged you inside the hotel.

“Jake, let go.” You tried to fight him but he was stronger, dragging you through the corridors until he reached what would’ve been a storage room, full of pillows and sheets supplies “Let go, it hurts.”

Jake loosened his grip “You really have trouble written on your forehead.” He snapped, his breath heavy as he paced around the room “I can’t look away from you that you’re getting yourself into something bad.”

You frowned at his harsh words “That’s not true.” Jake scowled “Is it not? You either get high or almost—“ He couldn’t bring himself to finish his sentence.

“Why do you even care anyways?” You said back, brows knitted “You’re the one who used me.”

Jake stopped in his tracks “Used you?” He got closer to you.

“Yes,” You stepped forward as well. “You just used me, made me think you actually cared about me just to rebel against your parents.”

You gulped, your heart breaking again at the memory “Next thing I know, you’re ignoring me and smiling at a pretty girl.”

“Did you fuck her, Jake?” He was taken aback from your words, placing his hands on your shoulders. You shrugged him off, he still remained in your proximity without touching you.

“I think I lost something here, who was I smiling at?” You clicked your tongue, your hands on your waist as you got frustrated.

“That girl, last Saturday.” You explained “Dark hair, killer body, tall… Come on Jake, just admit it you wanted someone to fuck but I didn’t and so you went with someone else.”

“That’s really not what I did. I would never.” He blinked faintly “That girl, she’s Karina, Sunghoon’s sister.” He then added “I don’t like her, not that way.”

You wanted to scowl at him, but his tone was so serious you found yourself asking “..What?”

“You’re not the problem, Y/N.” Jake said, sighing “It’s me, it’s all my fault.”

You shook your head, confused. “What— Jake, I don’t understand.”

“I shouldn’t have asked you to help me.” He backed up until his back hit the wall, running a frustrated hand in his hair “I exposed you to my parents— I—“

You moved to him, taking his face in your hand “Stop mumbling.” You ordered “Talk to me, what’s wrong?”

Despite the way he treated you in the past week, your touch was still gentle and you worried about him. A spark of hope lit his heart up.

Jake nodded and took a deep breath “My parents… they said that if I didn’t break up with you they’d make yours lose their job. You’d lose your house… I couldn’t do that, Y/N.”

He seemed as if he was slowly loosing his mind. You took in the sight of him, dark circles under his eyes, he looked paler wearing that white shirt. Just what on earth had he been doing?

“They’re powerful, with the amount of money they have they can easily buy your whole neighbourhood and evict you.” He gulped down “So I am preparing to take over the company, to make them happy.”

Your eyes widened at his words, “They threatened you?” You asked, removing your hands from his cheeks to stand properly.

Jake shrugged, “We weren’t together so technically I couldn’t break up with you, but I could stay away if it meant you’d be safe.” He sighed softly, “I told you I’m a bad bet since the first time we met.”

“No,” You shook your head “You aren’t bad, your parents are.”

He scoffed, “And I’m just like them.”

You fisted the collar of his shirt and brought his lips down to yours. He was shocked by your sudden action but he relaxed soon and closed his eyes, kissing you back.

“Say that again and your face will meet my fist.” You breathed out as you pulled away “You don’t get how brave you are? You were about to sacrifice your happiness to save my family… someone you met at a party.”

“You’re not just someone I met at a party.” Jake whispered “In just a couple of days you made my whole life better, you made me realise there’s so much more than what I was used to.”

He placed one hand in your hair, caressing your scalp “I never meant to hurt you, baby.”

Your heart jumped as you heard his whisper, the pet name making your head spin “Later, I want you to explain everything to me everything.” You demanded.

Jake nodded “Everything you want, queen.” Your breath quickened “But for now…” You trailed off and connected your lips again.

You kissed him, roughly and he did it back with the same intensity, having missed the taste of you, the scent of your perfume invading his nostrils, clouding his mind.

“Let me take you home,” He murmured between kisses “In your bedroom.”

You shook your head, stumbling backward and bringing him with you “Can’t wait.”

“You sure about this?” He asked as you got out of the storage room, bodies still tangled “I could be bad, worse than you think.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck and brought him down on you “Then, I wanna find out.”

Jake let out a small groan and resumed kissing you, blindly reaching a doorknob and praying nobody was inside.

He dragged you in and locked the door behind your backs.

Jake pushed you against the wall as he undid the buttons of his shirt while you unbuckled his belt, your lips never leaving each other.

He discarded his shirt and helped you unzip his jeans, throwing all of them somewhere on the floor.

He then removed the straps of your dress, slowly kissing all the way down your neck to your almost exposed chest. He pulled away, enough to look at the now barely-visible hickey Heeseung did.

Jake let out a deep groan “You don’t know how much this drove me insane.” He commented, trailing his thumb over it

“Yeah?” You asked “Were you jealous?”

“I wanted to rip his head off.” He said, kissing you again “Wanted to cover your whole body with hickeys and my marks, just to let him know who you belong to.”

You nodded, “Do it,” You breathed out “Make me yours, Jake.”

He unconsciously bucked his hips to meet yours, his clothed bulge poking your pussy “Fuck baby, you can’t tell me that.” He whispered, attaching his lips on your neck again.

Jake lowered the dress until it rested on your hips, palming your breasts, growling at the feeling.

You gasped when his lips engulfed your nipple, twirling his tongue round it. Your hand went to grasp his hair while the other slowly lowered his boxers until his painful erection was free.

Jake helped you out of your dress and underwear until you were standing in front of each other naked. “I’ll worship your body another time.” He murmured, trailing his fingers down your chest “For now, I just want to fuck you rough.”

You smirked and shook your head, making Jake widen his eyes “You don’t want this? I can stop.”

“No, I want it.” You stated, slowly sinking on your knees “I just need to show you my skills first.”

That was the hottest thing anyone could’ve done to Jake, his cock twitched in front of you. It was huge, veiny and hard, his mushroom tip looking ever so delicious.

“You see, baby? This is what you do to me.” He pumped his shaft, brushing it on your lips.

“Stick out that tongue for me.” You did as told and stuck your tongue out as Jake laid his cock on it, bucking his hips back and forth. The spongy and warm texture already making it leak with precum.

You played with his balls while you took him whole in your mouth, gagging when it hit the back of your throat. The filthy sounds filled the room as he took a hold of your head, fisting your hair in a makeshift ponytail while he thrusted inside your throat.

“So good.” He panted, his head thrown back and brows knitted.

You twirled your tongue around his cock, pumping it with your hands where your lips couldn’t reach “Sucking my cock so well.”

Before you could even register, Jake pulled out and raised you from your armpits, placing you on the bed.

“I need to feel your pussy.” He stated, rubbing your clit with his thumb “Want to use a condom, baby?” He asked, “Just tell me.”

You shook your head, bringing him down onto you in a heated kiss “Fuck me raw.” He moaned in the kiss and fisted his shaft again, gathering your juices, you got so wet even by just giving him a blow.

He slowly inserted himself in you, the stretch causing you to pant. You weren’t a virgin but he was bigger than the ones you had before, so it took a moment for you to get used to it.

Jake’s thrusts were nice and slow at first, his forehead resting on yours “I can’t resist.” He breathed out, giving a deeper thrust “Please, can I move?”

You nodded your head, trying to breathe steadily. Jake raised from you and spread your legs open while he moved inside you. You grasped your tits, palming them while maintaining eye contact with Jake.

“You don’t know how much I wanted this,” He groaned, pulling out just to spit on your hole to fill it again “Pussy so tight can barely move.”

Your hand went down to rub circles on your clit, trying to make it wetter as his thrusts gained speed.

Jake slapped your hand and commanded “Hands around your ankles.” And so you complied.

He leaned down and kissed you sloppily, his hips moving back and forth at a delicious rhythm. You moaned out loud.

Holding your head up to rest his forehead on it, your eyes still locked with the others as your body connected fanatically, Jake twitched inside of you and halted his movements.

“Fuckk, almost came.” He chuckled, pulling out of you.

“Want to last longer than this.” He took your body and turned you around, you raised yourself on your arms and leaned your ass up.

“You like being fucked in doggy, mh?” He spammed your ass “Looking so eager to be fucked dumb, you won’t think about anything but my cock in you.”

Jake pushed himself inside of you again, making you moan out his name “Yes, that’s me.” He groaned “Say it again.”

“Jake.” You gasped, he fisted your hair, making you arch your back while he rutted your body “Oh, Y/N.” He moaned as well.

Putting one hand around your neck, he squeezed it as he threw his own head back, lost in the pleasure your warm walls were giving you.

“Fuck baby, I’m not gonna last long.” He panted, stopping his movements to edge himself “Just fuck me.” You pleaded, frustrated by your own denied orgasm every time he stopped.

“Sorry,” He chuckled, spanking your ass and leaning down to kiss the back of your shoulder “You want to cum?”

You nodded, raising yourself to kiss him passionately as he slowly thrusted inside you “Can you ride me, baby? Pretty please?”

Jake looked so hot, messy bangs sticking to his forehead and heavy breath, you couldn’t do anything but agree to everything he said.

You waited for him to lay down, his back pressed against the headboard of the bed as you straddled him.

You rubbed your wet folds on his hard-on, Jake reached for your tits and squeezed them “Have I ever told you you’re so fucking hot?” He asked.

You chuckled “No, but I already know that.” You winked and raised yourself on your knees, slowly sinking down on his cock.

The stretch was still a little painful, but nothing compared to the pleasure his dick was giving you.

You moved on him, up and down at a slow but deep rhythm, feeling him all as he hit your cervix with each thrust.

Jake moved your hair out of your face, his lips attaching to your boob as if he was a toddler in desperate need of milk.

You moaned, your hands grasping his shoulders as you moved back and forth at a quick speed.

“Oh yes.” He put his hands behind his head and watched as you rode him, your mouth agape, gasping for air while shaky moans escaped your lips “Feels good.”

Your legs started to shake and you could barely keep yourself up as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten “I’ve got you.” Jake noticed and made you lay on his chest, his hands spreading your ass cheeks as he started rutting inside you, his pace so quick you didn’t know it was possible.

Your pussy clenched around his cock, creaming him as you fell apart, your moans loud and whole body shaking.

Jake didn’t stop, he chased his own orgasm which was so close.

“You're just made to please me.” He panted, giving a few more thrusts “You're made to squeeze every drop of cum from my cock.” His eyes rolled back with a low groan as he shot his load, his cock twitching until it emptied in you.

You both stayed there for a while, just trying to steady your breaths and calm your racing hearts.

Jake slowly traced your back with his fingers, a featherlight touch sending shivers all dove your spine.

He pulled out, his cum dripping down from your pussy to your thighs and bedsheets.

Jake helped you sit up and removed a few strands of hair that got stuck to your face “You look gorgeous.” He whispered, earning a smile from you “And you did amazing.”

He cleaned you up and threw the dirty sheets on the floor “I’m sorry for whoever will have to clean them tomorrow.” You commented, grimacing.

“Don’t worry about it,” He soothed, settling himself beside you and holding you on his chest, gently caressing your bare shoulder.

You looked up at him, resting your chin on his shoulder. “You should start making choices for your own happiness, Jake.” You murmured

Jake let out a small sigh “Indeed, I should.” He pressed a kiss on your brow “I want to choose you, not my parents, not anyone else. Only you.” You smiled, “I only want you, too.”

“I’ll find a way to fight my parents, I promise I’ll be stronger this time.” Your eyes softened at his words, you caressed his cheek and he leaned on your palm, melting “Oh Jake, you’re the strongest person I know.” You confessed.

“Really?” He asked, looking like a lost boy, “Really.” You confirmed.

Suddenly, your stomach growled loudly. Jake glanced at his phone he had found in his forgotten jeans and put on the bedside table “It’s late night, ma chérie. You’re hungry?”

You nodded, “I want steak.” Jake snorted at your joke “And I want a burger.” He said back.

“Hanging out with a girl from the other side of the town changed you.” You smirked, nudging his shoulders

“Yeah. For the better.”

THE END.

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Platonic Yan! Dick Grayson w/ batsis darling

A/N: I'm sorry. I love crazy Dick. WHat can sayyy..

concept: You instantly don't take a liking to Dick. Something about him makes you uncomfortable. He's obsessed with being your favorite sibling and making you love him back...even if he has to wring it out of you. (Any version of Dick)

Warnings; Obsession, intimidation and possessive behaviors

Requests: always open. please read pinned post/masterlist

Masterlist

Yandere Dick is a good big brother. He still finds time out of his hectic life to spend with all of his siblings. He remembers all of their interests, a shoulder to cry on and an overall positive reinforcement for the bunch. When you first got in the family, everyone told you over and over, just how perfect he was. There was no better brother than he.

But would i be wrong to say i love the idea of Dick Grayson having a vicious temper? I mean it's hidden perfectly behind is charming smile and good-willed nature.

From the moment you met him, you never truly felt at ease. There was just something off about him that set off alarm bells in your head. You didn't feel safe...you didn't want to be alone with him. It was a guilty feeling seeing as everyone else took to him so well. He was more than welcoming to you so you didn't know why you felt this way.

Dick could sense your unease with him, much to his dismay. He didn't like that one bit. It pissed him off really. In what world someone didn't like him? especially one of the little brats Bruce waddled in. You need to feel comfortable with him, he's a perfectionist that takes nothing less.

Yandere Dick Grayson is obsessed with being your favorite sibling. He's achieved it with all the others, you're no exception. But you avoid him at every single turn. Literally. You've rejected movie nights, dinner invitations, gifts, and other kind gestures. His self worth is rather outward and you're hurting him very badly right now. Why can't you see that? stop being difficult and love your big bro.

As time progresses you can see more cracks coming through. The others cannot possibly notice a flaw in him but you see it all. You know he's eager to be close with you but your body just won't let you. He terrifies you. Especially when you are hanging out with another sibling or texting them.

You don't ever reach out to him. You don't care about him like you did with the others. Why don't you care? You ghosted ever message he's ever sent you. He constantly asks if you're okay or if you want food but you just cannot be bothered to reply. To you it's a trap. You're scared if you give him an inch that he'll run a mile. (which he would)

He becomes visibly irritable with you. He'll grit his teeth through his stunning smile and his seemingly playful words laced with venom. They're soft enough that the others brush it off but you can read between the lines. Other times if you're eating family dinner, and he's upset with you chatting it up with someone, he'll serve you last and the least amount of food.

Dick's last resort was to just forcefully get you alone together for a brother-sister bonding experience. He tricked you in saying the others were meeting at a pizza place after their patrol and offered to drive you over since he was about to leave. You get there, awkwardly sitting at a booth alone with him. He's trying his best to strike up a conversation and patch things up but you're completely silent. You barely even look at him, your eyes are constantly scanning the room for your siblings expected arrival. Hoping one of them would come and save you.

To his glee, you had eventually spoken up but only to ask when the others were supposed to arrive. His smile dropped and the blood in his hands could’ve burst out from how tightly his fists were clenched.

This is his tipping point. You ignored him all this time and the second you decided to speak up it's about them? Something switched in Dick.

It was a strange sight to see. His eyes eyes were completely glossed over and dilated with a murderous intensity. They're wide as they shot through you. His jaw tightened as he thought about how he wanted to hurt you like you're doing with him. You wanna play mental games with him? So be it. He should torture his love right into you. He's got a perfect method aaaalll picked out. You're giving him a run for his money and he's all out of it.

"Jealousy is endearing, don't you think?" His tone was deceptively playful, you knew he was anything but happy at the moment. The unease in his demeanor was enough to cause you to shift in your seat and lean back against the plush of the booth's backboard.

You hesitantly questioned what he could've possibly meant by that to his reply of,

"I just understand your game now. You enjoy making me jealous, it's fun to you. This is all a playful ruse to get more of my attention?...Right?” He shook his head and let out a deep, twisted chuckle.

“You didn't have to do all of this, baby bird. I would've made more than enough time for you had you asked. But i forgive you, if that's all this was?" He leaned in over the table, inches away from your face. His brows furrowed and the intimidation from his eye contact was enough to make you crumble. He was a dangerous person, capable of so many things. He would physically hurt you or his siblings but he’ll find a way to make sure he was number one.

The honest answer to his question was No, this wasn't a game. You just didn't like him. That was all.

But you knew what this was. He was giving you a way out before he gave into the thoughts swarming his mind. There was only one right answer. Give up the gun, say yes, and embrace your brother. He only wants a relationship with you. He's the best there ever was at his job so please, stop being a hard-ass and love him back...

[jihyoruri]

❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ ❚ SUPER RICH KIDS kim chaewon x reader

❀ ͘ ⴰ previous chapters | richgirl ⭢ that girl (she’s delicious) ⭢ idon’t smoke ⭢ pretty when you cry ⭢ homesick

↳ warnings richgirl!yn, angst (yn is back home), family dynamics, rich kid things, swearing, chaewon is still chaewon, arguing, weight mentions

finally.

you’d think after everything that someone has gone through in this house, stepping back through those doors would be the last thing she’d want. but she wasn’t going to lie.

yn felt at peace.

because in the moon mansion, she could be who she truly was and not feel bad about it.

a rich girl.

“lunch will be ready soon,” jia’s voice broke through the peaceful quiet as yn lay sprawled on her pink towel by the pool.

yn let out a contented sigh, lifting her sunglasses and pushing her hair back. “thanks, jia. what’s on the schedule for tomorrow?”

“you already attended the press conference with your father, so that’s off your list. your brothers will be going to the one tomorrow, so all you’ve got left is golfing with your members.”

the happy, serene soundtrack in yn’s head came to a screeching halt as she shot up from her towel.

“what?!”

“your mother didn’t tell you? she thought it’d be a good idea for you to invite them, so she reached out while you were out with your father,” jia said, her expression full of concern. she didn’t understand. shouldn’t yn be excited?

“when does she ever tell me anything?” yn grumbled, flopping back down on her towel childishly “jia, during dinner, add a splash of vodka to my mango juice. maybe the alcohol will keep me from flipping the table.”

jia chuckled softly, fondness in her eyes for the girl she’d watched grow up. “when has that ever helped anything? i’ll check on lunch.”

yn groaned as jia walked away. this was supposed to be her escape. chaewon is going to have a field day with this.

it seems like nothing can ever go yn’s way.

dinner was quiet. but that was hardly unusual. as far back as yn could remember, dinner had never been family bonding time

bonding didn’t even exist in this family.

the unspoken rule was simple: eat in silence, speak only when necessary.

honestly, yn found the quiet pretty peaceful. just eating, no forced conversation.

but it seemed like her mother couldn’t stand seeing her at peace—ever.

maybe that was an exaggeration, but yn firmly believed it.

“you seem tense, yn,” jae said, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he took a slow sip from his drink. “something bothering you? got a problem with someone?”

yn gripped her fork tightly, slowly lifting her gaze from her plate. “i do, actually. and for once, it’s not with you, dickhead.”

“language,” their father muttered, eyes never leaving the documents he’d brought to the table.

“oh really, who’s ahead of me?” jae asked clearly liking the banter him and yn are having at the moment.

“I won’t disclose any details just as yet.”

daeun rolled his eyes at his siblings, then, deciding to break the silence since everyone seemed eager to chat, he asked, “so, mom, how was your day?”

their mother beamed at the question, her smile bright and warm. oh, how she adored her son. yn couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“it was amazing, honey. i was just reading an article about your sister’s group.”

“oh, really?” jae responded with mild interest.

“yes! that yunjin member mentioned how she always makes sure the other girls eat and stay healthy. isn’t that wonderful? yn, you have such lovely members.”

as far as yn was concerned, yunjin had never once asked if she was eating properly. but that wasn’t what set her off, she had kazuha who always checked in on her.

it was the nerve her mother had to praise yunjin for something like that—the same person who was the root cause of yn’s so-called “problem.”

“is that why you invited them over tomorrow—without asking me?”

yn hadn’t planned on bringing it up, but her mother’s comment set her off.

her mother furrowed her eyebrows at yn’s tone. “yes, actually. they seem like lovely girls. i was going to suggest you invite those ai girls you’re so fond of, but your judgment isn’t always the best, so i made the decision for you.”

the screech of yn’s chair echoed through the dining room. “i’m not hungry anymore, because clearly no one in this family respects me. may i be excused?”

“sure,” her father said casually, taking a sip of his wine.

“oh, come on, yn! let’s not fall back into those habits,” jae teased.

”fuck you jae!”

“language.”

“you don’t like them, do you?”

yn lifted her head from her pillow, turning slowly to see daeun standing at her door.

“what?”

“the girls in your group. you don’t like them.”

she watched as he stepped forward and sat at the edge of her fluffy bed. “you wouldn’t have reacted that way if it were the girls from sm.”

yn hated how daeun could always read her. they barely talked nowadays, but he still knew his little sister like the back of his hand.

“it’s not that I don’t like them. they don’t like me. no matter how much I lower myself or how nice i act, it’s like they can’t get over the fact that i’m a moon.”

“you lowered yourself for them?”

yn’s eyes flicked up from her lap to see jae standing at the door, disappointment written across his face.

she nodded, feeling a wave of shame. they were raised to believe they were better than everyone else, and here she was, bending over backward for girls who didn’t even like her.

“well, that was your first mistake,” jae said, shaking his head as daeun nodded in agreement.

“you’re dimming who you are to make them feel comfortable, and they’re taking advantage of that,” daeun added, hitting the nail on the head. yn hated how right he was.

“i know you, yn. you’re a bitch—a real one,” jae said with a smirk, earning an eye roll from her. “just be who you are. that’s how you’ll show them. it seems like they can’t stand the fact that you were always going to be successful, idol or not, and they hate that.”

“woah.” yn blinked in disbelief, looking between her brothers. “for once, you two actually make sense.”

“see? a bitch.”

yn adjusted the dior sunglasses perched atop her head, then straightened her pink ralph lauren golf dress before turning to jia.

“why are they taking so long? it’s a gated community,” she complained, tapping her foot as she stood in front of her expansive front lawn.

“patience is key, miss moon. the van is pulling up,” jia replied calmly.

yn felt anxiety creep in but quickly reminded herself of her brother's words. this wasn’t the dorms; this was her turf, the place where yn excelled.

the first person to step out of the van was kazuha, who immediately sprinted toward her.

“zuha!”

“you look so cute! i love your dress,” kazuha gushed, her eyes scanning yn’s outfit she couldn’t help but smile at how relaxed yn looked, she was completely in her element.

“thanks! my dad got it. it’s vintage!” yn beamed.

“of course he did.” yn already knew who that could be.

as she looked past kazuha, she noticed the rest of the girls gazing at her house in awe, it was kinda awkward seeing them, especially after the last time, but yn was just gonna pretend like that day never happened.

yunjin nudged chaewon, nodding toward jia, who narrowed her eyes at chaewon, causing the latter's eyes to widen.

chaewon hadn’t realized someone else was there.

yn couldn’t help but smile at that. “this is jia, the help.”

the girls nodded politely, while kazuha waved, causing yn to furrow her brows. “bow?”

the girls’ eyes widened at the unexpected demand but quickly bowed their heads.

“we treat the help with great respect around here,” yn said sternly . “so take note of that for next time.”

kazuha smiled at yn while the others nodded, a mix of confusion and compliance on their faces.

“so, who’s ready to golf?” yn asked, flashing a sweet smile.

“you guys suck,” yn laughed, watching the girls struggle with their golf swings.

“well, not everyone has been doing this since birth,” chaewon shot back, rolling her eyes.

“you’re so right! it would take a lot to be like me, wouldn’t it?” yn teased, nudging chaewon’s side causing the girl to stumble “your form is horrendous.”

she strolled over to eunchae, adjusting the younger girl’s stance, then moved on to yunjin.

chaewon’s gaze drifted down yn’s body, taking in her outfit of course, she didn’t even know people actually wore dresses like that these days.

she was about to make a snarky comment when a loud shout interrupted her.

“ignore them it’s just the golf boys,” yn said as she corrected sakura’s form.

chaewon rolled her eyes when she heard the boys calling out yn’s name in a flirty tone.

“passed around?”

yn groaned at chaewon’s words. “I’ve only talked to them a handful of times. I barely know them.”

“i talk to the caddy girls a lot, though,” yn added, causing kazuha to laugh while chaewon scrunched her face in distaste.

“do you want my help with your form?” yn asked chaewon, raising an eyebrow.

“definitely not.”

“okay, then continue embarrassing yourself.”

chaewon opened her mouth to argue but was cut off by a woman’s voice.

“yn!”

the girls turned to see yn’s mother approaching, and yn groaned, rolling her eyes. “why is she here?” she mumbled to herself.

the girls recognized the woman—it was yn’s mother.

“hey, ladies! I hope you’re having fun and that yn is being a good host,” she said with a bright smile.

the girls greeted yn’s mom with polite smiles, and she continued, “I just wanted to drop off some cute gifts i got for you all. I completely forgot about them! I had to stop the driver we just left from going to lunch.”

“lunch?” yn asked, the emotion in her voice hard to pinpoint. “you guys went to lunch without me?”

“honey, it’s not a big deal. don’t be dramatic! we were just celebrating your brother’s achievements just an intimate get together that I planned.”

yn couldn’t remember them ever holding something for her achievements, and she had plenty. “right,” yn laughed sarcastically. “i’m always so dramatic, huh?”

the girls exchanged awkward glances; they had never seen yn like this before.

“don’t act like that. god, you’re just like your father,” her mother said, brushing off yn's feelings.

yn clenched her jaw. “is that all? you just came by to drop off gifts?”

“yes, and i wanted to check on you. stop being so moody! just like your dad. my boys are more like me,” her mom said with a smile, prompting awkward laughter from the girls.

“you see how she argues with me, such a daddy’s girl, she looks like a girl version of him as well doesn’t she?.” her mother laughs causing yn to look at chaewon who looks at back at her with a blank face.

“how about you go back to your boys? they’re probably waiting for ‘mommy’,” yn snapped, glaring at her mother.

she had never spoken to her mother this way before, but as she got older, her respect for the woman had diminished. she barely considered her mother a mom anymore.

“yes, i have to go. we’re going shopping to pick out suits for your father and brothers.”

yn felt as if she had been punched in the gut. family shopping—without her? everyone knows yn loves shopping.

“did you plan that too?” she shot back.

her mother ignored yn’s words, stepping back to scan her daughter. “this outfit is cute. it looks good on you. maybe lose a couple more pounds, and it’ll look even better.”

the girls’ eyes widened at her mother’s words, but yn remained unfazed on the outside.

inside, however, yn felt the sting. she tried to pretend she didn’t care about her mom’s opinion, but deep down, she knew she’d spend extra time on her diet after that.

“anyway, I have to go. it was nice seeing you girls! i hope you like the gifts,” her mother said before walking away.

the girls turned to yn, who stared at her mother’s retreating figure before turning back to them.

“I just love my perfect life, don’t ’ I chaewon? now let’s work on your imperfect form.”

[buckymorelikefuckme]

cry baby

bucky barnes x fem reader

words: 7.3k

warnings: **18+ ONLY** smut, edging, overstimulation, crying during sex, mentions of flushed cheeks, friends to lovers, misunderstandings, lapslock.

a/n: this is arguably one of my absolute fave fics i've ever written. she is near and dear to my heart :') i've provided the link for ao3 if you prefer to read it there! it's originally posted in two parts but i've combined them here. any and all mistakes are mine. feedback is encouraged & appreciated ♡

“the boys are running late,” natasha informs you when you make your way to the table she’s conquered in the busy cafe. “sam texted a couple minutes ago and said he and bucky got stuck in traffic.”

it’s the second tuesday of the month, which means it’s brunch day. it’s a running tradition that’s stood for the four of you since your college days. the time and place has changed over the years, but everyone does their absolute best to attend every time. these tuesdays are your favorite, naturally.

you plop into an empty chair across from her with a heavy sigh. “good, that means i have time to bitch about how fucking horny i am before they get here.”

she snorts, taking a delicate sip of her latte. “what’s new?” she wonders sarcastically.

“you don’t understand,” you begin, leaning into the table, gripping the edge tightly. “it’s been months, and not like, a few, i mean it’s coming up on a year.”

natasha’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “a year? what about that guy you went on a few dates with a while back? didn’t anything happen with him?”

“no,” you grumble, sitting back in your chair and crossing your arms. you huff. “and even if something had happened, i doubt it would have been satisfying. i can probably count on one hand the amount of times sex has been even kinda pleasurable for me.”

“sounds like you’re picking shitty partners.”

you scowl. “i know that, but it’s not my fault. all these stupid men keep promising they’re gonna fuck me ten ways to sunday and not a single one of them can even get me to wednesday.”

natasha laughs. “you poor thing.”

“you’re really not helping me here,” you whine with a pitiful pout on your lips. “you are getting routine dickings, you have sam! i am not so lucky here.” you notice her attention flicks to somewhere behind you, but you’re not finished with your rant. “nat, i’m serious. all of my sex encounters are the equivalent of asking someone to scratch my back and then they scratch literally anywhere but the spot that itches. i want to be fucked so good that i cry, just—completely reduced to tears. is that too much to ask?”

nat is hiding her smile behind her hand, amusement painted across her sharp features. someone clears their throat behind you and you pinch the bridge of your nose. sam and bucky occupy the empty seats, sam next to natasha and bucky next to you. they’re both sporting wide grins, looking far too pleased about stumbling into this conversation.

sam opens his mouth, no doubt to make a smartass comment, but you cut him off before he can get a good inhale in.

“not a fucking word,” you grouse with a finger pointed in his direction.

he presses a hand to his chest, expression offended. “i would never make a joke about your truly tragic excuse of a sex life.”

bucky snickers quietly, but turns into a cough at your glare.

“i’ll murder you,” you promise.

“leave her alone, boys,” natasha says, rolling her eyes, though she’s visibly biting back her own laughter.

you huff, digging your wallet out of your purse. “i hate all of you,” you announce before getting up and going to stand in line to order.

bucky follows a moment later, coming to stand at your side and throwing an arm around your shoulders.

“that bad, huh?” he asks.

you don’t have to look at his face to know he’s probably smirking right now.

“fuck off,” you retort, not bothering to push his arm away since you know he’d only put it right back.

“aw, come on, don’t be like that,” he jests, “you know we just like to poke a little fun.”

you roll your eyes, throwing him an exasperated look. “yeah, but that was something only nat was supposed to hear. i hate talking about sex with you and sam because you two wouldn’t understand.”

“that’s not true,” bucky insists, which makes you roll your eyes again. “it’s not!”

“first of all, sam’s got natasha, so we both know they’re more than satisfied.” bucky tilts his head in acquiescence. “and you don’t have to worry about if you’re gonna have an orgasm when you hook up with somebody. men have it so easy.”

it’s probably not the best thing to talk about in line of a busy cafe (especially since you haven’t decided between a blueberry muffin or the ham and cheese croissant, and there’s only one person ahead of you now and you’d really rather not be discussing your lack of sex in front of an innocent barista) but it sort of feels good to get this off your chest, even if it’s to bucky.

“okay, definitely not true,” he replies with a frown. “i’m not always guaranteed an orgasm.”

you give him a skeptical glance. “i find that hard to believe.”

this time, it’s bucky who rolls his eyes. “whatever, whether or not i come when i have sex with someone isn’t what i was gonna talk about when i came over here.”

the person in front of you finishes their order and then you’re stepping up for your turn.

“hi, what can i get you today?” the young barista asks with a smile.

“a large mocha iced coffee with sweet cream and a blueberry muffin, please.” you pause, contemplating, then add, “and a ham and cheese croissant.”

if you can’t get fucked within an inch of your life then food will become your lover, you reason.

“just a black coffee for me, please,” bucky tells the girl, taking his wallet out of his back pocket and handing over his card to pay before you can stop him.

“i could’ve paid for mine,” you mumble.

“you also could just say thank you,” he replies with a short laugh as he ushers you to the side to wait for your order.

you pinch his hip, pouting. “thank you.”

“why does your gratitude come with violence?” he asks, rubbing the sore spot.

“you know how i am when people do nice things for me.”

“you should be used to it by now,” he points out.

“well, i’m not,” you huff. “anyway, what did you come over here to talk about then?”

bucky reaches up to scratch the back of his neck, uncharacteristically shy all the sudden. “uh, well. i dunno, i just thought… you know, since you’re not—i mean, not that you couldn’t be, just—you haven’t been, so maybe… fuck.”

“spit it out,” you say with a giggle, wondering what in the world’s got him so tongue-tied.

“why don’t you let me?” he blurts, averting his gaze immediately after.

you tilt your head in confusion. “let you what?”

he sighs heavily, working his jaw in frustration. “you know…” he begins, digging his thumbnail into a knick on the countertop in front of you. “let me fuck you until you cry.”

“what?”

just then, your order is called. bucky quickly grabs it and turns to make his way back to the table, but you grab his arm to stop him.

“i don’t think so, you come back here right now and explain yourself,” you demand.

his eyes lift heavenward. “it’s just an idea, okay?”

“bucky, you’re talking about crossing a huge line. you can’t just throw that out all willy nilly!”

“i know,” he replies earnestly. “and it’s not—“ he grimaces at the phrasing, “willy nilly. you’re one of my best friends. i wouldn’t jeopardize that for anything, and i wouldn’t offer this if i thought that it could. this is something that’s obviously affecting you negatively in your life and i’m willing to help. i trust you, and i’m pretty sure you trust me, yeah?”

“of course i trust you,” you say, frowning.

he shrugs. “so, then it’s just… a friend helping another friend.”

“you make it sound so simple,” you muse in wonder.

“think about it?” he implores.

you swallow roughly, biting the inside of your cheek. “fine. i’ll think about it.”

he nods and walks back over to the table where sam and natasha are waiting. you hesitate for only a split second before following.

needless to say, you’re distracted for the rest of brunch.

***

you: what even makes you think you could fuck me until i cry anyway?

it’s been nearly a week, and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re actually considering taking bucky’s offer. it’s all you can think about since he brought it up. you can’t lie, you’ve always thought bucky was attractive, but ever since you were gently but firmly placed in the friend category back in university, you never allowed yourself to think of there ever being more between the two of you. he’s a wonderful friend to have and you’d have been an idiot to pass it up. bucky is kind and generous and just enough of an asshole to keep things interesting without it being a problem.

but this… this has left you reeling. why would he make such an offer after only ever keeping things strictly friendly and platonic in your relationship? and more importantly, where does he get the confidence to think he could follow through?

bucky: experience?

you make a face at your phone, furiously typing your reply.

you: ew. do you realize how douchey that sounds?

bucky: well, it’s not douchey if it’s true.

you: says you

bucky: and a few other people :)

bucky: you’d know it too if you’d let me fuck you

you exhale harshly through your nose, tapping your foot on the floor anxiously, carefully thinking of what you should say next.

you: it’s apparently a tall request, and thus far, nobody’s been able to deliver. you can understand my skepticism…

bucky: if i don’t leave you shivering and twitching with aftershocks of pleasure, in a mess of sweat and come, and tears stained on your cheeks, then i will have failed you.

your thighs squeeze together at the mental image that brings you. jesus christ, if he’s half as good at fucking as he is dirty talking then he just might do as he’s promising.

bucky: so? what do you say? wanna give it a try?

biting your lip, you give yourself a moment to weigh the pros and cons in your mind one last time.

it doesn’t take you very long to make your decision.

you: okay. we’ll try.

***

it’s a slightly overcast sunday when bucky comes over with the direct intention to fuck you. it should be weird, but strangely, all you feel is anticipation. maybe it’s because you know him so well and know that, no matter what, he’d take care of you.

(or, maybe it’s because those repressed college-aged feelings are doing their best to resurface, even though you steadfastly continue to ignore them.)

you’d taken a thorough shower earlier to ease the little bit of nerves you had when you’d woken up. cleaning up the small mess your apartment gathered over the last couple weeks helped, as well, and soon you found yourself standing in front of your lingerie drawer with your lips pursed.

you weren’t sure if you should even bother with it, but it felt you wouldn’t be putting in any effort into this encounter if you didn’t at least pick out nice underwear. so, with a pleased nod, you settle on some simple black lace panties and a matching bralette. not too much, but enough to satisfy yourself, and hopefully bucky. you pick out a simple sundress to put on over it, since you won’t be wearing much of anything once bucky gets here. that thought has you flushing, but you ignore it to put on some makeup, just to freshen up your face.

by the time he knocks on your door, you’ve already finished a glass of wine and are pouring yourself a second.

he smiles when open the door, a bit boyishly, greeting you with a quiet, “hi.”

“hi,” you return, just as soft. you open the door wider. “come in.”

he walks passed you, stopping to toe his shoes off and hang his jacket on one of the hooks.

“do you want a glass of wine?” you ask as you head to the kitchen to retrieve your own from the counter.

bucky follows, stopping in the entryway with his hands in his pockets. “no, thank you.”

you nod, taking a sip from your glass, trying to figure out what to say. the air feels a little awkward and you’re not sure how to fix it.

“nervous?” he wonders curiously.

you shake your head. “not really.”

he quirks a brow. “then what’s wrong?”

“i don’t know,” you murmur. “i guess i’m just worried we’re making a mistake.”

he hums. you take a larger sip of your wine.

with cautious steps, he comes closer to you. “what if i promise that things won’t be weird after?”

“you can’t really promise that, though.”

“sure i can,” he says, smiling. “it’s me and you. we’ve been friends for so long. plenty of people have sex and stay friends after.”

you’re not just ‘people’ to me, you think.

you sigh, frustrated with yourself. you can’t deny how badly you want this. it’s all you’ve been able to think about since that day in the cafe. but the thought of losing bucky is heartbreaking, and you don’t want your stupid horniness to be the reason that you ruin a friendship, even if he was the one to offer sex.

“why don’t we go make out on the couch for a little while first?” he suggests after a moment’s pause.

you snort, in spite of your thoughts. “like a couple of teenagers?”

his eyes crinkle on the sides when he grins. “yeah. we’ll just see how we feel about that, and if it leads to more, then…” he trails off, shrugging.

“that’s not a bad idea,” you concede.

“great! finish your wine.”

you laugh and do as you’re told, downing the little remaining wine in one go, sitting the glass down on the counter resolutely as you swallow.

“let’s do this,” you say, determined.

bucky huffs a laugh, grabbing your wrist and tugging you behind him as he makes his way to the couch. he settles slightly facing you as you tuck your legs under you beside him.

“do you wanna talk, or do you want to jump straight into it?”

“if we talk anymore i’m gonna change my mind. just kiss me already, bucky.”

“yes ma’am,” he sasses before doing exactly that.

he cups your cheek with one hand as the other is placed on your knee. he guides your face to his and kisses you chastely. you’re not sure where to put your hands at first, but you tell yourself to quit being a goober about it and place them on either side of his neck, your thumbs brushing under his jaw.

it’s an okay kiss, you have to admit, but it’s not really doing anything for you yet. he has soft lips, softer than you thought they’d be. you’re beginning to wonder if maybe this confirms you shouldn’t go any further when he tilts his head, and… hm.

he parts his lips, taking your bottom one between his, kissing it, then nipping it. you wouldn’t say the sound you make is a gasp, necessarily, but it’s close. his tongue lightly caresses the seam of your mouth and you don’t even think before you open up for him, letting his tongue sweep in, flicking against yours. you hum, scooting a tiny bit closer to him, chasing the feeling. his kisses turn insistent then, teeth biting at your bottom lip and tugging, soothing the ache with his tongue. he kisses you like a man quenching his thirst, like you’re the best goddamn thing he’s ever tasted, and it’s leaving you dizzy. you sway more into his space and he pulls away from your mouth.

“c’mere,” he whispers, gripping behind one of your knees to drag it over his hips so you’re straddling him. “much better.”

you don’t have a chance to process anything about the moment, his mouth back on yours in a blink. your fingers wind themselves into his hair, getting a good grip on it as you lick into his mouth. he lets out a soft noise at that and you try your damnedest to pry it out of him again, pressing your chest to his so there’s not even a sliver of space left between you.

his hands travel, down the sides of your torso to your thighs, back up to your hips where he holds on tight. it doesn’t take long after that before you find yourself grinding into him. you both moan at the same time, breaking the kiss to pant for breath.

you swallow roughly. “okay,” you murmur, “i think it’s safe to say this could work.”

bucky laughs quietly. “yeah? wanna move to your bed then?”

your squeeze your thighs around him, shifting minutely on his lap and feeling the beginnings of his erection beneath you. “yes,” you breathe.

quickly, you rise from your position and step back, allowing bucky to stand, then grab his hand and lead him to your bedroom. once you’re standing beside your bed, you turn to face him. he meets your halfway, pulling you into another, filthier kiss. you reach for his belt buckle, unfastening it and sliding it through the loops, tossing it to your floor. next are the button and zip of his jeans, shoved down his legs until he steps out of them and kicks them and his socks aside. he obediently lifts his arms when you slide your hands under his shirt and begin pushing it up, breaking the kiss to nearly yank it off, making bucky huff in amusement. once it’s tossed with the rest of his clothes, bucky grabs fistfuls of your dress and pulls you into him.

“my turn,” he says against your lips.

carefully, bucky helps you out of your dress, eyes raking over every bit of new skin shown to him. he bites his lip when he sees your lacy underthings.

“you got all dolled up for me?” he asks.

shifting under his stare, you nod. “wanted to look nice,” you admit.

he hums. “beautiful.”

he kisses you again, a little softer than before, but no less passionate. the urgency returns as he backs you up until your thighs hit the mattress. gently, he guides you onto your back, never breaking the kiss as he follows you down and settles over you.

you soon find yourself in need of air and pull away with a gasp. bucky is undeterred and instead presses his kisses down your jaw, to your neck where he decides to bite and suck until he’s left a mark you’ll have to reprimand him for later. he licks his way up to your ear, sucking the lobe into his mouth, drawing a whine out of you.

“bucky,” you whisper, hands gripping his sides as you squirm below him.

“hm?”

you close your eyes tightly when he makes his way back down to your collarbones.

“please,” you whimper.

“please what, sweetheart?” he asks, pushing himself up to look you in the eye.

“t-touch me,” you beg, cheeks flushing.

his lips quirk into a smile. “i am touching you.”

“bucky,” you whine.

“where do you want me to touch you, hm?” he wonders. one of his hands trails across your shoulder and down the center of your chest. “here? or… here?”

when his fingers glide, barely there, over your pebbled nipples, you push into the touch eagerly.

“or…” he continues, his feather light touch making a path down your stomach. your breath quickens in anticipation. “here?” he murmurs as his fingertips stop on your pantyline.

“yes, there, anywhere,” you agree hastily, “just —please. please, bucky, don’t tease me.”

he kisses you again, deep, full of promise. “you beg so prettily for me.”

he rearranges your positions until he’s between your spread thighs, sweeping his hands across the inside of them. he nods to your panties.

“may i?”

“yes, please,” you reply, lifting your hips to help him take them off.

he doesn’t give you a chance to close your legs in shyness, firmly grasping your knees in each of his hands and spreading them once again. the way he’s looking at you makes you feel unbelievably desirable, has excitement crawling up your spine.

“don’t forget,” you remind him, making his eyes flick up to yours in question, “you better make me cry.”

a slow, dangerous smile graces his lips. your stomach swoops eagerly.

~

a whine, high pitched and drawn out, escapes your lips. after you unwittingly challenged him, bucky took it upon himself to torture you—with sex. so far, he’s only used his fingers on you, in you, thrusting them steadily but never enough to bring you to climax. he’s taking his time and being a smug prick about it. you go to complain, again, hoping if you beg enough he’ll let you come, but before you can do more than open your mouth he’s quickening his pace.

“oh!” you gasp, clutching the sheets in your hands.

bucky slides his hand down your thigh, bringing his thumb inward to swipe around where his other fingers are buried inside you to gather your wetness and using it to rub circles on your clit. your back arches, head thrown back against your pillows as you feel your orgasm build. it’s not tears, but damn, it feels good enough.

just as you start to clench around his fingers, legs spasming, he stops.

your eyes open in a hurry, brows furrowing in confusion. “no, please, don’t stop,” you plead.

bucky smiles. “i gotta get the right build up.”

you groan in frustration. he laughs quietly and lets the inferno burning within you simmer down to embers, then starts inching his way down until he’s lying on his stomach, mouth poised above your pussy. the feel of his warm breath makes you shiver, and with no warning whatsoever, he leans in and sucks your clit into his mouth.

“fuckin’—oh my— bucky!”

you’re pretty sure you black out for the next several minutes, the only thing you’re aware of is the thudding of your heartbeat in your ears and the feel of bucky’s mouth on you. you’re lost in a mindless haze of pleasure, unable to think or feel anything else. you feel your orgasm cresting for the second time, and just as before, bucky pulls away before you can succumb to it.

“why,” you hiccup on a moan, wanting nothing more than to just come already, but he’s not letting you.

he shushes you, softly kisses your knee. sitting up to take his underwear off, bucky keeps his eyes on you, expression hungry.

“gonna take care of you, sweetheart,” he promises. “just a bit more. you’re being so good for me, yeah?”

“please,” you whimper, feeling completely pathetic.

he makes quick work of putting a condom on and then settles between your thighs. you sigh in relief when he wastes no time and pushes in, being careful not to go too fast. once he’s fully inside you, he pauses, wanting to give you time to adjust, but you’re back to whining.

“bucky, please, please just—fuck me,” you beg, squirming beneath him.

he takes mercy on you, finally, and sets a hard pace. your hands fly up to push against the headboard, moaning and gasping from his harsh thrusts, loving the stretch of him inside you. his thumb is back on your clit and you cry out, clenching hard around him, but his thrusts don’t falter. all too soon, you can feel yourself getting close. you hear your own voice chanting please, please, please, mixed in with bucky’s grunts and the sound of him fucking you.

you whimper, eyes squeezed shut as your climax hits the point of no return, crashing over you in waves. you think you might scream, but it’s hard to pay attention to anything other than the overwhelming pleasure coursing through you. part of you thinks this’ll be it, bucky will come now and then you’ll have had one of the best orgasms of your life and he’ll be on his merry way home. but no, that’s not what happens.

instead, bucky keeps thrusting relentlessly into you, dragging out your pleasure to the point of oversensitivity.

“s’too much,” you breathe, gasping for air.

bucky shakes his head, face contorted in concentration. “one more,” he tells you, voice gruff and deep.

unbelievably, you feel tears beginning to gather in the corners of your eyes. bucky’s still rubbing your clit, still keeping a steady rhythm of his hips, and fuck, he’s so beautiful. you watch him fucking you, wondering how the fuck you got to this moment, how you got lucky enough to bear witness to the sight of bucky fucking, let alone be the one he fucks. his body is ridiculous, looking like it’s carved from marble. you know how much strength it holds, as well, know that if he really wanted to, he could probably fuck you against a wall.

it’s with that thought, with the added bonus of the way bucky touches you, looks at you, like you’re something treasured and gorgeous, giving you such intense pleasure, that the tears threatening to spill over finally fall from your lashes.

bucky notices, because of course he does, and he thrusts into you just a little faster, a little harder, and your body seizes up and then you’re falling into another orgasm. it spreads through your veins, slow like honey, making sure this one settles deep into your bones. bucky groans as he, too, reaches climax, hips twitching into you in aftershocks until he stops moving altogether.

you both pant for breath, sweat gathered in every crevice on your bodies. you think you won’t be able to move for the rest of the weekend.

“need to pull out,” bucky says softly, breaking the moment.

you nod and he carefully pulls his hips back, grunting. you poorly suppress a whimper and close your legs, already hating the empty feeling.

“well,” he starts, plopping himself on his back next to you, “i think i deserve some kind of reward.”

when you turn to face him with an exasperated look, he’s got his arms crossed behind his head, a smug smile across his lips.

“how about i don’t kick you in the balls? how’s that for a reward?”

“i literally just did the impossible.”

“what, made me come twice? i can do that all on my own. you’re not special,” you retort with a huff.

he scoffs. “i fucked you so good you cried.”

“you can’t prove it,” you say to the ceiling.

“keep up this attitude and i won’t do it again,” he threatens, poking you in your side.

you wiggle away from the ticklish touch while trying to tamp down on the hope bubbling in your chest.

“oh, we’re doing this again, are we?” you say as casually as possible.

he rolls his eyes. “of course we are. now,” he sits up in your bed, stretching his arms as he stands and picks up his underwear, “i’m starving. wanna order takeout?”

well, you guess if you’d been worried about any kind of awkwardness before, you shouldn’t have. this is bucky, your best friend. he’d never let things change between you.

***

except, things kinda change between the two of you.

it’s not very noticeable at first, changes so subtle you miss them, until one day he showed up at your apartment and greeted you with a kiss. you stood frozen in your doorway as he rambled about how stressful his day had been as he kicked his shoes off. it was only when you heard him calling out from the kitchen that he was gonna eat your leftovers that you snapped out of it, yelling back that you’d kick his ass if he even touched your dumplings.

another day, he facetimes you and asks if you want to go to see that new movie you’ve been talking about.

“oh,” you’d said. “are nat and sam coming, too?”

he’d given you a funny look, replied, “no, i thought it would just be us two.”

“oh,” you said again. “okay.”

so you’d gone to the movies, let him buy you buttery popcorn and peanut m&m’s and a soda bigger than your head. he shared with you, despite your protests, and halfway through the film you felt his hand settle on your thigh. you blinked and stared at it for a beat, turning to him in question. he only smiled at you briefly before focusing back on the movie.

in between all of this, you continued calling him over for sex. honestly, how could you not? as much as you didn’t want to admit it to him, he was the best you’ve ever had. and if he’s so willing, why shouldn’t you take advantage while you can?

a week ago, though, you’d texted him and asked him to come over, replying to his question of what time and then started getting ready. you’d purchased a new piece of lingerie, a periwinkle babydoll nightie, that left very little to the imagination. it had a matching pair of panties and felt soft and luxurious on your skin. you’d taken extra time to do your hair and makeup, wanting to look like sex on legs, and you’re pretty sure you succeeded.

but when he got there and you answered the door in your sexy outfit, he didn’t see it right away. in one hand he held his phone, typing something on it, and in the other hand he held a grocery bag that you eyed curiously.

“i brought stuff to make spaghetti—“

when he did finally look up, his eyes widened and traveled the length of your body several times. you bit your lip, trying and failing to hold back your smile.

“how about we skip dinner?” you’d said, fisting his nice button-up shirt and dragging him inside your apartment. you grabbed the grocery bag from his hand and sat it on the floor, absently noting he was wearing his date jeans.

whoops, you’d thought, hope i didn’t pull him away from someone important.

you hadn’t let yourself dwell on it, standing up on your tippy toes and kissing him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. he’d returned the kiss, licking into your mouth, drawing your tongue out so he could suck on it and made you moan embarrassingly loud.

“wait,” he’d murmured, “we should eat first.”

“or, you could eat me,” you’d retorted with a giggle.

he groaned like it pained him to say no, gripped your hips hard and put a tiny bit of distance between you. the look in his eyes had made you want to find the nearest flat surface and bend over.

“why don’t you be a good girl for me, hm? let me cook dinner for us and after we eat i’ll fuck you however you want me to. okay, sweetheart?”

you whined, but ultimately agreed, knowing he’d make it worth it.

and then there’s tonight, where he came over unannounced, armed with groceries again and promising to cook you the best meal you’ve ever had. to say you were confused would be an understatement, but you also didn’t want to look a gift horse in the mouth.

it’s just… well, bucky’s not really acting like a friend with benefits. sure, you hung out alone with him all the time before, but he never once cooked you dinner, and he certainly never helped wash dishes after. you guess the hello kisses could be explained away as part of the new aspect of your relationship, but something about that didn’t sit quite right with you.

after a truly delicious dinner, you find yourself on the couch with bucky as he scrolls through netflix to find a movie to put on.

“what do you want to watch?” he asks.

“mm,” you mumble, shifting closer to start kissing his neck, “don’t care.”

as he narrows down his decision and finally picks one, you make your way up to his jaw, sucking a small mark into the skin there.

“baby,” he protests softly, “let’s just watch the movie, yeah?”

you pull back, confused. first at the pet name, then at his words. he’s never denied you before, which isn’t to say that he can’t, it’s just that he’s always seemed on board. and, you know, you thought that was kind of the whole point of this thing.

“okay,” you reply after a moment.

he gives you a smile and a sweet kiss, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you into his side to cuddle. you can’t help but frown, feeling like you’re missing something, but not knowing what it could be.

it doesn’t take long for drowsiness to creep up on you. before he showed up, you had planned on probably ordering out for dinner and going to bed early since you’d had a pretty rough day. in fact, you remember texting bucky about it just that afternoon. your eyelids get heavier and heavier, finding it harder to keep them open as the seconds pass. your head droops and in the next blink, you’ve fallen asleep.

you’re not sure how much time has passed when bucky wakes you, but you groan, pouting and burrowing into his shoulder more.

he huffs a laugh. “c’mon, sweetheart, let’s get you to bed.”

“don’ wanna move,” you mumble tiredly.

“i’ll carry you,” he offers. “up you go, baby.”

you half heartedly argue about being jostled, but let him carry you to your bed where he carefully places you, helping you out of your sweatpants and pulling your blankets up around you. you sigh in content, feeling yourself already drifting back into sleep. you hear bucky shuffling, but think nothing of it until the bed dips beside you, then feel his warm body slide in underneath the covers and press in close.

“goodnight, darlin’,” he murmurs.

you’d ask him what in the word he’s doing, but sleep is just far too enticing to ignore. you fall into slumber with bucky’s warmth along your back, his arm draped over you.

the next morning, you wake to the feeling of his fingers playing with the tiny bow on the front of your panties and his lips placing gentle kisses on your shoulder. you hum, eyes still closed, in the back of your mind thinking this is a nice way to wake up. at the sound of you, his touches get firmer, more insistent.

“good morning,” he rasps, breath tickling your ear.

you don’t really get a chance to reply. he dips his fingers into your panties, making you inhale sharply, moaning as you buck into his hand. he fingers you for a while, kissing along the column of your throat, biting and sucking marks into the skin there. when you’re begging him for more, he relents, eases your panties off and lifts your leg to slide in from behind. the angle is so nice it has you gasping.

you clutch the sheets weakly, burying your face in your pillow and muffle your whines and moans. bucky keeps a slow, lazy rhythm, acting as if he’s got all the time in the world to draw this out. it’s good, so good, and you can’t hold back your whimper when he kicks up the pace a little, tells you to touch yourself. you come seconds before he does, shuddering through it and humming happily.

as you both lie there and catch your breath, awareness trickles into your mind. you swallow roughly, staring blankly at the wall as you realize your feelings have grown far too much for this to be only casual anymore.

bucky kisses your shoulder again. “i’m gonna go make breakfast, okay? i’ll call you when it’s ready.”

“okay,” you whisper, blinking rapidly to keep tears from forming.

hearing bucky bustle around your kitchen makes your heart clench with want; want for something you can’t have.

***

bucky: dinner tonight?

you bite the inside of your cheek as you stare at the text. you know you need to cut things off with him before you get anymore hurt than you already are. it’s not fair to either of you if you continue with this arrangement when you’ve caught real feelings for him. you have to tell him, and soon. with that thought in mind, you type out a reply.

you: sure. what time?

bucky: reservations are at 8pm, i’ll pick you up by 7:45.

reservations? where was he taking you? you get another text before you can ask.

bucky: dress nice ;)

with a sigh, you text back an affirmative and try to start mentally preparing yourself for the conversation you dreaded having. you could only hope and pray that he agrees to still be your friend after.

by the time there’s a knock on your door that night, you’ve worked yourself up into an anxious mess. you open the door to see bucky standing there with a single peach colored rose and a bashful grin.

“hi,” he greets, leaning in to kiss you on your cheek. “this is for you.”

he hands you the rose and you feel your heart crack in your chest. you muster a small smile.

“thank you. let me go put this in a vase and we can head out.”

he nods and waits patiently at the door. as you fill a vase with a little water, you take a deep breath, giving yourself a mental pep talk.

this was going to suck.

the drive to the restaurant doesn’t take too long, and when you see where he’s taken you, your eyebrows shoot up. this is one of the nicer places in the city, definitely not on the affordable side. he helps you out of the car, leading you inside with his hand on the small of your back. you’re led to a small booth in a far corner with overhead lighting that feels too intimate. maybe you’d have to wait until you left to tell him…

conversation is light, a bit surface level, and you get the feeling that bucky is a little nervous. you wonder if maybe he’s gonna let you down gently first, hoping that he doesn’t, because you’d rather not cry in such a fancy restaurant.

after the waiter takes your drink orders, bucky sighs.

“okay, let me just… get this off my chest.”

oh fuck, here it goes.

“i know i’ve never really come across at the most romantic guy, especially since i’ve never felt the need to be.” he runs a nervous hand through his hair. “you’ve always been so important to me, and this last month has been so, so wonderful.”

“bucky…” you trail off, attempting to somehow stop him, but he powers through.

“i just—i never thought i’d find somebody, you know?” he says, earnest, gaze locked on yours. another crack in your heart. “especially not somebody who was my friend first, that i already had a solid foundation with. the attraction had always been there, but the friendship meant more to me, and finally allowing that to blossom into this amazing, new, fun relationship has got to be the best decision i’ve ever made.”

did he start dating someone and not tell you? oh god, has he been sleeping with someone else? at the same time? your stomach turns, eyes burning, hating yourself more and more as he speaks.

“so, i guess what i’m trying to say is,” he says, rolling his eyes at himself and smiling, “happy one month anniversary, sweetheart.”

you blink, feeling a tear slip down your cheek. “what?” you croak, beyond confused.

bucky, however, looks concerned. “baby, why are you crying?”

“i…” you blink some more, eyes flitting around the room as if you’ll get some kind of clarity that way to the situation currently happening. “what?” you repeat.

“did i come on too strong?” he asks, looking embarrassed now. “i wasn’t sure if you’d even want to celebrate, but i’ve just been so happy with you—i’m sorry, baby, i should’ve asked.”

“bucky, what are you talking about?” you finally manage, unable to keep the bewilderment out of your tone. “anniversary?”

bucky frowns. “i didn’t get the date wrong, did i?”

“no, i—this isn’t—i’m not talking about—ugh, i mean, when did we even start having an anniversary to celebrate?”

bucky’s face goes blank, sitting back in his chair. your heart is pounding wildly in your chest, so fucking confused, so fucking hopeful.

“we… we’re dating,” he says, slow, unsure. “aren’t we?”

“since when?” you ask probably too loudly, cheeks flushing.

he opens and closes his mouth a couple times. “when i asked you out?”

“bucky, oh my god, you’re gonna have to be more specific before i lose my goddamn mind. when did you ask me out?”

he huffs, his own cheeks flushing. “at the cafe! a month ago, at brunch with natasha and sam.”

your eyes widen in disbelief. “when you asked if you could fuck me until i cried?” you hiss, ignoring the scandalized look on the waiter’s face as he brings your drinks over.

smiling apologetically, you thank him and wait until he’s gone before sending a glare bucky’s way.

“that’s not how you ask a person out,” you seethe.

“i asked if you wanted to give this a try and you said yes!” he replies desperately. “i’ve taken you on dates!”

you pinch the bridge of your nose, thinking of all the times you thought he was being too romantic, more-than-friends type of behavior. you’re a fucking idiot, but god, so was he.

“at no point did you say anything even remotely close about us starting a relationship. i thought we were just fucking, bucky, i didn’t realize it was more than that!”

“you don’t—“ he starts, then stops, looking down at the plate in front of him. “you don’t want to be with me?”

“i didn’t know it was an option,” you say carefully.

“well, it is.” he meets your gaze, cautious. “i just spilled my guts to you. you know how i feel now. how do you feel? about me?”

you lick your lips. “bucky, i… i was planning to end things with you tonight.” his expression drops, even though he tries to mask it, so you’re quick to explain. “not because i don’t like you, but because i do like you and i thought you wouldn’t want anything more than just sex with me.”

“it’s never been and never could have been just sex with you,” he replies, quiet and relieved. he reaches across the table to take your hand in his. “i meant it when i said you’re the best decision i’ve ever made. i want this—the sex, the dinners, dates, all the gross and sappy shit i never wanted before… i want it all with you, if you’ll have me.”

you can’t fight the smile spreading across your lips. “of course i’ll have you, bucky.”

he smiles in return, a laugh bubbling out of him, which makes you giggle, until you’re both laughing so hard and loud that patrons from other tables are sending dirty looks your way, which only makes you laugh more.

“do you wanna get out of here?” you ask, laughter dying down. “there’s pizza and sex calling our names, i think.”

bucky moans dramatically. “i knew i liked you for a reason.”

he leaves money on the table and then the two of you quickly make your way through the restaurant, giggling and holding hands the whole way, even in the car.

[writing0305]

All he needed.

Pairing: Homelander x F!Reader.

Summary: After two years of being together, you dissapeared from Homelander's life. Vought had told him you killed yourself but one file left on his desk by someone unknown, told him a different story. And when he sought you out, he was surprised to see you alive and well, with an eight month old son, blonde hair and blue eyes, just like his father.

Warnings: Heavy swearing. Blood and murder. Mentioning of smut. Mention of suicide

You were with Homelander for only a short two years. But it was the best fucking two years of both your and his life. You adored Homelander before you even started working for Vought. You always offered him kind smiles when you saw him. And he could hear the way your heart skipped a beat when he was near.  You were taken with him from the start and he was taken with how much you adored him, how much you loved him.

At first, Homelander would only watch you through the walls of your office. He could watch you for hours, but honestly, you never did anything exciting at work. So then he began watching you at home. He watched through your walls as you danced around in nothing but a shirt and panties while making dinner. He watched you dress, watched you bath, watched you whenever you pleasured yourself, and even watched you sleep.

He couldn’t get enough of it. Of you. And soon he was forcing his way into your life. He forced Stillwell to make you his personal assistant and you were all too happy for the job. He made sure you had to follow him around the whole day, except when he was out fighting crime. He made them move your office next to his own so that he could comfortably watch you through the wall.

And then one day he showed up at your apartment. He invited himself in, made friendly talk and even stayed for dinner. Being with him for your whole workday, made you two close, and then suddenly he was at your apartment every day after work. You got yourself into the habit of cooking for two and always having fresh milk in your fridge. He seemed to quite enjoy the beverage.

One night you admitted to having a crush on him when you were younger and not before long you were laying naked across the bed, being fucked senseless by the supe. Your relationship developed fast and strong after that. Homelander moved you into his penthouse in the Vought building, so you’d truly be around him nearly 24/7. This created a co-dependency for you.

To Homelander, it truly seemed like you enjoyed his company. You didn’t mind having him around all the time. You didn’t mind listening to him rant. You always praised him and agreed with him on everything. You were truly just perfect.

And then you just had to go and fucking kill yourself.

When the cops found your burned car, there was barely anything left to identify you with. That’s what Vought told Homelander. It was believed to be suicide because of the cans of gasoline that were found not so far from your car.

For a whole year and five months, Homelander mourned you. He was confused, heartbroken and angry. He didn’t understand why you had to leave him. Was he not good enough? Were you not happy? He gave you fucking everything and you just ripped his dead and cold heart right out of his chest.

That’s until one faithful day when things changed. He stepped into his office, finding a brown file on his desk. He sighed in irritation, thinking Ashley had dropped it off. He wasn’t even going to bother with it until he saw the red stamp on the file. ‘Highly confidential.’

His eyebrows furrowed and more irritation filled him. Was Ashely that fucking incompetent to leave a highly confidential file on his desk. He sat down and opened the file, eyebrows furrowing when he was met with your gaze. The photo pinned to the inside was not one he had ever seen before. Your hair was shorter than it was when you were still alive.

His eyes scanned over the file, reading only a few words that stuck out to him.  Two simple words struck something inside him. ‘ Witness protection.’ He read it over and over. Nowhere did it say why you were in witness protection, but it gave the exact date you entered the program through Vought. Exactly seventeen months ago.

He was raging by the time he reached Stillwell, who happened to have her infant son in the office with her. He demanded to know why they lied to him, where you were, and why you left. At first, she was reluctant to speak, but with one flick of his red eyes at her son and she began speaking. She told him where you were, but spun a story that you were scared of him and begged her to help you get away.

He didn’t buy it but soon he’d get his answers. Within minutes, he was in front of a cabin, tucked away far away in the middle of the woods. He stared at the house, noting the zinc inside the woods that obstructed his vision.

Inside, you were walking barefoot through the house, still in your pajamas. Your blond-haired blue-eyed  baby was in your arms, dressed in a blue onesie, his blue blanket in one hand and his dark red pacifier between his lips.

“Alright buddy, let’s get breakfast in that belly.” You coeed to Noah and the eight-month-old registered the word ‘food’, and an excited spark slipped into his blue eyes. You carefully placed him in his highchair and he grabbed for your shirt. “You can have milk after you’ve eaten.” You said you pulled his hands off your shirt before walking around the kitchen, serving him a bowl of yogurt with mashed banana.

You smiled at the baby when he grew even more excited when you brought the food over to him. You only got into feeding him a few bites before your front door was slammed open so hard that it ripped from the hinges and fell with a thud to the floor.

A gasp slipped from your lips at the sound and your eyes widened. Noah began wailing and you shushed him softly as you picked him, cradling his head against your chest. Your heart beated painfully in your chest as you heard the slow thuds of footsteps approaching down your hallway.

There was no back exit through your kitchen. There was only one way in and out, and that was through the same hallway the footsteps were approaching from. You slowly backed up as the footsteps grew closer, but you froze in your steps when a familiar tall and blonde supe stepped into your kitchen.

Your chest clenched at the familiar face blankly staring back at you. ”John?” You whispered as your eyebrows furrowed, confusion filling you just as much as it filled him. His gaze darted down to the baby in your arms, and his eyebrows knitted together. “Oh my God…” You let out a soft sigh, a relieved sigh. “You found me.” You said softly as the smallest smile tugged at your lips and tears filled your eyes.

“Y/n…” He whispered as he continued to stare at you with furrowed eyebrows. Stillwell’s story and your reaction to his presence didn’t match up.  “I…I don’t understand.” He muttered softly as his eyebrows furrowed even more. His gaze darted towards Noah when the baby sniffed softly, his blue eyes still full of tears. “Whose that?” He asked as he pointed at the baby.

“Noah.” You replied with a soft smile as you glanced down at your son, wiping his tear-stained cheeks. “Our son.” You informed Homelander as your gaze returned to him.

His eyes slightly widened as his gaze shot towards you. He was silent for a long while as he just stared at you. His head cocked to the side and he opened and closed his mouth for a second, unsure of what the fuck to say. He was silent for another second again. “Our…our son?” He repeated softly as his eyebrows furrowed.

You slowly nodded your head as your gaze diverted down to the floor, tears pooling in your eyes. “I’m sorry.” You whispered as you shook your head, your gaze returning to him. You loved Homelander with all your heart, but at that moment, you felt scared of him. Scared of his reaction.

“We have a son?” He repeated as he raised his eyebrows, slowly and hesitantly taking a small step towards you, his gaze darting down to Noah. “I have a son?” He whispered.

“Yeah.” You replied softly as you nodded your head and slowly approached him. When you stood toe to toe, Homelander hesitantly reached out and to the baby from your arms. He cradled Noah in his arms, staring down at the baby who was a mirrored image of him. The perfect creation of him. “I’m sorry.” You repeated as you lowered your gaze, wiping the tears from your eyes.

Homelander’s gaze returned to you. He silently stared at you for a long time, listening to your heartbeat. It didn’t sound like the heartbeat of a woman so scared she had to fake her death to get away. It sounded like the heartbeat of a woman broken.

“They told me you were dead…and then they told me you ran away because you were scared of me.” He informed you, eyeing your face closely to see your reaction. Homelander was so deeply hurt by everything he had found out in the past few hours. He didn’t know who or what to believe.

You looked shocked at this, your eyebrows furrowing and your lips parting as your gaze darted towards him. “They told you that?” You asked softly as your gaze darted around, slowly shaking your head in denial.

“Why did you leave?” he asked, and you could hear a hint of anger slip into his voice. Anger towards you. Because for what fucking possible reason could you have left him for. “Why did you leave with my son?” He asked as his eyebrows furrowed, his gaze darting down to Noah.

You sighed softly, sitting down at the kitchen island, running a hand through your hair. “I was going to tell you I was pregnant when I found out.” you began speaking. “Somehow Vought found out and found me before I could get to you. They didn’t want you to know because they were scared your priorities wouldn’t be them anymore.” You explained as you turned your head to look over at him. “They gave me three options. They kill me before I get the chance to tell you. They keep me locked up until I give birth and take the baby, raising him like you were, and threatened to kill me if I told you. Or I leave, live in isolation with my baby.” You informed him and his lips twitched into a snarl as his grip gently grew tighter on Noah. “I know how much you suffered…I couldn’t do that to him.” You said softly with a shake of your head as you glanced at Noah.

“Vought…Vought made you do this?” He questioned softly, his voice a low growl and his eyes briefly flicking red as his gaze diverted away from both you and Noah.

You nodded your head and he inhaled sharply. “I’m sorry.” You whispered as you got up to your feet and slowly approached him, gently placing a hand on his muscular bicep and he slightly relaxed underneath your touch. You didn’t leave because you were scared of him. He just knew that was fucking bullshit.  “I wanted to tell you, I wanted you to be part of it, of everything, my pregnancy, the birth, his life. All of it.” You whispered as your gaze turned to Noah and you ran a hand through his blonde hair. He was quite peaceful in his father’s arms.

“They said…they said you left because you were scared of me,” Homelander muttered in a low voice, and you could still hear the hint of anger. But his anger wasn’t directed at you anymore. Now it was directed at Vaught and every fucked who lied to him. “They said you wanted them to fake your death.”

“No.” You immediately denied it with a shake of your head as you reached out to cup his cheek in one hand. “I loved you…I still love you.” You whispered as he leaned into your touch. You sighed softly and your gaze flicked towards Noah for a brief second again. “I tried to take him and leave when he was a few weeks old, to go and find you.” You inform Homelander in a soft voice. “So many men with guns showed up. They didn’t point their guns at me to get me to come back, they pointed their guns at him.”

Homelander’s lips twitched into a snarl again as he thought of his son being put in danger. He didn’t care if the kid had powers or not, he fucking despised the thought of anyone even thinking of hurting his son. First, they wanted to fucking take him away from his mother, raise him in a fucking lab, then they DID take him away from his father and pointed guns at him. Someone was going to fucking die today.

“Who knew?” He asked in a low voice. You looked at him hesitantly. His voice was trembling with anger and his blue eyes flicked red again, like a broek light flicking on and off, constantly. It was like he had no control, or he was dangerously close to losing it.

You breathed deeply, hesitant to tell him. You knew he was close with Stillwell because he had her pressed nice and firmly underneath his thumb. “Stillwell.” You whispered and he inhaled sharply again. “She gave the orders, made the threats.” You informed him and Noah was immediately shoved into your arms. “John?” You muttered in confusion as he spun on his heel and stormed out of the kitchen. You hastily followed after him as he stormed out through the broken door and flew off. “John!?”

You let out a soft sigh as he disappeared into the sky. You felt confused, wondering where he was heading. Surely he wouldn’t kill Stillwell. Were you and a kid he’d just met a few minutes ago truly more important to him than a woman he’d worked with for years, a woman who gave him whatever he wanted and always had his back?

You waited there by the broken front door for a long time before you went back into the kitchen, calling the men who patrolled around the woods like guards, keeping you and Noah in like caged animals, but no one answered. You were supposed to always call them if you needed something but after five missed calls you figured you'd have to fix the door yourself.

You finished feeding your son and got him dressed in a saige colored green shirt and brown overalls before you dressed yourself in a plain blue t-shirt and some black leggings.  You sat on the steps of your front porch, silently staring at the broken door. Noah sat a few inches away from you, playing with his toys.

He crawled his way toward you, dumping a few pieces of his toys on your lap. He leaned against your thigh as he played, using your legs as a play area. You smiled down at the boy, running a hand through his hair. “It’s okay buddy.” You whispered. “Me and you, we’re gonna be okay no matter what happens.” You assured him.

There was a loud woosh in the air, followed by a thud on the ground, your head shot towards the side, eyes widening at the sight of Homelander, standing a few feet away from you, covered in blood from head to toe. The sight made you gasp.

You slowly got up to your feet and picked Noah up in your arms. “John…” You whispered as you slowly approached him, lips parting as your gaze drifted over the bloody man before you.“Who?” You asked softly, knowing not a drop of the blood that covered him, was his.

“Stillwell.” He muttered in a low voice as he blankly stared ahead of him, his eyes looking dead.

Stillwell was already writing a form of resigning and packing her bags when Hoemalnder found her. He could have made it quick for her, lazering her head in. But he made it as painful as possible. He dragged it out for as long as she could take before she choked on her own blood. When he left her house, Madelyn Stillwell was barely recognizable. She was scorched into almost nothing.

You slowly nodded your head. You shifted Noah onto one hip and with your free hand, you placed a hand on Homelander’s shoulder, almost flinching at the wet and cold patch of blood that stuck to his suit, smearing onto your palm. “Let’s go inside.” You insisted as you let him inside. “You can clean up in the bathroom.”

You washed your hand, scrubbed it until the skin was burning and red then you waited in the living room as Homelander cleaned himself in the bathroom. Noah was sitting on the floor, nibbling on one of his toy cars.

You glanced up when you heard Homelander’s footsteps approaching. He was clean now, his blonde hair damp. His face was blank as he sat down on the couch opposite yours. Noah’s attention was drawn to Homelander and he abandoned all his toys and crawled towards his father.

Homelander stared at the baby who now sat by his feet. He was unsure of what to do when Noah lightly slapped his leg. Hesitantly he reached out and picked up his son, resting Noah on his lap. Noah’s interest immediately went to Homelander’s cape, pulling and biting at the fabric. Homelander didn’t even care about the drool now on his cape. He watched his son in awe.

You slowly got up from the couch you sat on and moved to sit next to Homelander. “I’m sorry.” You whispered as you looked at him, a frown tugging at your lips. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t let them do to him what they did to you.” You muttered softly as you shook your head.

“You’re a good mother, Y/n,” Homelander replied as he wrapped one arm around your shoulder and pulled you into his side. You leaned into his touch like you always used to do. It brought strange emotions forth in Homelander. Having a woman who loved and adored him and a son. A fucking family. HIS family. “He’s lucky to have you.”  He said softly as his gaze turned to Noah.

“Now he has you too.” You whispered as you turned your head to look up at Homelander, his gaze never leaving Noah. Never had you seen the man so much in awe of something or someone. Your gaze also turned to Noah and you pursed your lips. “They ran tests on him when he was born.” You informed him softly and he tensed up for a second until you continued speaking.  “He’s like you, but he hasn’t shown any of his powers yet.” You explained as you looked back at Homelander again. “He’s a real gentle kid actually.” You said as a smile tugged at your lips.

A smile tugged at Homelander’s lips as well. He felt proud knowing his kid was like him. He turned to look back down at Noah again, gently running a hand through the baby’s hair. “He looks so much like me…” He noted softly as he let out a soft, pleased huff.

“He does.” You agreed with a nod of your head. “I took so much comfort in that.” You admitted softly as you smiled sadly. For the past eight months, Noah was all you had of Homelander. Of the man you loved with all your heart.

“Vought’s not going to hurt you or our son.” Homelander assured as his hold on you tightened and he pressed a kiss to the side of your head. “And they won’t take either of you away from me ever again.” He promised softly as he leaned his head against yours.

After fixing your front door and informing you that all the guards around the woods were dead, Homelander spent the entire day playing with his son. They played with toy supes, and cars, watched cartoons together, and played a little outside. After eating dinner and getting a bath from his father, Noah was beyond tired. You let Homelander put the baby to bed. It was the least you could give him after he missed eight months of his son’s life.

You sat in the living room, looking up when Homelander returned to you. “He sleeping?” You asked softly as he sat down next to you, shifting to lay his head on your shoulder as he closed his eyes.

“Yeah.” He replied softly as he slowly nodded his head.

 “You really knocked him out.” You said softly as you let out a soft chuckle, a smile tugging at your lips as you leaned your head against his.

“I couldn’t let him go.” He spoke softly as he inhaled slowly. “I just wanted to spend every single second with him.” He said as he turned his head to look up at you, his face barely an inch away from yours.  “I’ve missed so much.” He whispered.

You sighed softly, reaching out to brush your finger across his cheek. “Now, we all have so much time together.” You whispered as you offered him a small smile, cupping his cheek. “I’ve dreamt of this day for so long.” You admitted. “Wondering how it would be if you found us…meet him.” You muttered before sighing again. You silently stared at him for a second before resting your forehead against his. “I love you, John.”

“I love you.” He replied as he reached up to cup your cheek as well before pressing his lips against yours in a yearning kiss. Now he had all he ever wanted. A family. A son. And a woman who loved him. He had it all. All he needed. And fucking pray for anyone trying to take it from him again.

[mononijikayu]

from the start — fushiguro megumi.

“You’re now my friend, Fushiguro–kun!” You smile at him, turning to your snack pile and handing him one. It was a panda bread, one of those he sees at the convenience stores. “Here, as a token of our friendship!” He blinked. “...It’s okay. You can keep it. I’m not hungry—” You pouted, pushing it toward his arm. “But Fushiguro-kun, these are good! If you take them, you end up making a wish that our friendship is sweet too!” “Huh? There’s no such thing as that.”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Canon Convergence;

Warning/s: Alternate Universe, Romance, Fluff, Comfort/No Hurt, Strangers to Friends, Friends to Lovers, Sorcerer! Reader, Mild-Tsundere! Megumi, Feelings, Romantic Confession, Getting Together, First Kiss, Making Out, Light-Hearted, Humor, Protectiveness, Happy Ending;

Words: 5k words.

masterlist

kayu's playlist - side 800;

note: i rewrote this multiple times because i wasn't satisfied. i was going to upload this hours ago, but i ended up reading it and i was like 'shit this doesn't look as good as i would have liked' and now i finished it and i love it now. i hope you love it too!!! i love you all <3

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MEGUMI REMEMBERS THE DAY HE MET YOU. The sun was shining brightly that day. He could remember how the golden rays cast a warm, inviting glow over the middle school courtyard. Students milled about, enjoying their lunch break under the clear, blue sky. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter and chatter, a vibrant tapestry of youthful exuberance. 

Fushiguro Megumi doesn’t really remember when he ever partook in anything that big. Even in kindergarten, he really didn’t find himself in a big group of people, messing about. It’s something that Gojo Satoru had consistently teased him about for years. It’s not that he didn’t want to. He just didn’t know how. And if anything, it frustrates him. Because he does want to. He wants to reach out to someone and talk to them. Even just one. But he knows his reputation wouldn’t make it easy. 

He was known in school to be someone who got into trouble. And it makes it even more hard, knowing that Gojo manages to make every bit of trouble and complaint go away. a flick of a finger. Even back then, whatever the trouble — Gojo Satoru would insist.

Of course, he lectures him here and there, as any pseudo–parent would. Yet he still saves him, no matter the trouble. But it’s not like Megumi wanted trouble. Somehow, it always just finds him. Because if he was being truly honest with himself, Fushiguro Megumi doesn’t like injustice. And he hates it even more when it’s done to people minding their own business.

That’s how Megumi met you. On the third day of the school year, it was a chilly afternoon. You sat on a bench, unbothered, watching the chaos unfold with a peaceful expression as you prepared to eat lunch. The sound of laughter and chatter filled the air, people making friends and people talking about in their freetime. 

He saw you from one of the windows by the second floor. He already ate his lunch with his sister a while ago, but he wasn’t particularly hungry and her friends had come over to their spot. So, he just left to go look at the school through a window and enjoy the weather.

And then he stops at you. You were so quiet, but he could feel it. How your energy just bursts from within you. You smiled happily as your focus was fully on the carefully packed lunch box resting on your lap, filled with your favorite snacks. You seemed content with some silence, it didn’t bother you. You were just excited to eat well.

The serenity was abruptly interrupted when a sleazy boy, with a smirk that revealed a missing tooth, snatched the lunch box from your hands. Megumi always hated the kid the moment he met him too. He was a senior, but he acted like he owned the place. You would think that he would learn his lesson being knocked out by him. But he didn’t. And that annoys Megumi. Because he could continue to do horrible things. Like now. That sleazy boy’s eyes gleamed mischievously as he darted away, leaving you momentarily stunned. 

You quickly stood up and shouted, your voice slightly trembling, "Hey! Give that back!"

Megumi didn’t know how fast reacted. Jumping from out the window and into the scene, it would have taken someone much longer. But he took no time at all. That sleazy boy can feel it. Fushiguro Megumi, famed for his deeply sharp gaze. He approached the boy with the stolen lunch box and effortlessly blocked his path. 

"Hand it over, scum." he said, his voice calm but commanding, leaving no room for negotiation. “Or do you want a repeat of what happened last time, huh?”

The elder boy hesitated, caught off guard by the sudden confrontation, and glanced between him and you before reluctantly dropping the lunch box at his feet and muttering under his breath as he slinked away. 

He picked up the lunch box and walked over to you, offering it back to you. “Here you go. It didn’t drop, you know….the food.”

You took the lunch box, feeling a warmth spread across your cheeks. “Thank you. I didn’t really know what to do.”

He shrugged, his expression easy and relaxed. “No problem. I’m glad I could help.” 

You nodded, a small smile forming on your lips as you introduced yourself. “I really wasn’t expecting that. Thanks for the save. Hey, hey! What’s your name?”

“I’m Fushiguro. Fushiguro Megumi.” he replied back. “I’m from Class 1–A.”

“Ehhhh, I didn’t see you in class!” You gasped. “We’re classmates!”

Megumi thinks he would have noticed if you were his classmate. But then again, he did get bored and slacked about the other day. It’s quite possible that he didn’t just notice you. He shrugged and nodded at you. 

“I guess we are.”

“You’re now my friend, Fushiguro–kun!” You smile at him, turning to your snack pile and handing him one. It was a panda bread, one of those he sees at the convenience stores. “Here, as a token of our friendship!”

He blinked. “...It’s okay. You can keep it. I’m not hungry—”

You pouted, pushing it toward his arm. “But Fushiguro-kun, these are good! If you take them, you end up making a wish that our friendship is sweet too!”

“Huh? There’s no such thing as that.”

“But that’s my wish.” He doesn’t know how your pout got deeper. But it suited you. “Please, just take it.”

He really doesn’t know what to say. He could feel his palm embalmed with sweat. If he doesn’t take it, you might pester him even more.  And if that happens, he wouldn’t be able to leave because you’ll continue to ask him to take the panda bread. He could feel heat rising in him. He could feel it even in his ears.

“Alright, fine. Megumi relented, taking the panda bread from your hand. The soft packaging crinkled as he reluctantly accepted the snack, feeling the eyes of several classmates on him. It was strange, this sudden attention, but there was something about your insistence that he couldn’t quite ignore.

You beamed, satisfaction lighting up your face as if you’d achieved a small victory. “Yay! Now we’re officially friends!” 

Megumi glanced at the panda bread, his expression softening despite himself. He supposed it wouldn’t hurt to indulge you just this once. It’s not like its going to be something that happens on a daily basis. Anything to get you off his back.

“Thanks….I guess.” he mumbled, unwrapping the bread and taking a small bite. The sweetness of the filling surprised him. It’s good, not too sweet. He thinks it's great and he finds himself nodding in approval. 

“See?” you said, watching him intently. “Isn’t it good?”

“It’s... not bad.” Megumi admitted, trying to maintain a semblance of nonchalance. But he could feel the corners of his mouth twitching upward, a sign that perhaps your enthusiasm was contagious.

“Let’s make a deal then, Fushiguro–kun!” you proposed, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Every time we hang out, I’ll bring you a new snack to try, and you can tell me if it’s good or not. Deal?”

Megumi considered your offer, weighing the potential for more unsolicited treats against the undeniable warmth in your smile. It was hard to say no to that sort of smile. It reminds him of Tsumiki somehow. It’s….it’s pure.

“....Fine.”  he agreed finally, unable to resist the sense of camaraderie forming between you.

And just like that, Fushiguro Megumi found himself drawn into your world, a place where small gestures held deeper meanings, and new friendships could be sealed with a simple piece of panda bread. And somehow, when he walked away from you as you waved him away, he was afraid to admit it then. But, he wanted more. 

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IN A BLINK OF AN EYE, YOU WERE IN MEGUMI’S LIFE COMPLETELY. He really didn’t expect that to be the cas. But all these lunch hours turned into days together in the classroom and  turned into weeks in the abandoned classroom, and as always, your new tradition took root. It was now his normal. You were now his normal. And he couldn’t say it was a bad thing.

Every day, without fail, you would meet up. It didn’t have to be at lunchtime anymore. For a while, he didn’t know why he’d make time, but his body had gotten so used to needing to find you, to meet up. He thought you’d bother him again, and you were good at finding him.

When you did, you’d present Megumi with a new snack, each more interesting than the last. Sometimes it was a sweet treat, sometimes savory, but always chosen with care and a mischievous glint in your eye as you awaited his reaction. 

As time went on the awkwardness slowly dwindled. He felt like he was finally starting to get used to your presence in his life. You are his constant now, his routine, his day to day. Slowly but little,  Megumi found himself looking forward to these small exchanges.

At first, he couldn’t understand why. It was just a simple gesture, after all. But there was something about the way you offered him each snack, the way your eyes lit up with anticipation, that made him feel...special. It was as if you saw something in him worth noticing, something he hadn’t seen in himself.

One afternoon, as the two of you sat under a large cherry blossom tree in the school courtyard, you handed him a small box wrapped in a colorful cloth. “Today’s snack is special, Megu–chan!” you said, your voice full of excitement. “I made it myself!”

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. He doesn’t mind you calling him that. “Really? You cooked this?”

You nodded, a hint of nervousness creeping into your smile. “I hope you like it.”

Megumi carefully unwrapped the cloth, revealing a neatly packed bento box filled with an assortment of foods. It was….it was cute. It was a dog chara–bento.His shikigami dogs. You saw his shikigami before. Very well, and he could only surmise that you were just like him. But he hadn’t asked. And he wasn’t going to do that now. 

His eyes widened in surprise. “You made all of this?”

“Yep! Go on, try it, Megu–chan!” you urged, watching him intently. “I made it all for you.”

He picked up a piece of tamagoyaki with his chopsticks, examining it before taking a bite. The sweet, fluffy texture melted in his mouth, and he couldn’t help but let out a small, appreciative hum. “This is really good, you know?” he admitted, looking at you with genuine admiration.

Your face lit up with a radiant smile. “I’m glad! I was a bit worried it wouldn’t turn out well. I really…I really tried to do well. I didn’t know your taste in bento that well yet, so I was nervous!”

Megumi shook his head, taking another bite. “You’re talented. This is better than most of the things I’ve tried from the other places. Don’t worry. You…you did great.”

The compliment seemed to fluster you, and you ducked your head, a faint blush coloring your cheeks. “Thanks, Megumi–chan! It means a lot coming from you.”

At that moment, Fushiguro Megumi thinks he felt a strange warmth spread through his chest. It was an unfamiliar sensation, one that left him slightly off-balance but not unpleasantly so. He realized he was beginning to look forward to these moments not just because of the snacks, but because of you. The easy way you talked, the kindness in your eyes, and the genuine interest you showed in him—it all made him feel like he was part of something special.

He thinks nothing of it.

He really thinks it's nothing.

He could feel his heart thump.

“Shit.” He whispers as he went home that day. “Is this….Is this something?”

He couldn’t sleep much that night, and laid in bed, thinking about you. As the days went by, Megumi found himself seeking out your company even outside of your snack-sharing ritual. You’d come over to his house now to study together, share stories about your day, and laugh over silly jokes that only the two of you found funny. 

Gojo was good at teasing him about it, Tsumiki too but she gave you space. Still….he’d endure the teasing. He liked you—well, he liked having you around. He liked how comfortable he was with you. Even if he doesn’t speak most of the time. You were fine with that. Megumi thinks he was lucky. It was easy, being with you, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so at ease around someone.

But with that ease came something else, something deeper and more complex that Megumi wasn’t sure he knew how to handle. He caught himself thinking about you at odd times—during class, while training. Gojo had managed to corner him in training badly and had to ask him if he was okay.

Megumi thought he was being subtle but even when he was supposed to be focused on other things. He wondered if you thought about him, too, if you felt that same inexplicable pull he did. He wished you did. He wished that you thought about him as much as he did with you. Maybe then…maybe, he’d be able to sleep at night. And dream of you.

It was during one of your afternoons together after club activities. The birds were singing, the air was clear, the sky was as blue as it could be. You hummed a song as you ran your fingers through his hair. He was reading the book aloud. You said you liked his voice and….no was hard to say. To you, especially. So, he just did as you asked. 

But now he was tired and he thought that laying on the grass was comfortable. But you furrowed your brows like you always do, so cutely —and pulled his head on your lap and pouted. You said you make comfort more than the grass did.

Megumi was lucky that his face wasn’t facing you. You would have noticed it. How red his face is. But you were too focused on the clouds. So, that he was glad about.  As you both lay on the grass watching the clouds drift by, Fushiguro Megumi found himself on the verge of admitting something he wasn’t quite ready to face.

“Hey, Megumi?” you said suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence. “You hear me? Are you awake?”

“Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I’m really glad we became friends, you know?” you confessed, turning your head to look at him. “You make school a lot more fun. Actually….You make everything fun. You’re my bestest friend. And you just….I’m so lucky to be with you.”

He met your gaze with his blue–green gaze, feeling a rush of warmth at your words. “I’m glad too….” he replied, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re...important to me.”

The sincerity in his voice seemed to surprise you, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Megumi was often blunt with his words. And at times, it's hard for people to understand him. But there were times he preferred to keep things to himself.

He couldn’t vocalize it well yet. But at this moment, you think you were waiting for it for a while. And you finally have it. The world around you faded into the background, leaving just the two of you in this garden of eden. 

As you smiled at him, Fushiguro Megumi felt a strange flutter in his chest, a sensation that was both exhilarating and terrifying. His chest was throbbing, over and over. He pursed his lips into a tight line, looking at you as you stared into the sky again.

He realized then that he didn’t just want to be your friend. Not anymore. He didn’t want that name anymore. He wanted to be something more, something….something beyond that. He wanted to say it, to make it real to you. To him. But nothing came out.

‘Not yet, Megumi.’ He thinks to himself. ‘Not the time.’

This was enough. For now, this is what he has. Friends. That’s better than nothing. He’d have to hear you talk about some other guy for now. He’d have to deal with your tears when this guy hurts you. He’d have to deal with being just your friend.

Your best friend. He can do it. He’s content. He can wait. This was more than he’d been able to ask for. He was content to be by your side, to bask in the warmth of your presence and enjoy the sweet moments you shared. 

Because even if he couldn’t quite find the words to express how he felt, he knew that with you, he’d found something truly special. And that was enough. At least, for now. But one day. He knew that one day he’ll find his voice. His words will make their way to you. They will. Because he….he loved you. And love? It should always make way. It will always know how to lead him there to you.

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HE NEVER THOUGHT THAT YOU WOULD JOIN HIM HERE IN TOKYO. But you were a sorcerer and you were needing training too — so you joined him. He knew from the beginning that you might be recruited by some of the other sister schools.

You after all had potential and the other sister schools would love that in their ranks. In fact, he found out later that your parents were Fukuoka alumni. They were retired sorcerers, who retired for wanting to enjoy watching you grow up. They wanted for you to attend their sorcerer school too.

But you thought it would be better for you to join him in Tokyo. You knew that being together would make it easier. You were friends, meaning you  wouldn’t have a harder situation. You’d have Megumi, as you always had.

And Gojo-sensei, as Megumi calls him now, was good at charming your parents. That had been a surprise to you, but it seems the Gojo charm was something that could not be stopped. And that settled everything. You were going to go to Tokyo with him.

Though, he couldn’t help it but  he worries about you. He knew you were perfectly capable of taking good care of yourself. He’d seen you stand your ground against Maki-senpai. But being a Jujutsu Sorcerer, there was no guarantee that you’d live another day against curses.

It terrified him to think that he would lose you, that he’d end up without you at all. He…he was close to losing Tsumiki already. And it pained him to think he would be unable to protect you. To think that you wouldn't come home after a mission.

Like always, Megumi didn’t think he’d be able to voice it out loud. He was scared of what you would think. What if you got angry at him for thinking you weren't enough? What if you thought he was belittling you?

He didn’t want it to come across badly. And he was already bad at explaining things. He sighed as his thoughts became heavy. It must have been the exhaustion from training. Yeah, he was overthinking it all. He could tell you well. You’d understand what he was saying.

Still, the nagging worry persisted, and he realized he couldn’t keep these feelings bottled up forever. Every day he spent with you, Fushiguro Megumi felt his heart swell with emotions he couldn’t quite articulate.

It was becoming harder to ignore the way his thoughts wandered to you during missions, how his heart skipped a beat when you smiled at him, and how the mere thought of losing you was unbearable. If he didn’t say something soon, he might explode, and that would be both messy and embarrassing. 

So, he decided that today was the day he would finally confess. He had to. There was no going back on this. He was in love with you from the start. He knew that. Backing out now….he’d just suffer. And so his free day was spent thinking about you and lamenting about you.

He spent the morning overthinking every possible outcome, mentally rehearsing what he would say. He had even considered writing down his feelings, but each attempt ended up crumpled in the wastebasket. He was at one point close to breaking his mirror. But he realized that would make him worry more because of bad luck. So he stopped. 

The entire day had passed, and Megumi still hadn’t managed to confess his feelings. He’d woken up with every intention of telling you how he felt, but each opportunity slipped through his fingers like sand.

In the cafeteria during breakfast, he’d seen you sitting at your usual spot, animatedly discussing the latest manga you were reading. Megumi had slid into the seat across from you, silently willing himself to say something—anything. Instead, he sat there, listening to you talk about what you were excited about today, nodding along as you spoke.

“...and then I found out there’s going to be a new chapter released next week!” you said, your eyes bright with enthusiasm. “Can you believe it, Megumi? I’ve been waiting for this arc for months!”

Megumi forced a smile, trying to focus on your words instead of the nervous energy buzzing inside him. “That’s great.” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m glad you’re excited.”

You raised an eyebrow, sensing something was off. “You okay? You seem a little...distracted.”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he lied, avoiding your gaze. “Just thinking......about some stuff.”

You accepted his answer, but he could tell you weren’t entirely convinced. You always knew what he looked like when he’s lying. But you let him do it. You don’t think that you should pry. He will open up eventually. He will tell you what’s wrong when he's ready. He always has.

Later, as the two of you went for a walk around the school grounds, Megumi tried to muster up the courage to finally speak his mind. The sun was high in the sky, casting dappled shadows through the trees as you strolled along the path. You walked close enough that your shoulders occasionally brushed, sending a thrill through Megumi each time.

“This weather is perfect these days, you know!” you remarked, tilting your head back to gaze at the sky. The sun was shining brightly, casting a warm glow over everything it touched. A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, filling the air with the fresh scent of summer. “It’s days like this that make everything feel...right, you know?”

Megumi nodded, silently agreeing as he walked beside you. He couldn’t help but notice how the sunlight highlighted the contours of your face, making you look almost ethereal. Your hair fluttered slightly in the breeze, and he found himself mesmerized by the simple beauty of the moment.

The two of you had fallen into a comfortable rhythm, your footsteps in sync as you meandered through the school grounds. The path was lined with vibrant flowers, their petals swaying gently in the breeze, adding a splash of color to the serene scene. It was a perfect setting, and Megumi knew it was the right time to speak his heart.

He could feel the words forming in his throat, the weight of them pressing against his chest. Every time he opened his mouth to speak, doubt crept in and silenced him. What if he messed up? What if he said the wrong thing and ruined everything?

He glanced at you, searching for a sign, anything that might give him the courage to speak. Your expression was peaceful, content, as you took in the beauty around you. It was moments like these that reminded him of why he’d fallen for you in the first place.

He took a deep breath, feeling the cool air fill his lungs. His heart was pounding, a relentless drumbeat that seemed to echo in his ears. Megumi knew he couldn’t let this chance slip away, not again.

“You know….” he began hesitantly, trying to sound casual despite the nerves bubbling inside him, “I’ve been thinking a lot lately.”

You turned your gaze to him, curiosity sparkling in your eyes. “Oh? About what?”

Megumi hesitated, momentarily losing his nerve. His mind raced through all the possible ways to say what he needed to. Finally, he forced himself to speak, his voice quiet but determined. He looked at you. Your eyes were the clearest he had ever seen. It took his breath away for a moment. You pat him. He forgot how to breathe.

As you walked side by side, Megumi found himself growing increasingly tense, his nerves threatening to overwhelm him. He had been working up the courage to tell you how he felt, but now that the moment was here, his heart was racing so fast that he almost forgot to breathe.

“Are you okay?” you asked suddenly, glancing at him with concern. “You haven’t breathed in a while!”

“It’s... alright. I just forgot,” he replied, trying to sound more relaxed than he felt.

You snickered, giving him a playful nudge. “What do you mean you forgot how to breathe?”

He laughed awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. “I guess I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

You tilted your head, curiosity piqued. “Like what?”

Megumi took a deep breath, feeling the cool air steady his racing thoughts. This was it—the moment he’d been waiting for all day. He couldn’t let his nerves get the best of him now.

“About us. About how much I enjoy being around you,” he said, his words tumbling out more awkwardly than he’d hoped. “I mean, we’ve been through a lot together, and...well, I really like having you in my life.”

Your expression softened, and Megumi could see the understanding in your eyes as he continued to speak. His heart was pounding, but with every word, he felt a sense of relief, as if a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

You paused, processing his words, and he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made a mistake. But then you smiled, a soft, genuine smile that eased his fears. His ears were red. He seemed embarrassed. And nervous. He looked so cute. 

“I like being around you too, Megumi.” you replied warmly, your eyes shining with sincerity. “You’re one of my closest friends. You know that. You’re my best friend.”

Megumi’s heart sank slightly at the mention of friendship, like a souffle collapsing in the oven. He could almost hear the sad trombone playing in the background. This was his one shot to get this right, and he knew he had to be clear.

“Yeah, but I mean...I like you as more than just a friend.” he blurted out, his words coming out in a rush like a nervous racehorse out of the gate. He blinks. Oh. He just said it out loud. 

You blinked, surprise flickering across your features. “Huh?”

“I...I like you,” Megumi repeated, his voice cracking slightly, sounding like he was a teenager going through puberty all over again.

“You do?” you asked, your eyes widening in disbelief, as if he’d just revealed he was secretly a wizard from another dimension. “Wait, what?!”

He nodded, feeling the weight of his confession lift from his shoulders, though it left behind a trail of awkwardness. He rubbed the back of his neck, struggling to find the right words. “Yeah... I’ve liked you for a while now, but I didn’t know how to tell you. I was afraid I’d mess things up between us. Because we’re friends, and I didn’t want to—”

Before he could finish his rambling explanation, you leaned in and planted a quick, unexpected kiss on his lips. The suddenness of it left him momentarily speechless, his blue–green eyes wide and blinking rapidly, like a startled owl. You turned, hiding your face in your hands. It was too red all over for you to even reveal. Megumi didn’t know what happened. You….you kissed him? You did it first? What happened?

“Nghh—” Megumi exclaimed, his brain short-circuiting for a moment. “That was... I mean, not that I didn’t want that, but... uh, wow.”

Finally recovered — you looked at him and still clearly amused by his flustered reaction. “I figured…… I’d shut you up before you started overthinking everything. You know, like you always do.”

He huffed, trying to regain his composure. “I don’t overthink that much.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” you teased, giving him a playful nudge. “So, does this mean we’re a thing now? Do I get to call you my boyfriend?”

Megumi hesitated, his usual stoic demeanor struggling to catch up with the situation. “I guess so. If you want to. But only if I can call you my partner.”

“Deal!” you replied with a cheeky grin. “Though I have to say, you’re not as smooth as I imagined.”

He sighed, pretending to be exasperated. “Well, sorry I’m not a charming prince. But at least I’m honest.”

“True, and that’s why I like you.” you said, leaning in to kiss him again, this time slower, savoring the moment. “From the start, you know?”

Megumi’s heart did a little flip as your lips met his, a sudden rush of warmth spreading through his chest. It was as if a dam had broken, releasing a flood of emotions he hadn’t realized he’d been holding back. He couldn’t help but smile against your lips, feeling a mixture of relief and happiness.

For a moment, the world around him faded away, leaving only the two of you in your own little bubble. The tension that had been building inside him all day melted away like snow under the sun, replaced by a sense of lightness and joy he hadn’t known he needed.

His mind, usually a constant whirl of thoughts and calculations, was blissfully quiet, focused entirely on the simple yet profound sensation of your closeness. He could feel the gentle pressure of your hand on his shoulder, grounding him in the moment.

As the kiss lingered, he became acutely aware of the details—the softness of your lips, the way you seemed to smile against him, the faint scent of your shampoo carried on the breeze. It was an odd mixture of overwhelming and comforting, as if the universe had aligned just for this perfect moment.

When you finally pulled back, he found himself at a loss for words, his usual stoic demeanor nowhere to be found. Instead, he let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, his eyes searching yours for reassurance.

The look on your face—affectionate and a little amused—told him everything he needed to know. Any lingering doubts he had vanished, replaced by a newfound confidence in the bond you shared.

As the two of you broke apart, you chuckled, “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“Easier than fighting a cursed spirit,” Megumi admitted, his voice tinged with relief as the corners of his mouth twitched upwards in a rare, genuine smile. The normally stoic expression he wore was softened by a warmth he could no longer hide.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes flickering between yours with a mix of shyness and longing. “Can I…,” he began, but the rest of his sentence faltered as if the very thought of what he wanted was almost too overwhelming to put into words.

Before he could finish, you took the initiative, a playful sparkle in your eyes. You stepped closer, closing the small gap between you with a confident, yet tender, movement. Your hands found their way to his shoulders, gently guiding him as you leaned in.

Your lips brushed against his in a kiss that was both reassuring and electrifying. It was a kiss that seemed to capture all the unspoken emotions and the depth of what you both felt. The sensation was soft yet intense, a slow dance of warmth and intimacy that seemed to make time stand still.

As you deepened the kiss, Megumi’s initial nervousness melted away completely. His hands instinctively cupped your face, his fingers feeling the gentle curve of your jaw, as if he was afraid to let go and have this perfect moment slip away. The kiss was tender and full of the promise of something more, a shared connection that felt as solid as it was fleeting.

When you finally pulled back, your lips lingered just a breath away from his, the faintest smile playing on your face. Megumi’s eyes fluttered open, meeting yours with a look of awe and contentment. His cheeks were flushed, and there was an unmistakable softness in his gaze.

“You were saying?” you teased gently, your voice a soothing murmur.

Megumi smiled, still feeling the echoes of the kiss on his lips. “I was saying,” he replied, his tone now brimming with a newfound confidence, “that I definitely want more of this.”

You laughed softly, leaning in to give him another quick, light kiss before resting your forehead against his. “So do I.” you whispered, the warmth of your breath mingling with his.

With that, you both pulled back slightly, but your hands remained entwined. The world around you felt like it had shifted into a perfect harmony, where every little detail seemed to fall into place. You finally felt like you finally belonged where you are, in his arms, from the start.

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epilogue

The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the campus as you and Megumi continued your walk, your hands linked together in a comfortable, affectionate hold. You were enjoying the tranquility of the moment, the weight of the day’s earlier tensions now replaced with a sense of ease.

As you reached a secluded spot near the edge of the campus, the world seemed to narrow to just the two of you. Megumi leaned in, his gaze soft as he captured your lips in another gentle kiss, savoring the newfound closeness you both had discovered. The kiss was tender and unhurried, a shared promise of more to come, until—

“Hey, lovebirds! Time’s up!”

The sudden intrusion of Gojo Satoru’s voice startled both of you. You pulled away, cheeks flushed, to see Gojo Satoru standing a few paces away with his trademark blindfold, that ridiculously dashing wide grin and a mockingly exaggerated pout.

“Having a moment?" With that, Gojo turned on his heel, his laughter echoing as he walked away, leaving you and Megumi standing there with a mix of relief and lingering embarrassment. Megumi lowered his head, muttering. You think he’s about to conduct a curse against Gojo Satoru.

Megumi’s eyes widened in surprise, and he quickly stepped back, trying to regain his composure. His face was a deep shade of red, and he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, clearly caught off guard.

“Gojo-sensei, what—” he mumbled, clearly flustered. “We were just—”

You turned to Megumi, who was still trying to compose himself, and said with a smirk, “Well, I guess our moment’s been officially interrupted.”

Megumi sighed, shaking his head with a faint smile. “Yeah, thanks to Gojo-sensei. But... I guess it’s kind of funny.”

You nodded, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “It is. And at least we know we have his approval.”

“We don’t need it.”

“He’s….he’s your dad, isn’t he?”

“Hgh— no he’s not!”

“But—”

“No, he’s not!”

“Ah, they’re arguing. Their first couple argument!” Gojo Satoru says, still laughing. “True love!”

“Shut up, Gojo–sensei!”

[randomdragonfires]

Kalopsia | One Shot

Text Divider by @saradika-graphics

Kalopsia (n.) The delusion of things being more beautiful than they really are.

SUMMARY | She associates the words with brighter days and happier memories that she’ll never get back. And yet, when he utters them into her ear, they've never sounded more tainted and wrong - but she'll tell herself they aren’t, until the lies become truth.

PAIRING | Daemon Targaryen x Reader

WARNINGS | 18+; smut; DD:DNE; penetrative sex; dubious consent; exhibitionism; forced prostitution; canon typical sexism; infidelity; angst; ambiguous and unclear motives for sex - both Daemon and reader are fucked up people in this story, and there is much about their mental conflict that may be quick to trigger someone. Please read with caution.

WORD COUNT | 8.8k

A/N | This is a dark fic with heavily triggering themes. Please don't hate anon me. Thanks. :)

SHE REMEMBERED THE DAY SHE MET HIM. 

It was a hot summer’s day when the sun had burnt her through her dress, leaving her sweating and reaching for a drink of water every few moments. He was a vision - flying through the skies of Pentos on the Blood Wyrm, with his beautiful wife, the lady Laena Velaryon right behind him as she rode the historic wonder, Vhagar. They were a wandering couple, and talk about them had been rife in the Free Cities - dragon sightings were feared, what with the Rogue Prince’s reckless nature making people assume that he’d bathe them in dragonfire for his personal amusement. 

She remembered seeing them fly out of Pentos the first time, to tour the other Free Cities. This was almost a year ago. By the time they’d come back to reside with the Prince of Pentos, the lady Laena had suspected that she was with child. Based on what she saw of the royal couple, Prince Daemon, in his own way, was appreciative of his wife.

But being appreciative of his wife certainly did not mean that Daemon Targaryen was in any way blind to everything else around him. It was this fact that had led his eyes to her.

A striking purple, and they had met her melancholic, unmemorable ones from where he stood as the Prince of Pentos barked orders and asked her to see to Lady Velaryon’s every need. His gaze held a very peculiar combination of condescension and amusement for those around him, and she was pulled to him, in the same way that fishes were to the sea. Her world seemed to melt as she looked at him in all his Valyrian beauty - it stunned her. 

He took one leisurely glance at her - beginning his perusal of her, neck to navel. His eyes rested for a moment longer between her legs, and she’d never forget the way her thighs quickly met under her skirts in a desperate attempt to keep herself contained.

It had been a long while since she felt anything but the fleeting sense of sadness that had taken over every part of her since she had lost it all and ended up in this city. And now, as Daemon Targaryen lingered - nay, took over her line of sight, she felt something more, more, more. 

She did not know what to think about the slow storm brewing in her mind, so she chose to disregard it for a time. This was royalty, and this entire matter was well and truly beyond her weight. She should not bother with the likes of those who were higher and mightier - those that would never choose her and harm her with no regard.

But the intense wildfire-like heat that passed through her body was hard to ignore, especially given the potent lack of it in the last many years. It scared and excited her in equal measure, and regardless of the possibility of danger, she could not help but be drawn to him. She felt like an ungrateful, wanton whore for lusting after another woman’s husband - a very good woman, she would soon find - but how could she reject the man who had woken her passions once more, after she thought they were long lost to her? All with just a single look, no less?  

It was often said that the Targaryens were closer to Gods than men. With their dragons, intoxicating eyes and intense gazes, she was inclined to agree. 

It was why she brought him his bathwater and helped him with his bath every morning after his dragon ride; why she scrubbed at his scarred skin with the washcloth even though he was in no need of assistance. She cleaned his chambers, and continued to do so even after he’d stepped in and burned her with his stare. Of course it burned, he was the blood of the dragon after all.

She found herself bringing his heated bathwater despite the flight of stairs that she had to brave while carrying the weight. She helped him in and out of his clothes everyday, listening to his commands like a mindless soldier who only did what she was told. She always looked for him, even in a chamber of more than a hundred people - her young girl’s gaze, flitting about - trying to find his spun-silver hair.

Whenever she caught his gaze, he was already looking.

She supposed she'd never get tired of the heat pooling in her belly whenever she was in his presence - or how her hands found their way inside her already dampened smallclothes whenever she pictured him with shut eyes at night time.

Perhaps that’s why she felt like it was a long time coming when he creeped up behind her, hand holding her in place as it snaked around her waist. His palm flattened against her stomach and the other held her neck, squeezing just enough to make the heat rush to her cheek and between her legs. He brought his nose down to the side of her neck, laughing darkly as they breathed each other in, and she let a small whimper escape her lips.

“What took you,” she breathed out before adding, “…so long?” He responded to her meek attempt at a question with a sharp bite to her neck and a growl, effectively silencing her voice and awakening the fire in her once more.

“Don’t be too loud, you’re going to wake my wife,” he whispered before turning her around to meet her eyes.

Those words should have woken her up and brought her to reality. She should have awoken from her wistfulness and tossed her fantasies where they’d bother her no more. This was a married man, a married prince. 

This was wrong, wrong, wrong.

But the blood rushing through her veins, the excitement of being coveted and central to a man’s gaze - it excited her in ways that she had never been before. The allure of him was hard to ignore, and by the looks of how eagerly his hands were slipping under her haphazardly hiked up skirts, he felt the same way too.

She’d missed this feeling - this feeling of being alive and full of life. The prospect of excitement and a renewed zest for life, after all she had been through, had only pushed her towards him a lot more. 

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

She was blind to the dangers of the man, and she'd never been happier to remain ignorant. She did not want to want him, and she hated that she did. She did not say yes to his command, or emphatically agree. She simply took his lips in hers and sunk her fingers into his hair, reveling in the feel of his rough hands holding her backside in a tight grip.

She may not love him, and she did not like him. But she wanted this, she needed this. She needed to feel something, anything at all. She supposed that there’s something that he wants too - though she does not know what.

She soon found that there was very little in their burgeoning arrangement that would favor her fantasies, and that Daemon Targaryen simply did not care - for anyone.

“WILL YOU BE NEEDING ANYTHING ELSE, MY LADY?”

Laena Velaryon is undoubtedly one of the most beautiful women she’s ever laid her eyes on. She is also one of kindest souls she’s ever had the courtesy of encountering - which is why her guilt eats at her tenfold whenever Daemon seeks out her company.

She wants to say no. She wants to say no each time.

Initially, it was an infatuation that was within her control - but the day she had indulged and let her body overshadow her mind, it had become a bit much. Initially, he had sensed her hesitation despite her being welcoming. He’d plied at her with sweet words, each syrupy sweet and meant to break through her doubt. 

She melts each time, her weak will giving in like water slipping through her fingers.

Conflict is a funny thing. Each time his hands pin her wrists above her head as he takes her for all that she is, or when he’d let a finger slip through her smallclothes and glide through her folds, she wants to say no. She wants to be the good girl that her mother believed she was, but the pleasure was too much. The high that he takes her on each time is too much to ignore, too good to pass up on.

She wants to say no. The words wait at her throat, but refuse to tumble out of her lips.

It is wrong, but she wants to feel pleasure. She wants to be reminded that she is a woman worthy of pleasure, and she feels good- no matter how guilt-ridden - each time his cock sinks into her. No other man has wanted and loved her like this before, and despite the horridness of it all, she finds that she cannot say no - no matter how hard she tries. 

However, she doesn't know what he wants. Daemon Targaryen wears his intrigue as well as he does his arrogance and condescension. She never knows what he wants - but she also worries that she may not like what she finds.

She will find out soon.

“That will be all, my sweet,” Laena says. The exhausted smile she wears as she cradles her hugely pregnant belly makes her want to throw herself at her feet and cry for mercy - but she is too in deep. How could she tell Daemon she didn’t want to share his bed anymore? How could she, when his power and famed temper may just harm her? 

I’m sorry your husband fucks me each night. I’m sorry I like it. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

What right does she have, after allowing it all these times? What right does she have, after enjoying it each time? She doesn't love him, but in those moments, she loves what she feels. The regret that follows is gut-wrenching, but she chooses to indulge each time. It was a blind and burning desire, and it is this very same wave of emotion that compels her to follow his instructions, blind and eager to please.

A servant walks into the room and looks towards the window, eyes flitting about and nervous. “The Prince Daemon has asked to see you, lady.” Her tone is apologetic, and when Laena Velaryon stands, she feels herself crumble to a thousand pieces. When she is half-stood, the Valyrian beauty realizes it is not her that her husband wants to see tonight.

“Go. He doesn’t like to be kept waiting,” she murmurs. A heavy sigh escapes her lips as she sits back down, the weight of the impending babe taking a toll on her.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

She is ashamed of the peculiar heat pooling in her belly as she walks out, unable to meet Lady Laena’s eyes. The walk to Daemon’s chambers has her head facing the floor as some of the other servants eye her and whisper the words.

Homewrecker. Whore. Concubine.

She wonders about how she could still want him after all the irreparable damage that she’s taken in her mind. She wonders when her lack of spine would dissipate, and when she’d be able to reject him outwardly and speak her mind. She wonders when she’d be able to make up her mind and stand by her decision.

She hates that she enjoys it, she hates that she’s at the center of it all. But he brings her to her peak effortlessly and with such intensity that she forgets for a moment, for just a moment, how wrong all of this is.

She pushes the door open and gulps at the sight of a half naked Daemon Targaryen sitting at the edge of his bed, hands pumping his cock with no urgency. The languid movements and his haphazard state of undress - his linen undershirt doing little to hide the lithe muscles underneath - make her head spin. He is yet to touch her.

She watches, his presence magnetic as he pulls her attention easier than he should. His gaze then finds hers as she stands frozen near the door, his breath a mangled mix of moans and groans as his hand refuses to relent. He looks at her as he continues his movements on his cock, and her thighs slap together while she folds her hands just below her breasts, pushing them up above the neckline of her dress.

A drop of sweat trickles down the side of her face as she makes her way to him, each step feeling labored and long as she positions herself between his legs. Her view of his cock is undisturbed and clear, and she hates that it is the most beautiful one that she’s ever seen. Slightly leaning to the left, the girth of it impresses her each time he pushes into her, making her feel fuller than ever before.

She continues to watch his hands move, movements as slow as ever. Her eyes are fixated upon the light silver hair that marked a path below his abdomen, and the veins that marked their way through his erect cock. The glistening white pearly drops of seed on the tip called to her, and her mouth began to water. 

“Take it” - he grunts through his pleasure - “off.”

She’s been in this position long enough to know what it means.It is one thing to lust after a man from afar, and another to be fucked by him. It is neither safe, nor ideal for her to be using her mouth on a Westerosi Prince whose wife was only one door away. And yet, they’ve been giving each other company for almost a year. 

She works through the laces on her front one by one, her focus on his almost black, dilated pupils. He wants her, and she wants him. It is seemingly simple, and yet it is the most complicated entanglement she has ever known.

He’s never been the most patient man to grace these halls, and it is evident as he stops the hand on his cock and stands up. He reaches for the dagger on a tray of fruit by the table, and swiftly cuts through the loops in a series of flicks. Each time the dagger cut through, the stray threads flew about and he dusted them off with the same disregard and impatience. 

“You’re going to take my cock in your mouth like the good girl that you are,” he growls. Candlelight illuminates his face as his dagger makes its way through the fabric, revealing her soft skin and exposing her breasts to him.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

And yet, as the cool metal of his dagger grazes over her nipple ever so slightly, the fire in her burns bright. Her fear dictates that she say no and run before it can spiral into something beyond her control, but the faint waves of pleasure that cause the dampness between her thighs  keeps her there - almost as though her legs are stuck in quicksand.

The dress pools at her feet and she steps out of it, his hurried hands removing her shift. And when they stand, facing each other - and she wishes this was something else.

She wishes this was a simple and innocent love affair. She wishes that this was a man she could love, one that would love her just the way she would. She wishes that there was more comfort to be gained from this than the highs of the pleasure in itself - It will never be enough for her.

She reaches forward and kisses him flush on the lips, devouring his as she slips her tongue in. He bites into her lip and she tastes the copper of the blood bubbling through; he grabs her by the hair and pulls her up to meet his eye. “I said -”

“Please. Please, just… Please. Let me have this.”

He leans back and assesses her for just a moment before swooping in and taking her lips in his, no questions asked. And when he kisses her so, she can try to convince her little girl’s heart that this - what they have - is a lot more beautiful than it is meant to be.

The kiss makes her think that this is what the heavens would feel like, should she ever manage to meet the caress of a lover who’d love like she could, like she wants. A gentle and calm hand, a kind disposition that would care.  But it does not last long. He is quick to wrangle her mouth away and join her forehead to his, breathing in the scent of her as she closes her eyes and wonders how this could ever be what she wants, wrestling with the contrasting realization that she has not been loved like this, not ever.

But is this love, really? This cannot possibly be love. No. She’s known love before. It is simple, easy and comforting. Nothing about this is. 

She wants it just the same.

It is this thought that occupies her mind as she gets down on her knees. The stone cold floor and the ridges grate at her knees almost immediately, moving slightly as she bobs her head back and forth. She slowly but surely adjusts to his length, choking a little and allowing the spit to pool in her mouth, dripping down to her chin by the side of her lips. If she didn’t know better, she’d have mistaken him gently wiping it off with the tip of his thumb as affection.

She grabs his thigh with one hand and massages his stones with the other, her head continuing to bob back and forth relentlessly. His hands grasp at her hair, keeping the stray strands at bay as she reminds herself to breathe through her nose. She moves almost mechanically, forgetting him and his towering figure as she wonders. What do I look like to him? On my knees and eyes pooling with tears? 

It is a common saying among the common folk - A King’s child will be royalty, and a whore’s child will be a whore. She is the daughter of a whore, and she hates that the words may hold true for her too. 

Mama wanted for me to be more. Dignified and happy. She should not have died and left me alone.

She remembers a time when her mother had brought a friend of hers from the whorehouse back home. Her mother was a favorite amongst the nobility, and she’d entertained both the then-Prince Viserys and Daemon.

She’d become with child soon after, and had her. The idea of either man possibly being her father is sickening to her, given the position she now finds herself in. Of course, it will not matter much to them, with their Valyrian blood and queer customs - but it makes her want to cry her eyes out and worry about the kind of sickness she must inhibit to want Daemon Targaryen as much as she does despite the knowledge, despite the wrongness of it all. Her only consolation is that she has no Valyrian features. There is no way of knowing for sure, and she chooses not to entertain these thoughts while being aided by this realization. 

“Good girl. Go on,” he moans. His voice immediately brings her out of her reverie, and the words are enough to send her conflicted conscience spinning on its head.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

Her mother called her a good girl many times before she died. The connotations of the word when they tumble out of Daemon’s lips make her want to retch. He probably believes that the tears are because of her choking on him, but she knows.

Those words meant much and more to her once upon a time, but not anymore. The loss hurts her more than it should. A lost childhood, a happiness that slipped through her fingers through no fault of her own. A much happier and carefree time that is now out of her grasp.

Her thoughts are interrupted when Daemon pulls her up - a thread of spit flowing out of her lips as she adjusts to an empty mouth - and pushes her, caging her between him and the cold stone wall.

Good girl, good girl, good girl. 

WHENEVER SHE THOUGHT OF THE TIMES that she got called a good girl, her mother was always the first to come to mind.

The city of King's Landing - she’d spent almost her entire life there before running onto the ship to Pentos - sprawled around them like a tapestry woven from the threads of countless lives. Towering structures of stone reached for the heavens, casting long shadows that danced across cobblestone streets worn smooth by time. The bustling crowd, a mosaic of colors and voices, flowed like a river through the labyrinthine alleys. The scent of roasted meats, exotic spices, and the ever-present stench of refuse mingled in the air, creating a symphony of odors that was, somehow, comforting in its familiarity.

Her mother worked at a whorehouse nestled amidst the chaotic and filthy heart of the Street of Silk. It was a place where laughter and merriment battled with sorrow and desperation, where secrets and pleasures were shared over wine, closed curtains and weak beds. As a child, she was vaguely aware of the nature of her mother's work, but she didn't fully grasp its complexities. What she did understand was that her mother often came home weary, her shoulders burdened by the weight of the world - or by bite marks and blooming violet bruises.

"Why would anybody bite you there, Mama?" she had asked once. Her mother had only chuckled, but she did not look happy. It always worried her. The bites always looked red, angry and painful.

It was the same bite mark and a line of violet bruises on her mother’s shoulder that she focused on today as she overheard her speak to her friend - another whore who worked at the same whorehouse. She watched as her mother exchanged quiet words with her friend, their voices a hushed whisper as they discussed their day.

“He does something magical with his mouth, Brenna. You would not believe it!” Her mother’s friend looked very happy as she giggled and recounted a story that she caught pieces and fragments of. The mother herself did not look happy, however - the little girl knew when her mother wasn’t happy. Don’t ask how, she simply did.

“I suppose I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

The evening sun painted the walls with warm hues, and as the other woman departed, her mother sank onto the edge of the bed. a far-off look in her eyes and a heavy sigh on her lips. 

Without a word, she fetched a basin of water, warm and soothing, and knelt by her mother’s side. Gently, the child removed her boots and began to massage her mother’s tired feet, her small, untrained hands working diligently to ease the discomfort to the best of her ability. The older woman closed her eyes, and a soft smile graced her lips as the tension in her muscles began to melt away.

In that moment, she saw her mother as more than just a tired whore; she saw her as a woman who carried the weight of their little world on her shoulders. The love she felt for her was immense, and it swelled within the child like a river after a storm. But the bite marks and the bruises still looked painful, and they still scared her.

And so, the child’s curiosity got the better of her, and she let the question slip from her innocent lips. "Will I have to work there too when I'm grown up? At the whorehouse?"

Her mother’s eyes flickered open, and a shadow of sadness crossed her face, barely noticeable but unmistakably obvious to her daughter’s young heart. She took a deep breath and then, with a gentle smile, replied, “Perhaps you won’t have to. Maybe you'll find a husband who'll love you more than anyone has ever loved me."

"But I love you a lot, Mama," the young girl said, her voice filled with innocence and devotion.

With a tender sigh, her mother pulled her close, wrapping her arms around her as if to shield her from the harsh world beyond that she was yet to see. 

If only.

"And I love you, my sweet child," she whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "You are such a good girl. You’re my little girl."

In that moment, the girl felt a profound sense of pride in being her mother’s daughter, in the simple act of bringing comfort to her tired soul. The city of King's Landing may have been a tumultuous sea of chaos, but in that room, with her mother's arms around her, she found her anchor, her safe harbor, and a love that she hoped would guide her through any storm.

HER BACK PRESSING INTO THE STONE WALL MAKES HER SHUDDER.

The cold sensation grating against her skin and the eerie chill of the night air make her weak in the knees. Daemon Targaryen’s cock moves against her cunt like it belongs there and nowhere else - the irony of that thought while his wife waits for him in her chambers close by is not lost on her, but she cannot deny how strongly she feels that the man is made for her.

Even if he truly was not.

His lips are immediately on hers, and she devours them for all that they are worth. She enjoys being kissed - it helps her feel wanted by him.

Even if she knew he did not.

Her hands move to the hem of Daemon’s linen undershirt, pushing it up, up, up until it is carelessly thrown halfway across the chamber. She only has one moment to get a look at his naked figure before he pushes against her and cages her between his towering figure and the wall once more. The feeling of heat passing through the pair of them and the smell of sweat and sex is intoxicating to her in a way that she struggles to put into words. Her cunt is wet with arousal as she whimpers into the kiss, allowing him to slip his tongue into her mouth. 

Time stops when they kiss. She supposes it is a beautiful thing, no matter how wrong it was.

Do things have to be right for them to be beautiful anyhow?

Her breasts are flush against his chest as he takes a hold of them, pinching her nipples until they hurt and she gasps into his mouth. He does not stop, however - her pain only seems to spurn him more, and she is ashamed to find that she is aroused as well. One of her hands travels above his neck and she tightly grips onto the root of his hair, pulling until he is in just as much pain and pleasure as she is. The other moves over the scarred planes of his back, almost as though she was mapping out a route to paradise.

The feeling of his cock pushing against her wet cunt sends waves of pleasure coursing through her, the blood rushing to her head and making her feel hazy. She lets the touches take her to the Seven hells - both the man and the circumstances making that their only possible destination.

She wonders if Laena Velaryon wishes for that too.

His cock pushes into her, stretching her walls so wide that she fears he may just split her into two. She needs a moment to adjust and he is generous enough to let her have it as his lips descend onto her neck, leaving her staring blankly at the bed as she breathes heavily. She cranes her neck just a little as she lets his cock settle in her.

And then, he moves.

She often believes that she lives with an aching sense of yearning and pushes through each day finding something to leave her feeling fulfilled. It is an empty feeling really, and the only time she ever feels like she is not a living shell of a woman is when he takes her. The feeling of being filled by him is one that always takes her by surprise - but unlike the other times that she's been taken unawares, this is something she welcomes.

“Yne drējī sȳrī jiōrā, talus. Sepār otāptan, sepār ñuhys ēdruryssy iemnȳ.” [You take me so well, niece. Just as I believed you would, just as I imagined.]

He always says these words whenever he enters her, and she never manages to retain them long enough to ask what they mean - the high of her peak always leaves her mind feeling like melted gold, taking away any chance for coherent conversation. 

Is he referring to someone? Is he appreciating her? Is he saying that he loves her? Somehow, she knows it is not the latter. She won’t have to try and remember to ask tonight - she would find out soon what it is he has gotten out of this all these days.

Every thrust is punctuated by grunts and moans, with both of them hungry for more. She meets every single one of his harsh thrusts as one of her hands slips in between them both, circling and pressing onto her pearl like her entire life was dependent on the pleasure that came from it.

It made sense. The pleasure he gives her each time is what keeps her alive.

Each brush of his flush pink tip against a rough spot inside her cunt makes her eyes roll back in pleasure. He hits it with each thrust as he pounds into her, face always wearing a mask of pursuit - but of what?

What does he want from her?

Her hand on her pearl and his cock in her is swiftly building a pool of heat in her belly - no, not the blazing kind, but a warm kind. It builds, builds, builds and she flies, flies, flies until she can’t go any higher, and she lets herself go limp in his arms as her peak takes over her entire being. 

“That’s it….” He grunts, pushing into her while punctuating each thrust with his words as he relentlessly pushes into her. “Good girl. Dāeremās, sȳres riñus iksā.” [Let go, you’re a good girl.]

She sees red as the pleasure washes over her, vision becoming hazy and rendering her incoherent for many a moment before she manages to bring herself back down to earth. And as the sights around her become clear again, she clings onto him and breathes while looking over his shoulder.

The world looks newer and brighter each time she comes down from the highs that he causes. And in this moment, his last words hit her like the stone wall that she stands in front of.

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

How can a pair of words remind her of what she was then and is now, all at the same time? How can these words hold so much power that they’d coax her into paradise and leave her there, lost and wanting for more, more, more?

She leans back and holds herself straight, looking into his eyes for only a short moment as she gathers herself. It is a deep sea of bright violet and she drowns, drowns, drowns.

She's been drowning in him and trying to catch her breath for a long while now. She's not sure if she wants to be saved - she wants a hand, and pushes it off too.

What does that mean for her?

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

The memory forms in her mind as Daemon Targaryen moves them both and turns her around to make her see out the window - fully naked. She braces herself with two palms holding onto either sides of the window as he pulls her backside to him and spreads her wide, leaving her glistening and sensitive cunt open for him to take once more. His hand moves almost softly over her rear as he enters her once more, this time purely to chase his own release.

“Good girl.”

KING’S LANDING WAS BUSTLING WITH TRAVELERS THIS TIME OF THE YEAR, and she was now fourteen summers old.

She had blossomed into womanhood, her youth adorned with beauty and a vague innocence - yet tarnished by the harsh realities of her life. She toiled at a tavern, where raucous patrons screamed sweet syrupy words at her, attempting to lure her away with their promises. 

“I’ll show you a good time, lass! C’mere!” The man at the table said, patting his thighs and indicating that he’d like for her to sit on his lap.

She had witnessed her own mother endure such advances, and now, as a grown woman, she was the object of many a man’s desire. She was both confused and intrigued, for the attention made feel disgusted yet wanted at the same time.

On one seemingly uneventful day, she counted her earnings - four copper pennies - and began to try and do the addition to determine how much more she would need to settle her mother's debt with the ominous madame of the whorehouse that her mother worked at. Her brother was meant to bring home his pay too tonight, and the sum of their combined efforts held the promise of lifting their family from the pit of debt that had ensnared them. As she left the tavern to head home, the weight of her responsibilities hung heavily upon her young shoulders.

Along her path back home, she encountered a pair of inebriated travelers, their intentions dark and menacing. They seized her arm, grip threatening to harm her fragile spirit. In the midst of her fear, a figure emerged from the shadows, a protector amidst the dangerous chaos. It was Brynden, her brother’s Riverlander friend - she has secretly admired him for years. As she held onto the stone walls of the roads for dear life, he  confronted the drunken men and drove them away from her.

She could not help the slight blush on her face as he checked if she was alright. Her mother once told her that she might find a husband that would love her - is this what love is?

Her young heart believed that it was.

Once he was sure that she was alright, Brynden brought her the news that he’d wanted to tell her. Her brother, it appeared, had squandered his earnings on ale once more and now lay incapacitated on the side of the Street of Silk after finishing an afternoon at a whorehouse. Determined to shield her mother from disappointment, she rushed to her brother's side, her heart pounding with a fervent resolve.

The smell of baked treats and food soon morphed into fragrant yet strong oils, wafting from half-naked women hoping to get a man to pay for their cunts. As she looked around, she finally found the whorehouse that her brother frequented. 

She found him in a pitiful state, his speech slurred and incoherent as he mumbled in his inebriated stupor. Anguish welled within her; he would not be bringing any money home this time either. But despite her frustration, she could not help but love him. He was her brother, and the bonds of blood ran deep.

Gently, she guided him through the winding streets, their journey fraught with the weight of her responsibilities and the uncertainty of their future. He babbled on, his words a testament to his gratitude and admiration for her sense of duty. 

“You’re a good girl, sister,” he’d said, his voice trembling with affection. “Good girl.” She pressed a tender kiss upon his sweaty forehead, her love for her brother transcending any and all disappointments. 

As the night unfolded into dawn, she herself succumbed to the embrace of sleep, her brother beside her, a fragile moment of solace amidst the tumult of their lives. When she awoke, he was gone, vanished into the shadows of the city, never to be seen again. Her heart ached with longing, but she never harbored resentment. She waited, and in her waiting, she remained faithful to the last words her brother had spoken to her. 

Good girl, good girl, good girl.

In the years that followed, she missed him every day. Her mother's health deteriorated, the weight of their struggles taking a toll. But she persevered, striving to be the good girl her brother believed her to be, even in his absence. 

Those two words became a guiding light, a reminder of the love they shared, of what she always hoped to be.

THE COLD AIR HITS HER SQUARE IN THE CHEST, and she is made aware of how exposed she is.

Daemon’s apartments are located at the topmost floors of the Prince of Pentos’ home. From where she stands, with her naked figure holding onto either side of the window as he takes her from behind, she has a clear view of the city at night. Logs of fire are lit and fitted onto stone walls on the roads, and the blurred fiery orange is visible to her as she looks down at the city that saved her. Any passerby close to her can crane their neck up just a little, and see her naked in all her glory, from neck to navel. 

Her breasts bounce as Daemon’s cock moves in and out, shining in the moonlight that her figure now obstructs, keeping the light from entering the dimly lit chamber. She lets out a strangled moan as he bullies her spot with each thrust, grunting and moaning in a mix of pleasure and exertion. The sweaty sheen on her forehead dries in the chill of the night air, and her line of sight is unstable with the way her head moves with the rest of her body.

“You like this, don’t you? For the entire world to see you spread out and wanting like this…” he says, with his lips nibbling on her ear enough to make her scream. “For them to know that you are mine. Fuck, fu-uuck!”

Mine, mine, mine. 

Is it such a bad thing to be? In this moment, as she rolls her eyes back at wave after wave of pleasure and the rapid heat blooming in her belly once more, she supposes it is. She will hate herself for wanting this when they are done for the night - but she’ll cross that bridge when it comes. 

Or burn it.

“Fuck,” she whispers as she loses herself. The shame of being put on display for every common man and woman to see is non-existent, but her heart drops at how she hates that she likes it.

A whore’s daughter is a whore too. How quickly had she given in, after all that she had done to escape a fate that wasn’t her doing?

With one particular thrust, she pushes forward a bit more than expected. She worries that she’s going to fall, fall, fall - the drop would be deathly steep and long.

She imagines what the fall would be like if her grip wasn’t tight. Her naked form falling down with her hands unable to find any purchase, flailing about as she is suspended in the air. She’d probably see all the bricks and windows in close view - perhaps, someone leaning against another window may scream as they notice her falling to what she hopes would be death, naked as her name day.

Would she be able to live it through if she miraculously and unfortunately survived that fall?

Almost as though he sensed her fear of slipping, Daemon’s hands move away from the loose grip they have on her waist. One hand snakes around her breasts and his forearm presses into her pebbled peaks, while the other cups her cunt and covers it from the cold completely. A fresh wave of arousal takes over her as he groans at the wetness that now coats his palm. The sudden warmth of his hand has her whining and moaning for more, and she moves, riding against his palm, wanting for more, more, more. It would seem that they are both insatiable tonight.

Daemon picks up the pace, his movements speeding up as she senses his desperation for release. She feels his cock hit her all the way up to her lower belly as the coil builds once more, giving her the excitement as she anticipates the sweet pleasure of release once more. She almost gives in right then, knees buckling and legs almost melting as she feels herself fly high, higher and higher still once more. Her peak washes over her in an instant as he pushes deep, her cunt only protected from the stone wall below the window by his palm.

It is a particularly long wave of pleasure that takes over her, making the hairs on her body stand upright as she struggles to stand on her own. Fire courses through her veins and her face is flushed as she finally smiles, drinking in the intense pleasure as Daemon’s thrusts get slower and slower until he spills in her too - a mix of grunts and moans as he falls apart.

The heady mix of sweat, slick and seed dripping down her thighs is enough to make her hazy and feel light in the head. Her head seems as though it is filled with cotton as her thighs quiver, making her experience relief like never before and she wants to turn and kiss him, hope to let the delusion that he loves her fester in her head a bit more and give herself the luxury of feeling genuinely loved for just a while as he-

“Good girl, Rhaenyra.”

His hands have moved away and he quickly pulls out of her, making her move forward. The stone wall hits the dark mound covering her cunt as she winces at the sudden emptiness - from both between her legs and her heart.

She’s lost her home, her memories, her happier days and a life that she loved. She’s lost enough and more for a lifetime. Daemon was never hers to be considered a loss, and she knows it too. And yet, as the realization that even his sex-addled, ill-meant compliments weren’t hers to own washes over her, she finds a lone tear slipping from her eye.

The salty taste on her lips feels like home.

Good girl, he’d said. To whom was he saying it, really?

TWO YEARS HAD PASSED SINCE HER BROTHER WALKED AWAY FROM THEIR LIVES, leaving an empty space that seemed impossible to fill. She was now a fully grown woman who was struggling to make ends meet in the bustling streets of King's Landing. Life had grown harsher with each passing day, and now, a shadow of illness loomed over their humble home.

Her mother had fallen ill, a fever that refused to break. She was too sick to continue working at the whorehouse, so they lived on scraps while the young girl’s earnings went toward settling their debts. She couldn't afford the services of a maester for her mother in the capital city, and the local healer's herbs offered little solace. Still, she continued to scrape together every copper she could find, pouring her earnings into the apothecary's pouch in a desperate attempt to buy her mother some time and relief.

Debt was a relentless specter in their lives. The madame of the local whorehouse hounded them incessantly, demanding the repayment of their debts. Her once cozy home felt increasingly suffocating, its walls closing in around them as they fought to survive.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the room, she returned home to a sight that sent a chill down her spine. Her mother appeared more sickly than usual, her brow damp with fevered sweat. She rushed to her mother’s side, her heart pounding with fear. She pressed her palm to her mother's forehead and felt the searing heat.

In her delirious state, her mother noticed her efforts to help and laughed softly, her voice a mere whisper. "Thank you my love, you’re a good girl," she murmured weakly, her eyes glazed with fever. The girl's heart ached, and she did what little she could to ease her mother's suffering. She prepared a hot bowl of soup and fed it to her mother, tears welling in her eyes as she watched the warm liquid spill from her mother's lips.

Good girl. The last words her mother had said to her. 

The night passed in anxious vigil, but by morning, her mother was gone. She had wept bitterly, her tears soaking the tattered bed linens that held the memory of happier times.

Days later, the madame of the whorehouse came knocking, a cruel glint in her eyes. She had no sympathy for the loss, only an insistence that the debt must be paid. With ruthless determination, she thrust the girl into her mother's role, forcing her to walk a path that her mother had promised she’d never have to.

“Maybe you'll find a husband who'll love you more than anyone has ever loved me,” her mother had said once. The words had no power or weight as she braced herself to welcome the lustful drunks of King’s Landing with a closed heart and open legs.

Distressed and terrified, the girl found herself in a living nightmare. The once-bustling brothel became her prison, and her innocence was sacrificed to repay a debt she had not incurred. As the first man walked through the doors that fateful night, she realized that her life had taken a dark and irreversible turn, and there was no escape from the cruelty of King's Landing's unforgiving streets.

She remembered looking at the ceiling as she whimpered, the pain of being taken for the first time making her well up in earnest. The bed made a series of creaking sounds as she let him have his way with her, and the gold coin that he’d flicked at her abdomen afterward shined like nothing she’d ever seen before.

“Gold?” she whimpered, unable to recognize the shiny metal. She looked at the coin in awe, and the man laughed cruelly. 

“Maiden whores are worth more than the usual,” he said. 

In all her years living in the stink of the city, she’d never felt dirty - but she did now.

With each night, she caged her heart and saved up the money. On some days, it’d be a penny and on some others, it’d be a silver stag. Every coin saved would buy her escape and freedom. And one night, she finally ran. 

Five silver stags for a journey aboard the first ship she could find. To Pentos.

Her job as a chambermaid at the Prince of Pentos’s home came to her as a kitchen maid took pity and took her in. For months, she’d safely worked and made more money. They provided her with a little chamber that she shared with the other maids, and food so her belly would never feel empty. She’d escaped the brothel and she wanted to believe that she’d made her mother proud. She didn’t know if she was happy, but she was her own person again - it had to count for something, regardless of how empty she felt.

Three months later, a silver-haired Rogue Prince made his descent on the palace grounds, atop the most terrifying dragon she’d ever seen - awakening what was dead in her once more.

DESPITE HOW ROUGHLY HE’D HANDLED HER JUST MOMENTS BEFORE, she felt as though she’d been doused with cold water.

Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra, Rhaenyra.

She’d believed that she was a blot of shame on Laena Velaryon’s marriage, but it would seem that a silver-haired princess - the Realm’s Delight, his niece - was doing far worse in her absence.

Had he been taking her from behind, hoping against hope that if he closed his eyes and thrusted enough, he’d be able to picture her? 

She turns around, the thrill of being put on display while in the throes of pleasure wearing off of her. She walks over to the table near the fireplace with unsteady steps, and slips on the robe that he’d discarded - possibly before she’d stepped in. The wine pitcher invites her with open arms, offering her the comfort of ignorance and forgetfulness as she tries to wrap her head around finally finding out what he’s wanted all this time.

She wanted to be able to feel something, and he wanted to feel her. Neither of them wanted each other, and she supposes that the field is now even. Somehow, she feels a bit more powerful with the knowledge that she wasn’t just someone that he took mindlessly, but was someone who helped him satisfy what she now clearly sees as his guilty desires.

She must have known. Rumors of whores being asked to call him uncle as he fucked them dizzy have floated about before - she thought they were lies, but now she’s seen firsthand how true they are.

He was married to a woman whom he probably wishes was someone else. He was straying from his marriage vows with another woman, not even the one who he wished for. She wonders if Rhaenyra Targaryen knows how deeply she is wanted and loved. 

She wonders if she will ever be loved the same way. A whore's daughter will also be a whore. Is she a whore now? Has she become what she tried to escape? And worse - does she genuinely enjoy it? 

They accompany each other in silence, the only noise being the cacophony of thoughts in their own heads. He slips into his soft trousers and sits on the edge of the bed as she passes him a goblet of wine. She sits opposite him whilst nursing her own goblet, simmering in her thoughts as she muses about her life’s journey - from a mere happy tavern wench to a prince’s solemn bed warmer.

There is a knock on the door that brings both of them out of their reverie. The servant slips in when Daemon mutters his permission and she takes in the sight of them both before looking to the floor and murmuring words that are inaudible.

“Speak up, girl,” he says. As the servant maid breathes in, she has a startling realization. His Valyrian words, the ones that she did not recognize or understand - were they for Rhaenyra too? She does not plan on asking. She supposes she’ll never know.

“Lady Laena has begun her labors, Prince Daemon.”

The servant scurries out, leaving the door half open as Daemon throws his head into his hands. She sets the goblet aside and stands in front of him, taking his head in her arms and letting it rest on her robe-clad abdomen. Her hands run over his hair in a soothing motion, almost in a lover’s embrace. Almost.

In this moment, she can tell herself that what they have is more than just sin and adultery. In this moment, she’ll tell herself that what they have is not dirty, but beautiful. 

“Go. She needs you,” she murmurs, the words once again reminding her of the precarious position she finds herself in. He walks away after dressing himself, and in the wee hours of the morning, the Prince and his wife welcome twin daughters - Baela and Rhaena.

Only four days later, she finds herself being summoned to his private apartments once more. She is now about to fuck a man who had not one, not two, but three girls in his life that he would disregard when he takes her - all in delusional pursuit of a woman who is half a world away. She hates what she is about to do, and she hates that she is already wet and wanting. 

She wants him. Despite it all, she wants him.

Wrong, wrong, wrong.

Her mother and brother called her a good girl, once upon a time. Would they say the same about her now?

Somehow, she knows that the answer is not something she'd want to hear.

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MASTERLIST

[pedropascallme]

Stars Above

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x f!Reader

Summary: "Perhaps sensing your discomfort, he smiled, and the thin remnants of his lips cracked open to display yellow teeth. 'You ain’t never seen a ghoul before, vaultie?'"

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) canon typical violence and lots of it, threatening language, angst, description of a panic attack, descriptions of cannibalism and dead bodies, age gap obviously (Cooper is canon 200+ years old; reader is written as early 20s), guided masturbation (f receiving), themes of voyeurism/exhibitionism, a ton of dirty talk, very mild degradation, phonetic spelling of Cooper's accent because I can, if I missed anything please let me know!!

AN: part 2 here!!

You had miscalculated just about everything about the surface.

You’d underestimated the ability people had to be cold and calculating in their cruelty. You’d underestimated the difficulty of navigating the endless Wasteland. You’d underestimated the effects radiation might have on you, leaving you fatigued and nauseous despite the Rad-X you’d been sure to pack away safely in your satchel.

Maybe you should’ve read the warning label.

What was worse, you thought, was how badly you had overestimated yourself. You were so certain you would be able to make a name for yourself—make a name for those you would meet; find kindness in the sand and friends in low places.

But you were just a small drop in the bucket, and nobody wanted a name. They wanted to survive in silence and safety.

You were out of rations, and nearly out of water. You’d sweat gallons through your vault suit, making the fabric itchy as it clung to your skin, and causing you to shiver sporadically as the setting sun invited a chill over the landscape. You dragged your feet over the sand, leaving a path behind you, and part of you wondered if you should just drop dead right there. The sand was soft, warm, and maybe dying on your own accord would be more comfortable than dying by the hand of someone who would kill you simply for the sheer rush of spilling blood.

You stopped moving, slumping down to the ground and coughing. There was a deep ache in your lungs, and heaving up dry air did little to quell the overall discomfort.

You wove your hands through the sand, letting it fall through your fingers.

Could you just go home? Had you ever really had a home?

You pushed down a wave of nausea, swallowing the bile that pushed up against your throat, Tumbledown buildings crumbled around you, and for once in your life you felt truly small. Once, when you were young, you had been sent to your room, and in a moment of frustrated panic you’d felt as though the walls were caving in on you. You’d stood on your bed, pushing up on tiny tiptoes, pressing your hands to the ceiling, refusing to let the walls squeeze you into a cube of yourself.

You smiled at the memory. You wished now more than ever that you could stand on your toes and push against the sky.

You heard something echo in the distance, and, flinching, squinted up into the horizon. Metal rooves reflected against the fading burden of the sun; another echo sounded, something like spurs on scrap, and you sighed, heart heavy in your chest.

Maybe this town would be the one to offer solace.

You stood on tired legs, making haste in the direction of the noise.

~~~

The tinny sounds had ceased long before you walked through the broken arch announcing the town. It was desolate, as if everybody had vacated the area before you’d made contact. Part of you took it personally, and you pouted rather childishly.

In the dimly lit dusk, you roamed the empty paths under flickering lights, stepping over caps and carts that had been turned over. When you came across a body, it became apparent that the clamor you had followed was the result of a gunfight.

You stepped over the body, too.

You had never stared at death before making your way to the surface, and it had come as a shock to you that it didn’t bother you more. Blood wasn’t as bright as it was in the movies, nor did killers give any heated last words before pulling the trigger. Any executions you had seen thus far were dull and hurried. You thought back to an old movie you watched once, one that ended with a cowboy executing a rowdy criminal, and you wondered if anybody bothered to monologue their slaughters the way he had.

You’d long forgotten the title of the film and the name of the actor, but you remembered finding him handsome.

You stooped on bent knees to pick up a piece of fruit that had fallen from one of the overturned carts. You sat there, gnawing at it, feeling the sour bites you took fall into your empty stomach. You made it to the core, tossing it over your shoulder and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. But you paused, remnants of the bitter juice still on your lips when your head shot up to analyze your surroundings.

Someone was watching you.

The sound of footsteps approaching were made all the more unsettling when paired with a boisterous, ugly laugh. Still on your knees, you squared your shoulders, looking up to meet the eyes of a man in bloodied garb and a gun on his hand.

“Saw you eating that,” his teeth were sharp, and his voice high, “Not good to litter, vaultie.” He stopped in front of you, hands on his hips as he scrutinized you. “Why don’t you go crawl over and pick that up.”

You didn’t move. He put his hands on his knees to lean over you, fumbling with his revolver.

“No,” you tried to sound confident, though your voice was quiet and didn’t carry far, “I don’t want to. Thank you.”

He howled, and it made you wince. “Thank you, now that’s sweet,” his gun came up to poke under your chin, “Thank you…I wasn’t asking, girl.”

You tried to find your voice again, but the barrel of the gun was pressed into your neck, and you knew he would seize on any reason to pull the trigger. You inhaled through your nose, trying to buy yourself some time.

A shadow came up behind you, wrapping you in darkness as something approached soundlessly. The man in front of you faltered, and you watched as the confidence drained from his eyes.

“Ain’t that sweet…” A drawling voice, almost saccharine, came from the source of the shadow, and you knew then that it was someone. “Find y'self a toy there, Otis?”

The man—Otis, maybe—who had previously seemed so cocky with his demands, retreated into himself slightly, straightening back up to his full height to meet the eyes of whoever stood behind you.

“You’re not welcome here, Ghoul,” he scowled, “Finders keepers.”

“Well, now, I don’ think y’really in any position to give orders.” It was only now you that wondered whether you were being fought over not out of any sympathetic, weeping heart on behalf of the person behind you, or whether this was a battle for who got to see your blood flow.

“Yeah?” Otis chuckled, “Why’s that?”

You saw the man behind you gesture with his gun in your peripheral. “You got a hole in yo’ neck.”

You watched Otis squint in confusion in the split second before a shot whirred above your head and hit him clean through the throat. He crumpled to the ground, gagging on death, before he let out a damning noise and ceased all movement.

You took deep, shaky breaths, finding the courage to stand up, to turn around and get a good look at your savior.

When you did finally came face level with the man called ‘Ghoul,’ you felt that your initial instinct in referring to a thing behind you had been more apt after all.

His skin was reddened and chapped, marred with scars that covered his face and ran down his neck. He was hairless, as far as you could tell, and his eyes were sunken deep below the ridge where his eyebrows should’ve been. He was decked out in a cowboy costume, long duster to match his Stetson, gun strapped to his hip that paired nicely with his ammo belt.

He had no nose.

Perhaps sensing your discomfort, he smiled, and the thin remnants of his lips cracked open to display yellow teeth. “You ain’t never seen a ghoul before, vaultie?”

You continued to scan his face, and after a few fleeting moments you met his eyes; you couldn’t tell what color they were, if they were hazel or brown or maybe just yellow, muted by the evening, and the shadow cast over his face by the brim of his hat.

No matter the color, you thought they were pretty all the same.

You hesitated, shaking your head.

“Well, ain’t you lucky. Now yo’meetin’ The Ghoul.” His eyes widened, menacing but amused, and you took a step back, nearly stumbling on Otis’s lifeless feet.

“Th—um. Thank you,” you ignored his grandiose introduction, “For…” You gestured behind you.

The Ghoul tipped his hat forward, “Not a problem.” He took a step back, mirroring your movements, “C’mon now. S’dark.”

You made a face, “Oh—no, I…Thank you, for, you know, for helping me out, but I don’t—I’m not really looking for—”

He whistled, and the shrill cut you off, “You really don’know a question if it hit ya in the ribs, sweetheart.” He smirked, “I wasn’t askin’.”

“But I don’t,” you started, watching as he unraveled a rope from his side and tied a knot into it, “I would rather not go with you. I’m—you caught me at a bad time, really, I’m usually just fine by myself.”

“Well…” He tightened the knot, “you keep tellin’ yourself that while we walk.” He swung the rope over his head, and you realized too late that he had been tying a lasso. It came down around your midriff, trapping your hands at your sides when he pulled.

“Hey!” You tried to fight, moving your elbows beneath the constraint and burning your skin in the process.

The Ghoul circled you, stooping down to pick up the gun that had fallen off of Otis’s person, before his face came to peek over your shoulder, cheek to cheek with you. “Hi, there.” He smirked, tugging your restrictions.

~~~

You were used to endless roaming by now. It’s all there was to do; outrun the danger before it could find you, then do the same again when faced with a new conundrum. But the Ghoul walked fast, long strides made tuneful with the help of the spurs on his boots. There was a nice consistency, the metal almost sounded like a lilting voice, though you wished it was less frantic.

You had lost feeling in your fingers, unable to grip your belongings properly, and in a kind gesture that you hadn’t expected from him, the Ghoul hoisted your bag onto his shoulder. You were stiff and sore, and maybe the rope was keeping blood from rushing to your brain, because you couldn’t stop staring at him from behind, watching the way his gloved hand pressed into the bag—your bag—on his hip.

“Where are we going?” You piped up, breaking the silence you’d been stewing in for the past hour. You got no response, so you pushed on. “Where are you taking me?” He didn’t break his stride, pulling you along like the lost puppy you were. You pulled your body against the strain of the rope, digging your heels into the ground and stopping in your tracks. “And what’s a ghoul?”

You watched his shoulders slump as he, too, came to a halt. He let out a sigh, turning around to face you. “Nowhere,” he counted on his fingers as he began to answer your questions in order, “Wherever I go. Me.”

You shifted awkwardly on your feet. “So…you’re the only one?”

“Never said that.” He turned his back to you again. “Y’see that clearin’ there,” he pointed into the distance at a group of rocks sunken into the sand. “That’s your bed t’night.” He started walking again, and you followed suit.

The night cast long shadows over the expansive nothingness, and the air made you shiver. The wind pushed at your hair, which in turn clung to your temples with the excess sweat of the day.

“You aren’t the only one, then,” you kept talking, “Are you—is it the radiation? Or are you a…a people?”

He let out a short chuckle. “The only people left. Far’s I’m concerned.” He skirted around your question, leading you around the rocks and finding a comfortable spot that left you hidden in the darkness. He dropped the rope, tossing your bag to the side as he did so, and you grumbled about how he shouldn’t be so careless with things that weren’t his own. He ignored you, walking over with an expressionless face and deftly tugging the knot from the rope. It fell in a heap around your ankles, and you let out a thankful, happy noise. He tossed a glance your way, eyeing you almost curiously, before beginning to make a small fire at the center of your open-air hideout.

You fell to the ground, exhausted, and addled by the events of the past few hours. You closed your eyes and tilted your head back. The rock behind you may well have been a pillow, the ache in your bones finding comfort in even the most unyielding of resting places.

You opened your eyes tentatively, reluctant to see any more of the Wasteland that you had so callously thought would welcome you with open arms. When you finally blinked up, the blackness of the night blanketed you, and with it, there were stars.

Not stars like the ones on a TV screen. Not stars like the ones behind your eyes after staring into your lamp for too long. Not stars like the ones you drew on your ceiling as a child. Not stars like the ones projected in the common area during a dinner you were told was meant to authentically replicate a Fourth of July celebration.

Real stars.

Gaseous beings that reflected against the sand, lightyears away but close enough to touch, if you could just reach out and grab one; cradle it in your cupped hands and let the fire permeate your palms.

Treat it like a child. Treat it beautifully.

“What’re you lookin’ at,” the Ghoul’s rasp broke you from your existential musings.

You looked forward, finding his sunken eyes across the light of the fire that paled in comparison to the light above you. “If you…if you wanted to kill me, I’m ready now.”

You watched weathered skin stretch taut across his yellowed teeth. You knew it was, perhaps, a bit inappropriate, but for a moment you couldn’t ignore the way the word ‘beautiful’ bounced around your head when you looked at him.

“Not gonna kill ya,” he poked at the fire with a stick, “No good t’me dead.”

“Well then, what?” You lost your filter, uncaring. There were stars in the sky, there was air on your skin, and you didn’t care if you died in the middle of the barren land your ancestors would have once called home. “What good am I to you alive?” You let a laugh out, thin and strained, “Are you just keeping me around so I—so I don’t get lonely?”

He tossed the stick to the side, and the sand caught it with a pathetic thump. “How long you been in them vaults?” He leaned forward.

You made a face, searching for a tone in his gaze. “My whole life,” you scoffed. He knew that.

“’N how long you been up here for?”

You looked away, embarrassed, and tried to hide how you attempted to count the days on your fingers. “I…don’t know…” You gave up.

“You don’ know,” he stared into the fire, “Don’t know shit about lonely.” There was a beat of silence, and the whisper of the wind filled the gap in conversation. He straightened out, meeting your eyes again and smirking as if nothing had happened. As if he hadn’t just been thrown back to a time when he would’ve come home to a freshly cooked meal and his daughter on his hip and his dog circling his feet. “Plus,” he rustled a hand in his pocket, pulling out an inhaler and taking a puff, “You’ll make good bait.”

“Good bait?” You interrogated him.

“Ya noticed how bad news seems t’follow you round here?” He stretched his arms behind his head, and you felt a sudden heat on your cheeks that you chalked up to sunburn. “Pretty thing like you pro’ly has a whole army o’folks after her. ‘N I’m guessing them folks ain’t the kind you’d like t’hang around.”

“Like you?” You raised a brow, throwing his words back at him.

“You’d like that,” he huffed. “Darlin’, I’m playin’ the oldest game there is: set a trap ‘n the critters will fall into’t.”

You mulled over what he’d said, narrowing your eyes and looking at your hands as you came to your conclusion. “You’re talking about—you’re a bounty hunter…” You looked back up at him, and he was grinning. “And you’re talking about using me as a decoy!” Your posture straightened, and you stared daggers into him.

“Guilty as charged,” he tilted his head at you.

“You can’t do that—I’m not just going to let you do that.” You fumed.

“Don’t have to,” he shrugged, jutting out his lower lip, “Can leave right now, ‘f’ya want.” His features morphed into a grim smirk, “But I don’t think a li’l vaultie like you knows a goddamn thing 'bout what’s waitin’ round the corner.”

You swallowed, trying to form a biting response, but he continued.

“But, hell, f’you wanna risk it…” he put the inhaler back into one of his pockets, “Be my guest, vaultie. Free t’go.”

You huffed, and he smiled. He was right, and you both knew it; left to your own devices, you'd be dead in that town he found you in. You settled into your fate.

“Don’t call me vaultie.” You muttered, tired of the way the seemingly derogatory title had been hurled at you since you first emerged from the safety of your life underground.

“Gonna have to tell me y’name, then,” he tilted his head, waiting. You told him your name, and he laughed. “Look’it that. Friends already.”

“You’re not my friend,” you didn’t know where the venom was coming from; somewhere between him helping you out and him sitting in front of you now, you’d decided he was attractive, charismatic, maybe not the worst company you could be stuck with. But after learning what your new role was, you felt more than a little cheated.

“Damn right I’m not.” He whistled, and you turned away from him, curling into a ball on the ground.

“’M going to sleep,” you grumbled. “Wake me up if you decide to go fishing,” you raised your head for a moment, “You’ll need your lure.”

That got you a real laugh, the first genuine sound you'd heard from him.

And you liked it, despite the ire you felt towards him now. 

~~~

You woke up under the blazing sun with sand in your hair. You blinked hard, trying to remember where you were, how you got there, and what had happened to your bag.

Your questions were answered when a shadow engulfed you from above, and you looked up to face the Ghoul.

He had his hat off, letting you gather more evidence to support your belief that he was completely hairless. He stayed quiet, looming over you and watching you groan under the misfortune of wakefulness.

You grunted at him, pushing yourself up to stand, shaking the sand from your body as you did. “You didn’t wake me up last night.”

“You complainin’?” He knit his naked brow.

“No…just, I figured you might want me to keep watch,” you dug sand from your ear, “You trying to tell me that you’re fine just going without sleep?”

“Succeedin’, by the sound of it,” he smirked, and you pursed your lips. “You can stay up as late as ya want next time, darlin’. Don’ let me stop ya.”

“I won’t.” You snatched your bag from his hand and turned to find a way out of the maze of rocks you’d slept in.

He grinned. “Lead on, then.”

And you did, spending several days on a loop; walk, rest, walk, sleep, wake up, pick a direction, repeat. He shared rations and water, he let you sleep when he could’ve forced you to take watch, but he was quiet. It was as if he was so used to life as a predator that he couldn’t even toy with the idea of letting his guard down when there was nobody but you around for miles upon miles. And it wasn't as if you were any threat to him.

It drove you crazy. The benefit that came with having someone like him, skilled and sharp, was greatly dampened by the lack of any real socialization.

You were grateful, at the very least, that it had only taken him a night to decide you no longer needed to be constrained; you liked being able to carry your own things, and, even more, being able to use your own hands. Your arms still felt raw, fading rope burn wounds licking shallowly at your skin under your sleeves, but at least you were free to stretch them now.

The Ghoul stayed several steps behind you when you walked, always keeping his distance but watching closely as you struggled to pretend to know where you were going.

Now, you wiped sweat from your forehead, stopping momentarily to let a cool breeze whip at your face.

“Hell are you doin’ now?” The Ghoul’s dry voice was carried to you by the wind. It was the first thing he’d said to you, unprompted, in two days.

“Feels good,” you sighed, turning to him with your eyes closed and holding your arms out beside you, “The wind. It’s nice.”

“Won’t be in a second.” You opened your eyes to green clouds in the distance behind him. “Because that,” he motioned back at the clouds with his head, “s’a radstorm. And you,” he tipped his hat at you, grazing the brim with his fingers, “Ain’t gonna do too well out in it.”

As if on cue, a bolt of lightning shot down, followed by a loud clap, emphasizing the Ghoul’s words.

“Better have some Rad-X in that bag, sweetheart,” his lips were parted, and you noticed that, although his teeth were yellowed by years of chewing on god knows what, they were remarkably straight. “Oughta get ya under cover.”

You’d heard about radstorms, and assumed, in your naivete, that you’d be able to make it through one without any problems. But the speed at which the disagreeably green clouds approached, and the tone of voice used by your companion, made you feel as though this, too, was something you’d been wrong about.

Maybe you went pale, looking as nauseous as you felt, but then there was a guiding hand on your waist. You jumped, unprepared for any contact and ready to gripe about it, before following the man’s gaze beyond a small sand hill.

“C’mon,” his eyes stayed trained on a ramshackle house just a short distance away, “Can wait it out.”

You nodded, falling over your own feet when he began walking at a brisk pace. The hand he’d placed on the small of your back worked as leverage to get you to hurry up and match his stride.

You closed the door just as the wind started to pick up.

“Woo,” the Ghoul raised his arms above his head, stretching. “S’a nice place we got here.”

You looked around the building; some remaining wallpaper clung to the walls for dear life, there was a couch that looked to be more sand than cushion, and a single table, overturned, in the corner.

“Is it?” You questioned.

“Ya wanna go check outside, see f’ya prefer that?” He challenged, and you backed down, scowling at him.

“How long will the storm last?” You trailed your eyes over the cabin, trying to see if there was anything worth looking at.

There wasn’t.

“An hour,” the Ghoul situated himself on the sofa, “A day. Maybe two.” He took off his hat, fanning himself with it.

“So…we’re stuck here?” You finally let your eyes wander over to him, finding yourself oddly enamored by the way his high, hollow cheekbones framed his face.

“You got somewhere you wanna be?” He stretched his arms over the back of the couch, leaning back and spreading his legs. You blamed the pulse that went through you on radiation, turning away to rummage through your pack for Rad-X.

“Just not much to do.” You swallowed the pill, kicking at a pile of sand that had found its way onto the wooden floor.

“Welcome to the surface, darlin’,” he gestured vaguely, and you rolled your eyes, trying to hide the smile that etched itself onto your lips.

“Doesn’t help that you don’t talk.” You tried to fill the silence that you knew was imminent.

“Talkin’ now,” he shot back, moving his hips from the couch to get properly settled, and you knew you couldn’t blame radiation for the way you squeezed your thighs together.

“Yeah, but,” you acquiesced to your urge to join him on the old sofa, “I’ve known you for less than a week, and even I can tell it’s a rarity.”

“Maybe I just don’t like you,” he smirked, putting his hat back on, and you frowned at him.

“Then you wouldn’t be keeping me around for company.”

“Bait,” he corrected you.

“Call it what you want,” you let your head fall back onto the couch, “Still choosing to keep me around.” You waited anxiously to see if he would point out that it was you who had taken the opportunity to stick with him, after his vague threat of what loomed in the wastes made you back down from your plan to run that first night.

You closed your eyes, listening to the storm batter the house outside. He took the moment to look at you, analyzing your features. He took in the positive glow that reflected off of you, yet to be rubbed off by the experiences you were sure to have.

Maybe he’d be able to buy you some time. Maybe that glow wouldn’t fade.

“Sure,” he nodded, “Whatever y’wanna tell yourself.”

You nudged his knee with yours. It was an adolescent approach, something you would’ve done during classes; playing footsie with the boy you thought was cute, with his hair slicked back and his vault suit pressed and tidy. Something done for attention, in the hopes that maybe he’d take even the smallest of hints and return the childish gesture of affection.

The Ghoul was not pressed and tidy. But, and you were slowly admitting it to yourself, he was cute.

You couldn’t see yourself ever admitting it to him.

“You never answered my question yesterday,” you realized now was as good a time as any to quiz him, stuck with you while the storm raged. “What’s a ghoul?”

“Yes, I did,” he had let his eyes close, too, “I am.”

“That’s not a good answer.” You tsked, “I wanna know—I want the real answer,” you moved to sit on your knees, “Give me the real answer.”

He opened his eyes, scanning you up and down. “Yer damn good bait, sweetheart,” he nodded, giving in and facing you. You thought maybe he was paying you a compliment, but you swallowed the urge to ask him what he meant. “I don’t know what to tell ya other than I am a ghoul.”

“Why?” You pressed.

“Why’d’ya think?” He countered, “Case you didn’t notice, we ain’t in one o’your underground lairs. Radiation’s gonna get us all, and when it does,” he leaned forward, “Y’gonna look just like me.”

You swallowed, unsure if this was a threat or a warning. You looked down at his gloved hands, then back up at him. “Does it hurt?”

His expression was blank. You continued.

“Your—is it your skin?” You tried to clarify, “Does it hurt?”

His expression gradually changed to one of confusion as he processed your words; nobody had ever asked him something as simple as that. “Don’t hurt. f’I get shot…stings for a sec, but…y’get used to it.”

“So, you can’t really feel it?”

“Oh,” he let out a low chuckle, “I can feel it. Where it counts.”

You stuck out your tongue, and heat crept over the back of your neck. “Don’t be crude.”

“Ain’t try’na be,” he smiled, “You’re the one whose mind’s wanderin’.”

“So it just feels like skin?” You changed the subject, “Or is it more like muscle…or scar tissue?” Without thinking, you raised your hand and extended it forward, curiosity getting the best of you. He caught your wrist in his hand, the leather on his fingers pressing softly into your bone. You gasped, and he looked at you, cautious, fingers shifting on your skin. As if in slow motion, he raised your hand to his face, and you stretched out two fingers to ever so gently graze down his cheek.

His breath caught in his throat, startled by the intimacy of having someone touch him just to touch him. To feel him.

Similarly, you’d stopped breathing all together.

His skin was ridged and rough, but the small grooves between the scarred flesh were smooth, almost downy. You didn’t look him in the eyes, though you could sense his as they bore into you. You chose to examine the rest of his face instead, the bumps and scars and jagged edges that your hand ghosted over. Finally, you gave in, looking into his eyes for only a brief moment.

He had eyelashes. Small lashes, barely noticeable beneath his hat and the sunken hollows of his eyes, but they were definitely there. He looked pretty, this small part of him capturing some kind of hidden essence of humanity underneath his daunting character. The tiny detail had caught you off guard more than the act of being allowed to touch him had, and your fingers faltered, stuttering against his skin.

You let your hand go limp in his grip, and he let you retract it.

“So?” He questioned after a beat.

“What?”

“What’d’t feel like?”

“Oh,” you remembered what had led you to the opportunity to touch him in the first place, “Scar tissue.” You landed on, easier to say that than trying to explain that you thought his skin was as comfortable as velvet to drag your fingers across.

He lifted a brow, nodding in approval.

“How come you don’t have a nose?” More questions bubbled from your throat before you could stop them, eager to force the tension in the atmosphere to dissipate.

“God almighty, y’ask a lot of fuckin’ questions,” he wiped a hand down his face, “Decades of radiation ain’t forgivin’ on cartilage.”

“Decades?” You narrowed your eyes playfully.

“Don’t you go askin’ more, now,” he chided, “Ain’t polite to ask someone their age, they not teach you that down there?”

You dropped it for now. “You still have ears. Those are cartilage.”

“Not part of the original model.” He smirked, and when he saw you tilt your head, confused, he took a deep breath and continued, “Sometimes, darlin’, ya gotta use what ya find.”

Your eyes went wide, “They’re—you stole body parts?” Your eyes narrowed again, “You’re lying.”

He didn’t answer verbally, just shot a devious smile your way.

“How come I can’t see your brain?” You bounced to your next question.

“Would ya like to?” He shot back, and you cringed. “Didn’t think so.”

“But how come—”

“Jesus Christ,” he dipped his hand into his pocket, pulling out his inhaler and taking two short puffs, “Can I get a word in, here?”

You let your next question die in your mouth, shelving it for later. You nodded.

“Why’d you come up here?” The Ghoul’s voice took a softer edge, and you couldn’t tell if he was mocking you or if he had some genuine interest in your case.

Either way, you thought it was improper, and you shook your head, barely enough for it to be noticeable. You’d been trying to ask the obvious questions, things you were certain he was asked all the time, that he’d have answers for at the ready. You hadn’t asked about his life, how he got out here or why he dressed like a goddamn gunslinger. You could’ve, but you were trying to be at least a little bit polite.

“That’s not fair.” You said simply.

“Alright, how come you got a nose,” he smirked, letting his words hang in the air before they dropped at his feet when he saw the way your demeanor had changed on a dime. “Now, look—I didn’t mean to make y'upset, sweetheart—”

“I, uh…” You took a long breath, gearing up for the challenge of communicating a logical answer. “…Do you ever sit somewhere so nice for so long, and then after a while you start thinking that it’s too good to be true?” You looked up at him, and the tears in your eyes were evident, “Like, maybe you sat on something, or the whole time there was a snake in the grass right next to you...or something?”

The Ghoul watched your face intently, hardly nodding.

“And even though the snake didn’t lunge at you, or, you know, you got to enjoy the peace and quiet before getting up and noticing you sat on something, it’s like, you’re flooded with these what ifs about what would’ve happened if you’d been sitting just a second longer…” You were looking at him, but you weren’t, really; your eyes went right through him, and you pictured a time when you thought nothing could ever go wrong. “Or if you’d never sat there at all.” You blinked, shaking your head, and you wiped a tear that had dared to breach over your lash line. “I had to get up, right? Outfit was stained…and I could see the snake getting ready to…make quick work of me.”

You cradled your chin in your hands, trying to control your breathing so you wouldn’t have to subject yourself to the embarrassment of crying in front of someone that likely wouldn’t care.

Your explanation echoed in the Ghoul’s mind. He thought about his divorce, that dumb fucking suit he’d been conned into wearing without really knowing what it meant.

A snake and a stain. He understood.

“Ain’t no snakes up here,” he tried his hand at reassuring you, “Can’t promise y’won’t get dirty, though.”

“I know,” you sniffed, “Got blood on me already.” You knew it was stupid to complain about, but you didn’t even know whose blood it was.

“There’ll be more,” he sighed, “But you’ll care less.”

You let yourself laugh softly. “Yeah,” you wiped your eyes, “Yeah. I hope you’re right.”

“I tend to be.” He smirked, back to his carefree, cocky demeanor. You rolled your eyes weakly, laughing quietly, and you found yourself leaning against him. His shoulder was stiff beneath your head, like he wasn’t sure how to hold himself in the situation that you’d put him in. You turned your head slightly, nosing his neck, and he didn’t stop you, though he stayed rigid.

You let yourself breathe him in; arid and smoky, the leather of his clothes mingling with the scent of sun that clung to his skin. There was something else, a note of iron buried under the warmer scents, the cold bouquet of dry blood. Having death flood your nose like that, you recognized, probably should’ve been alarming, perhaps even petrifying. But it wasn’t—not on him.

You liked it.

You sat back up, your face close to his, and if he had a nose, you were sure it would be touching your own. He didn’t look upset as his eyes darted over your face, which felt reassuring, even though you already knew you hadn’t really done anything wrong.

“Y’hear that?” He muttered.

“What?” You turned your head, trying to listen for whatever he was hearing.

“Storm stopped,” he cracked a small smile at you, and you breathed a sigh of relief. He stood up, making his way over the floor. “C’mon, darlin’,” he gestured to the door, “See if we can catch ourselves a rainbow.”

You let out a real, honest to god laugh. It gave you a hint of whiplash, how the Ghoul had managed to save your life, make you hate him, and then make you want to kiss him in such rapid succession over the course of only a few days.

You found yourself suddenly aloof to the idea that he was threatening to use you as a lure for unsuspecting bounties. He was keeping you around, keeping you safe, and you liked him just fine.

Maybe even a little more than that.

~~~

How far, at this point, had you walked? Miles of ground in front of you, miles of ground behind you. It felt like you’d gone nowhere, despite the thousands of steps you’d taken over the course of the week. You were going nowhere, you reminded yourself; aimlessly trekking across the Wasteland and finding what there was to find, looking at what there was to look at.

The Ghoul didn’t seem to have a job at the moment. He’d made it clear that he was employed—if you could call being a bounty hunter a regular nine-to-five—but he hadn’t made any moves to imply that he was searching for anybody, or anything, unless you were to count the vials and chems he ransacked from every hole and hovel he came across.

He continued to surprise and delight, and occasionally disgust, you. You’d seen him eat the raw flesh of dead and desiccated creatures—some that looked human—off the sand. (“Remember what I said, ‘bout usin’ whatcha find?” “That’s disgusting, you don’t know what kind of germs could be crawling around there.” “Think someone that looks like me’s worried ‘bout germs, sweetheart?”) You’d seen him draw a weapon faster than you could take a breath; you’d seen him kill a man without blinking.

But you were wowed by him all the same, the rasp of his voice and the way he whistled through his teeth, the life behind his eyes that teemed with stories of a past you hadn’t been able to shake out of him yet. You hadn’t touched him, had barely closed the often yard-wide gap between the two of you that had become the unspoken norm, since the day the radstorm hit.

Maybe it was for the best. What would your family say about him? They'd be disgusted, horrified by the mere thought of him.

That just made you want him more.

“Can we stop soon?” You withdrew yourself from your thoughts, tired of the way your muscles tensed with every step. The Ghoul didn’t respond, side-eyeing you from beneath his hat. “I’m tired. My legs hurt.” He smirked, and you thought you heard him huff a laugh, but the distance between you was too vast to pick up on the smaller sounds. “Don’t laugh at me, I can’t help you if I can’t move.”

That got his attention. “Y'think you’re helpin’ me?” He smiled. 

“Not burdening you…” You argued about what he’d left unsaid.

“Not doin’ much work, either.” He grunted, and you shot him a dirty look. “Keep on walkin’, darlin’.”

“I don’t want to.” You stomped your foot, regressing into the same shielded, spoiled vault-dweller you knew he thought you were.

“Then how ya gonna get over there’?” He nodded forward, and you followed the direction of his gesture, squinting to see a large, semi-burnt down storefront. “C’mon, sweetheart.” He kept walking, picking up his pace and forcing you to speed up after him. “Y’wanna break, or what?”

The building was in alright condition, as far as the other spaces you’d seen; the windows were broken, the glass finding its way to the ground and becoming sand after what must have been centuries of effort. Someone had started a fire, and ash flaked off the brick. You forced yourself on tired limbs to close the distance between yourself and shelter.

“Go on,” the Ghoul leaned against the doorframe of the store’s entrance, “Check it out.”

“You’re not coming?” You whispered. You knew he wasn’t. This, too, had become common: you were sent in—bait—and he followed behind you at a distance to keep an eye out on who- or whatever might jump out.

He stayed quiet, showing his teeth, and you pouted at him, making your way deeper into the old store.

There was no electricity, but the sun seeped through the cracks in the walls as it began to dip in the sky, creating an almost cozy ambiance. It was huge, the ceilings were high and the store itself must have once housed a near infinite amount of material goods.

You’d be lucky now if you could find a corner that hadn’t already been raided.

Everything was bathed in grays and blues, and you couldn’t tell if it was just the way your eyes adjusted to the dim light, or if the building had been standing for so long that the color had drained out into the desert. Either way, it was eerie, and your finger trembled on the trigger of the rusted pistol the Ghoul had given you as a means of self-preservation. You didn’t really know how to use it, but it was the principle of the thing, you figured.

You maneuvered your way around spent bullet casings and glass, trying to stay silent despite the echo of your footsteps. You heard spurs behind you, the Ghoul following your trail at a safe distance. There was a clamoring, something further into the building down a dark hall that sounded like machinery groaning. You jumped, and the gun in your hand slipped from your grip, sliding across the floor with a harsh skid.

You froze, wincing, and listening for any sign that you’d been heard. The sound of the Ghoul’s steps behind you had also stopped, and you knew then that you’d fucked up—if he was listening, waiting the way you were, then there was cause for alarm. With your heart beating in your ears, you bent forward, fingers creeping across the floor until you managed to get a grip on the tarnished metal of the gun. Standing with a sigh, you worked on regulating your breathing, trying to ease the way your heart beat in your ears.

And then you heard the snap of glass shattering, the rhythm of voices without any real words besides grunts and snarls. You jumped, and your back hit a wall with an unceremonious thump before you fell to your knees.

The sources of the noise approached, surrounding you and leaving you with no route out. You looked straight ahead at withered limbs, clothing torn around ankles and skin peeling off of bone.

And when you looked up, it was him.

Except it wasn’t, not really; the Ghoul was only one man, and before you stood four. All similarly scarred, with broken teeth and missing noses, but there was no individuality—no light in their eyes to tip you off as to who they may have been, once upon a time. The sounds they made were inhuman, screeches that seemed torn from their lungs, maybe due to pain, maybe due to joy, you couldn’t tell. And as they circled you, you didn’t want to find out.

You fumbled with your pistol, unsure of whether the safety was on or off. Your aim was unsteady, and the darting movements of the figures that crowded you made it even more difficult to find a proper target. You winced, aiming at a leg and pulling the trigger.

There was a bang, but it didn’t come from your weapon.

“Gotta do all th’fuckin’ work,” you heard the Ghoul, snide and confident even despite the gravity of the situation. He shot to kill, quick to find weakness, and chuckling when they fell in heaps atop their own feet.

You watched him kick at a corpse. The noise subsided as he holstered his weapon, but you had covered your ears and were unwilling to remove your hands.

“Hell was that?” The Ghoul was standing in front of you now, his voice muffled through your palms. You stared past him at the bodies on the ground, at one point daring to let your eyes dart from the deceased to the man who killed them and back; the similarities were glaring, and it made bile rise to the back of your mouth, fighting your throat’s constriction as you choked down tears.

And suddenly you were sobbing, pulse beating hard against your skin and sweat collecting on your back. You felt sick, you felt scared—maybe even betrayed. You were panicking, unable to breathe or speak or think, only aware of the fact that you were utterly terrified.

“Well, now—hey,” You’d uncovered your ears, wrapping your arms around your knees and squeezing them to your chest, letting the Ghoul’s voice travel to you with more ease.

“Y—” you felt like you were hyperventilating, “You.” Trying to voice your concerns proved difficult in this state.

The Ghoul watched on, the muscle in his jaw tightening as he debated what to do.

He didn’t like you like this. He liked you feisty and stubborn, chatty and glowing. In the dark light of the building, splattered with feral blood and choking on your own breath, you were far from what he’d gotten used to. It startled him a little, not the image of you crying—he’d seen you cry before, and he'd seen far worse from others—but the knowledge that, to an extent, it was his fault.

And he could blame his response on the part of him that still felt shame, something that morphed into a nagging urge to defend himself against accusations of being a downright monster. But he knew, deep down somewhere, that it was because of the part of him that still felt compassion; empathy, even fondness, for you.

That’s why he sat next to you, sliding his back down against the wall while you spluttered and coughed through tears.

He eased the old pistol away from you, pushing it into a crack in the wall and cursing himself for letting you have it in the first place. You’d be better off without it; he’d do all he could to keep you protected.

“Not me, darlin’,” he kept his voice low, “Ferals. Of which I am not one…” Yet, he could’ve mentioned, but even he could choose denial.

“They look—had your face.” You heaved, rocking back slightly.

“You really think I’m that ugly?” He laughed, but you remained despondent, painted with a thousand-yard stare. He took on a different approach. “Listen, now. C’mon, sweetheart, look.” He draped a hand over your shoulder, and despite the loose, open-ended nature of the touch, you felt significantly more grounded. “’Member how I said this face’ll be everybody’s someday?”

You nodded, remembering his jab at your question during the radstorm. Your heartbeat wailed against your skull.

“’N then, someday…” He hadn’t experienced difficulty in picking his word choice like this since trying to answer Janey’s question about where babies came from. “Someday it all turns to shit. You turn into a—a nameless drop in the bucket.” He said, frankly. “But it’s, uh…it’s preventable, to an extent.”

“You don’t have a name.” You stared at him, skin blotchy and eyes swollen. It broke his heart a little. “You already don’t have a name.”

“Happens to the best ‘f us.” He tamped down the stutter in his chest, finding a way to circumvent your unspoken question. "All ghouls, eventually...go a little feral."

“All ghouls turn feral…” You repeated the moral of his story, and he nodded.

He fished a vial from him pocket, holding it out to you. “Long as I got these, I’ll be jus’ peachy.”

You let him drop the vial in your hand, looking at the off-color liquid inside of it and squeezing it in your palm. “I don’t want…” You let go of the glass, holding it back out to him. “I don’t want it to happen to you.”

“Makes two of us,” he put the vial back into his pocket, sighing. “But I got plenty o’these, ‘n there’s always more t'be found.”

You stayed quiet, letting your limbs finally relax and spreading your legs out in front of you. There was a long pause that you spent calming your heart rate, letting your lungs relax.

“I like you the way you are.” You whispered, and it was those words that finally made him own his feelings; the way you are. Not the way you were, not who you could’ve been or who you were meant to be. You appreciated him as he was, and it was the first time in more than two centuries that he had felt any sense of warmth from another living thing. It was the first time in just as long that he’d felt like a man and not a monstrosity.

It was why he didn’t fight it when you wrapped yourself around him, arms tugging him down into a tight hug. He scoffed at the display of what he assumed—hoped—was affection, but he let his arms circle your body.

Your face pressed into his neck, firmer than the brief moment you’d shared on the couch, and you breathed him in now just as you had then; the heat and the tin of his skin, the leather of his duster, and the iron of his ammo belt that dug into your front. He was softer now, malleable to your touch, unlike the stiff, unmoving man he’d been when you leaned up against him all those weeks ago.

He rested his chin on the crown of your head, taking a long, deep breath. “’N I like you much more when you ain’t blubberin’ like a goddamn newborn.”

You giggled, knowing that it was the closest he'd get to telling you that he cared, even a little bit.

“The stars,” you mumbled against him, and he pulled back, trying to look down at your face.

“What’s’at?”

“That first night, outside. You asked me what I was looking at,” you explained, “And I told you that you could kill me if you wanted, instead of just answering you. But I was looking at the stars…” You sighed, settling back against the wall.

He scoffed. “Jus’ stars.”

“No.” You argued, “Not just stars. They’re everything.” You tilted your head at him, and he accepted with a shrug.

He let his head loll back, removing his hat and scanning the surroundings. He caught a glimpse of something in his peripheral, a wide crack in the upper part of the wall that let the night seep in. He elbowed you, nodding his chin in the direction of the hole that opened the building to the sky.

“Look‘t that.” He smiled at the way you lit up next to him, and he followed your gaze to appreciate the view in silence with you.

Comfortable next to him, centimeters replacing the usual feet between you, you saw life in the stars the same way you saw life behind his eyes. And he didn’t understand your excitement, until he looked hard enough and saw the same shimmer in the sky that he saw in you.

“Cooper.” He mumbled, still looking at the stars. You turned to him, lips parted in preparation to ask what he was talking about. “My name. I got one—Cooper.”

You smiled, an inexplicable sense of tranquility washing over you as the new knowledge settled in your brain. “Cooper.” You said, testing the weight of the letters on your tongue.

“Don’t go usin’ it up. Make me regret tellin’ ya,” he smirked, trying to hide his satisfaction upon hearing you say his name behind a veneer of callousness. “Got a reputation t’keep.”

You breathed deep, not quite a yawn but more than a sigh. “I know, Cooper.” You rested your head on his shoulder, not to test the waters or attempt a romantic gesture; it was just pleasant to experience something quiet, personal, like this. “I know.”

~~~

“Christ, you sleep like a fuckin’ rock.” His voice was the first thing you registered when you opened your bleary eyes. Your neck was stiff, your cheeks felt crusty with the residue of dry tears, and the floor was crooked. You’d fallen asleep on him, perched just under his shoulder, and he’d let you. “Snore, too.”

“Yeah, well,” you sat up, rolling your neck and wincing at the cracks that sounded from your joints as you stretched, “Sleep comes easy when I have my guard dog watching out for me.”

He scoffed, a small smile forming on his lips. “Don’ expect me to bark for ya, sweetheart.”

“All you do is bark.” You rolled your eyes, beginning to find the motivation to stand.

“S’not true,” there was a glint in his eye that you couldn’t read into fully, “Could bite ‘f’I wanted.”

You’d seen him land a shot without so much as glancing at his target. He was telling the truth.

You sighed, finally standing. You folded yourself over your front, touching your toes and trying to loosen the knots in your back. “Well, Coop,” you straightened, “Can I call you Coop?” You second guessed your courage, unsure of whether or not he’d take kindly to you shortening the name he’d only just entrusted you with.

“You my fuckin’ publicist?” He quirked a brow up at you, recalling the dozens of conversations he’d had that had begun just like this.

“I should be,” you straightened out, rolling your shoulders and shooting him a grin. “You could use one.”

He scowled at you. “Y’gotta question or what?”

“What now?” You shook out your limbs lazily.

“What now?” He echoed your words. He stayed on the floor, legs in front of him crossed at his ankles. “What’ya mean, darlin’?”

You didn’t really know what you meant; usually it was him calling the shots, but he seemed to be waiting for some kind of prompt. “You know, I mean…what should we…do…today?” You spoke slowly.

“Today?” He laughed, “Today…sweetheart, today’s come ‘n gone.”

You knit your brow, confused, and he pointed in the direction of the crack in the ceiling. It was still dark—dark again if you understood him correctly.

“You let me sleep all day?” The notion made you feel a bit frantic for some reason, having grown accustomed to sleeping for barely four hours at a time over the past few weeks. His constant need of movement made it hard to rest easy.

“You needed it,” he shrugged, picking at a spot on his duster.

And you had needed it, but the idea that he had let you doze for what was, as far as you could tell, close to a full twenty-four hours was more than a little puzzling; that he had let you sleep on him for the duration is what really threw you for a loop. Maybe the fact that you knew him by name made him nervous. Maybe it made him nervous enough to let you make decisions for the both of you now, for fear of the fallout.

Or, and much less likely, you thought, but much more appealing: maybe he just wanted to let you rest. Because you needed it. And he didn’t mind acting as a placeholder for a pillow.

The butterflies in your stomach made haste upwards in your body and settled in your heart.

“I did.” You deflated a little. Regardless of any reason behind why this had happened, you still felt guilty about making him lose the span of an entire day that could have been spent wandering in whatever direction called to him. “I’m sorry.”

He shook his head. “Ain’t got a reason to be.”

“I made you—”

“Didn’t make me do a goddamn thing, sweetheart.” He ground his teeth together, jaw swaying back and forth.

“We could be somewhere else by now.” You tried to argue, squaring your shoulders.

“Got nowhere to be.”

His words were spoken with a sense of finality, and you knew when to back down.

“I been thinkin’,” he piped up again when you got quiet. He finally made the move to stand; he winced as he bent his knees, his body having grown accustomed to staying in the same position for so long.

“About?” You watched him stretch.

“You still wanna wear that?” He waved his chin at your figure, forcing you to examine the tattered sleeves of your vault suit that were caked in dirt and debris—and more than likely a few pints of blood from various donors. “Just—seems like more of a hindrance than anything.”

“It’s fine.” You sneered at him, unsure of why you decided to get defensive. It was a creature comfort, of sorts, and while it certainly got the wrong kind of attention out in the open, getting rid of it felt like stripping yourself of the only identity you’d ever really had.

And he knew that, which is why he had voiced his thought. Not only was it something people would use—and they had used it—against you, but it was obstructing your ability to move on completely. He felt a sense of responsibility in ensuring that you managed to maintain a level of dignity in your soul searching.

“It’s hangin’ off o'you in shreds.” He continued, and you shifted on your feet. You couldn’t deny that any emotional connection to your outfit was outweighed by discomfort of the holes and tears it had collected. You bit your cheek, looking down at the floor and back at him in silent acknowledgement of his point. “Y’gotta change o’clothes in that bag?” He grinned, and you frowned.

“No...” There was no use now in coming up with any snark retorts. He licked his top teeth, staring at you “So, what?” You tried to find his point, “You want me to strip down and wander around naked?” If he asked you to, it was more than likely that you would obey without a second thought. By now, you knew better than to feel disgust for confessing things of this nature to yourself. But even so, you knew this admission was probably not a good reflection of the unrelentingly self-contained attitude you tried to show him.

Not to mention that nobody had ever so much as seen you without a shirt on, let alone the whole nine yards.

He bit back any response that might expose the interest he had in your suggestion, though he raked his gaze up and down over your body, smirking, before sucking his teeth and shaking his head. “We’re in a fuckin’ store.” His eyes finally met yours, and you stared back at him blankly. “Full ‘f clothes.” He continued, and you understood.

“There’s nothing left,” you spread your arms out for emphasis, gesturing to the run-down remains of gutted shops.

“Ooh, I bet ya there is.” He turned on his heels, taking long strides that had you jogging to catch up with him as he made his way down a corridor and towards a defunct escalator.

The sound of his boots against the tile floor echoed across the building, and even despite your long period of rest, you felt sluggish and unprotected; your back was an easy target, and with every click of his heel you found yourself turning your head, peering back into nothing, just in case.

“Nobody here,” Cooper noticed the constant swivel of your neck, “Relax.”

“How do you know?” You tried to cement your gaze forward.

“Would’a heard.”

“That’s—you can’t expect to hear people coming in this building, it’s huge.”

“Can hear you,” he gave you a pointed look, and you quieted yourself. “Here we go.” He nodded to a heap at the far end of the open space you’d found yourselves in. You squinted at the pile, and you could make out individual shapes and parts.

Bodies. Stacked atop one another as they wasted away into soggy organic matter. You began to make out whole people, some fresh enough that they could still leave an identifiable fingerprint.

“Cooper,” you froze, shoulders rigid and eyes wide in fear and disgust, “I don’t—”

“C’mon now, sweetheart,” he walked right up to the collection of putrefying bodies, bending down to peel a strand of flesh from a bloated arm that flopped out of the mass. “Clothes for you, meal for me.” He smirked, rolling the loose skin in his fingers before putting it in his mouth.

You sucked your lips into your teeth; the primal actions he often displayed made you feel pure in a way you wanted to rinse yourself of, shower in the wild side.

But only if he was the one scrubbing.

You shook your head. “This is the best you could do?”

“Tailor’s outta town,” he sneered, “Could’a just said thank you.”

“I—no, I respect the…attempt…” You dug your toe into the worn floor.

“But…” Cooper tilted his forehead at you, picking skin from his teeth with his tongue.

“But this is gross. Come on, even you know this is gross.”  You crossed your arms, peering up at him beneath knit brows.

“Use what’cha find.” He said simply, reiterating his mantra. You huffed, letting him have the final word.

You rounded the pile of bodies, looking out from behind Cooper as he sorted through the gore to find a suitable mark for his next move. He let out a triumphant noise when he turned over a man who was yet to begin the latter process of autolysis, providing the ability to smoothly undress him.

“This feels wrong.” You grit out when Cooper had removed the corpse’s overshirt. “This goes against—this is unethical.”

“You wanna change o’clothes or not?” Cooper rolled his eyes, and you piped down.

Despite your protests, spoken and cringed, you continued to watch as the body was stripped of its earthly possessions. Shirt, shoes—lucky bastard even had socks. Cooper tossed them all your way, throwing the clothes over his shoulder and at your chest. When he reached to undo the man’s belt, you felt your chest tighten; it wasn’t discomfort, per se, but it wasn’t anything pleasant, either. Something about seeing someone naked for the first time in this context made you feel melancholic. It wasn’t supposed to be like this, both in the sense that you felt that you were invading the privacy of the dead, but also in the more selfish sense that you felt it would be ruining something for you.

You turned around, trying to find something else to stare at instead of following the Ghoul’s hands as they roamed over the corpse for any hidden gems. He didn’t notice your movement, holding the jeans he’d unfastened from the dead man behind his shoulder to pass on to you.

“What the hell’re you doin’?” He turned to face the back of your head after a minute of shaking the denim at you. “Don’ tell me you decided t’get squeamish now, darlin’.”

You turned around to swipe the pants from his hands. “Not squeamish,” you started walking away, scouting out an area that would offer some seclusion, “You’re just being gross.”

“Me?” He feigned shock.

You stopped walking, turning to face him, rolling the skin of your cheeks between your teeth. “Come on…smells bad.”

Cooper waved you off, unsheathing a dagger and butchering a nearly unidentifiable limb off of a corpse. He flopped the meat over his shoulder, putting the dagger back into the sleeve it had been pulled from. After fiddling for a few more moments with the bodies, discovering two more vials of his precious chem in threadbare pockets, he held the carved appendage out to you; he swayed it as if it were part of his own arm, urging you forward. You scoffed, turning to walk away, staying several steps ahead of him.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

~~~

You had to hand it to him, Cooper knew how to scavenge; the clothes he’d taken off the body were only slightly too big on you. It was nothing rolling the cuffs up and tearing off some excess fabric couldn’t fix. You felt less constricted—free to move about without the limitations, both physical and mental, of your ruined vault suit.

“Couple holes.” You ducked out of the old storage room you’d found to change in and made your way back to the Ghoul. He’d started a campfire on the linoleum flooring, and you didn’t question how or why.

“You’ll live.” He tore chunks of flesh from the decomposing arm he’d procured. “Better than what ya had.” You watched as he rotated the meat clumsily over the fire with his hands, barely giving it enough time to rise back to living temperatures before taking it off the flame to gnaw from the bone.

“Yeah,” there was no point in arguing. He was right, and you felt silly for finding issues with what you supposed he might consider a gift.

You sat next to him in silence, knees grazing but not creating any real tension. Something about him was so much more reassuring now, a sort of consolation to being stuck in a world so far from what you’d imagined, than just the mysterious man with no nose or empathy that you’d pegged him for that first day.

Even if he was noseless, you tried not to laugh at your internal monologue, he definitely had more feelings than he let on—he cared and commiserated and let you sleep for way too long.

And you felt safe in a way you’d never felt safe before; far from any made-up threat you’d been taught to watch for in the vault, faced with genuine danger for the first time in your life, you still felt that, somehow, by his side, no harm would come to you.

It was more than a feeling. It was a fact.

You stared, unashamed, as he continued to take bites out of the disembodied arm. Cooper glanced at you from his peripheral and slowed his chewing, daring you to say something.

“What’s it taste like?” You finally gave in.

“We playin’ twenty questions again?” He shot back, swallowing what was in his mouth and throwing what was now mostly bone and muscle to the side.

“Is it like regular meat?” You pushed on, ignoring his quip.

“Y’ever had reindeer?” Cooper leaned back on his hands, and with his face only a few inches from yours, the position felt oddly intimate.

“No…” You tilted your head.

“Gamey,” he explained, “Like beef.” He smiled, “Course the flavor, it varies…person to person.”

“Funny.” You stuck your tongue between your teeth. You still thought it was gross, but you couldn’t deny that he made even cannibalism a light subject.

“Yeah? My turn now.” He sat up, “Why’d you get weird ‘round the bodies back there?”

“I was weird with the bodies?” You tried to play dumb.

“Got all prissy.”

“Did not.”

“Oh, yes y’did.”

“You were being disgusting…”

“When am I not?” He pointed out, grinning, and you conceded with a small smile and a nod of your head. “Cmon sweetheart…did it really bother you to see me doin all’at?” He seemed genuinely puzzled by you in this moment. You looked away, staring at your thumbs as you twiddled them in your lap. He took a chance, gloved fingers coming up to your chin and brushing your skin ever so gently. He refocused your gaze on him. “…Cause I won’t do it no more if it makes y’feel…weird.”

“No. it’s not…” You took a deep breath. Maybe it was stupid to get sensitive about it, maybe it was stupid to feel strange about the situation in the first place. You doubted that anybody in the Wasteland ever thought twice about seeing another person’s body—dead or alive. “I’ve just never seen anybody naked before.”

Cooper’s hand dropped from your face and into his lap. “Y’fuckin serious?” He grinned, “You’re kidding.” He was clearly on the verge of laughter, whether from amusement or shock, you couldn’t tell.

“No, I—look. I know it’s not a big deal, it’s probably not something people even think about up here. But it felt—something about seeing another person naked when they’re not…like, when they’re completely lifeless and unaware, it felt wrong to do that.” He didn’t respond, so you continued, “And honestly, it probably sounds insane, or, at the very least, maybe, a little selfish, but I felt like it was wrong because it would be stripping them of a choice, but it would also be stripping me of any choice. You know? Like, maybe it doesn’t matter to everybody else out here, but I’d like to…I mean, I want it to matter as much as it can, at this rate.” You sucked in a breath, deciding that you were done with your rant.

The Ghoul stared at you, his eyes wide but his bald brow knit in an obvious combination of delight and curiosity.

“You never seen a naked body before?” He tried to make his voice come out evenly, hiding his amusement.

“I…never like…” you failed to think of something that might lessen the blow of your revelation, “Not really, no.”

He let out a whistle, shaking his head. “Hell are y’all doin’ in the vaults if you’re not fuckin’?” It was rhetorical, you knew that, but you still felt defensive.

“There’s plenty to do.” The words came out flat, and you laughed nervously to lighten your tone.

He chuckled. “I bet.” He sucked his teeth, letting his eyes flicker over you again. There was a pregnant pause. Dead air hung between the two of you while you tried to ignore his gaze, opting to pick at a loose thread on your new shirt.

“Plenty to do…” You tried to steer the conversation somewhere—anywhere—that would help ease the tension.

“Yeah,” Cooper let his head loll back, “Let’s hear it, then.”

You scooted back on your hands to give yourself the room to properly face him, situating yourself a foot away to allow for the physical space to think.

“Movies to watch and…chores to do…” You tried to think of anything worthwhile you’d done growing up in the vaults but found yourself coming up dry. “Sometimes there were, you know…events.”

“’N you never found yourself at one o’those events with some arm candy?” He was taunting you, and he wouldn’t be ashamed to admit that he was getting a sort of sadistic thrill out of seeing you squirm under his playful interrogation.

“Slim pickings.” You huffed, staring into the fire.

“I’ll be,” he smirked, “For someone so sure of herself, you ain’t seen nothin’, have ya?” He was thinking out loud, analyzing you to your face.

You felt the need to correct him, both out of self-preservation, but also because, and this was a bigger reason than you cared to own up to, you wanted him to know that you weren’t scared of anything—especially not the thing he was implying.

Maybe you were naïve, but you weren’t stupid.

“Don’t really need another person to have a good time.” You made a point to catch his line of sight, eyes holding his as you tilted your head against your shoulder.

The Ghoul whistled, long and low. “Well, now. Talk about self-sufficient.”

You felt heat rise in your face, dappling your neck with a rosy veil. “I’m not stupid, Cooper. I know what you’re talking about.”

“What am I talkin’ ‘bout, darlin’?” He goaded, fingers toying with a button beneath his collar.

“Just cause I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I’m some sort of—I dunno, some sort of…poor shrinking violet who can’t figure it out,” your heart was in your throat now, afraid to take the conversation too far but so desperate to get a reaction out of him. “I know how to…to, you know…” You let your voice fade, chickening out when he failed to change his facial expression.

There was another long stretch of silence. Cooper let his head fall forward, arms coming to rest, folded, over his stomach, as he anticipated the end of your sentence. When you didn’t come out with it, he prodded you verbally.

“Know how’ta what?” He grinned, yellow teeth on display and tongue darting between them in a movement you were sure he wasn’t even conscious of. He leaned forward further, moving his face towards you without actually budging an inch from his spot on the floor. “You don’t know how to deal with death, how t’use a gun—y’barely even know when you’re too tired to stand…” His tongue pushed through the crack in his top and bottom rows of teeth, wetting his lips. “But ya expect me t’believe that y’know how to make yourself cum?” He let his tongue rest on his bottom lip before closing his mouth, sneering mischievously. There was a bright speck of something in his eyes that seemed to be fighting with the more devious glint brewing in him, and paired with his brazen statement, it tugged at your core.

And despite it all, you felt completely at ease; the sudden suspense and the violent thrum of your heartbeat aside, you were almost entirely calm. You knew you were safe, that the solace he cloaked you with spanned to even the most random and uncertain situations or conversations.

So you continued on.

“Took some trial and error,” you felt nervous laughter bubble up from your throat, “But I got the hang of it.” You smiled, before quirking your brow and addressing yourself more so than him, “I think.”

“You think…” He repeated, eyes narrowing as his gaze turned inquisitive.

“Just, you know…” You squirmed under his gaze now, “Not really a how-to manual on touching yourself…”

He exhaled, laughing through the hole where his nose should’ve been. “Maybe not in the vaults.” He dug in his pockets, unsure if the lightheadedness he was feeling should be blamed on a lack of chem in his system or on the topic of conversation. He took a puff before settling again. “Plenty o’guidance up here.”

“You mean, like…porn?” You smiled, shooting him a knowing look.

“At one point. Not anymore,” he sagged a little, “Lucky if ya find a fuckin’ playboy mag up out here.”

“You seem disappointed by that,” you prodded, teasing.

“That’s cause I am,” he shot back, stretching his shoulders.

“Well, all I’m saying is I know what I’m doing.” You rested your back against the wall, hands clasped in your lap.

“And I’m sayin’ that I sincerely doubt it.” He put the inhaler back into his pocket, deciding it was definitely the conversation that was to blame for the way his head swam.

You let his words hang between the two of you momentarily. Then, on a whim, figuring that you’d had plenty of chances before, and being unwilling to let another one slip away: “I could show you.” You didn’t look up at him, but he stiffened, his eyes unwittingly falling to stare at your hands. “How I…how I touch, I mean.”

You braced yourself for rejection, looking up sheepishly and letting your hands fall to your sides. He was already looking back at you, lips parted and eyes half-lidded—he could say no, and he thought about it for a moment. But, Christ, it had been a long time. And the more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn’t say no.

Not to you. Not when it came to something like this, a vision, a woman untouched by the grit and grime of the surface, offering up something that now seemed so holy.

He sucked in a breath; he had never been a church goer. He thought maybe now was a good time to make up for all the sins he’d committed—worship at the shrine of you, talk you through your own wrongs and absolve himself of the thoughts he’d been having since he’d first encountered you all those weeks ago.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, sweetheart…go on ahead…”

You exhaled shakily, not even realizing that you’d been holding in a breath. You scrambled to lose the jeans he’d gifted you, eager to expose yourself, immensely grateful for the chance that had dropped in your lap.

“Hold’t,” his voice cut through your motions, and you froze. You’d gone too far, surely. He recognized the error he had made by giving you the go ahead and was now taking it all back. “Y’gonna listen when I say you’re doin’ it wrong?” He sucked on his lips.

“I won’t—I don’t do it wrong.” There was no bite to your argument.

“I asked ya’a question,” he continued, “Y’gonna listen t’me? Gonna fix your mistakes ‘f’I tell ya to?” He bent one knee, resting his hand limply between his legs. “Do what I fuckin’ say to do?”

You bit the inside of your bottom lip, trying to hide the impact his words had on you. “Yeah,” you nodded, “Yeah, Coop. I will.”

You thought maybe you heard him growl, but any noise coming from him was muddled by the sound of your zipper finally coming undone.

“Good,” he nodded, “Knew you could be a good girl. Just need’a blow off some steam, huh?”

This time, you couldn’t avoid the soft moan that slipped past your lips. Cooper let out an amused exhale in response, eyes trained on your hips as you wiggled your way out of the pants.  

“Yeah, you like this,” he got comfortable, resting one arm behind his head, only nearly knocking his hat off. “Like gettin’ bossed around more than you let on, darlin’.”

“Shut up,” you tried to keep it together, kicking the jeans off your legs and tossing them to the side. But your words were unconvincing, especially with the way you barely smiled, breath hitching already and eyes wild and blown out. You did like it—but only because he was doing it.

He tsked at your response. “Not very nice. Big talk from someone with no panties on.”

In such a short time span, you’d already forgotten that you’d ridded yourself of your underwear. It was gross, and you’d had no change, and it wasn’t as if you’d be thrilled to peel the undergarments off a corpse. You figured commando was the most obvious way to go.

“That a bad thing?” You goaded him, running a palm down your naked thigh and seeing how long it would take to break his collected demeanor.

“Never said that,” he drawled, following your hand on its path down your leg. “Y’gonna keep puttin’ on a li’l show f’me, or ya gonna do what’cha promised?” He licked his lips.

“You don’t like a little showmanship?” You squeezed your thighs together, not missing how his chest rose.

“With my killin’,” he found your eyes, “Not with my pussy.”

If this was a competition to see who could keep it together the longest, you’d be losing by a landslide.

“Spread those legs f’me, baby.”

And with all the pet names he’d given you in your time with him, something as simple as the word baby falling from his lips and landing on your skin had you flooded with arousal.

You did what you were told, straightening your legs and feeling the tile of the floor cling to your skin as you opened them. The Ghoul’s gaze flickered between your face and your core, both positioned perfectly towards him.

“C’mon,” he nodded, “Show me how good ya make yourself feel.”

You knew what he wanted to see. Even after his claims of disliking the display you were putting on, you could tell that he was just being impatient for show. You wanted to draw this out, watch him come undone in sync with you despite the physical distance.

You let your hand roam over the tops of your thighs, feather soft touches making goosebumps erupt on your skin in anticipation for what was to come.

“How y’feel?” He disrupted the otherwise silent escapade you were undertaking.

 “Soft…” you mumbled, “Warm.” You didn’t know if he was asking about your emotions or for the physical description of what your skin felt like on your fingers, but your mind was blank with adrenaline, so you subconsciously chose to focus on the latter.

He took a deep breath, afraid that if he were to blink, he would miss something. “How ‘bout you drop that hand a li’l lower.”

You sighed as you followed his instruction. The pads of your fingers brushed your clit, and you squeaked out a moan.

How long had it been since you’d gotten any time to enjoy yourself? Certainly longer than the month or so you'd been on the surface; with Cooper, you never had the solitude or time to let yourself unwind, and even before joining him, you were more focused on surviving than you were on unwinding. 

You let your fingers circle your clit, building the pressure with every swipe. The friction made you buck your hips gently, sweat-slick skin sliding on the floor. You could feel the way your cunt began to drip, and you spread your legs wider, wanting to give him a proper view. You looked up at him, your face painted with an underlying uncertainty behind the overarching pleasure.

“You got it, sweetheart,” he reassured you, briefly biting down on his tongue when he saw the way your slit glistened, “Show me.”

You relaxed into your own body; fingers dropping lower to tease your entrance were met with a backing score of delicious wet sounds as you let the pads graze beyond your folds and kiss at your hole. You moved your hand at an angle to allow one finger to push into your cunt down to the first knuckle, but Cooper tsked at you.

“Not yet,” his breath was already becoming labored, “Show that pretty pearl a li’l more love first.”

The timbre of his voice made you shiver despite the heat that engulfed your skin. You nodded, staring up at him for guidance, just as you always did—though this circumstance was far different.

Your fingers came back up to toy with your clit, and you let out a breathy sound. He had been right to tell you to slow down, to continue to enjoy the friction instead of diving straight into the penetration; you felt light and malleable, like your body was taking a natural route towards the apex of pleasure without needing the frantic thrust of your finger.

Another moan slipped past your lips, and the Ghoul groaned in front of you, eyes glued to your center as you massaged gentle shapes onto your clit.

“Knew ya didn’t know what y’were doin’,” he chastised softly, voice uncharacteristically tender given the state of events unfolding. “Impatient thing like you just needs some instruction. S’at right, sweetheart?” He leaned forward, bending a knee, “Needed someone to tell ya how t’do it so it feels real good?”

You bucked against your hand, in the midst of discovering something new about yourself; maybe you did need it—maybe you liked it. It could have been the simple fact that it was him taunting you, telling you what you wanted and how you wanted it, but his words had you keening, and you let go of any remaining inhibition.

“Yeah,” you mewled, “Yes…” Your movements were getting sloppy, fingers frantic against your swelling bud. “Like—like it like this.”

He growled, pushing air through gritted teeth that formed a menacing smile meant only for you. “Slow down there,” he wanted to grab your wrist, to replace your hand with his own, but something about the chaste, urgent nature of how you touched yourself made him all the more eager to watch how your own movements played out. “Don’ gotta rush it, baby.”

You knew you'd been right—he did like a little showmanship.

“But—” You wanted to argue; it felt good, and the thought of stopping made you squirm harder. But with his eyes on you the way they were, and his hat tipping forward to emphasize his demand, you let the response die in your throat, slowing your fingers.

“Atta girl,” he praised, and your smile was paired with a small whine. “You like the way I’m talkin’?” He was playing with you, flirting while making sure the waters were still welcoming.

“I do,” you responded with a whimper, thrilled by the noises you made, having only ever touched yourself in silence for fear of getting caught.

“Good. Cause I’m’a keep goin’,” he leaned back once more, shifting slightly to ease the tightness that had sprung up in his trousers. “Give that pussy what she needs—slow, now.”

You pressed a finger into your hole, watching it soak in the wet that dripped from you. You wanted to go faster, to push it in completely and fuck yourself on it, but you refrained from the urge to do so and went leisurely as instructed.

“Fuck,” you breathed when the webs of your fingers stretched over your lips, as deep as you could get inside yourself. “Been a—it’s been a minute since I’ve done this.”

“Easy, now—s’why I’m goin’ slow.” He spoke as if he was the one touching you, as if his finger was buried within you in place of your own.

“Can I…” You fidgeted around your hand, “What next.”

“So fuckin’ eager t’please,” he chuckled, “Where was’s obedience out there, huh?”

“Had to make you work for it,” you smiled, your words carrying no malice as your hand became more saturated with your juices.

“Curl’at finger up,” he ignored your retort with a blunt demand, “Like yer callin’ me over.”

You did, and the spot your finger grazed made your limbs buzz and your core tighten. Your face must’ve changed to display your sudden pleasure, because Cooper let out a proud grunt.

“Didn’know’at was there, did’ya?”

“No…” You didn’t bother to explore the shameful feeling that nipped at your heels for being so unfamiliar with your own body after talking such a big game, too focused on exploring the tantalizing feeling that traveled through you when you nudged at the spot again. “Fuck, that feels good.”

“I know,” he looked smug, clearly impressed with himself for teaching you something new about your own body. “Add another.”

“Another finger?” Your skin flushed.

“Go on.”

“I—I’ve only ever done one.” You explained, more embarrassed about this fact than you had been to strip and fuck yourself in front of him.

 “Y’can do it,” he shot you a jagged grin, “Would I ever lead y'astray?”

You swallowed your reminder to him that he used you as a lure in any situation he could get away with. Your head drooped, and you watched as you pulled your hand back enough to press a second finger to the one that had been nestled inside of you. You prodded your entrance, sinking them in slowly as you had with the first one. You hissed, unfamiliar pressure filling your abdomen, though not in an unwelcome capacity; it was a warm tension, weighty and grounding, and you quickly found pleasure in the new sensation.

The way you stared down at yourself, legs spread and lips parted, nearly made him snap; you were so curious, so hungry for instructions to follow—so deeply trusting of him. Cooper’s mouth went dry, and his hand fell to his crotch, palming at the growing tent there.

“Look’t that,” he licked his lips, “Y’feel the stretch, sweetheart? Feel nice?”

“Mm,” you whimpered out an answer, remaining focused on the way your hand met your cunt, swallowed to the last knuckle and still wanting more.

“Curl ‘em again f’me,” he muttered, squeezing his cock through the fabric of his pants.

You did, throwing your head back and hitting that same spot he’d directed you to earlier. The sound you made was desperate and primal, coming out husky from deep in your chest.

“God!” You felt like crying happy tears. Something built inside you that you couldn’t stop, and it felt good—it felt right.

“He can’t help ya now, darlin’,” the Ghoul’s mouth hung open, hypnotized by the urgency in your sounds and the way your body contorted as you tried to keep up with your own pleasure. “Now pull ‘em out ‘n’do it all again. Fast, now—you got it.”

Hurriedly, you pulled your fingers back, then pushed them back in with equal haste, bending them upwards and grazing the delicious spot you’d been missing out on for god only knows how long. You did it again, and again; your repeated movements helped you chase the high you were looking for, hurtling you towards the finish line, and you wanted him to see it as badly as you wanted to feel it.

“Look’t me,” his voice was gruffer now, a dominant edge finding its way in by way of his own lust. “Lemme see y’feel good, sweetheart.”

“C—ooper,” his words hit you exactly where you needed them, finding his gaze with your own and falling apart completely. You pulsed around your fingers, gluey and hot, your skin pricked with gooseflesh despite the humidity and the rush of warmth you felt all over. You moaned, loud and long, but your ears buzzed and your eyes screwed shut so that not even your own sounds could distract from the intensity of the orgasm that washed over you.

When you opened your eyes, squinting in the light of the fire while you took heaving breaths, you expected a blanket of embarrassment to wash over you, some type of mortification for what you’d just done—exposed to another person for the first time, allowing him a view you’d rarely ever even given yourself.

But when you peeked up at him through heavy eyelids, gulping down air, he looked dazed, his mouth agape and eyes wide. And suddenly you felt pride more than anything—you’d managed to leave the most feared man for miles at a total loss.

His hand was still on his crotch, raking his eyes over you, your form illuminated by the campfire. His throat felt dry, and he coughed a few times, hunching over to collect himself before he made eye contact with you again.

“Goddamn,” he gasped, swallowing his coughing fit, “Fast learner.”

“Good teacher,” you grinned, toeing at the discarded jeans that had been left in a heap at your feet.

“Pretty when you cum,” he rolled his shoulders back, still foggy with arousal after seeing you whine and writhe for him.

That made you blush, not out of embarrassment, but because it was the first real compliment he’d paid you. “Never done it like that before.”

“Never had a ghoul teach ya how t’do it right.” He joked, and you smiled at the way he returned so quickly to his usual snark.

“Never cum that hard, that fast.” You admitted, shooting him a glance before leaning forward to grab the wrinkled denim off the floor.

“Had me fooled,” he took out his inhaler, “Needy fuckin’ thing.” That sent a buzz through your body, and you pressed your thighs together to alleviate the ache in your cunt.

“You liked it.” You quirked a brow, dropping your gaze to your legs and pulling the oversized pants back on.

“Never said I didn’t,” he pointed out, “Almost made me cum my pants like some fuckin’ schoolboy.”

“Never done that either,” you yawned, “Made someone else cum.”

“Don’t think it’d be a hard lesson for y’t’learn,” he smirked, “Natural’at you are.”

“It’ll have to wait,” you didn’t know why you assumed it would happen at all, subconsciously hoping that this wouldn’t be forgotten in a day’s time, “Tired.”

“Course y’are,” he offered no explanation, shifting in his spot. He raised an arm and beckoned to you, encouraging you to come closer.

You did, no stranger to doing what he told you to do, and found yourself curled against his side. He smelled like smoke and sex—musky and dewy in a way that made you feel at home.

“I got first watch, y’fuckin—” he cut is taunting short when he looked down at you, seeing you fast asleep.

☆Like my work? Buy me a ko-fi :)☆

[me-and-your-husband]

yours truly and forever || j. miller

summary: you find ellie and joel in need of help, desperately. you take care of the two, when affection for joel creeps up on you and you can’t shake it. he can’t stay, but maybe, if you don’t think too hard about it, that won’t matter. 

an extension from the end of episode six, “kin”. 

warnings: female reader, kinda reference to the events of the game, so potential spoilers for the season i guess?, angst, smut, smut with feels, fingering, dirty talk, unprotected sex, creampie, size kink (?), half proofread, not as feral as what i usually write? kinda soft sex. let me know if i missed anything.

word count: 5.6k (i think this is officially my longest fic???)

A/N: episode six destroyed me on a different level. didn’t stop my thirst tho. also, i am NOT a medical professional so the terminology and stuff is probably not correct. tried my best.

here’s my masterlist if you’d like to read more of my work!

“I think we’re safe.” Joel’s weak body slumped off the horse, falling into the snow. “Joel, no, no, no! Shit,” Ellie cursed as she dismounted the horse and scrambled to him. She called his name to no avail, using his hands to cover the festering wound on his abdomen. “Joel, open your eyes. Open your eyes. Joel, you gotta get up,” she pleaded. Her voice dropped to a whisper, “I can’t fucking do this without you. I don’t know where the fuck I’m going, or what the fuck I’m gonna do. Joel! Please. Joel, please.”

She sat fisting his collar, pleading for him to open his eyes, when she heard the sound of hooves shuffling through the snow. She first thought Shimmer had run off. Whipping around, the horse was right where she left it. The panic that was already coursing through her became more potent. She reached for her gun, ducking in the snow next to Joel. She could almost taste her fear on her tongue as a figure on a black horse trotted over to Shimmer. Reaching out a hand to stroke Shimmer’s muzzle, the figure said, “Hey, girl. Where’d you come from?” It was a woman’s voice. Ellie clutched her gun, just the way Joel had taught her. The woman dismounted her horse, boots crunching in the snow as she walked around Shimmer. When her gaze trailed down to the young girl with a gun pointing at her, she brought her hands up slowly, non-threateningly. 

“Stay back!” Ellie shouted. She couldn’t see much of the woman, a bandana covering her neck, reaching under her eyes. She had a hat on, one of the ones Maria had worn in Jackson. She was well bundled for the weather, Ellie noted. Must live around here. 

“I’m not here to hurt you. Just saw a stray horse. Thought someone might need help, is all,” you said, hands still in the air. “And it looks like I was right.”

Ellie glanced towards Joel. “How do I know you’re not gonna kill us? Fucking eat us, or something?” She spat. 

You laughed, “I’m not going to eat you. That’s what my cattle and crops are for.” You told her your name. “I’ve got a house just a few miles up. I was doing a perimeter check before I found you, actually. It’s secure. I can help your dad there.”

Ellie didn’t bother correcting you. Instead, she contemplated taking you up on your offer. Well, if she didn’t go with you, Joel was dead. If Joel died, she might as well be dead too. “Fine.”

“Will you lower your gun so I can help him?”

She put her gun down, watching as you calmly moved towards Joel, hiking him up over your shoulder and situating him on top of your horse. You sat behind him, his weight fully leaning against you, as Ellie mounted her horse. “This way,” you said, pressing your calf into your horse’s ribcage to get her to go. Ellie followed close behind as you led her to your home. 

“Why’re you helping us?” Ellie asked when you were about halfway there.

You took a few seconds to answer. “There was a time when I needed someone to help me, but nobody would. This way, come on.”

You put the passcode into the keypad, opening the gate, gesturing for Ellie and Shimmer to go in first. You followed her, instructing her towards the large white house that sat in the middle of the property. When you got to the porch, you dismounted the horse and placed the man back over your shoulder, climbing up the steps. Ellie dismounted too, looking for some place to tie the lead. 

“Don’t worry about that. Fence goes all around the place. Come help me open this door,” you said, occupied with trying not to let him fall from your shoulders. His frame was much bigger than yours, making it difficult to balance. Ellie twisted the nob and pushed the door open. You found your couch immediately, laying him down as gently as you could, shoving a pillow under his head. “Stay here with him. I’m gonna go grab my kit.”

She waited there with Joel until you returned, squeezing his hand, praying for him to wake up. Praying that they were safe here. 

When you returned, you were carrying a giant leather bag. She had expected a simple first aid kit. At her puzzled expression, you said, “Normally, I’m doing surgery on the horses or cows, not men.” She nodded in understanding.

As you set up with bedpans, scalpels, scissors, gauze, anything you might need, Ellie took a moment to look around. Hung on your walls were portraits of anything and everything. She’d always loved art, never having the time to really explore it herself. This place didn’t look like it was home to someone who was gonna slaughter them. “I’m Ellie,” she said, making you turn from your stool by the couch. “That’s Joel.”

You gave a reassuring smile. “Nice to meet you, Ellie.” Now, you pulled down the fabric from your mouth and threw your hat down on the floor, shucking your jacket off too, hoping it would make you less intimidating to the young girl. “Might wanna get comfortable. This’ll take awhile. 

Ellie made herself a home on the loveseat adjacent to the couch Joel was on, taking her jacket off and laying it next to her backpack. “How did this even happen?” you asked as you sanitized your tools.

“He got stabbed,” she said, looking down at her hands. “He didn’t even notice at first. He…” she trailed off. You gave her a look of understanding.

You cleaned the area and got to work. You were happy that he was unconscious. All you had was horse tranquillizer, and you were almost positive that it would kill him. Joel twitched and squirmed a little, but you were calm as you worked.

Ellie’s eyelids were drooping and her head was falling when she heard you say, “All done,” as you wiped your bloody hands on a rag. She got up to get a look at Joel. His bloodied shirt and jacket were off, showing the wound on his abdomen, all stitched up. “See that area around the wound?” You said, fingers gently grazing over the skin. “It’s pink. Means there’s probably an infection. I’ll see what I have, but I don’t think I have enough antibiotics,” you said as you cleaned the blood from your tools. You saw a look of disappointment in her eyes. 

“But,” you started, “there’s an old pharmacy a mile or two from here. I can go tomorrow. See what they have.” She nodded, a hopeful look in her eyes. “Come on, help me get him upstairs.”

The two of you took him to one of the guest bedrooms, laying him down on the bed. You slid his thick jacket back on, but left it unzipped so you could easily redress his wound. “I can show you to the other guest room. Mind, I don’t usually have visitors, so it’s-”

“No,” Ellie cut you off. She flushed. “Thanks, but I’m staying with him.” You nodded. She didn’t want him to wake up alone. 

“Alright, then. There are blankets in the closet over there,” you pointed. “My room is across the hall, at the end. If he wakes up or something is wrong, come get me. I’m leaving for the pharmacy at dawn, so help yourself to anything in the kitchen. You can shower if you want, too. If he wakes when I’m gone tomorrow, don’t leave. I’ll need to give him those antibiotics as soon as I get back.” She nodded. You began to walk out of the room, but she stopped you by calling your name. You turned.

“Earlier, you said that there was a time when you needed help, and nobody would give it to you…?”

You sighed. “A while back, about ten years ago, before I settled here, I was travelling with some people and my little brother. He ended up getting shot. His leg. I couldn’t stop the bleeding and…they just left us there. Left him there to die,” you swallowed, looking down at your feet. She looked at you, offering a sad smile. “Night, Ellie. Get some sleep.”

You returned around noon the next day with the antibiotics for Joel. Announcing yourself when you walked in, Ellie came stumbling down the stairs. You took in her wet hair and changed clothes. There was hope in her eyes, but also urgency. “He woke up! Just for a little while. He was pretty out of it, but he asked where we were,” she said.

“And what’d you tell him?” You said as you took your outerwear off and grabbed your bag with the antibiotics. 

“I told him we were safe. He wasn’t awake long enough to give him the full story, but now he’s all sweaty, and mumbling and shit and-”

“Shit,” you cursed, rushing up the stairs past the girl.

“Wait, what is it?” she called after you.

“Sounds like he’s got a fever. Could have delirium, too,” you said as you entered the room Joel was in. He was clammy, sweating, chest heaving, body radiating an ungodly heat, mumbling incoherencies. You moved his jacket to the side. “Looks like the infection is spreading,” you mumbled. Grabbing the syringe and bottle from your bag, you filled the syringe, sticking it into the pink flesh of Joel’s stomach. 

“He’ll need another dose in a few hours. It probably won’t kick in until the second or third dose,” you said, wiping the sweat from his head and neck with a rag. You turned to Ellie, who’s eyes were fixed on Joel, yet distant. “Hey, did you eat yet?” She shook her head. “Let’s get you something to eat, then,” you said as you led her to the kitchen.

Four days passed before Joel woke up. Four days spent mostly at his bedside, reading some book in between administering his doses. Making sure Ellie was fed. On the second day, Joel woke briefly again, panicking. However, Ellie was able to calm him down, reassuring him that they were safe. On the third day, you got through to Ellie a bit more.

“So, what brought you two this far out?” you asked innocently, closing your book and resting it on your lap. She seemed to freeze.

“We, uh…we were looking for Joel’s brother. We ended up near the university and got ambushed,” she said. She was lying. That was fine. You couldn’t really blame her. You hummed in response. 

It was silent for a few minutes before she spoke again, “He’s not my dad, you know.”

You offered her a soft smile. “Okay.” You went back to reading your book.

On the fourth day, when Joel woke up, you were in the kitchen doing the dishes left from your lunch with Ellie. A few hours ago you had re-dressed his wound and given him another round of antibiotics. The angry pink of his skin was subsiding and he was no longer feverish, resting peacefully on the bed. You hummed to yourself as you scrubbed the plates in the soapy water. 

Hearing two voices from upstairs, you dried your hands on a dish rag and made your way upstairs. The deep, gruff voice halted as your footsteps sounded out against the hallway floor.

“It’s safe, I promise. I trust her.” Ellie’s voice, pleading. A grunt.

You turned the corner with a polite smile, resting against the doorframe. You took the man in, greying hair dishevelled, sat up, staring daggers at you. 

“Good to see you awake,” you said, telling him your name. 

“How long was I out for?” he asked, his voice a gruff southern accent, but still laced with distrust. He was on edge.

“Five days.”

He looked at Ellie, who nodded. He groaned, eyes training back to you. “Where’s my stuff?” 

“Ellie has it all in the other room. Your horse is in my stable.”

“Then we’ll be on our way,” he said, attempting to get himself up, a groan of pain ripping through his chest as you walked forward, pushing him back down by the chest.

“Hold on, cowboy. You were stabbed. You have an infection. You’re in no shape to go back out there. Besides, there’s a storm rolling in soon.” You reached to the nightstand, grabbing the bottle of antibiotics and the syringe. 

He looked at Ellie. “She’s telling the truth. She found us when you fell off the horse. She brought us back here. Stitched you up and shit. She even went out to get you those antibiotics. She’s the reason the both of us aren’t dead. She’s been feeding me and everything,” Ellie said, then quieter, “I trust her.”

Joel looked you up and down. You held up the syringe, asking silent permission to give him another dose. “Fine,” he grunted.

It took a few weeks for Joel’s infection to heal and for the winter blizzard to pass. After about a week of bedrest, as prescribed by you, Joel was walking around with Ellie, going to the dining room for meals rather than you bringing them to the bed, and even helping you with small tasks. The truth is, Joel felt indebted to you for saving his life. For taking care of Ellie. For going so far out of your way to bring them safety. After a while, he was able to trust you. 

But there was more. As he helped you put away the dishes, your fingers would brush as he passed you a plate, the air between you two going still. You’d be silent for a few moments, continuing your task, before picking conversation back up as though nothing happened. You’d be out in the stable together, brushing the horses. One of them would whinny and you’d genty laugh. He found your laugh infectious, finding a smile spreading across his face and a chuckle falling from his lips. When you caught his eye, he’d flush, looking back at Shimmer. She’d nudge him with her muzzle, as if to prompt him to say something more to you. He never would. Or maybe it was the time you were eating dinner with him and Ellie, pouring yourself and Joel wine. You had reached over to give him his glass, knocking yours onto yourself in the process. You had cursed, lifting your shirt over your head, white undershirt untouched by the stain. You didn’t miss the way Joel looked away, warmth rising up his neck. Ellie didn’t miss it either, as she held in a laugh and nudged him suggestively, lifting her eyebrows. You didn’t say anything. 

Between the lingering touches, the fleeting glances, and the burning moments, you knew that there was something unspoken that hung thick in the air between you and Joel.

After three months, Joel was fully healed. The storm lasted about a month, the last winds finally subsiding. Ellie had slept in. It was just you and Joel having coffee. You leaned against the counter. He sat at the table, facing you. You were making light and easy conversation, as it usually was between you two.

He cleared his throat and looked into the liquid in his mug. “We’ll be outta your hair in about a week, if that’s okay. Don’t wanna overstay our welcome,” he said, avoiding eye contact. You began to protest, but he cut you off, “You’ve already done so much for us,” his voice was like honey, thick and smooth. There was some kind of resistance mixed in with it. “Don’t worry about us, darlin’.” The name rolled easily off his tongue. It was a recent development, always something endearing. You figured it was just his way of showing he trusted you.

You huffed. There was no arguing with him when his mind was set on something. “Alright, then. Take any supplies you need. We’ll load up your horse the night before you leave,” you said, pouring the rest of your coffee down the drain and leaving the kitchen. Joel caught the hint of…something, in your voice. Sadness? Anger? Loneliness? He recalled a conversation he heard you having with Ellie about two weeks back.

“Doesn’t it get lonely out here? All by yourself all the time?”

A brief silence. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”

Joel thought he was doing what was best by ignoring the searing touches and stolen glances, ignoring the feelings in the pit of his stomach. He thought that growing attached to you would only hurt the both of you. He knew he was right, but he began to wonder if you might be worth the pain.

That night, after you had bid Joel goodnight and Ellie was already asleep, you sat on your bed, in your thoughts, when soft knocking came from your door. “Come in,” you called out. The door opened and you looked up to see Joel. There was something behind his eyes that wasn’t there before. Guilt?

He approached you slowly, “May I?” You nodded. He took a seat next to you at the edge of your bed. 

How was he supposed to start?

“I, uh,” he sighed. “I’m not very good at this. And I know we aren’t leavin’ just yet. But I wanted to, uh, thank you. For helpin’ me. Us. We’d both be dead if it weren’t for you. And for your hospitality.” He looked at his hands resting on his lap. “You’re a real good person for that.”

You just shrugged and offered him a tight-lipped smile. Silence hung thick in the air between you two.

He cleared his throat, getting up from the bed. “Well, I guess I’ll get-”

“Why won’t you stay?” Your eyes met his, brows furrowed, something anxious brewing behind them. 

“I’ve gotta get the girl to her people,” was the only thing he could offer. He felt at a loss. You just nodded, standing in front of him. 

“Am I ever gonna see you again?” It was more of a plea than a question. 

Joel swallowed. “I don’t know.”

Your gaze drifted down to the floor. “What happens if you get hurt again, and there’s nobody like me there to help you?”

In an unexpected move, both by you and him, he grabbed your face with his hands. “I’ll be just fine, darlin’.” Your hands slid atop his.

“You don’t know that.”

He began to lean in. “I don’t know,” he said, his breath warm across your lips. “All I know is that now I’ve got somethin’ to come back for, someone I-”

“Don’t tell me you want me,” you cut him off. “Don’t tell me you want me now, when you’re about to leave.” He closed his eyes. Your hands fell from his. You moved out of his hold. “I can’t do this.”

The loss of his hands on your skin felt sore, wrong, but you knew that if you let him touch you, he’d hook you in, and it would hurt all the more to say goodbye in one week’s time. 

“Please,” you whispered, eyes closed, a single tear streaming down your cheek. You could feel the warmth of his body leave, hear him close the door gently behind him.

You didn’t rest much that night. 

Every day for a week, you rose early, making breakfast for Ellie and settling back in your room to sit with yourself. Peering out of the window every day, you couldn’t help but stare out at the snowy planes of Colorado, taking in the austere, frozen environment you’d settled in. The desolate feel of the earth around you only made you realize how lonely you had been before Joel and Ellie had showed up, longing for something, anything, but always left unfulfilled. In Ellie’s bright smile and Joel’s unspoken touches, you thought that you might’ve landed a few companions who could keep your soul warm in the winter. It felt like you had lost something when you realized that wasn’t the case. 

When you ventured throughout the house to shower, cook, or do household work, you found yourself tiptoeing, almost like you didn’t want to get caught. You savoured your conversations with Ellie, but you kept your words to Joel down to necessity. Short responses to his questions, shorter replies to yours. Never touching, in fear that the friction, like electricity, would spark something that neither of you could stop. Holding your breath when he was close to you. Avoiding eye contact. Never giving more than you had to. You both thought it would be easier to part this way, the fire growing in your insides unsatiated. 

The night before he was set to leave, you found Joel in the kitchen, rough fingers silently brushing over a map laid out on the table. 

He jumped at the sound of your voice, “I’m gonna go get your horse set with the things you’ll need.” He turned to you.

“I’ll come give you a hand,” he said, downing the last of his coffee and grabbing his coat. 

The walk to the stable was thick with tension, the dense silence lingering between the two of you. The sun was out, casting the image of your shadows on the crunchy snow. When you reached the large door, you slid it open, letting him go first. You still couldn’t look at him. 

You trailed behind him as he moved towards Shimmer, grabbing her saddle and slinging it over her back, fastening it. You knew Joel carried all of his guns on his person, so you began filling the saddlebags with medical supplies, ammo, water, cord, tape, anything you had stockpiled that might help him and Ellie get to where they needed to. 

“All set,” you said, fingers running over Shimmer’s mane. 

“Thank you,” Joel breathed. He was looking at you, searching for your eyes. You could feel it.

You nodded. “Don’t worry about it.” A few moments of rigid silence. “Leaving at dawn?” The question fell past your lips before you could think about it.

You saw him nod out of your peripherals. “Yeah.”

You give a nod, lips pursed. Still looking at Shimmer. Still avoiding his gaze. 

“Will you look at me?” He said suddenly, voice demanding, but ultimately soft.

You didn’t obey, looking at your feet instead. “Why?”

“It’s been a week. I know you’re givin’ me the cold shoulder, but at least look at me. Don’t act like you hate me. You’re killin’ me, darlin’.”

You blew out a puff of warm air. “If I look at you…” you started, nearly losing your gall. “If I look at you, I’ll forget that I’m trying to let you go.”

The words were thick, heavy. They hung between you two as if they were forbidden.

“Then don’t let me go,” he said, taking a step towards you. 

You said his name in a warning, taking a few steps towards the door. 

“You don’t have to let me go. I know I’m never gonna stop thinkin’ ‘bout you, honey. And I can’t promise that you’ll see me again, but I’m damn well goin’ to try to make it back to you.” 

You sniffled, “You don’t mean that.” You crossed your arms over your chest.

“I do. I mean it with all of myself,” he said, moving forward to press his forehead against yours. “Let me show you.”

Once again, you could feel his breath on your lips. His were just inches from yours, almost touching, but never quite close enough. You finally looked at him, tears brimming your eyes.

“I can’t give you much, but let me give you what I can,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut and pressing his forehead into yours harder, more desperately.

At that, you broke. “Okay,” you breathed.

He took that as permission to lean himself into you, the skin of his lips grazing yours, breath mixing with his. When he finally connected his lips to yours, it was like he breathed a warmth into your body, lighting every nerve. Your hands tangled in his hair, his cupping your face. The kiss started chaste, but became breathy and passionate. It ended with your lips red and swollen, both of you needy and desperate for something more. Always more.

The rush through the snow, through the front door and up the stairs to your bedroom was needy, your hand in his, dragging you behind him, nearly sprinting with anticipation. 

As Joel was locking your bedroom door behind him, you were fisting the collar of his shirt and kissing him. Your mouth opened wider for his tongue to explore, whines muffled by his mouth. The kiss was all the things you couldn’t say, I want you, I love you, stay.

He walked you backwards into your bed, falling on top of you when your legs hit the edge. Your hands found solace in his hair, tugging just right, making him groan into your mouth. He parted from you to grab the hem of his shirt and tug it over his head. Now, your fingertips explored the expanse of his chest and soft stomach, soft pads tracing the scar that brought you to him. Kissing into your mouth, across your neck, sucking at your pulse point, his fingers grazed the hem of your shirt.

“Can I?” He asked between kisses to your collarbone. You nodded, lifting so he could pull it off.

“Take it off,” you said, left just in your bra. His fingers reached behind you to unclasp it, pulling it off and revealing your tits. He barely hesitated, taking one in his warm mouth and palming the other. Your hands fixed back in his hair, moaning. “Joel. Fuck, I need you. Please,” you whimpered. After weeks of building up the tension, of his fingers tracing your skin just for them to stop, staring at his lips and yearning, you needed him. More than anything.

Joel groaned. “Beggin’ so pretty already for me, honey,” he said as he moved down your body, undoing your belt, sliding it off with your pants and chucking them to the ground. His fingers smoothed over your panties, noticing the wet spot growing in the centre. He grinned, “Let’s see how wet you are, hmm?” Pushing the fabric to the side, he could almost moan at the sight of your drooling cunt. “Fuck,” he said, running his fingers through your slick folds, brushing your clit gently, sending a shiver shooting through your spine. “This wet already? All for me?” 

When you didn’t answer, he pinched the inside of your thigh gently, “Answer, honey.”

“All for you. Only for you, Joel.” You were breathless, nearly delirious. You’d give anything for him to touch you, to put you out of your misery. 

Joel eased one finger inside of you, then two, and began pumping them in and out of your slick folds. You moaned wantonly, all shame abandoned. “That’s it, pretty girl. Takin’ my fingers so well. Squeezin’ them so good. Can just imagine how you’re gonna feel wrapped ‘round my cock.”

You could feel the knot in your core get tighter and tighter every time his fingers hit that spot inside you, obscene noises coming from your cunt. He could feel you sucking his fingers in, growing tighter around him. He eased a third finger in and used his other hand, previously squeezing into your thigh, to rub circles on your clit. “Fuckfuckfuck,” you sputtered, getting closer and closer. 

“That’s it, honey. Cum on my fingers. There it is,” he said as you clenched around his digits, moaning his name like it was the only word you knew. He rubbed the flesh of your thighs as you came down, kissing the supple flesh of your thighs. When you caught your breath, you pulled him back up into you. 

You began to notice the firm tent pressing against you. Surely, he was begging for release, too. Who were you to deprive him of that? 

“Your turn,” you said.

Flipping him over, you began to undo his belt and slide his pants off, laying your head on his thigh, when he stopped you, resting a hand on your jaw.

“Honey, if you put me in your mouth, ‘m not gonna last,” he says, slightly flushed, chest heaving just as bad as yours. If you didn’t know better, you’d say he looked similarly to how he did when he was feverish. Delirious. “Just wanna be inside you. That okay?”

“Fuck, yes,” you breathed, crawling back onto him. This time, he flipped you over, caging you between his arms. He shuffled his boxers off, his hard length springing out and hitting his lower stomach, tip weeping precum. You couldn’t help but whimper. “Fuck, you’re big.” He chuckled, flushing a little. “How’re you gonna fit inside me?”

“Relax, honey. I worked you open. Shouldn’t be too much of a stretch,” he assured you, pressing a sloppy kiss to your lips. “Ready?”

“Yes,” you breathed. “Need to feel you. For so long.”

He lined himself up with your entrance. You held your breath, letting it out in a moan as he sunk into your waiting cunt. He groaned when he was fully sheathed inside you, the sound coming deep from his chest.

He kissed you as you took him in, your body accommodating his length. “Move. Please,” you moaned into his mouth. He pulled out, sliding back in with the help from your slick. He set a slow but hard pace, clutching your body to his as he speared in and out of you. His lips barely left yours, sucking in each other’s moans and converting them to breath. 

“So tight, fuck,” he moaned. “Already clenching around me. Feels so good around me, pretty thing.”

You moaned his name, a needy, desperate call for him to go faster. He picked up his pace, breath becoming erratic, a slight sheen of sweat breaking out across his skin.

“Not gonna last long, honey,” he groaned. 

“Neither am I. Cum inside of me, please. I want all of you,” you begged, too out of it to think of the consequences. He let out an obscene moan at the request.

“Want me to fill you up, yeah?” He said as he roughly fucked into you. “Fill you up so good that it’ll still be leakin’ outta ya tomorrow?” He was delirious, almost pussy drunk. You were both chasing your release, clinging to each other like there was no tomorrow. Because there wasn’t. Not for the two of you.

“Joel, I’m…oh, fuck!” you moaned as your orgasm hit you, knocking you into hysteria. 

“Right behind you, pretty girl,” he said, grunting. “You’re squeezin’ me so good,” he moaned, finally spilling into your cunt. He pulled you back into him as you both finished, moans muffled by each other’s tongues, sucking, biting, licking, kissing.

When the ecstasy ended and he could feel you squirming underneath him, he pulled out gently, taking care not to brush your clit too roughly. He watched as his cum leaked from your puffy hole, taking two fingers and shoving it back in. You whimpered a little at the contact. “I know, honey. Just makin’ sure I’m gonna stay inside of you.”

He finally laid down next to you, bringing you into his chest. You shoved your head in the crook of his neck, taking all of him in. 

You didn’t have to talk about tomorrow, or think about it. You just needed to be here, in this moment with him, face nuzzled into his neck, his seed still leaking out of you.

Tomorrow could wait.

You woke like you normally do, to the rays of splendid sunlight shining in through your thin curtains. Stretching, you remembered last night. Your hand reached for the spot you left him in, finding the bed cold. The cold of the sheet travelled through your fingertips, up your arm, through your shoulder, into your chest, and hit your heart. You scrambled out of bed, throwing on whatever you could find, and scrambled downstairs. 

There was no evidence that he had ever been there, except for the two pieces of paper that sat on the kitchen table. 

Your breath hitched as you picked the first one up, tears threatening to spill. It was a drawing done in simple graphite. A drawing of you sitting next to Joel, who was laying in bed. She had done it when he was still feverish. In the bottom right corner, she signed:

“Thank you for everything. I know it will work out. -Ellie”

You clutched it to your heart as you picked up the second one. A letter. It read:

My girl,

I hope you can forgive me for leaving you no room for a goodbye. Part of me thought it would be easier this way, not having to think about what you were going to say, or what you should have said. The other part of me wanted to stay in that bed with you, cozied up in your arms, until the two of us were too old to get up. I want you forever. 

But I made Ellie a promise a long time ago. She’s got nobody left. She’s just a girl, and I can’t leave her on her own. The guilt would eat me alive a lot quicker than any infection could. I have to get her to her people. When I’m done, I promise you that I’ll come back. I’ve marked your little farm on my map, there’s no chance of me missing it. Before you, I would’ve laughed at the idea of forever. Forever seemed like too long living in this world. Now, all I want is forever if I can spend it with you in my arms.

Thank you. For more than you know. I’ll see you soon.

Until we meet again.

Yours truly and forever, 

Joel Miller

part 2

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[alexlwrites]

𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: OT7 x Plus Size! Reader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: "What was so outrageous about someone like you, you asked yourself and the universe. You had tried your best to compensate for any shortcomings with everything else that was expected of you: femininity, understanding, a sense of humor. Never enough, those were never even the first thing that came to mind when people thought of you.

Why bother then? If nothing you did made any difference at all, why try? If people hated your body just for existing, why not give them a reason to hate your personality as well?"

OR  

The one where seven campus princes who are used to getting everything they wanted get enchanted by your distrust and brattiness, climbing over each other to get a smile from you who could not be bothered to give them a single second of your day.

✿ 𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔:  Romance, Humor, Fluff, Angst, College AU

✿ 𝑨/𝑵: I wanna leave this here as sort of a trigger warning: this work features a plus size main character and throughout the story there will be mean comments from characters about her body and her journey dealing with said comments. A lot of it comes from my own experience as a (now ex-ish) plus size girl myself and my path to living peacefully within my body. And although this work is about Y/N's relationship with the boys, I like to think that she still would've continued to grow and blossom happily on her own. Let this be something you learn from this fic, as I say right on the first chapter: You don't have to love the way you look right away, you just can't let it stop you from doing the things you want and, in a greater scale, from being happy and treated with respect.

Thank you for reading <3

P.S: Red daisies, like many red flowers, represent love and romance. Florists often use them to communicate affection to someone who doesn’t know how beautiful they are—a.k.a. beauty unknown to the possessor. 

(Fanfic masterlist)

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°•. ✿ .•°

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞: 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

The pattern in your relationships - if you could call them that - was tiring, to say the least. Once, they might have been soul crushing, but time and repetition took away the novelty of your pain and now the endgame was a mild, resented disappointment.

It started with kindness and a gentle smile, mainly from your part. You treated anyone who gave you any smidgen of attention with the utmost sweetness, hoping your energy would be matched. And sometimes it was, for a while. Sometimes you got to be on the receiving end of a blinding smile or a casual touch and you allowed yourself to hope - no, pray -that that could be it. That someone, some modern day knight in shiny armor , saw through your looks and decided that you were deserving of love, despite societal norms,

But men had a way of setting you up for disappointment. A talent, truly.

You were tired, you decided that night. No, beyond that, you were exhausted, scarred, bitter, hopeless, resentful… You could keep going. You could list every bad feeling you had been carrying in your chest by alphabetical order or by how badly they hurt and honestly you just wanted it to stop.

Would you have to change everything about your body to be happy, you wondered watching the boy you had been seeing for a few weeks make fun of you in front of his circle of friends at the party you were both at. Would you never be allowed to be happy just the way you were?

Would you have to change everything about your body to be happy?

“Yeah, she’s nice” Junsuu said, winking suggestively at his giggling friends “if you know what I mean.” you felt your face heat up in humiliation at the renewed round of laughter “But we just don’t match, like, physically. You know, looks-wise.”

“Right” someone agreed way too enthusiastically, sending a spear through your heart “I really just can’t see you with someone like her.”

What was so outrageous about someone like you, you asked yourself and the universe. You had tried your best to compensate for any shortcomings with everything else that was expected of you: femininity, understanding, a sense of humor. Never enough, those were never even the first thing that came to mind when people thought of you.

Why bother then? If nothing you did made any difference at all, why try? If people hated your body just for existing, why not give them a reason to hate your personality as well?

“You’re right” you said out loud, drawing attention to yourself. Filled with hatred (for him, the world, the circumstances), your heart had no room to be mortified when all eyes turned to you “we don’t match.”

You watched as Junsuu’s eyes widened, clearly not expecting you to hear, much less reply “I am a big girl” you continued, words dripping with rage “And I know for a fact that there’s nothing big about you.”

You turned around to leave the room, cringing at the petty comeback, ignoring the murmurs and Junsuu’s panicked calls of your name. Walking fast, you fled the scene of the last heartbreak you would allow yourself to go through, deciding that a change was needed, but not the change everyone wanted from  you.

Despite the rumors, you didn’t turn into a huge bitch overnight, didn’t start kicking puppies or spitting on the poor. Truly, the only thing you did was establish boundaries and reevaluate the amount of respect some people deserved, but very quickly people started seeing you as some sort of villain, especially when they realized how little you cared for how they saw you. How disrespectful of you to not allow yourself to be disrespected, right?

At first, there was still an air of uncertainty about you - years and years of non-reciprocal niceties drilled into your brain, habits hard to quit. But the more you let go of those things, these tiny acts of self-aggression disguised as pleasantries and altruism, the lighter you felt; Your days became easier to get through, existing within your body felt less and less like a punishment. You had yet to reach an Instagram-worthy level of body positivity, but you had become accustomed to body neutrality. You didn’t have to love the way you looked right away, you just couldn’t let it stop you from doing the things you wanted and, in a greater scale, from being happy and treated with respect.

And respect you started to demand and much happier you became, living in relative peace and solitude - safe by a few close friends - up until your days started being pestered by seven headaches you could not seem to shake away.

—-

Jungkook was the one that saw you first.

It was 3 weeks into the semester and he finally decided it was the perfect time to start going to classes, sitting in the back and only listening to about 25% of what was being said, mind floating towards more important subjects such as the package of ramen waiting for him at home. Only mildly interested in what the professor had to teach, he couldn’t help but to be startled when everyone started getting up from their seats to shuffle around the room. “What’s going on?” he asked the guy sitting next to him.

“Professor gave us a duo assignment.” the other man said, standing up “You're with Y/N.”

“Who?”

The guy just pointed towards you with his chin, redirecting Jungkook’s attention before leaving. You were sitting a couple rows further down, hunched over your little green IPad as you wrote something with impressive velocity. Jungkook walked over to you, already mentally going over what he would have to do to charm you into doing everything on your own “Y/N?” he called and you raised your head.

You were pretty, he noticed with satisfaction, all bright eyes and lovely features, curves everywhere he looked “Yes?”

“I’m Jungkook.” he extended his hand with a casual smirk “The professor put us together for this project.”

There had been a small, but pleasant and polite smile on your face up until he said those words, replaced by pursed lips and an arched brow. “Yes, I know. We’ve had classes together for over a year now and been partnered together before.”

Uh oh. “Right” he coughed awkwardly, fumbling under your hardened stare “so, about this project…”

“We will meet once a week,” you said, straightforward as you turned your eyes back to your sticker-filled IPad “I will go over the theme and split the work evenly, so give me your number and I can text you with what you’re supposed to do.”

“Woah, woah, asking for my number already?” he said in a flirting manner, sitting on top of your table so he could be directly in front of you.

“Would you prefer it if I emailed it to you?” you asked without looking up.

“Actually, I was thinking you could help me out a bit,” he placed his finger under your chin, raising your face towards him “you know I have soccer practice and…”

You pushed his hand away “Unless you’re playing at the World Cup, I can’t see how that would be more important than your studies, so you either do your part of the assignment or get an F in it, I don’t care. I won’t do all the work for you, Jeon. Not again.”

Again? Jungkook winced, trying to remember when you had met before. Surely he would remember getting his head bitten off by a snappy, pretty thing like you, wouldn’t he? Surely your attitude would stand out to him amongst all the sweetness and compliance he received just for existing and smiling.

“Here’s my number.” you gave him a piece of paper with your digits written in gel sparkly ink “Text me when you decide if you want to pass this class. Good day.” 

You looked down again, going back to your notes, signing that the conversation was over before he even had the chance to add anything more. He jumped off the desk and stepped away, looking back to see if you were looking at him, but there wasn’t a single glance from your part.

Shit. Shit. He actually did have to pass this class, otherwise his overbearing soccer coach would kick him off the team. He stared down at your number, wondering what he would have to do to get you to cut him a little slack and forgive him for absolutely forgetting about your existence. 

—

“Hey, this is Jungkook” the text from an unknown number said “looking forward to us working together. We should get dinner sometime, get to know each other better.”

You read over the text once more, willing your heart to slow down its beating. Sure, Jungkook was charming and handsome, but you had seen this dance before. He would talk his way into your good graces, making you laugh and giggle until you had a four thousand word essay done with both your names in it and your texts to him would go unanswered and unseen. 

This was not your first hurtful rodeo. You put your phone away, facing down, ignoring as the poor device vibrated itself off the table with the upcoming texts.

Meanwhile, across campus, Jungkook was fuming.

“Or breakfast. We should get breakfast. I know a great place.” he tried once again, but his message was left unread. Still, he persisted.

“I have a lot of great ideas for this assignment. Don’t you want to know them?” he texted, even though he didn’t have the faintest idea on what the assignment was even about.

“You know, it’s rude to leave a guy hanging.”

“How can we do this if you won’t even text me back?”

“I thought we were in this together.”

“You know, like High School Musical.”

He kept typing out absurdity after absurdity, hoping you would dignify one with an answer. He just needed one opportunity, one opening…

His text stopped going through.

“She blocked me!” he gasped out loud.

“Who?” his roommate, Taehyung asked from where he laid on their couch, feet up on the coffee table.

“This girl in my class. We have this project together and she blocked me!”

Taehyung sent a disbelieving look his way “Were you actually planning to do the work?”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Obviously not.”

His friend rolled his eyes “Obviously not. So what’s your plan here?”

Jungkook didn’t answer, too busy looking for alternative ways to contact you. After a few minutes of research, he found your Instagram. You were cute, he noticed again, scrolling through your few posts, all relatively recent. You had a very specific style, a tasteful mix or dark and edgy with splashes of pink and bows, tight corsets under leather jackets that he couldn’t help but stare appreciatively, the flattering material clinging to your waist line and pushing your breasts up, exposing the soft freckled top of cleavage to his always hungry eyes. In your pictures, your eyes shone brightly, crinkling at the sides from your ever present smile and he could not understand why you hadn’t directed one of those to him. 

It was unsettling, to say the least, but he could not allow his annoyance to take over. He needed your help if he wanted to pass that class and if he had to use unconventional ways to get your attention, he would. 

And so, much like a little boy pulling at a girl’s braids, he started liking and spamming the comments of every single post you had.

—

There were whispers all around you, your worst nightmare.

You were at the school library, getting work done while drinking from your fourth cup of coffee, hands shaking due to caffeine and anxiety, your ever present friends. You tried to focus on your books and carefully written notes, but every word you could barely hear and every look you felt over your shoulder seemed to dig claws into your skin. You knew what they were saying. You heard it all the way from your dorm to your classes and couldn’t seem to escape them. 

“Did you see Jungkook’s comments on her pictures? What’s that about?”

“It’s not like there’s a lot to comment, is there?” 

“Maybe he thought it was someone else?”

“It’s probably a prank.”

“I bet he was hacked.”

Of course, why else would someone like Jungkook - a campus prince, popular soccer player, heartthrob - show interest in you? 

It hurt, but a small part of you still agreed with those mean spirited whispers. You closed your eyes, trying to even your breathing and will those thoughts away. You knew better, had learned better than to measure your value by how interested some boy was in you.

When you opened your eyes again, Jungkook was in front of you.

You barely had time to process his presence when the voices picked up volume, your skin prickling and eyes aching to remain dry. 

“What’s Jungkook doing with Fat Y/N?”

That word shouldn’t be as hurtful as it was - after all, it was just an adjective, just the current state of your body that served only to carry your thinking mind, your feeling heart. But people always said it like a curse, wielding it like a sword.

You closed your eyes again and when you opened once more, Jungkook was still there. Looking furious.

“What are they saying?”

“What they always said” you shrugged, avoiding his eyes by looking down at your papers.

Jungkook didn’t move for a while, hearing people pretend to whisper around you but it was clear that the motherfuckers wanted you to hear. Was it always like this for you, he wondered, watching as you focused on whatever book you had in front of you, hunched over with tense shoulders, your face a far cry from the luminescent one he saw on your Instagram, not a hint of that smile he wanted directed at him so unreasonably.

He couldn’t just stand there and watch you struggle to keep your posture. 

You felt him standing up and leaving more than you saw him. Good, you thought. He should leave, like everyone did, scared away by that one word that followed you around like a brand. He was probably embarrassed to be seen with you, you assumed bitterly, and there was no place in your life for people who didn’t want you proudly by your side…

Jungkook sat back in the chair in front of you and you couldn’t help but gape at the impressive bouquet of red daisies he extended towards you.

“Take it” he said, but you couldn’t move, could barely hear the furious voices around you over the roaring beat of your heart.

You… You had never gotten flowers. 

“Take it” he repeated “I almost got run over because of this, the least you can do is accept it.”

“Jungkook” you whispered, dumbfoundedly accepting the bouquet “what’s this?”

“People keep doubting I could be interested in you” he said and there was an edge to his tone you did not expect “maybe this could help clear up some rumors.”

“This is not your battle to fight” you held the flowers close to your chest carefully, looking up at him with distrust, unable to understand his motives “I’m used to this sort of thing and I don’t care about those stupid rumors.”

You were used to it? That just made Jungkook angrier. How could you be used to that sort of treatment? 

Jungkook was a lot of things - spoiled, a little lazy, sometimes a dick. But he wasn’t a bigot and he wasn’t about to stand around and let you become used to being disrespected if there was something - anything! - he could do about it “I like picking up fights”.

“Is this just pity?” you asked and he could see walls around you that stood thousands of feet tall “Is this because of that stupid assignment? Because I’m not going to do all the work just because you got me some flowers…” 

He raised his hands and smiled at you “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll do my work” he said, a new goal in mind as he saw you recoil from him with eyes filled with wariness like a suspicious kitten “You said once a week, right? How’s friday for you?” 

You still clung to your bouquet like a lifeline “That works, I guess.”

“Great!” he clapped loudly, standing up and catching the eye of those around him “I’ll see you around, sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart” you mumbled, but he pretended not to hear as he crossed the table around to your side, quickly leaving a kiss to your heated cheek before you had the chance to react.

“Alright, sweetheart, I’ll see you around” he said, making sure everyone in the library could hear him “do me a favor and unblock me, ok?”

You flipped him off, both for stealing a kiss and that stupid nickname, but he just laughed it off.

“That’s my girl” he said and the library erupted in renewed whispers.

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐌𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐧! 𝐂𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐞 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐞𝐝

°•. ✿ .•°

[Red Daisies taglist: @purplelady85 ]

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[floralcyanidee]

ᴛʀɪᴘʟᴇ ᴛʀᴏᴜʙʟᴇ

Bruce Wayne x Reader x Jonathan Crane (NSFW)

When you notice Dr. Jonathan Crane watching you and your husband at a fundraising party, you get a little curious. When Dr. Crane angers you, he presses you to explore that anger. Will he regret it?

warnings: smut, nipple play, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (both vaginal and anal), oral sex, cock warming, anal sex, anal fingering, blowjobs, dirty talk, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, hair pulling, porn without much plot, masturbation, forced masturbation, threesome, male x male, male x female, male x male x female, cum swallowing, spitting, face sitting, face fucking, crying, sub/dom tones, dom!reader, sub!jonathan, kinda sub!bruce but not really, ya know, just pure filth

word count: 5254

author’s note: welcome to our one-way ticket to hell besties <3 I didn't proofread this because it just poured out of me and I was truly possessed by the writing demon today. I had an idea and literally ran with it. I don't think I've ever written something so filthy before lol please enjoy and give feedback!! READ THE WARNINGS this fic isn't for everyone tbh.

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MOODBOARD FOR THIS FIC

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

One thing about being married to the Bruce Wayne was he had a thing for throwing parties and fundraisers at your mansion. This meant you had to dress up quite a bit, and you had to look really good as you were Bruce’s wife, of course. He always ensured you had the newest and most gorgeous gowns to show off at the gatherings. You’d spend the whole day getting your hair, makeup, and nails done, only to be at the parties for a few hours. And that was usually because Bruce had other duties in the city, he got too distracted by what you were wearing and needed you right then, or he simply let his antisocial side creep up on him. Tonight at the fundraiser he’s throwing, he seems content and has been by your side most of the night. Nothing drastic was going on in the city that demanded his action. But something was bothering him, you could tell. He’s slightly off, and you catch him staring at someone in the crowd a few times. You’re never able to pick them out, though. 

You and Bruce are by the champagne table, and you notice Bruce is gazing out into the crowd of partygoers again.

“Bruce?” you ask softly, putting a hand on his bicep, “You alright?”

Bruce blinks hard a few times before turning to you, “I’m fine, darling.”

“You sure? You seem distracted by something this evening,” you scan the room, but to no avail for whomever Bruce is focused on.

“I just thought I recognized someone,” Bruce says, sipping his drink.

“Hmm. Alright, then.”

“Have I told you that you look beautiful tonight?” Bruce smiles, letting a hand slide across the small of your back.

“Only about a thousand times,” you giggle, leaning into your husband.

You happen to look up, and that’s when you see him staring at the two of you. Dr. Jonathan Crane. He quickly averts his eyes away, but you have already caught him.

“Is it Dr. Crane that you recognize?” you ask Bruce, motioning to where he’s standing with some other rich psychologists.

“Yeah,” Bruce exhales, shrugging, “I thought he had left the city a while ago.”

“After the asylum got turned loose? I figured so, too. Oh well,” you say, looking up at Bruce, “If he’s here, then he’s donating, so maybe it’s not so bad.”

“You have a point,” Bruce raises his eyebrows, “I’m still keeping an eye on him, though.”

You knew of a few of the villains Bruce has come in contact with, including Jonathan. He had almost killed your best friend and sent the whole city insane. Who knows what would have happened to Gotham if it weren't for Bruce. But a part of you is curious about Jonathan- a deep, intellectual part of you. Why is he still here? Is he still a doctor? Your brain becomes dizzy with all the questions. If Jonathan is here acting casually on his own accord, you could, too. You tear away from Bruce without a word, drink in hand. Bruce calls after you, panic surging through him when he realizes where you’re headed.

“Dr. Crane,” you smile upon arriving in front of him and another psychologist, “Wonderful to see you here.”

“Ah, Mrs. Wayne. I wouldn’t miss a marvelous party for a good cause. Have you met Dr. Robin here?” Jonathan smiles back, not missing a single beat.

“I have not,” you look over to the tall woman in front of Jonathan, clad in a pantsuit. You reach out a hand for her to shake, “Y/N Wayne.”

“I know who you are, Mrs. Wayne,” Dr. Robin says politely, her Australian accent strong, “Your dress is quite lovely, I must say.”

“Thank you,” you reply with a smile, willing her to leave so you could speak with Jonathan alone. 

“Well, I’ll be off. Seems you two have something to discuss,” Dr. Robin announces her departure, much to your relief.

“It was nice meeting you,” you say sweetly as she walks away.

“You as well, Mrs. Wayne.”

You turn to Jonathan, who clears his throat as he looks you up and down. You’re nearly the same height as him, if not slightly taller, in your heels. 

“It’s really brave of you to be here, Dr. Crane,” you turn your head to the side, giving him a closed-lip smile.

“Please, call me Jonathan,” Jonathan responds, “And what would you mean by that?”

You take a step closer to him, leaning into his ear, “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Jonathan. Or should I say, Mr. Scarecrow.”

Jonathan doesn’t flinch. In fact, he grins at you as he exhales a laugh, “Those days are behind me, I’m afraid.”

“Uh-huh,” you cross your arms, “And why should I believe you?”

Jonathan glances behind you to look at Bruce, who is on edge and watching the entire conversation to ensure nothing is tried. A muscle in Jonathan’s jaw twitches, “You don’t have to. But if I were up to no good, why would I be in the presence of the Batman and his lover? Quite unintelligent, wouldn’t you think?”

“And why are you here, exactly?” 

“Trying to get myself back into the Gotham scene,” Jonathan looks at you matter-of-factly, “I’ve missed a lot being gone, you know.”

“Oh, I do know. And maybe you should’ve stayed gone,” you try not to snarl at him.

“Now, now, Mrs. Wayne. That is no way to speak to a donor,” Jonathan says, his voice dripping like honey with malice.

“You better be glad there are people around or-”

“Or what?” Jonathan asks, raising his eyebrows, a smirk itching at his lips.

“I’d fucking break you right here.”

“Sounds like a fun time. However, I’m not sure your husband would appreciate that in many, many ways.”

You scoff, “Don’t be crass. I’m not flirting with you. If I were, you’d know it.”

“There’s a fine line between desire and hatred, my dear,” Jonathan whispers in your ear, causing goosebumps to arise on your skin, “It’s a fun line to walk.”

Annoyance swells in your chest. You desperately wanted him to shut his bratty mouth. You also wanted to enjoy the rest of the party, but now that Jonathan had you riled up in anger, you wanted nothing more than to slam him against the wall and-

“Everything okay over here?” Bruce approaches suddenly, taking you by surprise.

“Everything is fine, sweetheart,” you place your hand on Bruce’s chest as a warning, “Nothing to worry about.”

“Dr. Crane isn’t bothering you, is he?” Bruce’s nostrils flare.

“Not at all,” you defend the doctor, “In fact, I’m probably annoying him.”

Bruce laughs humorlessly, “Oh, is that so?”

You cock your head at him, “Did you need something, dear?”

“Just want to speak with you privately,” Bruce says.

You go to say something, but Bruce interrupts you, “Both of you.”

If Jonathan is just as confused as you are, he doesn’t show it. 

“Lead the way, Mr. Wayne.”

Bruce walks briskly to one of the guest rooms down the hall from the ballroom, making sure no one is following or watching the three of you. He ushers you and Jonathan inside, following suit before closing the door behind him. 

“You know,” Jonathan says, breaking the silence, “I never pegged Mrs. Wayne for the threatening type out of the two of you.”

You bite your tongue, and Bruce looks over at you.

“Say what you want to say. I brought the two of you in here so you could solve your conversation away from those nosy fuckers outside,” Bruce rolls his eyes, fixing his cuff links.

“We aren’t children, Bruce,” you scowl.

“Then act like it,” Bruce sasses back.

“I do not need two men on my bad side right now. Remember what happens when you’re on my bad side, Bruce?”

Bruce looks between you and Jonathan, a hint of nervousness in his eye, “Don’t bring him into this, darling.”

“No, no. I’m curious now,” Jonathan grins deviously, stepping closer to you, “What happens when someone is on your bad side, Mrs. Wayne?”

Now realizing how your words and threats may have sounded all night to Jonathan, you backpedal.

“Not what you think, Dr. Crane,” you cross your arms, taking a step back from the doctor.

“Oh really? So your antagonizing and threats don’t mean anything?”

“What do you think they mean?”

“As I said earlier, desire and hatred are very close to one another,” Jonathan says suavely, “And I honestly can’t tell which you feel toward me.”

You make a disgusted sound despite the growing need to pin this man down and give him what for. Not even sexually, but simply because you’re tired of him speaking. However, Jonathan wasn’t bad-looking by any means- and sometimes, you and Bruce liked to try new things. But you don’t think Bruce would want to fuck with a murderer and criminal, especially one he’s had close encounters within the city. Jonathan almost burned him alive once, so you aren’t sure about whatever he’s insinuating going very far with your husband. 

“Hatred,” you spit, “It’s hatred. Plus,” you look over at Bruce, “I don’t think my lover would appreciate me having anything to do with you anyway.”

Jonathan snorts, his eyes flickering between you and your husband, “Are you so sure about that?”

You furrow your brow, laughing incredulously at him, “I’m certain.”

“I don’t know,” Bruce says suddenly, “I wouldn’t mind seeing the fucker squirm on your account, Y/N.”

You nearly gasped, suddenly very aware of the animosity you were aiming at Dr. Jonathan Crane, now becoming sexual in nature. Not that you meant for it to, but now that it was insinuated out loud by someone other than Jonathan, you pondered your true feelings. As you’ve said, Jonathan was a looker. If you weren’t married to Bruce and the man wasn’t psychotic, you wouldn’t mind taking him for a ride. But you are married, and he is psychotic. 

Jonathan has his hands shoved in his pockets, a smirk on his face as he studies you, “You want this. Don’t deny it, Mrs. Wayne. I can tell by the look in your eyes.”

You purse your lips together, “What I want is for you to shut up and behave. All you do is act high and mighty when you’re nothing but a little rat.”

Bruce tries to hide his laugh by covering it with a cough, “I’ll let everyone know it’s time to leave. When I come back, you two better be taking care of things.”

You look at Bruce, who gives you a slight nod in approval to do as you wish before he steps out of the room. No one is in charge in the bedroom permanently between the two of you. The dominant role is shared or is back and forth, depending on the day. To your shock, Bruce gives you the complete reins in this situation. But Bruce knew how much you despised Dr. Crane for what he’s done, even if a part of you is desperately curious about him. Desperate enough to demean him sexually, even. You want to humiliate him. Make him cry and make him regret having even come here. You want him to think of you whenever he feels shame or embarrassment for the rest of his life. 

“A little rat, huh?” Jonathan chuckles, undoing his cufflinks.

“Yes,” you blink, forcing him to walk backward to the bed as he struggles to remove his blazer.

You shove him roughly onto the bed, watching him bounce from the mattress with a look of disorientation. Jonathan eventually gets his blazer off, discarding it onto the floor. You can’t properly climb on the bed with your gown on, so you reach behind your back, undoing the clasps that hold the silver dress together. You kick off your glittery heels, letting the gown slip to the floor in a pile. Underneath your dress, you decided a black lingerie set would do nicely. You’re glad you picked well, considering such a doting man was now staring at you like you were a piece of meat and he was starving. You try to ignore the logical side of your brain telling you this man is dangerous and crazy. But the other side of your brain is telling you that his cock is definitely dangerous and crazy, too. And you wanted to find out for sure. 

“Now,” you begin to crawl to where Jonathan wordlessly lays, watching you carefully, “Are you going to be good and keep your mouth shut, pretty boy?”

“No promises,” Jonathan flashes a toothy grin, and you angrily rip his button-up open, buttons flying everywhere across the room.

Jonathan’s mouth hangs open, “That was an expensive shirt.”

“Nothing you can’t replace,” you shrug, running your hands along Jonathan’s handsome chest before letting your nails graze his nipples.

Jonathan shudders at the feeling, and you remove your hands from him, sitting back on your heels, “Lay on the pillows.”

“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” Jonathan purrs, doing as told, surprisingly.

You hear the door open behind you, and you turn around quickly to see Bruce.

“Everyone is cleared out. Brought some fun stuff, too,” he places a box on the floor, kicking it to the end of the bed for you to grab it.

You lean down over the edge of the bed and retrieve the box, crawling on your knees to where Jonathan lies. You open the box and hum in satisfaction at Bruce’s choice of toys and trinkets. You fiddle with one toy, dragging your gaze to Jonathan with a wicked smile on your face. But before you reveal the toy, you snatch some rope out of the box.

“Now you have no choice but to be good, Dr. Crane,” you snicker, offering Bruce some of the rope to tie Jonathan’s left wrist to the bedpost with.

You tie Jonathan’s right wrist tight enough for him not to move too much but not enough to where blood flow is cut off. Jonathan tugs at the rope, looking at you and Bruce with a nervous yet exhilarating smile.

“I’m privileged to be living such a fantasy,” Jonathan sighs.

“You’ll be wishing you had never stepped foot in this house when she’s done with you,” Bruce smirks, unbuttoning his shirt cuffs and rolling his sleeves up.

“Ah,” Jonathan laughs.

Before he can comment any further, you shove a ball gag into his mouth, strapping it behind his head securely. A deep feeling of satisfaction to him finally being quiet fills you. But the joy of seeing such an evil man at your mercy is more intense. 

“You better be glad I chose the ball gag instead of having Bruce have his way with that pretty mouth of yours, Crane,” you say, and Bruce shakes his head from where he stands beside the bed.

Drool begins seeping out of the sides of Jonathan’s mouth, and you can’t help but coo at the sight of his tightening pants and his reddening cheeks. You grab his face between your fingers, squishing his flesh. You hum in satisfaction before letting go of his face and focusing on his slacks. You all but tear his belt off his hips, hurrying to unbutton his pants before ripping them down his thighs. Bruce removes the pants the rest of the way as you climb onto Jonathan’s lap, your clothed core atop his throbbing, leaking bulge.

You kiss Jonathan’s jaw, leaving harsh bites along the column of his throat as you travel down, continuing your assault on the skin of his chest and torso. You reach the band of his underwear, which you tease with your hands, snapping the band against Jonathan’s skin. He tries his best to laugh from underneath the ball gag, spit sputtering from the gaps of his mouth. You slowly peel his underwear down his legs, watching as his hard cock slaps against his stomach. You let Bruce pull the underwear off completely, and he tosses it somewhere in the room to be found later. You lean down to lick the bead of precum off Jonathan's tip before pulling away completely, allowing Bruce the room to tie up the doctor’s ankles to the bottom bedposts. You stand at the foot of the bed, chuckling darkly as Jonathan struggles against the restraints. 

“Not so powerful now, are you, Dr. Crane?” you laugh, knowing he didn’t like you calling him by his professional name, “You look so pathetic, lying there with your poor cock out for us to see. Bet you wish one of us would touch it for you, hmm?”

Jonathan stays silent, his eyes boring into yours as he yanks his arms, testing the rope’s strength. He realizes he truly can’t move or speak and that he’s entirely at you and Bruce’s mercy. Not the worst position to be in, Jonathan thinks. 

“Which of us should do the honors?” you ask Bruce, a playful smile on your face. 

It isn’t often Bruce gets to mess with the other man during your experimental sexual encounters. Still, you figure this is personal enough for him to want to be involved. 

“You can take this one. I’ve got other plans,” Bruce says, smirking deviously.

“Oh really?” you grin, “I’m excited to see those.”

You climb back on the bed, moving toward Jonathan’s lap, where his weeping cock is getting redder by the second. Grabbing the base of it, you move it forward enough for it to meet your lips. You lap your tongue on Jonathan’s tip, smearing the precum around before licking a stripe up his entire length. You pull away, letting his cock slap painfully against his stomach again. You harshly grip Jonathan’s balls, causing him to cry out muffled. You massage them as you take his length into your mouth, bobbing your head as you continue to take him in entirely. You press your breasts into the bed, letting your ass be exposed for Bruce to take advantage of as you suck off Jonathan. Bruce wastes no time walking over to you, letting his hands run over your asscheeks before he pulls your pretty black underwear off. Bruce dips his head down to flatten his tongue against your wet slit, gathering your arousal as he swirls it around your cunt. You moan around Jonathan’s cock, causing him to twitch. 

“God, I love this pussy,” Bruce pants against you, “Too bad you can’t get a taste, Crane.”

You peer your eyes up to Jonathan’s, his icy blue eyes now dark from his blown pupils. He’s glaring at Bruce, trying to regulate his breathing as his tip hits the back of your throat. Jonathan’s eyes roll into the back of his head as you fuck him with your mouth, letting his cock slam into your throat. Jonathan tries to thrust into your mouth, but you push his hips down against the mattress. You’re slobbering, and tears are streaming down your face as you take his length as much as you can, wanting him to get as close to cumming as possible. Bruce sucks your clit harshly, letting two fingers slip into your wet pussy. You groan, the vibrations sending Jonathan batty. You feel him getting close, and you blindly fumble around for the box of toys that still remains on the bed somewhere. You find it, pulling off Jonthan’s cock as it twitches uncontrollably. He growls as you find the toy you were looking for. You give Jonathan a few pumps, gripping his length as tight as you can, watching as the precum helplessly spills from him. Before Jonathan can react or cum, you slip a cock ring onto him, sliding it down to his base. He cries out from behind the ball gag, his chest heaving. You lay your head on his thigh, watching as his cock turns bright red. Bruce continues to eat you out, his teeth brushing against your clit occasionally, causing you to moan. Your breath hits Jonathan’s angry length, making him shiver. You look him in the eyes as Bruce adds a third finger, fucking into your g spot harshly as he bites at your bundle of nerves. You maintain eye contact with Jonathan as you cum, letting your nails dig into the soft flesh on his thighs.

“Lucky for me,” you trace Jonathan’s tip teasingly with your finger, catching your breath, “I get to cum as much as I want.”

Jonathan stares at you without making a sound, focusing on his breathing so he doesn’t explode into a fine mist from the overstimulation. 

“Now it’s your turn since you’ve been a good boy,” you remove the ball gag from Jonathan’s mouth, licking up his spit from his lips before he can lick it off himself.

“Open your mouth,” you demand, and Jonathan does as told.

You gather his and your saliva in your mouth before spitting it onto his tongue. 

“Now show me how good you are at eating pussy, Dr. Crane.”

You flip yourself around, hovering over Jonathan’s face as you slowly remove the cock ring. Bruce removes his button-up, laying down between Jonathan’s spread legs. Jonathan lets out a strangled cry at the feeling of Bruce’s hot mouth on his sensitive cock. You push your pulsing cunt onto Jonathan’s face, to which he happily starts lapping hungrily. You watch as Bruce hollows his cheeks around Jonathan, and the sight alone makes you even wetter than before. 

“Fuck,” you mutter, Bruce’s eyes meeting yours.

You rock your hips against Jonathan’s tongue, urging him to continue. Jonathan wishes he could bury his fingers in your cunt, but he settles for his tongue instead. Twisting and pushing it inside you, he uses his nose to press against your clit, shaking his head. You grip Jonathan’s hair, cursing at the feeling of his tongue dragging in your walls and his nose flicking your bundle of nerves. You grasp your barely clothed breasts, letting your thumbs play with your nipples through the thin lace. Bruce moans around Jonathan while watching you, letting Jonathan fuck into his throat.

“Wanna cum, you piece of shit?” Bruce pulls off Jonathan, who gasps a ‘yes,’ “Be careful what you ask for,” Bruce chuckles.

You plan on milking the doctor for all he’s got all night. You want him spent and begging for mercy. Anything to make him miserable.

Bruce takes Jonathan back into his mouth, bobbing up and down quickly and stroking what he won’t take into his mouth. Bruce allows Jonathan to buck his hips into his face. Jonathan lets out a pitiful cry as he cums in your husband’s mouth, white-hot spurts of seed shooting down Bruce’s throat. You feel Jonathan roll your clit between his teeth before sucking it between his lips as he rides his high. You growl, letting your self-control go out the window. You chase your own high, letting Jonathan torture and tease your bundle of nerves with his tongue and teeth until you finally release in his mouth. Jonathan slurps and suckles every drop of your arousal from your cunt, licking until you pull off him. 

“Lucky for you,” you pant, beginning to untie the rope bound to Jonathan’s wrists, “This next part requires your cooperation. Promise you’ll behave?”

“Yes, Mrs. Wayne,” Jonathan nods.

You let Bruce finish untying the doctor as you discard your bra. You instruct Jonathan to move to the side, allowing you to lie down in his place. You demand that Jonathan climb on top of you. he does as told, and Bruce roughly pushes Jonthan’s face into your chest. You laugh at Bruce’s typical roughness, especially when it makes Jonathan look flustered. His ass is now in the air, revealed to Bruce. 

“Have you ever been fucked in the ass like a good boy?” you ask Jonathan, your fingers in his hair.

He doesn’t look at you or respond.

“I’m asking you a question, Jonathaaan,” you say threateningly, your fingers now gripping his hair harshly as you lift his head for him to look at you.

“No,” Jonathan says breathlessly.

“Well, that’s about to change,” you say, “Any regrets about being smart-mouthed to me yet, Dr. Crane?”

Jonathan glares at you, panting as Bruce spreads his ass apart, “Not yet.”

“Good,” you smile, letting his head drop abc to your chest, “Now obey me and show me how much you’re enjoying this.”

You move Jonathan’s face, maneuvering his mouth to your hardened and sensitive nipple. Bruce takes some lube from the box he brought, smearing it against his fingers before teasing Jonathan’s asshole with the tip of his index finger. Jonathan keens around you, his body beginning to shake as Bruce slowly pushes a finger inside him. Jonathan sucks harshly on your nipple, gasping as your husband wiggles his finger inside his tight ass. He laps at your bud, focusing on trying to please you and taking Bruce’s long finger simultaneously. A second finger is added, stretching Jonathan further. The doctor lets out a sharp groan at the delectable burn. He attacks your other breast, letting his finger circle around the one he was just attached to. Bruce prods a third finger into Jonathan, and he lurches forward from the feeling of fullness. 

“If you think you’re full now, just wait for Bruce’s fat cock, baby boy,” you taunt.

Bruce twists and curls his fingers inside Jonathan, doing his best to prep him for his unforgiving length. When he pulls his hand away, Jonathan gasps from the sudden emptiness. Bruce spreads his ass apart again, his slacks and underwear now discarded as his hardened cock pressed against Joanthan’s gaping hole. Jonathan whimpers around your nipple, pausing momentarily as Bruce slides himself into Jonathan. 

“Fuck,” Jonathan shudders.

“You can stop now. I need you elsewhere,” you pull Jonathan’s head off your breasts, sneaking your hand between the two of you to his newly hardened cock, stroking it in your hand in time for Bruce to bottom out. 

Jonathan whines, collapsing on your torso as the air leaves him.

“Tapped out already?” you pout, sticking your bottom lip out at Jonathan when you lift his head by his hair again, “Too fucking bad.”

Bruce then pulls out of Jonathan almost all the way before slamming back into him, his tip brushing against Jonathan’s prostate. Jonathan screams as you guide his cock between your slick folds, his body overstimulated. You let Jonathan weakly push his length inside your soaking cunt, your walls enveloping him immediately. Bruce wraps an arm around Jonathan’s chest, anchoring himself to the doctor. His other hand grips Jonathan’s hip with intensity. The feeling of Bruce pounding into Jonathan’s tight little ass affects you directly as Jonathan pushes deeper inside you every time Bruce thrusts into him. Soon, a rhythm is established, and you’re nearly in tears from pleasure as you watch Jonathan become a withering, crying mess underneath Bruce. 

“Doing so good taking Bruce’s huge cock,” you praise Jonathan, bucking your hips with his every time he involuntarily moves forward, “You could at least try a little harder to fuck me like you want to, though.”

Jonathan’s forehead is teeming with sweat as he struggles to actually thrust into you while Bruce fucks into his prostate. You give him the benefit of the doubt- the first time getting fucked in the ass is intense. So you rock and swivel your hips on Jonathan’s cock roughly, letting him reach up to grab your breasts for leverage. He pinches your nipples, twisting them hard, sending electricity to your cunt. You pulse around Jonathan’s length, causing him to grunt miserably. Bruce’s hips are slapping onto Jonathan’s asscheeks loudly, and Jonathan’s cock twitches pitifully inside you.

“Cum, sweet thing,” you coax Jonathan, whose hair has long since lost its gel hold and has begun flopping into his face, “Cum inside me.”

Jonathan starts fucking into you the best he can, tears streaming down his face as he cums, a hoarse scream leaving his throat. Bruce is still fucking him without mercy, and you let Jonathan’s soft cock remain inside you as he whimpers helplessly, his hands gripping your sides.

“That’s it,” you praise him gently, “Let Batman fuck you silly like you deserve.”

Jonathan peers up at you, giving you the dirtiest look he can muster as you cackle, Bruce grunting as he cums inside Jonthan’s ass and on his back. 

“Christ,” Bruce sighs, pushing his hair from his face as he winces, pulling out of Jonathan’s quivering asshole.

Jonathan collapses on top of you in a mess of sweat, tears, and cum. You let him catch his breath before sliding out from under him.

“One last thing, sweetie,” you say, your tone sugary, “Sit up on the bed for us.”

Jonathan weakly pushes himself up, flipping onto his back and laying his head on the pillows.

“Touch yourself,” you demand, sitting on your knees at the end of the bed beside Bruce, “I want you to cum until you can’t cum anymore.”

Jonathan opens his mouth to protest, but you motion for him to shush, to which he tiredly gives in. You dip your hand to your slick clit, swiping at it as Jonathan strokes his sensitive cock for you. Bruce watches you and Jonathan touch yourselves, unable to really get himself up again. He instead sits behind you, playing with your tits and rubbing his large hands on your hot, sticky skin. Bruce relishes in watching Jonathan fall apart as he looks away in embarrassment.

“Keep your eyes on me, Crane,” Bruce’s voice booms, making Jonathan jump.

Jonathan gulps, reluctantly keeping eye contact with Bruce as he bucks into his hand, moaning hoarsely as he gets close. He can’t help but think about how he was between the two of you, getting fucked by you and Bruce at the same time. With that, cum shoots from his overused cock onto his stomach, and he cries out in embarrassment when you demand he get off again.

You stay like that, letting Bruce replace your hand as you spread your legs further open to allow him to fuck you with his fingers. You bounce on them, moaning quietly as Jonathan fights to keep his eyes open, his wrist flicking to the best of his ability. The night goes on, and Jonathan eventually taps out, sobbing almost uncontrollably as he runs out of cum. You and Bruce give him time alone before slowly moving him to the shower, where you help him wash off. You and your husband also washed yourselves off, assisting Jonathan out of the shower when you were all done. He’s wrapped in a towel, wincing as he walks back to the bed and curls up under the covers. You follow suit, wrapping your arms around Jonathan and soothing him as he finally falls asleep. Bruce holds you from behind, sighing contently.

“Too bad it takes doing this to humble a villain,” Bruce jokes.

“And the fact I could help was exciting,” you chuckle, “I never get to fight criminals like you do.”

“Maybe you should. You’ve got the mouth for it. Your sass is unmatched,” Bruce buries his nose in your hair.

“Mmm, I think I’m good,” you say, stroking Jonathan’s hair out of his face, “One villain is enough for me, I think.”

You and Bruce quietly watch the evil, despicable fucker sleep soundly. 

“Can we keep him?” you ask Bruce, to which he tries not to burst out laughing.

“So you can torture him more? Absolutely.”

“Awesome.”

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[trippygalaxy]

Zagreus' Nicknames For You!

First x reader thing I'm making for Hades, and I wanted to do something small to get comfortable with this new fandom sooo nicknames headcanon it is! I hope you enjoy it!

Pairing: Zagreus x GN! Reader Warnings: NOT BETA READ!! (sorry for spelling errors!), suggestive language? its not meant to be--, Word count: 500+

Little Minx

A nickname said with mirth in his voice and a playful glare that holds nothing but love.

You, among with many others in the House, like to teasingly poke at the Prince's buttons with playful jabs and taunting comments. But you are one of the few that holds no true malice behind your words and makes a point to check in on him to see if these comments bother him.

He greatly appreciates your concerns and semi constant check ins, it makes him feel seen in a way he hasn't yet really experienced--

But he wouldn't call you his little minx if you weren't a little gremlin! Oh no no, you are by far the most mischievous soul he'll ever meet!! Your quick witted quips, your sly smirks and knowing looks as you press each of his buttons (with love, of course!), all of these factors are what got him to coin your title!

Zagreus may roll his eyes and send some playful jabs back, but he loves having a partner that can match his energy!! And he can't help but find it so cute when you snark him in that mirthful tone of yours!

Jewel

A nickname cooed into your hair, a wide smile clear in his loving tone. A nickname that comes bursting from his chest as he sees your darling form.

You shine brighter than any gem embedded in his fathers rings, the light that bounces off of you only adds to the breathtaking form of yours. You, to Zagreus, are one of the most beautiful jewels he had the honor to lay his eyes upon.

To the Prince, you are the most precious thing he has ever found!

Maybe thats the romantic in him, but he truly believes that you are worth every coin under the sun and ever uncut gem beneath the surface. He may doubt how someone as brilliant as you could ever stand next to someone as dull as him, but he is quick to push those worries aside when he sees the way you smile at him.

The man, as soon as he rises from the Styx, will look for you in the halls of the house, and you can bet that if he catches a glimpse of you he will be hurrying to your side and calling for you without a hint of shame in his tone.

He loves his Jewel, and he'll try to voice it ever chance he gets!

Nectar

A nickname whispered into the nape of your neck, batted breaths fanning across your collarbone as he clings to you.

Oh this boy...When he isn't trying to 'escape' the labyrinth that is the Underworld (or..dying), he is in your arms and is making himself right at home in your warm embrace!!

You've gained the nickname from...well...You hold a sweetness to you unlike anything he's ever experienced in the Underworld! He would gladly drown in you if it meant he could experience you again and again.

This nickname isnt as widely known, like Jewel, and nor is it used so sparingly like Minx! The nickname is used for the few quiet moments you two share together, its said with so much tenderness -as if you'd shatter like a glass bottle if Zagreus spoke it in any other way- you melt every time he says it.

These quiet moments tend to be with you two laying down, legs tangled with the others and embracing eachothers warmth and love.

Taglist: @birb-boyo @tomsishere @faroreskiss (Uhh...thats it i think?)

[hearts4renaa]

BETTER MAN.

summary: where they lacked in the relationship, and what caused you to ultimately break it off. featuring ayato kamisato, kaedehara kazuha, diluc, and alhaitham.

contains: blurbs for each boy. angst, allusions to break up. lyric references to taylor swift.

a/n: inspired by “better man” by taylor swift. please remember, if any of the things i describe below are reminiscent in any of your real life relationships, please rethink it. i hope you’re all doing well <3

We might still be in love if you were a better man. You could’ve been the one if you were a better man.

Ayato cared too much about the wrong things. He cared too much for the prices of the gifts he’d give to you. Cared too much about how the Kamisato clan approved of you. Cared too much about how perfect your relationship looked from the outside, all while unintentionally destroying it from the inside. He never cared about the quiet moments that truly showed the love you have (once had) for each other. Never cared for the cliche cheek kisses, for love languages, for any of it when behind closed doors. It was only a matter of time for you to stop caring, too.

Kazuha would disappear for days on end. It’s no secret that Kazuha was a wandering soul; it was simply in his blood. But there were times where he would wander off for days with no warnings or updates from him. Every time, it leaves you worried sick, hoping for his safety and for him to just come back. For him to come back to you. But when he disappears once again after an argument, you realize that it’s time for you to be the one who leaves.

Diluc constantly brings up the past. Every argument you two had, he’d bring up past disagreements. He was like a powder keg, ready to explode at any given moment. There could be zero correlation between your arguments, but that didn’t stop him. It was his defence mechanism, and you knew that, but his remarks felt like shots to your heart. Over and over and over, not giving you time to breathe. Eventually, one comment of his hit so deep, it almost felt as if you were bleeding out. Someone who loves you wouldn’t do this, and that’s when you realize that your relationship was no longer good for you.

Alhaitham didn’t bother to read in between the lines. For most people, they’re able to read when their loved one isn’t feeling well, or if something is off. Not Alhaitham. If you were not being direct with him, he will not bother to go past the surface level. He takes everything at face value. If you had a particularly hard day, or if you tried to hint at anything, he will not care. However, Alhaitham isn’t stupid. He picks up on these things, but he personally thinks it’s ridiculous that you aren’t being direct. It’s inevitable that this trait of his exceeds just bad days; soon enough, it was enough to make you open your eyes and rethink your relationship.

[unholyhelbig]

Your Oversight story is so amazing, I’m obsessed truly. I need some domestic fluff with Nat, reader, and Ronnie. Like making cookies for Ronnie’s class or something!!! Thank you for feeding my mafia boss obsession!

Title: Little Marksman [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: Natasha's mother makes an impromtu visit to the United States, sending Natasha and Yelena into a sprial about how their mother will react to their partners.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): None, I think, just fluff!, and horrible grammar

[a/n: This isn't exactly the fluff you requested, but I think it's pretty fluffy! Thank you all for the oversight requests, I promise, I'll get to them soon!]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

Natasha Romanoff did not often allow herself to indulge in the simple things. Sleeping in had long been a thing of the past, she’d spring up at the first chirp of an alarm and spend her mornings in a ritual of freshly pressed coffee, a long run that would coat her in a sheen of sweat, and then finally sitting down to attend to the boring side of business.

That, of course, had changed when she welcomed you into her life. You were decidedly not a morning person and would grumble until you found her alarm clock in the dark, shutting it off and pinning Natasha down with your dead weight as you fell back into a deep slumber. She hadn’t the heart to move you.

Then, when Veronica had gotten her own room there were some nights when Natasha would stir from her vigilant sleep. She’d startle, really. Your daughter was mostly silent during the day and happened to be worse at night. She would stand at the bottom of the bed, contemplating waking you.

It only ever bothered you after you watched the ring for the first time. After that, you would sense her presence and it seemed like Natasha was the same. She sat up and blinked, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

“Hi baby,” Natasha croaked, “are you alright?”

Natasha saw the silhouette of Ronnie shake her head and the woman looked sparingly at you. Light breathes escaped you, dead to the world. She heard the little word, barely a whisper. “Nightmare.”

It tugged at Natasha’s heart to the point where it was almost painful. She wanted to wrap her up that first night, pull her close until she wasn’t afraid of whatever had plagued her in her dreams. Tentatively, she scooted to the far side of the mattress and patted the space she’d created between the both of you.

Veronica snuggled under the blankets, shivering as her cold began to ebb away. Natasha felt stiff for a moment, lying on her back. She could feel your daughter’s body heat against her, and made the conscious choice not to move closer.

“You can talk about it, if you want.” She eventually whispered. “I’m here to listen, Ronnie, malen'kiy strelok.”

Little Marksman. Her father used to call Natasha the same, despite her not being the greatest shot. But, she was better than Yelena and that’s all the mattered at the moment. The term of endearment rolled off her tongue like honey and shocked her in the process.

Veronica didn’t say anything, she often didn’t, but she wrapped her tiny, strong arms around Natasha’s arm and buried her cheek into her, reveling in the close contact. She softened instantly and found herself staying awake until Ronnie’s breath evened out.

Neither her alarm, nor Ronnie stirred her this particular morning. Instead, it was a frantic knocking at her door. The sun streaming through the blinds indicated that she had been given the chance to sleep in, and if that wasn’t enough, you had left a little note on her side table: Get some sleep, I’ll handle the morning meetings. Love you!

It was close to noon, from her estimate, so you had kept up your end of the bargain. Natasha groaned into the silk pillow and pulled her way to the door. She glowered at the woman that stood on the other side.

“Did someone die?” Natasha grumbled, “Because you’re about to.”

“You are incredibly grumpy in the morning, has anyone ever told you that?”

Yelena shoved her way into the room. She was holding an envelope that had yet to be opened. There was a specific floral scent, almost like roses. Natasha crinkled her nose; she knew that smell. It had been a constant soothing presence throughout her childhood and beyond. Sometimes, she would walk into random rooms and catch a whisp of the spectral scent.

She snatched the envelope from her sister. It had already been crudely ripped, despite Natasha’s name being on it. This was a federal offense- but most of the stuff that this family did was, so it bothered her surprisingly little.

“Mama is coming for a visit.”

Yelena spilled the words out before Natasha could process the neat Russian writing. Her stomach dropped. Melina and Alexi had moved to a small far just outside of Moscow years ago. They stated that they wanted to get out of the city, but really, Alexi couldn’t keep his hands out of the business if they stayed in the city.

They would call every once and awhile, but were mostly solitary. She’d get a call on Christmas, and her birthday and sometimes the anniversary of her first kill. That one was hit or miss. Rarely- never- had Melina decided to drop by.

“I may have let it slip that you have a girlfriend.”

“Yelena!” Natasha shoved her roughly “Why would you do that?”

“It just came out! She was grilling me about Kate, and I panicked. You know yours is more put together than mine.”  

“You threw me under the bus.”

Yelena had a genuinely sad look on her face, one that was borderline pouty. Natasha growled through clenched teeth and finally got a chance to read her mother’s writing. She’d be here tomorrow, and there was too much to do. Natasha’s head started to spin.

In fact, you weren’t more put together than Kate. The two of you seemed to feed off of each other’s chaos. It was fine to deal with on a regular basis, but Melina was like a bloodhound. She would smell fear, and she would play into it until you both were reduced to a crushable size.

Oh, this was not good.

Natasha must have paled noticeably because Yelena took a tepid step closer, creasing her fingers against the empty pink envelope. Melina would be flying alone. She’d be here in two days and that didn’t give either girls much time to process the invasion at all.

Though her father was a stern man in practice, he was much easier to impress than her mother. They balanced one another out, and that was something that would be sorely missed during this visit.

She took a steadying breath, running her fingers over the dented familiarity of her mothers perfect script. There was nothing to worry about, right?

Despite Natasha’s multiple text messages to her mother, insisting that she would send a car to pick her up, Melina took a cab from the airport, not bothering to let either of her daughters in on the fact. She knew the address of her pervious home like the back of her hand, knew the deep green grass of the landscaping and the stretching view of the harbor.

Natasha had been pacing the length of the family room for most of the day. Yelena was draped over the loveseat, her limbs hanging over the sides, making her look nearly lanky compared to the furniture.

“Natasha, please, you are going to wear a hole in the carpet.”

“How can you be so calm?” She halted her pacing, cutting her sister a deadly look.

“I am not calm. I simply mask it better than you.”

The muffled sound of a car door closing made Yelena shoot up from her lounging position, she was standing next to Natasha now, both of them staring wildly at the large oak doors. You and Kate had been sent out with a massive grocery list and it was much too early for the two of you to return with Ronnie. In fact, you usually stopped for some ice cream, or a small lunch as a reward for the tiny girl.

Natasha deemed it better not to inform you, nor Kate, about her mother’s visit. It could be considered cruel, sure, but knowing you the warning would do nothing but send you into an immense panic and that would simply spur her mother on.

Melina had arrived with nothing more than a half-packed duffel bag. She always packed light, using the key on her ring to open the door to the place that was once her home. Natasha and Yelena lingered by the curved entryway, watching as the woman, perfectly sculpted and entirely unchanged, smiled softly at the décor.

“Do not just stand there, girls, come give mama a hug.”

It was an order that Yelena folded in on first. She was stiff at first but at the floral scent that her mother carried like a vice, she melted into the embrace. There was nothing like a  mothers hug, and that was evident by her body language.

“Aw, sweet girl” Melina pulled back and squished Yelena’s face between her hands “you are much too lean. Is this Kate girl not feeding you?”

“Mama, prekrati eto” She grumbled, batting the woman away.

Melina narrowed her eyes but focused her attention on her oldest daughter. She grasped both of her hands first, giving them a small squeeze before pulling her into her embrace. Natasha melted, pressed her nose against the side of her mother’s neck. It had been much too long, and despite being reduced to a little girl in this moment, she didn’t seem to mind.

“You’ve healed nicely,” Melina said.

Of course, her mother had heard about the two shots that Natasha took to the back. She had been lucky and avoided any major injury. They were simply superficial, but she could understand how it would sound brutal all the same.

“Now,” she clapped her hands together, getting a devilish look in her eye “where is my granddaughter?”

Natasha choked on air before she glared at Yelena with a look that could kill. Her mother’s hand was patting her back. She’d become tender with age, it seemed. Still, a force to be reckon with, Natasha wouldn’t dare try anything.

“Your granddaughter?”

“Please, Natalia, she sleeps in your bed. Marriage or not, she’s your child. That’s how we got Clint, isn’t it?”

She was at a loss for words. Melina had a point. Clint was a mere stranger to Natasha until her parents took both her and Yelena to the circus that traveled through town. Her younger sister was nothing more than a baby, but Natasha was mystified. More than the clowns, and the acrobats, she had interest in the knife thrower and his charge.

A little boy that was around the same age as Natasha. When the show was over, Natasha refused to move until the young boy, covered in dirt and with dark purple bags under his eyes, started to sweep piles of popcorn and empty paper cups to the sidelines.

She’d introduced herself, and though he was quiet, she took an instant liking to him. Alexi had a few choice words with the boys guardian, who turned out, didn’t want to keep the kid and regarded him as nothing more than an employee- a runaway that had latched onto the circus. He had no idea who the boy belonged to, and Alexi decided that Clint belonged to them, now.

Instead of Clint being like family, he was family.

“Oh Mama, she will marry this girl.” Yelena beamed, “titles be damned.”

Natasha groaned into her hands. Had she thought about marriage? Yes, absolutely. She wanted nothing more than to make you officially hers. But she wanted to wait until the perfect moment; she wanted to not only include Ronnie, but get her input as well.

Melina gave a beautiful smile, patting Natasha’s cheek “I know, moya milaya. Are you not going to show me to my room?”

It was apparent that you and Kate had been sent on a fools errand when you finally got to the store and got a better look at the handwritten list that you were given: Milk, eggs, bread, A single MTS-I Mortorq screw, VW Mk4 Golf R32 duel clutch plate- and seriously, what the hell was that?

Darcy would know, and would have caught on a lot faster than you or Kate did. The more you thought about it, the more you realized that there was no reason to go to the store at all. You’d gone two days prior and knew for a fact that you’d gotten everything recognizable on the list.

“Kid,” Kate gave Ronnie’s had a squeeze “we’ve been played, bamboozled, tricked.”

Your daughter lifted an eyebrow at the woman’s antics. In a few years, she’d move on to eye rolling, and while you weren’t prepared for it, you would be glad for the indication. You’d done it yourself, crumpling up the list and shoving it into your pocket. There was no need to brave the crowds in the grocery store.

Instead, you aimed your sights on the small frozen yogurt place that was nestled in between a shoe store and a Gamestop. You might as well get a treat while you were out, considering Natasha requested you go further than the closest store because she liked the bread at this one better.

“They clearly wanted us out of the house. But why?”

“Yelena usually tells me everything.”

“Huh,”

“What? She does!”

“Doesn’t seem like the type.”

A sweet frozen scent hit your lungs and the little bell above the door sounded. There was a less than enthusiastic employee behind the counter, moving like molasses. You did have to kill time…apparently.

Veronica spoke up when dessert was involved. She didn’t carry a conversation with the teenager, but she did give little indicating sounds. Your arms were crossed over your chest to stave off the cold, and you settled for a simple chocolate. Ronnie loaded hers with a bunch of toppings, and Kate got vanilla with extra (extra) rainbow sprinkles. Each bite she took crunched like gravel.  

“The point is, she didn’t say anything about something going down, and if it was, wouldn’t they want us there? Clint’s out of town so we’re the only muscle they’ve got.”

The employee behind the counter lifted an eyebrow at you both and you made sure to stick an extra couple of bills in the tip jar with a sheepish smile. You ushered them both to one of the benches outside, basking in the highpoint of the sun and cursing Kate’s tact, or lack thereof.

“You’ve got a point. Maybe it’s something personal?” You suggested, reaching your pink plastic spoon over and stealing a bite of Ronnie’s candy-coated yogurt. She batted you away, a little too slow and you claimed your prize.

“Yelena tells me-“

“Everything, I know.”

Kate took her own scoop of frozen yogurt and crunched on it thoughtfully. “They’re nervous. If they’re being this secretive. They sent us out for car parts for a car that none of us own.”

“Lena said that Mama is coming for a visit.”

Ronnie’s feet didn’t’ touch the ground and she was working at dislodging a frozen gummy bear that became mostly inedible. She kicked back and forth and only looked up from her task when she was met with silence.

Kate’s mouth was propped open, and your eyes were wide. She frantically glanced between the both of you and shrugged her little shoulders. “This is one of those things I’m supposed to tell you, right?”

Kate nodded, suddenly losing her appetite “Uh-huh,”

You’d heard about Melina before, in passing, but Natasha seemed to bristle about the woman. She did the same for her father, but you knew the legends of Alexi and his kind hand when it came to running the city. Her mother was entirely different; entirely horrifying.

You’d seen a picture of her in a small and dusty shoe-box while helping Natasha clean out the attic one day last summer. It was stiflingly hot, and you were shocked to find it framed, but shoved away all the same.

Natasha was young, maybe around eleven, and Clint was next to her, smiling with missing front teeth. Yelena was smaller, the large hands of Alexi engulfing her shoulders. And then there was Melina, even in casual cargo shorts and striped tank-top, she looked regal and oh-so intimidating.

Your girlfriends’ arms wrapped around her midsection, her chin resting on your shoulder. She gave you a squeeze and stared down at the photo you were holding.

“You were cute as a kid.”

“were?”

“Still are!” you corrected, smiling lazily down at the family photo.

There was something longing behind your gaze that Natasha admired. Not that she would tell you that. Instead, she told you about the trip to Busche Gardens that ended in Clint nearly drowning and Yelena throwing up after she scarfed down three corndogs and a funnel cake.

Now you felt like you would vomit yourself, sliding your frozen yogurt away with a frown. You were far from prepared to meet Melina Romanoff, and by the green look on Kate’s face, so was she.

“Oh, we are so fuc… screwed. We’re screwed.”

“I know the word fuck, mommy says it all the time.”

“Just because I say it doesn’t mean you can. Eat your yogurt.”

You were clearly having a crisis and Veronica was clearly enjoying the fact that you’d given up on your frozen yogurt. She took alternating bites and would most definitely lose her appetite if she kept going, but you couldn’t’ bring yourself to push it away.

“Why wouldn’t they tell us?” you asked.

“Probably because of this” Kate made a vague gesture “this who panicking thing? Melina is going to kill us both and then it won’t matter but they decided to spare us the torture of waiting for this day.”

It felt like slowly working a mouse away from a glue trap by the time your frozen yogurt had turned to nothing but a brown soup. There was nothing to hold you and Kate from home now, and Ronnie was growing restless under the hand of the sun. You swore you heard her mutter something about Grandma, but chose to ignore it entirely in favor for pure fear.

Natasha seemed to be waiting at the door to intercept both you before you went any further. Not that you minded her soothing hand on your chest, and an apologetic look in her eyes. She smoothed your shirt down once, and then nervously, twice.

“Sweetie, I don’t think it’ll un-wrinkle, no matter how hot your hands are.”

“See that,” She whispered harshly, “Is something we’re not going to do. Both of you need to be on your best behavior. Understood? Better than best. Kate maybe don’t… talk.”

“Aye, captain.”

The younger woman frowned at her own words and instead settled for miming zipping her lips shut. Maybe it would better for you not to talk either. From your spot in the foyer, with Ronnie clinging to the fabric of your jeans, you could hear the muffled Russian. Yelena was responding to something, a bit of a whining tone to her voice.

Natasha’s hands had made their way to yours. She knit them together, a sort of an anchor. The other hand reached down to Ronnie, who was suddenly shy despite her earlier indifference. You could throw up right here and now but figured that would only serve to embarrass you further.

There was a clear similarity between Melina and Natasha; the high cheek bones, the striking green gaze, the flawless skin. She held the same cold stare that her daughter did but could hide her emotions better than your girlfriend. A stone dropped in your stomach under her gaze.

Natasha squeezed your hand tighter, her thumb on your pulse point. The pad of her finger ran over it gently, assuredly. She knew you were horrified. Kate gulped (which to her credit, was technically not talking, but was still painfully audible.)

Melina had a knife in her hand, a half-carved apple resting between she and Yelena like a peace offering. There were differences in the cuts, one smoother, the other more practiced. This family found leisure activity in carving techniques.

Natasha warned in a breath “Bud' milym, mama.”

Her mother didn’t heed the warning. Instead, she closed the difference between you. Yelena instinctively tightened her grip on the kitchen knife, not that she’d ever use it. Melina scrutinized you for what seemed like years, but was only a few ticking seconds.

“Ona khoroshen'kaya”

“spasibo, Miss Romanoff”

“ah, you know Russian?”

“Yelena has been teaching me.” You swallowed the dryness in your throat as her raised eyebrow lowered to something less intimidating. “Ma’am.”

“Manners too. Maybe you can teach my Natalia something or two about that.”

You felt you cheeks heat up and you diverted your eyes to the floor. It had directed the attention in the room to the small girl clinging to your leg as if it were a piece of beached driftwood and she were fighting against the raging currents.

Melina knelt down in front of your daughter, her rigid stance loosening until she looked more like a mother than yourself. She was soft in this moment, the sun hitting her eyes in a way that made them glow supernaturally.

“Hi, Malen'kiy strelok”

Natasha parted her lips, as if to inform her mother that Veronica didn’t speak much, if at all. She’d gotten better, sure, but it was nearly stagnant with new people. Ronnie studied Melina as the woman had studied you.

“What does that mean?” Ronnie asked, her grip lessening.

Melina smiled “Little marksman. From what I hear, your mother has a very good aim. Do you?”

“I don’t know yet. Kate says I do.”

“Well, I’m sure we will find out in due time, milaya devushka.” She tentatively tucked a strand of hair behind Ronnie’s ear before standing again and focusing her attention on Kate. Kate who had paled at least ten shades and was sweating despite the air conditioning in the house.

Yelena straightened up herself, giving a silent warning with her stare. Of course, Kate didn’t’ see it like you and Natasha did, her arm having moved from your hand to your hip bone in the quiet approval from her mother. She’d relaxed significantly.

“Hi,” Kate squeaked out and Yelena stifled a groan put massaged her temple.

Melina seemed to look to Natasha for confirmation: This is the one she chooses?

With you, there was merit. There were callouses on your hands and scars that hardened under the fabric of your shirt. Kate was much of the same, though, she showed it in a nervous, fluttering type of way that presented outwardly as fumbling and awkward.

“Krasivo, no... puglivo. Like deer.” Melina offered a small smile to the girl and her breath seemed to release.

Skittish. Kate was certainly that, but she seemed to balance out Yelena with the perfect amount of caring and heart. Melina was nothing, if not vigilant. She clapped her hands together, that small smile turning into a large grin. “You all must eat something, you look starving. And Natasha, you are slouching, don’t’ slouch in front of your daughter. Those bad manners.”

“Mama, I am not slouching.”

Natasha groaned as the tension in the room broke. Her forehead pushed against your cheek. Veronica dragged Kate over to the kitchen island by the hand and instruction on the proper way to carve pieces from an apple began, much to Yelena’s huffing dismay.

Hands shifted from your hips, finding the two back pockets of your jeans. “She likes you,”

“I would be dead by now if she didn’t.”

“Yeah, right when you walked through the door.”

The two of you chuckled, her nose nudging against yours. “She called Ronnie your daughter.”

“I’m sorry, dorogoy, she pushes. She means well.”

You pressed a small kiss to the corner of her mouth, words a light whisper “don’t apologize. I like the sound of it.”

Before Natasha could collect her thoughts, her rush of pure emotion, you had pulled away from her and joined the rest of the family around the kitchen island. Though she couldn’t hear exactly what was being said, Natasha was more than content standing in the doorway, her arms crossed over her chest.

Her heart pounded fondly.  

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]