#in his case i think its that before being turned he already considered himself halfway between living and dead for a long time anyway

[fascinationstreetmp3]

even though he seems to have objections about the vampiric diet, really it feels like he's playing it up, acting in line with the human morals he's "supposed" to have (killing & eating people is wrong)

of course there's nothing he could really do about it, but daniel literally sits there and watches a guy get escorted off to be lunch for armand and only has some short jabs about it in response

he's even curious about it all, another thing he can add to his book

really, his priority is always his book and his own life. i do wonder how he would've reacted to someone being killed in front of him (since the fox seems to disturb him), but it's clear by the time he's speaking with louis in the finale he has no issue with taking lives to feed himself. imo it's something that was present and lurking within him for a long time before becoming a vampire

[venusiangguk]

gold rush pt. 2 | jjk (m)

>>pairing: jungkook x reader

>>genre: pwp, v little plot, smut, kinda fluffy, college au (kinda), established relationship

>>word count: 8.9k

>>warnings: romantic ass eating 😐, oral (m), fingering (m/f), butt stuff but it’s SEXY, explicit sex, crying, jungkook likes to be praised, soft koo, dom reader... but like soft, spitting in mouth, dirty talk, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, this is so soft, that good smut, literally like 7.5k of filth

>>notes: hot girls eat ass!! oc is a hot girl!! this involves butt stuff (just mouth and fingers, no pegging 😔), so if that isn’t ur cup of tea just read pt 1 again lol, i separated it this way in case there were people who weren’t down to go down... iykyk. but with that said, i encourage u to open ur eyes and ur mind and give this a chance 🤩

>>summary: jk finally lets you eat his ass 😁👍🏻

pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3

It’s day 6 of trying to get Jeongguk to let you eat his ass. It’s getting hard to function, and the sun doesn’t shine as bright as it used to. The week has been a rough one, filled with clenched butt cheeks, and fewer blow jobs than normal. You just can’t seem to stop yourself from wandering south when you’re down there, so you’ve lost the privilege. Constantly met with Jeongguk’s laughter filled eyes when he pulls you up to where you’re supposed to be, and a “You should not want to eat my ass this bad.”

He just doesn’t understand.

Currently you’re sat in the cafeteria with your friends, your eyes consistently roaming to a table across the large room. He’s laughing at something and his hands are clapping in front of him as he throws his head back. You rest your head on your arms, pouting, and you breathe a deep and miserable sigh.

“Alright y/n what the fuck?” Your friend Yuna says, flicking your cheeks.

Her speaking up causes a few of your other girlfriends at the table to direct their attention towards you. “Yeah, you’ve been like... pouty for the last few days. What’s going on?” Cho questions as well.

You debate keeping the silly internal struggle to yourself before giving in and stating plainly, “Gguk won’t let me eat his ass.” You blow absently at a piece of hair that falls into your face, eyes crossing as you look at it. Next to you, Jiwoo chokes on the zero cal drink that she’s been sipping.

Yuna stares at you blankly for a moment before recovering. “That’s... well that’s a predicament.” She hums in thought. “Does he actually not want to or is he just being shy and stubborn?”

“Second one.” You say. You’ve known your boyfriend for years and you’ve definitely learned how to tell when he’s being serious and when he’s just being stubborn. If you really thought he wasn’t about it you would have dropped it. But you know Jeongguk’s just being difficult because he thinks it’s funny to make you pine, and actually has at least some curiosity about the act. He just won’t admit it.

“Minjun was the same way,” Cho nods in solidarity. “But he likes it now.”

“How’d you get him to change his mind?” You ask perking up. A beacon of hope.

“We watched porn of it together.”

“That’s how I discovered it!” You gasp.

You pull your phone out to text your boyfriend.

you:

minjun let’s cho eat his ass 🥺

You watch Jeongguk from across the room and see the moment he receives the text. He searches the lunch room before his eyes land on yours and he let’s out an incredulous harsh laugh, before shaking his head slightly to himself. You glance at your phone and see the text bubble appear in your messages.

koo 🥴:

maybe he’ll let you eat it too 🥺

You gape at your phone and look at your boyfriend only to see him talking to his friends again. He gives you a side glance and you see his smile grow bigger as he tries to ignore you.

~~~

Jeongguk’s sitting at his lunch table picking at the food in front of him listening as Jimin rambles about the not-so-great grade he got on his latest science test. “Why the fuck do I need to know that the sun will make it too hot for life to exist on earth in a couple billion years? Not only will I be dead, but that is just anxiety inducing.”

His phone that’s vibrating on the table catches his attention, a picture message from you on the home screen. He gets a little excited at the sheer potential that a picture message has and opens it eagerly. Sure the chances of getting a titty pic when it’s mid-day and you’re both in the middle of a lunch cafeteria are small... but they are never zero.

When he opens the message and sees the picture, he laughs loudly before clapping his hand over his mouth to quiet himself.

baby 🥺💘😏🧠🙄👊🏻:

He’s about to respond when Taehyung says, “Alright, you can’t keep laughing at your phone and not tell us what’s so funny.”

Jeongguk looks at the couple in front of him a trace of a smile still lingers on his lips. He shows them what you sent. “Y/n wants to eat my ass so bad.” He laughs to himself, going back to his phone.

“Are you not letting her?” Jimin asks.

Jeongguk sets his phone to the side before he gets to respond. It’s clear his friends are ready to have a conversation about it. “I don’t think so.”

Jimin and Taehyung look at each other and smirk. “Why not? It feels really good.”

He looks between them silently before asking, “You’ve done it?” He receives two nods.

“This one’s a real ass-muncher.” Taehyung says jerking a thumb at his boyfriend. Jimin swats at him.

“He says like that like its a bad thing and like he doesn’t cum from just my mouth and my fingers.” Jimin rolls his eyes.

Jeongguk tenses and turns a little red. A little tremor of heat coursing through his body at the thought of feeling so good that he could cum without even having a hand around himself. “Just from that? No dick touching? Is that even possible?”

“Oh to be straight and oblivious to the wonders of butt stuff.” Jimin pouts at him like he feels bad for him.

Taehyung on the other hand is a bit more helpful. He pops a fry in his mouth and talks with his mouth full, “It’s possible. We have like a button in our ass that’s like... magic. You know what a prostate is right?”

Jeongguk scoffs. “Obviously.”

“Okay well let her put her fingers and tongue in your ass then, if you know so much about it. Have you eaten hers?”

“Yeah I’ve had my tongue in every crevice of that girls body.” He’s nodding and smiling like he’s proud. He glances at you, and he sees you huddled next to your friend, looking closely at something on her phone, your long hair falling like a curtain over your shoulder, some pooling on the table. You look so pretty. You feel his stare, and look at him. Your smile is soft, and your lips pucker in a little kiss. Chuu.

“Right,” Jimin says bringing Jeongguk back to the topic at hand, “Well if she let you, and you’re open to it you should let her... like it will actually feel better for you than it probably did for her.” Jeongguk looks like he’s about to defend his honor and sex skills, before Jimin cuts him off, “Not saying you didn’t do it right or whatever. It’s just that guys are like programmed to like it... like biologically or- something.”

“Or something.” Jeongguk repeats.

“Why don’t you want to in the first place? Is it because you think it’s gay?” Taehyung asks laughing, knowing that that’s not why.

Jeongguk gives him a bored deadpanned stare. “No. Maybe it’s because I shit out of my ass and don’t want her mouth near it? She’s perfect, she doesn’t deserve that.”

Jimin cackles. “Well it’s not like you just let her go for it! You have to prepare.”

Jeongguk sits and listens as his friends give him nothing less than a full comprehensive lecture on the logistics of ass eating and ass getting ate. Ass 101. He’s still unsure but hearing from guys who have actually done it and enjoyed it makes him feel a bit more open and curious. It has him pulling out his phone and tentatively typing out a text to you, finally replying to the picture you sent.

me:

i’m thinking about it

He watches you, waiting for the text to get to you. He smiles when he sees you get excited at seeing his name on your home screen, something warm blossoming in his chest. He struggles to keep his face straight when he sees your head whip up, looking at him wide-eyed like you can’t believe what he just texted you. His fingers wiggle in a small wave, and the biggest smile slowly crawls across your face. He receives one last message before lunch ends.

baby 🥺💘😏🧠🙄👊🏻:

say less, sir 🤤

~~~

Jeongguk lays on his back patiently, looking down at you below him while you take your time planting soft kisses all the way down his body. He was in a quite docile mood considering all the pestering you’ve put him through the past few days. And despite what you both knew you had planned for him. Something he claimed to be nervous about, but you supposed one could be nervous and excited and pliant all at once.

When you take one of his nipples into your mouth he lets out a soft “oh...” his hands flying up like he wants to wrap them in your hair, hold you there till he’s pleased, but he catches himself when his arms are halfway raised. He brings them back down by his sides, fists the sheets like he’s holding himself back, like he wants to be good for you. As you lick and suck on the paired nipple, feeling it pebble in your mouth, you watch  Jeongguk’s mouth fall open silently while his eyebrows furrow and a wrinkle of pleasure forms between them. His cock is steadily going from warm and plump to hot and hard and leaking, you can feel it twitch against your lower belly.

He opens his eyes to watch you and you can see his pupils are blown and you smile up at him, a tiny bud still pulled between your teeth and Jeongguk whines. A high pitch needy, breathy noise falls from his lips before he pulls his bottom one between his teeth. His head turns to the side, baring his neck in subconscious submission, and God. He doesn’t get like this often but when he does? He is the prettiest sight.

Heat pools in your belly and your panties are already sticking to your bottom half. You hum before moving your ministrations to his torso, soft wet open mouth kisses being placed any and everywhere, prolonged ones on each of his abs. He works so hard for his body, his physique. It’s something he does for himself, but you feel lucky that you get to see him like this in all of his glory.

“Thank you.” You say as you place a kiss on the tattoo he has on his hip bone.

He hums, “For what?”

“For letting me see you like this,” You finally wrap a hand around his cock. You bite your lip when you feel it jump in your palm, “For letting me explore today. You’re so sexy, and so lovely, and so perfect. You work so hard, baby.” Kisses, so many kisses planted over his groin area, but never where he wants it most.

He huffs and you can see a flush from embarrassment darken the already present flush of arousal, due to the praise and mention of exploring. He squirms in your hold, not wanting to talk, probably wishing you would just get on with it already. Surely you can feel him throbbing in your hand, right?

Finally, you bring your lips to his frenulum and place the softest kitten lick to it and Jeongguk positively keens in your hold. You stroke his cock, squeezing on the upstroke to watch a bead of precum well at the top. It glistens, shiny and clear, at the pink head. You wrap your lips around the tip fully, lapping and swirling your tongue over it, humming at the heady, slightly bitter taste on your tongue. It’s not particularly pleasant per se but it’s sexy. The fact you get him so worked up that his cock can’t help but leak, so worked up that he can’t help the soft little whines that fall from his lips; the fact that he gets so turned on and hard and wet just from a few of your kisses and licks makes you moan with his cock in your mouth, thighs squeezing together for some type of pressure and relief.

You pop off with a harsh suck. “I can’t wait to taste you.” You groan, licking a broad stripe up his cock with the flat of your tongue.

He grumbles quietly shifting, sort of like he’s antsy and frustrated. He knows what you mean and he knows you don’t mean his cock that you just had in your mouth.

“What was that?” You ask through a smile, nipping at his hip with your teeth.

“Can you stop talking about it and just suck my dick so I can forget you’re even gonna do that?” He rolls his eyes and pouts down at you with a tiny scowl on his face.

“Oh baby,” You laugh, not patronizingly, but there is a little bit of a teasing lilt to your voice, “Are you still embarrassed?”

He doesn’t answer, just scowls harder if that was even possible.

You move away from his cock, and up his body. His eyes reflect panic and his hands finally move from the sheets to press on your shoulders, trying to keep you in place. “No, stay,” he whines.

You laugh again pushing against his hold before finally settling half on his chest. You rest a leg over his thigh, keeping your body close and pressed to his. You look into his big brown doe eyes that are slightly glassy from all the teasing. You can see some apprehension and nervousness swimming in them as you place a hand on his cheek, stroking softly. He closes his eyes and nuzzles into your palm before his hand comes up to hold your wrist, to just touch some more. His other hand runs up and down your body that’s resting half on top of him, tickling slightly like your the one that needs attention. He kisses your hand that’s on his cheek softly before looking at you again.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.” You say quietly, thumb brushing over his cheek bone.

His eyes fall closed again and you can see his brow furrow once more, though this time it isn’t out of pleasure it’s because he’s thinking. Despite all the playful teasing and pestering and banter, you’ve always made sure to check that he was actually okay with you going down there. And, yeah, he was nervous but after talking about it seriously and doing some research together he always said he was fine with it. But you know things can change in the moment and you just want to double check, make sure that he still feels that way.

You hum in question gently, prompting a response.

He huffs, tightening his grip on your wrist, a nervous gesture. His eyes are still closed when he quietly says, “No I just... I- I’m not like backing out...”

“You can though.” You interrupt.

His eyes open quickly, and he shakes his head. “No, no I want to I just...” His voice starts off strong but tappers into a softer tone. “I want to I just feel a bit like... weird.”

Your brow furrows this time. “Why, baby?”

“I feel like I shouldn’t want you to.” He doesn’t meet your eyes and you can feel his cheek heat up in your palm.

Ahhhh, you think. Although you talked and teased about the topic, you realize that while Jeongguk agreed (whilst impishly feigning a faux diswant on principle) you never realized that the lighthearted “You shouldn’t want to eat my ass this bad” remarks may have stemmed from something serious, and weren’t just playful protests.

“Why do you feel that way?” You press gently.

His eyes flicker to you and then to your mouth, then back to something (nothing) off to the side. He has a small not-so-amused smile on his lips when he says, “It’s kinda taboo isn’t it?”

You can’t help but giggle at the word he used. Taboo. Out of all the things you guys have done, this is what he chooses to get shy about. Sweet boy.

“Not any more tabooo than you wanting to eat my ass, or fuck my ass.” You hum at him, stretching out the word in a teasing manner, making him look at you. You smile at him before continuing, “Or you like slapping me, or me gagging you with my panties, or-“

“Okay okay! I get it.” He laughs and places a kiss to your lips to get them to stop moving.

You beam, glad to see he’s a bit more relaxed. The boner however, is definitely gone, but that can be fixed.

“I’m not trying to convince you though.” You emphasize, “I only want to if you want to.”

He nods, softly smiling at you. “I want to.”

A salacious grin takes over your face and you sigh softly into his ear before whispering, “Perfect... I’m going to make you feel so good baby, make you feel so good with my tongue. Get you all whiny and red and sweaty. Maybe your legs will start to shake from how good it feels? Do you want that, Jeongguk?” You nip at his ear lobe as you feel a slight tremor run through his body. Your hips subtly roll against the side of his body, seeking any friction at this point. You feel him nod. “Maybe if you like my mouth enough we can use fingers when you’re ready baby.” You hear him suck in a sharp breath and slowly let it out on a shaky exhale. You grin and place a kiss to his temple before continuing. “Get them inside of you to find that spot that will really set you off. The spot that will make you cum for me. Wouldn’t that feel so good baby?”

He nods again and you can feel the hand that has been running up and down your back throughout the conversation grip at your ass roughly.

“Say it baby, I wanna hear you.”

He whines and struggles against the hand on his face that is now gripping his jaw, still putting up a little bit of a fight about wanting something he considers “taboo”. But he gives in easily enough when he realizes you won’t continue until you get more confirmation that he genuinely wants this, and is excited to have it.

“It’s gonna feel so good y/n. God, you’re gonna make me feel so good.” He’s shy when he says it, but he’s almost panting as well. At last, he’s giving in and admitting to himself that this is something that will feel good and is okay to want.

He grips your face and kisses you. It starts slow and tentative but quickly manifests into a kiss that is deep and hard, one that is full of lust and neediness. He bites at your lip needing to release some of the pent up frustration but at your whine of pain he licks over it apologetically, placing softer kisses instead for a moment before he rests his forehead against yours, both your breathing is ragged for a minute until he speaks up.

“Please y/n. I’m so hard.” He pleads in a soft whisper.

You take a second and look down between your bodies and sure enough, his cock has returned to full hardness, and your mouth waters seeing even more precum welling at the tip than before.

“I’m gonna suck it.”

“Please do.” Jeongguk laughs as you move down his body, but the laugh goes high pitched and breathy when you take him down your throat immediately.

“Fuck...” he sighs, his head falling back and eyes fluttering.

You pull off and close your eyes, relishing in the fact that you can make him feel like this. Grinning against his cock you place a kitten kiss to the shaft. “Good baby?”

He nods his head. “Yes yes, please keep going.”

You hum against the head causing Jeongguk to exhale sharply, hips twitching due to the vibrations. He’s so sensitive and you crave the reactions you pull from him. Whether they’re the soft noises and the small twitches or the loud moans and jerking muscles, they are all equally loved and desired.

Quickly you pull off and reach up placing your hand under his mouth, before he can protest at you pausing again. Maybe you’re being a little mean, but he sounds so pretty when he’s desperate and you just can’t help yourself.

“Spit.” You instruct.

You see him work his jaw, sharp edges protruding here and there while he gathers some in his mouth before spitting it into your hand. You peck a nipple on the way back down to his cock wrapping the spit filled hand around him. You see him watching you and you hold eye contact as you gather some of your own and let it drool from your mouth landing on the tip of his cock. You swear you see his eyes go impossibly darker, his jaw clenching, hands turning to fists in the sheets beneath you both.

When you stroke, mixing everything, his eyes close and he lets out a breath through his nose as he rests back and gets a little more comfortable. It’s not too messy, just the perfect amount of wetness for the glide to be slick and pleasing for him. You tighten your grip and twist under the head watching as the muscles in his stomach and thighs tense, a soft grunt draws your gaze to his face.

“Yeah... like that...” he whispers. He’s just barely rocking his hips into your hands, trying to be subtle while also trying to chase the feeling.

You speed up your hand, keeping up the movements he likes while adding your tongue to flick at the underside of his head. You glance at him and find him watching you again, a fucked out look on his face, mouth slightly parted and a bead of sweat running down his temple. Slowly you sink down watching him till you can’t anymore, burying the tip of your nose in the soft patch of neatly kept hair at the base of his cock. When you feel him hit the back of your throat you contract it and shake your head from side to side and finally, finally you pull out one of his loud and unrestrained moans. It goes straight to your pussy, making it feel like it’s pulsing in your panties.

You come up for a breath before you stay down as long as you can repeating the same actions that pulled the lovely moans from his throat and you continue to hear them as you feel him start to sink his hips, almost like he’s overwhelmed and trying to pull away from how good it feels, like he can’t handle how how good it feels.

In your peripheral vision you can see his hands twitching like he’s fighting with himself before he gives in and sinks them into your hair, pulling slightly before pushing your head down and bringing his hips back up. He’s not fucking your face, but he let’s his cock sink as far back as it can and let’s you work your throat around him, lets himself get overwhelmed instead of pulling away from the feeling like he was before.  

Jeongguk was a head pusher in every sense of the term. Some people hated when their partners did that, but you loved it. You loved it because Jeongguk was different from most head pushers. He had variety. Sometimes he liked pushing your head down and holding you there to choke you and watch tears form in your eyes, to watch your makeup run while you struggled to breathe. Sometimes he did it in a face-fucking way, his hips jackhammering while he moved your head up and down just the way he wanted it. This time though, he held your head down in a begging way. In a way that said “Oh god please, please don’t stop, it feels so fucking good, please stay there forever”.

Jeongguk is whimpering above you and you hum and moan loudly sending strong vibrations up your throat and down his cock and he��s thrashing, throwing his head back, grip in your hair tightening, a pleasant pain on your scalp.

“Oh my fucking god,” He groans, neck extended and his eyes squeezed shut.

His whole body is burning when you bring a hand down to massage his balls while still moving your throat against his tip and then all of a sudden he tenses and stills before he’s pulling you off, frantically chanting “Stop it, stop it.”

At lightening speed you grip the base of his cock, squeezing, trying to keep his orgasm at bay. Jeongguk’s whole body jerks with his cock, but no cum leaks out, only precum and spit making a mess on his angry, swollen cock. He relaxes back for a moment, cock still jumping, chest rising and falling as he catches his breath and you do the same and after you slowly release the hold you have on his cock you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand.

Suddenly your world is blurry and you’re quickly being pulled to his chest and smothered with his hands on your cheeks, and his lips everywhere they can reach.

“God. You’re so good, so so good y/n. So perfect, make me feel so good baby. How do you do it?” He praises you between kisses and you giggle, gently pawing at his chest to get him to stop or at least slow down.

He does and you take a second to look at him. And he’s glowing. His eyes are shining, like he was close to tears and his cheeks are flushed. His sweaty hair sticks to his forehead in places while the longer pieces are fanned out on the pillow underneath him. And his smile. He’s beaming and you are so in love.

You bring a hand up and brush some sweaty strands back off his face. His eyes close and he pushes into the touch like a kitten wanting pets. He sighs contentedly.

“You’re so beautiful, Jeongguk. So pretty.” You whisper, placing a kiss to his forehead.

You bring your hand down from his hair and cradle his cheek, running your thumb over his plump, red bottom lip. You can see faint teeth marks underneath it from where he was biting it. His eyelashes flutter on his cheek as his eyes close and he sighs quietly before he nibbles on the fingertip with his front teeth and then takes the whole thing into his mouth, sucking on it. You gasp quietly, and apply light pressure pushing down on the wetness of his tongue prying his mouth open and he just lets you.

Your lips find his, and you dip your tongue into his open mouth before your hand moves to his jaw to keep it agape and you fuck your tongue into it.

“This is how my tongue is gonna fuck you...” you whisper.

He whines high and needy, and his hands move to cup your cheeks. You moan before settling over him more comfortably and pushing your soaked panties to the side before wiggling till his cock is settled between your lips.

The night was supposed to be about him, but you need something before you lose it. You move your hips in small little thrusts, the length of his cock rubbing deliciously over you clit. You both gasp into each others mouths. The hands on your ass encourage you, pressing into your cheeks and the small of your back whenever you thrust forward, and the thumbs on your hips push when you grind back.

“Holy fuck you’re so wet.” He’s says it like he’s in awe, like he can’t believe it. Like he hasn’t made you this way so many times before.

You rest your forehead on his while continuing to grind on his cock. “Love you like this...” You grip his jaw again and pry it open, even though you know he would open willingly if you just asked. You look in his eyes searching, before you feel him nod in your hold. You lean forward over his mouth and let some spit fall into it, he moans while he eagerly drinks it down.

His grip on your hips tightens and you feel his cock jerk against your clit, but he’s good. He doesn’t cum.

“I love it too... just not all the time... it’s- a lot. Overwhelming.” He whispers, and you coo.

“I know baby, you’re doing so well. Color?” You ask.

“Green.” He answers without hesitation.

You smile and kiss him. “Wanna keep going?”

He flushes when he nods his head. “Please.”

Once again you find yourself between Jeongguk’s legs. You play with his cock a little before smoothing your hands under his thighs, trying to gently push them up and back but he whines and resists.

“You have to let me see baby.” You say, a smile in your voice.

Jeongguk squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath before slowly letting his legs fall apart.

You hum, before saying, “Hand me a pillow please.”

He’s confused but does as you ask, understanding when you tap the side of his cheek with instructions to lift his hips, pillow settling underneath his ass and lower back, propping them up a little.

You settle back down on your tummy, and open his legs again. Jeongguk says nothing but you can feel his body shaking a little with a constant tremor. He takes a deep breath settling back into the pillow he placed behind his head so he can watch what you do next.

“Ready?” You ask, hands gripping at the meaty inside parts of his thighs. You get a stiff nod, but still no noises. You pout but get started by running your tongue flat over his balls, hoping to ease him into it.

You feel his thighs tense, as you lap at the hairless balls, sucking them into your mouth every once in a while. Your eyes constantly flicker to Jeongguk’s face to make sure there’s nothing wrong, but all you see is pleasure on his face while he breathes out in soft little puffs through his nose. His eyes are hooded and his lip is drawn between his teeth.

You hold his heady gaze and you place your first little lick on his perineum. At the contact, his head falls back, mouth hanging open. You wiggle closer to place a kiss to the area, transitioning to quick little flicks of your tongue and Jeongguk moans, and you watch as he spreads a bit more, lifting his feet so his knees are pulled closer to his chest, giving you easier access. You moan at his eagerness, and have to stop for a minute, putting a hand between your legs to just press on your center for some kind of relief.

His eyes are still closed, like he doesn’t want to see you between his legs licking at his most private area, but his quiet whining and restless shifting is enough to let you know that he’s okay and enjoying it.

You bring your hands up and place one on each of his cheeks, squeezing a little, admiring the soft give of his muscles. He’s so plush. You apply pressure so his legs fall farther back and then spread him apart. You bite your lip and your mouth waters at the thought of how good your going to make him feel.

Tentatively you poke your tongue out and trace it around the little ring of muscle. He gasps and tries to clench and close his legs but you hold them in place.

“It’s okay baby.”

“‘S weird...” He mumbles.

“I know. Just try to relax for me, okay?”

You hear him take a few deep breaths before you feel his body shake with a nod. His legs fall open again and you make quick work of his hole, placing your tongue flat over it, dragging all the way up to where his balls meet his perineum.

“Ohhh,” He breathes out.

You take that as a good sign before getting a bit rougher with your actions, less of the tentative licks and more of some tight sucking and quick flicking. He’s doing so well and you can hear him moaning above you. His cock is so hard and swollen on his belly, neglected and leaking.

“Pull your legs back baby.”

He opens his eyes and they are unfocused. It takes him a second to process what you asked him to do, but once he does he moves quickly. He has a hazy look in his eyes, his mouth in parted slightly, and his tongue peaks out to wet his lips as he gets comfortable in the new position.

“Watch me?” You plead, while licking over his hole again, eyes not leaving him waiting for a response.

His eyes close for just a moment and a wrinkle of pleasure forms between his brows and his cock jumps, a little spurt of precum oozing out. He inhales and opens his eyes on the exhale, breathing out a small “Okay.”

Once you start to figure out what he likes and what makes him happy, all you hear is the steadily getting louder pleased noises falling from his lips. You point your tongue and gently push past the tight ring of muscles and Jeongguk sobs. He brings a hand to his face and rubs over it, before throwing his arm over his face, hiding because he’s so overwhelmed. To your surprise he starts to gently rock against your tongue.

“Oh my god you’re so hot Jeongguk,” You moan.

“Don’t stop,” He begs. He sounds close to tears.

“Touch yourself, baby.”

You wait until you see his hand wrap around his cock giving himself a few slow strokes, wet eyes on you, waiting for you to keep going.

As soon as your mouth meets him again, his hand he has on his cock starts moving faster, almost frantically over his length and his hips are stuttering like he doesn’t know if he wants to fuck his hand or if he wants to fuck himself back onto your tongue. You decide for him and hold his hips close to your face, sucking repeatedly on the ring of fluttering muscle.

Jeongguk gasps, “I’m close, I wanna cum y/n- Please, I-“ His head falls back and his hand doesn’t slow.

You give your hum of approval against his hole, and watch him fall apart.

His head is thrown back and he’s so sweaty from working so hard for his release. His chest rises and falls in quick staccato breaths, and his free hand goes up to a nipple, lightly rubbing his thumb over it and he keens, before he goes silent, whole body stuttering and he chokes out nothing more than a quick, quiet “Cumming” before his cock pulses and shoots out 1, 2, 3 stripes of white, the rest dribbling down his length and over his fingers. His body almost convulses from the pleasure coursing through his veins. He keeps stroking, and he lets you keep licking until he squirms, uncomfortable from the overstimulation.

You wipe your mouth and immediately make your way up to his face, straddling his hips. You don’t care about the cum, but you’re carful to avoid his sensitive cock, which is a little deflated but still laying somewhat hard on his tummy. You’re both out of breath when you slam your lips against his so it’s more gasping into each other’s mouths while your lips occasionally meet before you need a breath again. But you’re desperate to show him how good he did.

You pull back and grip his face in your hands. His hands hold your wrists, like he’s keeping them in place on his cheeks. He’s still catching his breath with his eyes closed, but you want him to see how proud you are.

“Jeongguk, look at me.”

He does and his eyes are glassy and wet and his eyelashes are clumped together with unshed tears. He offers you a sheepish smile.

“You did so good baby. So fucking good. I love you.” You pepper kisses over his face.

He laughs breathlessly, “Didn’t get to your fingers...”

You laugh with him quietly. “That’s okay baby, we can do that next time. You were perfect.” You take a deep breath and collapse on top of him, resting your face in the crook of his neck, smiling while leaving small lovebites all over.

After a minute or so though, you feel him start to get restless underneath you.

“What is it baby?” You ask not really moving much.

He mumbles something into the top of your head.

“Huh?” You say sitting up to look at him.

He looks kinda petulant for someone who just came so hard it hit their neck.

He mumbles again.

“Koo. Words.”

He blushes and scowls looking away from you but the hands settled on your hips rub small circles into your hip bones, showing he’s not actually mad and most likely just being a brat.

“I want them now.” It’s quiet and pouty, but at least you understand him this time.

Your mouth opens in understanding but your eyebrows raise in surprise. You look over your shoulder and down to see his cock still laying plump and hard on his stomach in a little puddle of cum.

“Are you sure? We don’t have to, I know we said that was the plan but we can always do it ano-“

He grabs the back of your neck pulls you down to kiss you deep and slow, his tongue finding it’s way into your mouth. When he speaks again it’s soft against your lips.

“Please y/n... it felt so good,” A tiny peck is given as your noses touch.

You exhale a shaky breath, “Yeah, okay. If that’s what you want.”

He kisses you deeply again, but positions you over his cock so he can rut up into your pussy.

“Can’t you feel how bad I want it?” He whispers against your lips. He nips at the bottom one while smiling before pulling away and settling against the pillows again, looking at you expectantly once he gets comfortable.

You roll your eyes playfully. “Big words coming from someone who claimed they didn’t even want this like an hour ago.” You smile down at him, eyes sparkling.

He snickers. He breathes a deep sigh before settling back even more. “Yeah. That was before I came so hard that I almost blacked out.” His hands are behind his head and his eyes are closed like he’s reminiscing about a distant memory, a smug smile on his lips.

“You switch from being my baby to a pain so fast.” You pout as you settle once again between Jeongguk’s legs.

He parts them with a hum. “Still your baby... just- make me feel good please, I’m like so hard- throbbing.”

You suck on your fingers a little bit to get them wet before circling one around the ring of muscles. You don’t miss the tiny gasp, or the way his legs subconsciously part even wider.

“I don’t think it’s gonna feel the best at first....” You warn, applying the slightest pressure to his hole, before going back to circling it. “Hand me the lube on the nightstand please.”

Jeongguk obliges before he says, “I know just... go slow.” He sounds just a little bit nervous.

You give a quick nod while you open up Jeongguk’s half empty bottle of lube and drizzle some onto your fingers, lathering it over them to warm it some before getting them into position.

“Do you think about me when you use this?” you ask still running your slick fingers over him.

He nods and licks his lips subconsciously. “Mhmm sometimes.”

You fake gasp and bite at his knee by your side. You’re sitting crisscross applesauce in between his legs. “Only sometimes?”

“I watch porn too,” He giggles breathlessly. “Sometimes I look for girls that look like you though, if that helps.”

“It does not.” You say indignantly, only half joking.

He brings his foot up and lightly kicks at your leg. “You watch porn too that’s literally why we are in this mess right now. We watched it together.”

You full on laugh at that. He has a point. “Okay enough, hush and relax baby.”

You weren’t sure if it was better to warn Jeongguk, or just slowly ease him into it without saying anything. If you warned him you knew he would tense up and it would just make it harder on his body, but you also didn’t want to take him by surprise either.

You must have just been circling his rim for a minute because Jeongguk huffs before asking, “Are you gonna like... put it in or...?”

You take that as a go, and peck the inside of his thigh a preemptive apology because you knew it was going to hurt a little. Jeongguk had prepped you for the times you tried anal with him and you vividly remember the sting before it became bearable. Your hands and fingers were much smaller than his, and certainly much smaller than his cock, so you are hoping the pain isn’t too horrible and ends quickly.

Oh so slowly you start to sink your middle finger inside of him. He sucks in a breath through his teeth and when you flick your eyes up to look at him you can see his eyes squeezed shut tightly and his jaw clenched.

“I’m sorry are you okay? Does it hurt?”

He shakes his head. “Doesn’t really hurt yet, it’s just uncomfortable... Keep going.”

You nod softly before you resume what you were doing, and once you get down to your last knuckle, you wiggle your finger around inside for a second like you had seen in the porn that you and him watched together, hoping to stretch him out some.

Above you Jeongguk is taking shallow breaths the sort of sound like they are getting a little higher pitched at the end, and he shifts and wiggles a bit because of the foreign feeling. You glance at his cock and see that’s its gone just a little soft.

“Touching yourself might help you relax a little bit and it might make it feel a little bit better.” You suggest lightly.

Jeongguk doesn’t say anything but he does as he’s told, slowly stroking his cock back to it’s full length.

“That’s it, good boy. I can feel you’re less tense already.” You praise, and you start to move your finger in and out. It’s tight, but there’s a lot less resistance. You move them just a bit faster and focus on Jeongguk’s reactions.

His hand has started to move a bit faster over his cock, and his mouth is parted and his eyes are closed, like he’s lost in the feeling. There’s a flush on his face that has travelled all the way down his chest. Soft moans fall from his lips occasionally, although you can’t tell if that’s from you or him touching himself.

“Does it feel good?” You ask, genuinely curious.

“It feels…” He pauses like he’s unsure. “It feels… nice. I think.”

You snort. “You think?”

He laughs a little breathless, hand still stroking over his cock. “I mean it’s weird. But it’s not unpleasant. I could probably cum if I kept touching my dick.”

“Don’t cum, I haven’t found your button yet.” Your eyebrows furrow, determination set on your face.

“I do not have a button.” He says absently.

“You do. I’m gonna do the second one kay?”

“I don’t and okay.”

You ignore him and grab the lube again, adding a bit more. Your fingers find their place and as they start to sink in, Jeongguk sucks a sharp breath through his teeth, and goes rigid. You wince.

“Hurts…” He says quietly.

“I’m sorry baby.” You rub your free hand over his thigh, trying to comfort him. You give him a moment, he takes a few breaths before saying to keep going.

It takes a little bit but eventually you get both fingers in. Jeongguk isn’t feeling good yet, teeth grinding, body tense, and hands fisted in the sheets trying to ground himself, but you are determined to make it good for him. You get on your stomach and add your tongue to your fingers as you start to pull them out just to push them back in. The lube doesn’t taste very good, but the way that Jeongguk’s breath hitches when he feels your mouth on him again makes up for it.

“I- I love that.” He says, voice airy and soft as he turns his head to the side and into his shoulder like he’s trying to hide.

“Mmm, starting to feel good now baby?” You ask, flicking your tongue while your fingers start to sink in easily.

“Yeah, ‘s good…” He mumbles.

Once you’re sure that there’s no pain at all for Jeongguk, you start to crook your fingers inside of him on every thrust in trying to find that secret spot of his. Jeongguk sounds lovely while you’re searching, but the way he sounds when you finally hit it is like nothing you’ve heard from him before. It’s like he gets punched in the gut and looses his breath, a moan getting caught in his throat for a moment before he exhales a high pitched whine. You didn’t get to see it, too focused, but you know his eyes rolled back.

“There,” he breathes.

You moan as you rest your head against his thigh, focusing on your attention on your fingers and hitting that spot every time you move them inside of him. Each time you hit it sweet moans are punched out, or quiet affirmations are whispered. “Yes, please, more…”.

He has that look of pleasure on his face, the scrunched eyebrows, the parted mouth. He’s fidgety, and fussy like he just wants more but doesn’t know how to get it. He huffs, annoyed, before he starts to push back on your fingers.

“God… you’re so desperate for it,” You whisper completely captivated by how much pleasure Jeongguk looks like he’s in.

He doesn’t acknowledge you. Until you start to put a constant pressure on his prostate, rubbing.

“Oh fuck- I-“ He looks down to where your fingers are like he can’t believe the way they are making him feel before he throws his head back and let’s out a deep groan.

He lets you make him feel good, let’s the pleasure build up in his body until you start to feel him tense. His whines start to come out more frequently, almost constant moans filling the air. So noisy. His legs open more and you see how his toes curl in the sheets.

“Oh my god I think I’m gonna cum,” It’s said breathlessly, almost confused. Like he didn’t think that he would actually be able to cum just from your fingers inside of him, hands still at his sides fisted in the sheets.

“Yeah baby?” You ask, voice airy.

He nods, tongue poking out of his mouth like he’s concentrating.

Your arm hurts, but you keep thrusting and rubbing over that spot inside of him. His muscles are strained, and next to your body, you can see his legs start to tremble. His breathing is fast and short. His cock is fat and swollen laying in a puddle of precum, it looks like it hurts with how red it is. You take you other hand and start to rub on his perineum, stimulating him on the outside as well as the inside and that’s when he loses it.

He let’s out a choked cry before his body jerks up, curling in on itself. “Oh fuck I’m cumming, I’m cumming, I’m cumming-“

You don’t let up, an awestruck smiling forming on your face as you watch Jeongguk fall apart on your fingers. He’s so tight around them, it’s like his body is begging you not to stop, keeping you in place. He feels like every hair on his body is standing on end and like his skin is overly receptive and sensitive to every little thing. Wave after wave of ecstasy is flowing over him. His whole body trembles, yet his cock doesn’t jerk like with his other orgasm. This time it just pulses flat on his stomach, cum leaking out of the tip adding to the mess that was already there. With every pulse of his cock, Jeongguk’s body curls more, back raise off the bed, abs flexed due to the strain on his core. The look on his face is one of indescribable pleasure. It’s obscene. After the final pulse of his cock, he falls back, absolutely spent.

Your fingers slowly come to a stop, and you carefully remove them from him and wipe them on the bed before you crawl over his thigh and flop down by his side. You peck his cheek, staying quiet this time, not wanting to overwhelm him. He’s still has tremors running through his body when he turns his head to look at you. His chest is heaving and his eyes are droopy, but there’s a sleepy smile on his lips. He curls onto his side so you guys are facing each other.

The silence is thick and heavy but not in a suffocating way. More so in a comforting way. The atmosphere feels like you both are wrapped in a weighted blanket, just relishing in the warm afterglow of what you did together.

You wiggle closer, hook a thigh over his hip. “How was it? Did you like it?” You don’t know why but you sound shy, kinda nervous.

He simply nods, a soft smile on his face as he brushes some hair behind your ear, hand coming to rest on your cheek for just a few seconds before it’s sliding down your arm, down your hip, playing with lacy top of your panties. He bumps noses with you, breathing in your exhales before he closes his eyes and fits his lips between yours. His hand slips into your panties.

You open easily for him, angling yourself mostly on your back so it’s easier for him to reach where you want him most. He sighs into your mouth when he feels how wet you are. He dips between your lips and you gasp, hand going down to grip at his wrist willing him not to tease, to not move his hand away.

“Don’t worry, I just wanna make you feel good baby.” He coos in your ear as his middle finger starts to rub slowly over your clit.

You let out soft whimpers at the slow pace that makes the fire in your belly curl and steadily grow.

“Jeongguk, I’m already close…” You warn.

“Mmm, that’s it baby. Want you to cum for me, like I came for you.” His finger speeds up some. “Fuck, you made me cum so hard y/n. Made me crazy. You always do.” He moans gently into your ear.

You nod, and your legs begin to tremble. “Don’t stop,” You beg, meaning both his fingers and his words.

“You wanna know what it felt like? You wanna know what you did to me?” He presses a touch harder, and nips are your cheek.

You nod again, subtly rocking your hips into his touch.

“You made me cum untouched y/n. Do you know how good you had to fuck me in order for that to happen? God, it was so intense, and I was just leaking so much the whole time. You did that to me baby, you made me feel that good. Fuck, I wanna make you feel that good too, please cum for me y/n. I know you’re close, I know your body just as well as you know mine.” He sounds desperate, just yearning to get you there. “I can tell by the way your legs are shaking, and the way you can’t stop whining my name. Sound so pretty baby, just for me. Your hand on my wrist is gripping so hard, like you can’t take what my fingers are doing to you. But you’re gonna take it and give me what I want right? Just like I gave you what you wanted, hmm?”

“Fuck, Jeongguk I’m cumming,” You cry, his words and his fingers making you shake and finally get the release that you’ve been putting off the whole night. Your thighs close over his hand but Jeongguk doesn’t let up, not until you’re cumming for the second time in a span of minutes.

“Please- I can’t-“ You squirm, and wiggle, until his fingers slow and finally slip form your panties. You sigh in bliss, body twitching as the last bits of your climax leave your body.

You turn back to your side and snuggle all the way against Jeongguk’s body, legs intertwining. Jeongguk runs his nails over your back, making little goosebumps sprout over your body. There’s a peaceful quiet coming over you, both tired from the events of the night. Jeongguk breaks it.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” It’s a timid statement, but you can hear how much he means it.  

You kiss softly over his heartbeat. “I always will.”

“Just please don’t ever ask to peg me.”

You simply hum. “Goodnight baby.”

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i hope you liked it!! i’m thinking of writing a smutty drabble of when oc and jk watch the porn together 🤨 let me know if you would want to read that or anymore of this universe! comments, notes, and feedback are YEARNED for. my ask is also open if you want to request, share thoughts, or just talk

part 3 here!

[husbandohunter]

May I request a Childe X Reader fanfic where the reader has been pushing herself too hard lately and so Childe has to forcefully get her to rest? ty

By my side [Childe x Reader]//Genshin Impact

Synopsis: You were an artist and he was an adventurer. Two people from vast backgrounds and Childe just wants to spend some time of his busy life with you. However, things didn't really go his way...at first.

(Childe x F!reader. Its all fluff)

(A/n): Perfect request anon. I too, would like to have a Childe in my life. Been getting 5-6 hours of sleep on average 😃😁. Yeah kind tossed some extra ideas with artist s/o, its a perfect reason for anyone to be busy.

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Once recieving the permission to take a week off from his diplomatic duties, the first thing Childe thought of was none other than his lovely significant other.

The harbinger knew quite well what lays ahead of his ventures to Liyue. During his quest for the archon's gnosis, he encountered many interesting events, such as meeting the rumoured traveller hailing from afar and a broke yet courteous man who turned out to be the ultimate ruler of this very country he walks upon then there was the battle against a dead god until he revived it using the sigil of permission. All of them were great additions to his story as Ajax the hero, something he always wanted to pursue since childhood. In which, also gave him something nice to write about when preparing letters for his siblings living back home. But little did the harbinger know that he'll one day bump into the heroine. A little too soon. Through your little art shop, he met you, a sweet and audacious woman with plenty of humour. That was how it all began.

While he strides down the streets between Liyue's exquisite buildings, Childe suddenly stops in his tracks and looks up to the sky. There, was painted a scenery of an evening dusk, sun rays relfected across until red and orange hues cast a river stream that led to the ends of the world. He watched the birds follow that streak like it was a path made for them to fly towards. A new adventure. You would have loved to captured this in your pictures.

And then he wonders, what might you be painting right now?

"Hey babe, I'm home~"

In a sing-song voice he calls out to you by your nick-name. You knew that Childe was an active member of the Fatui and that his time was limited, hence he made sure to write to you as well. Of course long distant relationships only makes the waiting more anticipated. When he does pay a visit, you'd run straight into his open arms, leaping off your feet to engulf him in one enourmous embrace. Then his hands will hold against your waist as he spins your round and around in the air, stealing the laughter out of your lungs before planting you back on the floor. Sometimes Childe would consider that being far away wasn't be such a bad idea as long as he was able to experience this, the harder the battle, the sweeter the victory. However...

"That's great."

He was met by a response similar to the wintry grace of Snezhnaya.

Huh?

All the fantasies he had from earlier shatters in the background as he stands there frozen. You didn't even spare a glance to the entrance, eyes still glued to the large canvas displayed at your front, too busy to even care. Childe clicks his tongue between the awkward silence with an uncertain expression. When there was no signs of initiation on your part, he shuffled his way to where you were and observes from behind.

"Well you're particularly quiet today," he muses to himself, placing a hand over his hip, "I guess that painting of yours must be really important then."

It was obvious that he was trying to nudge you into his favour. Something that you've found endearing was how quickly your boyfriend can be when he's in a needy state. So you quickly twisted over to peck him on the cheek before going back to work.

"That's better," Childe satisfiedly grins, "So who is this project for?"

"It's a commission requested by a wealthy family serving the Qixing. They're really influential in terms of the market and can really give me a competitive edge. I have to get it done in five days."

His tone flactuates as he squints his eyes, "Five days you say," he disliked the news of your schedule taking over his own, Childe only managed to take a week off and after that, he'll be away for quite some time, "Why don't you take a break? From the looks of your progress, it seems to me that you've been working on it for hours. I've got plenty of interesting stories to tell and you know, nothing can compare to sharing a warm meal within your company," he leans down to your ear level, "How does that sound?"

Several seconds went by as he waits for some sort of reaction, "Oh. Right," you blurted out and the harbinger only smiles, "I made some food earlier this morning. You can go help yourself if you're hungry."

Today was not his day.

Childe pulls out the wooden chair and slumps into the seat, a defeated huff escaping his mouth as he stared at the crystal shrimp placed on the table. It was hastily wrapped by plastic, most likely cold for a while, just like the romantic evening he had planned in his head. Normally you'll be sitting on the otherside while listening to the many tales he went through along the way. Although painting was your passion, it was undeniable that you also enjoyed his kind of lifestyle if you ever had the choice. He was rather surprised on how someone ambitious like him would end up with such a simplistic person but quickly accepted it as life was meant to be unpredictable, just the way he likes it. As Childe entertains you with his stories, he'll listen to your giggles amidst eating the homecooked meals that you both prepared together.

"I wonder if she ate already," he mumbled to his lone self. You most likely did but Childe knows you well. Artists are obsessed and they can go as far as to neglecting their own health for the sake of their masterpieces. Hence, he made sure to remind you to eat properly through the letters he wrote to you.

The harbinger takes a quick glance around the kitchen. It was a mess. The cupboards were slightly opened, metal pots were still displayed on the stone stove and the stench coming from the sink....

Childe pushes himsel up to see what was the cause.

Not even the dishes were washed.

Running his fingers through his bangs, he sighs wearily, "Old habits die hard huh?" And above all else, when artists are obsessed they also forget how disorganized they can become. Childe begins to roll up his sleeves before taking off his gloves. At times like this he'll have to pitch in and take care of it for you, "Looks like I'll be here for a while."

Throughout three sunsets and three moonrises, Childe had no option but to observe you from afar, minus the few attempts he made to regain your attention again. How you would go to bed much later than him, waking up before he opens his eyes and the effort he put into making your food only left with too many leftovers. It wasn't that you were unappreciative, instead, your mind had become too focused that your body was considered a second priority. Like anyone else, Childe genuinely thought you possessed great talent and supports you wholeheartedly. He loved it when you painted pictures just for him as if they were scenes coming out of his hero story, reminded by his adventures, capturing every detail. However he also needed to learn how to deal with this stubborn side of yours.

"Hey babe, I just finished preparing our dinner. Don't you smell that? Such a rich aroma, you should go eat."

"I'm busy."

Your diet were just small bites, the rest being substituted by coffee. Childe could clearly tell that you weren't getting enough sleep either as there were dark circles forming underneath your eyes and slowly, he was starting to become a little irritated.

Three hours passed midnight but you were still awake in the same place doing the same thing. Childe leans against the doorframe with arms folded, already changed into his sleeping clothes. He clears his throat to break the silence, "Ahem."

Your wrist hangs in mid air by the sound of a strange visitor, it was your boyfriend. Gaze in a daze, you lazily turned your head, "What time is it?"

"Way passed the sleeping hours as you can see," he points with his thumb at the table clock in a half-hearted manner, "You should already be in bed by now and don't think you can coax yourself out of the situation this time," his eyes parted in slits as he added with a smile, "Otherwise I might just have to force you myself."

You shook your head, "Give me one more hour? There's some finishing touches I really want to add so," clasping your hands together, you beamed sweetly, "Pretty please? I'll finish up soon."

"Oh really?" Childe challenges, head tossed back like he was interrogating you instead, "I believe that was also what you told me yesterday. And the day before? Adding up all of those days that would be.....four in total?" He deliberately counts upon his fingers before facing you again, this time his expression was slightly more serious, "As much as I find your determination remarkable, there are moments when you need to consider a sufficient amount of rest and this just isn't going to cut it."

"Four days already?!" You exclaimed, "Jeez, I don't even know if I'm halfway done."

Pressing his lips together, Childe glares in an acutely deadpanned countenance, it was also his time too, "Can't you ask this commissioner to extend your due date to next week? In your case, mora shouldn't be the issue since, well...you're dating me anyways."

It's true. Childe was the main reason why you didn't have to live as a starving artist. He had all your expenses fully covered from the marketing aspect to your residence, you simply chose to work out of pure will.

"I don't want to always rely on you so much," you confessed, "This commissioner could turn my whole career around. If I'm able to gain his favour, maybe I'll get promoted to a court painter for the Qixing! Who knows when there will ever be a chance like this again," pumping your fists, you spoke purposefully, "I'll pull an all nighters if I have to!"

Childe brings his hand to his forehead, you looked as if you were nearly about to collapse and yet still considering the option of an all-nighters? The harbinger should've detained you days prior before.

"Hm? Childe, what's wrong?" He suddenly falls deadly quiet and you watched him walk closer towards you, "What are--"

Hooking an arm behind your knees and the other at your back, your boyfriend lifts you up in one full swoop as he tossed you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Guess we'll have to do things the hard way," he remarks cheerfully.

"W-Wait," you flailed your arms and kicked your legs but to no avail. Childe was an experienced combatant indeed, "Put me down! I have work to do."

Your protests fall upon deaf ears as the harbinger carries you to your room. You were oddly lighter than the last time he carried you, the strength less vigor than before, it was obvious that your body was in need of relaxation. He suddenly thinks there was a possibility that you would maintain this habit while he was absent.

I should probably visit more often.

Using his free leg to nudge the door open, he places you upon the shared bed in a gentle manner. You winced at the impact of the soft sheets, surprised by how much it affect you.

"There we go. All done. Man, you really are a stubborn one, aren't you. Makes me a little worried since I can't spoil you all the time."

He quickly invited himself to the empty space on your bedside and wrapped his arms around your figure, pulling you close and feeling you whole. Childe made sure there was no escape once putting his chin above your hairline so that you could feel his warmth as much as possible.

"This is--" you stuttered. His tactic was enough to make your limbs soften and you could almost hear him smirk into the distance, "This is cheating..."

"You think so?" He comments as if pledging innocence, "I don't know babe. Where I come from those who take the initiative are the ones who end up claiming the prize," pulling back, Childe takes the opportunity to observe your pouty face, "I don't make the rules. It's just how it goes."

You wanted to argue back but he suddenly took the bedsheets and covered both of your bodies with, completely trapping you with his presence. He snuggles into you further as if you were a bear made of linen and you felt the drowsiness taking over your mind. The way he gently pats down the back of your head was enough to instantly lull you into a deep sleep.

"Cheater," you mumbled.

He laughs softly, the rumbles emitting through his chest, "I love you too babe."

Even after you've let go of your resistance, Childe continues his actions until he was sure that you were resting. He had been longing to touch you like this since living a chaotic life only made peaceful moments much sweeter, "You're such a hard-worker you know that? I'm proud of you but you have to know when to call it a day," he whispers, "If not, how can I go on trips while knowing that you're still refusing to eat properly?"

You closed your eyes and said nothing in return. All your senses were too cloudy to come up with a reassuring response. Childe listens to the way your breath evens as you intake his scent during the process. It smelled like the soap you used in the showers, lotus leaves mixed with his own unique musk. You could only focus on him. His comforting embrace. His slightly accelerating heartbeat because you were together with him.

Letting out one final yawn, you succumbed to his spell and allowed your energy to drift away.

The corners of his lips tug upwards, "Sleep well princess."

Childe reaches over to your desk drawer and shuts off the alarm clock before turning over to face you again. He couldn't fall asleep immediately, not when he had to consider taking care of the commissioner who gave you an impossible deadline. But that will be saved for another day, for now, he observes in silent serenity.

If he were to quit his job for a year, what would his life be like?

Peaceful. Something opposite of what he was living right now. Something similar to the life he had back home. As you arrange the many paintings in your little home, he'll offer to help you among the places you couldn't reach. Without a doubt, Childe was far taller in comparison. Taking strolls into the streets and trying the new dishes the merchants came up with. Then in the evenings, you'll both go to dinner dates while listening to the storyteller revealing the rumours of the legendary Tianquan Qixing. Although Childe loved the adventurous life he led, he had to admit that your domesticity and family-bringing atmosphere was a tempting idea.

Maybe one day.

He lightly takes a strand that had fallen over your nose and tucked it smoothly behind your ear. The soft snores coming out of your parted lips caused his gaze to melt. And so he steals them with his own, placing a chaste goodnight kiss.

One day I'll be sure to bring my family here with us.

Closing his eyes, he joins you in your slumber, hoping to see all that he envisioned in his dreams.

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

tuxedo, m | myg

pairing(s): yoongi x reader, mentions of previous jungkook x reader

summary: Your cat turns into a man. No, not, your cat was always a man and turned back into a man. Your actual cat turns into an actual man and neither you or your cat (man? cat-man?) have any idea why he's human now. Also, he's naked, so that’s a problem. Also, he’s kind of attractive. Yikes.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language, mentions of the coronavirus pandemic; possibly full-on crack; Yoongi still thinks he’s a cat; mentions of smut (fem reader, m-receiving oral (choking on a dick, but not in a sexy way), doggy, spanking, wall-fucking, unintentional??? voyeurism); non-idol!AU - cat!Yoongi x human!reader; ft slightly cocky Jeon Jungkook and you being mad horny for him, what’s new; breaking of the fourth wall; are YOU a furry? you decide

an anon asked for cat hybrid Yoongi, although instead this is some voodoo witch doctor shit, whoops yes, I do reference BT21, Bob Ross, the lady-pointing-to-the-cat-accusingly meme, list goes on... and there is a cameo of 2021 Seasons Greetings Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin XD

--

Your lungs were being crushed.

You were bundled in your duvet, wrapped like a mint-colored burrito, on your back, head nestled comfortably in your memory foam pillow. Warm, cozy, snuggly. All things considered, a comfortable position. So comfortable that you were blessedly asleep for many hours until your lungs started getting crushed.

You cracked one eye open.

A giant tuxedo fluffball was causing this slow and painful death.

“Get off.”

You glared with slitted eyes, voice cracking from sleep. The fluffball did not move. Velvety, pointed black ears flicked back and forth. The little pink nostrils flared a bit, breathing evenly and contentedly. At least one of you was. You grunted in irritation. The minty-green eyes opened, black slits for pupils.

“I’m going to die.”

Your cat meowed in your face.

“Shut the fuck up. Get off.”

He yawned.

You narrowed your eyes and lips into lines. Stared at your insufferable, not-so-subtle tuxedo cat that was killing his owner. How long had he and his seven-kilogram ass been sitting on your tits? Too long because your sternum was already aching. You rolled over and he gave you a disgruntled meow as he tumbled off. You pulled your arms out and gave him a soft scratch behind his ears before reaching around to his white belly and patting his chest. He started purring, rolling to his side, white sock-like paws sticking up.

“Ugh, my chest hurts, Shooks. You’re a dick.”

Your cat gave zero fucks.

You were still petting him. Sigh.

“I’m getting up,” you announced to no one except your cat.

You tugged yourself out of your comfy, mint-colored duvet and winced, rubbing your breastbone. Did you buy this bedding set because it reminded you of your cat’s eye color? Yes. Were you a crazy cat lady? Maybe. In your defense, you hadn’t meant to become a crazy cat lady. You were innocently walking on the street when the tuxedo-patterned cat started following you. A large cat with big minty eyes surrounded by black fur like black bangs. White snout and jaw, pink nose, and a raspy meow. The tuxedo pattern was pretty similar to an actual suit, with a white chest and black fur over its back and limbs. White, sock-like paws, on the bigger side. Cute pink toe beans too. At the time, he was skinny and dirty, no collar around his neck, but you could tell he was long-limbed. He had a cut on his right eye, caked with blood.

“You alright, little guy?”

The cat seemed to scoff at you disapprovingly, as if to say, do I seem like a little guy to you?

“I guess you’re not a little guy. You have an owner?”

The cat’s response was headbutting your calf.

You took him back to your apartment and then it was doomed.

Why was his name Shooks? Well, actually, your cat’s name was Shooky, and it was because you tried many names to get him to respond to you – including, but not limited to, “you little shit” – and he responded to none of them except Shooky. For some reason, Shooky made him turn his black-and-white face around and look at you.

Shooky it was.

The first encounter was cute, but after you had fed him and given him a few pats, you gave him a good, hard taste of reality. Shooky was very upset about getting a bath for the first time. There had been a lot of angry meowing, although thankfully he hadn’t swiped at you very much. As soon as you got mostly undressed and sat in the bath with him, he seemed to relent. Maybe it was because you closed the glass door and he couldn’t leave.

“Do you see how dirty you are? You need a bath.”

He gave you a disapproving meow.

“Look, I even bought pet shampoo and you’ll get treats after. Come on, you.”

He was very displeased.

In any case, Shooky was now your primary companion, a large, long-limbed, fluffy tuxedo cat, following you around as you brushed your teeth and made breakfast, his new black collar jingling with a tiny silver bell. Every morning, you handed him his dry food first – he chomped down immediately – and made yourself some breakfast as he ate. Somehow your life now revolved around him, spending time looking up the best cat food (without paying an arm and a leg, you weren’t a sugar momma), making sure he was brushed (his hair got everywhere), telling everyone you needed to get home because you couldn’t miss his dinnertime (if you were a second late opening the door, Shooky would start meowing very exaggeratedly, like he was dying, what a drama queen). Was he annoying? Yes. Was he the best cuddle buddy? Also, yes. Kind of like a boyfriend, but better, because Shooky didn’t talk back.

You arranged your small dishes on the table. Tofu. Eggs. Pickled squash. Just enough for one. You sat down, holding your bowl of steamed rice.

A tuxedo furball jumped onto the table, licking his chops.

“Look here, this isn’t for you. Shoo.”

He settled onto the tabletop and stared at you as you ate.

Sigh.

-

Live with a cat was pretty similar to life without one.

Except for that weird habit Shooky had of sitting on your bathroom rug when you got out of the shower, scaring the shit out of you the first time. You lived alone, so you didn’t really bother closing doors, but you considered changing that. But it was just a cat. Also, he walked in here of his own volition. Not your fault if his eyes were scarred.

Shooky was a normal cat, but also a weird cat.

He slept a lot. Normal. He bit his paws sometimes. Weird. You figured maybe it was his nails, so you learned to trim them and he seemed better about it, but sometimes when he was stressed, you would notice fur missing from his little white socks. A lot of things could stress a cat. The internet taught you that. You brought him toys and played with him, but mostly he seemed to want you to sit down so he could plant himself in your lap. This make life rather difficult, so you decided it was time to invest in Netflix so you could at least use your time wisely.

This was for your cat, remember.

Yes, binging shows on Netflix was for your cat.

The weirdest thing was…

Shooky was always stressed when you invited a man into your home.

Maybe he didn’t like men. Something in his past, maybe? Could be. Come to think of it, did you even like men? That was a question for another day, but in any case, your cat always gave you this accusing stare when you brought a guy over, no matter how nice the guy was, even if the guy petted him very gently. Shooky never attacked them. He just glared at you like you had betrayed him somehow. How could that be?

What a needy drama queen.

You figured, eh, it didn’t really matter. He wasn’t trying to sabotage your chances of finding true love and all that stuff. 

Who are we kidding?

You’d settle for a simple good dicking.

Well, there was that one time.

That time you were in the middle of giving a guy a blowjob. It was going great. You were naked, he was naked, he had a tattooed arm – hot as fuck – and he was very vocally enjoying your tongue technology. Hey, you didn’t have many talents, but you had that going for you. Even if a guy was mildly apprehensive about banging you, once you got your mouth on his dick, it was game over. You mentally patted yourself on the back for doing such a good job.

Positive reinforcement, right?

Annnnnnnd then…

Your cat jumped onto your back and made you choke on his dick.

“Urk!”

“Oh, fu–”

All seven kilos right between your shoulder blades. Oof.

“Are you okay?” He was half-worried, half-laughing, and Shooky was climbing up your back, pressing onto your neck, one paw on the nape, trying to murder you by dick suffocation. It took both of you to lift you off the dick – sad – and Shooky left a few scratches on your neck, as if to communicate his distaste of your infidelity. The guy was really nice about it. Actually, he found it hilarious. You scowled at Shooky and he gave you that deadpan stare that all cats seemed to have. The rest of the night was hot and heavy like you wanted and you even eventually got to complete said blowjob, which brightened your spirits.

It was a little disorienting that your cat was watching you from his cat tree the entire time.

Creep.

Honestly, you would have kept dating that guy if he didn’t move to a different city. Sigh.

Eventually, you stopped bringing men over.

One, because Shooky. Two, because worldwide pandemic.

Sigh.

-

The night that changed everything was ordinary.

Too ordinary.

You were passed out on the couch, halfway into season six of American Horror Story, somewhat peeved because you wanted to watch the other seasons, but geez, season five had such a poor story and hard focus on gore that it slightly turned you off. That it was a lot, even for you. Season six was better, but slow. The first four seasons had really hooked you and the idea of them all being connected? Nutty. You wanted to watch all of it.

Idea of season five? Awesome.

Lady Gaga? Yeah, why not, you’d be seduced.

Execution? Eh… could be better.

Shooky hadn’t watched any of it. He just slept in your lap.

Subtitles really helped you out here. You didn’t understand how the English-speaking audience could hear the whispering parts, but maybe that was because your English was garbage. You could read better than listen.

At the moment, you weren’t reading shit.

You were half-tucked in a fuzzy black blanket with a tuxedo cat pattern. Did you see the tuxedo cat pattern and buy it immediately? Yes. Were you a crazy cat lady? Maybe. In any case, your head was cocked at an awkward angle on the couch cushion and your mouth was open, snoring away. Attractive. You were wearing mint-colored, striped pajamas, one arm hanging off the couch and the other on Shooky’s furry butt, because you had been petting him.

Netflix was doing that annoying thing where it was asking you if you were still watching or not.

You couldn’t respond.

Shooky was awake.

Your cat was staring at your laptop on your coffee table. It was open. An HDMI cable connected it to your television. Not a clean setup, but an effective one. Again, you lived alone. Who was going to judge you? Your tuxedo cat?

Pfft.

Your cat was awake.

He got off your lap and hopped to the coffee table, peering at your laptop. Then he did what any sensible cat would do.

He walked all over your keyboard.

Circling around and around, smashing all the buttons with his cute pink toe beans, looking for a comfortable spot before settling down and planting his fluffy body on top of it. Windows closed, tabs appeared, the volume got muted, your display settings got fucked, the usual.

The unusual part was that your cat was looking at the screen.

Your internet browser was open.

A video was playing on a mysterious website.

A handsome young man with a boxy smile was wearing a sienna floral dress shirt and sunglasses, oddly paired with flared violet pants. He was standing next to another young man with an angelic face who, for some reason, was wearing a pastel floral handkerchief around on his head and a white-and-navy tracksuit with black, red, and green stripes. They were standing in some weird set with a black tablecloth covered round table and a lavender crystal ball, crystal-like beaded curtains glinting in strangely colorful lighting.

There was no volume.

Your cat tilted his head at the screen, curious.

The man with the boxy smile was speaking excitedly, gesturing to the angelic-looking man who seemed to be in awe. A retro, old school graphic popped up, flowers surrounding a blocky orange and green serif font, mildly tacky but somehow endearing in its own way.

COULD WISHES REALLY BE GRANTED?

Your cat tilted his head the other way.

Your cat didn’t know Korean.

… Right?

Well, you did mostly speak to him in Korean. Maybe he was secretly fluent. He definitely knew, don’t fucking do that, because you would witness him doing the very thing you told him not to do right after you said it. Bastard. But you couldn’t bear witness to this now. You were knocked out on the couch.

Zzz.

Boxy-smile guy placed his fingers elegantly on his forehead, mock dismay on his features, acting as if he couldn’t believe the viewer’s skepticism. Angel-looking guy placed his hands in prayer position, the text now reading, I won’t believe you unless you prove it! Boxy-smile guy flourished to the camera, showing off his brilliant pearly-white smile, mouthing words unheard. Text appeared once more.

Make a wish, any wish!

Your cat closed his eyes and appeared to be asleep.

The video turned black and disappeared into purple sparkles.

Your internet browser unexpectedly closed.

-

You woke up with a painful stitch in your neck and Shooky nowhere to be found.

“Fuck…”

You tried to get up, but underestimated the cramp in your back and fell onto the hardwood floor.

“Fuck!”

You blamed the pandemic for fucking up your sleep schedule. Also, getting old. Fuck getting old and being an adult. Time didn’t stop just because you didn’t go to work. Well, not true. You did go to work; your work was just different now. You were YouTube video editor, which meant you were mostly edited video game montages now instead of travel vlogs. The work was slower now. People were getting discouraged, taking breaks, because, you know.

Pandemic.

Sigh.

Anyway, not the point. You were grateful that your work was mostly internet and computer-based. Not everyone was so lucky. You were also grateful that you didn’t work in an industry that was too negatively affected by the pandemic. It had started off as a hobby, but then the creators you were helping unexpectedly blew up, needing your help more and more. You fell into it by accident, but that’s how life was. Happy little accidents. You couldn’t complain. As long as you had some income to feed your cat and you, that was enough.

Speaking of cat.

“Shooky?”

No meow.

Huh.

He normally would meow or trot over to you when called. He was weirdly affectionate like that.

You were still on the floor, on hands and knees, crick in your neck and back aching. Ah yes, age was just a number until your back pain flared up due to repeated nights of unintentionally falling asleep on the couch. Lovely. You stretched out your back with a groan and yawned, cracking your neck.

“FUCK!”

That hurt. Ugh, you really needed to stop sleeping on the sofa. You untangled yourself from your blanket and headed to the bathroom, rubbing your neck. You still didn’t see your fluffy, seven-kilogram, kind-of-an-ass tuxedo cat, but whatever. He had to be in the apartment. He couldn’t exactly leave. He was a cat. What was he going to do, grow legs and opposable thumbs?

Pfft.

You shoved your toothpaste-covered toothbrush in your mouth and began brushing your teeth. You hummed, trying to remember if you had any deadlines. Eh, they were on your Google calendar. You would check it after washing up. You spat and brushed for a few more minutes, thinking about nothing. This was nice. Sometimes it was nice to think about nothing. No major problems to address, simply a chill and routine morning.

Seemed sufficient.

You reached over to the spit cup and put some lukewarm water in it before taking your toothbrush out and sipping some water to gargle the minty suds out.

You heard a deep, raspy voice call your name.

“Hmm?”

You looked in the mirror.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Your mouth was full of dirty toothpaste water, cheeks puffed out.

The voice called your name again, quietly.

Nervously.

Your eyes widened, staring into the mirror in shock.

A pale man was standing behind you, wearing your mint-colored duvet over his shoulders. Messy black hair to his rounded cheeks, dark brown cat-like eyes, small pink pout. His nose was a little red, as if he was cold. There was a black choker on his neck, with a silver bell. He was taller than you, and he looked very confused.

Also.

Pointed, velvety black ears on top of his head, white tufts of fur sticking out, flicking back and forth.

You spat all over your mirror in shock.

“Urk–!”

The man jerked back as you threw your head into the sink, hastily taking another cupful of water to rinse out your mouth because, WHAT THE FUCK WAS GOING ON? Why was there a man in your apartment? With fucking cat ears? That moved? What kind of kinky shit was that? Were you dreaming? What the fuck?! You grabbed the hand towel from its hook and furiously wiped the dirty water off your mirror, completely convinced you were having sensory and auditory hallucinations. Did you drink last night? Accidentally buy groceries laced with LSD? Snorted three kilos of cocaine off a hooker? Who the fuck knows, but there was no fucking way that you let some fucking man in your home, because, one, pandemic and, two, Shooky–

You froze.

The pale man with black hair was still there, standing in the doorway of your bathroom, looking slightly disgusted, but also scared.

He said your name again. A question, almost like a raspy meow.

It was…

Familiar?

You violently wiped your bathroom mirror some more, nearly cracking the glass.

The man was still there, wearing your mint-colored duvet.

Slowly, slowly, you turned around to face this man, your neck cracking loudly, sending searing pain up the back of your head and reminding you that, nope, this is not a dream, and if it was, it was a very shitty dream because at least in a dream you shouldn’t actually feel pain. You looked up at this man, at his fluffy black bangs shading his dark attentive eyes and pale face, chewing on his lip, clutching your duvet around his body like a giant mint cloak.

The cat ears on his head twitched.

“Uh…”

You blinked at him, watching the ears.

“Do… I know you?”

He gave you an eerily recognizable deadpan stare. “I think you do.”

No way.

What?

No.

This wasn’t possible.

You’re drunk, high, or in purgatory.

(You did have sex before marriage.)

“S… Shooky?” you croaked.

The man took a deep breath and shook his head.

“Actually, my name is Min Yoongi.”

You blinked at him. “What? You have a name?”

He shrugged. “Yeah, I guess.”

Relief washed over you. “What do you mean, you guess? That means you’re a human being! With a birth certificate! Thank God, I thought you were my fucking cat for some reason, haha, that’s so fucking ridiculous–!” For some reason, the idea of a random stranger being in your home was much more comfortable to you than you damn cat becoming a human being, because for a hot second, you thought… but no, no, that’s stupid. “Speaking of ridiculous, these ears are crazy dude, they look almost real–”

You reached up and yanked on one of the velvety ears.

“Ow, what the fuck!”

Oh.

Oh my God.

OhmyfuckingGodthey’reattachedtohishead.

“What the FUCK?” you bellowed and a large pale hand shot out of the duvet to clamp one of his cat ears down, shrinking away from you.

“Stop yelling, please, I have sensitive hearing,” Yoongi winced, ticking his head, as if he was trying to flatten the other ear too, but couldn’t. His other hand was holding tightly to the mint duvet.

You saw a glimpse of a pale chest.

Your eyes widened into the size of saucepans.

His hand darted back into the duvet and clamped it shut from your bulging eyes, frowning. He quickly bundled himself up and straightened, thinning his mouth into a line. A few seconds passed. You gawked at him, jaw slack. The pale man sighed heavily.

“My name is Min Yoongi. My parents gave me that name. I don’t think I have a human birth certificate because I’m not a human. I am a cat. You used to call me Shooky, but Min Yoongi is my name, so I would appreciate it if you called me by my given name.”

Your jaw went even more slack.

“Cats… have names?” you squeaked.

Yoongi made a face at you. “Of course, we do. We are not savages.”

“B… But…” You frowned, shoulders falling. “You seemed to like the name Shooky…”

Yoongi shrugged his duvet-covered shoulders. “It sounded better than all the other names you suggested.”

You puffed your cheeks, placing your hands on your hips. “What was wrong with Tata? Or Chimmy? Or Cooky?”

Yoongi gave you a disapproving glare. “Well, perhaps in a parallel universe the name Shooky is somehow important to me. In any case, it was the best suggestion.”

You narrowed your eyes, frowning. “You little shit.”

“I especially disliked that one. Seemed a bit discriminating to our size difference…” He paused, looking down at you. “At the time anyway.”

Your hands fell, looking up at your cat. Er. Min Yoongi. “So, uh… Yoongi…?”

He tilted his head, peering curiously at you under his black bangs. “Hm?”

You pointed at him, gesturing up and down. “Why are you, uh… a man?”

He looked down at the duvet covering his body. You stared at your bedding wrapped around him. Why was he wearing it anyway? In fact, all you could see was a black choker with a silver bell. The mental lightning bolt suddenly hit you. Oh. Your neck began to heat. Your ears began to heat. Your whole face began to heat. Oh. Oh? Oh! Shooky – er, Yoongi? – whatever, your cat didn’t wear clothes. He only wore a collar… which meant…

It felt like your whole body was on fire with abrupt realization.

Yoongi looked up at your mint-pajama-wrapped, now tomato self still pointing at him.

“I don’t know why I’m a man.”

One of his eyebrows raised. Then Yoongi smirked.

An open-mouthed, amused smirk.

“And yes, I’m naked. Your clothes don’t fit me. I tried.”

-

Your cat, er, man? Cat-man? What even... never mind, Min Yoongi was sitting on your bed, still wrapped in your mint duvet like a key lime cake roll, waiting as you rummaged around in your dresser, searching for literally any piece of clothing that might possibly fit him. The problem was, you worked from home, so you didn't exactly own a plethora of different clothing options. Your daily wardrobe consisted of slinky black leggings...

"They're stretchy?" you suggested timidly. 

Yoongi had blinked at you. "I don't think so."

"It could work?"

He pursed his lips together. "I think you're forgetting something."

You gave him a blank look. "Huh?"

Yoongi gave you his deadpan stare. "I believe you are well acquainted with human male genitalia."

Oh.

Right. 

He had a dick.

You turned red and robotically shoved your leggings back into their place. A sudden thought flitted across your brain and you spun back to face him, blurting it out before filtering yourself. 

"Hahaha, good thing I never got you fixed, eh?"

Yoongi blinked very, very slowly. It was hard to tell if he was annoyed, amused, or wanted to murder you. In conclusion, typical cat behavior. 

"I'm not fond of the idea of castration, so I suppose so."

Awkward.

Your vet had suggested it, but since he had been an indoor cat and you weren't intending on getting another, you figured you wouldn't put him under the unnecessary surgery and it would help you avoid the cost. A little irresponsible? Maybe. But you were very careful not to leave the front door open and, so far, he hasn't had the chance to get some poor lady cat knocked up.

Unfortunately…

He knew you considered permanently removing his nuts. Yikes.

Sorry, Shooks. Er, Yoongi. 

In any case!

The other half of your daily wardrobe was sweatshirts, but Yoongi's shoulders were too broad for them and he was too tall. Why was he so big anyway? Well, he wasn’t exactly big, just long-limbed. You guessed he was actually on the leaner side, judging from the way the duvet wrapped around him and the brief flash of long fingers, slim forearm, and toned chest. He had been a larger cat.

Seven kilos turned into... him?

You suddenly started and yanked open your underwear drawer, shuffling through it to get to the back and pull out a neatly folded dark gray blob.

"I have this–"

"No."

The response was so forceful and dismissive that you froze, the dark gray fabric unfurling in your loose grip. It was a large men's sweatshirt, soft, charcoal, slightly acid-wash, covered with white paint stains. Eggshell white, to be exact. The exact paint color of this very bedroom, because you had worn it to repaint over that original disgusting beige color.

"Why not?" you inquired, holding it up by the shoulders. "It'll fit you, for sure. It used to be..."

Yoongi kept his completely neutral expression trained on you as you reached your revelation, his dark eyes observing every detail of your body's reaction to the memory. Your grip on the sweatshirt tightened. You felt your cheeks and ears heat, pulse roaring in your ears.

Oh.

Er, right, so…

That one time that Shooky – no, Yoongi? – jumped on your back and made you choke on a dick? Yeah, that guy. Tattoo guy. Yeah, well, before that incident, tattoo guy was the friend of a friend who offered to help you paint your apartment because he had experience working construction – “helped my dad fix-up a house to resell for a couple months,” he had said with his disgustingly cute, cheeky grin, making you nod like an idiot and your pussy throb with his endearing adorableness – and you had moved all the furniture out so you two could get it done quickly.

You had to put your cat in the bathroom.

You didn’t want him to breathe in the fumes or get paint on his luscious fur. It was for his own good.

Tattoo guy had appeared in said charcoal sweatshirt, black ripped jeans, and the most attractive thighs in the whole damn universe, just out and about, giant holes exposing tan skin and taut muscle. Your eyes widened, frozen at your front door.

Oh yeah, he had paint rollers too. You hadn’t given a shit about those in that moment.

He had noticed you staring and laughed sheepishly. “Sorry, I just wore the ugliest pants I own. It might get messy, you know?”

No, tattoo guy. No one thought your pants were ugly.

You sure as hell didn’t.

“Oh, yeah, that’s why I wore this gross t-shirt,” you said absentmindedly, referring to your four-sizes-too-large, free t-shirt that had been chucked at your head while walking past your university common area. It was a hideous chanteuse with magenta writing, a color combination that absolutely deserved to go to hell, and could not even be saved by the quirky, stylish, thrift-savvy TIkTokers of today. It was the ugliest thing you owned, so you wore it to repaint your bedroom.

Now you regretted it.

Tattoo guy looked you up and down. He smirked under his long black hair.

“Your body still looks great though.”

“… Urk?”

Didn’t really matter that you couldn’t conjure a sexy response, because, clearly, tattoo guy had made his decision leagues before arriving here. Painting a bedroom? Oh, yeah, you did that, and with way too much sexual tension. A man should not be that flirty while holding two paint rollers and speed painting your walls. What were you supposed to do? You barely knew the guy. All you managed to do was make awkward small talk to get to know him better. Then he took off his sweatshirt.

“Wait, that’s illegal.”

He had smirked at you, spinning the paint roller in his hand, white t-shirt molded to his body. “Hm?”

You were being mildly disrespected, but also you were gawking at his tattooed right arm and his blindingly beautiful forearms. Cough, no. You didn’t have a thing for attractive forearms. Wasn’t like staring at this muscular pair was making you weak at the knees or anything. Okay, maybe. But you weren’t going to say it out loud. Tattoo guy ticked his chin below you, to the floor. Your job was to paint the little nooks at the corners, ceiling, and baseboards. You spent a whole lot of your job sneaking glances at him and getting caught.

Shit.

“You missed a spot.”

You whipped your head to the floor, craning your head to look for it. A paint roller appeared beside you, pointing to a small sliver for nasty beige. He had a clear, silvery voice.

“Right here.”

You frowned at it and raised your paintbrush in warning to the offensive beige, ready to strike.

“… Noona.”

You started and fell over.

You sputtered, legs tangled, oversized shirt flipping up, trying not to drop the paintbrush and drawing a fat streak across the unpainted wall. You shook your head roughly, clutching the handle of the brush, cool draft floating up your shirt.

Tattoo guy appeared above you, grinning, his front teeth slightly too large and giving him the appearance of a rambunctious bunny.

“You alright?”

You felt your neck and ears heat. No, you were not alright. Yes, you were older, but that didn’t… that wasn’t the time… You didn’t expect it, that’s all. You tried very hard not to look at his thighs. Or his face. Or his chest. Just didn’t look at him. Also, you were pretty sure you were flashing him and pretty fucking sure you didn’t give a shit.

You coughed awkwardly. “Yup, I’m good.”

Back to copious sexual tension complemented by paint fumes.

Once the first coat was down, you two stood in the center of the room, surrounded by the plastic drop cloth, him banishing a paint roller and you a paintbrush. Challenge complete and it didn’t take you very long. Nice.

“We have to let it dry and then we can paint another coat,” he was explaining.

“It looks fine like this.”

Tattoo guy clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Once it dries, it will look uneven. Trust me.”

You frowned. “Okay. How long should we wait?”

“Couple hours, at least.”

A couple hours? You frowned more. “What are we supposed to do until then?”

He didn’t reply. You turned your head to face him and tattoo guy was staring at you with a smile.

Uh oh.

He was spinning the paint roller with one hand. You felt your ears and neck heat. He switched from his left hand to his right, seamlessly. Incredibly sexy. Were the paint fumes getting to you? You gulped, awkwardly gesturing to the paintbrush.

“Let me just… put this down…”

You turned around and balanced your paintbrush in the paint tray, only to gasp as your felt something foamy roll down your back, covering you with the strong stench of paint. It stopped above the curve of your ass, unable to roll smoothly any longer.

“Hmm, can’t get past your juicy ass, noona,” he teased.

You spun around, cheeks flushed, sputtering.

No, no. You didn’t forget tattoo guy’s name. You remembered it, even now. Remembered saying it in multiple different ways, even.

“Jeon J-Jungkook!”

In surprise, streaks of paint in your hair, him smirking, dropping the paint roller on the other plastic tray and somehow not tipping it over, thank goodness, him walking up to you, taking the bottom of your paint-covered chanteuse university t-shirt, leaning down to whisper hotly against your lips.

“Ah, sorry, it seemed like you didn’t like that shirt very much,” he breathed, sending your brain into overdrive with the heat against your skin, his knuckles brushing your thighs. “You can wear my sweatshirt instead, if you like.”

Your eyes widened, staring at him in shock.

“J… Jungkook…”

In breathlessness, heart pounding in your chest, gaze locked with mischievous dark chocolate orbs, his teeth catching his lower lip, tiny mole underneath revealed.

“Yeah?”

Why was his voice so deep? The tiny tip of his pink tongue darted out, licking his lips enticingly.

“… Noona?”

This man was illegal.

Your hands darted down and gripped his, catching your lower lip in your teeth as well, matching his lip bite, seeing the eagerness growing in his eyes.

Someone should call the police. Or an ambulance.

You grinned, cocking an eyebrow. “I don’t want to wear anything around you.”

But not for you.

There was a very loud meow from your bathroom, but before Jungkook could ask, you yanked your shirt up and over your head. He gasped and instantly it was lips on lips, messy kisses and stumbling to the living room were your bed, dresser, nightstands, bookcase, knickknacks, everything scattered everywhere, but Jungkook and you were too busy yanking off clothes and getting frisky to give a shit.

Yikes.

You stared at Yoongi now, red from head to toe, clutching the dark gray sweatshirt. He rolled his eyes and looked away from you.

“I… washed it?” you offered weakly.

Yoongi’s dark brows raised from under his black bangs. “Mmm, you forget that I have quite keen hearing. I’m not deaf like you, human.”

The color drained from your face.

Well.

Maybe, just maybe, Jungkook got you to wear his dark gray sweatshirt, forcing you – respectfully, he called you noona, after all – to get on your hands and knees for him, then make you wait in said embarrassing position with his sweatshirt bunched around your neck – because, er, gravity – while he casually made you watch him roll the condom on, highly amused by your impatient glare, only to move away and slowly shove his dick inside your soaking wet pussy and spank your ass until you backed up into him enough times to make yourself cum on his stiff length without him moving his hips.

Respectfully, of course.

“Fuck, noona, that was so fucking hot…”

“Jungkook,” you gasped breathlessly, ass stinging in glorious pain. “F-Fuck me, please.”

He made you scream.

He fucked your hard, making the bed creak, pounding you so roughly into the mattress that your fingers curled into the mint sheets, and when you gasped that you were close, he fucking stopped, the damn sadist, causing you to slam your fists into the bed and buck back into his crotch, Jungkook chuckling at your desperation. In your haze of begging for Jungkook’s cock, you heard a judgmental meow from your bathroom, but before you could address it, Jungkook seemed to have accepted your pleading and began to thrust into you once more, making you lose your train of thought and all thoughts in general, except your dire need to orgasm.

Jungkook had made you moan for hours.

Right now, however, Yoongi’s sharp look was making you mute. You were so mortified that you swore your soul stood up and walked out of your body, too ashamed to be in Yoongi’s presence any longer.

“Mmm,” the dark-haired man mused absentmindedly, pointed ears flicking.

From spitting onto the mirror to mentioning his possible castration to remembering that you had locked Yoongi in the bathroom for hours to have mind-blowing sex with Jeon Jungkook under the guise of repainting your bedroom walls…

Too bad life doesn’t have an undo button.

You suddenly remembered Jungkook pushing you up against the bathroom door, your leg hooked around his waist, his cock plunging in and out of you, lips on your neck, and your wrists pinned to the door, rattling it as he fucked you, whispering against your skin.

“You sound so fucking sexy, make more sounds for me, I’ll fuck you as much as you want, fuck you until you can’t think, can’t move, just to hear you say my name over and over…”

“Jungkook… f-fuck, you f-feel so fucking good, o-oh, Jungkook…!”

He pulled his lips away from your neck and smirked in your face.

“Yeah… noona?”

Respectfully.

“Fuck!”

Your back arced against the bathroom door as you came, pussy throbbing and spasming, the top of your head touching the wood, gasping Jungkook’s name in ecstasy, slamming your wrists against the door, Jungkook moaning as he came inside you, cock jerking inside the condom and swelling it with his orgasm, lips crashing down on yours and you whining pathetically into his mouth as he sucked on your tongue roughly.

A quiet, disapproving meow below you.

A master yikes.

You deliberately shoved the dark gray blob back into your underwear drawer.

Yoongi pursed his lips.

“Why is it in your underwear drawer, anyway?”

You slowly closed it, the wood snapping as the drawer touched the dresser.

Silence.

A crow cawed in the distance.

“You know what, let me make a trip to the convenience store…” was your hollow reply as you mechanically walked out of your bedroom, followed by a mint duvet.

“Do you know what size I would be?” came the husky, amused chuckle behind you as you pawed around your apartment for your wallet, two masks, hand sanitizer.

“I’ll just… buy a variety…”

“Or you could measure.”

You heard a rustle and you whipped your head around, only to see Yoongi’s cocked eyebrow and a slight bit of his exposed shoulders, collarbones on display, silver bell jingling. He yanked it back up, frowning at you.

“Are you a pervert?”

“N… no!”

You jerked away and hastily hooked the masks on your ears, fumbling with your sneakers before declaring, “I will be right back!” And then you threw yourself out the door.

Yoongi sighed, finally releasing his hold on the duvet.

“Ugh, so stuffy…”

His long black tail whipped about.

The door suddenly jerked back open and you plucked your keys from the side dish.

Only to see Yoongi fully naked, sleek black tail whisking around, blinking at you.

He was naked.

Really naked.

Very, one hundred percent, naked.

The mint duvet was pooled around his legs on the ground and Min Yoongi, who was formerly your cat Shooky, was a fair-skinned, long-limbed, lean-bodied, very attractive tall man, with velvety black cat ears and tail and – urk! – completely intact human male genitalia. Your neck, ears, cheeks, chest, ancestors from generations long ago, all turned red in embarrassment. Once again, you soul completely left your body in pure mortification.

“D… Don’t leave!” you blurted, snapping the door closed.

Yoongi just stood there, sighing as he heard the door lock and a body bolt down the apartment building stairs.

“You didn’t even change out of your pajamas…” he muttered, picking up the duvet.

-

"I can't wear these."

It was a few hours later. Thankfully, when you arrived home with your purchases, your cat... man was asleep, wrapped like a mint cake roll in your duvet. You tried not to think about his naked body on your bed, therefore ending up thinking about his naked body on your bed. 

"You need to wear pants! For..."

Dark eyebrows raised. 

"Decency!"

After getting home, you had spent the next thirty minutes hand-washing a black t-shirt, black boxer briefs, and loose black pants that were definitely too short but it was the only size available that could fit that waist, so you had to make do. You put the other shirts and underwear in the washing machine, but you needed to wash at least one outfit and hang it to dry. You tried to use the hottest water your hands could handle to sterilize the clothing, wincing at the blistering heat. 

You didn't know if Yoongi could get coronavirus but you weren't going to risk it. 

Eventually you placed everything on the drying rack and positioned your space heater on them to dry them off. 

Then you passed out on the couch. You deserved it, after working so hard.

Only to be woken up by Yoongi poking your shoulder roughly and telling you he couldn't wear the underwear and pants. 

He was still holding the duvet around his body and your neck was still regretting every second of sleeping on the couch. Ow. Too much physical labor. Quarantine had turned you into a formless potato. You sat up halfway, wincing. Ugh, pain. You jabbed your finger at Yoongi, who gave you a displeased narrowing of his eyes. 

"Put the pants on, you animal!"

Yoongi swept around the sofa, mint duvet and all, determined glint in his dark orbs, lips pursed in annoyance. You started, cracking your neck by accident, yelping in pain as you fell back against the couch.

Yoongi planted himself on top of you nimbly.

You froze.

Partly because you were shocked, but mostly because your neck seized a bit.

His legs were on either side of you, body still wrapped up, perfectly balanced despite the sudden leap, surveying you with a disapproving and discerning eye. The silver bell on his neck jingled with his movement. You could feel his calves against your knees.

His bare calves.

"Are you dumb?"

"What?" you croaked in response.

Yoongi rolled his eyes. "You always forget things."

You blinked at him, confused, neck heating. "What are you talking about?" you snapped impatiently.

"This."

Thump.

You felt something long and furry hit your leg. Your body almost jerked up in surprise, but Yoongi hissed at you, making you lurch back, somewhat stunned at how cat-like it sounded. It was definitely a warning. You were still in your pajamas, slightly thinner material than your usual clothes. It had been cold outside, but your everlasting embarrassment had kept you toasty warm.

Like it was now, because you realized your clothed outer thigh was touching his inner thigh.

His naked inner thigh.

You let out a noise between shock and confusion.

"Urk?"

The long, furry thing brushed against your legs as Yoongi watched you reach your slow realization.

"O-oh... Right. You have a tail..."

He grunted, thinning his eyes into slits. "Yes, because I am a cat."

Highly debatable at the moment, but you were too busy remembering your cat also had a human dick and nuts. Well, not also. Only had? Well. Maybe if you had a seco–

No. No, never mind that. Yeah.

Never.

Mind.

You gulped, trying to suppress the rising heat in your ears and failing. "I can sew?"

Yoongi tilted his head, nose wrinkling a bit. Then he got off you, circling around the couch. You sat up, neck still hurting, but the warmth of your embarrassment somehow helping. Yes, great, trading temporary physical pain for lifetime mental embarrassment, only for such moments to be remembered at the most inopportune times to throw you off guard.

Awesome.

You visibly cringed before standing up, seeing Yoongi's hand snake out and nab the boxer briefs, making them disappear into the duvet. You saw the fabric rustle and then the briefs reappeared, chucked at your face.

Your head snapped back at the force, arms flailing.

"Mmphf!"

"Should be about four or five centimeters. Make it quick. It's hot under here."

You yanked the underwear off your face, scowling. "I'm not your maid!"

Yoongi raised an eyebrow, black ears flicking. He was smirking at you. You narrowed your eyes. What was this guy so high and mighty for? If anything, he should be grateful that you even car–

"You're been cleaning up my literal shit for a few years now, so you are practically are my maid."

... Wait a second, he's right.

You growled and hauled yourself up.

-

An hour later, your cat was dressed.

Cat?

Man?

Whatever.

Min Yoongi was finally wearing clothes and not your duvet and your fingers stung like a bitch.

You ended up snipping a hole and using bias tape to seal off the raw edges. You didn’t own a sewing machine, so this was the next best thing you could think of without destroying your fingers by trying to imitate zig-zag stiches, although you ended up destroying your fingers anyway because you had to sew small, delicate stitches to attach the bias tape. The area was too high traffic to not reinforce.

Sigh.

“Please tell me you know how to use the bathroom by yourself from now on.”

Yoongi had raised an eyebrow.

“Of course. I’ve watched you enough times to know how to expel human excrement.”

Right. Because he was your cat. Don’t think about it too much. You were trying to take everything one thing at a time so you didn’t overwhelm yourself. Those were future-you problems. Why does he talk like that anyway? You didn’t even know how he knew Korean. Was it because you watched too much television? Yikes.

You rubbed your forehead, dismissing the discussion. “Good talk.”

You realized you would have to cut openings for his tail for all the underwear on the drying rack but, again, that was a future-you problem. Instead, you let him change in your bedroom and went to retrieve the laptop on your coffee table. Plugged it in and turned it on.

All your settings were wack.

“The fuck?” you muttered, resetting your display, volume, brightness, sigh, nearly everything. This only happened when a certain someone stepped on the keys when you weren’t looking. You raised your voice, still looking at the screen. “Did you fuck with my computer last night?”

“No. Oh, well, I did sleep on it,” Yoongi was saying as he stepped out of your bedroom. You growled in your chest, annoyed, but setting everything back into its place before opening your Google calendar. Nothing due immediately, thank god. “Er, maybe you shouldn’t…”

You looked up.

Oh.

Oh?

Oh!

Yoongi mussed his black hair, scratching at his velvety black ear. You noticed he didn’t have a set of human ears. Well, duh. That’d be weird. He was still wearing the black choker with the little silver bell on it. The t-shirt was nicely loose on his frame, the black standing out against his fair skin. The sweatpants were a little short on the ankle, the slim fit showing off his leanness. The sleek black tail swished back and forth.

He was… handsome.

Yoongi looked apprehensive, twisting his lips to one side. “Hmm.”

You blinked at him. “What?”

He shrugged. “Well, when I woke up as a human, I was cold, except for…” His hand ghosted towards his crotch. He pulled it away, waving it aside. “Mmm, never mind.”

You gave him a confused look and went back to your keyboard, typing away. Yoongi winced but you were too busy replying to an email to think too much about it.

-

We interrupt your regularly scheduled program to inform you of the following.

Min Yoongi had woken up on the coffee table, fucking freezing because humans didn’t have fur, and because his nuts and dick were getting roasted by your overheating laptop keyboard.

Upon waking up, he had a mild mental breakdown as you continued snoring loudly and unceremoniously, before scurrying away to the warmest place he knew – your bed, where he claimed the duvet and tried to figure out what the fuck was going on.

Is this real life?

He had poked at various parts of his new body, trying to figure out if this was a dream or a horrific nightmare.

As we all know.

Life is a horrific nightmare, so indeed, this was real life.

-

You jumped as Yoongi slumped down on the sofa next to you, sticking his head and ears into your view, blocking the computer screen.

“I’m hungry.”

You gawked at him.

“What a-are you d-doing?” you sputtered.

“I’m hungry,” he repeated. He had a bit of a raspy, almost growly voice at times, reminding you of a cat’s meow. His meow, in fact.

You scooted away, neck heating. Yoongi followed, prodding you.

“Why are you like this?” you grumbled irritably, smacking his hand. Yoongi persisted, as if you did nothing at all.

“This is how I get your attention, because you humans will ignore me if I don’t.”

“You’re a human too!”

“No, I am a cat.”

“Hello?” You grabbed his hand and jabbed at his palm, pointing to his thumb. “Cats don’t have thumbs!”

Yoongi yanked his hand out, shockingly similar to how Shooky used to pull his paw out when you were massaging his little white socks and he was over it. You noticed his cuticles looked a bit dry and torn up. Lately, Shooky’s paws had been a little chewed up too. You frowned at it, tilting your head.

Yoongi stood up and his tail whacked you in the face.

“Ow!”

“Feed me.”

You scowled, rubbing your cheek. Yoongi stared down at you, face expressionless.

Okay, your cat might be a man now, but he was still a borderline asshole, so not much had changed.

“Fine.”

-

You both stared at the bowl of dry cat food.

Yoongi raised an eyebrow.

“What am I supposed to do with all this cat food then? I just brought it last week!”

“That’s your problem.”

You threw up your hands and cooked you both some lunch.

-

This was too much.

You know what you did when it was too much?

You took a nap.

You had dishes to clean, underwear to make tail-holes for, a cat that was now a man, an existential crisis to address, but you know what? You took a fucking nap instead. You left Yoongi with your computer and Netflix and told him to do whatever as long as none of it involved him leaving the house.

Yoongi had snorted. “What do I need to go out there for?”

“Awesome. I’m taking a nap.”

And you passed out.

Only to wake up groggily because your lungs were being crushed.

Actually no, it kind of felt like your whole torso was being crushed.

“Urk…!”

You fought with your sleepiness, somehow worse off than you had been before the nap, scrunching up your face ad blinking blearily. Head on memory foam pillow, check. Back on soft mattress, check. Black hair with sleek cat ears and pale face pressed on your chest? Check.

What, wait?

“Gah!”

You lurched and the head grunted, shoulders solidly pinning you down. He was under the mint-colored duvet. Yoongi, your cat that was now a man, was under the duvet.

UNDER THE DUVET.

“Stop yelling. Is that all you humans do? Yell?”

“Why are you – what are you doing here?” you hissed shrilly, trying to wiggle out from under him, but it was impossible. Yoongi was far too big now for you to throw him off.

“Sleeping, obviously,” he grumbled. “Or I was, until you started shouting.”

“Yes, but this is my bed,” you emphasized, realizing you could move your hands so you grabbed him by the waist, fingers grasping the black jersey fabric. You pressed inwards, hands molding to his sides.

Yoongi raised his head, squinting down at you.

You froze.

An oddly familiar gaze of accusation and uncaring. His eyes were dark brown, not the recognizable mint, but the effect was the same. Pink lips upturned, slightly annoyed.

And.

You suddenly remembered he was a man.

A man who was pressed down against you, long legs around your legs, broad chest to your chest, and shockingly attractive for someone who used to be a cat.

“I sleep in your bed all the time. What’s the difference?” Yoongi muttered.

What’s the difference?

The difference???

You’re a man!

A HOT MAN!!!

You struggled to find words, completely entranced by how close Yoongi’s face was to yours, watching his ears adjust slightly to pick up all the small sounds around him. You opened your mouth and it only made a tiny squeak. The pressure on your chest was becoming unbearable. You were so shocked that you completely forgot that you were still dying. You cleared your throat as Yoongi looked increasingly displeased.

“You�� You used to be over the duvet…”

Yoongi yawned, nodding a little. “Yes, but it’s colder now. No more fur. I don’t know how you humans survive. Must be why you buy these warm things.”

Your hands were still on his waist. You pulled them away quickly and Yoongi frowned.

“Y-Yeah, but… you weigh a lot more now…” you croaked. “Can’t… breathe…”

Yoongi sighed heavily, as if this was a great disappointment. He slid off you.

“Hmm, I suppose that’s true.”

He nestled close to you and you still stunned, pin-straight body.

“Guess it’ll have to be like this instead from now on.”

Like this?

From now on?

Oh. Oh no.

Yoongi’s velvety, pointed ear flicked against your cheek, a low hum resounding in his chest.

-

part ii

--

masterpost

[with-my-murder-flute]

Sometimes you just have a really intense week and can’t stop thinking about how much trauma Lan Sizhui experienced by the time he was 5 and how being the Very Best Boy isn’t always healthy and then you need to write Lan Wangji the child psychologist and his incredibly anxious foster-son, y’know?

---

Bunny is on time-out again.

"You have to behave,” A-Yuan says in the voice of the potato-head, packing accessories into its body and shoving it into the bed of a soft plastic truck. “You get in the car now.” The Barbie van is already full, with a dinosaur and a fingerpuppet and one of the new larger Lego figures, and all their carefully packed luggage. A-Yuan does that. Over and over again, for each of his toys, he methodically packs and unpacks luggage. It’s his most common form of play, but not the most enjoyable.

A-Yuan’s breathing is rapid and shallow, so much so that he takes little gasps when he talks to himself. Routinely, predictably, he’s calmer when he turns away from the dollhouse. He’s most collected when selecting items to put into luggage, deciding on pieces of felt and Barbie shoes, but even with the vehicles he can lose himself enjoying the movement and progress of the cars. But underneath it all, there’s a jerkiness to his movements and a certain disconnected quality in his speech and body language that tells Lan Wangji that he’s pretty distressed.

It’s a step forward that Bunny is out at all, Lan Wangji knows. A behaviour therapist at A-Yuan’s last preschool made it a point to extinguish comfort-seeking behaviour towards the toy, which was becoming both careworn and grubby. A-Yuan’s had it at least since he was fourteen months old; it was with him when he came into care. Maybe his birth mother gave it to him. A-Yuan has obediently derogated the toy; if it’s left lying out, he can usually be trusted to throw it into a corner to prove what a big, grown-up boy he is.

Lan Wangji has very carefully gauged his son’s limits of tolerance for some things. When the car ride begins, he waves slightly and says, “Have a nice trip,” which makes A-Yuan glance back at him nervously, but it’s just mild enough, just unemotional enough, just tolerable enough, that it doesn’t provoke too much emotion. A-Yuan can keep pushing his vehicles around, and feel safe enough to drive one into Lan Wangji’s foot. He doesn’t persevere at that point, though; the trip has culminated and he gets up and walks to where he can see down the hallway to the front door, then wanders over to the slide.

A hundred million years ago, Lan Wangji thought he’d be a genetics researcher, like his uncle. Then he thought he’d be a neuroscientist, like his undergraduate thesis advisor. Then he thought he’d be a psychologist like his brother, who focuses entirely on assessment and the development of psychometric tools. For a little bit in grad school, he thought he’d counsel adults, like Wei Wuxian, until a classmate told Wei Wuxian that Dialectical Behavioural Therapy was ��objectively badass” and he developed a fixation Lan Wangji could not follow. In retrospect his career path is absolutely obvious, resonating clearly through every bone of him, but it took him a very long time to realize he ought to work with children. It’s a little shocking that he, who was so bad at being a child, feels so prepared to be a father.

He smiles when A-Yuan looks at him anxiously from the slide, the moment of uncertainty as he lets go and begins sliding down triggering the need for reassurance. Lan Wangji is always waiting for that glance, waiting to return it. At A-Yuan’s last placement he’d been assessed as having an avoidant/dismissing attachment style, and despite its uncharitable and parent-shaming nature Lan Wangji can’t help but agree with what his husband had muttered over that one: “Were the parents even trying?”

The most vital task, and the hardest, is being present in the moment with a child. Not worrying about the future, not concerned with the past, not preoccupied with an external standard. He’s surprisingly bad at performing objective assessments with children, because he can see how unfair they all are. His greatest facility is something he built for himself, brick by painstaking brick: the willingness to sit with discomfort, and have faith that the chaos will not remain chaos. All his years of meditation have cultivated a still eye to see the world from, and the faith that patience and compassion will see him through.

Still smiling, still watching A-Yuan, Lan Wangji moves closer to the dollhouse. He carefully stars arranging its contents, righting knocked-over furniture and returning blankets to little wooden beds. He takes out a shark figurine, a couple of doll clothes, then puts Bunny on the floor near his shin. When A-Yuan comes close, magnetically drawn away from the slide, Lan Wangji reaches behind himself for the tea set they were using earlier, arranging cups and plates in front of him as though they’re going to have another tea party. He leaves the placement of the cups ambiguous; it’s not like Bunny is specifically invited, but there is a suggestive proximity, the way the other cup is in proximity to the shark. A-Yuan takes the teapot, and Lan Wangji solemnly holds his cup out while A-Yuan pours. For the sake of the ritual he accepts milk and refuses sugar and mimes stirring his invisible ingredients before taking a sip.

When A-Yuan is done drinking, Lan Wangji turns to Bunny, lifting a cup, and asks, “Would you like some tea?” A-Yuan noticed the moment that Lan Wangji’s hand moves, but as he addresses the rabbit A-Yuan seems to lose interest, which is to say, he slightly dissociates; blink and you missed it, but his eyes go a little glassy, he looks away, and then he acts on the adrenaline and gets up and wanders away.

The current theory about Bunny is like the theory of gravity, which is to say, it’s definitely pretty certain but it never hurts to be humble when it comes to knowledge. It’s honestly a little more speculative and psychodynamic than Lan Wangji is truly comfortable with, and A-Yuan’s case manager, possibly a little defensive over the last preschool placement, absolutely refuses to consider the possibility. But it still feels as essential and true as which way is up that Bunny performs the vital task of holding all the parts of A-Yuan that he blames for making the adults he cares about disappear. Bunny holds both the neediness and the hope for comfort that were so painful, his son shut them down in order to survive. Bunny was how A-Yuan mediated that desire, the source of his comfort, until he was three and a half, and the behaviour therapist.

A-Yuan knew his foster parents didn’t like him being disorganized and distressed and clingy, that they’d rather he behaved more like a six-year-old than four. Which he could, sometimes, because he had a ferocious intelligence which put him cognitively ahead of his emotional development. But he, well... adapted a little too quickly, one might say. Learned his lesson a little too well. Now they’re trying to reignite the behaviours that were extinguished.

Lan Wangji takes a risk, while A-Yuan is pulling picture books off the lower shelf, and lifts Bunny to his shoulder like a colicky infant. He doesn’t do anything else, aside from stroking the rabbit’s fur. He leaves it in place, with a little guiding help from his hand, when A-Yuan brings a Franklin book over and climbs into his lap, demanding to be read to. With interest he notes, halfway through the story, that Lan Wangji holding and petting Bunny doesn’t distress A-Yuan; as the story arc gets as exciting as Franklin books ever do (which is not, to be clear, a criticism) A-Yuan turns in his arms long enough to distractedly reach up and pet Bunny too, before turning back and trying to grab the book for himself.

Wondering how far he can push this, he keeps Bunny in place on his shoulder when they leave the room to check the clock, and A-Yuan goes to the living-room window to watch the street for Wei Wuxian. He looks curiously when Lan Wangji leans down to dig the remote out between the couch cushions, but easily redirects when Lan Wangji turns on the TV and goes to prepare dinner. Having the show on limits his anxious glances out the window to three or four a minute only, instead of sustained attention followed by a meltdown if he had to wait more than five minutes.

Lan Wangji thinks it would be easier to keep Bunny in place, on his shoulder like a dishtowel, if he had weighted plastic beads in his extremities, or if he was velcroed. He’s wary of changing anything about such a strong comfort object, though, so he just learns to move and stand differently to keep the rabbit from constantly falling off.

A-Yuan greets Wei Wuxian with the kind of terrified delight that looks like general indifference if you don’t know better; he runs over, stands uncertainly within arm’s reach of Wei Wuxian’s legs, and then dodges away before Wei Wuxian can reach down to him. Lan Wangji helpfully muted the show when he heard the door open--it gives A-Yuan the space to sit with his back to the room and self-regulate while the adults say hello.

“New friend?” his husband asks finally, an eyebrow raised.

“Modelling it as appropriate,” Lan Wangji says. “I thought perhaps he could tolerate us demonstrating that it is not discouraged.”

“Nice rabbit, Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian says seamlessly, in a voice meant to be heard from the couch. “I like it. Makes me wish I had a rabbit.”

“They are very good friends,” Lan Wangji agrees. “This one is not mine, but he is keeping me company.”

“Nice,” Wei Wuxian agrees. “Maybe whoever you borrowed him from will let him hang out with me sometime.”

Their audience does not comment on this, but they didn’t need him to. Wei Wuxian sets the table while Lan Wangji cooks. A-Yuan’s palate is still pretty limited, so he’s used to making three separate elements of one meal, and can live with cutting up cooked hot dog into little coins so long as he doesn’t have to eat them himself. They just supplement their kid’s diet with a multivitamin.

A-Yuan looks askance enough, when dinner is ready, that Lan Wangji takes Bunny off his shoulder and asks, “Where should he sit while we eat?”

There is a fourth chair, albeit completely out of proportion, but he doesn’t dare try it. Instead A-Yuan thinks for a minute, and points to the kitchen counter behind the table. Lan Wangji props Bunny up against the wall, observing dinner if not participating, and after a second to think, A-Yuan accepts this as normal and climbs into his chair. He is meticulously well-behaved.

Lan Wangji aches for his son, and hopes one day he’ll feel confident enough in their love to break the rules around them.

They eat.

[spenciegoob]

Swing to the Stars

this fic swap is for @reidgraygubler​ ... I really hope you like it, shadow :)

A/N: AAAAH! this is my first fic swap and I’M SO EXCITED!!!!

Summary: Spencer meets someone in his little hiding spot, and desperately hopes to see them again.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Gender Neutral!Reader

Category: fluff with a dash of angst

Content Warnings: mentions of Maeve & William Reid, talk of a case involving teens, mentions of bullying, mentions of guns and pepper spray (not used)

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.4K

___

The first time I climbed that treacherous hill, dirtying my converse for all to see what my night activities truly consisted of, I was alone. I enjoyed it like that, I came here by myself, and I intended to keep it that way. When I sat on the swing dangling by two dangerously flimsy ropes, I thought how ridiculously large the slap of wood used to make it was. My elbows were bent a little over a 90 degree angle just to reach both sides, but I never thought past it. I had other things on my mind that night.

I thought about my mom. I knew she would have loved a secluded, little space like this. She would’ve probably read to me here, using different voices that held deep emotion to convey each story with a precise amount of dedication and love. Each story to her was special, and I silently thank her every day for passing that trait down to me. 

Unfortunately, if I thought about my mom, I thought about my dad. William was never a kind man, and I could pride myself on one thing; I would never be like him. He didn’t deserve to know a place like this. It was too serene, too beautiful to house a man so willing to abandon the two people who should’ve been the most important to him. I was glad he would never get the chance to sit on this swing.

I thought about my family. How Garcia would jump with excitement at the prospect of having a picnic overlooking the city, yet quiet and missing the sounds of cars zooming by or overlapping chatter. I thought about JJ, and how Henry would beg her to push him in the swing, because to a little kid, it was perfect. He didn’t look at the frayed rope and fear that it would snap. I hope he never starts to fear the world like that.

The second time I found myself back at the bottom of the hill, I made it halfway to the top before seeing a couple getting up from the swing they were sitting together on. I realized then why it was so comically large; it was meant for two people. Thankfully when I reached the top only half out of breath, the two were starting their descent to where I came from.

This time when I sat down, I thought about Maeve. I would’ve brought her here, shared the little secret corner of the world I built for myself. She would’ve loved something like this, and I know if life wasn’t so cruel, and I was given the chance to show her, we would’ve talked for hours. So that’s what I did that time; I talked to Maeve. To anyone else, I probably looked like a crazy person talking to himself, but much to my delight, not many people made the trip up the hill to find this place.

Now I go whenever I need a break from my mind, which unfortunately is more times than my schedule allows me to take that leisurely walk. I spend my nights sometimes after a particularly hard case there no matter the time, using the ropes that scratch my hands as my lifeline down to Earth. I watch the stars, screaming and cursing at the world in my head and waiting for the sky to respond. It never did, and the next case always came in the following morning.

This particular time that I found myself at the bottom of the grassy hill waiting to be climbed, the case I just returned from involved kids across the board. A teenage unsub was killing his fellow classmates that have wronged him. Unfortunately, the BAU had to witness his stressor recorded for the whole school to see. It involved vile insults being thrown at the young, defenseless boy only for the bullying to escalate to violence.

It was awful.

As I trudged up the hill with less excitement to look into the vast unknown than usual, I couldn’t stop thinking about the unsub. All he wanted in life was a friend, someone to talk to, laugh with, share memories together. No matter how wrong it was, I saw myself in him. Our souls held the same scars given to us by people who had no right to go digging for such a deep part of ourselves. If I didn’t make it, would I have turned out like him?

When I reached the top, completing my journey once again, I saw them. Sitting there, staring out into the sky, mimicking my thoughts to do the same on the jet ride home. I could only make out half their face lit up by the light casting down from the full moon, but I didn’t need to see more to know they were breathtaking.

I would have turned around to return home to nothing more than books reread thousands of times and stale coffee, but I already made the mistake of stepping on a rather large branch that broke in half. The crunch coming from their right immediately had them on edge, and reaching for their bag that I could only assume had some sort of weapon inside. I hope it was legal.

I felt terrible for breaking them from the trance they were in. They were deep in thought about something that was probably going to become a solution if I hadn't interrupted their musing. 

“H-hi, I’m sorry to scare you. I didn’t expect anyone here this late. Not that you being here is a problem! I didn’t mean to disturb you,” I frantically shouted, although there was less distance between us than I originally thought, and probably seemed crazed by my volume level.

They just giggled at first, but upon seeing my distraught expression, their face turned more kind than humorous.

“That’s okay. I’m just glad I didn’t jump so fast to pepper spray you. That would definitely be the worst case scenario.” I let out a breath of relief for some reason. Here I was, in front of a total stranger thankful that their weapon of choice wasn’t a gun. I’ve been on the wrong end of too many during my years.

“Did you know Chemical Mace, more commonly known as pepper spray, was invented in the 1960s by a man named Alan Lee Litman and his wife Doris Litman at the time. Their reason was actually because one of Doris’s female coworkers was attacked and robbed, so they thought to create a nonlethal weapon with easy accessibility and use, considering not everyone is able to use a gun. It wasn’t until 1987 however that the Litman’s sold their creation to Smith and Wesson where it was mass produced and later sold to law enforcement.”

“Wow, I don’t think I did.” They laughed again, but something in my heart told me it wasn’t meant to come with malicious intent. “Do you do that a lot?”

“Do what?” I asked, even though I had some inclination of what they were referencing.

“Spout random facts. I’m not complaining, that was very cool, but I am fully intrigued.” They smiled again at me fondly, the kind of smile that left me a little breathless, even more so than the 45 degree incline I had to climb to find myself in front of them. There was nothing to convince me they weren’t authentic in every word they stated.

“I do it quite often, yes. It gets annoying after a while though.” It was true, I was told on many occasions that my rambling got old very fast. I suppose that’s what happens when you’re close to me for too long. I tend to stop being the awe-striking genius, and become the nagging, walking encyclopedia.

“I don’t see how that could become annoying.” It sounded sad coming from them, like I had insulted their oddity. I would never, and I was really hoping to find out what it was.

I had nothing further to say that would express my shock, and slight fondness over their praise, wary of its honesty even if it did come from them. I hadn’t known them for more than 4 minutes and 36 seconds, but it was enough to figure out that they weren’t a liar. It wasn’t from profiling either.

“You know, there is room for two people here if you wanted to join me. I’m sure you didn’t climb that hill for nothing.” They continued for me. If they noticed my surprise, they said nothing about it. 

Usually, I would be skeptical of being in a close proximity with a stranger, but as I approached them carefully, even if their hand was no longer reaching for mace, I felt the passing between our eyes. It was as if we had shared every part of ourselves with eye contact, and as crazy as it sounds, I felt the somber thoughts that lingered from their previous reflections.

So I sat down, grabbing onto only one of the scratchy ropes, and enjoying the way I could rest my elbow against my side now that I was using the swing to its fullest potential. I stopped caring about the probability of the ropes snapping under our combined body weight. The worst that could possibly happen was I bruised my tailbone a little bit, but I wouldn’t care past the initial embarrassment. At least I had someone to show that with.

“Do you ever think about what’s out there?” They asked once I was settled on the wood slab as comfortably as I could muster. Being boney didn’t necessarily help. Before I could answer, they continued. “I can tell you’re a man of science, if the fact dump wasn’t any indicator, but I mean beyond the facts, and the known.”

“No, I don’t think about it.” It was a lie, I think about it every time I’m here, but I wanted nothing more in this moment than to know how they saw the stars.

“I do. Quite frequently, actually. I mean, I’ve read every book there ever was about the stars and space, but there is still no answer to my question.”

“What question?” I had to know.

“What’s exactly written in the stars,” they replied, using their hands to showcase the sky above us. I sat back and thought for a while. Like the books they’ve read, I too didn’t have the response to their question. God, how I wish I did.

I don’t know how long we sat there quietly. One of the perks of total darkness in the dead of night is that the moon couldn’t tell time the way the sun did. We got lost in the cosmos together, contemplating sharing our own troubled thoughts with each other. It would have felt right if we did, but alas, the ringing of my cell phone dropped a pin in our reflections.

“I- I’m sorry, I have to take this,” I rushed out before standing up and accepting the incoming call from Penelope. I knew it was a case before her bubbly voice rang through my celular. I allowed the disappointment to bleed through my tone when I told her I would be back at the BAU shortly, hoping that the small release of the emotion would be enough to ward it off in time to turn back around. 

It didn’t.

They were already looking at me expectantly when I made my way back to the swing, bending down to retrieve my satchel I had abandoned on the ground. The amount of guilt on my face must have been enough to tell them I had to leave abruptly, despite the fact that the only thing I wanted to do was stay for even just a second.

“That’s okay,” they spoke softly, giving me a tight lipped smile. “We’ll see each other again.”

“How do you know?” I couldn’t help but be skeptical. Life never did work out in my favor. They looked up at the sky once more before answering.

“Just a feeling.” I let a full grin break out at their response, the first one I’ve had when visiting this place. I turned around to start my journey back to the office where dark, and twisted things lurked behind manilla folders. Before starting my descent however, I spun around quickly, almost losing my footing and taking a tumble.

“Woah there tiger, don’t hurt yourself,” they giggled at me, one that I returned with my own breathy laugh.

“I just don’t know your name.” It baffled me a little bit that I hadn’t thought to ask before this, but they just gave me one last smile, tilting their head in faux contemplation.

“Ask me next time.” I will.

***

It’s been a year since I met them, and I haven’t seen them since. Not for a lack of trying however. After that case, I went there every night until a new one arose, this time taking me to Oregon. They hadn’t been back, and part of me wondered if it was because of me. Did I not try hard enough the first time? Should I have ignored my ringer until my phone had 5 missed calls from Penelope?

But then my eidetic memory swooped in to save me from going down that road, one of the only times it wasn’t the cause of my self destructive thoughts. Because while I replayed the conversation over in my head wondering where it went wrong, I remembered their eyes, and their smile.

I remembered what it felt like to sit with them, and thankfully that was enough to convince myself our meeting wasn’t in vain.

I never was the kind of man to believe in the universe. The whole notion that “everything happens for a reason,” felt like a lie created to somehow blame an external force on the chaos in one’s life. There were so many things in my life that had no reason for happening, and to blame that on anything or anyone but myself would be a cheap excuse of a way out.

But for some odd reason, the universe aside, I believed in them, and strangely enough, I don’t think they would have blamed me for the life I had to live. So, as I sit down tonight on this familiar piece of wood, I choose to stare at the stars instead of the ground, and believe that if I spoke aloud, maybe they would hear me.

And they did, because my efforts to sit on one side of the swing in case they returned to me were not in vain. I didn’t look over, I didn’t have to to know it was them. I had already relaxed once their presence was known in my peripherals.

“Y/N,” they spoke, causing me to change my view on the stars to their side profile. It wasn’t all that different than staring at the constellations spread around us. “My name’s Y/N.”

___

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[sweetteaanddragons]

Innocence

Nolofinwe’s first thought was that Feanaro had sired another son and neglected to mention it.

A second thought dismissed this as ridiculous, given a moment’s comparison between the age of the child (halfway to adolescence) and the length of time Feanaro had previously been able to resist announcing that he had another child (half a breath).

His second thought was that Curufinwe had sired a child, but given that then he would have had to miss both a birth and a marriage announcement, he was inclined to doubt it.

“I did say Atar was unavailable for a reason,” Pityo said helpfully from behind him.

“No,” Nolofinwe said after another moment of stunned silence spent exchanging stares with a bright eyed and half sized Feanaro, “you said, and I quote, “Atar is unavailable for - reasons.” Forgive me for assuming you were just trying to get rid of me.”

Feanaro had hopped up to perch on the scarred wood of his much abused workbench, presumably so he could continue the staring contest from a more equitable position. “Why do we want to get rid of you?” he asked. “Who are you, anyway?”

Nolofinwe blinked.

He wasn’t quite sure which sentence had hit him harder. It was probably better not to think about it.

“He doesn’t know who I am either,” Pityo in a voice that was clearly trying to substitute manic cheer for sanity. “I think an experiment went wrong.”

“How do you know it went wrong?” Feanaro demanded. “Maybe I was trying to do this.”

Well, at least some things hadn’t changed. “But we are accepting the premise that this was an experiment.”

Pityo looked helplessly around Feanaro’s workroom, with its profusion of strange tools, unidentifiable substances, and suspicious jewelry, as if to ask, What else could it be?

“That’s what the - my notes say,” Feanaro said, and the stumble revealed the first hint of uncertainty in this whole mess. “I think.”

Nolofinwe snatched up the closest sheaf of papers.

It immediately became apparent why Feanaro had not been able to make that statement with any more certainty.

“He’s developed another system of writing,” he said blankly. It was not quite a question. “Wasn’t coming up with one enough?”

Feanaro brightened. “I made a new system of writing? What’s it like? Will you show me?”

“It’s not a whole new system,” Pityo said at the same time. “It’s just his code. I suppose . . . “ And he gestured helplessly again, this time at his miniaturized father.

“I recognize some of it,” Feanaro said defensively. “And I figured out some of the rest. I’m sure I’ll get it eventually.”

“He’s stuck like this until he can decode his own notes?”

Pityo shook his head. “Curufinwe should be able to decode it. Probably. He taught it to all of us, it’s just . . . been a while.”

“He said I have seven sons,” Feanaro said. He sounded enormously impressed by this information. “Are you one of them?”

It took a lifetime of controlling his expression in court not to choke.

“No,” Pityo said, sounding horrified.

Nolofinwe was not particularly eager to hear how one of Feanaro’s sons would explain him.

“I’m your brother,” he said. “Nolofinwe.”

He was not at all prepared for the way Feanaro glowed.

Or for the way Feanaro flung himself off the worktable and wrapped himself around Nolofinwe like the octopus Arafinwe had once shown him.

Before Nolofinwe could react, Feanaro had already clambered up, tiny limbs jabbing into Nolofinwe and awkwardly pulling at the jewels pinned to his court finery, until Feanaro had secured himself firmly on Nolofinwe’s back, pointy chin digging into his head.

“There,” Feanaro said triumphantly. “Now I’m taller than you again.”

“Again?” Nolofinwe asked, automatically adjusting his grip on Feanaro’s legs to keep him from falling. He was abruptly thankful that Pityo had managed to dig up some child sized clothes before he got here.

“You’re my little brother,” Feanaro said matter-of-factly. “I’m taller than you.”

Nolofinwe was, in fact, about a hands-width taller than Feanaro, a fact that he was privately and perhaps bit embarrassingly proud of.

He resisted the urge to share this fact with his currently younger half-brother.

This bit of maturity was helped by the fact that he was still processing the look on Feanaro’s face when he had found out who Nolofinwe was to him.

He took a deep breath. “Back to our most urgent concern,” he said. “If Curufinwe is the only one who can translate these notes, where is he?”

Pityo bit his lip. “Out with the others, probably. We were all helping Makalaure set up for his performance at the festival tonight. I just came back to grab something and found . . . “

“Me,” Feanaro said, small arms temporarily squeezing tighter in their grip.

“Right,” Nolofinwe said. He resisted the urge to rub between his eyes. “I don’t suppose you have any idea why you were trying to make yourself younger in the first place? I assume you intended to keep your memories while you did so, but that still doesn’t explain the rest of it.”

“That’s obvious, isn’t it?” For once, Feanaro’s voice wasn’t smug, just matter of fact. “I was probably trying to figure out how to make other things younger and just tested it out on myself.”

“But why? We already have the means to preserve items - “

“But not animals,” Feanaro said, one arm releasing him so he could wave it excitedly. “Or we don’t, at least, and I bet you don’t either. If I could make this work, then people could have horses or cats that they’d never have to lose.” His voice was passionate with excitement for a project that wasn’t even really his, and for all the distance and anger between them, Nolofinwe didn’t have to wonder even for a moment why.

“But did you have to try it on yourself first?” he asked instead even though, rationally speaking, it was a waste of time to direct the question to Feanaro just now.

“I don’t think he did,” Pityo said. “There’s a loaf of bread on the table that I’m pretty sure was stale this morning, and when I opened the door to come in here, a kitten ran out. This was just . . . the next logical step.”

Nolofinwe gave him a flat look. Pityo jerked his chin up stubbornly.

Feanaro tugged on the collar of his robes to regain his attention. “Aren’t you even a little impressed, Nolo? I turned back time!”

“Of course it’s impressive,” he said, automatically reassuring. It had the benefit of also being true. “It’s just also insane.”

Feanaro was apparently not bothered by the second part of this because he settled back down almost immediately, pointy chin once again burrowing into Nolofinwe’s shoulder.

Pityo looked about to protest, but apparently he didn’t want Feanaro’s pointy chin any closer to his own shoulders because he kept his objections to himself. “Look,” he said instead. “I’ll go get Curufinwe and bring him back here to start working on things. I would have gone earlier, but I couldn’t leave him alone.”

And the last thing they needed was for word of this to spread around Tirion, which went unsaid.

Technically, of course, he was one of the people such word would have been kept from; there were a half dozen plans that could be pushed forward in the court with infinitely more ease with the knowledge that Feanaro would not be interfering for the foreseeable future, and Pityo knew it.

But it was hard to think of that while Feanaro was clinging to him like Nolofinwe’s own children had been too old to do for ages. And if Pityo hadn’t trusted him not to turn the situation to his own advantage, he at least trusted him enough to look after Feanaro now that he knew.

That was something.

So he just nodded, and Pityo took off like a deer with the whole hunt of Orome behind it.

When the door swung shut behind him, Nolofinwe turned his head so that he could better see Feanaro and said, “You’re taking this very well.”

He’d waited in case Feanaro took that as he cue to start not taking things well; he didn’t think the situation would be in any way improved by Feanaro bursting into tears in front of his son.

But Feanaro just shrugged. “It’s an adventure!” he said with a blinding grin that faded a bit into thoughtfulness. “And I’ve seen my notes in here and . . . and some of Amil’s tapestries upstairs. It looks like a house I’d have.”

And of course there was no reason to be concerned, Nolofinwe supposed; Feanaro was safe, there was no reason to suppose he’d ever be anything other than totally safe. This was Aman, not long ago Cuivenien, but still.

He supposed the world had changed since Feanaro was a child after all because he still couldn’t quite suppress a thrill of vicious vicarious unease. Feanaro in his right mind would not want to be this vulnerable, especially not in front of the half-brother that he now seemed for inexplicable reasons to adore.

But Feanaro was now squirming down from his place on Nolofinwe’s back. He let him down quickly, and Feanaro circled around and reclaimed his perch on the workbench, face suddenly very serious.

“Those weren’t the only things I saw upstairs,” he said. “I saw the bedrooms too.”

“Oh?” Nolofinwe said, at a loss as to why this, of all things, would upset a child-sized Feanaro.

Feanaro’s shoulders were tense. “I saw my bedroom,” he clarified, and when this still provoked no answer, his chin jutted out. “Don’t play stupid with me,” he insisted. “I saw. It was my bedroom, just mine. Something happened to their mother, didn’t it?”

His voice shook over the word “something.”

It probably said something too that he said "their mother" and not "my wife," but given his current age, mothers were probably an infinitely more comfortable topic, even considering the history of his own.

Nolofinwe sat down beside him. “Nothing happened to Nerdanel,” he said gently. Feanaro perked up just a little at the extra information he had just inadvertently provided, so Nolofinwe gave him some more. “That’s her name. She has hair just as red as Pityo’s, and she’s a sculptor. Her workshop should still be here. Have you seen it?”

Feanaro shook his head.

“She’s the best in Aman,” Nolofinwe said, and it was no empty flattery. “She’s gone to visit her family, that’s all. Nothing bad.”

“She went to visit her family, and she took everything with her?” Feanaro said skeptically.

Nolofinwe had come here hoping to discuss a few details of the festival with his brother before he went to push his case for the new university's funding in court. He had prepared for that. He had not prepared how to discuss the difficulties in his brother’s marriage with a child who wasn’t familiar with any possible difficulties in marriage beyond death.

“You had a fight,” he admitted.

Feanaro considered this. “Did I win?”

“That depends on how you define winning,” Nolofinwe said dryly. “But regardless, she is very much still alive.”

This seemed to satisfy Feanaro. At the very least, he moved on. “So how much older than you am I?” he asked, and there was a strange look on his face now.

Nolofinwe didn’t really see how the answer could do any harm, but something about the look on Feanaro’s face made him wary. “You had already started your apprenticeship when I was born,” he said, leaving at least a little ambivalence in case he needed it later.

Feanaro’s shoulders slumped a fraction, but he recovered quickly, leaning forward eagerly. “But I started that young, didn’t I?”

“You did,” he admitted. “You’d finished it before you were of age.”

Feanaro nodded, calculations running behind his eyes. “And I bet she didn’t have you right away,” he said, fingers tapping quickly, like a count. “They would have waited.”

“That’s . . . true,” he said warily.

“So it won’t be much longer then,” Feanaro said cheerfully. “From my perspective, I mean, I know it’s already handled here.”

Cheerfully?

Feanaro had apparently noticed his confusion because he rolled his eyes. “I’m not an idiot,” he said with a deep scorn that was far more familiar than any other expression he’d worn that day. “I know where babies come from. Atar couldn’t have given me a brother on his own.”

“Two brothers,” he said blankly. “Arafinwe - “

Feanaro grinned. “Even better.” But the grin faltered quickly. “Did she - blame me? When she came back, and you turned out alright, did she think it was my fault?”

When she came back.

He had wondered, earlier, just how old Feanaro was.

Too young, apparently, to know of his father’s decision to remarry.

That explained . . . a lot.

Feanaro’s face had crumpled in the face of his silence.

“Of course not,” he said. “Of course not, she would never blame you.” He wrapped an arm around Feanaro and pulled him closer.

Feanaro’s shoulders shook. “You don’t have to lie to me,” he said, stubbornly not crying. “I’m not a baby.”

“She didn’t blame you,” he invented wildly. “She blamed Atar. But she forgave him, as Arafinwe obviously proves.”

It came out almost naturally. It would have been entirely naturally if it hadn’t belatedly occurred to him just how much trouble he would be in if Feanaro asked the obvious follow-up question and demanded to see her.

Thankfully, at that moment, the muffled sound of the door to the house banging open rang out, followed quickly by the door to the workshop slamming open in its turn.

Curufinwe ran through first, and Fenaaro’s jaw dropped at the older reflection of himself.

For his part, Curufinwe’s eyes were immediately drawn to the tears still trembling in his father’s eyes. Thunder clouds immediately began to form on his face.

Maitimo was a slightly calmer presence behind him, but his face was still flushed from moving too fast in formal robes in the summer heat. “Uncle,” he said, inclining his head. “We appreciate your assistance.”

Curufinwe opened his mouth. Maitimo very firmly snatched the relevant papers from the workbench and steered him to the other end of the workroom. Curufinwe went, though he kept sending rather understandable glances back toward his Atar.

Maitimo was gentler when he approached Feanaro, kneeling so that they were at eye level. “Hello,” he said. “I’m Maitimo. Did Pityo tell you who I am?”

“You’re the one with all the letters in your room,” Feanaro said, a little warily.

Maitimo’s mouth twitched up in amusement. “That’s right.”

Curufinwe was in sweat stained work clothes, but Maitimo’s were finer; he must have visited court before going to help Makalaure. Regardless, there were jewels glinting around his neck, and Feanaro, perhaps inevitably, was drawn toward them.

“Did I make those?” he asked eagerly, successfully distracted from his earlier distress, eyes tracing the chain of gold framed rubies that looked like sparks from a fire that wrapped from Maitimo’s shoulder to his waist.

Maitimo’s smile widened. “You did,” he said. “They were a gift for my first appointment of any real substance at court.”

Feanaro’s attention turned to Nolofinwe’s own court finery and the sapphires twisted into the silver circlet in his hair. “Did I make that?” he demanded.

Nolofinwe resisted the urge to wince. “You did not.”

That was no crime, of course; it was just that this piece in particular was very pointedly not made by Feanaro. It had, in fact, been made by a Vanyarin smith who had been trumpeted as their very best, and while the Vanyar were not generally known for their smiths, some had boasted that he could challenge even Feanaro’s skill.

Commissioning the piece had been a statement, a declaration that he was not ashamed of his Vanyarin heritage, that Feanaro’s supremacy was not unchallenged, that -

Well. A lot of things. Wearing it was also always a very deliberate jab, and it was one he had been wholeheartedly in favor of this morning.

But he couldn’t tell that to the painfully earnest Feanaro of right now.

“You’ve made me others, though,” he said, which was actually true.

There was the delicate silver bracelet that had likely been a long forgotten statement of some kind that Feanaro had gifted him upon his birth. He still had it tucked into a corner of his jewel box despite the fact it was now far too small to be of any possible use. There was the necklace Feanaro had presented to him when he was still very small, and Nolofinwe had been dragged out to Tol Eressea for the first time. He had been terrified of the shadows there and of the sky so dark that stars could peek through, and Feanaro had presented him with a chain of jewels that glowed when his tiny hands squeezed them. There had been a more formal piece too, a diadem, when he reached adolescence and was formally presented to the court. Feanaro had given it to him shortly after he confessed in a tense whisper to his nerves.

There had been a handful of more minor trinkets too, but those had trailed off after that last diadem. Feanaro had been . . . distant, frequently, in his youth, but that had often been a matter of physical distance as much as anything else, and the vast gulf in their ages. When that distance had been crossed, he had been - kind, in that fierce way of his, especially when Nolofinwe had felt weak and most in need of him.

It was when Nolofinwe had proven himself strong that the tension between them had truly arisen as a force in its own right instead of merely an echo of their parents’ lives. Childish fears of the dark had melted, and a gift for persuasion and rhetoric had sent him on a meteoric rise in courtly influence in their place.

It had not meant the end of gifts, exactly; Feanaro had as much desire to appease their father as Nolofinwe did, and so the gifts had continued at all appropriate occasions. It was just that they were never from Feanaro’s own hand anymore, and with only a few small exceptions, he strongly suspected them to have been selections of first Nerdanel and then Maitimo.

But there had been one exception, even to that. It had, ironically enough, been presented to Nolofinwe shortly after he had first worn the set he was currently draped in.

Unlike every other piece Feanaro had ever given him, the chains had been gold. Most of the jewels had been blue, glowing with a faint light, like the light of the Mingling reflected on the ocean, but the centerpiece, the largest jewel, had been like blood spreading on the water.

A violent image, but still beautiful.

It had been a statement, just like Nolofinwe’s own commission, only he had never been entirely certain of the extent of the statement involved. That it had been a defense of Feanaro’s superior craftsmanship was certain, and also a point it was difficult not to concede. The piece looked like a song given form, and it was difficult to tear his eyes away from it when it was in sight.

The rest of it, though - and there surely must be a rest of it - was less certain, and so for the most part, Nolofinwe left it quietly in its box.

Just this once, though, it surely couldn’t do much harm.

“If you’re still like this tomorrow, I’ll wear it then,” he promised.

Feanaro’s dark mood vanished for a moment before being replaced by new urgency. “We can’t wait that long! I have to be older again by tonight.”

Tension immediately reentered the room.

“Oh?” Maitimo asked with forced calm. “Did you see something concerning in your notes?”

Feanaro shook hs head. “No, but Pityo said Makalaure’s concert was tonight, and he said I couldn’t leave the house until I was back to normal, so I have to be back to normal by tonight, I have to.”

Maitimo smiled as the tensions slowly drained out again. “I’m sure he’ll understand, just this once.”

But Feanaro shook his head fiercely. “Atar always comes when he says he will,” he said firmly. “I have to do the same thing.”

“You can help me decode these if you want,” Curufinwe offered. “It would go faster.”

Feanaro hesitated a moment, but an encouraging smile from Nolofinwe sent off him quickly.

Nolofinwe looked after him for a long moment before turning back to Maitimo. “I hate to do this to you,” he said in a low voice, “but I do have other matters to attend to before the festival begins. If there’s nothing else I can do . . . ?”

“Of course,” Maitimo said. “Let me show you out.”

“Good,” he said, rising. “There’s a few things you should probably know . . . “

He explained his lies with a hint of guilt as Maitimo showed him to the door, but if Feanaro's eldest resented them, he said nothing of it.

He should at least say goodbye. He knew he should. He would be late to see Atar if he did, but Atar would never hold it against him, especially if he explained the cause.

He just - couldn't.

. . .

He hadn’t wanted to leave, exactly, but with both Feanaro and his sons pouring over the notes, Nolofinwe had little doubt the issue would be resolved quickly.

He simply preferred not to be standing right there when it was.

He had no idea whether or not Feanaro would remember what had happened. He wasn’t sure which alternative would be worse.

Either way, he would return to find things largely unchanged by his absence. He had resisted the urge to tell the king what had happened. They would have to if things persisted, of course, but he truly did not think they would, and in the meantime - it felt like a betrayal, as absurd as that was, to reveal Feanaro's joy at what could have been to anyone else.

Perhaps that was why as he dressed for the concert, he couldn’t quite help his hand lingering over a certain box.

It wasn’t quite what he had promised, but it was probably the best he could do.

And it was, after all, almost certainly the finest he owned. It was a shame to let a few complications keep it hiding in the dark.

. . .

(The concert is out in the open, great flocks of elves streaming through the festival streets to gather around the stage. Nolofinwe walks with his wife on his arm, waiting for the first golden note.)

(It is struck just as the Mingling starts. The light shimmers as it dances off the jewels on Nolofinwe’s chest.)

(For just a moment, through the crowd, he spots Feanaro, once more only a hand’s width shorter than Nolofinwe’s own height.)

(Feanaro does not approach him.)

(But his gaze catches on the dazzling jewels, and just for a moment, his half-brother smiles.)

[therenlover]

In Fleeting Touches & Airy Sighs Chapter 3 Part 2 + Epilogue (A Helmut Zemo x Reader Fanfiction)

(Thank you to everyone who has joined me on this unexpected journey. If you’d like to start from the beginning, you can find Chapter One HERE)

Synopsis: At the end of the day, Helmut and his wife fall back together as they always do, and rediscover their intimacy in the wake of their past arguments with no more games left to play. 

Tags: Smut, Fingering, Kisses, Neck Kisses, Married Sex, Soft Sex, The Morning After, Fluff, Banter, Excessive References To Old Literature, Wuthering Heights

Rating: 18+

Warnings: Explicit Smut, Swearing, Mentions of Alcoholism/Alcohol Withdrawals

Word Count: 10,500~

This work has been crossposted to my AO3!

------

The two of you stayed there for a moment, your heart alight with an almost childlike wonder as you relished in the pure bliss of your husband’s hand holding your own. It was as familiar as your own name and yet so new, so different than it had been before. Had he ever held your hand this tenderly? Or looked at you with such adoration? You couldn’t say for certain. Definitely not while you were so distracted by the romance of it all.

Still, all good things must come to an end, and after what could have been an eternity or a moment Helmut pressed one more kiss to your hand before lowering it back to the bed.

“Your trembling has stopped,” he muttered, more to himself than you, “that’s good. Are you still in pain? You could still take one more naproxen if you think it would be helpful,”

You shook your head. “No thank you. I think I’ll be fine for now,” Slowly, you stretched up, your joints cracking loudly as you yawned. Across the room, the clock on the wall ticked silently past 8 o’clock. Could it really be that late?

Helmut seemed amused by your little movements and mental musings. With a sweet smile, he leaned back in his chair. “Tired already?” He teased, but there was no fire in it. You didn’t have anything in you to make a funny quip with, so you opted for simply giving an honest nod. That was enough for him. He dimmed the bedside lamp a bit and picked up his novel once again before he spoke. “You can rest now, Schatz. I’ll be here if you need me,”

Then, nonchalant as can be, he opened up his book and started reading again.

It was a bit… strange, the idea of falling asleep while being watched, even if it was just by your husband. You settled into the sheets, but the thought of it irked you enough that you had to roll onto your side in the hopes that once he was out of sight you’d forget about him being there. It didn’t work. Then, you rolled onto your back thinking if you just closed your eyes, sleep would come eventually. That didn’t work either. You were quickly sat face to face with a conundrum: You couldn’t sleep.

Not in your current situation at least.

As if he could sense your discomfort, Helmut peered to you from above the pages of his book. “Are you reconsidering my offer for pain medication?” He asked.

You groaned. “No, I just can’t sleep. It’s weird being watched,”

Helmut watched over you with kind eyes. He didn’t set down his book as he watched you toss and turn until you finally rolled onto your side to face him, but he did tilt his head slightly as he studied your face. Once he was sure you weren’t in any pain, he gave a curt nod. There was something almost awkward and adolescent about the expression that crossed his face as he spoke.

“Are you… I’m sorry, would you rather I leave?”

The thought of being alone, even if it meant not being watched, made your stomach drop. You had spent so long wanting to fall asleep with Helmut at your side once again. To have him leave now, after everything you’d worked through? It felt like a massive step backward in comparison to all of the progress you’d made. That being said, him sitting at the edge of your bed like some sort of visitor at a hospital bed wasn’t what you wanted either.

No, you wanted him closer.

Needed him closer.

The only problem was that you had absolutely no idea of how to ask for what you wanted. It had always been so simple before. Ever since you had broken him out of the raft you had fallen into bed together exhausted every night with very few exceptions. There was no asking about it, you just did because that was what a married couple would do. That wasn’t even mentioning the nights you’d fall together after the throes of passion onto the nearest soft surface, fully satisfied and boneless and exhausted, but you didn’t want to think about those times. They brought a flush to your face and other places long neglected. You pushed the feeling down. It wouldn’t get you anywhere to be thinking of things like that in your current situation.

Back to the problem at hand, you started to think about if there was a possible, non-awkward way to ask Helmut to lay with you.

After a minute you became acutely aware that there wasn’t.

He was still waiting for an answer though, dark eyes watching you with an intent care and fascination as you struggled to sort through your thoughts, ever patient and careful with you. From your position on your side you had to tilt your head up slightly to see him fully upright in the lamplight but it didn’t matter much. He was still stunning, even sideways. Slowly, you took a deep breath. “I want you to stay, it’s just a little weird to have you watching over me like that,”

The words were soft and delicate in the moonlight. Helmut, thankfully, took them at face value and nothing more. He was still wearing that same strange expression from before, awkward but not painfully so, as his eyes flitted around the dark room. “You… last night and the night before you woke up a lot, inconsolable and vomiting. I didn’t want you to choke or make too much of a mess, so it was easier to sit up and watch you, just in case,”

“Oh,” Your soft lips parted as your heart fluttered, “I’m sorry, I guess? And thank you? I don’t know quite what the right response to that is,”

“There’s no need to apologize, it’s nothing, and I don’t need thanks either. I’m not doing anything any other decent husband wouldn’t do,”

“Well, you’re only halfway decent, so I’d consider this a win,”

Helmut laughed then, something low and throaty that made your chest feel fuzzy and heavy with warmth. “Touché, Schatzi. Now try to sleep? You need your rest,”

You obliged him once again, letting your head hit the pillow. Your eyes remained open, though, as you admired his features in the darkness. He hadn’t shaved properly in a few days and it was obvious from the dark stubble forming on his cheeks and chin, but you didn’t mind it. In fact, you found it incredibly endearing. His turtleneck looked thick and soft as it hugged every plane of his soft chest.  Even his face, furrowed in slight concentration as he found his sentence once again and began to read, looked sweet in the lamplight, framed by unkempt locks of his chestnut hair that had fallen out of their usually precariously kempt style. He looked like an angel there, illuminated from the side while his eyes flitted back and forth down the page.

Part of you yearned to reach out and touch him, because at that moment he seemed far too beautiful and idealized to be real.

After a moment, though, his eyes met yours again. You spoke before he had a chance to offer pain medication a third time.

“What are you reading?”

He regarded you with a practiced gentleness. This was a game all its own that you were both intimately familiar with, and it was much more fun than the ones you usually found yourselves playing. Helmut loved his books, but he never read one without reason. You were curious to see what he found appropriate for the occasion.

“Wuthering Heights,”

A small grin spread across your face as heat rushed to your cheeks. “Really? How morbid,”

“If you think this is morbid, you should have seen me last night,” he chuckled, “I was still neck-deep in Anna Karenina until the early hours of the morning. It did nothing for my nerves,” Somehow, his accent seemed thicker as he rolled the title gently on his tongue. If you closed your eyes, you could see the scene in your mind; Helmut watching you intently in the darkness as you shook, his eyes flitting back nervously to the words on the page before darting back to you again as he read of love and infidelity and death… it was almost too much to bear in the best of ways.

“What will you read next?”

Helmut paused, but his decision came quick. “Pride and Prejudice, I think,”

“How fitting,” you hummed, “I like Pride and Prejudice,”

“As do I, Schatz. As do I,”

The two of you sat with that silently for a moment as you took in a deep breath of cool nighttime air. Outside, you could hear the soft sound of distant passing cars in the darkness, but that did little to soothe the thoughts now racing through your head and making your heart beat faster. Suddenly, and without deliberation, you acted with your heart alone and not your mind.

“Helmut?” you called softly into the darkness.

He lifted his eyes from his book without a hint of annoyance at your repeated interruptions. “Yes?”

Suddenly, your throat felt very tight. “Do you remember the last night we spent in Berlin?”

“Of course I do,” he hummed, but he offered you nothing more to work with. Trembling slightly from the effort, you tried again.

“You read to me that night and it helped with the nightmares. Do you think…” your voice petered off, but came back stronger when you steadied yourself again, grounding yourself in the warmth of Helmut’s eyes, “do you think you could read to me again?”

The smile he offered you was brilliant and kind.

“I would like nothing more,”

With a bit of adjusting, Helmut scooted to the front of his chair so that his knees brushed the edge of the bed. You stared spellbound up at him. If you reached out, just the smallest bit,  you would be able to rest a hand on the warmth of his leg and relish in the feeling of his soft dress pants. Still, it wouldn’t be enough. You needed to be even closer, surrounded by him, entirely engulfed by the warmth and strength and scent of him.

“Do you believe such people are happy in the other world sir?” Helmut began, reading aloud in a voice reserved for you and you alone in these incredibly rare moments, “I’d give great deal to-”

“No,”

Helmut looked up from the novel with a soft ‘hm’ of confusion.

“I-'' you stuttered, “I want you to lay with me while you read, like you did back then,” His eyes lit up and his cheeks flushed as you floundered for some sort of excuse or placation that would explain your sudden boldness. “You don’t have to! I just… I thought it might be nice. If it’s not, that’s more than okay, I didn't mean to upset you. I guess what I’m trying to-”

“Shhh, Schatz. You’re okay,”

At the sound of Helmut’s soft reassurance, your heart slowed down a bit from its jackhammer rhythm against your chest. What? He was… agreeing? Slowly, he stood from his chair and rounded the bed before sitting on the opposite edge. You had to roll over to watch him go, but when he finally sat you reached a hand out to him, which he took into his own without a hint of hesitation.

“It’s not good to work yourself up like this,” he cooed as he toed off his shoes and socks, moving them away with his free hand. “I’m still your husband, just as you are still my wife. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to be held,” Your cheeks burned with shame, but somehow you didn’t feel like he was chiding you. He slipped below the sheets then, resting his back on the headboard and beckoning you forward to rest on him. You were scrambling towards his warmth before he had to say another word.

Then, you were finally safe.

There, with your cheek pressed flush against his chest and your arms wrapped tight around his middle, you breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed for the first time in… well, since you could remember really. He chuckled, but you didn’t notice. No, you were far too busy enjoying your newfound warmth. Your limbs were trembling a bit again, but not from your withdrawals. Instead, you seemed to have so much love running through your veins that you just couldn’t manage to keep still. Slowly, you swung your bare leg over Helmut’s clothed one before interlocking them to ensure your closeness.

Helmut smiled down at you and pressed a kiss to your forehead as he smoothed down your hair with one hand and re-opened his book with the other. “Now where were we? Ah, yes. Here we are. Do you believe such people are happy in the other world, sir? I’d give a great deal to know,”

You tuned out his words quickly, instead opting to focus on the timbre and lilt of his tone as he made his way down the page. There was a lightness to it, an honesty that came with reading words that came from another’s mind and not his own. There was no room for bartering when he read, no way to twist the sentiments of the author into his own narrative. Instead, he spoke plainly and often from the heart. You liked to think that was why he spent so much time choosing the books he read. They were, for him, a beacon of clean, clear-cut honesty to cling to even as his brain fought to deceive himself and everyone around him.

As he continued, though, you did notice something strange.

Your husband, especially when focused on a task like reading, wasn’t one to let his mind wander. If he wanted to do something he would simply do it without hesitation. Needless to say, it was also very difficult to distract him once he got fully invested in something. That being said, as he turned the page and continued to speak, his voice seemed to be losing its focused intensity by the second. He also was squirming. Well, no, squirming wasn’t quite the word for it, but he couldn’t seem to get comfortable below you. It was clearly not the weight of your body that bothered him though, nor was it the temperature of the room. Only when you shifted your leg up slightly and heard his breath hitch roughly in his throat did you notice the growing hardness in his pants.

Oh.

Oh.

There was something almost giddy about knowing that you could still affect him the same way you always had, even while half delirious with sleep and suffering through one malady or another, and while a small part of you grew nervous at the thought of reuniting with Helmut like that for the first time since your initial argument all those months ago, on the whole, every nerve in your body was longing to feel him against you again. You smiled softly at the discovery. Some things truly never changed.

As you determined the best way to go about initiating something, you tuned back into his words again. His voice was still sweet and low with his heavenly accent cutting through the old language in a way that made butterflies erupt from your stomach down towards your newly aching core, and yet there was an inconsistency to it.

“She lies with a sweet smile on her face,” he muttered, breath hitching slightly once again as he blinked, long and hard in the darkness, “and her latest ideas wandered back to pleasant early days. Her life closed in a gentle dream - may she wake as kindly in the other world,” As he finished his sentence he looked down from the page to you, prone against the broadness of his chest. His pupils were blown wide with lust in the yellow lamplight and, after a moment struck mute, he licked his lips. “Schatz-,”

“Don’t stop now,” you breathed into the darkness, “we’ve only just gotten to the best part,” Slowly you rose from your place slotted against him. The loss of contact was difficult for you both, but you quickly amended the issue by placing a hand flat against his upper thigh. It was so close to his growing length and yet so far away at the same time.

Helmut regarded the digits with a sure disbelief and mild amusement. “Don’t stop what?”

“Reading,”

Somehow the word sounded obscene as it dripped syrupy and saccharin from your lips. You leaned in closer now, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off your husband’s body as his gaze flickered down to your mouth. Despite your words, though, Helmut was quick to mark his page and reach to set the book down on the dresser beside his side of the bed.

“Do you want me?” he gulped, letting himself brush his fingertips ever so lightly against the bottom hem of your sleep shorts. “I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t, after everything,”

You replied with a question of your own:

“Do I look like I don’t want you?”

He was quick to shake his head. It was his turn now to steady himself. “I’ve yearned for you every day since I left,” he whispered, and you could feel the heat of his breath on your lips from the proximity alone, “I never should have gone, Schatzchen. Not then and not before. To be without you is torture. I’ve wasted so much precious time...”

You replied with a simple, breathless, “Kiss me,”

Who would he be to deny you?

With the slightest of smiles, he leaned in and captured your lips with his own.

You had kissed him hundreds, probably thousands of times and yet you never got over the feel of his mouth against your own. Hot and wet and always ever so slightly minty from the small, sweet lozenges he kept in his right breast pocket, it laid claim to you. When you kissed him, there was nothing except him and him and him for eternity. You never considered yourself much of a wordsmith, your talents were elsewhere, and yet you could write sonnets about the bliss that came only when you connected in these brief, close moments of peace.

There were no threats here, not now. There was only Helmut, with his dark eyes and wild hair pulling away from you just long enough to breathe in the darkness of the room before dragging you back in to kiss him again.

Time had no bearing on you then. You could have been sitting there and kissing him for hours, your soft hands gently exploring each other once again but never daring to touch where the other wanted to be touched more than anything. Eventually, though, Helmut pulled away for a meaningful period of time, letting his forehead rest gently against your own as you both breathed heavily, hands finding each other blindly to clasp together in your lap.

When you felt like you were finally grounded to your body again, you chuckled softly, paying careful attention to the way the dim light accentuated the soft blondes and reds hidden in your husband’s brown hair.

“What is it?” he cooed in the darkness, “What could you possibly be laughing at now,”

“I thought I asked you to keep reading, Baron. You stopped at my favorite part. How am I supposed to focus on this when all I’ll be able to focus on is that once we’re done, I’ll finally get to hear what Heathcliff has to say,”

Helmut didn’t respond to your gentle ribbing, not at first. Instead, he leaned back in for one last fleeting kiss before letting his hands rest at the bottom edge of your sweater, bunching up the excess fabric. You assisted him in removing it by pulling your arms from the sleeves as he lifted it over your head. Then, you were finally semi-bare before him.

The cool, dark, nighttime air felt frigid in comparison to the almost burning heat of Helmut’s hands as he ran them down your sides. It made you shiver. That being said, it was nothing in comparison to the full-body tremble he evoked a moment later when he leaned in close to your ear with a sinful smile.

“May she wake in torment,” he quoted softly. The sound of it, so lewd and yet so refined, only added to the wetness between your legs. It didn’t help that his hands had moved on to find purchase on your breasts. He took a nipple between his fingers, rolling it ever just so as he continued. “Why she’s a liar to the end,”

Distantly, you just barely had enough complex thought to marvel at the fact that your husband had memorized your favorite passage from Wuthering Heights. It didn’t surprise you in the least. The last thing that crossed your mind before it clouded fully with lust was that there was something so tender in Helmut’s eyes when he looked at you that you just couldn’t bear it. It wasn’t long after that, though, that Helmut let one of his hands creep under the elastic waist of your shorts to cup your mound and you lost all ability to think about anything other than his soft voice and the feeling of his hands on your skin.

He touched you as if he knew you, and he did. You had known him carnally in more ways than could be counted. Though a bit rough with time, his fingers fell easily into their usual rhythm as muscle memory took over. He relished in dragging you to the edge in a way only he knew how to, and for the first time in months, you let him.

“Where is she? Not there,” he purred against your cheek as his fingers caught just so against your nub. You arched into his touch without a thought. “Not in heaven,” Slowly, his mouth departed from your face. He trailed wet kisses down the sensitive column of your throat, and yet he never broke from his steady rhythm of stroking down your wetness before letting his fingers come back up to circle your clit.

“Not perished,” As Helmut paused, he sucked a deep purple bruise into the soft nook where your neck met your chin, “Where?”

It had been so long. So long since you’d been with him, since you’d touched yourself. You could do little more than cling to him and gasp his name as he played you like a well-tuned fiddle.

He delighted in the feeling of your fingers in his hair, yanking at the nape of his neck and urging him lower and lower as he continued to bring you towards completion. In all honesty, he was smitten with you, and anyone who saw him as he was in that moment, wide-eyed and slack-jawed at just the sight of your pleasure, would know it. Still, his devotion was lost on you, especially in your current position.

That was fine by Helmut.

As long as you were happy, he would be too.

“Oh! You said you cared nothing for my sufferings!”

“Helmut!” You gasped low and sweet and right as he nipped at your collarbone.

The grin that you found when you met his eyes again didn’t do anything to help you put your mind back together, nor did it prepare you for two of his thick fingers to suddenly breach your sopping wet entrance.  He paused then, searching your face for any signs of discomfort or hesitance, but he was only greeted by pure and utter bliss on your end.

Good. That was his goal.

With a soft tug to his hair, he was off to the races again.

“And I pray one prayer,” His mouth was on your breast now. Your hips canted and bucked to meet the quickening thrusts of his digits, which were curled ever so slightly and dragged at that rough right spot inside you with every push and pull. “I repeat it till my tongue stiffens,”

Then, suddenly, his eyes found yours again, and you felt you might perish then and there from the pure ecstasy of it.

“Y/N L/N, may you not rest as long as I am living!”

His fingers dragged across your sweet spot once again.

“Helmut, darling-”

Your voice was a stunted wail against his quiet, sure tone.

“You said I killed you - haunt me, then!”

His mouth was on your peaked nipple, your throat, your collarbone.

“Darling I’m so close-”

“The murdered do haunt their murderers,”

You were climbing, soaring, flying.

Higher, higher, higher…

“I believe,” he faltered for a moment. It was all too raw, all too real. God, how you loved him. “I know that ghosts have wandered on earth,”

You were up on your knees now, and Helmut had followed you up. He held the weight of your body on his clothed chest as he added a third finger. If you thought you had reached the heights of pleasure before, you had broken all the way through the ceiling, up through the sky, and into heaven now. Words dissolved on your tongue as spittle dripped warm from your open mouth down to the messy sheets below.

Suddenly, though, in the heat of it all, there was a tenderness.

The hand that had come to wander your body and assist Helmut’s mouth when it was preoccupied came to cup the back of your head and hold your gaze to him, keep you a captive audience to the way he looked at you; full of lust and love and adoration of the basest most human kind.

“Be with me always,” he urged, and the words were his . There was no more Heathcliff in them than there was Brontë or Austen or Tolstoy. “Take any form,” Tears, big and fat and wet dripped down your cheeks at the sight of it. This was your husband. Husband . Oh, the wonder of such a little word! How had you gotten so lucky? You feared you’d never know. All you truly knew was the sound of his voice as he drove his fingers into you with a mad fervor. “Drive me mad! Only do not leave me in this abyss, where I cannot find you!”

Finally, your words seemed to return as you soared to your completion.

“Always!”

It was a wail. A cry in the dark. A promise.

“Oh, God!”

“Oh, God! It is unutterable!”

Just two more lines.

“Helmut, please,”

Something inside of you was breaking by the second as you clung to him.

“I cannot live without my life!”

“Yes, yes, yes-”

“I cannot live without my soul!”  

He crooked his fingers just so.

You snapped at the finality of it all.

Wordlessly you spasmed against him, hands clinging to every single part you could find purchase on. His neck, his arms, his back; you only had half the mind enough to kiss him as he pulled you through, never stopping his steady rhythm of thrusts. He kissed you back just as eagerly and wiped your tears with his free hand while he did. How could he be so perfect and fucked-up and yours?

You didn’t think to ask.

Instead, you rode through your bliss before slumping bonelessly into the arms of your husband, smiling and crying and utterly alive.

What a gift it was to be human, short life notwithstanding.

You had almost forgotten that.  

After a moment, Helmut slowed his ministrations. He pulled his slick fingers from your body and out of your sweat-soaked sleep shorts and all the way up to his mouth, where he deposited them and sucked the remnants of your release off of the pruned digits. You would have considered it extremely sexy if you weren’t still recovering from a leg-shaking orgasm to end all orgasms. Instead, you just laughed weakly as he removed his fingers from between his lips with a wet slurp and wiped the excess spit onto the sheets.

“How the hell did you manage to remember all that?” You finally asked, nudging him softly in the side as he chuckled above you, settling down once again against the headboard.

He shrugged before he replied. “During my incarceration, I had nothing more than the books you sent me and my own mind. After discovering that particularly filthy annotation you included in my copy of Wuthering Heights, I found I was eager to reread the highlighted paragraph quite often. With time and repetition, the words simply remained,”

You held him closer to you in the darkness.

Outside, the crickets were still singing their sweet song to the sleeping world, dancing along the wisterias and honeysuckles down in the yard, planted long ago with love and care to be pressed and sent along in the very books Helmut had previously mentioned.

“It’s a shame you had to leave it behind when James broke you out. I put a lot of effort into my notes,”

“Take a closer look, Schatz,”

His words were an incentive that provided enough energy for you to just barely push yourself up from his chest on shaking limbs. Sure enough, though, and true to his word, the copy of Wuthering Heights sitting on the dresser beside you was the same well-loved copy you had mailed to him in his first months of imprisonment.

“You never miss a single detail, do you?” You asked, incredulous. He answered you with a simple kiss.

“Do you want to get cleaned up? I could run you a bath,”

The question had your mind wandering to the luscious jetted bathtub in your ensuite bathroom, sitting unused as it had for months in the wake of your fight with Helmut. Perhaps the memories of your endless trysts in that very tub would no longer haunt you as they had before. Despite the temptation of it, though, you had other plans.

“Helmut,” your voice was barely a whisper as you brought your hand to cup him through his pants, “you didn’t get to finish yet,”

Despite the way his breath hitched in his throat, he shook his head. “You’re tired, Schatz, and I will be fine to wait for another occasion. This was about you,”

Excuses, excuses.

You tutted softly as your hand wandered towards his belt.

He made no move to stop you.

“I’ve missed you so much,” The admission escaped you in a breathless sigh. You needed him. Needed to see him, to feel him, to connect with him, trembling hands and aching head be damned! Helmut seemed to understand that because as you released him from his belt and unzipped his pants he busied himself with removing his turtleneck. “Every night, I swear I thought of you every night while you were away. I would lay here alone and close my eyes and hope, so foolishly, that when I woke up you’d be right there beside me again,”

Shuffling out of his slacks, he discarded them haphazardly into the darkness of the room along with his boxers. “Lay down, Schatzi. I’ll take you if you’ll have me,” His words were tender in the night. You did as you were told. In the yellow glow of the old filament bulb, you could see his proud cock, thick and leaking, and it made you want. For what you didn’t know, but you wanted. You needed.

You yearned.

The yearning didn’t last for long, though. There were no games to be played that might make your husband taunt you or force you to work for your pleasure. It had been far too long for that. Instead, you lifted your hips and let Helmut pull the soaked sleep shorts from your legs to deposit them with the other clothes. Then, you were both laid bare.

There was no need for words past that point.

Helmut lined himself up with your opening and, gazing down into your soul, pressed each and every inch of himself into you as he groaned like a man possessed. You clung to him, bringing your arms up around his shoulders, and for a moment the two of you stayed put, connected and completed in a way only the two of you ever could be. Languid kisses were shared. You passed them back and forth like secrets from wet and swollen lips. Only after an eternity when you dragged your pelvis up the slightest bit to grind against him did he move once more.

When he pulled himself from your wetness, just about halfway, he did so with the same slow precision he entered with. You wouldn’t have had it any other way.

There was no desperation to it like there had been when he got you off, no fast-paced need driving you together in frantic breathless shouts. Instead, Helmut kept his pace slow and deliberate. It was like he wanted to memorize the feel of every inch of your body, inside and out. So, he took a snail’s pace as he worked you open below him.

The lack of speed didn't mean there was a lack of passion, though.

Oh no, you both possessed passion in spades and it reflected in the breathy moans that filled the chamber of your shared room. Your room. Your bed. Your home. The thought of it brought you closer to the edge by the minute.

In that darkness, lit by your little lamp and the light of the brilliant moon outside, you could pretend things were different and yet the same. Helmut was simply a businessman who traveled often. You were his little wife. The home was cheery and filled with light, and he would come home to you every weekend with a smile on his face and flowers in his hands. There was no danger lurking in every corner, nor was there the threat or separation at every turn. Instead, you could leave your house freely to buy groceries or visit the Sunday market in the city square down the road. Things were happy. You weren’t going to die.

Oh god, you were going to die.

It was a fact you both knew, now, and had accepted. Your fate was sealed the second you chose to stay at his side all those years ago. Still, it was all approaching so very quickly, you barely had any time left to prepare.

Despite it all, though, you had this time.

You had this moment in the darkness where you could wail and moan and cling to your husband without fear. He had you in his arms and under his chest and filled oh so good with his cock and for just a second, just a sweet blissful tick of the clock, you could forget. You both could. So you did.

Your second orgasm didn’t come on in a steep climb like the first.

No, it crept up on you without you even knowing it was coming. Helmut fucked into you good and slow and deep for an eternity before you felt those telltale jolts of pleasure urging you towards your end. He felt it too, felt it in the way you tightened around him and arched your back when he pulled back only to push into your heat once again.  

There were no words. You didn’t ask for permission. Instead, you just let yourself fall into a pit of your own pleasure as you kissed Helmut and clung to his hips with hands that left bruises in their wake. He followed quickly behind. In the wake of it all, his return and your seizure and the fight and your recoupling, you felt a bone-deep ache of heartache and peace. Then, Helmut pressed a kiss to your forehead and collapsed beside you, pulling the sheets over the both of you and wrapping you in his strong arms. The skin on skin contact was divine.

“Your doctor is going to be very cross with us,” he muttered into the crook of your neck.

You let your fingers dance lightly down his back, slick with sweat, as you chuckled. “Let them be cross, then. I needed you. Besides, you started it,”

He nodded against you. Slowly, you both shifted to a more comfortable position. Helmut laid his head on the pillow, propped up against the headboard, while you opted to use his chest as a pillow instead, running a finger through his chest hair and looking up at him with tired eyes. “I will take full responsibility for my actions,” he said softly, “both recent and past,”

“I’m still mad at you, you know,”

“As you should be, Schatz, I’ve been a poor husband and partner as of late,”

“But you’ll stay now, right?” Your voice was more uncertain than it should have been as your husband reached for the dresser once more, retrieving his book.

Helmut met your gaze and nodded ever so slightly in the darkness.

“I will be beside you from now until I draw my final breath. Now sleep, Schatzchen. You’ll still have me when you wake,”

Slowly you let your eyes drift closed. You were pretty tired out… Wrapping an arm around his soft stomach, you murmured softly up to your husband. “I love you, Helmut,”

“And I love you, Y/N,” he replied, and as you drifted to sleep you could still hear his soft voice, ebbing and flowing with the breeze and cricket song in the nighttime.

“He dashed his head against the knotted trunk; and, lifting up his eyes, howled…”

“What is it with you and bathtubs,” You chuckled, sitting on the lid of the toilet as Zemo straightened out his well-gelled hair in the mirror. Beside you, the body of a man sat bloody in the tub as rigor mortis set in.

Helmut shrugged. “I don’t like to leave behind a mess for those unfortunate enough to find the bodies,”

His words were heavy, but that didn’t stop you from humming an upbeat tune idly as you watched him work. In the end, you had been the one to land the killing blow on… well, whoever was now starting to smell as his bodily fluids crept towards the drain. You didn’t care much about him enough to remember his name. No, not while you could be watching Helmut with an intent fascination. He hadn’t trusted you with his plans, not fully, but that didn’t mean you weren’t going to try to figure out what they were by watching the minute twitches of his muscles as he gazed at himself through the thin glass.

If there was one thing in the world you were good at besides killing, it was deciphering your traveling companion’s expression. He looked… tired.

“We’re reaching the end of the line, aren’t we?” You asked.

The words made him pause, catching your eyes in the mirror, but he surprisingly answered you straight.

“Yes, my plans are almost complete,” he hummed, turning to face you, “The Soldat will be moved into his cell to be evaluated tomorrow. I shall assume Mr. Broussard’s identity and, if everything goes according to plan, I shall be traveling to Serbia from there to kill the remaining super soldiers and stage the final fight between Iron Man and Captain America,”

You leaned forward from your perch on the toilet lid, letting your legs sprawl out towards the wall. “So that’s it? Just one more day and it’s done?”

He repeated your words; an affirmation.

“Just one more day and it’s done,” his eyes remained glued to you as you laughed lightly, leaning back to let your head rest against the cool wall behind you. “What’s so funny?”

“Nothing,” you snorted, “I’m just trying to figure out where you’ll drown me now that the bathtub is already in use. The sink?”

The look that crossed Helmut's face was between amusement and disgust as he let one small huff of laughter escape from between his lips. Slowly, he closed the small gap between you and leaned against the opposite wall. From his new position, you could see all of him more clearly. The rough beginnings of stubble on his chin, the bloodstains on his sweater, the way his hands fidgeted nervously at the edges of his pockets; everything about him was endearing. You had to remind yourself that both of you would be dead in a few days to push down the burgeoning feelings that began to bloom in your chest.

Besides, Helmut was still in love with his wife. If he wasn’t, you wouldn’t be sitting in a cheap hotel bathroom with him and a corpse in the first place. Still, it wasn’t terrible to have fantasies. You were a woman, after all, a woman with needs you were sure Helmut would understand. Distantly you were glad you’d be dead before you had to part ways with him. If it was a choice, you weren’t sure you’d ever choose to leave him.

“About that,” Helmut said, low and sweet. He licked his lips after he spoke. If you didn’t know him better you would have assumed he was nervous. About what, you had no idea. Then it hit you.

“You’re not going to kill me, are you?”

As Helmut nodded, you took note that it was the first time you had ever seen someone look ashamed for choosing not to commit murder.  He gulped down a breath before he began his attempts to explain. “I try not to kill without reason. The deaths of those innocents at the UN are already weighing on me more heavily than I anticipated. It’s only a precaution, but I fear that if I killed you, the guilt would eat at me enough that it might interfere with my mission,”

“Mhm,” your response, a low hum, came with a slow nod that told him you were far from convinced with his reasoning. “It’s a real shame you dragged me all the way to Berlin just to make me find my own way home. I wish I would have known I was making it out of this alive. Maybe I would have remembered to grab my wallet before we left the house,”

“That is another thing I wish to talk to you about,”

You raised your eyebrows in mild disbelief. “There’s more?”

Helmut nodded. His formerly nervous expression was now replaced with a loose smile. Well, as loose as it could be on the face of a former colonel and current terrorist.

“We’re both aware that I will not be making it out of this little escapade alive. Now, I wanted to thank you somehow for your assistance, and I figured leaving you a monetary endowment of some kind would be a good way to repay you,”

“How much are we talking?” Without even noticing it you leaned forwards towards him. He grinned all the while, wolflike and half-mad. You adored it. Adored him.

“At least one million euros,”

Your jaw dropped.

“I’ve gotten in contact with my butler and have taken the liberty of purchasing you another hotel room across town, far from where the Winter Soldier will be set loose. You can check in any time after noon and stay there for up to a week. If you choose to accept my offer, my butler will meet you on the seventh day of your stay with the money, papers to create a new identity, and free transport to wherever you want to go. After that, should you want it, you will receive monthly payouts to help pay for any bills or extra expenses after you get the lump sum. Now, if you’d like something a bit more… permanent, I could also arrange for an extra few million to be delivered in cash up front for you to purchase a house. You will be free of your past, free of everything that has bound you. You can start over and live like any other person. Does that seem like something you’d be interested in?”

Before you could even speak you had launched yourself into Helmut’s arms. He smelled warm, like cedarwood and mint and fresh-pressed linens as you clung to him like a lifeline. There were no words you could say to express your gratitude, nothing you could do to beg him to change his mind and stay. You just held him there, close as you could manage to, as you smiled into his chest.

You were free.

You were free.

“I assume that’s a yes?” He asked. His voice was almost a coo as he finally wrapped his arms around you and reciprocated the affection. The motion caught you by surprise. You didn’t mention it, though, not when you were so deeply entrenched in the feeling of his pulse soaring under your ear.

“A million times yes,”

“I’m glad,” he whispered, “It will give me solace to know you’ll be taken care of. Now, where will you go? What will you do? I want to hear it all. I need to know what I’ll miss once we’ve parted ways,”

You let an almost goofy grin cross your lips. “I’ll retire, buy a little house somewhere in the middle-of-nowhere France with cash, and spend the rest of my days on this earth living in delicious sin. There’ll be no more killing, just cooking and cleaning and painting. I might take up watercolors again. Maybe I’ll even stop by the castle on my way and grab that big painting of you as a token to remember you by,”

Helmut cringed beneath your cheek. “You wouldn’t,”

“I would,” you quipped back, “and I will! I’ll hang it right in the middle of the living room so all of my guests have to pay homage to the man who set me free,” The fact that you wanted to see his face every day as you sat on his couch went without saying. It was simply implied. Helmut seemed to gloss over that fact entirely.

“What will you tell them about me?”

“That you were a good man. A dear friend. Someone who left the world too soon after doing what had to be done,”

“Is that a promise?”

“Absolutely,”

As you breathed him in, Helmut became fully aware of just how close the two of you were, pushed tightly against the off-white wall of the bathroom as the smell of lemon cleaner just barely masked the sweet rot of death. If he minded, it didn’t show. You only pulled away from him when a soft knock on the door of the main room broke you from your reverie.

“That’s breakfast,” you muttered, “I’ll keep her from coming in,”

“You do that,” Helmut replied, but he hesitated before turning back to the mirror. “Y/N?” He called softly.

“Yes?”

“If I don’t get another chance to say it, thank you for everything. I won’t forget the kindness you’ve paid me,”

“Neither will I,”

“Will you stay with me till the end?”

“Always,”

Morning came quickly.

Not quick enough for your rest to feel unsatisfying, but still too fast. There would never be a period of time spent in Helmut’s arms that felt like it lasted long enough. In the end, though, you woke feeling a full-body warmth from the tips of your toes to the top of your head.

There was no blaring alarm to rouse you this time, no spasms wracking you and dragging you out of your peace, there was only the soft chirping of birds and the gentle humming of the air conditioning unit as your eyes fluttered open and your arms stretched out to the bed beside you to find… nothing.

You paused.

After a moment of adjustment, you found that your eyes agreed with your hands. Helmut was gone.

Even in the worst heat of the fight the night before, you had never felt quite as upset as you did in that moment while realizing he had left you again. Tears pricked at your eyes. How could he? After all of his promises, he had left you alone the same way he had before. Knowing his schedule, he’d be long gone by now; off the runway and up in the air if not already on the ground at his next destination. The only thing that kept you from bursting into an angry choked sob was the sound of the bedroom door creaking open.

You clutched the sheets to your bare chest expecting one of your guests. Then, Helmut stepped into the bedroom.

What? He had stayed?

Your heart thundered in your chest at the sight of him.

He smiled broadly, with the sleeves of his striped cotton button-up bunched at his elbows and a dirty dishrag in his hands. His voice was soft and tender as he approached. Everything about him seemed so domestic that it almost brought you to tears all over again. “Schatz!” he cooed, reaching the edge of the bed, “did you sleep well?”

Nodding mutely, you offered a wet smile.

“I’m glad,” he said. One of his large hands found yours, still knotted up in the soft fabric of the sheets. The silver wedding band on his ring finger gleamed brightly in the soft daylight. “I hoped I could be here when you woke, but Sam and James requested breakfast and I didn’t want to wake you up quite yet. You seemed peaceful,”

“I was,” you let yourself lean into his touch and smiled when he pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, “I am,”

Helmut sighed. “What I wouldn’t give to be able to crawl back into bed with you and enjoy that peace. Unfortunately, I still have to finish cutting up fruit downstairs. I just wanted to make sure you were doing well when I found a minute to sneak away,”

“Well, I appreciate it,” your voice was light as you brought up your free hand to Helmut’s collar and pulled him down for a proper kiss.

He fell into the familiar rhythm with practiced ease. It was brief, just a momentary press of the lips, but it made your heart beat just a little quicker when you felt him against you, warm and real and solid. As soon as it began, though, it was over, and Helmut was pulling back with a smile. All the while, he never let go of your hand. The two of you sat silent for a while, happy to just relish in the feeling of being together, but a clang from downstairs urged a deep sigh from your husband as he finally stepped away. You hated to see him go.

“Duty calls,” He chuckled, accent thick, “Do you think that was James or Sam?”

You nodded softly. “My money’s on Bucky, but knowing what I do about those two it was probably both of their faults. You’d better go survey the damage before they break anything else,”

“I suppose I should,” Helmut paused, turning back to you with his hand on the doorknob. “Will you join us downstairs for breakfast? Or would you rather I bring you up something to eat once I finish entertaining our guests,”

It took a moment for you to respond.

There was a certain safety to remaining in bed. Helmut would be sure to return as quickly as he possibly could, doting on you once again with the same soft vulnerability. You would probably even be able to pull him back into bed with you if you waited long enough. Getting a few more hours of holding him would be a luxury, one rarely afforded even when things between the two of you weren’t rocky. Something, though, urged you towards the other option. Maybe it was the quiet aching in your legs or the urge to see if your husband was able to keep his commitment to bettering your relationship outside of your bedroom, there was no knowing, but the universe wanted what it wanted, and what it wanted was for you to get out of bed.

“You make leaving our room seem like I’m exploring some wild, new frontier,” you snorted, throwing your legs over the edge of the bed. You both ignored your nakedness, though Helmut’s eyes did linger on the swell of your breast as you stood. “But yeah, I should probably get up. I need to clean up anyway, after… well,” you gestured to the mess of dried slickness between your legs, “all that,”

Despite the fact that you had been married to Helmut for over a year and had known him much longer, there was a bashfulness in your regarding of the events from the past night. It might have had something to do with the absolutely caddish grin on his face as he beheld the reminder, though.

“I’ll set you your usual place at the counter,” he said, watching you wander over to the closet like some bare goddess in the morning sunlight. Before slipping away back downstairs, though, he indulged you with a sweet “I love you, Schatz. I’ll await your arrival downstairs eagerly,” Then, he was gone, having closed the door behind him and retreated back down the stairs to deal with whatever nonsense Sam and Bucky had gotten up to in his absence.

You giggled softly to yourself.

Sure, your head still ached slightly and there was a tremor in your hands that wouldn’t quite go away, but for the first time in months, you had hope. The sun seemed to shine extra brightly thanks to that fact. Inside the walk-in closet, Helmut’s cologne was once again just cologne, light and pleasant as you gathered up a soft t-shirt and some sweatpants. After some deliberation, you grabbed another one of his awful thrifted sweaters too.

It didn’t take long for you to take a quick shower next. You washed away the evidence of your coupling under the warm spray, and as you did, something told you that you’d be doing a lot of that in the future. The water was heaven on your aching limbs. About 15 minutes later, you were dry, dressed, and patting the dampness from your hair on the edge of the bed.

Beside you, the nightstand was almost entirely cleared off. At some point in the night Helmut had taken away the tray with the long-forgotten toast, but in its place sat your wedding ring. It seemed to stare up at you with a gaze all too human. The decision wasn’t an easy one to make, far from it actually, but as you pulled on your husband’s sweater you grabbed the ring and slipped it back onto your finger where it belonged, and where you hoped it would stay into the distant future.

With one last deep breath, you made your way out the door and down the stairs to find out exactly what your guests had gotten up to in your absence.

You heard them before you saw them.

“I said cube, James,” Zemo groaned from the kitchen, “not slice. Mangos are best enjoyed cubed,”

Sam chimed in next. “Dude, it’s just fruit! Does it really matter which way he slices it?”

“Maybe if you cared so much about how your fruit was cut up,” James added, “you could do it yourself!”

You crept softly from the landing to the archway leading into the kitchen only to find exactly what you expected. There, crowded around the island and all dressed up in matching aprons, were the three men, all fussing over some part or another of what looked to be a breakfast spread fit for a queen. Well, baroness. Same difference. The sight was one you enjoyed a little too much, so kept yourself quiet for the chance to witness just a little bit more of their natural conversation. Between them, in a high necked vase, sat the salvaged bouquet of spring flowers you had abandoned on the front table. You were glad to see they had made it through.

Zemo was the next one to speak, walking to the stove where he flipped a delicious smelling slice of french toast.

“I believe you were the one who offered to help out this morning. If you hadn’t I would have happily completed breakfast on my own,”

“Yeah, I offered because I’m not a complete jackass,” Bucky quipped back.

“Language, James,”

“God, please don’t ever say that to me again,”

“Apologies,”

Sam noticed you then, your soft chuckles a giveaway. He smiled warmly and set down the strawberry he was coring as he addressed you. “Hey! Look who it is!” In an instant, all eyes were on you. Somehow, though, the attention wasn’t uncomfortable. If anything, your presence seemed to calm the constant animosity between your husband and your guests. “How are you feeling, Y/N?”

You replied with a smile. “As good as I can be. Did you guys break anything while I was upstairs?”

As you passed the men to take your own spot at the end of the island, Bucky looked up from his butchered mango almost sheepish. “No, no we didn’t break anything,” Quickly, he added, “It’s good to see you up and running again,”

“He broke a plate while playing catch with Sam this morning,” Zemo added, “Nothing important, we won’t miss it much,”

Bucky blanched.

The domesticity of it all was almost painful as the room shook with everyone's combined laughter. Even Bucky joined in once he got over his mortification. For a moment you all seemed like an odd sort of family, bustling around that kitchen as the last bits and bobs of breakfast were sliced and fried.

It smelled heavenly.

When you had the mind to sit down at your spot on the island to eat you found Helmut had just barely beaten you there and was pouring you a mug of coffee beside your full plate. Oh, how long had it been since you’d had coffee in the house? Probably since last January, when the short days were spent watching out the window for a man who wouldn’t come back. You disregarded the thought as you examined your plate. Tropical fruit, french toast, and a small portion of omelet (with more waiting in the pan), sat, fragrant and saccharine and ever so tempting, but instead of digging in you watched intently as Helmut poured your cream and doled out your sugar. He caught your gaze just as he set a small spoon in the mug to stir it with.

“You still remember how I take my coffee?” You asked.

Instead of answering, Helmut just watched as you brought the mug to your lips. It was, as expected, perfect. Sweet enough but still biting at your tongue as you swallowed it down. Hot, but not too much so. Just heated enough to warm you from the inside out. Perhaps it was Helmut’s gaze that warmed you too.

He turned back to the stove then, gathering his own plate, but you knew he was still watching you even when turned away.

“Of course I remember how you take your coffee,” he finally replied, “You’re my wife,”

“You didn’t get me perfect coffee,” Sam added from his place beside you, beginning to pick at his food as he stared at the dark liquid in his own cup.

“Yes, Sam, but you are certainly not my wife,”

The room was laughing again then, but in a quieter way. Helmut came back around the island with his own plate and took up his seat on your other side as you ate and drank your coffee in the warm glow of the morning light. There was something so alive about being surrounded by compatriots, even if your truce was temporary. Your husband could see the change in the way you smiled.

Slowly but surely, breakfast was eaten and seconds were doled out. You discovered that Bucky, for all his harshness, had a soft spot for french toast with extra syrup and he, in return, learned that mango really did taste better in cubes. The sun rose higher in the sky and, through glass doors, you could hear birdsong outside as they enjoyed the amenities of your garden. Maybe Sam and James could be put to work digging weeds…

You had to work hard to stop yourself from getting attached.

To the guests, to the laughter, to the house you’d lived and loved in. It would all be gone soon enough, shot through or smashed or burned in the months to come, as would you be. Still, you enjoyed it while you could. If this was to be one of your last true spring days, you would savor every tiny minuscule detail.

It did you no good to live in fear of the inevitable.

Instead, you enjoyed the moments in the hope that when it all did come crumbling down, you could face the end knowing you had truly lived.

Helmut’s voice pulled you from your morbidities as he finished the last bite of his omelet. “We’ll have to run out to the market for more groceries today, I’m afraid,” he hummed, “but perhaps that’s a blessing in disguise. It’s far too lovely a day to spend it cooped up inside,”

You quirked up an eyebrow. “We?”

“Yes. We, Schatz,”

Something about the way that he was trying so hard to write his past wrongs was incredibly endearing. It made you grin into your mug as you swallowed the dregs of your coffee. “I guess I could take some time out of my incredibly busy schedule to go shopping with you,”

“Could you really? I can hardly believe it,”

“I’ll have to actually get dressed first, but I could pen you into my schedule, just this once,”

“I hope that you won’t change out of that lovely sweater, though. I find it ravishing on you,”

“Oh, really? Thank you. It’s my husband’s,”

You said the word proudly, The sound of it made Helmut’s face flush as he leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to your lips.

Sam’s voice pulled you from the soft display.

“Man, you guys are so cute it’s kinda gross,”

Bucky didn’t say anything, but the set of his jaw made you think he agreed.

“My house, my rules Sam,” you jested, “and my rules are that I get to kiss my husband,”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Just try not to get all mushy. Some of us are painfully single over here,”

“Like you?”

“No, not me, I get all the ladies. Bucky, on the other hand…”

“Hey!” Bucky interjected.

And you laughed. All of you laughed. You laughed and the world turned and somewhere across the globe, John Walker scoured Madripoor for an informant who could give him a lead on Sam and Bucky, but you didn’t know that, and even if you did, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to care.

Not when Helmut’s hand was in your own, fingers laced together tight, as you brought your head to rest on his shoulder.

“Schatz?”

“Yes, Helmut?”

“I love you,”

“You know what darling? I love you too,”

You really did.

------

a/n: Wow. It feels so surreal to be done with this project. Thank you to every single person who has supported me through this process. It means more than you know. If you enjoyed the series, or want to scream into the void about it, I always love comments, so feel free to leave one! Thank you again!!!

TAGLIST: @tatestripedsweater , @elaineygrace , @multiyfandomgirl40 ,  @lovelymischief , @rami-malek-trash , @avgravy​ , @wh0re-4-techno​ , @forcebros​ , @sugarsweetkiss​ , @grandmuffinsharkbailiff​ , @killsandthrills​ , @novasstudy​ , @thnksfr-ptrkstmp​ , @inmate-marmalade​ , @alanathedeer​ , @your-pixels-are-showing​ , @shit-post-things​ , @bbarton​ , @sux-ubus​ , @halefirewarrior​ , @janelongxox​ , @rax-writes​ , @wondermia69​ , @booklover2929​ , @lol-im-done​ , @rorodendra​ , @spookycereal-s​ , @viviace​ , @wxrmh0le​ , @whatawildone​ , @mush-room-princess​ , @aliyahsfantasticlife​ ,  @gredvb​ , @chipster-21​ , @whatawildone​ , @cloud-of-roses​ , @bry-97​ , @mossybank​ , @simsiddy​ , @xxspqcebunsxx​ , @be-cautious-around-bri​ , @metaphorical-love-for-a-car​ , @frothonthedaydreams​ , 

Please don’t repost my works, thanks!

[wizkiddx]

was thinking for toms most recent ig story it sounds like hes working out early everyday, what if u did a blurb where the reader does it with his and its like best friend --> something else ? sounded like a you type of story, id love if you gave it a go ❤️💕

oohkay so sorry this lit just came through this evening and I suddenly got v stupidly into it (if u put in a req before that I promise I am working on it I just got way to invested cos this is stupidly cute) xxxx

summary: what starts off as tom taking you under his wing and some sunrise workouts together might just develop into something more

“It shouldn’t be legal…. to be doing anything… this fucking early!” Spoken, well yelled, in between the fake strokes of the exercise bike and your pants. All you got in response was the two men laughing at you, no sign of sympathy at all, as your gritted your teeth - fighting against every body instinct to stop the movements. Your heart was pumping like the clappers; breathing shallow and rushed and your arms… your arms felt like they were about to fall off. Combine that with the lack of sleep from waking up before the sun did at 5 am - meant you felt like your were in literal hell.  

Why ever you’d agreed to do these workouts with Tom and Duffy escaped you. Being the new and rising actress, with a new supporting role in the next Spiderman, meant you’d spent a lot of time with Tom over the past few weeks. Not to inflate his ego either, but Tom had been a real life hero to you. See, you were the complete opposite of his experienced and seasoned professionalism - this was your first acting gig. And what a gig it was, the second biggest part in a Marvel movie. You never really believed you’d get the part and even when you did, were pretty sure it was some elaborate joke, where Ant and Dec were going to jump out from some corner and go ‘ha its a prank!’ or something. 

Yet somehow it was all still happening, you had been flown halfway across the world to spend three months alone on a film set. Well obviously not alone, but you knew no one - you were a complete outsider. That, really, was the reason you’d agreed to do these sessions with Tom. He’d offered half heartedly while between takes as you were moaning about how out of breath you got in that scene. At that point, you’d only known each other for a matter of weeks, he really hadn’t expected you to commit to 5 am each and every morning. What he wasn’t aware of though, was how ocmplerly stranded and lonely you felt here, hence why you jumped at his offer. 

And yes you loved to moan and complain when you were there, however you were also so incredibly thankful he ever offered. Duffy, Tom’s PT, was a right laugh too and he took great joy in torturing you - and was also entertained by the new and inventive ways you’d insult him after he ordered you about. 

“Come on Y/n, 200m more and then we are done, even your little arms can survive that.”

“Really … not the encouragement… I was looking for.” Still panting, face bright red and blotchy as you pressed your legs straight again.

“Tom? You wanna help Y/n out?” 

“Nah you know… kind of enjoying seeing her in pain.” The British voice laughed from somewhere behind you, making you roll your eyes.

“Why the hell… are you not… torturing him?” He sounded way to comfortable and relaxed to be working hard. 

“He’s got a stunt heavy day today so wanted to go easy this morning.”

Now that was a bloody joke. You were BOTH filming the SAME scene today, doing the SAME stunts. 

“Did I forget to mention Y/n is on set too?” The joy in Tom’s voice made you want to do horrible things to him. Even though you felt like you wanted to collapse on the floor, you’d happily do a set or two on a punch bag right now - if that punch bag was Tom’s face. 

Before you could hurl some fresh abuse at your costar, Duffy called time on the rowing machine, turning the display off and passing your water bottle over as you slouched on the slidey seat. 

“Done good Y/n/n, I am actually super impressed with your progress” The stocky man patted you on the back genuinely, bringing a bit of smile to your otherwise grimacing face. He went over the chat to Tom about some boy shit that you couldn’t care less about, allowing you a couple minutes to get your breath back. As soon as you did and tried to dismount the machine of death, your ruined legs seemed to have other plans, shakily buckling so you ended up starfished on the floor, groaning at the dull ache that came with the sudden movement. 

And what show of concern did Duffy show you? A belly laugh that echoed round Toms indoor gym making you groan again, throwing your forearm over your eyes. It was in fact the curly haired brunette, who came and knelt by your side, wordlessly balling up the towel and placing it under your head as you shot your eyes open in shock. 

“You okay? Sorry… I might’ve taken our friendly competition a bit too far.”

“I just… just might have to gain the power of flight this afternoon cos my legs aren’t gonna bloody work.” Tom chuckled and shook his head at your dry humour. 

“Oh I’m sure we can talk to Jon and get that arranged… not like Marvel don’t spend years crafting the script and storyline for a newbie actor to change it all.”

“Might I remind you… they wouldn’t have to if your weren’t such a dickhead!” You exclaimed, sitting up and staring at him with an exasperated look than only made him burst out laughing again. 

“I’m sorry I’m sorry… I just cant take you seriously when you look like such a tomato!” His voice went an octave higher as he laughed at himself, the situation getting even worse for you when you heard Duffy join in too. 

The boy was bloody lucky you couldn’t lift your arms right now, otherwise they’s almost certainly be attempting to ruin his pretty boy face. 

/////////////////////////////

After a long day of shooting you and Tom were in one of the set buggies, being taken back to your trailers to change for the evening. There was a peaceful silence until Tom ruined it yet again.

“ Got any fancy plans for this evening then?”

“Well you know me, back to my lonely little old place and  frozen pizza - so living the movie star life.” 

“It’s a Friday! You not going out with your team or anything?” He sounded so bemused at your quiet plans, and mention of a ‘team’ had you cocking your head to the side. 

“‘My team?’ Tom until I get my movie star pay check I can barely afford my pizzas, never mind a whole persons wage.” You were still only three weeks into filming and although you spent an hour every other morning sweating your ass off with Tom - apart from that you’d tried not to impose yourself on him too much. You didnt want to look clingy and naturally Tom always had a mountain of people vying for his attention - you would go to the back of a long line. So honestly, you were still a bit of a mystery to him, right now you’d both only scratched the surface on each other. 

“Really? I know this is your first big job but I thought you’d have someone here?” 

“Nah… I mean I’ve kinda clung to the Marty on the camera crew but he’s going to see family tonight sooo.”

“Come back to mine. I’ve swapped Harry for his twin Sam, which is a bit of an upgrade cos Sam’s a chef. He just arrived last night. I bet he can one up any pizza you were planning on.”

“Honestly I don’t want to impose, sorry I didnt mean for this to be a pity party or-“ The buggy slowed to a stop and Tom instantly vaulted out of it, standing right infront of you and blocking you exist off the back sofa. Both of you were still in costume, Tom in latex and you in your corset-esque two piece, but then both wrapped in matching long line black jackets supplied by set. 

“No come on I’m serious… Sam’s dying to meet you and it’d be good to spend more time together. You know, cos of chemistry and all.” The last bit was a switch from his cool and smooth, normally easy going tone - into something a bit more… anxious? Just like that, before your brain even knew what it was doing, you agreed, smiling broadly and nodding. 

So barely an hour later, you were knocking on the doors to Tom’s mansion-ish rented Atlanta home which was much much more grand than what the studio had arranged for you. Even though you were here most mornings, this time it felt different. Yeh it was stupid, but you can’t help the way you feel and you were stressed. For no real reason… just, just because. 

Thankfully, it wasn’t awkward at all  and you especially instantly hit it off with his younger brother Sam. Everything just felt easy and simple which meant so much more considering you’d felt so isolated an alone halfway across the world for your home comforts. Being British too, simply chatting to the two young men about your hometown and growing up was just so familiar, it really helped you feel less homesick.  Naturally too,  you’d fallen into a casual and friendly ribbing of Tom with Sam, making the three of you spend to majority of the evening cracking up (or in Tom’s case pouting at the abuse). It was a nice change from the two on one attack you got from Tom and Duffy that morning. You’d all cooked dinner together… well no, you and Tom had stood idly watching Sam cook an amazing chicken curry dish - which he promised to give you the recipe too. Honestly Sam felt like your long lost best friend, especially when it came to your shared ability to berate Tom for anything and everything. 

About an hour ago Tom had stuck on the film, effectively shutting up you and Sam - thankfully for him since Sam was just about to get to some rather embarrassing stories of Tom as a kid. You and Tom were on the longer grey sofa; with Sam sat  the other side of the coffee table in an impressively soft armchair - looking as though it was swallowing the lanky boy. The calm, the silence and the comfort was only going to go one way for you though. After your workout this morning, plus all the running and jumping during the shoot,  after what had already been a pretty intense week, it was hardly surprising that you didn’t even notice yourself drifting off the sleep. 

Who did notice though? Perhaps your brown haired costar who’d been stealing glances across to you ever since the movie had been put on? Because as much as he hated to admit it to himself, this didnt seem to be panning out as a normal job. A normal job is something you put your all into, for a couple weeks, and then leave with good memories and a good pay check. Yes, he had only known your for a matter of weeks or so but it already seemed to be unfathomable to cut ties with you. How would he go without your kind mannered abuse everyday? You were just refreshing, new and mysterious. And Tom was more than intrigued, his interest was peaked. 

And it was stupid to feel like that…. Of course it was. You can’t fancy a colleague because things get complicated and awkward. Tom knew that. 

Then why was he now delicately draping a blanket over your frame and smiling smally when you hummed in your sleep, in what seemed to be a show of appreciation for the layer of warmth? 

Because you were his excited puppy of a costar who is giving everything she has for the job? Because he is worried and wants to look after you? Because he cares? 

No matter why, in that moment you were contented and as was Tom. Oh and Sam? 

Sam saw the tell tale signs in his brother. He saw the way Tom had been touching your arm or the small of your back just a little more than what would be considered normal while he’d been cooking. He’d seen the way Tom had been laughing purely because you had. His eldest brother never did anything rash, it was always a painfully slow process for everyone involved. But Sam thought this just might be the start of something. The start of a slow burn.

[midnightsconspiracy]

Office Romance?

Office Romance? - @midnightsconspiracy

Summary: It's Mouse’s first day in the 21st district. Jay introduces him to the whole team, except you who seems to always be out until you finally meet at Molly’s and completely hit it off

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2193

Requested: Nope but my requests are currently open

A/N: This is my first time writing for Mouse and the longest fic I’ve written, so hopefully everyone likes it! :)

Masterlist

It was Mouse’s first day in Intelligence, it was finally the day that he was going to turn his life around. No longer living in sketchy areas and gaining felonies but instead becoming a legit member of society and working for a reputable institution, the Chicago police department. He had been recommended to the boss by his friend and former military buddy Jay Halstead, who unlike himself, had managed to get a proper holding in society after being discharged from the Rangers. This was finally his chance to show Jay and everyone else who cares about him that he could do something else good with his life and that he was more than just his time in the military.

Meeting Jay outside the district, the two men embrace in a warm hug, briefing saying their hellos and reminiscing on old times before they ascended the stairs. They pasted Sergeant Platt, Jay giving her a small hello in which she ignored and Mouse, despite having only met her once, gave her a polite smile. Punching in the passcode alongside his handprint, he unlocked the door climbing the second set of stairs up to the place he would call ‘home’ for hopefully years to come. Reaching the top Jay paused, Mouse quick to follow his actions.

“Guys this is Mouse, Mouse this is the Unit. That’s Dawson, Lindsay, Olinsky, Atwater, Nadia, and Sergeant Voight’s in his office.” The people in the room all averted their gaze from their own individual work, with Voight even exiting his office to greet him as well, to greet the newest member of the team, all presenting him with a momentary smile, short greeting, or handshake.

“Oh and Y/LN and Ruzek are currently out chasing up a lead right now but should be back soon,” Jay quickly followed up, trying to familiarise his buddy up with as much as possible to make him as comfortable as he could, knowing mouse struggled with rejoining society.

“Ok-k, well it's good meeting everyone, and I hope I can be of assistance to you all,” he mumbled out nervously, he admired Jay and Voight for giving him this opportunity but it still didn’t stop the feelings that they had a level of superiority over him due to their jobs. Taking him downstairs to his own tech room, he prompted Mouse to take a look around to get accustomed to his surroundings.

“What do you think buddy?

“I think it will do the job just fine,” he smiled back to jay reassuring him that he could do this.

“Ok, well if you’re all good I’ve got work to do myself,” Jay announced before turning and leaving Mouse to his own devices, finally leaving him to prove himself worthy.

—————

Mouse’s day was hectic, to say the least. Members of the team were constantly in and out of the tech room or calling him, getting him to give them vital information as quickly as he possibly could. But he thrived in the conditions present, what previously was extreme anxiety when he first entered turned into adrenaline. He hadn’t experienced such a high-intensity situation since his time at the Rangers, but he loved it. The Rangers was the place he felt most at home and alive, but the ‘accident’ had caused him to be honourably discharged. He wanted to be back in Afghanistan with Jay and his other military buddies desperately, feeling as though he had a place there, that he was actually contributing something good to the world, but this would do for the time, this was the best thing for him right now.

From what he could figure out, the unit was dealing with a human trafficking case in which multiple girls were found dead by the Docks, thrown into a container, and starved to death. Pulling up the names of multiple different men, he stared into their eyes as the pictures came up on his screen and felt no remorse for them as he heard each man be dragged into the cage one by one. The team managed to successfully find lead after lead, deciding to either all roll out together or keep sending Ruzek and Y/LN out. It was already about halfway through the day and Mouse still had not met the said people, only occasionally hearing their voices or being told to send them the information he was finding.

—————

As the day further progressed things started to flatline, leads found previously being a bust and nobody seeming to find anything worthwhile. The whole team worked tireless upstairs as Mouse found them the material they needed downstairs. Finally, after an hour of absolutely nothing, Dawson managed to get vital information from a CI and so a feasible lead was afoot. As the others were gearing up and getting ready to finally make some arrests, Jay popped his head into Mouse’s tech cave.

“Mouse I need you to send me the information on Spencer Phillips ASAP,” he was just about to walk out when he turned his head slightly to utter a few final words to his friend,

“And good job buddy, we really appreciate it.” Mouse smiled as he looked up the information for Jay, maybe he was going something good for the world, especially if his dearest friend thought so.

—————

The lead had been successful and two arrests of notable people in a human trafficking ring were arrested. The case was not fully closed, the organisation still up and running, but the perpetrators of the murders were put away to never see a day in the sun again. That was enough for Voight to warrant the members of his team a break to go home, rest and in the younger detective's case visit the local bar, Molly’s. Coming back up to the main room Jay greeted Mouse, patting him on the back for a job well done, he had underestimated his friend, thinking that he may struggle with his job just as he had coped with his anxiety and PTSD after coming back from the Middle East. Walking further into the room Mouse finally got to see the infamous man who had manage to evade his line of sight for the whole working day, Adam Ruzek. Approaching him he finally got to introduce himself.

“Hi, it's nice to finally meet you”

“Yeah, you too Mouse, I feel like I’ve been swept off my feet the whole day, you coming to Molly’s”

“I wasn’t planning to but sure why not?” Mouse had a vague idea of what Molly’s was, Jay sometimes talking about the bar run by first responders, but he was excited to finally see it for himself. Turning to Jay, who was packing his stuff up at his desk, he assumed he would want to go to the bar alongside the rest of the team,

“Molly’s then?” He smirked knowing Jay would never turn him or drinking down,

“Of course.” Leaving the district together, the two guys headed in the direction of the bar relieved to finally get away from work and have some downtime. Unbeknown to them you were in the changing room with Kim chatting away, excited to go for a drink and ready to go upstairs to meet the new tech guy. Little did you know you would be very disappointed when you did so.

—————

Arriving at the bar the men settled into the unit's usual booth at the back of the bar, flagging down Hermann to get two beers so that they could finally unwind from a long day of stressful events.

“The rest of the team should be here shortly, but how was your first day buddy, tell me all,” Jay asked hoping that his friend liked the position so that he could work towards becoming an outstanding member of the community and chuffed that he was working alongside his best friend once more.

“It was good man, I don’t really know what else to say about it. Um..I finally felt as if I was doing something with myself, I felt that adrenaline I missed from the Rangers, but I miss it, the thrill, the relationships, everything really Jay.” Jay sighed not knowing what to say, annoyed at his friend for missing it, he had spent so long trying to pull Mouse out of that bad place, a constant cycle of anxiety, depression, and PTSD, that it hurt him that he wanted to go back. The tense situation was interrupted by the rest of the team arriving, taking up the rest of the room in the booth with Erin snuggling up to Jay and Adam getting up to buy a round for the table. All the usual suspects were there enjoying themselves, except one, you.

You had gone home to shower and get out of your work clothes before making your way to meet the rest of the team for some rest and relaxation, maybe nestling a few beers throughout the night. Making your way into the bar, you passed members of firehouse 51, making small talk with them before moving towards Hermann to get yourself an alcoholic beverage. Thanking him you turned to walk over to your unit's table, spotting an unfamiliar figure in the corner of the booth next to jay, which you could assume was the new tech guy Mouse.

“Christ Y/LN where have you been?” Your partner Adam boomed, already a little tipsy from the two beers he had consumed.

“Sorry I had to go home first, wanted to freshen up,” you smiled amused at how much of a lightweight Adam really was, despite claiming otherwise.

“Y/N this is Mouse, I don’t think you’ve met yet,” Jay interrupted you, drawing your attention away to introduce you to the nervous man beside him. Looking him dead in the eyes, you noticed how attractive he was, you had just presumed that Mouse would be less than average looking considering his measly nickname, but no, the man in front of you was undeniably handsome with a charming smile and deep blue eyes.

“Hi, it's nice to meet you, sorry I didn’t meet you earlier, seems like we were both at the wrong place at the wrong time,” you gave a shy smile, sitting down next to Kevin trying to look confident despite the nervousness you felt inside.

“I-its good to meet you to Y/N, seems like the universe is not in our favour huh?” He stuttered equally as nervous, for what you assumed was first-time jitters, but little did you know it was because he found you equally as attractive.

——————

Throughout the night you continued talking with all members of your unit but especially Mouse. You felt naturally drawn to him, not just because of your attraction but also the stories he told that fascinated you, some from his days in the rangers and other ones from his childhood. By the end of the night, you too had managed to move to sit next to each other, with the members of your unit seeing you hit it off immediately and so pushed you together hoping for another office romance. Completely enamoured by him, you didn’t even notice that the other people in the bar were starting to trickle out slowly and Hermann’s last order was thirty minutes ago. Finally noticing your surroundings after the bartender had called your name and told you it was closing time, you checked your watch noticing the late time. Turning to Mouse you smiled and softly spoke about the revelation,

“I didn’t even realise how late it was, maybe we should get out of here, wait wait! Not like that, well unless you want you.” Noticing what you had said, you shyly smiled hoping he wouldn’t think you were too weird.

“That sounds good,” he cheekily smirked moving out of the booth, allowing you to get out too and heading towards the doors of the bar, saying a brief goodnight to Hermann on your way out. You walked down the street together to where your cars were parked, going at a slow pace, trying to extend your time together for as long as possible. Locating your car you stood next to it as you went to say your goodbyes to the handsome man in front of you.

“Thank you for keeping me company tonight, I really enjoyed it”

“Yeah me too, but I was hoping we could do it again sometime, just you and me?” Completely taken aback you stuttered to think of your response, you weren’t not thrilled about it at all, just completely surprised that he liked you as you did him.

“I’d love to Mouse, give me your phone,” handing you his phone you put your number in, silently hoping he would be one of those guys that actually use your number instead of ignoring it completely. Proceeding to hand it back, you both stood in silence not knowing what to say. But in this situation, no words were needed, only actions. So when he leaned in to place his lips, you gladly reciprocated the affection, wrapping your arms around his neck and deepening the kiss. Little did you know this would lead to a lifetime of desire and devotion.

[cudan2]

One Last Surgery

Spring Break Shadowing Part 5.1

Carlisle Cullen x Reader

Word Count: 2,043

Summary: You finally find out the reason for going to the children’s hospital, but you’re more distracted than usual today and Dr. Cullen can tell. 

A/N: Tell me why part 5 of SBS takes up over half of the whole series? I’ve had this sitting in my drafts for 5 months because I keep adding more to it smh. Now it’s too long so I’ve decided to split it up into 3 parts (in addition to parts 6 and 7). I’m making the final edits the rest of this part now - 5.2 should be posted in like two days.

Anyways, this is technically the beginning of  #1 and #2 on my headcanon list.

Masterlist

XXX

Morgan Stanley Children’s Hospital is only across the street from Doctor Cullen’s office, but it seems to take forever to get there. You trail the doctor like a lost puppy through a skyway and a series of corridors before eventually reaching the right building. Different is definitely an understatement.

Gone are the linoleum-tiled floors, the abstract paintings lining the hallways, and the stark white walls. Instead, there are bright colors everywhere you look. Artwork featuring various galaxies and planets scatter throughout the hospital, and giant stars are imprinted along the floors; even the whole atmosphere just feels different.

You don’t get much time to analyze the differences though. Doctor Cullen is wasting no time to reach the destination, and his long legs aren’t making it any easier to keep up.

“Not that I don’t like surprises, but any chance you can tell me what we’re doing in the children’s hospital now?”

“Impatient, are we?” Doctor Cullen chuckles. He stops at an elevator and pushes the up button, only giving into your question once he catches a glimpse of your pout. “Alright, you win. Are you familiar with a cleft palate or cleft lip?”

The elevator dings, the doors sliding open with it. You shake your head no and get on the elevator with him. He presses the button for the floor and then leans against the wall, arms outstretched on the handrail, and gives you an explanation. 

“A cleft is a gap or split occurring in the roof of the mouth, upper lip, or both. It is due to improper joining of the tissue during fetal development. There are no definitive known causes as of right now, but it’s believed that the environment and genetics can play a role.

The hospital has its own craniofacial team, but I was asked to join this particular case given its more complicated nature. Hanna became one of the first patients I treated when I came to Columbia,” Doctor Cullen finishes fondly, a smile gracing his lips.

“What makes this case complicated?” you ask.

“Hanna was born with a bilateral complete cleft lip and palate, meaning her lip cleft is two-sided and continues into her nose. It took quite a few surgeries to repair the lip, but now the next step is to repair the palate.”

The elevator reaches the floor and dings. You follow Doctor Cullen out and continue prodding him with more questions, which he is more than eager to answer. It’s incredible how knowledgeable he is. Granted, it is his job to know these things, but you couldn’t begin to imagine yourself being able to even scratch the surface of these topics, not to mention give a mini lecture on it.

You’re soon standing at the door to a patient room while the doctor asks Hanna’s parents if you can observe. They readily agree, and Doctor Cullen motions for you to come in.

Inside the room, you see an infant that can’t be more than a year old – Hanna.  She’s sitting upright on the bed, leaning against who you assume to be her father. You notice two fading scars going up into her nose above her lip. Her mother is waving a stuffed toy around her, but Hanna’s attention is fixated on the blonde doctor.

“Y/N, allow me to introduce you to Hanna’s parents, Anthony and Linh Pham. And this is Doctor Giselle Adamou, who will be working with me on the surgery,” Doctor Cullen gestures to the older doctor in the room.

“It’s nice to meet you all,” you say politely.

Pre-op goes differently than what you’ve gotten used to observing this week. There is no case presenting given the lack of residents on the case. If anything, this is what you would expect out of a non-teaching hospital.

Doctor Cullen re-explains the procedures to Hanna’s parents, but halfway through, Hanna crawls to the end of the bed where Doctor Cullen is and attempts to stand, arms outstretched as if to say, “Up! Up!” Bewilderment is not a word you would have associated with him, and yet you catch the brief widening of his eyes that betray his usually calm demeanor.

“I think she wants you to hold her,” Linh comments.

“I can see,” Doctor Cullen muses. “Do you mind?”

“She’s all yours.” Linh picks her daughter up from the bed and hands her to the doctor. The sound of Hanna’s elated laughter fills the room, and you can’t stop a small smile from appearing on your own face. A cute baby and a gorgeous doctor? You don’t know who to thank for the sight.

Meanwhile, Hanna starts playing with various pens in Doctor Cullen’s breast pocket while Doctor Adamou continues where her colleague left off. You try to pay attention, you really do. Like Hanna though, your attention lies on someone else, and that someone else happens to be Doctor Cullen.

The more you study him, the more the minute features you never noticed about him before seem to pop out to you. Under the bright fluorescent lighting of the hospital, the dark purple circles under his eyes are more apparent than ever. How ironic for the preacher of health to lack sleep himself. His eyes, which you normally consider to be a vivid golden, are darker than you initially thought them to be. They are liquid pools of dark amber, speckled with dustings of gold and flecks of black. There isn’t a single blemish on his face that you can see either, further confirming your belief that this man is truly the most attractive person you have ever met. Either that or he must have one hell of a skincare routine.

It’s unnerving how young his appearance is. Skincare and diet can only do so much for a person, right? Doctor Cullen has to be at least 35 at the minimum, yet he could easily pass off as someone from your own school.

“Any last minute questions?” you hear Doctor Adamou ask and snap back into reality. By missing nearly everything the older doctor talked about, you already know you’ll be so screwed if and when Doctor Cullen decides to interrogate you on this case.

Neither parent has anything left to say, so Doctor Cullen gives a reluctant Hanna back to her mother. She lets out a cry and his expression softens.

“I know, sweetheart. I’ll miss you too, but I need to get ready for your big surgery, okay? I promise you’ll see me again in a few hours.” His soothing voice does wonders for her. In an instant, Hanna quiets down and her frown is replaced with giggles and smiles again. She waves the two of you off, and you both take your leave with Doctor Adamou trailing behind you. You’re not even halfway out the door yet when Doctor Cullen starts testing your knowledge again.

“Y/N, what procedure will we be doing to repair Hanna’s cleft?” 

You do not have this one in the bag whatsoever. You wrack your brain for information that could help you, but Doctor Adamou interjects before you get a chance to say anything.

“Why does it not surprise me that you’re treating students like interns already, Carlisle?”

“I am merely advancing the education of next generation’s doctors,” he responds.

“Whatever you say,” she laughs. “Don’t scare off Y/N though, or we won’t have any doctors left in the next generation.” She turns to you after picking up files from a nearby counter and says, “You come running to me if he pushes you too hard, alright?”

You grin. “For sure.”

“Good. I look forward to seeing you both in the OR,” she says before heading off.

You like Doctor Adamou. Each surgeon you’ve met here so far has had such different personalities, yet each also has the charisma and confidence to take control of a room and command respect. You, on the other hand, could barely get your own friends to listen to your own words. How are you ever going to get on the level of all the amazing doctors around you?

“She saved you there,” Doctor Cullen comments, leafing through Hanna’s charts as he walks you into an empty elevator to the operating floor. Oops, it’s just your luck that he noticed your lack of attention during the pre-op. “It’s unlike you to be distracted. Penny for your thoughts?”

The elevator doors shut, and he looks up from the chart, his eyes falling onto yours. He has that twinkle in his eyes again – the one that brings warmth to your cheeks and could make anyone weak in their knees. You know it’s silly, but a single look from him could make you spill any of your deepest and darkest secrets, yet a part of you also knows that he would keep it. You’re not naïve – you know it’s dangerous to put so much faith into a man you only met this week – but there’s something about him that told your instincts to trust him from the very beginning.

Call it intuition, or maybe it’s just plain stupidity, but you sure as hell aren’t going to tell him about how you got distracted because of his pretty face.

You hesitate for a moment and let out a sigh. “How do you do it?” He quirks a brow, momentarily perplexed, and you attempt to find the right words. “How do you make all of this look so easy? How do you know what the right thing to say is? Or trust that what you’re doing is even right? How did you know if this was all meant for you? This is really dumb, but it seems like everyone here was born for this job, and then there’s... me.”

There’s a slight sense of dread starting to form in your stomach. You’re unsure if what you asked even made any sort of sense and wonder if you gave too much away. Giving any reason to second guess your abilities is like digging your own grave when it comes to this career. Expressing uncertainty is one of the biggest taboos of the cutthroat world that is pre-med because schools would not accept students that aren’t absolutely, totally, and completely sure about this path.

You’ve wanted this for so long, yet there’s still a part of you that doubts if you would be enough.

Rather than going straight to gowning and scrubbing in for the surgery, Doctor Cullen grabs your hand and leads you down to an abandoned hallway, only letting go once the two of you are hidden in an alcove away from any prying ears or eyes.

“What are you doing? Shouldn’t you be getting ready for surgery?”

“We have a few minutes to spare. Y/N, please know that I understand how you feel,” he says softly. “There was a time when I questioned my own abilities as well… whether my perseverance could overcome adversity. It took quite some time to reach where I am today.  However, without enduring those trials and tribulations, I would not be here. With time comes experience, and it is that experience that allows me to perform my job the best I can.”

His voice reminds you of a gentle breeze, rustling the leaves of a tree on a cool summer night when he continues speaking in hushed tones. It brings a blanket of reassurance, a sense that things would eventually be alright.

“I have said this before, but I see enormous potential in you. You still have a great deal of time to grow and develop your skills. It’s easy to get caught up in comparing yourself with others, especially given today’s societal standards, but I believe you are much more capable than you may think you are. Everyone’s journey is different and yours may not necessarily be as linear as you would prefer. In due time though, I have faith that you will succeed.”

What he says is exactly what you needed to hear.

The swell of tears pricks at your eyes and start blurring your vision, but you blink them away quickly, fighting the urge to wrap your arms around the doctor. 

“Thank you, Doctor Cullen.” Your voice is barely above a whisper.

“You’re very welcome. Now, I believe there’s a little girl waiting on us.” 

XXX

Tag List - Message me to be added or removed to either this series or the rest of my fics!

@jelly-fishy-babie @notahappytree @anxiousgoldengirl

[retvenkos]

romantic at heart | m.

Legend of Korra - Mako x Reader, fluff

tw: none

word count: 4.6k

A/N: canon? who needs her? certainly not this fic. korrasami deserved to be canon earlier so i vaguely mentioned it, and mako and bolin’s apartment is the perfect setting don’t @ me.

Summary: Mako has always had bad luck when it comes to love, but with (Y/n), things feel easy. So why, then, is it so hard to admit it?

the three times he didn’t say it, and the one time he did.

one;

“I’m telling you guys, this is going to be great! Part Four is my favorite in The Adventures of Nuktuk: Hero of the South!” 

Mako shared an amused look with (Y/n) as Bolin led the way into the darkened theater, holding open the door for the group to enter. Asami and Korra passed hand in hand, and when (Y/n) walked past Bolin, they tossed a piece of popcorn at him and Bolin caught it in his mouth.

Mako brought up the rear of the group, and as they walked up to find their seats, he whispered, “How many parts are there, Bo?”

“Seven! And the Finale’s great, don’t get me wrong, but it just doesn’t have the heart that part four does.”

“That’s just because he kisses Ginger,” (Y/n) leaned in and whispered to Mako, earning an incredulous “hey!” from Bolin.

“How’d that work out, by the way?” Asami turned to the earthbender with what sounded like genuine curiosity and Bolin chuckled nervously.

“Ah, well, you know, the hearts of mover stars are fickle, so we didn’t last long… there was something about it being a publicity stunt, but that didn’t make much sense, so…”

“Well it’s her loss,” Korra elbowed Bolin in the side with a smile and he forced a chuckle.

“She doesn’t deserve you, Bo.”

“Yeah, you’re a great mover star.”

A few people in the theater shushed them, and the group settled down into their chairs, just moments before the lights dimmed further and the mover started. The disembodied voice of Varrick boomed through the speakers with a recap of the previous 3 parts of the daring adventure, and everyone fell silent, slowly getting sucked into the mover before them.

Ever since their debut, the Nuktuk movies were a success - a staple of Republic City culture - getting replayed in theatres again and again. After learning that Mako hadn’t seen Nuktuk in its entirety, Bolin called for a state of emergency and got the whole group together so they could schedule a time for a complete rewatch of the seven-part masterpiece.

Mako had been planning to make some excuse - a series of cases that Beifong put him up to, or a slew of paperwork that some higher-paid coworkers pawned off onto him. It wouldn’t be the first time he had to miss something for work, and it wouldn’t be the first attempt at lying to get out of a viewing party. Just three months ago he narrowly avoided a showing of Love amongst the Dragons by faking sickness and saying that Beifong told him to sleep all day so he could be back at work the next. Everyone but Bolin believed him, and Bolin (who didn’t want to see it either but promised Asami he would go) let it slide.

After that, Bolin was better at guessing when Mako was lying, and whenever he needed Mako’s compliance, he set (Y/n) up to the task of cajoling Mako to come along.

So far, their track record had been impeccable.

(Y/n) chuckled at something they saw on screen, and Mako turned to them. “How many cases of Vari-dye do you think Varrick sold after that product placement?” They gestured to the screen where the once blonde Ginger flagrantly mentioned her hair dye product before becoming a, well… ginger. The script was somehow able to loosely tie the product placement into the plot, but the moment earned a couple of well-earned laughs throughout the theater.

“Millions, most likely. Aren’t these movers big in Ba Sing Se?”

“As comedies,” (Y/n) muttered, leaning in, clearly trying to keep their voice down so Bolin didn’t hear. The theater around them was dark and silent, but the light reflected in (Y/n)’s eyes was full of life and mirth. Mako found himself unable to look away.

He cleared his throat, “You do have to give it to Nuktuk and his comedic timing.”

“And Juji’s heart-wrenching death and subsequent resurrection.”

Mako found himself chuckling at their lame joke, and for once, he didn’t mind. (Y/n) smiled triumphantly, as though they had accomplished something truly grand, and angled their bag of popcorn towards Mako. He took some and popped a piece in his mouth, his laughter still dying on his lips. 

“Varrick must be quite the director, to get you to laugh in a totally serious, not-a-comedy mover.”

“Varrick?” and there was just enough suggestion in Mako’s words to say all that he couldn’t, though why he couldn’t seem to get anything else out, he didn’t know.

Things were always easy with (Y/n); their smiles were soft and infectious, their tactics in getting him to open up were effortless and effective, and falling in love with them had been the most simple and uncomplicated thing in this world. It should have been with such ease that Mako told them that it was them that got him into the theater and their corny comments that made him burn inside, like a thousand dying comets that took the form of shooting stars.

But for some reason, he was stuck.

Unsurprising, really, Mako had never really had luck when it came to love and even friendship. There was always something complicating things; there were always two sides of him, fighting the other for reasons even he couldn’t fathom. Eventually, one of them would lose. Eventually, something would give. 

But until that eventuality…

“I suppose I am quite the comedian. Should I write a screenplay?” (Y/n) was speaking, but something in their demeanor was different - a little stunned - like they hadn’t considered something before and it was only now dawning on them, slowly, but comfortably. Easy. “It would have to be a sequel to Nuktuk, of course. Maybe I can introduce the grumpy, mysterious fire-bender who he’s now forced to share a quest with?”

(Y/n) nudged him in the shoulder, already rolling their eyes at their own idea. Mako looked down, suddenly interested in picking the perfect piece of popcorn. “Yeah. If you’re making it, why not?”

(Y/n) snorted and turned back to the film.

two;

Taking the steps to his apartment two at a time, Mako fished for his keys in the pocket of his pants. Walking the beat had the potential to be more trouble than it was worth, and often Mako found himself at the gym at the end of the day, taking out his frustration the way he used to - pro-bending. Well, not so much pro-bending, anymore, seeing as they disbanded the Fire Ferrets, and dissolved the team, but it was the same training, nonetheless, and Mako had been a pro-bender so long that oftentimes, nothing felt more comfortable than the gym.

As he walked down the hall to his door - second on the right, Bolin had insisted - Mako could hear the sounds of laughter and the beeping of the oven. Despite himself, he smiled, breathing in deeply as he fiddled with the lock and opened the door.

Inside the tiny apartment, (Y/n) and Bolin were working side by side, leaning over the oven as they looked at the baked goods that lay within. The counters were a mess of cluttered ingredients and mismatched bake wear, Pabu had tracked flour across the carpet, and by every measure it was chaotic, but Mako simply leaned against the doorframe, speaking just loud enough to be heard. “Stress baking, again? Y’know, I’m really starting to regret giving you a key.”

"This was all Bolin, actually.” (Y/n) pulled the baking sheet out of the oven and set it down before turning to Mako with their usual countenance. “He told me to come over - he bought a set of mixing bowls and everything.”

“He didn’t buy more counter space?”

“Hey!” Bolin called incredulously through a mouth full of baked goods. Pabu scuttled beneath him, eating the crumbs that fell to the floor. “Counters wouldn’t fit.”

“It’s alright Bo,” (Y/n) nudged his arm with their shoulder, turning back to the task at hand. They used an old spatula to take their masterpiece off of the pan, and Bolin took two from them. 

“You have to try this batch, Mako, (Y/n)’s gotten really good at their green tea cookies.”

“Oh?”

Mako shut the door behind him and walked over to the couch. (Y/n) met him halfway with their signature, light green cookie, Mako took it with an appreciative smile. “The secret is in the matcha. I wasn’t putting in enough before, so they didn’t taste right.”

Mako broke off a bit of the cookie, making sure to get a bit that had a white chocolate chip in it, and savored the taste. (Y/n) was watching him with one of their expectant smiles, and he nodded his head, the bittersweet flavor still lingering in his mouth. “These are your best yet.”

“High praise, coming from you.” And there was an edge of sarcasm to their voice, but their eyes were bright. Mako just looked at them for a moment, really looked at them in all of their casual beauty. (Y/n) had moved into his life so early on and so slowly that Mako didn’t know what life would be like without their casual teasing and easy grins.

And, of course, their random (but not unwelcome) bouts of stress baking.

Mako must have been staring a bit too long, because (Y/n) raised a playful eyebrow, and not too long after, Bolin broke the silence. “Uh, Pabu and I have to go, and uh... y’know, do adult stuff, with uh....”

“With Korra?” (Y/n) supplied amusedly, turning to Bolin, who was stuffing a napkin with cookies hurriedly. 

“Yeah! Y’know, Avatar stuff...” Bolin shrugged, slipping out the door, only to open it up again and grab his shoes before shoving off again.

(Y/n) scoffed and Mako sighed, calling after him. “Real smooth, Bo!” 

A muffled response called out to them, and (Y/n) laughed, walking back over to the kitchen area, where they started to put together another batch of cookies, measuring the sugar with their hands and putting it into a bowl with butter. “I’m surprised you haven’t been kicked out from noise complaints.”

Yeah, well Bolin charmed our neighbors into liking us too much to see us go.”

“His charm does go far, doesn’t it?” Mako watched and (Y/n) moved through his apartment with ease, pulling spoons out of the drawers and cleaning the dishes as they went. Their practiced movements had the surety and preciseness of someone who lived there, and the thought was enough to make Mako’s throat dry.

“So,” Mako cleared his throat and walked over to (Y/n) passing them the egg they were reaching for. “you measure everything with your hands, and yet you’re constantly insisting that baking is a science. How does that work?”

“It’s all in the weight and look of it - a full cup is a far cry from a fourth.” (Y/n) mixed the ingredients together, their brow set in concentration, “Or, at least, that’s what my mom used to say. What I will tell you—” they looked up at Mako rather suddenly, that intensity still alight within them “—is that it’s in how it feels.”

“So the weight of it.”

“Yes... but it’s more than that.” (Y/n) looked at him with their sharp eyes, as though trying to judge something. “Go wash your hands,” and they jerked their head to the side, “I’ll show you.”

Mako didn’t even hesitate to do as they said, and even though Bolin had left, he could hear his voice - a surprised “what...?” - nagging the back of his mind. It was easy to shrug off. It was (Y/n). Everything was easy when it came to them.

“Alright,” (Y/n) said, with a hint of childish excitement, as Mako slung the towel he had used to dry his hands over his shoulder. “Give me your hands.”

Their touch tickled and their fingers - dry and powdery from the flour - grazed over his, opening his palms with a gentle sort of care.

“Here is one cup or so.” (Y/n) grabbed a handful of flour, transferred it to their other hand, and skimmed some off the top before placing it in his. “Yeah, you can feel the weight, and you can see how much there is, but you have to kind of trust that what you're feeling is right, because it’s not always going to feel the same, right? When you’re tired or you’ve been baking all day, things feel different, even though they’re the same.”

“All this for flour?”

“For each cup of flour. We need two and a half.”

“I can see why Bolin asks you to do the baking.” (Y/n) chuckled and guided his hands to the mixing bowl, where Mako let the flour slip out of his fingertips like really fine sand. “But I can tell that you feel it...” the last bit of flour fell out of his hands, but Mako let his hands hover near (Y/n)’s for just a moment longer, “and that’s good enough.”

They smiled, and it has all the serenity and beauty of dawn. “I’ll make a baker of you, yet.” They added more flour to the bowl and started mixing, their gaze flicking up to Mako. “One of these days you’re going to understand the feeling of it.”

“I...” and part of Mako wanted to say that he already did, that his feelings were about the only thing he understood when it came to moments like these, but the words got caught in his throat, and he found himself unable to get them out. “I think we’ll have to do a lot more baking, then.”

three;

Mako ran, the ground beneath his feet steady and his breathing exact. The beauty of Republic City Park surrounded him and in the early morning, when the air was just nippy enough to need a jacket, there were few people to be found. The usual groups of people practicing tai chi or playing Pai Sho weren’t out yet, and the sun was just peaking over the horizon. 

Morning runs often gave Mako a sense of clarity - there was very little he could focus on when in fast, forward motion, and everything complicated fell away. It was just him, the ground, and the fire in his veins. 

Mako slowed to a jog, and when he found an empty park bench, he sat down, wiping the sweat off of his brow. The shadows were just starting to creep away, losing to the brilliance of the sun and hiding in each recess and tiny alcove. The duck pond in front of him was warming to a crystal-like blue. Mako breathed out and tipped his head back, letting the stillness wash over him, his thoughts slowly catching up with him.

“Mako?”

And at first, he thought it was just his feelings for (Y/n) meeting up with him once more, but then he heard the steady pounding of the pavement and there they were jogging toward him, ushering in the morning with a comfortable pace.

“Heading into work later than usual?” They stopped by the bench and Mako slid over so they’d have room to sit.

“No, Beifong told me to take a day off. I usually do paperwork today, but she handed it off to someone else.”

(Y/n) hummed in acknowledgement. “So you’re joining Asami and me for our run, then?”

"Huh?”

“Asami and I usually go on a run, at this time. We meet here.”

“Asami told me that I should take a run since I wasn’t going into work today.”

Both of them scoffed, relaxing deeper into the metal bench. For a moment they just sat there, taking in the moment, and letting the world dawn on them, a beautiful mixture of colors - a painting slowly completing itself. Eventually, (Y/n) turned to Mako, an eyebrow raised in jest. “Do you reckon they think they’re being slick?”

“Probably - and it’ll only get worse once they get Korra on board.”

“Who’s to say they haven’t already?” The two chuckled, shaking their heads at the efforts of their friends, and (Y/n) knocked their knees together, leaning in a little closer. “It’s alright, I like spending time with you.”

“You’re gonna hate me once we finish this run, though.”

“Then I guess you’ll have to buy me some tea, afterwards.” (Y/n) stood up, stretching their arms and letting out a yawn. “To make it up to me, of course.”

Mako stifled a smile and stood, making a show of his weary sigh. “Alright” —(Y/n) rolled their eyes at him— “You drive a hard bargain.”

They started off at a slow jog, and every minute or so Mako upped the intensity until they were sprinting across Republic City Park, occasionally dodging the wayward soul taking a morning stroll. The world blurred around them, the lush foliage turning into swaths of green with the occasional pinprick of color - purple or yellow, green or blue. As they slowed down, the world became more defined, and when they came to a walk, (Y/n) pulled ahead and turned around so they could walk backwards, facing Mako with a breathless grin.

“You owe me at least a muffin to go along with that tea, after what you just pulled. I almost ran into a woman walking her toddler! Could you imagine what would have happened, had I hit her?”

Mako laughed, still coming down from his high, and (Y/n) grinned at the sound - dazzling and so bright, it put the sun to shame. “Let’s get you out of the park, then, before you start running down Pai Sho players.” 

The two fell into step beside each other, taking the path out of the park and into the busy streets. Already, Republic City was booming with life, and the two were rather quick to slip into the quiet tea shop that was just around the corner. Inside, the cafe was fairly empty, with slow music playing from the speakers. (Y/n) closed their eyes and breathed in the smell of freshly-baked muffins, and Mako was quick to look away when they caught him staring.

(Y/n) walked towards the case that held all of the baked goods, trying to read the different types they had displayed. “This is way better than trying to throw something together at my apartment.”

Mako pulled his attention away from the menu board, where he had been searching for the right type of tea. “Your apartment? You mean you actually have a place to go, other than mine?” 

“You gave me the key.”

“For emergencies.”

(Y/n) scoffed. “Well, ‘emergencies’ is in clear need of a mutual definition.”

The two ordered, and Mako paid, despite (Y/n) saying they had the money, and when their order was ready, they took a seat in the corner, next to a window that overlooked a busy intersection. (Y/n) insisted they split the muffin and gave half to Mako, and after settling into their more calm atmosphere, (Y/n) turned to Mako.

“So, what are you going to do for the rest of your day off?” (Y/n) took a sip of their tea and fixed Mako with one of those stares - the kind that saw through everything else, and somehow got down to his core. “I can’t imagine this is what you had planned.”

“Uh… I don’t know. I figured I’d go home and work on finding a lead to a case or something.”

“Even though Beifong told you to take the day off?”

“Well, I’m not at the station…” Mako trailed off, suddenly finding great interest in the rim of his cup.

“And you’re not going to work from home, either.” (Y/n) scoffed exaggeratedly, and though Mako was the most incorrigible person they’d ever met. Although, in their defense, he probably was. “Not on my watch.”

“So what, you’re going to find something for me to do all day?”

“If that’s what it takes.”

Mako watched as (Y/n) sat back in the booth, a triumphant yet challenging smile on their face, and he felt the disbelief in his chest melt into something softer. It was there, again, that urge to say something both incredibly brave and terribly stupid; that desire to put all of his feelings into words and express them more truly than anything else.

“Alright,” Mako swallowed and allowed himself a small smile. “If that’s what it takes.

✧ *:･ﾟ

one;

Just when Mako had admitted to (Y/n) that he was an avid reader, he couldn’t remember, but at some point, they had found out, and ever since, the two spent their lazy weekends sprawled out on his sky blue sofa, books in hand. This time, (Y/n) had come earlier than usual, and by midday, they had already finished their novel - a fast-paced murder mystery with just a bit of a redemption arc for one of the main leads. They had talked about (Y/n)’s book while walking down to the market to get the necessary fixings for dinner, and when they came back to Mako’s tiny apartment, he passed them one of his favorites to read - a historical fiction that combined elements of notable legends and recorded history to make an interesting thriller with plenty of easy-to-digest drama. 

When (Y/n) took it from him, they took one look at the summary and raised an eyebrow.  “This is one of your favorites?” Mako had tried to push down his embarrassment, stuttering out some kind of response, but had just smiled. “It’s not a bad thing, just surprising. I’m sure I’ll love it.”

And they did. For the next hour and a half, the two sat in Mako’s apartment in relative silence, reading separate novels and making the occasional exclamation of shock, betrayal, joy, and surprise. Mako had looked over at (Y/n) occasionally, trying to judge where they were in the book, and whether they were enjoying it just as much as he had, the first time.

At some point in the day, the sun filtering through the window matured into a deeper, golden shade, turning the afternoon into early evening. Mako, who had been thoroughly engrossed in his novel for the better part of the day, stood up from his couch and stretched when he noticed the change in light. Letting out a sigh, he made his way over to the kitchen area. As he started to make dinner for the both of them, Mako missed the way that (Y/n) turned to look at him from their place on the couch, a lopsided grin on their face. They still lay on the turquoise material, sitting upside down with their feet in the air, book in hand and the red couch cushion resting on their stomach, watching as Mako turned on the stove with a click of propane and a bit of fire bending. 

It wasn't long before the apartment was full of the comforting smell of Mako's cooking, and soon (Y/n) found it impossible to focus on the page before them. They opted to right themself instead and watch Mako as he finished up, adding the finishing touches to the meal before splitting what lay in the pan into two different bowls. 

He handed a bowl to (Y/n) as he settled onto the couch, both of them moving to sit cross-legged, their knees touching. (Y/n) savored the flavor of Mako's signature dish, and he gestured to the book beside them. 

"How're you liking it so far?"

"The book? It's great. Perfectly paced, in my opinion, although I wouldn't mind for a little bit more world-building. The time period is so interesting and they could lean into it a little more."

Mako nodded, satisfied with the smile on their face and the eagerness in their tone. "I figured you'd like it. There's a lot happening, but the characters are good enough to carry the story."

"That's a raving review, coming from you." (Y/n) laughed, the sound falling from their lips effortlessly. "And I can see why it's your favorite. You like a good redemption arc, don't you?"

"It's an interesting enough idea."

"A rather sweet one, too. Are you sure you're not a romantic at heart?"

Mako scoffed in response, but even so, he could feel his cheeks burning up, the nagging voice in his head (the one that told him to just confess already, or do something equally as rash) getting louder from conviction. "I think that's you."

"Oh definitely, but there's always room for one more," (Y/n) mumbled through a mouth full of noodles. "And judging by your taste in books, I'd say you already are."

"There's not even a romantic subplot!"

"The main character literally took lightning to the face for his best friend, and then proceeded to say that he’d do it all again, if it meant they could stay together. Are you telling me there isn't something there?"

“You said yourself that they’re friends!”

“C’mon, Mako,” (Y/n) deadpanned, setting aside their dinner so that they could use their hands to punctuate their speech. There was a fire in their eyes, and something restless in the way they moved - like there was something important they were trying to say. “Friendship is clearly just an excuse for them.”

“An excuse?” Mako felt his throat dry. Suddenly, he was acutely aware of their proximity, and the little space that still existed between them - like they were almost touching, and yet oceans apart. 

(Y/n)’s hands fidgeted in their lap. “Yeah, like… An easy out when you’re too afraid to go for it...or when you think you’re not enough.” Part of Mako wanted to look away, but (Y/n)’s eyes had caught his gaze too fully and the other part of him battled to stay. For the longest moment, he couldn’t move. “But they love each other - you can see it.”

There was a battle waging war inside Mako; each side fighting the other for dominance, and only one coming out on top. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost like a deep sigh. “Yeah, they love each other.”

(Y/n) smiled, their mouth moving with just the slightest tremble, and part of Mako wondered what had disrupted the ease with which they did everything, but another part of him already knew. Mako reached out and cupped their cheek, the feeling of their skin against his flooding him with courage he didn’t know he had.

“And I love you, (Y/n).” 

“About time you confessed to me.” (Y/n)’s eyes sparkled in jest before they surged forward, kissing Mako and igniting the fire in his chest. All he could think about was them and the way they blissfully invaded all of his senses, how soft their lips were, and how strong their hands were, as they wrapped around him, pulling him nearer. When they broke apart, (Y/n) rested their forehead on his. 

Then they said it, their voice a whisper that sent him tumbling over the edge, their breath fanning against his cheek.

“I love you, too.”

Mako kissed them again, craving the feeling of their lips against his, chasing after the way they made him feel - like every moment had led to this, like every battle had been worth the struggle. Time seemed to stop, and for a moment, it was as though there was no gravity, and the only thing anchoring Mako to this world was (Y/n), and their touch.

“Like I said,” (Y/n) was smiling when he pulled away, and their gaze made it easy to come back down to earth. “You’re a romantic at heart.”

Mako chuckled and (Y/n) laughed with him, the sound filling the tiny apartment with something undefined but utterly perfect. 

“Alright, so maybe I am.” Mako relented, tipping his head back. “But an epic romance doesn’t happen within that book, if that’s what you're after.”

“Well, maybe we’ll have to write a sequel of our own."

-- taglist: message me if you want to be added to a taglist!

[whump-a-la-mode]

Escape: Part 2

This is a bit different from what I usually do. @equestrianwritingsstuff recently posted a one-off piece, and I got a little bit obsessed with it. So, with her permission, this is a continuation! The original post can be found here.

Summary: After being captured and forced into a torturous reform program, Villain attempts escape-- but throws it all away to save the life of his foe.

CW//Attempted conditioning, denial of food, denial of water, intentional self injury, broken glass, blood, mentions of car crashes, collars, chains, firearms, attempted murder

“Okay.” The sigh was sharp, enough so to make Villain bite their own tongue in apprehension. “Let’s try another one.”

Nosey shuffled through the stack of papers piled before them on the desk. Villain glanced down at the pile-- noting its sheer height. He wasn’t expected to go through all those, right? No, that would certainly take all night.

“Here.” The hero before him settled on one of the pages, picking it up. “This one should be easy.”

Villain muttered something under his breath, laden with swears and insults.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Mhm.” A haughty exhale. “Here. If you get this one on the first try, you can go back to your cell and... I don’t know, do whatever it is you do. I’m tired of looking at your face.”

Back to his cell. That made Villain perk up, nearly straining against the cuffs holding him firmly to the table.

“Okay, let’s just get this over with. Here’s the scenario. You’re walking along the street, and you see someone hit by a car. The car does not stop, and the victim is thrown onto the sidewalk in front of you. They are clearly alive, but severely injured. Do you:

A: Use your healing powers to treat their injuries.

B: Search the surrounding area for a civilian with medical training

C: Contact the Heroic Civilian Treatment Team to take the victim to hospital.”

“Um...”

Villain felt the hairs on the back of his neck stick up, despite being half wetted down with sweat.

If someone had been struck by a vehicle, the obvious answer would be to help them as quickly as possible. As soon as injuries like that were inflicted, the clock was already ticking.

The heroes were terribly resistant to him using his powers in any situation-- that was somewhat the whole point of the Villain Containment Practices. But in this case, it would certainly be an exception, right? Their whole job was supposed to be protecting life.

“Uh- I- I think A.” He at last croaked out. “Use my healing powers to stabilize them, then find a civilian doctor to get them to the hospital.”

Nosey sighed.

“A situation like this should always be deferred to us. Using your powers is never the answer.”

They placed down the paper, hastily rearranging the messy stack of them.

“Let’s go back to the gym. I’ll let you off with ten laps, this time.”

Villain gulped, phlegm sliding down a dry throat, as a pair of guards advanced to untie him from the table.

“C- Can I have some water? Please?”

“You’ve already lost your food privileges for the day. Do you really want to lose your water, too? You get water once you’ve earned it. For now, we’re going to the gym.

At this rate, maybe you should just become a permanent resident in our program.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━   

The glass was mocking them.

Villain was certain of that, even as he kneeled on his cot of a bed, half delirious, half exhausted.

The glass of water sat on a small table at the bed’s end. Just a glass, hardly even filled halfway. Haphazardly placed under a faucet for a few moments without thought.

He knew he had to drink it. He didn’t have much of a choice. Tomorrow would only bring more questions, more laps, more push-ups, more lectures. It would be terrible, certainly, but the small amount of liquid would make it at least the tiniest bit more bearable. Give him the tiniest bit more strength.

It was all he had. He’d spent the day watching his classmates-- that’s what the heroes called them, they were fellow prisoners, at best-- eating their meals, while he sat at an empty table.

Just because he had started a fight didn’t mean he should have to starve. Besides, they had it coming. Stuck up ass.

Villain frowned, cracked and dry lips sticking together, and reached forth to pick up the glass.

He needed to drink it, but as soon as he did, it would be gone. He would have to earn the next few drops through countless tears and buckets of sweat. At the very least, right now, he had control. He had a choice.

Not a very good one, but...

When had he gotten to this point? Having a crisis in a barren room over a half-glass of water? He was supposed to be a villain. Others were supposed to fear him.

Besides...

Villain’s hand shook, water sloshing, even as he was careful not to lose a single, precious drop.

He didn’t know how much longer he could survive like this. Endless exercise, endless questions. Maybe they would never let him out. Maybe they wanted him to die here. Hell, they probably wanted him to die here. One less problem, drained of strength until they no longer had enough to breathe.

This was one long, drawn out execution. Even if it wasn’t, he could hardly imagine a situation in which they allowed his parting. In which they considered him at long last “reformed.”

Villain had to leave. He had to. He was leaving here either in a glorious escape, or in a body bag. Or, worse: In a hero’s uniform.

He downed the water, feeling the heavenly moisture fill his throat. It was the best thing he had ever tasted, despite the fact that water had no taste to it.

It was far less pleasant than what would come next. He knew from unfortunate experience that there were only two things that could get him out of this cell: Going to ‘class,’ or having an emergency.

The first wouldn’t work.

There was no camera in the room, he had searched long and hard to confirm that fact. At the very least, he didn’t have to do much in the way of acting. Not yet.

He swung his unsteady legs over the edge of the bed, standing, stumbling halfway to the end table.

Before throwing the glass to the floor.

It was a miracle, that the heroes allowed him glass dishware. The cup exploded, a thousand shining pieces scattering about the floor.

Now, for the unpleasant part.

Villain gritted his teeth, throwing himself onto the broken glass, ensuring that it dug into his flesh, his legs and his palms. At the very least, his screams were genuine.

“Help! Help!” He wailed. “I’m hurt! Help, please help! Oh god, that’s my blood, oh god oh god...”

There was no camera in the room, but the door was plenty thin, and in this facility, screams carried far. To ensure this, he let out a few more cries, carrying them on until the door lock was frantically turned, the door thrown open on its hinges.

Hero’s inhale was quick enough that she nearly started choking on her own breath.

“V-Villain, oh god, that’s- That’s your blood?”

Of course it was, dimwit. It was flooding from his skin, wasn’t it?

“Y- Yes. I tripped, um, oh god, oh...”

The swaying and slurring of his words were not pretend, either. Dehydration and hunger made sure of that.

“Can you walk?” How was there so much concern in her tone?

“Don’t know.”

“We need to try. I can carry you, but- We need to get to the infirmary.”

The hero hurried to their foe’s side, arms under his shoulders helping him to his feet. He could walk on his own, not well, but he could-- though Hero had no need to know that.

“Okay.”

“It’s a pretty long walk. We can take it slow, okay?”

“Yeah.”

That was exactly what they did. Their movements were so painfully slow that at times Villain wondered whether or not they were moving at all, but, after some time, they did cover some distance. The few people awake at such an hour steered clear, seeing a villain covered in blood and wanting nothing to do with it in the slightest.

The infirmary was on the bottom floor, Villain had seen it on his way in, making note of its placement. Of course, Hero wasn’t about to make him struggle down all those stairs. No. She went straight for the elevator, stepping into the isolated box with her foe and letting the doors closed.

This was it. The elevator ride would only last a few moments-- it was now or never.

As subtly as he possibly could, Villain placed his hand upon his injured leg, the minty thrum of healing powers knitting together the slices. Though, it did nothing to dry the blood that had already seeped out.

He was healed, and Hero was alone. Trapped.

By all accounts, it was a fight that Villain should have lost. He was exhausted, stomach left empty for far too long, and veins severely lacking in blood. Hero had the benefit of being well-fed, well-rested, all of it.

But that explanation left out one thing.

Villain was desperate.

He watched the small, digital screen count down the floors.

4...

3...

2...

Now!

The strike may not have been powerful, but it was aided by the sheer speed at what it was launched. Villain’s fist collided with Hero’s temple, knocking her sideways, stumbling. He wasted not a millisecond in preparing his next strike, hearing the crack of a cheekbone beneath his knuckles.

Hero let out a cry, holding her face where a bruise would certainly bloom in the hour. Limbs still soaked in scarlet, Villain swung out with his leg, catching Hero in the knee, sending her to the elevator floor with a hollow crash.

1.

The elevator doors opened.

It was the fastest Villain had ever run in his life, he was certain of that. His legs were little more than blurs of red as he sprinted forth, tearing through a lobby that was nearly barren. An infinitesimal distance between him and freedom.

“Oh no you don’t!”

His legs came out from under him, his face striking the tile floor, almost certainly giving him an identical blessure to Hero.

The voice-- it was Nosey’s stupid, avian squawk. And, too, their polished boot struck Villain’s back.

“You really thought it’d be that easy?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━   

The metal chafed horribly against Villain’s neck, somehow making his throat’s desiccation more acute. He laid his head against the thin carpet, spine aching terribly. The movement shifted the chain latched onto his collar, the slight clinking noise making his heartbeat stutter.

Tied up like a dog.

“Is this really necessary?” He grumbled, shifting himself to a sitting position, gazing upwards.

To Hero’s bed. Her legs dangled off the side of the mattress, hands gripped into fists around gathered bedsheets.

“We’ve been over this. That cell was a privilege, and you’ve lost it.”

“And so you chain me to the wall like a dog.”

“Exactly. You need to be under my direct supervision.”

“Yeah, whatever. Did you really have to stick this stupid collar on me?”

“I’m no happier about this than you are. But I’m not giving you free reign of my bedroom. You already tried to kill me once tonight.”

“I wasn’t trying to kill you.”

“Whatever. Unlike you, I actually have things to do in the morning. So, if you would please let me sleep?”

“Maybe.”

“Maybe?”

“If you do something for me first.”

“You are in the worst possible position to make demands, right now.”

Villain’s sigh tore at his throat.

“I just want some water.”

“Just that? Wait. You’re not going to smash the glass again, are you? I’m way too tired for that nonsense a second time tonight.”

“Just don’t put the water in a glass, then.”

“You actually just want water?”

“Yes.” He added rather pathetically. “Please?”

“I... Fine. Then you’ll let me sleep?”

“Mhm.”

“Fine.”

Hero stood, glancing suspiciously at her captive as she made her way across the room. As if he could do anything-- the chain was maybe three feet in length. He could barely lay his head down.

She maneuvered to her kitchenette, returning with a plastic cup-- filled to the brim with that precious liquid. She placed it before him. He was already drooling.

“That’s it?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Goodnight, Villain.”

“Goodnight.”

Was that really all it took to domesticate him? A glass of water? It hardly mattered. As soon as Hero turned off the light, bathing the room in shadow, Villain downed the liquid as though his life depended on it.

Perhaps, it did.

It wasn’t long before Hero’s steady breathing had turned to soft snoring. Villain shifted himself into the most comfortable position he could manage. Even that, however, was far from being pleasant, with the chain threatening to strangle him at any moment.

That wasn’t what kept him from sleeping, however. He needed to sleep. He knew that, he wasn’t stupid. He would need his energy for the next day of lessons, of shouted orders and lectures.

That was all his life would be from now on, wouldn’t it? Orders and exhaustion and being forced to earn the most basic of needs by answering moral quandaries incorrectly.

Villain wanted, longed, to cry. To let out all the horrible emotions that had stuck in his chest cavity, threatening to drown his lungs in sorrow. But that would break the conditions of the deal.

He had to be quiet, or else he might never again be allowed water.

It was that dread in his chest, that hopelessness, that forced him awake.

So, he laid, still, listening to Hero’s snores as his own body refused to allow him unconsciousness.

Snores, and...

Footsteps.

Footsteps? Villain tensed, holding stock still, pricking his ears for the noise. They drew louder, louder, before stopping. Stopping outside the dorm room door.

He held his breath.

The door opened gently enough that the hinges made only the slightest noise. Then, the footsteps were inside.

Villain shrunk down in the corner, making himself far smaller and quieter than anyone of his status should ever have had to be.

Two sets of footsteps. Growing louder, coming towards the bedroom. The bed.

Hero.

“Are you sure we need to do this?” An unknown voice, whispering.

“If you want this plan to work, we don’t have a choice.”

That voice, that voice was not unknown. It was loud, terribly high pitched, terribly-

Nosey.

“We really have to kill them?”

“We won’t get the chance if you keep talking. Just do it, don’t chicken out on me, now.”

“Okay, okay.”

Villain’s heartbeat shivered.

The cocking of a gun. That horrible sound, that precursor of bloodshed.

Then, the shot. Two pairs of footsteps, fleeing, slamming the door behind themselves.

Villain gulped.

It was no doubt what had happened-- if he had had any doubts, they were quickly drowned out as Hero’s breathing hitched, then quieted to an almost imperceptible level. Growing slower, weaker by the second.

They are clearly alive, but severely injured.

In the scenario, he had had three choices. But this wasn’t a training scenario.

Now, he only had two.

A: Praise his lucky stars and use the opportunity to escape. There was a fire escape, just outside the window. He would be gone into the night before anyone knew any different.

Or...

B: Do the right thing.

Villain threw himself against the chain about his neck, collar threatening to cut off his airways. He spun about, gripping the chain in clammy fingers, pulling and tugging and-

Her breathing was getting quieter, weaker.

He pulled harder, muscles straining with the effort. The chain was anchored to the wall with a spike, drilled in. There was no way he could break the chain, no way he could break the spike, but-

Villain’s heel slammed through the plaster and drywall, chain flying backwards at his face. He hardly made note of it. Spike and chain and all dragging behind him, he tore to Hero’s bedside.

It was almost fortunate, that the lights were off. He couldn’t see the extent of the wounds.

He placed his hands upon her head, that minty feeling rushing to his fingers, his palms, her skin.

Using your powers is never the answer.

No. No, that wasn’t true.

Rules didn’t matter. Training didn’t matter. All that mattered was doing the right thing.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Do you think it's would make a difference of the war aftermath, if nie huaisang Mother was a wen ?

Nie Mingjue had never really known what to do with Nie Huaisang’s mother, a feeling that was most decided mutual.

Concubines were quite common among the regular folk, but they were fairly rare for cultivators, a function of the relative rarity of female cultivators; virtually all the men Nie Mingjue knew preferred visiting prostitutes or setting up mistresses from the ranks of women who couldn’t cultivate over bringing them into the household.

And yet Nie Mingjue’s father brought her home, pale-faced and already pregnant, after having spent nearly two months away at a discussion conference to rehash the boundary lines, and married her according to their clan’s customs, bringing her into the household to stay.

There were whispers, of course. There’d been talk about how his father ought to have another son to replace Nie Mingjue ever since his mother had left as swiftly and unexpectedly as she’d arrived. But that sort of talk faded soon enough when a rumor leaked that the Wen sect had sent her to Nie Mingjue’s father’s quarters as entertainment, and had never expected him to marry her to legitimize the child.

Nie Mingjue didn’t hear about that until much later, when he was older, but he thought they might even be true – a disappointing failing in a man he’d always revered, but it wasn’t as if he could or would say anything about it. At least his father had always treated her well, no matter how she flinched and shied away from everything at the start. The rare few times Nie Mingjue saw her, she was always looking wan and sad as if she’d left her heart behind in Qishan.

Maybe she had.

But she was his father’s concubine, so it wasn’t as if Nie Mingjue could ask, nor do anything about it if he did.

She fell sick not long after the birth, which was a difficult one, and became bedridden; to ease her burden, Nie Mingjue quietly took over caring for the baby, his brother, with the intention of handing him back to her when she was better.

She eventually got better, mostly, but she didn’t take Nie Huaisang back.

Instead, she burst into tears at the sight of him, every time.

Nie Mingjue might be a child, and more inclined to be martial than cognizant of feelings, but he was still young enough to be hurt and indignant on his brother’s behalf. He still remembered the bitterness of asking why he didn’t have a mother only to learn that she had left him behind – he had no memories of her – and to think that this mother was right here, and yet…

In the end, he continued to raise Nie Huaisang as best as he could between training and classes and learning to be a sect leader, and began to treat her coldly, like a stranger.

Still, when his father lost his mind, she was the second person he thought to save, after securing Nie Huaisang’s safety: like a little bird, she was fragile and delicate, faded from years of self-imposed confinement even though Qinghe lacked the restrictive rules of Qishan – she wouldn’t last a minute against the full force of his father’s mad range that even he could only redirect, not stop.

(He woke up, later, to her trembling hands trying to apply healing salve onto his injuries, and he thought it might be the first time she’d ever looked directly at him. It didn’t last: she didn’t speak other than to ask him if Huaisang was all right, and he’d snapped in a helpless rage that she’d lost the right to ask him that years before, and after that they had mutually agreed that it would be best if he locked her in her room for her own protection until his father died.)

After that he became sect leader.

“I have a request,” she said to him one day, a few weeks later. “If you would grant it.”

Nie Mingjue shrugged and gestured for her to come into his office. Nie Huaisang was sitting in the corner painting a family picture – Nie Huaisang and Baxia, himself and Aituan – and he looked up briefly, curious to see what woman was brave enough to dare his brother’s temper, but the interest quickly drained out of his face after he’d managed to place her.

“You want to go back to Qishan?” Nie Mingjue asked when she seemed to be unable to speak. “My father is dead; surely your mother’s family would take you, if you didn’t mind the rumors.”

To his surprise, she paled and shook her head rapidly.

At his questioning look, she lowered her head and whispered, “The women of Qishan Wen cannot – it would be a disgrace. And it is – it’s a harsh place to live, cruel and unkind.”

Nie Mingjue had always supposed that to be the case, but he thought he might as well ask. “What, then?”

“I…I would like to bring someone here. If you don’t mind.”

Nie Mingjue’s eyebrows arched. His father hadn’t been in the ground a full month, and she wanted to move her lover in? He ought to cut off her head even for suggesting it.

But she was Nie Huaisang’s mother, however much he despised her for neglecting him, and so instead he said, “Who?”

She told him.

Baxia screamed in metal and Nie Mingjue was on his feet, feeling his eyes pound as his sight flickered red with rage: “You had children?!” he snarled at her, ignoring how her eyes went wide and she backed away from him even though after everything that had happened with his father he hated being feared the most. “You had children and you left them there?!”

“Da-ge, you’re blocking my light,” Nie Huaisang said, not looking up from his painting, and the moment Nie Mingjue saw how his knuckles had gone white around his brush he turned to face the wall to take deep breaths until he was calm again. He was still facing it when he heard Nie Huaisang speak again, his voice even. “You should leave, Concubine Wen.”

“I only –”

“It’s your fault he’s so angry,” Nie Huaisang said, and his voice was as mature as a seven year old could make it – mature, and angry as well, in his own way, really angry rather than throwing a temper tantrum that was halfway for effect. “Go away before you make it worse. We’ll have an answer for you later.”

She left.

A small hand made its way into Nie Mingjue’s, squeezing it lightly. It helped, a little. “What did she do?”

“She has children,” Nie Mingjue said, still staring at the wall. “A girl and a boy – their father died shortly before she met our father. She just…she left them behind in Qishan, which she clearly hates, and she never…she’s lived here for years. The boy’s only a year older than you. And I had no idea! She never once mentioned them, or visited, or let them visit, or – anything.”

“Why do you care?” Nie Huaisang asked, tone curious.

“Because it’s wrong,” Nie Mingjue said. “She abandoned them. Just like –”

He shut his mouth, unsure if he wanted to say you or me, but nevertheless Nie Huaisang’s hand tightened on his own, understanding.

A better man might think to himself that this loss was the reason behind her reluctance to get close to Nie Huaisang; Nie Mingjue, whose mother had left him behind and through another woman’s negligence became a parent when he was the same age as her older son would be now, had no space in his heart for sympathy, and all he felt was disappointment.

Still, it was not in the nature of the Qinghe Nie to do nothing when faced with an injustice.

It took a few months to make it work, painful negotiations with Wen Ruohan smirking at him across the table because he had something Nie Mingjue wanted and he knew it, but in the end he managed to arrange for the two children to come to visit Qinghe without explaining exactly why he wanted them.

Not to stay, because Wen Ruohan wouldn’t have leverage that way, but it was – something.

“Nie Huaisang can show you around,” Nie Mingjue told them, because they were obviously terrified of him and no one, not even little sheep-like Wen Ning, could be scared of Nie Huaisang. “And take you to meet your mother, if you like.”

“And what if we don’t?” Wen Qing asked, crossing her arms. She was a little older, though still a few years shy of Nie Mingjue’s age.

“Then don’t,” Nie Mingjue said shortly. “I brought you here for your sake, not hers.”

Somehow, and he really didn’t know how, that day had ended with him teaching Wen Ning how to shoot arrows to Nie Huaisang’s over-excited cheering and Wen Qing’s dramatic eye-rolling, and by the time they left they were calling him da-ge the way Nie Huaisang did, even Wen Qing.

He still wasn’t sure if they’d visited their mother.

But then – that wasn’t the point.

“They’re your brothers and sisters, you know,” he told Nie Huaisang, a slight frown marring his face. “They’re as close to you in blood as I am.”

“Obviously,” Nie Huaisang sniffed, rolling his eyes – an entire production when he did it, shoulders shrugging and head lolling. “Why do you think I told them to call you da-ge? Brother and sister of a brother; it’s close enough.”

Nie Mingjue rolled his eyes in return and cuffed him as a brat, but his heart was lightened, a little. From what he knew of the woman, the two Wen children might never have a proper mother, but that was fine; he could do that for them, the way he’d done it for Nie Huaisang, and this way Nie Huaisang would have a er-jie and a san-ge as well.

But the thought was easier said than done – Nie Mingjue was determined to go to war against Wen Ruohan to avenge his father’s murder, and it was difficult to balance that enmity with the need to ensure Wen Qing and Wen Ning remained safe, and were not considered hostages.

Jin Guangshan, of all people, ended up helping with that, his mouth so full of sly innuendo about pretty young Wen Qing that even Wen Ruohan seemed halfway convinced by it, and equally convinced that Nie Mingjue would get bored of her quickly enough, an impression Nie Mingjue did his best to encourage.

On the surface, he even let that seem to be the case, letting the visits cease and adopting a blank and uncaring expression any time she was mentioned.

When the war drew nearer, Wen Ruohan’s excesses more unforgivable, Nie Mingjue sent a missive – through five different layers of secrecy that Nie Huaisang had somehow concocted, and Nie Mingjue really didn’t want to think about how his useless baby brother figured out something his spies couldn’t – asking if Wen Qing and Wen Ning would be willing to seek refuge in Qinghe.

Wen Qing refused, but shared all the information she could, as a healer, in good conscience pass along. She thought they could do more to help people by staying where they were, and Nie Mingjue couldn’t fault her for that even if he disagreed – and she promised him that both she and Wen Ning were doing everything they could to fight against injustice, no matter what the circumstance.

Nie Mingjue tried his best to keep track of both of them.

He didn’t want to find them dead with a Nie saber in their chests, but he couldn’t let people know about their connection, either, or else it’d be a Wen sword in their backs instead. It was a hard balance to draw.

After Meng Yao killed Wen Ruohan, and the sun on earth fell from the sky at last, leaving all those surnamed Wen to pay for the sins of their clansmen, Nie Mingjue made it a priority to find them.

“You won’t be able to find anyone if you can’t walk,” Nie Huaisang scolded him, shoving him back down onto the bed. “I’ll go look for them myself. It’ll be fine.”

“If you can’t find them in any of the remaining Wen strongholds, try the prisoner of war camps,” Nie Mingjue said muzzily. He wasn’t sure what was in the medicine Nie Huaisang continuously poured down his throat, but it was very strong; he could scarcely feel how many broken ribs he had, but he couldn’t feel much else, either. “Maybe someone took them somewhere they’d be safe…”

“They’d better be safe. They promised.”

“Huaisang…”

“What if they’re not safe?” Nie Huaisang fretted. “They’re still surnamed Wen. Someone could be bullying them –”

Nie Mingjue reached out with a hand to pat Nie Huaisang’s knee. He missed the first few times, but eventually got it. “Don’t worry about it,” he said firmly. “They may be surnamed Wen, but they’re wards of Qinghe Nie; if you see someone bullying them, bully them back – who’d start something with us now?”

He was speaking lightly. Unfortunately, given that he was talking with Nie Huaisang, he probably shouldn’t have been.

“So, there’s good news and bad news,” Nie Huaisang announced, blowing into Nie Mingjue’s office. “Also, you shouldn’t be working.”

Nie Mingjue’d heard the same thing from about seven different people – “you’re still three broken bones over the work limit, Sect Leader” – but he was dying of boredom; they should all be happy he was voluntarily limiting himself to paperwork instead of seeing if willpower and some braces could stand up to a basic round of saber training.

“What’s the news?” he asked, then brightened when he saw Wen Ning trailing after him. “You found them!”

“I did! Well, Wen Ning, but he says Wen Qing is still free and looking for him, so I can’t imagine she’ll be that hard to find. Also, I may or may not have started a war by stabbing one of the Jin sect main family cultivators.”

Nie Mingjue stared at him.

“He was beating Wen Ning!”

Nie Mingjue glanced at Wen Ning, who looked anxious enough for it to be true. “Well, in that case, he deserved it,” he said, a little bit begrudgingly. “Is he dead?”

“Maybe?” Nie Huaisang thought about it. “…probably. You know how Aituan gets. I’m not sorry; Jin Zixun was an ass.”

“Did you at least challenge him to a duel first? It’ll make things easier if you did, though I suppose it’s not strictly necessary…”

“You’re not mad?” Wen Ning blurted out, wide-eyed. “Sect Leader Nie, if you have to fight another war because of me –”

“Against Lanling Jin?” Nie Mingjue snorted. “I could beat Jin Guangshan with both hands tied behind my back even if I were twice as injured as I am now, and that’s assuming he lets it get to a fight. He’ll want something else instead; the question will be to see if it’s something I’m willing to give.”

What he wanted was Wei Wuxian’s head on a platter, or at least his Stygian Tiger Seal.

Nie Mingjue thought about the rumors about Wei Wuxian, frowning, and agreed to think about it, committing to nothing.

He was glad for that, later, when the man himself showed up at one of the Jin prisoner of war camps that Nie Mingjue was demolishing, Wen Qing at his side, clearly ready to tear down the sky to get Wen Ning back.

“Uh,” Wei Wuxian said, staring blankly. “You’re – taking them somewhere?”

“Back to the Nie sect,” Nie Mingjue said. “You too, Wen Qing; we’ve been looking for you everywhere.”

“Is this okay?” Wei Wuxian asked her.

“This is fine,” Wen Qing said, beaming. “Da-ge will take care of us.”

“…us?”

“After that scene you made back at Lanling, you’ll need it,” she said briskly. “Didn’t you hear? Some people were saying that you killed – what’s his name. Jin Zixun.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nie Mingjue said. “Nie Huaisang killed him.”

“Nie Huaisang?”

“Yes.”

“With – what?”

“His saber, of course.”

“His…saber?”

“Yes.”

“No wonder they think I did it,” Wei Wuxian said. “Even I don’t believe that story. No offense, Chifeng-zun.”

Nie Mingjue suppressed a sigh, though in fairness he really couldn’t blame him. “Does he really need sanctuary?” he asked Wen Qing. “The Jiang sect…”

“He needs it,” she said firmly.

Nie Mingjue’s eyes narrowed, because he knows his younger siblings too well. “You did something.”

“How do you do that?” she complained.

Nie Mingjue just shook his head. “I’m your da-ge,” he said. “All right, come on; help pack everyone up and come to Qinghe. We can deal with the rest of it later.”

“But –” Wei Wuxian started to say.

“You can argue back at Qinghe. It’s probably better than wherever you were planning on taking them, anyway.”

“…I was thinking Yiling?”

“The Burial Mounds? My young siblings? Absolutely not.”

(When they arrived, there was a woman standing at gate, watching them. She seemed pleased.)

[joontier]

“V” | part one

synopsis: You zinged. With the captain. Who was human. 

pairings: kim taehyung x female reader 

rating: R (18+) | genre: smut, fluff, angst, crack, minor angst (as of now) ,fantasy, (unknowing) enemies to lovers trope; captain! taehyung x vampire! reader, based off Hotel Transylvania and Girl’s Trip! | warnings: plenty of sexual innuendos, explicit sex) (groping, fingering, exhibitionism, 

word count: 13.1k 

g/n: im splitting this into a two/three shot because i really wanted to post this bc the coward in me is afraid that if i finish and post the whole thing this app might crash on me ajfoiawjefiajwfa n e ways, enjoy this first part and please let me know what you think! 

one. | two. | three.?

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Albeit recorded as one of the smallest countries in terms of area and population, the country of Tersnoa proudly boasts its multiple attractions and rich culture. As the nation’s economy depends heavily on tourism, Tersnoa is considered a hidden treasure amongst the genuine travelers - human and monsters alike. 

Santa Shelea - the monster capital of Tersnoa, is located beneath the lush woods of the small country, hidden to the human eye. Entrance to the city you grew up in is a privilege given only to monsters, though it wasn’t always like that. 

The city used to nurture human and monster liaisons, with relations surpassing mere diplomacy. Humans and monsters shared friendships that run deeper than their contrasts in physical attributes and their innate characteristics. It was a time when both parties realized they were so much alike in plenty of ways and respect was observed by all despite the differences in appearances and culture. Admittedly, monsters had more to sacrifice with these accords due to your more primal urges, but your kind made it work, for the sake of peaceful coexistence. 

The other party, however, did not seem to share the same sentiments for long. 

Santa Shelea was one of the few places left on Earth where monsters sought refuge as your kind of people were constantly drawn out of the places they used to peacefully live at by the humans themselves. You thought Santa Shelea was different - that these people you once even considered family wouldn’t push you away just like what the others did, but it wasn’t before long that the human citizens of the once-glorious city were going to change their minds. 

These selfish, pompous humans conducted an uprising to protest against the presence of monsters in ‘their’ land. It was an awful time to have grown up in, being called a ‘monster’ in all senses of the word, especially from those people you have even considered friends. The human citizens conducted an uprising in Santa Shelea, protesting the presence of monsters in ‘their’ land, ultimately disturbing the peace of the city. 

Humans burned your houses down to the ground, including your helpless mother in their supposed quest for peace. After having kept the harmonious liaisons for quite some time, your kind had gone back to your primitive instincts, fighting for your rights along with an army of beasts, hybrids, witches, and members of the undead. It was catastrophe epitomized, a day that no one wishes to relive. 

It isn't fair to say that the monsters emerged victorious when so many had perished, your mother included. Eventually, these mortal beings realized there were no match for formidable creatures and soon took their leave of the once prosperous city. Soon enough, humans became history to monsters and vice versa. 

Rebuilding your beloved city from scratch was no easy task, proving to be even more difficult with the agony that came with burying the past. To prevent any more man-made disasters in the future, the witches had agreed to cast a spell over Santa Shelea: that your city will forever remain invisible to the human eye. 

And it has remained such until the present, appearing as part of the picturesque mountain ranges Tersnoa has to offer. Far from the city and beneath the mountains of lush forestry, Hotel Tersnoa stands tall in the middle of Santa Shelea - the city where monsters thrive. If you could only speak for yourself, the city could easily pass as the eighth wonder of the world. 

Hotel Tersnoa isn’t the only legacy handed down from your great-great-great-grandfather (“G4 for short”, he’d offered one day, explaining that he had to ‘blend in with the now’). During the past millennia, he had also established a conglomerate of enterprises across the world. He’s even founded BloodHub, an international focus group centered on blood diseases and blood donations but you wouldn’t want to delve on the beginning and end of that. 

The responsibility of taking over the hotel had been passed on to your father since then and his ardency for the hotel was unparalleled, the bequest of the hotel has surpassed the original Hotel Tersnoa of which your grandfathers had initially envisioned it to be. Your father would spend hours on end surveying every detail, nook, and cranny of the beloved establishment, barking orders left and right. 

On top of being a father, he had busied himself with the responsibilities of a hotelier. Yet you knew deep down it was all but a façade to mask the void that your mother left in his heart. There were many nights you’d caught him staring into the distance in a secluded place, away from the hustle and bustle at the hotel. You loved your father dearly, wanting nothing else for him but the happiness he truly deserves. 

When you had turned of age, you insisted on taking over the hotel in your father’s stead. You knew that your mother’s passing had been a toll too great to bear for your father, especially in a place where he is constantly reminded of her. You wanted him to enjoy his life, to bring back the life in his eyes, however ironic it may sound as part of the undead. 

Your father had disapproved of the idea at first, reasoning out that it was too big of a responsibility to hand over. He’d told you that you were still young and he wanted you to enjoy your life while you still could. With your adamancy and endless prodding, you had finally convinced him to cave in. Besides, you’re pretty sure you’ll stay young for a long time.

As you have taken on the commitment of being the lady of the house, or hotel rather, your father spent his time moving from one place to another, taking on different identities so as not to reveal his real one. When you were just starting out with your duties as the new hotelier a few years back, he couldn’t leave you behind for a day, checking up on you every two hours just in case an emergency occurs. As if something drastic could happen when more than half of your customers are already dead. 

Years pass by and hourly check-ups became daily ones and then weekly afterwards, until he calls you from halfway across the world every once in a while, just to tease you if the hotel was just as great as he left it. You hadn’t actually seen him in a year, apparently ‘busy’ with his new business venture in Amsterdam.

That’s why when you pick up his scent nearby, you momentarily stop in your tracks. It isn't exactly unusual for your father to have impromptu visits, but you’ve learned that it’s highly unlikely for your father to drop by at such a time like this. 

He avoids peak season at Tersnoa like the plague, let alone a Friday the 13th special like today, in addition to the most anticipated week-long celebration of the hotel’s six hundred and sixty-sixth anniversary. Your father steers clear of times like these at all costs, always making up excuses to avoid the crowd and the stress that comes with it. So much for being the past manager.

You can’t really hold it against him, as it surely has been an arduous feat having run the hotel for almost two centuries. Even though you both laugh it off whenever you tease him about it, you know deep down he genuinely enjoys attending to his customers and making sure they get the best customer service. 

A scoff escapes your lips when you see the infamous Drac-cape nearing. You’re mildly tempted to ignore him altogether, not wanting to be involved with someone who wore something that has run out of style decades ago. Secondhand embarrassment is a thing, and it’s very real.

You have already lost count of the times you’ve told him to get rid of the ridiculous piece of clothing, yet he dismisses you every time, clinging onto the nostalgic feeling that comes with the cape. In consideration of your request, your father had gone so far as acquiring the services of a handful of stylists to make some alterations to the design, and you have to say you’re pretty impressed with the outcome. What else could you have said? The Drac-cape was old but gold. 

You’re about to greet him when a staff approaches you, holding out a folder with papers that require your signatures. Your father stands a meter away with a proud smile, watching you with fondness in his eyes. Once you finish with the papers, he calls out, “Ah, my princess,” arms wide open to greet you with a hug. He’s the first to pull away, hands still resting on your shoulders as he takes a good look at you. “You grow up so fast!” he says jokingly with a wide smile plastered on his face as he pinches your cheeks. 

There’s something off though, something suspicious behind that painstakingly dubious grin on his face. Smiling wasn’t something your father was fond of doing especially in public - too deep into portraying the character of the dark and brooding Dracula depicted in human children’s stories. Plus, your fangs sometimes get in the way, so smiling isn’t really a preferable option. 

Before you get the chance to ask about his sudden visit, another staff member approaches you, another folder in hand. Your father shoos you away before you object, dragged away by your duties for the millionth time tonight. 

“What is it now?” you ask the skeleton beside you, every sound of his movement resembling that of a marimba. “Your presence is being requested by Ms. Catherine at her party, Countess.” 

You’d almost forgotten your cousin Catherine had rented out the hotel’s rooftop to celebrate her engagement to her long-time boyfriend Jericho. You’ve already congratulated and apologized to her plenty of times prior to this day, already knowing that you won't be able to celebrate it properly because of the events being held at the hotel. With the hectic schedule you were running on, you just realized that you hadn't visited her all day. 

It had been a very long week, and you were tired to the bone, but the guilt of not being physically present at her party was gnawing at you endlessly. Almost reaching the point that you forgot your father was just in front of you mere seconds ago - and now he’s disappeared, again. 

Heeding to your cousin’s call, you decide to leave the area, leaving a puff of smoke behind you. You reappear the same way at the rooftop, just beside Catherine herself, who looked like she was hiding from someone, crouched behind a table. 

“Who are you guys hiding f-” Unable to finish your sentence with Cat shushing you, you crane your neck up a little, glancing at the others who were in similar dispositions. Weren’t they all too old to do this in an engagement party? Or was this a new trend Cat wanted to start? 

Your heart clenches nevertheless at the hilarious attempt to hide from whoever or whatever it is they were hiding from. It was quite the scene: an orange tentacle slithering its way to steal a cupcake by the buffet table, Barry Blob thinks he can camouflage as jelly, and Bigfoot was… well, let’s just say he was never meant for a game of hide and seek. The only monster one would have expected to be good at this was your uncle Griffin who was born invisible but he was always the one first spotted because he thinks wearing disguises like a hot pink wig (his choice of the day) would make him unnoticeable. 

And yet this is what they supposedly call ‘hiding’. 

“Is this the new norm during engagement parties? Hiding from the responsibilities of married life I see,” you suppress a snicker with your palm, and when Cat looks back at you to shut you up, she screams with such fright, alarming everybody on the rooftop. 

“Surprise!” Mandy Mummy, one of your closest friends, appears from the other side of the table.  

“You guys were meant to surprise me?” Your brows furrow. “Are you all sure? What’s the occasion?” 

Frankie Frankenstein emerges from behind the bar, throwing a suspicious look at you. “You’re kidding me, right?”  

You look at the others in the hopes of finding a hint behind what was really going on, but Cat beats you to it, extending her arms out as she beckons you closer, “I don’t know how a monster could possibly forget the day she was born, but we’re here now so, happy birthday my dearest forgetful cousin!” Cat gives you an extra slap on your ass in greeting. 

Realization finally hits you, reminiscing the short moments throughout the day that had hinted on your birthday. You did see a few of your staff nudge each other in your presence, but you only thought it was because they were hesitant to say something when they knew that it had been a hectic week so far, tight schedules and all. 

The rest of the crowd clear out, revealing themselves from their hiding places. Your father appears from one side, carrying a dangerously huge three-tiered cake. 

Mandy approaches first, narrowing her eyes at you, “Wait, you seriously forgot your own birthday?” Cat answers in your stead, “She did,” while she points a finger to her temple, reiterating her capability of subjective precognition to the rest of the group. 

“Uncle Drac! Can you remind me again how are we related?” 

“I wanted to ask the same thing!” Your father exclaims, grabbing a glass of champagne from a gargoyle waiter and trailing off to greet his friends. 

“Cat, you know I’ve been busy for so long, I don’t exactly have a birthday countdown every year to remind me of something that is...not really that significant.” 

“______, I know we’re practically dead, but that doesn’t mean you have to live like one.” 

“Why don’t you try living in my shoes then, hm?” 

“I would, if they were Valentinos.” Unable to rack your brain for a smarter response, you roll your eyes at her instead. The guests start singing happy birthday in chorus as they near you. The night continues on a light note, people wishing you another year of happiness and prosperity, likewise congratulating your cousin for her engagement and her soon wedding. 

As the conversation eventually moves on to wedding preparations, Frankie spills on the details of Cat’s plans for her bachelorette party. You weren’t so keen with the idea - not when this was the first time it had been offered by the people closest to you. 

Bachelorette parties were primarily a human thing - some sort of commemoration of debauchery as you had understood from Google when you had looked it up a few years ago. These kinds of celebrations weren’t exactly included in your traditions but judging by the photos you’ve seen online; you’re sort of glad this wasn’t classified as the norm in your world yet. 

Cocktail parties with half-naked bartenders? Masseurs drenched in vaseline? Topless butlers serving dinner? What was with having male nudity as the baseline for such an occasion? 

You didn’t think this was going to be a trend in the monster-verse anyways, as your kind comes in different shapes and sizes and these parties just might end up with one seeing a lot more than necessary. 

When you try to confirm the plans with Catherine, she just shrugs at you three, telling you all that it was going to be a surprise. You, Mandy, and Frankie groan in unison at her reply. 

“Impatient much? You still have the whole day tomorrow to pack your things.” 

“We’re going on a trip?! And you’re telling me about this just now? A day before our leave?!” 

“Yeap. How long does it take you to pack your clothes?” 

“Do you not realize that I have a whole ass hotel to manage? I mean it’s not like I don’t want to go but surely, all my responsibilities cannot be handed over in a span of twenty-four hours? Plus, our week-long six hundred and sixty-sixth anniversary special isn’t over yet! You could have at least told me two weeks ahead?”

Someone places a hand on your shoulder, and you look up to see your own father smiling at you. “You’re just like your mother, darling. Stop worrying so much!” 

“Exactly why I told him instead,” Cat raises her eyebrows at you as she points to your father. “Catherine’s right. So, I’ll be taking care of the hotel while you girls have some girly time by yourselves,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. 

“Are you sure you can handle Hotel Tersnoa?” Your father almost spits out the champagne as he looks at you incredulously. “Excuse me? Need I remind you who handed the hotel over to you?” 

“I know, it’s just… a lot has changed. We’ve expanded the hotel, there’s now a theme park, and a new island has just been opened… it can be a lot…” 

Your father dismisses your worries with a wave and a kiss on your forehead. “Nothing I’ve never done before. You’ll be back before you know it. What could possibly go wrong?” 

Right. Your father’s words echo in your head. 

What could possibly go wrong? 

“A cruise?!” 

You’d gone through hours of travel, your ass was hurting from the prolonged sitting, and Catherine had not once told you where you were headed, mouth zipped shut. And yet here you were, mouth agape in shock – the betrayal, the treachery, the deception.

Docked in front of you is a humongous white ship, honking its siren with all its might. You’re struggling with attempting to even comprehend the entire situation. Your cousin did not just drag you out of your hotel to another… hotel...on water. 

“Welcome to the Bermuda Triangle, where you’ll embark on a monster cruise of a lifetime,” announces a fish-man or man-fish creature clad in a sailorman’s outfit (well he was definitely a fish, but had the limbs of man). All your expectations for this trip had just been obliterated by a singular monotonous, unidentifiable being. 

“Psst. Why is your face like that? I heard the fare was astronomical!” Frankie whispers when Mandy squishes between you two, trying to get a brochure from a stall nearby.

Everybody knew Cat was more than willing to spend her money on anything she has set her eyes on (just like that exclusive collection of Hermes bags she has back home) and actively looks for other ways to spend her money (such is a costly cruise) so this trip didn’t surprise you as much as it did Frankie. You’re wondering though, how she found out about this cruise and why she intends to celebrate her bachelorette’s party here. 

If a disinterested man-fish was tasked to welcome its guests, well, you can tell there’s really nothing much to look forward to here. You just hope this cruise will give her money’s worth, or rather, at least half of it. 

“Hey! This looks amazing!” Mandy exclaims, flipping the colorful brochure over a couple times. “There’s even a waterpark, multiple dining options, bowling alleys, a theater…” 

“Sounds like everything you can do…at the hotel!” You can’t help the rising pitch of your voice by the end of your reply while your friends laugh at your indignance. Mandy and Frankie ignore your protests, while Cat whispers near you, “Wait ‘til you see the itinerary!” 

“Not you too?! Seriously though, I don’t get why you’ve chosen to do it here, instead of our own hotel…” you pout, head hung low. 

Cat pulls you aside, letting the other passengers move forward, “Listen to me darling, alright? All these months, years, all you did was work and work and work again, we barely had any time to hang out together just like the old times, so I figured a break from all your customer service shenanigans and let yourself be served for once. Take a vacation from running everyone else’s vacation. Is that alright with you?” 

Giving her an apologetic smile, you pull her into your arms for a tight hug. She wasn’t lying though when she said you had barely spent time with each other. Back when your father was still running the hotel, you’ve spent your early years always practically attached at the hip: from crying over your first boyfriends, through that emo high school phase, to pursuing several degrees, and to spontaneous trips halfway across the world when you were bored. 

“Plus, Jer and I intend to start a family as soon as we get married, so these girl trips won’t come by often all the more.” 

“You know I love you to the moon and back right? And will you stop making me feel like an aunt when I’m not yet one?! But, to be honest with you, that would be really cute though! Little you and little Jerichos running around… but you know, if Jer will come close to laying a finger on you, just say the word…” 

“We zinged, darling. You have nothing to worry about. Maybe you’ll find your zing on the cruise too.”

You roll your eyes at her fondly. As if. 

It doesn’t change the fact that you still have second thoughts about this trip. Begrudgingly, you climb up the stairs, sulking as you watch your friends and the rest of the group of the monsters huddle in excitement as they ‘oohed’ and ‘aahed’ at the cruise’s features.

When you spot a few of Hotel Tersnoa’s beloved patrons in the group that arrived with you, your heart sinks a little, refusing to believe a fancy cruise could ever question their loyalty to the greatest monster hotel known to your kind. Guess nothing ever truly lasts, even with the undead.

You had initially expected the ship’s interiors with no sort of identity at all, resembling an array of badly mixed cocktails, individually appealing yet when put together looks like a lousy rainbow (you swear it’s not the spiteful hotelier inside you that’s speaking). Much to your chagrin though, the imaginary cruise you had inside your head was definitely not the case at all.

The rest of the monsters behind you continue to marvel at the cruise ship. And, quite frankly, you too are quite impressed yourself, as much as you hate to admit it. You’d never though such modern, minimalistic styling could fit a hotel on water but this cruise just seems to carry it pretty well.

The moment you set foot on the carpeted floors of the cruise, you’re awed at what seems like a celebration of the beauty of mother nature with nearly all furnishings made out of organic materials and colors exhibiting earthly hues. To add to the experience, preserved palm tress line the corridors and chandeliers made of LED lights litter the varnished high ceilings. It was like land on water – if that made any sense at all.

Man-fish continues to lead your group through the hallways, until you arrive at the main deck, just as picturesque as shown on the brochure Mandy held onto earlier. You were starting to realize why your cousin was into this whole cruise.

The creature half your height goes on to share a little history on the cruise ship – known as the Legacy. Similar to your hotel, cruising lines was also a family business for decades but it was only this year that the owners decided to extend the lines from taking human passengers to making a whole ship exclusively for monsters.

As this was the vessel’s maiden voyage and with your group being the first batch of guests to ever board the ship, a welcoming event was to happen tomorrow night, and the creature mentioned something about having the official invites placed in your rooms along with your luggage.

Right on cue, the moment you lean on the railing to overlook the deck below, a marching band appears from the side – a whole parade of man-fishes clad in band uniforms and red and gold. There’s even a few of them who start doing acrobatics, the sight of which has Frankie giggling to herself as she comes up with the term ‘fishcrobats’. She claims she’s the punniest monster in the universe.

The lights on the deck dim suddenly, and bright bursts of color start shooting up from a deck above you, fireworks lighting up the evening sky. It was a breathtaking display, with the others spiraling upwards while the rest exploded into a thousand more sparks. The display continues for a few more minutes, until the band makes a drumroll and a spotlight moves across the length of the ship and points at someone across the deck.

“Woah…” Mandy gapes, words drawling out to a low whistle. “Who. Is. That.”

A man in an all-white dress uniform emerges from the upper deck. “Ahoy there! Welcome aboard! Bienvenido, Zdravstvuyte, Guten Tag, Bonjour! I am V, captain of the Legacy…” Applause follows as the fireworks die down completely. “And yes, I’m human, but don’t hold that against me.” The captain’s eyes scan the crowd until they meet yours. He winks.

As soon as the blonde-haired captain looks away, Frankie squeals in your ear. “He totally just winked at you!”

“No, he didn’t,” you retort, never having been so grateful for not having a pulse, else Frankie would have your heart beating out of your chest.

“Yes, he did.”

The two of you were about to start bickering about the wink when the captain continues, “I’m very excited to have each and every one of you onboard for our very first monster cruise!” As unusually graceful as nobody else could probably do, he slides down the railing of the stairs as if he were just gliding through thin air.

“You’ll enjoy gourmet dining, thrilling adventures, and non-stop entertainment – all on our way to our final destination: the lost city that isn’t lost anymore – Atlantis!”

Your jaw drops – not because Atlantis had ‘apparently’ been found, in fact, it was never lost in the first place; they just cut ties with surface dwellers because of damage brought about by water pollution. In your defense, it was the humans were uncontrollable with their despicable habits but you can’t really put the blame on the Atlantians. It was their home after all, and they only wanted to protect it. Just as you would with Tersnoa.

What truly surprised you though, was how he managed to snag a partnership with them when you had vying for one since you took over the hotel. Well, your business proposition was never officially offered on the table, but still! Perhaps, if you made an entrance as grand as him, you would have succeeded though.

It was getting crowded where you stood, and Mandy tugs at your hand, pulling you down to the lower deck. Begrudgingly, you go down the stairs, sulking as you watch your friends and the other monsters huddle in excitement. You even recognize a few of the other passengers who are likewise patrons of Tersnoa. Or at least they were, now. Guess nothing truly ever lasts, even with the undead.

He reaches the lower deck in no time, greeting the other monsters with a wave and a smile. When he nears and you get a better look at him, you feel your entire body shudder – in a strangely delightful way, wave after wave of this electric feeling reaching until the very tip of your toes.

It feels as if every vein inside of you is pulsating, despite being practically dead. You felt…alive. A million thoughts rush through your head, with your gut feeling telling you something that is almost unmistakable. You have never, ever felt this way before but your intuition tells you this is the exact embodiment of the stories you’ve heard so many times in your lifetime. Could it be? Was it even possible?

The sensation was inexplicable, foreign too, yet it felt right. Like… like it was meant to be, perfectly destined in the most peculiar of ways. Digging through your purse, you retrieve the small mirror inside made specifically for vampires. Taking a quick glance of your reflection on the glass, you take notice of your irises that have turned purple, almost lavender in color. Gulping, you return the mirror into your purse at once, confirming your suspicion.

You zinged.

With the captain.

Who was human.

Frankie nudges your shoulder when she notices you stiffening beside her. “Is everything okay?” You feel your friend’s blue, stitched hand land on your shoulder. Giving Frankie a short reassuring nod in response, she shrugs it off, not before hearing her mumble about noticing something different with your eyes. Thankfully, the manifestation of the zing comes in different ways with every monster specie, so Frankie wouldn’t get the hint that you’re in deep, deep trouble.

Years of listening to stories of your culture and traditions rush to your head, all with the same words resonating throughout your brain. ‘It can make you cry; it can make you high; but, one thing a zing never does is lie – for it stays with you until you die.’

Shaking your head, you attempt to rid your thoughts of this man. He shouldn’t be your zing; he can’t be your zing. This was a huge mistake. The must’ve made a mistake. How could the very kind of people who murdered your own would also be the one designated for you – a soulmate, in human’s terms. You don’t even know how you're supposed to react to such a thing. Was it a curse? A blessing perhaps?

You continue to watch the man in silence. Sweet baby Jesus, the visuals this man was bestowed with. Maybe the man up there was real after all, and he had spent all seven days to craft this ethereal being. Even if he was meters away, his mere presence already makes you weak in the knees – considering the fact that you really haven’t officially met the person.

With his almost unrealistic face, you’re left wondering if your bodily reactions were caused by your zing or the captain really holds such prowess over creatures of all kinds. You wonder if it’ll be easy to forget your painful past and move forward? Trust the zing like all monsters do?

After promulgating the greatness of the monster population and how big of an honor it is for him to hold the first ever monster cruise, he also apologizes afterwards on behalf of his fellow humans for the mistreatment of your kind, drawing nearer and nearer to your group, eyes trained on you when he’s not busy welcoming the other monsters.

In an attempt to keep yourself from trembling, you clasp your hands together. Momentarily taking his eyes off you as he greets another guest, Mandy leans toward you and nudges your rib, “That, my friend, is what you call: a hottie. Go get him, tiger!” Blinking your eyes, you recollect yourself, giving her a dubious look, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Honey, anyone with a single working eye can confirm to themselves that the captain has been hand-sculpted by the gods themselves. And don’t tell me you don’t notice the bed eyes he’s giving you the whole time,” Mandy chortles bandaged shoulders bumping against your own as she does. “Deny it all you want now, darling, but I have this gut feeling that the love boat will be sailing very soon.”

Just then, as if on cue, the captain makes a beeline for your group, a small sultry smile playing on his lips. You feel like your insides wanted to crumble into sand and disperse into thin air. God, the things this man does to you…Rather, the things you want him to do to you. Now, your own brain betrays you with inappropriate thoughts and he’s currently in front of you looking like a whole course meal. He has such pretty eyes too and oh- this is bad. This is very bad.

“Ah, if it isn’t the one and only Countess Dracula,” he says, voice low as his eyes bore themselves into your soul (as if you still had one). “May I?” The captain takes your hand in his and gingerly places a kiss on the back of your palm. You’re rendered speechless by the small gesture, while the rest of your friends gape at the captain like he had suddenly grown three more heads.

“I’m known as V around here,” he keeps your hand in his, and you’re instantly all too conscious of everything – what if your hand was too cold for him? Or too clammy perhaps? All your worries are diminished when he doesn’t seem to take notice of any of your present worries, tugging you closer to him as he inches towards your face, warm breath fanning against your cheek, “but you can call me Taehyung.”

He pulls back just as slowly, sending you and your friends an innocent boxy smile. “Guess I’ll be seeing you lot around! Please enjoy the cruise. And remember, if there’s anything you need, feel free to approach me anytime.”

Walking away to attend to his captain-y duties, the three other girls gather around the moment he’s out of sight. “What. Was. That.” Catherine questions, punctuating each word with numerous blinks.

“I’ve already sent a prayer to Anubis to take care of our dear ______’s departed soul,” chimes Mandy, waving a hand in front of you in the hopes of taking you out of your shock.

“Whoosh! There goes _______’s undies!” Frankie adds as she throws her head back in laughter. Your cousin tsks at them to get them to stop teasing you, but with the smirk she’s sporting on her face, you’re certain she’s going to bring this up sooner or later.

With a deep sigh, you hang your head low. This was going to be a long vacation.

Right after Taehyung stages the entrance of the century and greets the cruise’s guests, he discreetly makes his way to a less crowded part of the ship and walks briskly along a dimly lit hallway. Pushing forward an inconspicuous panel on the wall leading to a secret passage, Taehyung silently makes his way done to the lower level of the ship.

The stateroom is almost pitch black as he enters; Taehyung feels his way through the room, solely relying on muscle memory to head to the bedroom. When he turns on the light to check on his great-grandfather, the old man squints, croaking out Taehyung’s name. Rushing to the elder’s side, the dutiful great-grandson pours water on the glass by the bedside table.

Taehyung perches himself on the edge of the bed, taking his great-grandfather’s frail hands in his own. “Dracula – is he on board?” the old man rasps, voice almost whispery. “No,” the younger man shakes his head in denial, “but his daughter is.”

The former winces a little when he tries to shift in his bed, “Even better. Tear him apart by slowly taking his loved ones away from him one by one. Let him feel the pain we had to go through.”

The blonde-haired captain sighs when his great-grandfather coughs again, wheezing as he does. “Promise me you’ll avenge our family, Taehyung. I’m not sure if I’m going to make it any longer, but if I won’t…” he coughs, the strain on his voice evident. “Grandpa, it’s okay, it’s going to be okay.” The old man waves his hand, dismissing Taehyung, “Promise me…for your mother, for your father, and the rest of our family. You and I are the only ones left, my dearest great-grandson. We have no one else to rely on but each other.” The old man’s hand clasp weakly against Taehyung’s.

He tucks his great-grandfather in his bed, and waits patiently for the old man to fall asleep before leaving the room.

You and the girls roam around the deck for a little longer, before deciding to call it a night and head to your rooms. It’s quite the walk all the way there, but as you get farther from the hustle and bustle of the crowd and onto a more secluded part of the vessel, not to mention the rooms are getting father apart from each other, you suppose Cat had picked the best suites available on the cruise. Typical.

Not putting much thought into it with exhaustion taking over your body, you tiredly take a half body bath and head to bed.

Rising a few hours later, you plan on checking out your cousin’s accommodation choices. Just as man-fish had mentioned the night before, there was in fact an invitation placed on top of your bedside table, the gold linings too attractive to miss out on. How could you have possibly missed it though, is all up to your fatigue last night, far too tired to even scan the room.

Heading to the kitchen first to make yourself a cup of coffee, you’re greeted by the beautiful glow of the sunrise as you exit your bedroom. You’re momentarily stunned by the beauty of it, as it was your first after a long time to see the sun, or at least a quarter of it. Contrary to popular belief, sunlight doesn’t incinerate vampires, nor does it make you vanish into thin air. In fact, the closest stories had gotten to your biological truths was that sunlight made you weaker – sort of, because the only explanation for it was that you get really bad sunburn under its rays. But that’s nothing a small bottle of Witch Republic’s Suncream Lotion SPF 5000 can’t fix.

Equipped with a 60-inch smart television mounted on a wall, an equally large painting was hung across the room, serving itself as the background for the sitting area.

The fittings are generously provided for, if the room truly claims it to be a suite for couples: a settee is placed in front of the television for viewing purposes, and another is placed vertically across for lounging and enjoying the view of the balcony.

The balcony – was magnificent in all senses of the word. From a picture on the tiny ‘Legacy’ booklet you grabbed from the table, there really wasn’t much to a panoramic view of the sea but as you pass through the wide windows, the beautiful orange glow from the dawn adds a lovely burst of color in the predominantly monochrome furnishings of the room.

You inhale deeply, breathing in the fresh sea air. You spend a few more moments there, leaning over the balcony until Frankie ruins your moment from a couple of meters away, calling you loud enough for the rest of the ship and the Atlantic Ocean to hear. She drawls your name out, screaming her excitement over your rooms. “I haven’t slept like this since I got my arm re-stitched!” You laugh at her before waving and returning to the sitting room.

A part of you was taking mental notes – possible additions and improvements to your hotel, yet the other half of you wants to allow yourself to enjoy small pleasures like these. Maybe Cat was right all along, that you needed a break from running the hotel and truly relax for a while. With the size of this suite though, you can’t help but wonder if Cat got you all the couple suites solely for your enjoyment or hers.

You decide to take your mug of coffee with you to the balcony and breathe more of the satisfying sea air until the sun rises in its entirety and you retreat back to your room, wanting to sleep in the warm duvet of your bed once more. Maybe this vacation won’t be that bad after all.

Shopping with Catherine was never an easy task. If you could say so yourself, shopping with your cousin was a whole workout on its own.

It’s been three hours since she’s dragged you, Mandy, and Frankie out of your rooms and offered you a shopping spree and free lunch. Who was one to deny such graces? Even when all three of you knew you all would end up following your cousin wherever she went until you’d all complain about how she has to take too long when she always ends up buying everything she sees anyways.

As you stare at your seated self by the full-length mirror, you start to have second thoughts about discontinuing that beginner’s program subscription in yoga before you let Catherine drag you out of the comfort of your room. Sighing in defeat, Frankie turns to you with a similar expression on her face.

Starving, the three of you leave Cat momentarily to look for something to eat, and at the sight of a frozen yogurt stall across the hallway from where you’re seated by the Chanel windows, you and the rest of the girls immediately saunter towards the quaint stall.

While you wait for the girl to finish up your orders, your eyes are busy wandering all over the place in an attempt to count how many shops and boutiques they managed to allocate inside the cruise ship. Guess your hotelier side is already one with your true self.

As you watch a loud group of male monsters exit the arcade nearby, you catch sight of someone awfully familiar: the last face you’d want to see when you’re stuck inside a cruise ship for a few weeks.

Your eyes follow the group, wanting to make sure your eyes are not playing tricks on you. Like a hawk, you watch the group closely – one man in particular, yet he won't seem to look in your direction. You wanted to forget all about it and pretend you didn’t see anything, but you figure this is going to cause you a number of sleepless nights if you don’t. Quickly, you resort to a plan that will have to cost you more energy than just observing, but you were determined to make sure that it was really him.

Focusing your vision on a nearby potted plant, you make the clay vessel move an inch as you try to catch his attention. The first try doesn’t work and neither does the second. Hell bent on your resolution, the third time works the charm (obviously with a more significant amount of distance the plant has moved).

Your suspicions are confirmed – it’s truly him.

Just like that, all sorts of emotions course through you and you feel the corners of your eyes starting to well with tears. He laughs at something one of his companions say, and you feel your heart clench as you look at the same smile you fell for years ago.

It’s takes you a while before you process somebody has been calling you name several times, then you see Mandy waving her hand in front of you. “You okay there? What happened?”

Etching an ingenuine smile on your face, you turn to face her as she hands you the dessert, “Nothing…just thought I saw someone familiar…”

“Mhmm,” Frankie hums, scooping a large portion of yogurt into her mouth, “as long as it’s not you-know-who, then it’s irrelevant,”

“Actually, I think it is him.”

Frankie chokes on the sliced strawberry topping she just ate. “What?!” Mandy places a hand on your shoulder, an apologetic look on her face. “Don’t tell me that fucker is also here?!” Shushing her quickly, you reach out to her to tug at her arm to keep her quiet.

“What fucker are you talking about?” Catherine questions, approaching the three of you with two extra paper bags in her hand. Frankie keeps her mouth shut, thankfully while Mandy comes in to the rescue. “Frankie was just talking about how fucking tasty this froyo is. In fact, I think so too – would you like to try some?” The girl offers her cup, eventually feeding Cat with a spoonful of fruity toppings.

The subject is quickly diverted and as your cousin rummages through her bag to look for the cruise’s official pamphlet, both Frankie and Mandy give you a knowing look.

“Lunch anyone?” You propose to the other three, already wishing you’d soon be forgetting about even seeing your ex-fiancée earlier. 

You’d gotten back to your room around half past five, nearly collapsing to the floor after hours and hours of shopping with your cousin. The girls had agreed to use your room to prepare for the party later (one discussion you don’t remember agreeing to) and had gone around the sitting area, placing their bags done and going through their purchases.

You, on the other hand, had gone straight to the kitchen to look for something to drink. Besides, you just know they’re going to ask for something too later on, so you just grab a few bottles of water for the girls. As you rested against the cool fridge while opening a bottle of your own, you spot a punnet of strawberries sitting on top of a counter.

“Did any one of you bring strawberries here before we left?”

When they chorused their replies of denial, you check the strawberries warily, lifting them off the marble top. You hear something slide down when you open the container. A card came in with the strawberries.

Returning to the living room with strawberries in one hand and the card in the other, Frankie stands from the settee and snatches the card away from you. She waves the small piece of paper in the air, claiming it was a love letter. “Dear _______, I really think you’ve got a wonderful smile, but it’d be better if it was the only thing you’ll be wearing tonight!” she says, pretending to read the note.

“What?! You’ve already made a move without telling us about it? Lemme see!” Mandy exclaims, running after your stitched friend.

“Oh!” Frankie says, pointing to the sky, “Looks like we might be expecting a few inches tonight, hmm?” she adds, snickering as she pokes the inside of her cheek with her tongue repeatedly, and rather inappropriately.

“Y’all disgusting really. ‘M going to shower.”

“Make sure you don’t have too much fun with the showerhead!”

“Fuck you Mandy!”

“I would if you were my type!”

Catherine waits until she hears the water running before turning to her two friends left at the sitting area. “I’m worried.”

“About?”

“My cousin.” The eldest of the girls says, tapping her nails against the couch – a nervous habit. Frankie sets the card back down and nests herself on the carpet just across Cat. “What is there to worry about?”

“This thing between my cousin and the captain?” Carding her fingers through her hair, she closes her eyes before continuing, “Does the fact that he’s human not bother you…at all?”

“The dude’s harmless! And he better think it through when he tries to do something – he’s literally in a ship full of monsters. Do something dumb, he can get his head bitten off in no less than two seconds.”

Catherine is not convinced.

“Plus, I’m sure it’s just a one-time fling – surely, ______’s smart enough to know that. I just firmly believe that one must get laid regularly because penetrative sex is medicinal. And who knows? There might be cobwebs down there already!” Frankie adds.

Cat flings a brochure at Frankie before scrolling through her phone’s gallery then stopping at a portrait of you and her. “I’m just concerned about _____’s wellbeing. This is the most time we’ve spent together for the past two years, and I’m not even sure if she’s fully recovered from what she’d been through with you-know-who.”

“Even worse, what if she falls for the dude? Or she zinged? Or they both zinged?!”

“Hey, hey…” Mandy scoots over to Cat’s side and wraps an arm across her shoulder, “you’re overthinking now babe, and! This is your bachelorette party, stop worrying about stuff. _____ is a strong, independent woman. If she can handle the best hotel in monster history, then handling a man will be too easy.”

“Come out already!” Mandy whines impatiently from outside, knocking impatiently on your bathroom door. You smooth a few creases on your dress before you open the door to reveal your outfit. Shock was a heavy understatement. Cat’s usually beautiful features twist into one of distaste, Mandy pretends to gag at the sight, and Frankie avoids your gaze as she purses her lips.

You can’t help the nervous laugh that escapes your throat when they look at you up then down, scrutinizing your fashion choices.

“What. The hell. Is that?!”

“Why are you too covered up?”

Their hostilities continue as you give them a twirl, genuinely confused with their reactions when there’s absolutely nothing wrong with choosing a long-sleeved rayon blouse with ruffles in the front and a green pleated skirt.

“You didn’t tell me you’re meant to apply for the queen’s secretary?” Frankie questions, rummaging through your luggage.

“You mean Queen Elizabeth I?” Mandy adds, snickering along with the rest of the girls.

“Hey! G4 says she was pretty! And educated for her time too!” you cry in protest.

“Same with you darling. But it’s a party we’re attending and not a royal appointment, so will you do me a favor and wear this instead?”

Your mouth falls agape in shock.

“What?! This dress is… is barely covering anything!” You look closely at the satin blood-red piece of clothing as Catherine hands it to you. Needless to say, just looking at it was a cultural reset.

“Glad to know you’re unaware of that point.” Mandy butts in, “you’ll be happy to know that this dress will get you a man in no time either way.”

“Either way?” Frankie questions before leaving your room to looks for heels to go with your dress.

“Yeap,” the mummy replies, touching up her make-up, “Either you get a man who will cover you up or you’ll find one who will gladly take it off for you later tonight

Catherine coughs, “The captain,” winking at you while she pushes you towards the bathroom, “Chop chop now dear! We still have a party to attend to tonight!”

The party is already in full swing by the time the four of you arrive. The crisp, chilly air hits your face as you get to the main deck, and as you wrap your arms around yourself, you know you're already regretting having worn Catherine’s dress. Arms bare, half of your back out in the open, and a thigh-high slit? Really? A towel could’ve afforded you more modesty than this dress.

Mandy immediately heads to bar, leaving you all to ‘pick your poison for tonight’. Pursing your lips at your mummified friend, you trail after your cousin as she looks for a table to settle yourselves in. You scan the crowd, watching the other monsters move to beat of the music, and also, just in case someone you don’t want to see decides to show up again out of nowhere.

Mandy finds you shortly afterwards with a waiter trailing behind her, carrying a tray of ambiguous looking chalices. Oh boy.

This night was headed straight to hell.

Nearly an hour later, you practically waddle back to your table, breathless and throat parched as the desert. Catherine clings onto you like her Hermes Himalaya Birkin, just as exhausted as you were. Why do you always seem to forget that Mandy dragging your asses to the dance floor has never been the smartest choice?

The moment you get back to your table, you reach for the bronze goblet and down the rest of your drink. The distinctive burn has you keening, tightening your fingers around its stem. Beside you, Catherine coughs after she takes a sip of hers – “What the fuck is in this drink?? Methane?!”

“Throat…on fire…I feel like a fucking dragon,” you attest, voice raspy.

“That, my dear girlfriends, has been mixed by yours truly,” Mandy announces with a proud smile on her face. “I call it the Devil’s Piss.”

You shake your head at her, rubbing at your temples. Starting to feel the sweat break at your hairline, you want nothing more than to return to your suite and sleep the night away. Closing your eyes, you draw a calm scene inside your head: watching the sun set by your balcony as you sip on your hot chocolate –

Your dreams of orange skies and the soft breeze are cut short when you feel a tap on your shoulder. “Countess, the captain requests your presence on the bridge.” Your eyes follow the direction of where he was pointing and see a pair of eyes staring back at you.

Perhaps sleep could stay second on your list tonight.

Cat wiggles her eyebrows suggestively as you bow your head in embarrassment, your cheeks flushing when the rest of the girls whistle and howl as the man-fish stoically escorts you to the bridge. Once you arrive at the top of the stairs, the man adjusts your grip on his elbow as he gently takes your hand and stretches it forward for you to continue on by yourself. “The captain will be waiting inside, Countess” He bows curtly, and your left on your own to walk towards the bridge.

“Countess.” There’s the low timbre of his voice again, sending shivers down your spine effortlessly as you close the door behind you. He doesn’t speak after that, just taking in what you’re wearing tonight, subconsciously biting on his bottom lip as he takes in the outfit your friends have chosen for you.

Every step you take is wobbly, like your legs have turned into goo. The chilly breeze up here is likewise not helping your skin already prickled with goosebumps.

“_______,” Taehyung grabs your hand and gently places a kiss on the back of your palm. Another strike of electricity shoots up your spine at the small gesture. Goodness, what the hell was going on with you?

“Y-you don’t have to do this e-every time we meet.” Inwardly cringing at your shaky voice, you look away and exhale deeply in an attempt to calm your nerves.

It doesn’t help.

Especially not when the captain is less than an arm-length away, and being able to see him this close is doing dangerous things to you. “This is the first time I’ve been on a ship’s bridge,” you comment lamely, keeping the conversation on a sane note. The thirsty ass hoe inside you doesn’t seem to approve of the idea though, unfortunately.

“Really now? How is your first time on the bridge then?”

“It’s…different.”

“Different? How so?”

“Different from trying to run a hotel I guess, which was all I was doing for the past few years…It’s an unlikely comparison, I know, but being here…it’s like you get to oversee everything from the bridge, which I never get when I’m back home, like…you know you’re in control?” You were merely blabbering at this point, but then again, your brain loses control of your bodily functions when you're in close proximity with this man.

“You like being in control then?”

The tiny creaking sound coming from the floor tells you he’s taken a step closer to you, and the warmth coming from him is driving you insane. Damn this bloody dress of Catherine. You’re at a loss for words, neurons short-circuiting at both his question and how it’s equally chilly and hot at the same time in this small space.

It’s too much for you to handle, too much that you can't seem to find the appropriate words to voice out a reply, instead, you just turn around to face him. A gasp escapes your lips when you accidentally bump into his chest when you do so.

“Oh! Crap! I-I’m sorry…” You apologize meekly, fiddling with your hands and refusing to meet his eyes at all costs. The captain places your chin between his fingers and lifts your face for him to look at. He doesn’t say a word either, instead, just leans down and captures your lips in a feverish kiss.

Surprised – was an understatement. You hadn’t really expected him to call you over to the bridge and the next thing you knew he’s already kissing you. He immediately pulls away when you don’t reciprocate, apologizing profusely and mumbling about misplaced affections.

“No!” You exclaim, causing the captain to jump a little. You gather your courage and rub at your temples. “I mean…Captain V, your affections have not been misplaced, it’s just this…monster thing that has me acting like this the whole time, and I really have zero control over it and…”

You don’t get to finish your sentence as you feel his warm, moist lips on yours again. His strawberry-tasting lips glide over yours smoothly that you find yourself leaning towards him as you melt into the kiss. You’re first to pull away this time, breathless. “Forgive me, Countess…I’ve been wanting to do that since I first laid eyes on you on this ship,” he says, cupping your face as he rests his forehead against yours. “So beautiful,” Taehyung whispers against the shell of your ear and trails a finger from your cheek and eventually down to your collarbones as he ogles the cleavage Cat’s dress had generously given you tonight.

“Taehyung.” He places a lingering kiss on your shoulder. “Call me Taehyung, please.” He smooths his hand over your hips, tightening his grip as he pulls you closer and kisses you once more. You feel something hard against your stomach – oh. Your mouth parts when he starts to grind, slowly and devilishly against you and he takes this opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

His gaze darkens when he sees the expanse of skin the slit of your dress reveals as you shift your legs, thigh now out in the open. Attaching his lips to yours again, Taehyung distracts you from the way his slender fingers dance their way up dangerously near your core.

Your head bows in embarrassment when you remember Mandy checking if you’d worn the right underwear earlier, ‘If they’re not lace, they have to go.’ So when she busted inside the bathroom as you were changing into Cat’s clothes earlier and saw your favorite cotton panties (with an embroidered flower on the front), she quickly rips the material in distaste, strongly suggesting that commando is the way to go. It won't be long until Taehyung discovers –

“No panties huh?” Taehyung observes, voice low and deep. “Yes,” you reply breathily, closing your eyes as you ignore how you're throbbing all over in such a short period of time. You try to regain your wits back, your first zing too overwhelming that everything seems like a haze.

With a new, albeit questionable, surge of courage, you move your hand to palm him through his pants. When Taehyung bares his neck to you to elicit a groan, your head subconsciously dips towards the spot where you feel his pulse the strongest. In an instant, your primal instincts begin to take over you, baring your fangs and grazing them dangerously against his skin.

Holy fuck.

This man was going to be the cause of your death.

It’s been a while since you’ve been in close proximity with a human, and being this close to the captain has stirred up something inside of you that you never knew still existed.

Back in the days when humans had mingled freely with your kind, witches had placed suppressants in the Tersnoan atmosphere so that a monster’s primal instincts won't ever be able to take over your diplomatic selves.

Now that you were much older with fully developed senses, being this close to a human with no suppressants whatsoever had inevitably awakened your inborn vampiric tendencies.

Needless to say, your generation of vampires had gone ‘vegetarian’ in a sense. Your lifestyle no longer consisted of hunting down people for food, but you opted for a healthier alternative and a more convenient source of food: coconut juice. Besides, human blood never really came in highly recommended by the older generations, claiming it tasted like loneliness and despair.

What they failed to warn you of, however, was how intense the urge was once you were only a hair-breadth away from a human being who is very much alive. The temptation was getting stronger by the second, and the pulse coming from Taehyung’s jugular vein was ringing loudly in your ears.

Both the desires of hunt and lust were slowly taking over you, your judgment, and your irises, and your lips quake ever so gently at the excitement coursing through your veins. As you feel your irises change its color from their natural ones, to purple then to gold afterwards, the surprise in Taehyung’s eyes has gotten prominent, yet, with astounding self-control, he manages to keep the rest of his body calm and collected.

He gulps at the small smirk that plays on your lips, “To answer your question, I like being in control,” you say lowly, grazing the tip of your nail against his jawline, “but only when the need arises so.”

For a moment, you sense his fright with your golden eyes and fangs on display, but you feel it dissipate quickly when you bunch his shirt in your fists and pull him closer to you. Taehyung then takes this as a cue to continue his torment of his featherlight touches, causing you to lean against the wheel as your head falls backward at the sensation.

Brazenly, he hooks a hand under your thigh and wraps your leg around his hip, allowing himself to grind harder against you, the friction of his dress pants against your bare heat sending you to a state of near delirium. The moment is cut short however as you both hear footsteps approaching the bridge. The captain puts your leg down as abruptly as he hooked his arm underneath it earlier.

As you wait for the two man-fish creatures to pass by the wheelhouse, you and the captain keep a modest gap between each other, letting the staff move across the bridge and until they take their positions by the front portion of the deck. Just as if the captain wasn’t groping you merely seconds ago.

The moment they’re out of sight, Taehyung closes the distance between the both of you, resting his weight on you as he presses you further onto the wheel of the ship. Subconsciously, you bite your lip as you feel his boner practically begging for your attention.

His actions are hastier this time around, and quite frankly, you're glad he has managed to equal the same level of urgency you had. You don’t know how long you’ll be able to hold onto your sanity with the heat pooling in the pit of your stomach. Else, you’d be taking the matter in your own hands.

Every contact of Taehyung’s skin with yours has you skin ablaze, and you’re unsure if it’s due to the (partly) shameful fact that you haven’t been this intimate with someone for the past few years that you're this responsive. He’s fondling your breasts with one hand, unabashedly tweaking and playing with your nipples. The other hand is busy squeezing your thighs, fingers dancing lightly across the exposed skin of your leg.

Your breath hitches as he unexpectedly cups your bare mound, digits swiping against your folds. Body quaking at the feeling, your body leans forward, but Taehyung has other plans, tugging you back harshly to his chest. “You think you can stay still for me sweetheart? You wouldn’t want my staff to think we’re christening the bridge, do you?”

Maybe, just maybe, the thought didn’t sound so bad?

“Oh?” Taehyung hisses when he feels your quick intake of breath at the thought. He finds your clit seconds later, rubbing the nub languidly, “you seem to like the idea, hmm?”

“Taehyung, please,” you beseech, leaning towards his touch and grinding your hips against his palm in desperation. You’re uncertain if this was an effect still caused by the zing but at this point, you just wanted a release from his relentless teasing and you’re more than willing to work for it if you have to.

The captain revels in your responsiveness and as a reward, he complies with your request, quickening his pace and toying your clit with more vigor than ever. Your hands, previously just as busy groping Taehyung, now shoots out to grip at the helm, your high approaching rapidly. He inserts a long, dexterous digit to accompany his other hand, helping you reach your climax faster. A second finger has you reeling, gripping the helm even tighter than before, knuckles turning white at the sheer strength. One kiss on your neck is all it takes, orgasming so hard that Taehyung has to hold you still lest you lose your balance.

You're still panting a minute later, having turned around and resting your hands on Taehyung’s chest for support. You both stay like that for a moment in each other’s arms, until you’re brought back to reality by the captain’s boner brushing against your tummy. “Can I?” you ask as you look up to him, thumbing the waistband of his dress pants.

“_______, darling, as much as I’d want to you right here, there’s too many of my staff roaming around the bridge for the night. And if these creatures walking about isn’t bothersome enough, it’s the fact that fish don’t blink either…so there’s that…” Taehyung states before placing a kiss on your shoulder. “If you desire so, I’d gladly continue this in my room…” the captain offers, looking at you expectantly as another pair of the fish men round the deck.

“I think we should go with that.”

He nods briefly, placing a wet kiss on your temple before taking your hand in his. Giddy as a teenager at the sight of her crush, you let him lead the way to his stateroom, unable to hide the shy smile on your lips. Once he leaves the wheelhouse to one of his first mates for the night, he squeezes your hand and continues on, palm contrastingly warm against yours as you walk to his room together.

“Did you enjoy the strawberries I had sent you earlier this evening?”

“Definitely. They’re one of the sweetest bunches I’ve tried in my life! Thanks for them by the way.”

“You did? They’re handpicked from our very own greenhouse on the ship!” Taehyung looks back at you with the brightest smile, eyes crinkling with the purest delight. Your heart crumples at the sight. How could the zing have possibly chosen this man for you – or worse, how are you supposed to deal with this type of duality?

One moment he’s brazenly fingering you inside the wheelhouse with blinkless staff roaming about and the next he’s talking about growing strawberries and how farming has been therapeutic for him. How is one man so devilish and wholesome at the same time?

Just like that, conversation flowed natural between the two of you: the similarities of having to run a hotel (as well as a heated debate on whether or not a hotel on land or on water is easier to manage), hobbies you enjoy on a spiritual level, and a few bits and pieces of him as Kim Taehyung and not the captain of The Legacy.

You’d just learned he doesn’t drink coffee, nor does he drink alcohol; he plays the saxophone and claims he’s pretty learned with the instrument; and that he loves taking photographs. In addition, he’d also told you about how he was born and raised in Korea hence the faint accent, but he’d grown up moving from place to place with his great-grandfather due to their family business, and that’s how their voyages helped him practice his English and even pick up a few foreign languages.

Your getting-to-know each other session is brought to a pause when the blonde-haired captain stops in front of a door in a dimly lit corridor. Quietly, he fishes for something inside his pockets, takes out his keycard and taps it against the door lock. Taking a peek from outside, you wait for him as he turns the lights on before following him inside.

Mouth agape as you enter, your eyes wander around his stateroom, marveling at the sheer grandeur of the captain’s living space. Just when you thought Catherine had given you and your friends the luxury of staying in a suite large enough to house a family of five, the captain’s stateroom on the other hand could easily pass for at least ten people.

Taehyung’s suite exactly looks like it came from a magazine spread, akin to a million-dollar apartment…at a high-rise residential tower…located in the middle of the busiest city in the world.

The captain lets you roam around his stateroom, a small smile playing on his lips as you gape over every detail in the room. It was modern interior design taking to a whole new level.

Monochromatic in a way, yet for some reason, he had it strategically designed to make it look more dynamic, alive somehow. You were no expert in the field of interior design, but with your modest experience in running a hotel (from choosing what type of cotton will be best for the beddings to organizing parties with more than a hundred participants), you could easily tell every nook and cranny of this room was heavily planned out.

Pointing at the stairs, you wordlessly ask for his permission if you could go up and check out the upper level. Taehyung doesn’t follow right after, momentarily heading to his kitchen. Significantly smaller than the lower floor, the second level houses his bedroom, with a heap of curtains serving as a divider and cover from those staying below.

His bedroom speaks more of him than any other part of the stateroom. Just as he mentioned earlier, there’s an open saxophone case on one corner, next to another black violin case. You also take notice of the makeshift tie hanger he’d made using the coat stand.

What truly catches your eyes though, is the array of photographs hung on the walls. It’s a mosaic of some sort, with photos spread from a corner then occupying half of the adjacent walls. Some are framed, some are printed on canvas, and a number are on photo paper and pasted on the beige wall. They’re caught on film, you reckon, with the distinct grainy resolution common amongst the photos.

Swiping your finger against the wooden frames of the pictures he’d hung, you study each photo thoroughly, trying to figure out the story behind each picture. There’s three more situated on his bedside table, Picking up the one with Taehyung smiling widely beside a boat’s mast.

“Ah, my first sail,” Taehyung says, taking a step near you. The tiny hairs on your nape stand at the feeling of his warm breath against your skin. All of a sudden, you realize he’s standing too close – too close for you to remain sane.

You keep the framed photo in your hands, yet your thoughts have ultimately flown far away from whatever story was behind the picture; like how you hear his heart beat a little faster.

“Enough about me, countess,” the captain whispers as he places a hand over yours and guides yours back down to the bedside table. For a second there, you’d forgotten

For a second there, you’d almost forgotten he literally had the same fingers inside you just a few moments ago and that you’re now reminded of the main and sole purpose why you’re here in his bedroom.

“What about you?” Taehyung sets the strawberries down next to the photograph, then tucks a few strands of stray hair behind your ear. Each teasing touch is driving you closer to madness, like every move of his is calculated as if he knows he has this effect on you.

Lamely, you echo his words, “What about me?”

“Do you still want to look at more of my photographs or shall we continue what we started earlier?” It’s so awfully quiet inside the room that you basically hear yourself gulp at his proposal.

Weren’t your bodily reactions enough to serve as an answer?

You wanted to act less naïve (and appear a whole less desperate) that you’d imagined giving him a proper answer in your head, but here you were, stiff as a gargoyle statue, cowering beneath the warmth radiating off Taehyung.

Thoughts too haywire, you're unable to rack your brain for an appropriate reply, so you return the question to him: one with a double purpose – for him to ponder on and for you to recollect yourself. “What do you want?” Slowly, you turn to face him, bracing yourself for the hormonal uproar you are to experience.

The captain pouts cutely while in thought before darting his tongue out to lick at his lips. Taehyung gently brushes your hair over your shoulder, fingers subsequently tracing the outline of your collarbone. “I want,” he starts off, toying with the strap of your dress and wrapping it around his finger, “to take this off.”

Letting him slide the straps off your shoulders, you inhale deeply, anticipation doubling by the second. With your shoulders tense, the straps fall only until your elbows. Taehyung notices your hesitation and tenderly takes your chin between his thumb and his forefinger, tilting your head up so he could face you properly.

“Hey, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Feeling sorry for him having to deal with your worries, you cup his beautiful face in your hands, “I want to. I really do – it’s just…it’s been a while.”

You're grateful when he leans toward your touch, sending a soft smile your way. “Of course, darling, we’ll take it slow.” Relaxing your shoulders, the thin straps of your dress fall down the length of your arm with the rest of the fabric following shortly after.

Core throbbing immensely with want, you take initiative this time, claiming his mouth with a newfound sense of courage and urgency. Your knees threaten to give in when he matches the intensity of your kiss. With haste, you thumb at the zipper of his pants, causing him to trip on his own feet and fall forward.

The blonde-haired man brings you down to bed with him, stretching his arm out just in time to break his fall, making sure he’s not resting too much of his weight on you. “What happened to taking it slow?”

Taehyung is just as breathless when he helps you with your predicament with his pants. “Fuck it, there’s plenty of time for that later but I need you,” you pant, unable and unwilling to keep your hands to yourself – brushing against his clothed erection, sliding them against his defined chest, wrapping your hands by his neck to pull him closer to you…

“I need you now, inside me, please Tae…”

He withdraws from your body and kneels by the edge of the bed. Legs already shamefully spread and ready, Taehyung rummages through the drawers of his bedside table, looking for something. At the mention of condoms under his breath, you wave at him, trying to catch his attention.

He turns to you, eyebrows raised. “No need. Human sperm can’t get us pregnant anyways. Are you clean?”

“Got checked three weeks ago, that good with you?”

You nod your head, beckoning him over. Taehyung wastes no time, taking his boxers off to free his dick from the confines of his underwear. He crawls over to you and places a kiss on each of your thighs before taking his cock and sliding it against your wet folds.

He uses yours and his essences as lubricant, jerking himself off first before pushing the red tip of his shaft slowly. In consideration of your own pleasure, he doesn’t rush his entrance, just pushing slowly then drawing it back to prep you properly.

Taehyung continues with that, until your hand shoots out to grab him by his wrist, giving him a tug to let him know you’re ready. Silently, he nods, this time pushing his cock inside until he’s fully seated inside your warm walls. “So t-tight.” Taehyung shivers when you experimentally clench around him.

“Babe,” the captain breathes out while heat rises to your face at the term of endearment. “Please don’t do that again, fuck, I might just cum early if… if…” Taehyung falls silent again, groaning as you clench one more time, “you're just one naughty girl aren’t you?”

When you shrug your shoulders in reply, it’s like something inside Taehyung snaps because he gives you a playful smirk before thrusting harshly. You mewl at the feeling, fingers tugging at his hair in encouragement.

“Y-you're so big,” you cry out as he ruts his hips, the tip of his cock deliciously brushing against your sweet spot with every thrust. “Fuck,” Taehyung hisses, continuing the fluid motion of his hips, “your pussy was made just to take me then.”

He goes almost animalistic, thrusting even deeper, stronger as he chases his high. “Think you can cum with me sweetheart?” Taehyung queries, pushing his hair back when he feels the edges of his fringe tickle your cheeks.

Taehyung deftly finds your clit while he’d continued his torment with his hips, a single moan coming from your mouth is all he needs before proceeding with abusing your nether nub. It doesn’t take you both much after that, both your orgasm crashing over you like a tidal wave, one after the other.

A few more hours into the evening and you find yourselves still tangled in each other’s bodies, worshipping each and every inch of skin as you get overcome by lust over and over again.

Taehyung collapses to your side after what seems like… in fact, you’ve actually lost count of how many times you’ve climaxed. Panting, he looks at you with a smile reaching his eyes, “That was…” He’s at a loss for words but when he hears laughter bubble out of you at his cuteness, he joins in.

The laughter dies down, yet you’re still staring at each other – no words needed to explain what had just transpired between the both of you tonight. You stay still and contented, basking in the euphoric bliss. He says he can't stay awake any longer, bidding you a good night’s sleep and sweet dreams.

You manage to stay awake though, on the contrary, swearing to yourself you’d just seen his eyes flash lavender before falling into a deep slumber.

© joontier 2020

Send me your thoughts? x

[glitterge1pen]

Have You Ever Considered Craft Supplies Instead Of Drugs? Then This Might Be For You.

Kyōtani Kentarou x reader, sfw, fluff, 1,691word count 

His room for the most part was clean. It’s main function was for sleep though. This was apparent. His clothes, which were mainly basketball shorts and blank t-shirts, were scattered about in a way that told you he threw them there when going to bed.

Kyotani had told you to give him a few minutes, while he was in the bathroom brushing his teeth and struggling with the cap of his eyeliner pen. You felt comfortable enough in his apartment to check the fridge and see if anything was worth your while. But still you felt a bit like an intruder in his bedroom, which is where you had wandered off to.

The walls were white, mostly bare. There was a poster up for some band you didn't recognize, and another one advertising the Sendai Frogs that looked like he had ripped it off one wall to get onto his. You smiled at the thought of him stealing the poster from the grocery store display window or stadium parking lot.

You give his room one last once over before turning to leave. On your way out you trip over a shoe box. You would have just ignored it but a few tufts of paper flew out from the lid. You bend down to collect them but find that these aren't just trash from the shoe box. Quietly, and with a tinge of guilt, you kneel down to gently put the papers back in the box. The little scraps of paper you had found were actually sticky notes, you couldn't decipher the writing on them because of how faded and old the paper was.

You get one quick glimpse inside the shoe box on Kyotani’s floor. There are dozens of papers, printed photos, receipts, tickets, and what you assume are old keys. You feel like you've seen something very private of Kyotani’s and when you turn around to find him standing in the doorway, you gasp in shock.

“What are you doing in here?”

He seems more concerned and confused about you versus the fact that you are in his room. You decide sarcasm is the best choice of action.

“What? You embarrassed about me being in your bedroom?”

“Shut up and get out!”

Kyotani puts his hands on your shoulders and tosses you out into the hallway.

“Hey, hey, what time is it because we might actually be late to the movie now,”

You say pulling out your phone to get a glance at the clock. There was only twenty minutes before you were supposed to be at the theater.

“We’ll be fine, the trailers always play for too long anyways”

He says leading you out the front door.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

When the team wins a game and you head out to eat with the guys afterwards, your eyes don't usually follow Kyotani’s hands so closely. You hope that no one else has picked up on your new habit. But last week's venture into his bedroom has left you reeling in thought.

Kyotani doesn't really like to be hugged. During movie nights he sits separate from the pile of pillows and bodies. He tolerates head pats and high fives. When he hangs up the phone you can feel how difficult it is for him to say something like “bye I love you” platonic or not.

You hadn't really considered it before, at least not so intently in relation to Kyotani. Most people were easy to understand in their affections and how they garnered it. Or if they weren't so obvious, they made some sort of distinction, a simple “I don't like when people do this” or “I prefer this”.

Being friends with Kyotani you had assumed that he was content with what people gave him because he never asked for more. He didn't hug you when you two parted ways, and you never forced him to. He didn't ask or push on others boundaries but now after seeing that shoe box you wondered why he had never advocated for his own. You thought perhaps it wasnt that Kyotani disliked those other forms of affection or care, but rather he didn't regard those other acts as affections at all.

The sounds of the restaurant fade back in as your thoughts simmer down. You feel Tsukishima and Yamaguchi next to you. Enthralled in a conversation about some show they had been binging together. Apparently Yamaguchi had watched a few episodes without Tsukishima and everyone found the annoyed, bitter expression on Tsukishima hilarious, the table erupting in laughter.

“You good? You've been staring at nothing for five minutes,”

Kyotani said to you before taking another bite into his food. He sat across from you, his elbows propping him up over his plate of food.

“Yeah, just tired today,”

You say shaking your head as if trying to wake yourself up.

As the evening wears on, your eyes still follow Kyotani’s hands. Trying to catch the moment of thievery in action. To see if your contemplations are grounded in Kyotani’s actions or rather thoughts with nothing to hold as they pass you by.

But as everyone files out of the restaurant, the bill already split, the copy of the receipt abandoned on the table, you watch as Kyotani lingers for just a moment, to pocket the slip of paper.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

You couldn't remember the last time you had attempted to burn a CD. Was it you who did it or a friend? It was years ago though that was for sure. You had made three playlists on spotify, checking and double checking that they were private playlists. After arranging them and finding the songs that fit just right with each list you started finding youtube videos of each song. From there you converted the links to MP3 audio.

While your computer whirred and the audio filed loaded onto the disk you thought about decorating the CD cases. Of course covering the clear plastic case with glitter gel pen and cute stickers was very tempting. But you weren't sure that was Kyotani’s style. At the same time this was supposed to be a gift from you. You met yourself halfway.  Decorating one CD case like how you would have wanted, and the other with more of a Kyotani flair, the third somewhere in between the two.

When the CD’s were done you carefully placed them into their new plastic homes. Grabbing a black sharpie to scribble the playlist names onto each. You felt like wrapping them would be too extravagant so you settled for tying a ribbon around the two.

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

“What the hell do you want?” Kyotani says as he pulls up next to you on the curb outside your place. You had texted him earlier while he was at work, asking if could stop by after he got off. He has the window rolled down and you take it upon yourself to unlock the passenger door and climb inside.

"I wanted you to test these out"

You were hoping that you had done everything right with the computer.You hand him the CD's, he flips them over in his hands inspecting them.

“Is it cool if I take these ribbons off?”

You nod and he turns the car radio on to insert the CD’s. As the first song starts playing you turn to him.

“This is that band you like right? The one on that poster in your room?”

Kyotani is visibly flustered by this.

“Yes? Did you...did you make these for me?”

You throw your head back in a laugh.

“Yes, I made them for you,”

“Oh,”

He says in a rather soft amazed tone.

“Look, I didn't mean to, but when I was in your room the other day I tripped over that shoe box you have,”

You keep your eyes trained on the street outside the dashboard window. Unsure and a bit nervous to see what Kyotani is thinking. Tempted by curiosity though, you do look at him for a brief moment, only to find him also intensely staring off into the street. His face lit up red with embarrassment.

“I’m glad that I saw it though. Because that stuff is important to you and I want to know what you think is important”

The air in the car feels like it is clinging to your skin with tension. You think the pressure will start to crack your bones when Kyotani’s voice splinters the suspense.

“It's easier to feel something when its tangible, when you can hold it, it's why people still buy polaroids and go to museums and shit”

You nod, a jovial ease overcoming you as he continues to speak.

“I don't really like, uh, I guess physical affection or even talking or it’s not like talking, people call it words of affirmation or whatever,”

You hold the smile of your lips down, you don't want him to think you’re teasing him in this moment. You're just happy that he is comfortable enough with you to say such things.

“I know lots of other people like to have those types of things though, and I worked really hard to get used to stuff, but I don't know, this is what I like,”

He says gesturing with the CD case to you.

“I mean so like, birthday cards, post-it notes, bus transfers? Things that are directly attached to memories and people? Anything else you want me to know about?”

While it hurts a little that he’s struggling to talk about this matter, you can't help but revel in the unusual brash shyness of Kyotani. He does mutter something, but when you lean in closer to signal that you didn't hear him the first time he repeats himself.

“Event pamphlets. I know it's trash but I like it”

“Promise you won't get mad?”

You drawl your voice out and make it sweet so he knows you're messing with him.

“Hm?”

He says, eyebrow quirked in question.

“I think you'd be really into scrapbooking”

“Shut the hell up before I kick you out of my car”

☽༓･*˚⁺‧͙·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

A/N: Took a break from my current writing obsession to spit this out .