#job searching is taking it out of me and i am doing FRACTIONS of the searching my friends have done go find new jobs

[panspaming]

I think it's time for me to accept that a masters is the most logical next step for me and start preparing to do one

[littlemisssatanist]

Hitlist

the jackal x fem reader

~ YAH i still post fic

~ reader is written to be black

~ you have a last name 'selassie'.

~ kinda smutty but more sexual tension than actual sex.

~ if you see any typos,,, no you didn't i wrote this on my phone leave me alone

~ i need this man pregnant tbh

~ CHECK OUT MY ART OF THIS MAN

part one | part two

He crouched low on the edge of a tall building, his eyes fixated on his target below. The wind blew against his face, the city sprawled out beneath him in perfect stillness. His finger hovered over the trigger, steady and patient, waiting for the perfect moment. The target was almost within range.

Then, a sound behind him. Footsteps, soft but unmistakable. His body stiffened, muscles tensing. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He didn’t flinch, but every instinct he had screamed at him that he wasn’t alone anymore.

Slowly, he shifted, hand moving to his sidearm, ready to strike. He had to decide: eliminate the threat behind him, or finish the job he was hired for.

He didn’t get a lot of time to make a choice.

“Shh,” You muttered, coming up behind him. You kneeled next to him, dropping a hand to card through his hair. “It’s just me.”

The Jackal’s eyes widened in both surprising and recognition. He let go of his sidearm, slowly, relaxing the slightest fraction.

He whispered, never taking his eyes from the scope, keeping his rifle fixed on the target. “What are you doing here, Selassie?”

“Aw,” you said. “I thought we were closer than that.” You placed a hand on his nap, the gesture both comforting and threatening.

The touch of your hand sent a shiver through him, barely perceptible if you hadn’t been searching for it. He fought the urge to lean into it, but training and caution held him in place. He grunted in response.

“This isn’t a social visit,” he said, voice low and steady. “You’re distracting me.”

“No,” you agreed. “Not a social visit.”

You gazed at him, amused. Your thumb rubbed the skin in slow motions, brushing against his hair. “Think of this as a test.”

He clenched his jaw. “A test for who?”

“You. Me. Us, perhaps,” you said idly. “I’m trying to decide whether or not I should kill you.”

The Jackal bristled at your words but didn’t turn around. He knew you well enough to know that she didn’t often make idle threats. But why would you even consider it? The two of you had worked together before, successfully.

“Why would you need to decide that?” He asked, his voice steady despite the growing tension.

“Someone’s heard about your work in Germany,” you said, continuing to massage his nape. “They’re impressed. Or, rather, threatened. Paid me a pretty sum to get rid of you.”

You knew that the words hit him like a bullet. His muscles tensed, hand clutching the scope tight, knuckles white. Someone was after him— and they had even gone so far as to hire you for the job. It felt like betrayal.

“Did you take the offer?” He asked, struggling to keep his voice level.

“Maybe, maybe not,” you said. Your grip on his nape tightened. “I haven’t decided yet. That’s why it’s a test.”

The sense of betrayal was quickly replaced by anger. He clenched his jaw, eyes darkening with barely suppressed anger. He could feel every touch of your hand like a brand on his skin.

“And how am I supposed to pass this test?”

“Focus,” you warned as he started to turn, forcing his head back around. “Go ahead. Take the shot. But don’t get distracted.”

You leaned in for the last part, whispering it into his ear.

The command, given so calmly, sent a wave of both irritation and desire through him. Your breath against his ear sent a shiver down his spine. For a moment, he was tempted to throw away everything and turn to face you. But the target was still in sight, and the job had to come first.

He inhaled deeply, steadying himself. Focusing on the target, he placed his finger on the trigger, ready to pull.

You pressed your lips against his temple, raising your hand to grasp his hair tightly.

The unexpected sensation sent a jolt through his body. For a split second, his hand twitched on the trigger, and he almost squeezed prematurely. But he caught himself just in time, biting back a low hiss of frustration. His focus wavered slightly, his body fighting the distraction.

“Damn it,” he snarled, trying to steady himself again. “You said ‘focus!’”

“Mhm,” you said, digging your nose into the crook of his neck. “I also said ‘don’t get distracted.’ This is the distraction.”

You kissed the hollow of his neck, dragging your teeth against his skin lightly.

He shivered, every nerve ending responding to you touch. He had to bite back another hiss, a wave of heat flooding through him. It was as if every cell in his body had become hypersensitive to your presence. “This is not fair,” he grumbled. “It’s a trick.”

“Of course it’s a trick,” you murmured against his neck. “That’s the whole point. Test, remember?” She worked a hickey into his skin, licking her work before leaning away to admire it. “Clock is ticking.”

The mark you left behind on his skin burned, and he felt a sharp pang of both desire and annoyance. It was becoming increasingly hard to concentrate with you touching him, but he had a mission, and he was nothing if not disciplined.

“And what if I ignore the test and take the shot anyway?” He retorted, doing his best to ignore the heat that was spreading throughout his entire body.

“That’s the point, J,” you muttered, slipping your hand beneath his shirt. “Go on.”

He had to strangle a gasp when you touched his bare skin. It was becoming harder and harder to resist; the urge to turn and capture you in his arms was almost overwhelming. He gritted his teeth. “I should kill you for this.”

“Probably,” you agreed. “But aren’t you wondering why I haven’t killed you yet? I’ve had so many chances, with you acting so desperately.”

Your words stung a bit, but he couldn’t deny that you were right. He had let his guard down around you more than he cared to admit. He knew he needed to remain focused, but your touch and whispered words were pulling him in.

He let out a low and frustrated groan. “Don’t toy with me, Selassie. You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Of course I do,” you said, bemused. “That’s the test, J. Don’t get distracted, that’s the only thing that needs to happen here. I want to see if you can retain your skills even when you’re so pathetically horny for me.”

Your words were a punch to the gut. Heat coiled within him, and he couldn’t stop the shiver that ran down his spine. Damn you, you knew exactly what buttons to press.

He was fighting a losing battle, his body betraying him despite his best efforts. And you knew.

“You’re cruel,” he managed to whisper through gritted teeth.

“Just take the damn shot!” You snapped, grabbing his hair and pulling at it meanly. “Hurry up. And don’t fuck this up.”

He let out a hiss of pain, but used the brief shock to rein in his focus. The sharp tugging served as a brutal reminder of the task at hand. His body was a mess of contradictions, warring between desire and discipline.

His hand steadied on his rifle, and he refocused his gaze through his scope. Every muscle was taut, a coiled spring ready to snap.

“I won’t mess this up,” he said through clenched teeth. “Just… don’t touch me.”

“Fine,” you let go of him, rolling your eyes. You took a gun out of your pocket and pressed it up against his head. “This better motivation?”

The cold. Barrel of the gun pressed against his skin was a stark contrast to the warmth of your touch. A jolt of adrenaline coursed through him, sharpening his senses and bringing him fully back into focus. his mission was the top priority, and he would not let you distract him further.

He took a steady breath, his voice steady despite the threat looming over him. “Much better.”

You clicked your tongue, taking off the safety. “Go on, then. Take the shot. And you had better hope it’s perfect, else the next one is going straight through your brain.”

“You’re quite the menace,” he murmured tightly.

He took aim, his hand steady and sure. The target was still blissfully ignorant, completely unaware of the drama unfolding above him.

With a single, swift movement, the Jackal pulled the trigger. The shot echoed in the crisp night air.

He couldn’t help but hold his breath for a brief moment, the stillness of the night settling after the shot. It had been a perfect shot, and he could feel the tension in your body behind him.

His heard was racing, adrenaline mixing with a sense of triumph. He didn’t look away from the target’s fallen body. “Test passed,” he said, voice laced with a hint of satisfaction.

“Yes,” you said, voice oddly thick with… something. “Very nice shot,” you muttered, stepping away.

The sudden lack of your presence sent a pang of disappointment through him, but he tried to ignore it. You sounded… strange, almost breathless.

He finally turned around, lowering the rifle, and studied your expression carefully. There was something in your eyes, a hint he couldn’t quite place.

You sound almost impressed.” He said in a teasing tone.

You shrugged, not afraid to admit it. “I’m easily impressed when you’re around.” You glanced behind you. “We should go before the police show up. Someone will have heard that shot.”

He couldn’t help the slight smirk that tugged at the order of his lips at your compliment. He was still buzzing from the adrenaline of the kill, as well as your presence.

“Lead the way. And no more tests.”

part one | part two

[irondadfics]

Hey umm sorry if I am bothering you with this but there is a ao3 fanfiction I thought I saved this but I can't find it all I remember was it was no way home event and tony is alive and I believe was the only one to remember Peter and I think Peter had a job in a bar as bartender?? If you can't find it do you have some recommendations of ao3 fanfiction of tony being alive and is the only one who remembers Peter?

we couldn’t find the one you were looking for, but here’s a few recommendations. The last two don’t have Tony remembering, but are still worth checking out. Happy reading!

To Be Better by autumdragon

Peter shakily says, “you need to let me leave.” “You will,” Tony reasons gently. “You will. Those doors will open the second you calm down.” The indignation morphs into fierce anger because “those doors will open the second you input the security override code,” he snaps. Peter may be freaking out right now, but he’s not an idiot. Caught, Tony pauses to look at him, to zero in and search. And Peter, terrified, grits his teeth and looks away. He can’t stomach being studied like that, and – he just, he really needs to leave right now. The standoff lasts for a few more seconds before finally Tony eases off: “FRIDAY, temporarily deactivate Baby Monitor Protocol – override code One-Zero-One-Seven-Two-Zero-Two-Three.” 1-0-1-7-2-0-2-3 October 17, 2023… Feeling sick, his lost eyes snap back to searching ones. The elevator doors open behind him but he doesn't move, choosing instead to stare at Mr. Stark as the weight bearing down on his chest sinks just a little further. Squeezing his shoulder, Tony explains: “The day I got you back.” Despondent, Peter pushes the hand off him. “The day I lost you.”

Peter Parker's Tapeworm by Ginevra_Benci

Everyone forgets that Peter Parker is Spider-Man. Everyone includes Peter Parker.

Blue memento by Bergen

Post-NWH. The Avengers haven’t been much of a group since they defeated Thanos, since a large fraction of the team died, retired, went AWOL or MIA. It’s mainly up to Sam and Bucky – with some help from a still recovering Tony – to catch the latest enhanced serial killer roaming the streets of New York. Until a random college student from MIT named Peter Parker suddenly seems to have some answers. Sam is cautious. Tony is intrigued. Bucky is the voice of reason for a change.

O Brother, Where Art Thou? by theskeptileptic

8 year-old Morgan is struggling after the death of her mom. Her dad is working non-stop and her extended family of emotionally constipated superheroes are just as uncomfortable with her grief as their own. To top it off, she can't stop dreaming about a brother she's never had and all the trouble he might be in. When she convinces Tony to take her with him on a work trip to Caltech, she meets a student who looks a lot like the boy in her dreams. Unfortunately, he doesn't seem very interested in her. Good thing her dad always knows what to do. A sort of No Way Home, Everyone Lives (Except May and Pepper) Fix It story, where Morgan channels major Pepper Potts vibes, Tony channels major concerned Dad vibes, and Peter channels major college age-Tony Stark vibes. Served with a splash of angst, a heap of trauma, and a sprig of making adults take proper care of one depressed spider child.

[catmansquad]

Special

Miguel X M!Reader (Since we're apparently drowning in an influx of Spider-woman Reader stories, and the M!Reader tag hasn't moved in a few days. Here's a Civilian Male to counterbalance it.)

Lyla had asked on three separate occasions if there was anything to do to help you. The first was likely her just taking note of how you stared out of the window, the last two had occurred at exactly a half-hour interval, and it was a toss-up in your mind as to if it had become part of her routine, or Miguel had sent her to check in on you. The view from the window was the same it always had been; fascinating, futuristic. The city had been bright and shining; sleek spires, clean streets, the gentle whizz of traffic above the pedestrians below, between lanes of hard-light. But now the skies were grey and overcast, like the weather was determined to suck all the colour out of this magnificent world. You watched the first droplets run down the glass, more appearing with each second until the downpour truly began. You were not looking for anything in particular, you saw your own reflection in the glass as much as you saw the city beyond. Your eyes trailed down your form, resting on the bracelet that was secure on your left wrist. You could feel its faint, barely perceptible hum, keeping you from violently, painfully disappearing from this beautiful world altogether. This was not your world, not your city, and certainly not your home. That honour belonged to another altogether.

You were surprised when another half-hour elapsed and Lyla did not return to check in on you again. The reason was only realized when you caught the glint of red eyes in the reflection. Huge hands gently rested on your shoulders, fingers giving a firm, reassuring squeeze. ‘¿Qué pasa, mi corazón? Lyla tells me you’ve just been… staring out the window for the past hour.’ You exhaled a shaky breath, finally tearing your eyes from the cityscape and turning to find the tall, broad form before you. Miguel moved a hand to stroke your cheek, his gaze was soft with concern. ‘… Please, tell me what’s wrong. You’re not yourself… I know it’s miserable out, but even so-‘ ‘… Why me, Miguel?’ You asked the question that froze the larger man’s voice in his throat, you met his gaze, seeing his eyes widen in concern. ‘How did I…? Why did you choose me? Out of all the worlds, and all the people you chose me.’ His crimson gaze searched your face, concerned and curious. ‘I chose you because I love you.’ His words were soft, voice low.

You did not resist as he took you by the wrist and led you from the window, to the soft white sofa that befit the minimalist, monochromatic décor his apartment so favoured. ‘I don’t see what’s so special about me, I’m just a… A regular guy. Every day you spend at your job, you see… hundreds and thousands of spectacular Spider-Women. You… Wouldn’t you be better off with one of them?’ Miguel’s gaze narrowed, just a fraction, then he leaned in and placed a soft kiss to your forehead. ‘No. Oh, they think they have a chance with me. They buzz and flutter around me like irritating gnats who tell terrible jokes. They all think they’re the funniest person in the room with tragic backstories and special circumstances….’ He paused to hum in thought, impossibly strong arms circling around your waist as he pulled you into his lap, against his broad, warm chest that filled out the familiar soft white hoodie. ‘I tell them all the same thing; I am in love with a regular, wonderful man. There is nothing that they can do to change my heart, not in this world or any other. You have my heart…’ His lips ghosted across your own as your tensions began to ease away, taking doubts with it. ‘… You always will. You don’t need to be special, because you’re the man I love. To me, you’re already the most special person in existence.’ He gave no room for reply as his lips met yours, imparting tender love and warmth where words would not suffice. You hummed in delight at his kiss, and then returned it with vigor, arms snaking slowly across his shoulders and around his neck, fulfilling that need to be closer and return the love shown.

[brineffxiv]

I can't believe it. I think I'm still in shock. I'm in the past. The ancients' world. The world unsundered.

(accidentally left this picture in the last post when I cut it in half. Pretend I didn't do that please, XD)

Getting some fridge logic that modern peoples probably have the Ascians to thank for Aetherytes. Yes, we reverse-engineered the technology from the Allagans, but the ancients clearly have the same structures. Seems to me the logical middle step is that the Ascians assisted the Allagans in developing the technology.

...Anyway, that's not important right now...

Argos! And...

Venat? It must be. That's the only person I can think she could be. And it makes sense. She looks to have the same appearance as the form Hydaelyn took on the boat. Oh boy. I am filled with nervousness at the prospect of meeting her...

And finally, you must be Hermes. And... I don't have the slightest clue who the little bird person is.

I do not spy any likely candidates for Elidibus in this zone's preview, despite knowing I must meet him at some point. Hmmm...

You wouldn't believe me if I told you.

I don't even know if I want to tell you. I don't even know if I can.

How do I explain what you became? That I killed you? How do I tell you that you will soon lose everything dear to you in the entire world, spend over twelve thousand years fighting to restore a fraction of it, and ultimately fail?

Hythlodaus made me a robe out of butterflies! I am never taking this off. Aaaaa!

Hythlodaeus also advises that, if anyone asks, I tell them I'm Azem's familiar. What, uh, what exactly has ancient me been up to to earn this sort of reputation?

Yes, please, assume I have no common sense. I wish to know ALL the worldbuilding details.

We are searching for Hermes by appearance, which is a novelty! He apparently has short, dark hair. I see I was correct in assuming that's who he was in the preview.

Found him!

Hermes is working by some pools, with creatures that appear to be axolotls?

Oh! Um, hi?

You're adorable. Okay. I'll be your friend. You talk a bit funny, are you intended to be neurodivergent?

Oh neat! You can talk in my mind? That--

Wait. Hang on. I see that "Hear, Feel, Think" in there.

Suddenly you are ominous.

Hythlodaeus and Emet-Selch catch up with me, and the former makes introductions. Hythlodaeus already has a working relationship with Hermes through their jobs, though it has been some time since they have seen each other in person.

Hermes seems... apprehensive upon being introduced to a member of the Convocation.

Meteion's avid interest in me saves me from having to make my own introduction, and to explain why I'm here. I get to learn about her instead! She is a personal project of Hermes' that he hasn't submitted for approval yet. Her aether is really thin. Her name means "shooting star". All very important pieces of information, I am sure. I am watching this blue bird girl like a hawk. Ain't no way she's dropping the "hear, feel, think" line without being Significant.

The lads are here to have a Serious Business meeting with Hermes, but first he must put the ambystomas away. Unfortunately, one is missing.

Hythlodaeus may have found it... up a tree??

I must concur with Emet-Selch's bafflement. These things can climb?

Oh, my mistake, they can fly.

But, just because they can get up does not mean they can get down. Hermes runs off to rescue the creature, followed by Meteion. Followed by me. Hythlodaeus and Emet-Selch stay behind to watch the rest of the ambystomas, which Hermes seems to have forgotten in his haste.

...Hermes, are you okay?

Heh. Hehehe... I didn't. I certainly didn't expect the Fandaniel I know, but... I... This is so wholesome!

Ah... Elpis makes me happy.

Hermes falls out of the tree, but he's okay, and the ambystoma is rescued, so all's well that ends well!

Aww, thank you. I will!

.

.

.

Oh, that's nice.

Wait.

Ktisis?

Ktiseos.

I... Have a bad feeling about this.

[siriuslysatorusimping]

Finally got my power on again, but I am sorry you had to go through with your job. It's disgusting how there are people out there like that. My dad is black and my mom is Mexican/Navajo, so I know all about people like your shit boss. I hope you do have a case because people like that are vile. Also, thank you for creating fics for our blue-eyed king because, WTF was that ending? My expectations were in hell, but damn Gege went lower. I had to deal with that terrible open-ended ending and this freaking hurricane just my week. I'm choosing to live in Delulu and picture him with our girl just eating sweets and being lovey-dovey. At least I know he's alive and getting the life he should have had in the manga. Keep your head up, Kiko; better things will come your way!

Oof. I’m sorry you’ve been dealing with power outages! It’s crazy how far the hurricane’s reach is. A friend in Minnesota said he was dealing with stuff because of it.

Yeah, the thing with my ex-boss is that not only did he refuse to communicate clearly, I now think he does it on purpose so he can have an ‘excuse’ to fire people when he wants. The thing is, his team is still less than a year old. I was the first hire. But he’s already fired two people and one has quit. All three women of color. The first fire was a black woman, the one who quit was black, and I’m Asian. The one who quit said that when she put in her notice, people in the same office as her (the company has offices across Texas) told her that it wasn’t a good look for him. And that was two days before he fired me for supposed lack of performance on goals he never communicated. Unfortunately, discrimination cases (especially racism ones) are almost impossible to prove. And idk if I have the energy to try.

I was already struggling to make ends meet because of all my lawyer debt from the divorce, which my ex-boss knew about, too. I’ve been cutting expenses in every way possible and still coming out in the negative, now with no income, I genuinely have no idea what I’ll do if I can’t find another job soon. He fired me four days before benefits run out, too. So I can’t afford therapy, my neurology, or my ADHD medication now. I’m essentially totally fucked over and my ex-boss knew what he was doing. My biggest issue has been trying to process that someone could do something so cruel while pretending to be a good person. People are disgusting and I somehow keep forgetting long enough for them to do things like this to me.

I’m not officially diagnosed with autism because the process is long and expensive and I couldn’t afford it yet, otherwise I would have a disability discrimination case because I was transparent about needing clear communication in order to be successful.

I just feel very hopeless about the situation.

I’m very qualified for my field, and I interview incredibly well. But getting an interview is the hardest part because of the automated resume screeners companies use now.

In the end, it’ll be for the better. I don’t have to see my ex-husband at work and the environment was getting toxic because my ex-boss had essentially told me if I didn’t like his communication style, there’s the door. So, I was already passively looking. I just have to ramp up my search. And survive long enough for things to start getting better.

I’ve applied for unemployment, which should help a tiny bit, but the max they cover is only a small fraction of what I was making so it won’t be enough to cover my lawyer debt, bills, and student loans (which are private so I can’t pause the payments). I told a friend that 2024 might beat out 2020 AND last year for the worst year of my life so far. Shit just keeps happening.

BUT, I digress. I’ll do my best and try to keep my head up. It can’t stay awful forever. (I hope)

The JJK ending just existed for me, tbh. I wasn’t really surprised since it felt very shonen to me. I just hope Akutami can get the rest he needs and take care of his health now that it’s done. It’s also possible the official volume release will have additions since he’s done that in the past.

As for Gojo? I miss him. But in Another Level, he’s thriving. He’s living his best life with Rinko and the others.

I’ve been working on the two AU pieces I’ve posted previews for just for me, so we’ll see if I finish them. The first has really been a self-indulgent way to process some traumas but it’s been pretty cathartic.

Thank YOU for this message, and for reading my brainrot fics! It makes my heart feel so full to know the stories I’ve created for my own sake are enjoyable for other people to read 🥹

I hope you’re well, even in light of the hurricane effecting so many. 💕

[justkpopjokes]

Sci-Fi P.I.!Jeongin

Ft. Yang Jeongin + Kim Seungmin (implied ship but not really)

AU: sci-fi private investigator, DELTA V series

Word Count: 1.5k of bullet points

A/N: A longgggg time ago, I wrote the original version of this as a SVT AU and didn’t put much effort into editing it. I’ve decided to rewrite and repurpose it until a little multiverse I’m slowly building!!

CLUE #1: Je suis Books^2 Aux Ford

When Yang Jeongin found a mysterious note in his jacket pocket, he was completely clueless on what to do.

He’s green, the newest rookie of his detective agency, but he was already being presented with a mystery

Jeongin had needed a new job; with all the advancements being made to society, his previous job prospect of being a dentist was torn away

Society reached the point where robots were advanced enough to help with dental procedures in a fraction of the time

And with all the advancements, some procedures weren’t even necessary anymore

So only the best of the best students were accepted into certification programs, and Jeongin wasn’t the best

Needing a job in the meantime, Jeongin decided to go to a sketchy walk-in interview in a shabby office within an alleyway

It turned out to be the office of a Private Investigation agency: 3RD WAY

“When the authorities and death aren’t options, take the 3RD WAY! We’ll investigate your problems and keep them off of your tail.”

After a quick interview (of which he somehow passed with “flying colours” despite only answering a handful of questions), he was hired by his new boss, a man who went only by “CB97”

The next day, he was given the code name “I.N” (after the last 2 letters of his first name), then promptly sent out to do some investigating

Not knowing where to begin, Jeongin decided to walk around the city of his agency’s HQ: Seoul, South Korea

The streets of Seoul, when not polluted with the smog of flying cars, was a pretty sight

With the help of the world’s top technology company, DELTA V—the very same company that took away his dream to be a dentist—the world was starting to look more and more like the “future” that people of decades prior dreamed of

But that’s beside the point—he’s here, in Seoul, and just found a mysterious folded piece of paper in his jacket pocket!

CB97 told Jeongin to be on the lookout for any suspicious activity, but the former had neglected to specify what kind

…This seemed obviously suspicious

Whoever planted the note in his pocket had passed by him within the past half hour, but he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary, so…

Jeongin scans the line over and over again in his mind: Je suis Books^2 Aux Ford

“Je suis” is clearly French, but what does the rest of it mean?

Jeongin reads the clue out as “I am books squared aux ford”

So he searches up “books squared Aux ford” out of curiosity

Luckily for him, he doesn't press the space between “aux” and “ford,” so his phone fills in the blanks

The first thing that comes up is “Square Books Oxford, Mississippi, USA”

Ah. Saved by autocorrect. Oh, the wonders of technology…

After reporting back to CB97, Jeongin gets a plane ticket to Mississippi!

(He isn’t supposed to be alone, mind you, but his only other teammate and mentor, “J.One”, is apparently still undercover somewhere in Italy)

Once arriving in Mississippi, Jeongin wastes no time and enters the bookstore

As he wanders the aisles of books, someone asks him if he needs help

After noticing Jeongin’s hesitance, the worker repeats themself in Korean

Jeongin: “Oh, uh…is…”

*remembers “je suis”*

Jeongin: “Are there any French books here?”

???: “Yeah, we have a decent amount. Follow me.”

The worker helping him, a young man only a little taller than Jeongin himself, leads him to a small collection of French books

???: “Need anything else?”

Jeongin: “No, this is fine, thanks.”

So the worker leaves Jeongin alone for the time being

Jeongin sits there reading for what feels like forever, trying to find what on Earth this clue could be communicating

“Books^2” and “Aux Ford” seem to already be used up; it was a bookstore in Oxford, Mississippi. Makes sense.

But besides that, he had nothing

Jeongin wracked his brain, trying to find something he had missed.

How was it written? Does that

Great, my first investigation and I’m already stumped…

On the other hand, a certain bookstore worker is very concerned and periodically glancing over to Jeongin

After an hour, the worker checks on the poor guy who’s still there sitting on the floor next to the shelves

???: “Hey, uh, there’s a table if you need it…”

Cue embarrassed Jeongin because he might’ve been bothering other customers

So he heads to the table—but drops the coded piece of paper on the way there!

???: “Hm? ‘Je suis Books’? Do you need the second book of ‘I Am’?”

Jeongin looks entirely confused (rip)

???: “Uh, it’s a French poetry book, titled ‘I Am.’ It has three volumes.”

Jeongin’s like OHHHH SOUNDS RIGHT!!

The worker then looks over the covers of the books, finding the right one

After taking it from the employee, Jeongin flips through book

Another slip of paper acts as a bookmark

The bookstore employee stands beside Jeongin, reading the paper aloud as Jeongin reads the poem on the page

CLUE #2: “Lines 7, Line 16”

The corresponding lines on the page read “Spill the beans” and “Where you have to buy your life,” respectively

Apparently I wrote a whole poem in my head for this but I have no recollection lmao

???: “What kind of weird treasure hunt are you on?”

Jeongin: “I’m a…uh, treasure hunter. Sort of.”

???: “…Okay, treasure hunter. I’m Seungmin. And you?”

One introduction and an uneasy explanation later, Jeongin now has a companion!

In reality, Seungmin was suspicious of this random kid who walked in and found a piece of paper in a random book, so ge decided to keep an eye on him

But wanting to be helpful regardless, Seungmin suggests they go to the grocery store down the street during his break

It seems to make sense: a grocery store was where you could find beans and buy things you need to live, aka “buy your life” as the poem said

Once at the grocery store, Jeongin searches for the beans aisle

Thankfully, Seungmin already knows where they are

Seungmin: “Aisle Seven. Hey, didn’t your clue mention ‘lines 7’ instead of ‘line 7’? I guess it came full circle.”

Jeongin: “What? Oh, yeah, I guess so. How’d you remember that?”

Seungmin: “Eh, I’ve got a good memory.”

Once reaching the canned food aisle, Jeongin bends down to look at the can of beans

Nothing out of the ordinary…for now 👀 *squints suspiciously*

But one he’s picked up a couple cans, Jeongin notices something in the back of the shelf…

It’s another slip of paper!!

When he tries to grab it, he accidentally elbows a can off the shelf

Seungmin is barely able to catch it, scolding the other boy

Seungmin: “Geez, I know it said ‘spill the beans,’ but be careful! We don’t want to get kicked out of here.”

Jeongin: “ik ik sorry” 👉👈

Trying again, the amateur investigator reaches past the dust bunnies, carefully trying not to knock over anymore cans to retrieve the tiny folded paper

Maybe spilling the bean cans would’ve made this easier…

CLUE #3: “Cactus Life Yo — 14:52”

Jeongin snorts a little as he reads the clue, showing it to Seungmin

Seungmin: “What…the heck?

Jeongin: “Anagram, maybe?”

By this time, Seungmin’s break is over, so Jeongin walks him back to the bookstore while they chat about what this next clue could mean

As his new friend(!!!) resumes working, Jeongin spends a little more time at the store himself to decode the words on the paper

About half an hour later, Jeongin gets hit with an epiphany:

“Soul City” and then letters a, c, f, e

Seungmin: “Soul City Cafe?”

Seungmin’s voice scares Jeongin out of his seat, but nonetheless he is thankful for the input

Soul City Cafe.

Seoul.

A café in Seoul! The city where this all started!

Jeongin: “Wow, you should be the investigator, you do my job better than me!”

Seungmin: “Woahwoah, wait, this is your job?”

Drat, I exposed myself… Rookie mistake…

Jeongin can’t lie any longer, so he ends up telling Seungmin the entire truth

To his surprise, Seungmin takes it pretty well!!

The bookstore employee is more excited if anything

It turns out that Seungmin himself is from Seoul!

The only reason he’s working at a bookstore in the middle of Mississippi is because he’s acting as a liason for this new bookstore branch that (which originated in Seoul)

Seungmin: “There’s this café called ‘Blue Zone’ next to where I usually work, maybe that’s where you need to go?”

Jeongin: “Are you going to come with me?”

Seungmin: “Hm? Oh, no, I—I’d love to, but I have to work here for a little longer.”

Jeongin: “Then maybe I’ll…see you there? At that café?”

Seungmin: “Let’s make it a date”

And so Jeongin flies back to Seoul—ready to tackle the next puzzle of this mystery—with coffee and a certain bookstore worker on his mind…

This storyline probably won't have a part 2, but I hope you enjoyed it! Thanks for reading! ^^

[dayxero]

Alright.... I gotta get this off my chest here because I've been pondering this for a while. A small fraction of a MUCH greater rant but... fucking hell am I addicted to @aychama's art. Like on a oddly surreal level. I absolutely adore the portrayal of these two together and the tension and atmosphere always gets me more giddy than a japanese school girl!

However... this comes with one major issue I personally have and know its 100% opinionated and biased. Ain't trying to hurt anyone's feelings but if anyone wants to disagree with or block me if you follow this stupid, idiotic tirade of mine, feel free. I understand and take full responsibility for what I'm about to say...

Ok here goes; aychama has done such an amazing job selling me on the fact that these two are damaged souls, seeking love, understanding and connection, that I get the feeling once The Betrayal occurs, I won't be satisfied in the slightest. It goes back to how in all honesty, I am annoyed with how the majority of the fanbase collective agrees that Narinder is a liar and is morally, evil, despite every aspect of the game subtly going out of its way to prove the opposite and its in fact just the Bishops and later, the Lamb "Player" who are the ones who are evil, and Narinder is a victim of his own hubris. This is one of the reasons why I aggravated towards aychama's portrayal of Narinder so much because he's almost 1-to-1 lined with his representation in the game. He has his own goals and mostly keeps to himself. He's searching for a way to bypass Death to grant not just himself, but everyone he knows true immortality and he hasn't told a single lie to Lambert or anyone he's spoken to.

Aychama's Narinder has yet to preform any acts worthy of being called evil and beyond the spouted opinions of those who envy the Kings, Narinder hasn't done anything wrong. In fact, he seems to be extremely lonely and focused, knowing he's walking a path many will not accept, but is choosing to do so for a reason beyond just a desire to subjugate others for personal pleasure. This lines up perfectly with the game, and especially the DLC where Shamura admits he led the Bishops to attack and bind Narinder, because he was afraid if Narinder granted mortals immortality, mortals would feel no need to rely on their Gods and thus, they would lose power and control. They feared that Narinder was going to take those who prayed to him, and eliminate their greatest fears, thus setting them free from Cosmic Law.

That doesn't sound like Narinder was ever evil to begin with and again, its why if Lambert does betray Narinder, I don't think I'll be satisfied, given how their relationship is developing. I know both are currently wearing masks to hide their true goals, disguising their intentions yet are still desperately reaching out for the other and knowing Narinder isn't, or hasn't been shown to be evil, means that despite Lamb supposedly being the protagonist and "hero", would be committing an evil act be it of corruption of power, or for the sake of their own pride and therefore, makes it hard for me to even begin to root for their success. They would be actively killing or enslaving the only person who ever treated them like a person of equal merit, who took time to see them for who they are, and didn't use their vulnerability against them, for wholly selfish reasons that wouldn't gel well with my brain.

Long-Winded, I know but it basically comes down to the idea that, unless aychama goes out of their way to make Narinder comically evil, or have Lambert corrupted so thoroughly that they become everything they hated about the Ruling Class, I can't see the betrayal actually happening. And even then, if and when it does, I get the feeling it won't hit hard because one or both would have to drift so far beyond their current characterizations that they would feel unrecognizable. Of course I can admit that I might be 100% wrong here. For all I know, aychama might pull some awesome plot twist outta their ass and just get me right in the feels or pull a bait-and-switch and go full AU with their own desired outcome or ending that they're holding onto. Either way...... this is probably my second favorite version of the NariLamb pairing because I love how raw, sensual and passionate it feels. I'm a sucker for two broken people desperately relying on each other and giving up everything to maintain that love and connection. I just hope that whatever ending they have planned, won't leave an empty feeling on the series because I'm drooling over this couple like a fat kid at a candy store and it never fails to leave me thirsty for more god damnit! lol

You guys know how it’s said that cats purr heals? Yea…

[kimyoonmiauthor]

Me being ND as a kid...

So like C-PTSD which has bits of ADHD and Autistic thinking, but doesn't fully test for either of them. It's more like a buffet of ND traits.

So I was learning fractions and they were giving word problems and I always was thinking, but it shouldn't be that way, to the point that my parents were like, "Just solve the math problem." But I always balked.

Because the word problem was something like Bill and Jane attend a birthday party with a cake. There are 2 other friends, how much cake did they have?

And my ND brain is going, well... No one eats the entire cake. They likely eat a slice of the cake, plus are the parents in attendance? Are they supervising? What about them? What if one of the kids is allergic? What flavor of cake is it? What if one of them can't have cake?

lol I was putting in personality factors, the size of the cake, etc to the point where my parents are like, "Why are you making an internal life for Bill?"

The same with a car is traveling at...

Questions... are there turns, torque, stop lights? How long are the stop lights, where are other people? Is it an empty track? What is the personality of the driver?

I suppose you could tell I was being a writer... but I did this with other things too.

So there was a problem in sixth? grade.

Something that goes like this: You are poor. Your mother is terminally sick, and there is a medicine you need to cure her of her cancer. Will you steal the medicine?

Everyone else rolled over and said, Of course, It's my mom.

And instead, I asked:

Me: What is our health insurance situation?

Teacher: Denied

Me: Do we have any relative?

Teacher: No.

Me: Why?

Teacher: You were cut off.

Me: What about the father and child support?

Teacher: He's gone.

Me: What about welfare?

Teacher: Denied.

Me: Why?

Me: After School job?

Pretty much I filled the entire class with this line of questioning forcing the teacher to spin a whole story about this mother-child relationship. lol I totally am not a linear thinker.

By then, my Dad had been filling my head with Philosophers and a bit of breaking down Stephen Hawking, too, so I had the lecture about searching for truth, etc.

Anyway, one of the kids got super mad at me asking all these questions: "You won't save your mother?"

No, I won't take it for granted that's the only answer to the question. Because morality is far more complex and often the problem is that you haven't thought through the problem in front of you well enough to take into account extraneous factors of influence.

Which might be the most ND thing to say... but there.

I see a different set of rules.

Hyperfocus

Dogs

So I wanted a dog. From what I know now, what you do to get a dog as an NT is to beg your parents really hard.

What I did was to look in the encyclopedia at breeds of dogs and then narrow down the breeds of dogs we could have and then spend an inordinate amount of time researching them and watching all of the documentary shows about them.

Authors

I collect by authors to the point that I'll collect entire authors as sets and then also target and find all of their interviews. When I couldn't find all of the author's works, I would be upset. Medline Lengle, you marred my childhood by having books I couldn't have because they were out of print and I still remember being really disappointed that I couldn't collect them all. Haha.

Drawing

I really started by learning how to draw by learning how to draw cats, dogs and horses. I mean... if that's not ND...

Documentaries

I also overloaded on Nature docs, all documentaries I could watch, cooking shows, etc. I watched them obsessively to the point that I sometimes memorized certain lines.

Movies

I watched certain shows on video over and over again. Cinderella? Oh, I memorized that story by the time I was 5 and could give you a dissertation on the differences between the versions of the story to the point that I'm on video reciting the story from sheer memory. I had that story dead to rights.

I read all through Brothers' Grimm.

The video about how a mother gives birth, I memorized.

Overdoing it.

The thing is when I want to know something I tend to overdo it... and then expect that everyone else should also know it. So for example, Gardening? My parents had this old book on gardening from Reader's Digest. I read through the whole thing to the point that I was spitting out information from that book that my parents couldn't remember.

I had stints with memorizing occult, tarot, etc. And memorized lines from Sailor Moon. I also spent time memorizing the constitution's first few lines.

But I'm saying this out of the box kind of experience and thinking and approach... I kinda think this is why the idea that "NDs are not creative" is a weird, weird assumption. We live outside of the social norms and see the world with a different processor, so I still don't get why someone would think we aren't creative.

I've had more people say to me, "That's not normal" But it's normal in my world... and if it's not normal, then isn't it creative?

BTW, I memorized the intro that Sailor Moon gives every time... in Japanese.

Is it a useless skill? Yes. Can I do it with perfect recall? Yes. Is anyone impressed by this. No.

[missprotestalot]

38

Today I’m 38. Don’t know the last time I wrote a reflection, or something resembling a reflection (that wasn’t also a To Do list). I struggle to even know how to spend my birthday because it feels like a day that’s supposed to be about me, and I don’t even know what that means.

My kids have become the center point of everything, and that has been wonderful and sacrificial and challenging. Becoming a mother has totally transformed me as a person, to the point that when I look in the mirror I have to really squint to *see* the self I was even ten years ago, at 28, someone who said she was content to wake up at 4 am to work a kitchen job that barely paid the rent for my elevator-sized bedroom in a city that swallowed me up. I left New York at 29 looking for something more, not knowing what was in store for me yet. Children! Marriage! No one tells you (because how can they?) how hard and breathtaking and impossibly ecstatic these things can be.

Since lists are easiest for me these days, here are a few things I can manage to say I have learned as I reflect on 38 years. I think this list is for my children, who might, I hope, read it:

1.       Always shoo your ego away so you can be the one to say sorry, even if you’re first every time and the only one to do it.

2.       Impatience has never served you, and never will. Rushing is never worth it. Can’t think of a single time when I rushed, or acted out of impatience, and it worked out to be something I was glad about.

3.       Material items are harmful. Acquiring them, searching for the “best”, paying for them, caring for them. So much precious time is wasted on possessing “stuff”. The world revolves around capitalism and making you think you need things - more, better things -  to be happy. I wonder how many years I could get back, how much valuable time...

4.       Children deserve your full attention, whenever they ask for it. Always be willing to drop what you’re doing to look into their little faces and listen to what they want to tell you.

5.       Mistakes are the best way to learn. Make them instead of being afraid to try.

6.       Get more rest. Allow yourself to have no plans. Don’t worry that you will miss out on something. That’s a given – you will. But that’s OK. Learn to enjoy and experience the slice of life you’ve got right in your present moment.

7.       Let go of expectations, and see how much happier you can be with what you already have in your life.

8.       Be generous. Give people whatever you can. Do not spend a fraction of a moment thinking about what you are “getting” back from them. Focus on giving without receiving.

9.       We are a community of humans. We must help each other instead of find reasons to divide ourselves from one another. Look for similarities rather than differences in other people you come across, and learn to work with others instead of isolate and work alone.

10.   Be empathetic. Judgments are often made very quickly without enough information. Every day, remind yourself to think of this question about other people, “What are you going through?” and remember everyone is going through something, and you have no idea.

11.   Learn to love your house. It’s got a roof and it’s warm and even If the kitchen isn’t done and the walls are cracking, it’s home. You didn’t want perfect, anyway.

12.    Choose to be optimistic, even when it seems like optimism is ignorance. I still think that we can choose how we perceive our own lives. Which means we can steer ourselves in totally different directions along the way. I have learned that even dark and sad moments have new, important meaning for me related to growth rather than giving up. I would say learn to take your dark moments and your sad days and understand they are an important part of your whole life, that they should be acknowledged and thought of as pushing off points for experiencing joy, self-care and self-improvement, generosity, community, and sharing.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hello amazing blogger! I've been drowning in WIPs and rl chaos lately, and really need to take care of myself for a bit.

Do you mind doing a Daemon blurb where he tries to make her feel better with slow, intimate sex at noticing she's depressed?

Thank you, have a lovely day 💐

Lies Are Treason

Daemon Targaryen x Reader

Summary: The fire that drew your husband to you in the first place is now dwindling, and that was a serious problem.

Word Count: 3k+

Warnings: Opens with violence, fem!reader, wife!reader, soft!daemon T_T i love him, reader is not having a nice time, smut (reader kinda cries mid fucking and gets emotional, praise kink, bratty!reader, cock warming, cream pie), typos, etc.

A/N: hello my lover <3 i give you kiss. i am honored that you reached out to me during a time like this. i often wonder what value my fanfics hold in the grand scheme of the world other than silencing the loud romance ideas i have with fictional men i will never meet T_T, but then i think about how reading and writing fanfics makes me feel happy, and so i only hope my brain farts do something similar for someone else yeah may the imaginary dick imma give you suffice to alleviate a fraction of your heavy thoughts HAHAAHAH

Daemon knew.

He felt it in the way he woke up earlier than his lover, the way he had to slow his pace as not to leave her behind, how he had to chose what she would wear, and now, how he had to look for her, since he'd no idea where she gone.

There was something wrong. Something was bothering his wife and someone somewhere was going to pay for it.

In this moment, it was your handmaiden who was quivering in fear with Dark Sister between her eyes.

"My lord," she wept, "I- I-"

"You are her helper, are you not?" Daemon seethed, stepping closer to the poor, innocent servant girl who had fallen on her hind, terrified by her master's cold accusations, "your job is to keep my lady wife in your sight and attend to her every need."

"My prince," she shudders, raising her hands, "the princess is not kept by anyone-" tears streak her face, "-you know this."

Daemon hums deeply, moving stray hair away from the girl's face with his blade, "and yet the fact that you do not know her whereabouts enrages me still."

"My prince!" a separate panicked voice calls.

"What?!" Daemon quips, not prying his eyes on his target.

"The guards say they've seen the princess in the dragon pit."

Daemon turns away from the quivering girl, to the other that was fighting to save her fellow servant, "and you understand that lying to me is treason."

Dark Sister is upon the other's neck now.

Daemon moves closer to her, annoyance and boredom lacing his expression, "if I find your information false, not only will I return fucking fed up, but I will have the head of the guards who muttered the nonsense to you."

Daemon watches her squirm underneath his weapon.

He raises his brows, "well? The guards names?"

"Oswald and James, your grace," she shudders, cheeks stained with tears.

Daemon pulls his sword away and tuts, "you better not be wrong."

One could only imagine the collective relief across the castle after Daemon made it to the pit and saw who he had been searching for all along.

I hear a deep sigh and turn over my shoulder.

"You know I nearly killed your handmaiden a few moments ago."

My hand that was stroking Caraxes' face stills as I look off to my husband who was walking over, "what? Why?!"

"Well," he starts, only continuing once he was next to me, stroking Caraxes all the same. His dragon snorts hotly in greeting as Daemon continues, "my wife had gone missing."

I don't even roll my eyes at him as I look away and mutter, "overreacting, as always." I gently stroke the scales beneath my palm, "you will apologize with tears.'

I only turn to Daemon when he grabs my hand. His face is tense and his grip on me is firm, "at least I'm in character."

I knit my brows at him, tilting my head, "are you saying I am not?"

I turn from Caraxes and walk backwards until I can lean against the creature's large body. Daemon does not release my hand and follows me as I do so.

"I am bossing you around, clearly," I state.

"Yet there is no grit to it," he retorts.

Before I could respond to what my husband told me, Caraxes, who had been lying on the ground, begins to rumble softly. He lift his head, shaking it before craning his neck to look at his master.

The two stare at each other, wordlessly communicating, then the dragon pulls his head back down and grunts.

When Daemon turns back to me, he sighs, muttering something softly in High Valyrian.

I attempt to decipher the words, "Caraxes is not feeling good?"

"No," Daemon retorts, reaching his hand out to my cheek, "it is you who is not feeling good."

I stare at the man who inches nearer up until our chests are pressed together. Unable to bare his gaze, I turn away and nudge Caraxes with my elbow, "snitch."

Daemon sighs, leaning down as his hands snake around me. His face finds its spot at the crook of my neck, and by the curve of my shoulder, he presses a kiss. He rubs his cheek against mine as he whines, "you think I do not already know?"

I feel disarmed by his words, so much so I shift my weight and lean fully against him, pressing my face on his shoulders as my hands cling on his sides, "I hoped you would continue to ignore it."

"Nothing was ignored," he pulls me closer to him, propping his chin on the top of my head, "a ridiculous thought really," he tightens his arms around me, "why do you think I agreed to letting you drink until you could not walk the other night?"

I hum, tilting my head up so I could brush my lips on his neck, "I thought you just wanted your wife to relive her youthful alcoholism."

He draws shapeless patterns on my back, "I knew you needed a release."

"Release he said," I chuckle, "ironic when I took in so much wine that my belly swelled like I was pregnant."

He does not respond to this.

A moment of silence passes after.

Daemon begins to rub my back and I feel like I could fall asleep in his arms. I close my eyes and pull away from him however, hands instinctively finding their way to my husbands shoulders.

His hands are firmly gripping on my sides as I feel him lean down and press his forehead against mine.

I rub my thumbs on the fabric of his clothing and simply savor his presence.

"Speak to me," he whispers like a plea.

I raise my chin, eyes still closed. I grab his face and kiss him; warmth envelopes me the moment I do so. His hands force me closer and his lips are hungrier than mine. When I pull away, he chases me with one last peck and places another on my cheek.

"I do not know what to tell you, Daemon," I mumble, finally opening my eyes.

Daemon pulls back, looking down at me with concern, as if trying to will words out of his mouth.

"I just... fell unlike myself, and even Caraxes seemed desperate about it." I brush his silver locks behind his ear as I mutter, "I don't know. I am nearly as bad at this as you are."

His hands catch my cheeks. He caresses the area before he slides his palms all the way back down to my waist. He gently rocks me against him, averting his eyes in contemplation. He kneads on my flesh as he decides, "then let me do something that I am good at."

He turns back to me as I link my fingers behind his nape, "and what are you good at, husband?"

"Releasing into my pretty wife as she cries out my name," he sighs as he bends to kiss my neck.

I moan when he nibbles my skin, "Daemon."

He responds by muttering my name as he pulls away. His eyes locks on mine, as if searching for permission.

I place a hand on his cheek and brush my thumb on his lips, "take me back to our quarters."

Without another word, he grabs the hand on his cheek and drags me away.

The very moment we are in our chambers, he closes the door and grabs me, attacking me with kisses like a man starved.

Daemon pushes me backwards, fingers nimbly making its way down the laces on the back of my dress, up until my calves hit the bed.

Before he pushes me on the mattress, he pulls my dress down, dropping to his knees. He kisses my sternum on the way as he works on getting me out of my clothing. I bite my lip as I look down at him.

I lightly comb my fingers on his scalp as he bites my thighs while urging me out of my dress.

"Daemon."

He looks up at me.

I grab his cheeks, as he stands. Once he is towering over me again, I begin to undo his own clothing, pulling him out of his tunic and sinking down to free him of his trousers. He doesn't grant me the courtesy of biting his thighs as he pulls away, kicking his pants off and grabs me, pushing me back on the bed.

He allows me to crawl up on my elbows until my head is on the pillows. He doesn't waste time and gets on top me, positioning himself in between my legs.

He hums in appreciation of the heat against him. He praises me in High Valyrian and grabs my thighs as he rubs against me, "so pretty and warm.

I groan at the feel of him grinding on my sensitive nub. He slows as he sinks down on my shoulder, peppering kisses all over my skin. I wrap my legs around him as I dig my fingers into the roots of his hair.

He props his hands to the side and bucks his hips against me. I whine, pressing my lips on any part of his skin that I can reach.

"Daemon," I mutter against him, "you feel so good."

He sucks on my skin then bites down, making my stomach flutter. He connects our lips together and squeezes my sides, "I'll make you feel better, my love."

After saying this, Daemon sheathes his hard length that was wet with my slick. I roll my eyes back at the feel of him stretching me out.

He grunts, thrusting shallowly, but then stills as he sings me praises, "so nice and ready for me, sweet girl."

"Always ready for you," I mewl, licking his lower lip before grazing it between my teeth.

Daemon rubs my sides as he moans at the feeling of my bites.

He begins to move against me, but he barely pulls out, as if fearing the loss of me. I bring my hands to his hips and dig my nails in, "more, more, more."

He shushes me, then clicks his tongue, "so impatient."

"Break me, Daemon," I mutter, helplessly, moving my hips in sync with his, "please, I need you to fuck me."

He hisses when I rip at his skin. He pushes his face against mine, forcing my cheeks on the pillow, "behave, little one. I will not be bullied by someone who squirms at the very feel of my touch."

I whine again at both his words and the feel of his mouth on my jaw. I half expect a punishing thrust to be had. When he does not relent his excruciatingly slow pace, I begin to beg, "Daemon, please, please, please! I want to-"

His hands forcing my wrists to the sides shut me up with a gasp.

Daemon hovers his face above mine, and I nearly choke at the sight of him, "I told you to behave."

He rolls his hips into me, still so leisurely but so deliciously that I cannot contain my moan. Yet it's not enough. I want him to ruin me.

I whine out his name again, "Daemon please."

He sighs at the sounds I make and pushes himself up on his arms, "you know better than anyone that no one can change my mind once its made."

I chew on my lips as I look up at him. My desperate need of him makes my eyes begin to water. My hands dart up to his cheeks as I complain, "I can change your mind, my love. Please, please."

Daemon's dark eyes take in my wanton figure. He leans into my pulse and kisses it, "the world has broken you enough," he draws out a long breath when I clench around him desperately.

When he curses in High Valyrian and he sinks back down against my face, I mistake it as defeat. I seal him against me tightly and nip at his neck. I find myself ceasing my nibbling when I hear him whisper against my ear, "just let me love you tonight, my dear. Let me show you how much you mean to me."

Daemon then, although still brutally slow, begins to thrust more thoroughly, pulling out farther and plunging deeper. The sensation has me reeling and my stomach begins to tense.

"My pretty wife," Daemon groans, rutting against me, "so lovely, so soft, and all mine."

My nails find his skin again, scratching all the way to the center of his back.

He moans sucking at my neck as he continues his ministrations.

"I would burn the whole world if that's what it took to mend your heart."

I moan his name in response, voice not ceasing as it draws out pleasured noises. I look to him, trying to find his face, but he's too lost in his movements and too snug against me.

I screw my eyes shut when he finally begins to quicken.

I squeal before I speak, "yes, Daemon," I grunt, "so good- like that- more."

He pants, hand coming up to my neck, "I would do anything for you," he kisses my jaw, "you know this, right?"

I whine as I nod, "yes, Daemon, yes, yes, yes, yes-"

"So, let me do this. Let me take care of you," he mutters, "do not withdraw from me again."

When I open my eyes and catch his gaze, my throat goes dry and my eyes begin to spill with water. I groan out his name in a manner I am so not sure of.

He kisses the tears that begin to fall down my face and snaps his hips quicker, "take solace in me the way I do you."

My voice is too preoccupied with whines that I do not get to reply.

The bed begins to squeak and knock on the wall at his ferosity.

Daemon seals my whimpers against his lips as pressure begins to build within me. My lashes, dampened with tears, begin to flutter at the feel of my husband. At the rate he was going, my release was swift and inevitable. He drags his lips up to my forehead, kissing my nose and eyelids tenderly as he does, juxtaposing the roughness of his severity in my core.

I come around him all at once, growling his name in pleasure, tensing tightly then turning into putty.

Daemon mutters my name as well, over and over, until I feel his hotness spread inside me. I nearly choke on my spit at the feel of his unrelenting snapping even after the fact.

Just when I think he will not stop, he begins to grow sloppy. I sigh as he eventually halts. By then, I am plainly aware of the feel of his seed overflowing, though he is still snug within me.

Although I am utterly boneless beneath him, I manage to tighten my limbs around frame, absolutely unwilling to free him from where he was. The last of his movement fade and I fell utterly spent of his love.

Daemon presses a kiss on my cheek, hands coming to my sides, "I am here, my love. I will not leave."

Without warning, my lips begin to quiver.

I am suddenly overcome with emotion. I begin to feel my throat and chest tighten as sadness creeps out of me, finally seeing its chance.

I force myself not to cry, but I am powerless when Daemon begins to hush me, "sweet girl, it'll be alright." I am broken by the time he repeats, "I am here."

I bring my hands to his shoulder blades and knead at the area, "I need you, Daemon. I can't be without you, ever. I love you so much."

He kisses me as he nods, "I know. I would go mad without you by my side," he kisses me again, drawing out a long breath before continuing, "I love you like I have not known love before."

He allows me to empty my sorrows against him, comforted by his mere presence in the silence.

Sobs beginning to die down, I turn to him and bring my palms to his cheeks. He lifts his head to look down upon me and brushes his nose against mine.

I repeat, as if I hadn't made myself clear, "I love you."

"I love you," he repeats not a second too late, then kisses my lips, "I love you so fucking much."

I nod rapidly, kissing every inch of his face, "thank you for this, my love," I sigh and readjust my legs around him, "I did not know I needed it."

The vibrations of his laughter cause me to whimper. He places a kiss on the top of my head, "spoiled brats hardly ever do."

"I'm not spoiled," I furrow my brows and pout, "you're the one who grew up..." I moan, "a prince."

His minute hip movements tease out another sound out of me.

I whine in protest, "Daemon, please, I can't."

He clicks his tongue, "see? Pretty girls like you should take what they are given graciously without complaints," he brushes his nose against me, "especially when it is a generous gift from her prince."

I release a sigh once he ends his torture.

"Still," Daemon smirks, "I could not bare to make my wife cry even more."

"You can make me cry, if you want," I mumble as I kiss his shoulder, "just let me stay like this for a while," I rub his back, "I like it when I'm full of you."

Daemon relaxes on top of me and I relish the weight of him.

"I like it when you're full of me too."

[dreamerstreamer]

Devil-May-Care

Pairing: demon!Dream / Clay x demon hunter!gn!reader

Summary: [Demon Hunter!AU] When you went in search of the most powerful demon known to mankind, you didn’t expect him to be so charming.

Warnings: a little horror + some violence + tw// weapons (crossbow, gun)

Word Count: 4.2k

A/N: this was requested by a passionate anon! i fell in love with the request at first sight and had loads of fun writing this, although i did take some creative liberty with it. i hope you all enjoy :)

You huffed as you pushed past the branch hanging in your face, wrinkling your nose as you trudged onward. The forest was almost eerily silent around you, the pitch black night doing nothing to ease the tension that had gathered in your shoulders. Above you, the moon and stars twinkled soundlessly, peering down at you with wide, watching eyes.

Where could he possibly be hiding? you thought to yourself with a grimace. Is he even in this forest?

Your mentor had told you that this forest was the last place he’d ever been seen, and that it would be your best bet. But she also told you not to get your hopes too high, since he was known to be a trickster who never stayed in one spot for too long.

You sighed as you stepped over a fallen log, making sure not to trip. Despite how young the night was, you were already getting tired. Tracking was arguably the hardest part of your job, and easily your least favourite part of it.

Then again, no one said being a demon hunter was easy.

With a slight grumble, you squinted through the darkness while walking past another tree. So far, all you’d seen was tree after after tree, and you were getting fed up. Heck, you could have sworn there was a clearing just ahead of you here.

It was at that moment that the trees suddenly parted before you, and you found yourself standing in the middle of a clearing. The soft grass rustled beneath your feet as you took a tentative step forward, your ears perking up for any noise or movement. When nothing came, the muscles in your legs tensed.

This was the first clearing you had found in hours, and something about it just felt off.

“What are you looking for, little hunter?”

You whirled at the sound of the low, curling voice, your gaze frantically darting around the darkness for its source. You kept your lips pursed as your head whipped this way and that, nothing but silence filling the forest air. Even with the light of the moon, all you could make out between the shadows were the silhouettes of trees and their taunting branches looming over you.

There was no way it was who you thought it was... right?

“Not gonna say anything? Hm. Perhaps that’s just because you can’t see me. Here.”

You heard the snap of a finger, and the clearing around you suddenly lit up in a faint, greenish hue. Your eyes widened as the earth you stood upon began to glow, your fingers twitching at your side. Turning again, you quickly searched your surroundings once more for the voice’s owner. Everything seemed to be exactly how it appeared when you first arrived—the trees were just trees and the grass was just grass, even if they were both admittedly glowing.

Just then, there came a whistle from above you.

You lifted your head, and your gaze fell upon a figure sitting atop a tree branch a few feet away. Your breath caught in your throat at the sight.

Piercing, emerald eyes. A green fitted shirt to match. Dark, golden hair. A smattering of freckles. A cold, wicked grin.

The man smiled at you, swinging his legs leisurely as he tilted his head. “Hello there, pet.”

You didn’t wait another second before your arms were reaching up behind you, pulling your crossbow off your back. You slotted the arrow into the flight groove in near record time before aiming it up at him, aiming for but a split second before you pulled the trigger. In a flash, the arrow went flying through the night sky, pointed directly at his face. You could have sworn you caught his eyes turn red before he suddenly vanished, your arrow passing through empty space before pinning itself into the tree trunk he had been leaning against just seconds prior.

You panted, quickly pulling another arrow out of your quiver and reloading your crossbow as you turned in a circle, not a single detail going unnoticed by your watchful eyes. Adrenaline pumped through your veins as you tried to focus on the rustling leaves around you. Your fingers curled around the stock of your bow a fraction tighter, your heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Where is he? Where did he go?

A smooth voice curled around the back of your neck.

“Is this how you greet everyone you meet, or am I just special?”

Whipping around again, you pulled the trigger without even an ounce of hesitation. A twang of satisfaction shot through you as you heard the distinct sound of flesh being pierced, followed by a tumble to the ground. You rushed over at the sight of the man—or demon, as you should be calling him—lying sprawled on the ground, his arms casually tucked under his head as if he hadn’t just been shot.

“Ooh,” he murmured, wrapping his fingers around the arrow sticking out of his chest, “your arrows are made of dreamshade.” He grinned at you. “Smart one, aren’t you?”

Before you could even react, he ripped the arrow out, watching with amusement as crimson slowly dripped onto the front of his shirt. You stared at the hole in his chest, left behind by your arrow, a glimmer of glee expanding in your chest. Yes! you thought, your lips quirking as your hand floated toward the pistol hanging at your side. Now’s my cha—

All of a sudden, you watched in horror as the skin began to reform, the sinew and muscle stitching themselves back together to fill the gap. In an instant, his chest was whole again, the hole having disappeared entirely with nothing to even hint at its existence, were it not for the tear in his shirt.

“Unfortunately for you,” he said, tossing the arrow behind his head with a flick of his fingers, “I’m tougher than most demons out there.”

In a flash, you were standing over him, one foot digging into his chest. You didn’t even give him the chance to blink before you were pointing your crossbow at him once more, this time just barely allowing the arrow tip to hover above his neck. You tried to calm your breaths, pushing back the sick sense of joy you could feel starting to boil over inside you. You were so, so close to just killing hi—

“Don’t you think it’s a little rude to attack me without even asking for my name?” he calmly drawled, looking bored out of his mind.

You blinked in surprise, your thoughts faltering for a moment before your expression hardened once more. “I know who you are.”

He cocked his head at you, something like delight swimming in his viridian eyes. “Do you, now?”

You gulped, hesitating only for a moment before you began to speak. “Y-You’re Dream. Lord of chaos. Progenitor of destruction. Harbinger of nightmares.” You nearly choked on your own words.

“The world’s most powerful demon.”

He grinned at you, clapping his hands together above his head as he let out a small hoot. “Aw, you know all my titles?” He winked. “That’s cute.”

Cute, your brain repeated dumbly, a fuzzy feeling forming in your chest, but you quickly shook the thought from your head with a scowl. You should not be happy that one of the most powerful demon’s known to mankind called you cute.

(Okay, well. Maybe you were a little happy. Not that you would ever admit it.)

With a stony look, your finger wrapped around the crossbow trigger, the cool metal sending a shiver down you spine. “I’m here to kill you, Dream.”

He didn’t look fazed. “Oh? Even though we only just met?”

A snarl ripped itself out of your throat, fury slowly beginning to claw up your insides. Why did he sound so calm? Didn’t he understand that he was about to die to your hand?

“That doesn’t matter,” you said bluntly, trying to ignore your heart ramming away at your ribcage. “You’re a monster that needs to be disposed of.”

He hummed, absentmindedly picking at his nail. “That’s bold of you to say.” His tone was dull and interested, and his eyes seemed to shine even brighter thanks the green glow surrounding his head. “I can’t remember the last time a demon hunter has ever been so upfront with me.”

The string tying your restraint together snapped. That was it. How could he be so nonchalant? So apathetic? Didn’t he care?

“You’ve killed so many people,” you spat, “taken so many innocent lives, and for what?” You narrowed your eyes, nothing but pure disgust running through your veins as you dug the tip of your crossbow into the soft flesh of his neck. “What reason do I have to stop myself from ending your life right here, right now?”

Below you, Dream only stared blankly at you, his eyebrows raised. Then, he let out a sigh, wrapping a hand around the stock of your crossbow. Panic shot through you as he pulled it away from his throat with ease, his fingers curling around the polished wood. “First of all,” he said lowly, “that little thing isn’t going to do anything.”

In a blink of an eye, you heard the snapping of metal and wood, your gaze going wide. He shot you a cocky grin. “Not anymore.”

You leapt back, gritting you teeth and tossing your now useless crossbow onto the earth beside you. Your hand moved in a blur as you reached down and pulled out your pistol from its holster, pointing it toward him. “Each and every one of these bullets is soaked in holy water,” you shouted, your hand cocking back the safety. “Don’t think I won’t shoot.”

Dream rolled over onto his stomach, his grin widening as he rested his chin on his hand. “Tell me,” he drawled, tilting his head, “do you really think you scare me?”

You ignored the shaking of your fingers. “I—I can and will shoot you.”

He laughed, an uncomfortable warmth wrapping around your gut. “Please, darling—I’ve been alive for longer than you can even fathom. As if you’d be the first to pin me down, let alone try to shoot me.” His eyes flashed crimson, and you felt your stomach drop. “I know all your hunter tricks and tactics, and believe me when I say they won’t work.”

Suddenly, he floated up off the ground, not changing his position whatsoever. In only a matter of seconds, he was hovering above you, blinking down at your shocked expression with mirth glimmering in his scarlet gaze. 

Of course he could levitate—what were you expecting?

“Second,” he said, “I did a lot of those things a long time ago, especially in human years. How long has it been?” He tapped his chin. “Probably centuries by now, which is like forever for you guys.”

You scowled at him, your pistol still pointed at him. “That doesn’t mean you haven’t caused any chaos recently.”

“That’s true!” he chirped, snapping his fingers. “But my more recent activities have been much more... tame in comparison to my golden years, don’t you think?”

As much as you wanted to shoot him right here and now, you also wanted to punch him in the face before you did. “Lives are lives, Dream!” you shouted. “Any more or less lost doesn’t make you any more redeemable.”

A chuckle slipped from his lips, flipping onto his back as he continued to hover in the cool, night air. “Oh, you humans and your morality. How entertaining you all are.”

There was only one word running through your mind as you glared at him, your jaw clenching tight as your rage only multiplied inside you. Monster, monster, monster.

His eyelids fluttered shut as he allowed himself to drift a fraction lower toward you. “Well, I do believe I should ask—who’s to say that I was the one who killed those people, anyways?”

Your heart stopped in your chest. “...what are you talking about?”

He peeked an eye open at you. “It’s not like I flew down from the sky and shot them all with a rifle, and it’s not like I just snapped my fingers and everyone dropped dead.” He hummed at the thought. “Just what kind of person do you take me for?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, your toes curling in your boots. “Stop distracting me—you’re dodging the question.”

“On the contrary,” he shot back without missing a beat, “I’d argue that you’re dodging mine, pet.” You could hear the laughter threatening to bubble up his throat as he spoke. “Do you really think I was the one purely responsible for all that destruction?”

You tried to ignore the slight tremble of your hands. “A-Aren’t you?” you stammered out. “You’ve started wars, detonated massive bombs, pushed people to their absolute limits. That stuff’s all your fault.” You gulped. “...isn’t it?”

For a second, he simply stared at you. Then, he burst into a fit of giggles. “Oh, how naïve you are, pet. Just what were you taught?” As he clutched his chest, he sunk a little lower toward you. “I didn’t fight on those battlefields. I didn’t press the red button. I didn’t kick men and women to the ground, pointing guns in their faces. But do you know who did?”

The cogs in your head began to turn as you wracked your mind over his words. Then, a wave of understanding slammed into you, and you lowered your pistol, your arm going limp at your side.

He couldn’t possibly mean...

“Ding, ding, ding! You guessed it.” His lips curled up into a delighted smirk. “Humanity did.”

Your eyes widened in horror. Oh, no.

The manic look in his eyes only grew. “Oh, yes.” He cackled at the look on your face, pointing at you. “I didn’t even have to lift a finger for you to all walk straight into your own demise! How pathetic is that?”

You took a shaky step back, your pistol dropping to the ground. “B-B—”

“B-B-B-But what?” he said mockingly, mimicking you in a high-pitched tone. “Did they tell you that I’m the big, bad wolf and that humanity is Little Red? Because they lied, pet. They lied to you.” He pointed his fingers together to form an X, tilting his head at you. “I’ll have you know that I’m not a liar. A trickster, perhaps. But a liar?” He narrowed his eyes. “Never.”

He bent down where he hovered in the air, waggling a finger in your face. “The truth is, darling, is that I didn’t do anything. I just stood in the room and watched. I might have pointed out that that one little duke was in perfect view, or that that one city only had so many people living in it, but I never took any lives myself.” He lightly tapped your nose, and you shrunk back as he crooned, “Humanity did all that, pet. They’re the real monsters to blame here.”

You wanted to sink to your knees and melt into a puddle on the ground. He was wrong. He had to be wrong. Your mentor told you that Dream killed all those people—that he was the one to stab the knife in and twist it while pulling it out. She wouldn’t lie to you, never in a million years.

You wanted to believe him, you really did. But there was something about the freckles scattered across Dream’s face and the way the moonlight bounced off his eyes that made you realize.

He was telling the truth.

A few moments passed in silence as you stared long and hard down at your feet. You could feel Dream’s gaze boring into your figure, eyeing you up and down as you struggled to steady the beating of your heart. You half-expected him to mock you even more, but to your surprise, he didn’t. Maybe he was more human than you thought.

“Why?” you finally whispered after god knows how long.

When you were met with silence, you raised your eyes to meet his once more. “Why did you do it?” you said, louder this time. “Why did you interact with us at all if you wouldn’t even get your own hands dirty? If you knew it would only end like this?”

His eyes flashed, the tiniest hint of carmine swirling in their murky depths. “Isn’t the answer obvious, pet?” He flashed you a wicked grin. “I was bored.”

You blinked, realization slowly setting in. “Bored? Bored?” You were about to lose it, now. “You did all that just because you were bored?”

He shrugged. “Sure did. Chaos makes the world so much more interesting, don’t you think? If only good things happened, you would be bored, too.”

Your stomach churned with disgust. “You’re twisted.”

His smile only widened. “At least I’m having fun.”

All you could do was stare at him in defeat. This wasn’t right. There were more ways to have fun than to toy with humanity’s psyche and drive them to end people’s lives, even for a demon like him. There had to be something you could do. For some inexplicable reason you couldn’t bring yourself to name, a part of you almost wanted to help him.

I must be losing my mind, you thought. What person in their right mind would try to save a demon, let alone the most powerful one of them all?

You, apparently.

The cogs in your head began to churn, your mind bustling as it tried to come up with some alternative, no matter how silly. There had to be something he could do that wasn’t just this.

That was when it hit you.

“Why,” you started slowly, your voice coming out shaky and unsure, “don’t you have fun in a way that doesn’t destroy things... but creates them?”

He blinked lazily at you. “Hm?”

You swallowed, raising your chin. “You—you can have chaos, but it doesn’t need to be destructive.”

He raised his brows. “It doesn’t?”

Your gaze hardened. “Not at all.”

Just then, a flash of memory shot through your skull, and you gasped. “Say, Dream,” you began, “do you—do you know how the Greeks thought the universe came to be?”

You didn’t wait for him to answer. “First,” you said, “there was chaos. And from chaos, life was born. Gods and goddesses, plants and animals.”

“And humans,” he added.

You nodded. “And humans—like me.” You pressed a hand to your chest. “See? Chaos can create things. It doesn’t have to be so full of death and terror.”

While his expression was bemused, there was something sad about it that you couldn’t quite put your finger on. “You do realize that that’s just a story that you human made up?” he hummed. “How the universe came to be is far more different.”

You blinked. “You were alive for that?”

He sent you a blank smile, the look in his eyes betraying nothing. “Maybe, maybe not.” Waving his hand, he flipped over onto his back, floating a fraction higher than before. “Point is, that kind of chaos probably doesn’t exist.”

Your hands clenched into fists at your side. “But it could,” you whispered.

He paused, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “What?”

You dug your heel into the ground, raising your voice. “It could! You don’t know that it doesn’t.” You took a step toward him, throwing your arms out. “Isn’t that fun? Isn’t that exciting? That there’s a whole other form of chaos you’ve never discovered before?!”

Your shout rang out into the quiet forest as Dream stared at you, his lips parted the tiniest bit. Rather than looking amused or arrogant, he almost looked... raw. Real. This might just the most vulnerable look you’d gotten of him all night.

Then, he burst into laughter.

Lowering your arms, you huffed at him, trying and failing to ignore the warmth blossoming between your lungs as you took in his wheezing face. “W-What?”

“Oh,” he gasped between peals of laughter, “what a treat you are, pet.”

Heat flashed across your cheeks as he wiped away a tear from his eye, his chuckles slowly dying down. His laugh should not sound as attractive as it was—he should not be as attractive as he was.

“Tell you what,” he said as he caught his breath once more, sending you a devilish grin. “If you tell me your name, I’ll tell you my real one.”

You stared at him for a moment, then your jaw dropped. “What?”

He stared at you, his emerald eyes glowing in the dim light. “You heard me.”

For a few seconds, you simply gaped, your brain still struggling to process his words. “But... but why?” you finally blurted. “It doesn’t make any sense.”

He hummed at you, flipping upside down. “What about it doesn’t make sense? It seems like a fair trade to me.”

Sputtering, you threw your hands into the air. “A demon’s true name is the source of their power! By handing it over to me, you’re basically putting your life in my hands—in a demon hunter’s hands.” Your face blanched at the mere thought. “A human name and demon name aren’t even remotely comparable.”

He blinked at you, slow and lazy. “I know.”

You didn’t understand—you couldn’t understand. “Then why are you doing this?”

He dipped his down toward you, his face hovering mere inches away from yours. “Isn’t it obvious?” he murmured. “You’re interesting. And rather cute, I suppose.”

You back-pedaled, your eyes wide as you stammered, “I-I could kill you if you told me your real name.”

He hummed, tucking his hand under his chin. “Perhaps, I suppose.” His lips curled upward. “But you won’t.”

Your hand squeezed around nothing. “You don’t know that.”

He chuckled again, and your heart skipped a beat in your chest. “Oh, yes I do, pet. Don’t act as though I can’t see right through you. I know you’re too wishy-washy to kill me off just like that.”

He tilted his head at you, his gaze brimming with mischief.  “That’s the thing about humans—you’re all so greedy. You all want something you don’t have, something that fuels you to acquire more. It might be power, or fame, or fortune, or love. It’s quite pathetic, really. But curiosity?”

Lowering himself, he pushed himself up until he was standing flat on the ground again, his hands sliding into his pockets. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and your mouth went dry. “Why, curiosity is your greatest flaw of all. You humans always want to know more, and I know that you want to know what I do next, whether you’re aware of it or not.”

You felt like your blood was going to tear right out of your veins. You hated how right he was, how well he seemed to know you. “You’re insane,” you said.

His smile was lazy and wide as he took a single step toward you. “Probably. But I’ve been alive for ages now, and you might be the most fun thing I’ve seen in millennia. I want to know your name, pet.”

This was crazy in every sense of the word. Any other demon wouldn’t even dare utter their true name aloud, even to themselves, yet here Dream was, bargaining his for yours.

You’d be an idiot not to tell him your name, now.

Swallowing, you didn’t dare look away from his piercing eyes. “It—my name is [Y/N].”

His lips parted in awe, and he stepped toward you once more. “[Y/N],” he repeated, slowly. Carefully, like a wolf stalking its prey. “Fascinating name. Haven’t met too many of those in my lifetime, shocking as it may be.” He paused for a moment, and you could have sworn his smile looked different. “It’s pretty.”

A rush of heat went shooting down your spine, your stomach doing a flip. Biting the inside of your cheek, you glared at him. “Well, stop dawdling! What’s your real name, Dream?”

For a long, excruciatingly slow minute, he only stared at you, scanning every inch of your face. You could feel anxiety begin to crawl up your throat as he did nothing more than watch the rise and fall of your chest as you breathed.

All of a sudden, he was standing in front of you, his hand tucked underneath your chin and lifting it upward. You barely had the chance to gasp before you felt a soft warmth pressing against your lips, light as a feather and tasting like ash and smoke.

Before you could even register what had just happened, he was gone.

You whirled, your face growing astronomically hot. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears again, but for an entirely different reason this time. You raised your hand to touch your lips while your cheeks burned furiously.

Did he just... kiss me?

Just then, a whisper ran along the shell of your ear, so soft that you almost missed it.

“My name is Clay.”

[whosjunglejim4322]

Bramosia | J.Seo (m)

Genre: pwp, knight!au, smut, fluff, he is, and I can't stress this enough, madly in love with you

Warnings: loss of virginity, pussy eating, mutual pining and longing, it's forbidden but who's gonna stop u??? Exactly. Inaccurate descriptions of the time period probably, inappropriate use of the word princess, he fucks you to tears, this is so self indulgent I gotta blast

The moons unearthly luminescence bleeds through the windows that sit directly above your wing of the old castles corridor, a reminder of why he bears the heavy sword that hangs off of his hip, of why he's here in the first place.

He rolls his aching neck, blinking his dry eyes a few times in an attempt to dampen them. He's usually not so worn by now.

Perhaps the two of you had gotten too carried away last night, it's too easy when you're with eachother. Effortless, like that of a flowers perianth traveling wistfully through a summers breeze. It's easy to forget.

He's here to protect you, nothing more, as he is was a proffesional in all that he does. He is a knight, after all. One of the best. Your father wouldn't have requested him from a province so far away if he weren't damn good.

Six months ago, it seems like a lifetime away and yet the memory of seeing you for the very first time is so vivid behind his eyelids, tangible as if he could reach out and hover his palms over the warmth the halo around you seemed to emit.

He smiles to himself, the image keeping him sane and distracting him from the ache in the soles of his feet. He knows you're probably not sleeping, he wishes you wouldn't worry about him. He's doing it to himself, really.

He is a warrior but he is only so strong, so resilient. He has never been stricken by such a force as to have his bones feel as weak as they do when he looks into your eyes, when you cup his face in your hands like he is the most delicate thing you have ever seen. 

Sure, he hadn't been the most nonchalant. His eyes barely left you even during the brief moments in which his life is not sworn over to do so, and you being you, caught him almost every time. You'd smile, fleeting enough for only him to notice.

You never get the credit you deserve, he had come to find out over the past several months. Being a princess, as fawned over the title may be, it wasn't meant for you.

You'd scowl at the name of every prince your father mentioned might come visit, which he'd take pride in secretly. You wouldn't even scold him whenever he'd been clearly protective in a manner than suggested that it was more than just the job that inclined him to act that way.

Perceptive, and clever you are. And to think, you might feel even a fraction of what he feels, it causes his heart to thunder loudly behind his sturdy ribcage, momentarily reducing his fatigue.

You are the only one in all of his twenty five years of life that has threatened to shake his very foundation, like you've found a way to wind yourself through every ridge of his skeleton like vines of Wisteria.

Sundays are always the hardest, you're still so fresh in his mind, on his skin. It's like every inch of him has been permanently marked, he can still feel the weight of your body against his and the warm puff of air from your lips against his earlobe as you sing his name.

His sigh is quiet in the vast, empty space around him. He shouldn't be thinking of you so late, when he's so tired. It makes him ache for you all the more, make him wish life was anything but what it is now. That he could be with you unabashedly.

That he could be your protector, and not just in a way that could be be permanently devastated if anyone were to find out about the two of you.

He doesn't realize he's closed his eyes, not until he has to peel them open and search for the source of the soft voice he's just heard whisper his name into the dark.

He furrows his brows as a stream of warm candlelight spills through the crack in your door from your room, your form coming into a few just a moment later, as if beckoned from his dreams.

"You're really going to stay out there, John?" He foresees your incredulity, smiling at the hand thats propped up on your hip.

"Those are my orders, princess." He has a hard time not staring at you, even in such poor lighting you are still the most beautiful thing he's ever witnessed.

He's always stubborn about breaking the made up rules you two have put in place, like only meeting in private on Saturdays. Despite his inability to resist you he still needs to keep you safe.

"My father is a whole wing away, don't you know," you emphasize your point by stepping out past your doorframe, tiptoeing at an almost imperceptible pace towards him. "and if danger were to arise, how much more convenient need it be, than for you to be right there with me?"

You're standing right in front of him now, weaking his resolve eith each syllable that passes those pretty lips of yours. It's strange, how he still wonders if your feelings for him are resolute as his are for you, when you're the one always asking for trouble. Eager to have your way.

When you reach out to grab his waist, he breaks.

"Princess, if someone were to see that I'm not outside of your room guarding as I'm supposed to,"

You interrupt him, pressing yourself closer until he can feel your chest against his, the barrier of his clothing suddenly a burden far heavier than before.

"Who? Who might see? Everyone is asleep, you should be."

You stare up at him and he can't seem to resist the pull, meeting your eyes and unclapsing his hands from behind his back to stroke the apple of your cheek with his knuckles.

You heel into his touch, beaming as you realise you've already gotten your way, evident in the way he sighs your name as if the word fills him with oxytocin.

"You really are trouble," he cups your face, calloused fingertips swiping a fallen lash from underneath your eye. "trying to lure me in, like a siren. I'd be willing to go, anyways."

You lift yourself to the tips of your toes, pressing a brief, featherlight, kiss to the surface of his lips. Just enough to bring forth warmth to his cheeks.

"You're silly, I'd be too selfish a siren to do any damage. I'd have to keep you all to myself."

His arms are strong and steady as the encapsulate you, the fears and worries of outside intruders fading with each second spent in eachothers presence. It's like nothing else exists.

"Please, Princess. It's hard enough already, to be away from you," he's on the verge of losing any bit of hope for his sanity, but as anticipated, you won't have it.

"And you don't think it's hard for me? You think that I enjoy knowing that it is prohibited for me to be like this with you? I am many things but I am not selfish, so if you don't want to come with me then I won't force you."

He has to bite back a laugh, or maybe a scream of frustration and agony all at the same time. Here you are, so close he's sure you can hear how his pulse pounds beneath his skin at your presence, actually accusing him of not wanting you. It's preposterous.

You glare up at him when his arms don't loosen their grasp.

"You must be mistaken, sorely mistaken. If you think that any moment spent without you is even the least bit pleasant for me, you're wrong. So wrong it's a bit humorous," he kisses your cheek, and then the other. Your skin tingles where his lips grace.

"You may not be selfish but I am. So selfish that I'd give into my own desires even if it meant that one slip up could ruin it all. Don't you see that?" You sigh blissfully, in spite of his words, when he kisses your nose.

"Well I think that's stupid, I'd never let such a thing happen. I've lived here my whole life, I'd be able to predict the likelihood of someone coming up here during such a late hour."

He doesn't miss the pitch of sadness that comes with talk of the castle, he knows that there is so much you still have yet to experience. So much you'd like to do, so far away from here.

Still, he can't deny the truth in which you speak. You're right, and he knows that you're as careful of these things as he is. He trusts you, as you trust him. And what is he going to do, say no? He'd never have the willpower.

His broad shoulders relax, his hands suddenly engulfing yours.

"Alright, you don't have to pout anymore. You know I'll end up kissing it from that pretty face of yours anyways."

You suppress a giggle of elation, squeezing your fingers around his as you turn to quietly pull him into your room, peering into the the hallway once more to make sure the coast is clear, before you ease your door shut.

And then at once, he is what you taste on your tongue.

His lips always leave you breathless. The way he kisses you, it's as of you are his only source of oxygen and his lungs burn with the need for air. He is fierce, but so very concise. You almost forget that he so ruefully pretended to put up a fight.

Your arms mold around his neck as he slouches the slightest bit in order to make the reach easier for you, knowing how you like to bury your hands in his hair and tug at the strands whenever he does something that you'd like more of.

Your eagerness is a bit more exuberant tonight, normally you'd still be a bit bashful, giggling between pecks and having to turn your face away before kissing him again.

But you haven't pulled away from him yet, not even for a breath and suddenly his skin is sweltering towards what feels like a hundred degrees. He's pretty sure you've just whispered his name.

He's already gone, helplessly lost in the way you're clinging onto him with all your strength.

"John." Just his name falling from your lips in the form of a sweet sigh has his knees buckling.

He's careful, hesitant even, when he cups the back of your knees and allows you to fall atop your bed, the sight almost too much to bear. He can never catch a break.

But he has to look at you, has to see the look in your eyes, the gleam that shines in your blown out pupils as your fingers tug at the clothing hanging loosely on his body. He fights back a groan.

Of course things have gotten intense between the two of you, but nothing more than over the clothes petting. And, even then, that drove him to the brink of insanity. He didn't think he could ever be putty in someone's hands until he met you.

It feels like everything is happening so fast yet not slow enough, it seems as if you're blooming like a lotus before his eyes and he wants to capture every little detail. Just incase one day his memories are all he has of you.

You pull him back down to your mouth, legs suddenly looping around his trim waist, knees locked on either side. You practically purr as his hands, large and tender, grace your thighs only to be met with bare skin where your nightgown has risen up.

He's breathing heavily when your mouths depart momentarily, his doe eyes an onyx pit of desire and emotion as he stares down at you, lips ruby red.

You nod, as if reading his mind and answering the dozens of unanswered questions that sit unmoving at the tip of his tongue. Still, his eyebrows are pulled together in concentration, in tentative restraint.

"You can touch me. Please, touch me."

Your skin is heavenly underneath his trembling touch, from the soft hair atop your thighs to the way you so perfectly mold around his fingers. You're a gift of the most ethereal kind, here in front of him.

You coo at him with a voice of an angel, pulling at his face in an attempt to have him kiss you again. He's been too busy ogling, and repays you with the press of his mouth against the crook of your neck.

You lift your chin to allow him more access, eyes fluttering closed and thighs tightening around his middle when you feel the warmth of his open mouth against your throat.

"You're so sweet, so pretty." He mumbles, practically floating.

He nips at your collarbone, and you can't stop your hips from bucking up against him, your clothed center meeting his hardened length through the material of his bottoms.

The air is thick with tension now, you can feel it buzzing through the both of you like ths thrum of a thunderstorm. He sucks in a breath, lips ghosting over yours.

"I want to make you feel good, If you'd allow me." He tries to control the shake in his voice but he's not sure he's succeeded. What a mess you've made of him.

You kiss him for what seems like the hundredth time but feels like the first, still sending jolts of electricity through your body and causing heat to swirl in your loins. You can barely speak.

"Y-Yes, yes I'll allow you."

Your voice is foreign to your own ears, clouded with desire and a desperation that is as overwhelming as it is strange and new.

But having him here, knowing he's the one whose hands are touching you, it's comforting in a way that leaves no room for doubt that he is nothing but kind. Nothing but adoring.

It's hard to tell with just the luminosity of a single candle on your bedside table, but you're almost certain you can feel him shuffle. At least, his weight seems to have shifted, his arms suddenly caged around your waist, upperhalf between your legs.

And then you feel it, the plushness of his lips just above your knee as he lifts your legs by your calves, placing them over his shoulders. You're not sure you can focus on anything else now, breathing suddenly heavy.

"You're so beautiful, you know that?" His voice is so close, yet far away in an unfamiliar way. It has butterflies swarming your belly.

"I'm so lucky, so so lucky..." He trails off between kisses, shifting from one thigh to the other, slowly but surely making his way towards your center.

It's only now in your bird brain that you're beginning to realize what exactly he's about to do, and it's like some switch inside of you has been flicked on, toes suddenly curling in anticipation, wetness soaking into the fabric of your underwear.

The desire isn't just in your belly now, its everywhere. All consuming, when he pushes your nightgown up and bunches it around your hips, the air cool against your skin. You shiver, and his cheek brushes against the crease of your thigh.

"Have you ever been touched like this, princess?" He's curious but not pushy, just wants to know. When you shake your head, he swallows.

He's slow and steady, pulling your underwear off your hips and down your legs, allowing the garment to fall to the floor. You don't clamp your legs shut, despite the instinct to shield yourself. You've never hidden yourself from him, and you know there's no reason to.

Esepcially not when he's looking at you like he is right now, like a man starved whose just been presented with a meal of his favorite kind. He glances up at you, with eyes that shine with gratitude, and awe alike. You reach out to stroke his hair.

And then, suddenly, his face is gone from your view. You feel it, first, before you register that it's happening. A gasp leaves your lips the moment your back arches ever so slightly off of your mattress, his hands keeping your thighs apart as his tongue licks another flat stripe through your folds.

You feel exposed in a way that only feels as intoxicating as it does, because he's the one with his mouth on your cunt, suckling your bud between his lips and swiveling his head side to side. You tug at his hair.

A guttural groan resonates in his throat and the vibration serves as direct stimulation, a mewl leaving your mouth as you buck you hips up against his skilled tongue.

"Shhh baby, stay quiet for me," you furrow your eyebrows, looking down at him with stars in your eyes. "I know, I know sweetheart." He reads the pleading in your eyes, soothingly rubbing your hips as he delves back in.

It's not easy to stay quiet. Not at all.

If you'd thought him rubbing your clit through your clothes was something to be noisy over, nothing prepared you for this.

He's so good at it, so generous with every lap of his tongue. The sounds are lewd and loud in the shared space, and his tongues pace only increases when you reach down to find his hands. He intertwines your fingers before you give him the hint.

You try to keep your volume low, your whimpers almost inaudible but loud enough to spurr him on, to have his hips rutting against the bed while he kisses your cunt with passion only a lover could have.

Bliss overcomes you faster than you expect, and swallows you whole like a vicious, unmerciful hurricane.

Your thighs tremble against his strength as he keeps them parted when they threaten to close, your fingers twisted in the comforter as tears well in your eyes.

You're not sure if you're making any noise, the light too bright behind your eyes, bones suddenly weightless as his tongue licks you clean. You twitch, aware that you've let out a whine. The feeling is agonizingly pleasant.

You're still throbbing when his hands suddenly grasp your jaw, head lolling in his direction as he presses his lips to yours. He's serene, slipping his tongue into your mouth, humming.

You're certain, now. Certain that you need to have him in every way there is to have someone, for your heart may forever be unsettled if it doesn't get to taste what it's like to love him wholly, completely.

"I want to-" you've got his rapt attention, as you always do, and he stares down at you with a lovesick expression as you struggle to find the strength to say it out loud.

He's grown accustomed to reading your countenance, only time allowing him to grasp the meaning behind every crease and line that forms on your face, he's certain you could give him one look and he'd instantly know what it is that you're trying to say.

One perk to having a secret rendezvous, though he still needs to hear you say it. He'd only take your word for it regarding something like this, something that he's dreamt about more times that he'd like to admit.

He can't hide his surprise, thumbs stroking your face.

"You want me to..." he quirks an inquisitive brow, nearly becoming distracted when your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip. "you want me to be your first?"

Even the words have you latching onto him tighter, desperate to feel the warmth of his skin against yours.

"Yes, I want that very much...do you...also want that?"

He grins, widely and for a moment you forget he was born to be made of steel, that he's fought all of his life and has bruised his skin for the sake of his kingdom. You want to kiss away every bad memory in his head.

"How could you even think you have to ask? I want nothing more, just you. You're all I'll ever want."

The veracity in his voice, suddenly hoarse, makes your skin feel like it's being tickled by a million, tiny feathers. You never knew anything could feel like this.

A heartbeat later, your hands are slipping underneath his top to make an attempt at pulling it off, your excitment not a good match for your lack of coordination. Of course, he doesn't mind helping.

He slips his sword from his hip while you stare up at him with wide eyes of reverence and desire, so much of him being exposed at once causing a swelter of heat to boil underneath your skin.

Your hands are hesitant, hovering around his lithe hips as he sits back on his haunches, chest rapidly rising and falling as the atmosphere begins to soak into his pores. He can't believe he gets to make love to you.

"You can touch me, princess," he's the one reassuring you now, knowing that beyond your headstrong personality when you're with him, you're still so timid; trembling like a leaf in autumn.

His dexterous fingers gently grasp your wrists, placing your palms over his abdomen, keeping your gaze all the while, head nodding in encouragement.

He's soft, soft on the surface at least. The soft down that covers his honey colored skin is like silk underneath your fingers, a juxtaposition to the rigid muscle underneath that flexes as your fingertips move upwards towards the broad planes of his chest.

You hook your fingers around his shoulders, and pull him down to your mouth, determined as your heart bellows inside of your body.

It's wilder this time, the wet sounds loud in your ears, his tongue waltzing with yours. You rake your nails down his sides, and he damn near growls.

It's a blur, the way he slips the straps of your gown from off of your shoulders, before removing the garment completely and throwing it behind him. Somewhere in between he pulls the covers out from underneath you, sensing the chill that runs through you like a tremor from the exposure.

It's during that brief moment when you're too drunk on adrenaline, that your fingers begin pulling at the buckle of his bottoms, too eager again and not being able to unfasten it correctly. Always the gentlemen, he does it for you, again.

He's careful now, not completely planting himself against you yet when he kisses your neck and takes your breasts in his massive palms, squeezing indulgently.

You pull him up by the ridge of his jaw, wrapping your legs around his middle as you had previously, letting out a small gasp as his hard length suddenly comes to lie heavy between your legs when you beckon him closer by your heels on his back.

"You're sure you want me?" He slips his hand that's not cupping your cheek, down in between your bodies to rub your clit with his middle finger, actually expecting you to be able to speak coherently. He supresses his gasp upon feeling the abundance of your essence.

It's hard to focus, when he's looking down at you like that, when you can feel every ridge and curve of his naked body against yours. Perhaps it's being able to to tell that he's feeling the same way just by the way he speaks, that makes it so intoxicating.

"You're all I'll ever want." You echo his earlier words, and his laughter fills your ears like a lullably. You reach out to push his dark hair out from in front of his eyes, his lips catching your palm and placing a kiss to the center.

"It'll hurt, I'll go as slow as you need me to." You see the worry creased between his brow, and you soothe it away by clenching your thighs around his waist, silently beckoning him.

"Please, please fuck me."

It takes him by surprise, cock twitching against your sex. You sound so sweet, so angelic even when you're requesting something so filthy.

He lifts himself on his forearms, reaching down to grasp his shaft. Your hands are in his hair a the while, fingers tracing shapes across the nape of his neck. You suck in a breath when he rubs the tip against your clit, arousal leaking from your slit.

He rubs his cock against you like this, through your silken folds and back up to your sensitive nub, until your head is thrown back against the pillows, face turned to the side and canorous mewls slipping past your lips.

Your eyes flutter open when he kisses you, finally prodding your entrance, readying you. Your teeth gently sink into the plush surface of his bottom lip, as if urging him to continue.

Your mouth falls open when he begins to push himself inside of you. You have to brace yourself by clinging onto his biceps, reminding yourself to breathe.

If you weren't as wet for him as you are, you're sure it would be more painful. It still stings, even more so as he begins to bottom out, using every bit of self control he has as to make sure he doesn't accidentally rut into you with too much force.

He meets your eyes when he's fully sheathed inside of you, your fingernails leaving crescent moons in his skin. He doesn't mind it one bit.

"Are you alright?" The tenderness in his voice is accompanied by his lips across your cheeks, down your jaw, over your eyelids.

"Mhm. J-Just stay like this, for a second, please." Your walls flutter around him and his eyes fall heavy. He stays as still as he can for the moment, fingers massaging your soft hip.

"I never thought...never dreamed we'd get to do this." He speaks in an irrevocable way, swelling your heart over two times its size with how he talks about you. Like you're truly something magical.

You wiggle your hips, his gaze searching for yours and lighting up with newfound determination when you give him conformation to move. He slowly drags himself out, before pushing himself back in.

"If you only knew...how much I truly think of you." You speak steadily despite the wave of pleasure that ripples through your body, from the pit of your stomach outwards, touching every nerve.

He's big, bigger than you expected, but curved in a way that has you fighting a cry. Your lungs ache with the need to make noise, to express how it feels to have him inside of you like this. You squeeze around him, and he smashes his lips against yours.

You never thought it would feel like this, you'd heard mixed reviews but clearly none of them had ever experienced what it's like to have someone like him demonstrating their skill.

He's precise, a little shaky but only because he's concentrating on not literally cumming after two minutes. You're everything he's ever wanted and more, you're soaked and warm around him, chest pressed flush against his. Your hardened nipples threaten to distract him.

His hair tickles your forehead as he begins to create a steady pace. He's got one hand behind your right thigh, cupping it and hiking it up just the slightest bit while he fucks into you, curling his hips.

He swallows your moans, tasting the sense of surrealness on your tongue. He feels it too, groaning when you tug a tuft of his hair.

"You're mine, all mine, fuck." His voice is hoarse, hips stuttering as he begins to rock into you, not completely pulling himself out of you before nudging your cervix again. His mouth catches the edge of your jaw, then your earlobe.

He buries his face in your shoulder, and you wrap your arms around his neck, pressing your lips against his hair as you keep yourself quiet. He can still feel the way you're shivering, the whispers of cries that are audible when you breathe.

"I'm yours, I'm yours." You're not sure you could ever feel this way about someone else, and not just because he is all that every single one of your senses seemed to be attuned to.

He's deep inside of you, reaching places you never would be able to by yourself, and still holds you like you're the entire world. Despite the need that consumes you both, he takes his time.

You feel him everywhere. On your neck, your throat, down to your clavicle where his hot tongue soothes over the mark he's just made.

You can almost feel him in your belly, the tip of his cock nudging the sweet spot of nerves deep within you causing your body to jerk in his hold. He takes note and is determined to drive you over the edge, knowing he's not going to last much longer.

He's yearned for it too long, and nothing his mind could have conjured up would ever compare again.

He lets go of your leg only to bring his hand to where your bodies are connected as one, your face contorted into a mask of pleasure as he begins to rub at your clit, in circular motions, with the same rythym as his thrusts.

"John, ohhh, you f-feel so good." You're slurring your words, high off of his affection. Your belly feels hot, a pressure just behind your navel leaving you writhing, trying to match his pace.

"Yeah? Feels good to have me inside of you?" He's being cruel now, already knowing the answer by the way tears are swelling in your eyes for the second time tonight, irisises shining back at him.

Your hands roam his sides, settling on his hips as you turn your face to hide it against his bicep. He kisses any expanse of skin that he can reach, till the wet spots leave a trail of chills along your body.

You're close, and he knows it. You're already leaking onto the bed, dripping down his shaft.

"J-John...p-please." You're blubbering now, and his fingers circle your clit faster, just enough to have you breathless and unable to speak as his strokes become inconsistent, cock throbbing.

"Shh, I got you baby, gonna make you cum okay? Want you to let go."

Looking up into his eyes, it's hard to resist. Suddenly it's the first time you've met and you're awestruck by his beauty all over again, by the sharp planes of his face that you'd come to realize are soft underneath your touch.

You're kissing him again for the first time, and his lips are as plush and pillowy as they look, his hands big and wsrm as they hold your face steady against his mouth.

You realize you're in love with him for the first time again, staring into honey colored irises and listening to his velvet voice, aware that when he's gone it feels like a piece of you has been taken along with him.

Your body suddenly stills, save for your back arching and his body, sturdy and whole, there to anchor you while you forget you breathe. Your orgasm is all the more powerful this time, with him inside of you, and it's like once youre unraveling it doesn't stop.

He holds the back of your head and allows you to muffle your cries against his chest, fingers latching onto any part of him you reach first, as if you might fall of the face of the earth. He's still rubbing your clit, whispering sweet encouragements in your ear.

You don't pick up all of it, only vaguely aware of the tremor in his tone as he says your name.

And then he's locked against you, every muscle in his body rigid and hard as a strained, muffled whimper resonates from beside your head. He's biting into a pillow, as warmth fills you to the brim and he sloppily fucks it into you.

You're still reeling, when he kisses you like someone who hasn't seen their lover in years and is finally getting the chance to touch them again, to wordlessly express how enamored they are. Wholeheartedly, and irreversibly.

He says it first, which surprises you, considering in your dreams you're always the one professing it to him, stroking his skin or petting his hair and whispering it in between kisses.

But you're sure this is real, you can feel ache in your bones, the throb of your centers where they're still connected.

"I love you." His voice is even more beautiful when he's speaking in such a simple, yet profound way. There's a quiver, but not because he's not being honest. He'd swear on his life, for his conviction.

"I love you too." You reply, looping your fingers round the nape of his neck, toying with the soft hair there.

Maybe he shouldn't be so shocked, but he is. His face can't hide it, the quirk of his full lips, the furrow of disbelief in his brow. You want to kiss his stupid face a thousand time over.

"I love you." He repeats it, as if the words bring forth sunshine on a day shrouded by the darkness of rain clouds.

He repeats it again, when he's hovering over your lips, breath warm against your skin. He repeats it again when he's placing kisses to your forehead, when you giggle and stroke his cheek.

"And I love you, silly silly man." You remind him, willing him by the longing in your voice, to believe it as you believe him.

He repeats it again, when a tear cascades down your cheek like a diamond shaped declaration of your honesty, and he kisses it away, claiming it for himself.

You love him, and he loves you.

And maybe, no matter what happens, that'll be enough.

[otherworldseekers]

Trouble with a Hat

A little scene to answer the prompt “holding the other’s chin up“ sent in by @abyssalmermaiden​. It’s pretty bare bones cause I’ve really been struggling with writing lately but I hope you like it anyway. This takes place when Severia and Nero are sent to Ul dah for parts during the Crystal Tower quests and will eventually go into either chapter 3 or 4 of “Something’s Gotta Give”. 

“Must you wear that confounded traveling hat everywhere, hero?”

Severia reached up and gripped the brim of her hat protectively as they walked along the streets of Ul’dah in search of the Goldsmith’s Guild. “What’s wrong with my hat?”

“I’m sure it is a great boon to you on your travels,” Nero admitted. “But we are in the city now.”

“And the sun burns less brightly in the city?” 

Nero gestured expansively to the ceiling of the fountained court they had just entered. Severia glared at him.

“I was given the impression that you preferred to go under the radar,” said Nero. “Yet that hat is rather… ostentatious in its out-dated way. I have never seen another like it.”

“So you object to my hat because it is out of fashion? I’m sure I never asked you.”

“I object to it because it is in the way.” 

“Excuse me?”

“It is rather tiresome talking to a hat.”

“Talking to a…” Severia caught onto his meaning, but was still less than sympathetic. “Have you considered simply not talking? I assure you it will be no loss to me.”

“You are such a delightful conversationalist, hero.” Pausing and turning to her, he grasped her chin and tilted it upward until the shadow of her hat had been cast away. “But I would prefer to see the fire in your eyes when you insult me.”

Severia batted his hand away and pulled her hat low. “What you prefer is the least of my concerns,” she said as she walked away from him. 

“I think you are hiding beneath that hat the way you hide behind your titles,” Nero called after her. “You do not want the world to see who you really are.”

Severia whirled on him, hands on her hips. “And you think you see who I really am?”

“I see a fraction of it,” Nero said. “Enough to know I want to see more.”

Severia stared at him. “What?”

“Come now, hero, I’ve made no secret of the fact that I find you truly fascinating.”

“Because of my Echo.”

“Your Echo piqued my interest,” Nero said as he closed in on her. Once again he lifted her chin so that their eyes met. “It is the rest of you that captured my attention.” With a grin and a wink he released her and continued toward their destination, leaving Severia standing there feeling confused and bereft. 

She should have said that his attention is unwanted and unwelcome. That she has not the slightest interest in indulging his gaze and that he should keep his hands to himself. She should have reminded him again that they are here to complete a job and she is nothing but his reluctant escort and to stop distracting her with his nonsense. There are a hundred things she could have said to discourage him, but she can’t say any of them. She’s no longer sure if they are true. 

[cadiebug]

buddie prompt hurt/comfort if it sparks ur interest: maybe one of them gets a concussion/head injury on the job, and the other has to take care of him

Oh Anon, this is one of my favorite hurt/comfort prompts, here you you go-

Also, read here on Ao3

Eddie’s tracking every minuscule detail of Buck’s face, every little microexpression that Buck doesn’t want him to pay attention to. Buck’s upset, tired, a little on edge, his knuckles are white from his grip on the steering wheel and stand out harshly against the black of it. His face is set, small frown lines formed across his forehead and around his eyes. Eddie can see the spot where he’s chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

They stop at an intersection fifteen minutes from Eddie’s house, and Eddie uses the lack of motion to his advantage and shifts his body, resting his cheek against the headrest, and moving to face Buck in the driver's seat. 

He watches Buck for a moment longer, he’s still the same driver, smooth and careful, never taking his eyes off the road or more than one hand off the wheel. Buck starts chewing on his lip as they make another turn. 

Eddie lets out a small sigh, “I’m sorry,” he finally says, pulling at the cuffs of his sweatshirt. 

He watches Buck’s eyes flit across the street to Eddie for a fraction of a second. He huffs and smiles, it’s a little bitter, “No, you’re not.” 

“I am,” Eddie rushes to amend, “for scaring you.” 

Buck drums his fingers on the wheel, “Not for doing though, right?” 

Eddie tries to search Buck’s eyes, “You would’ve done the same thing.” 

Buck nods, a little regretful, “I know,” he bites his lip again, “You still scared me.” 

On a whim, Eddie reaches over to Buck and rests his hand on Buck’s thigh, his fingers just barely ghosting over the denim there, when Buck sighs and a bit of the tension held in his shoulders bleeds out, Eddie leaves his hand there for the rest of the car ride. 

The atmosphere in the car the rest of the way isn’t uncomfortable but there’s still something left unsaid, possibly by Buck, because Eddie has no idea what he’s supposed to say. Maybe Buck doesn’t know either, or maybe he’s just holding back because Eddie has a concussion and he can’t yell at Eddie when he has a concussion, according to the doctor. 

He still wants to say something though, even when they’re finally back at the house, Buck is still chewing on the inside of his cheek, clenching and unclenching his fingers like he usually does when something is bothering him. 

Eddie lets Buck open the door and lead them into the house, “Chris is with Ryan, Lynn said he could spend the night,” he explains, kicking off his shoes, “I uh, I figured you wouldn’t want Chris to see you hurt, less noise too.” 

Buck goes towards the bedroom and Eddie watches him as he walks the other way and into the kitchen. He hops onto the counter and winces when the movement makes his neck twinge, when he looks up, he sees Buck watching him with an unimpressed look, eyebrows raised far higher than they should be able to go. 

Buck holds up a pill bottle and a glass of water that he procured from… Somewhere. He moves over to Eddie and stands a little closer than he needs to, almost between Eddie’s legs. 

Eddie lets him, he even spreads his legs slightly to make a little more room for him. He swallows the pills Buck hands to him and grimaces at the taste, and hopes in the back of his mind that it’s pain medication. 

“I am sorry,” Eddie whispers, tracking Buck’s eyes better than he could before in the car. 

Buck nods, and his hand moves, hovering near Eddie’s waist, “I know,” he mumbles, seeming to ignore it when Eddie brings his hand down over Buck’s to move it all the way to his waist. “It doesn’t make it easier though, being on the other side of the phone call. I knew it wasn’t horrible, from what Bobby told me, but still-” He barely says the last words, and they’re a little wet and weak when he does. 

Eddie lets the feeling of Buck’s calloused thumb brushing over a butterfly stitch above his eyebrow flow through his system. It felt like lava was in his blood. It was a weight, keeping him grounded, bringing him back down to Buck’s level, and he wonders briefly when he left. 

For the second time, Eddie doesn’t know what to say, he’s not good at verbally expressing himself. But he knows Buck needs something , he needs some kind of response. He wears his heart on his sleeve and carries himself with emotion, like he expresses himself by just existing, he doesn’t do particularly well with silence. 

Instead of trying to say something and possibly failing, he reaches out to Buck, letting his hands rest on either side of Buck’s neck, fingers curling into the collar of his crewneck. He’s silently thankful for the height of the counter and the closeness of Buck’s body so he doesn’t have to reach very far. 

Buck hooks his hands over Eddie’s wrist, pressing his fingers to Eddie’s pulse points. When he speaks, it’s quieter than before, like they’re trapped in a moment, an atmosphere that could be broken too easily. Eddie doesn’t think it could be broken, but he also thinks the quiet might just be for his sake. “On a scale of one to ten?” and he doesn’t explain any further, causing Eddie to raise his eyebrows. 

Eddie gives Buck the smile he saves for him exclusively and flexes his fingers around Buck’s collar. “Five,” Buck narrows his eyes at that, and only then does Eddie realize the lights in the kitchen are off, bathing everything, including Buck’s face, in partial darkness. He focuses back on Buck’s still skeptical face, “And a half,” he adds finally as he tugs Buck closer, and Buck goes willingly, “But… You should still kiss me.” 

Buck swallows, “I- you’re still hurt, and-” Eddie taps his finger three times against the back of Buck’s neck, telling Buck that he’s okay. It makes Buck pause, and he looks at Eddie, like really looks at him. And then he kisses him. Short and sweet and full of meaning. It was so entirely Buck that it sticks to Eddie, the emotion radiating off of Buck sticks to him, he thinks it might grow on him too. 

“You’re okay,” Buck whispers it against his forehead, and it’s spoken like a prayer, like maybe he’s trying to reassure himself and Eddie at the same time. 

Eddie nods against Buck’s forehead, “I’m okay.” 

And yeah, he thinks they’re okay. 

[teamxdark]

He’s Not Here

More masquerade content but what’s this at the end???

In the grand castle ballroom, surrounded by soft golden light and the countless nobles clad in shimmering fabric, King Arthur was so bored he could cry.

This wasn’t what this night should have been; it was a masquerade party, an opportunity to hide away his identity and mingle among the people 一 okay, the nobility, but he would take what he could get 一 like he was a person instead of a king. Finally he had a chance to dance around until his legs ached, to eat food without worrying about the repercussions to his image should he dare speak with his mouth full or use the wrong spoon, to hold conversations that weren’t about politics or finances or how he was doing the best-or-worst job looking after an entire kingdom with a myriad of people with different needs and opinions. 

So how was it that, out of everyone in that room, he was stuck listening to some dull-voiced stag drone on and on about the rising price of grain?

“This is why pricing is tricky, you have to account for the pests before you ship it out and…”

Arthur fought the urge to dash away, but the instant he tried, he knew he would give himself away. His speed was renowned throughout the land, alongside his golden armor and brilliant blue spines. Those, at least, he had taken care of; Merlina had spent the better part of an hour adjusting his coloring to a warm orange and growing out his spines to disguise him beyond the limits of a simple mask. She had tried so hard to give him a chance to have a night off without people instantly worrying for his favor or trying to get something from him… only for him to be trapped all over again.

Arthur would have happily made an excuse to leave, if the stag would only let him get a single word in. His conversation “partner” seemed not to need to breathe, droning on and on in an endless monotone, offset by the cheerful music and bright lights and flashy costumes.

I’ll never be free of this.

“And now that the price is rising, it leaves me in a strange spot, you see. On the one hand, I sympathize with the people who cannot afford my wares, but on the other hand, it means more profit for myself and my own family.”

Chaos above, Arthur wished he hadn’t bumped into this man. His fingers tapped restlessly against his leg, mildly quelling the urge he had to just flee, to drop everything and everyone he had ever known and flee into the night and into the unknown.

“Not to mention, the cost of labor--”

“Mind if I cut in?”

Arthur’s head snapped over to the new voice, endlessly relieved at the interruption, though the stag continued to drone on, the odious voice still grating his ears even as the king faced the bold newcomer.

It was a tiger clad in elegant black clothing with silver accents, extending a hand out to him, and even though Arthur was eager to take it and be whisked away from this living nightmare, something about him made him take pause. His eyes took in the white fur streaked with blue, the slowly flicking tail that reminded him of Sir Percival 一 was it common among all cats? 一 and the eyes looking gently back at him.

He trusted those eyes. It was the look that they held, a look that reminded him of… 

Arthur mentally slapped himself. He’s not here, he reminded himself as he finally took the hand offered to him.

“Yes, please.”

The tiger seemed to brighten just a fraction at his approval, and he led him away from the trappings of boring conversation to the dancefloor, and Arthur had to try hard not to think about how this felt like being rescued by a knight. Especially not…

He’s not here.

The king was jostled from his thoughts as his new partner started to fit him into a hold, and a brand new anxiety washed down upon him as he tried to remember how to reciprocate the hold. Dancing lessons had never been high on the list of priorities when it came to running a kingdom, and yet somehow Arthur was expected to be able to social dance like a pro when his days were filled from dawn to dusk with meetings and drafting decrees and submitting notices of approval until he passed out on his bed. Arthur swallowed, trying to remind himself that stumbling during a dance was still preferable to listening to that one-sided conversation…

...but his partner didn’t dance like a professional. Well… he did, there was no denying his grace and timing, but he didn’t dance like he expected Arthur to be one as well. The steps were simple, the turns basic, and Arthur’s mind swam in relief as he realized that, somehow, this stranger was leading him through steps that he had managed to pick up on through trial and error.

This chance encounter was proving to be everything he needed.

The stranger led him carefully around the floor, maneuvering slowly around other people rather than weaving expertly between them like so many other couples did. If Arthur closed his eyes, he could easily pretend that he was practicing his basic steps with his brother, or his friends, or his--

He’s not here.

And yet…

Yet it was so easy to picture it, even as the peals of laughter surrounded him and washed into his subconsciousness like a spark of delight for him to enjoy. The strong hold, the careful footwork, the calculated rhythm…

Lancelot…

Arthur’s eyes opened, and though he saw stripes they were the wrong ones, and the bittersweet feeling of missing someone dear to him almost caused him to heave a sigh.

He had it bad, and he knew it. His greatest knight and closest ally and dear friend… Sir Lancelot was beyond compare. From questing as youths to his coronation, and in every disaster thereafter, Lancelot had been there, his pillar of strength in a tumultuous world, always standing nearby to passionately defend him or to spare him a quiet gesture of support. Lancelot had protected him from danger, defended his honor, strived to keep his spirits up for years and years…

Arthur had never considered himself one for romance, but as years went by, Lancelot had claimed more and more of his thoughts, attention and affection until the knight unknowingly held the king’s heart firmly in his hands. Too many times to count had Arthur been struck by the urge to grasp his hands, to sing out the words in his heart to him, to draw him close and see if he could make such a powerful knight’s knees buckle below him with a kiss alone…

One song changed into the next, and Arthur, too swept up in his fantasy, didn’t let go of the stranger, didn’t notice the slight lull in their dance, and so the dream kept going.

Lancelot wasn’t there, but Arthur could lean into this stranger’s hold on him, follow his dance, focus on his attire, concentrate on the energy he exuded, energy that reminded him so strongly of his Lancelot, and Arthur’s mind could so easily turn his dream into something more substantial. An illusion for him to drown in, just like this masquerade offered.

The music kept swelling, the sweet notes tickling his ears and driving him even deeper into his dream like he was in a trance. He kept dancing with the man that reminded him so much of his beloved that a second dance turned into a third, and Arthur clung on to his dream, not even registering that it might seem strange until--

“I mean no offense, but surely there are others who would want to dance with you?”

Arthur blinked, and the dream shattered as the man in his arms shifted back into a stranger. The king’s feet stilled, his gaze dropping to his feet. Arthur had to fight back waves of embarrassment and disgust at himself before he could answer.

“Forgive me, but the way you dance…”

HE’S NOT HERE!

“...it reminds me of someone dear to me.”

“O-Oh.”

His companion seemed at a loss, and Arthur held back another sigh, counting the beats in his head before pulling him along for the next dance, leading him in a very basic, repetitive step around the floor.

“I apologize,” Arthur murmured, knowing that there wasn’t much he could do to salvage the situation. At this point, he could only offer his apologies and an explanation. “I know it’s not fair on you, to imagine you are someone else, but…”

A look of hurt passed over his dance partner’s face, and goodness, even that reminded him painfully of Lancelot.

“...but you remind me so much of him.”

Arthur’s eyes swept over his partner, taking in the paradoxical way that he looked completely unfamiliar and yet he still somehow managed to feel so much like his dear knight. Perhaps the dream hadn’t fled from him quite yet, because now Arthur’s yearning mind was searching for any and every chance to convince himself that this was, somehow, Lancelot whom he was dancing with.

“You dance like he does,” Arthur thought aloud, as his partner remained silent. “Careful and precise.”

Your movements… I know them like I know my own.

“Pardon my asking,” the stranger returned, “but why do you not dance with him tonight?”

Like a weight to his soul that would never truly leave, Arthur’s melancholy came back to embrace him. “Ah… he isn’t here.”

He’s not here he’s not here he’s not here--

“Or at least…”

Arthur looked into the stranger’s eyes, his desperation to go back to his dream nearly choking him with emotion as the tiger’s eyes widened at the sudden look directed at him.

“...I haven’t recognized him, yet.”

Arthur knew it was terrible to put such a fantasy on a stranger at a party, but he wanted so badly to believe that this man was Lancelot. Arthur wanted to believe the ludicrous ideas his mind was supplying him with, that somehow this was Lancelot in front of him, disguised beyond all normal means. The tiger in front of him appeared to fluster, his mouth parting as though wishing to speak, though no words came forth.

“You have stripes like he does, too,” Arthur murmured softly, thoughtfully, and yes, he truly was reaching for every last detail in his pathetic attempt to turn what he had in front of him into what he wanted to see.

“If it pleases you,” the tiger finally said as the third song changed into a fourth one, “I… am not opposed to you pretending that I am he.”

Arthur smiled at that, feeling suddenly hesitant at the idea, now that the stranger, as kind and helpful as he had been, had given him his consent to mentally transform him into someone else, to be a player in this dream of his. It was sad, and unfair, but Arthur knew sadness and injustice. He tried to battle it every day, slowly changing and updating laws as they became outdated, but everything went so slowly and people only kept crying out in pain and Arthur wanted just one day, just one, to take ahold of something that he wanted and to cherish it.

“Thank you,” Arthur whispered as he stepped further into the stranger’s hold, feeling warmth overtake him as he confessed his truth. “I have loved him for a great long time and… perhaps this is the closest I shall get to what I dream of.”

Because that was all this would ever be: a dream.

He’s not here.

Arthur’s eyes closed as his head dipped down to rest on the tiger’s shoulder, a soft smile spreading over his muzzle as he noticed that he was of a similar height to Lancelot, and the dream came back in full swing. Arthur’s arms wrapped around his partner, blocking out any consideration to the lack of spines on his back, and the king focused on his heartbeat as it hammered in and out of sync with the other’s.

“I understand the sentiment,” his partner whispered in response, and Arthur had to hold back what was either a laugh or a sob, morphing it into a hum on its way out.

You speak like him, too.

And so the king held his partner as tightly and tenderly as he would a lover, humming along to the song as the masquerade around him faded into nothing. There was nothing, nothing in his dream, but himself and his Lancelot as they spun around slowly.

He’s here. He’s here, I can feel it.

Arthur’s dream permeated his mind, overtaking his consciousness, and as the fourth song faded into oblivion, he finally let out the sigh he had been carrying all night.

“Lancelot…”

Two pairs of feet stilled as both parties realized what had just been said, and one final word jolted the king from his dream.

“A… Arthur?”

He was here all along.